Tag: Sedona

Discover Sedona written by slam poets, cowboy poets, and literary giants inspired by the state of Arizona!

Rex Arramsith Arizona poet a man taking a selfie

Rex Arrasmith

Rex Carey Arrasmith: Bridging Worlds Through Poetry and Fiction

Rex Carey Arrasmith is a poet and fiction writer whose work traverses the landscapes of memory, identity, and the natural world. Splitting his time between Sedona, Arizona, and Lāna’i, Hawaii, Arrasmith draws inspiration from the vortexes of Arizona’s Coconino National Forest and the serene beauty of the Pacific. His writing often serves as a memorial to friends and lovers lost to the AIDS pandemic, capturing moments of joy, sorrow, and reflection.

After a 30-year career with United Airlines, Arrasmith pursued his passion for writing, earning an MFA in Fiction from Lesley University in 2018, followed by an MFA in Poetry in 2020. He is a co-founder of Cambridge Common Writers, a Lesley MFA alumni group that fosters community among writers.(cambridgecommonwriters.org, cambridgecommonwriters.org)

Arrasmith’s poetry and fiction have been featured in numerous literary journals, including Lily Poetry Review, Passengers Journal, Solstice Literary Magazine, Spillwords, Hares Paw Literary Journal, New Note Poetry, and Dark Thirty Poetry Publishing. His poem “Whale Song” in Spillwords reflects his deep connection to nature and the awe it inspires.

Arrasmith’s Poetry Transcends Literature and Spirituality

In addition to his literary pursuits, Arrasmith is an ordained Universal Life Minister, crafting uniquely inspired wedding vows that blend poetic sensibility with personal narratives. His multifaceted career and diverse experiences enrich his writing, offering readers a tapestry of stories that resonate with authenticity and emotional depth.

For more information on Rex Carey Arrasmith and his work, visit his Cambridge Common Writers profile.

Gary Every AZpoetry.com

Gary Every

Sedona’s Storyteller, Poet Laureate, and Genre-Bending Wordsmith

Gary Every, the Poet Laureate of Sedona, Arizona, is a literary force known for his genre-defying style, energetic performances, and profound connection to the American Southwest. With over 1,300 publications and nine books to his name, Every has earned recognition in poetry, fiction, journalism, and speculative literature, carving out a unique space where the natural world, science fiction, and spoken word converge.

A Career of Boundless Expression

Gary Every’s expansive body of work reflects his commitment to telling stories that blur traditional boundaries. Whether delivering beat-inspired spoken word, penning sharp science fiction narratives, or crafting intimate essays grounded in Arizona’s diverse landscape, his voice remains uniquely his own. Every’s storytelling ranges from rock concerts and Earth Day celebrations to poetry slams and resort bonfires—wherever there is a microphone or a willing audience, Gary Every brings his signature style.

Prose, Poetry, and the Imaginative Frontier

Every describes his creative output as equally divided between prose, poetry, and fiction—or, in his own words: “journalism, science fiction, and beatnik.” This balance allows him to explore the human condition through both the lens of grounded reality and the infinite possibilities of speculative thought. His journalistic work has been honored by the Arizona Newspaper Association, earning consecutive Best Lifestyle Feature awards.

Honors and Recognition

Gary Every’s commitment to language has garnered critical acclaim across multiple disciplines. He is a four-time nominee for the prestigious Rhysling Award, which honors the best science fiction poetry of the year, and he has received numerous Pushcart Prize nominations for both his fiction and verse. His poetry regularly appears in journals and anthologies dedicated to speculative and literary writing alike.

Introducing The Mighty Minstrels: Poetry Meets Jazz

In addition to his solo work, Gary Every joined forces with a collective of musicians to produce the jazz-poetry fusion album Introducing The Mighty Minstrels. The project underscores Every’s musicality and his roots in performance poetry, showcasing the rhythm and improvisational spark that animate his live readings.

Voice of the Verde Valley

Though originally from outside Sedona, Every is deeply rooted in Northern Arizona’s landscape, folklore, and history. As Sedona’s Poet Laureate, he elevates regional voices and natural wonders through public readings, workshops, and cultural events that blend performance with environmental awareness. His work frequently draws from desert canyons, red rock formations, and the mythic aura of the Verde Valley region.

From Bonfire to Slam Stage

Before his poet laureate appointment, Every honed his storytelling chops as a bonfire storyteller at a luxury resort near Tucson. This period instilled in him a passion for live performance, which continues to inform his presence at poetry slams and community events across Arizona. Whether riffing at a jazz set or engaging audiences at literary festivals, his delivery is dynamic and unforgettable.

A Literary Bridge Across Genres

Gary Every’s writing challenges and expands our understanding of what poetry can be. By weaving together beat aesthetics, desert ecology, interstellar imagination, and sharp journalistic observation, he crafts work that resonates across audiences and disciplines. His ability to shift seamlessly between the page and the stage, the traditional and the speculative, places him among Arizona’s most versatile and visionary literary figures.

Want to read Gary Every’s books? Check out his official website HERE.

Your Poem Is Not That Good Because by Christopher Fox Graham

Your Poem Is Not That Good Because (A Response) by Christopher Fox Graham

“Your Poem Is Not That Good Because (A Response)” by Christopher Fox Graham

I

Our poems were never that good
no one’s were
or the world we talked about
the revolution we prophesied
would have arrived by now
but it didn’t
and it isn’t
and it won’t
because poetry can’t change a world
drunk on its own power
deaf to so many voices
poetry is only the captured sincerity of a moment
we were the moment

So we kept writing
and slamming poems
and sparring on stages
spitting word graffiti against the walls we faced
or the walls we broke down

The good ol’ days of poetry slam
weren’t always as good as we remember
Though some days were better than we thought at the time,
remembering now and waxing nostalgic

The bastard son of jazz and Beats
born at Get Me High
and the Green Mill
where Capone could cover the exits
we spit to barflies and java junkies
book buyers and gallery goers
we had our holy places
Nuyorican, Cantab, Starry Plough
Red Sea, MAD Linguist, the Merc
Bowery and Lizard Lounge
Blind Lemon in Deep Ellum
in the heart of Texas
and Da Poetry Lounge
the hook there in the name
and a thousand temples
with a hot mic
a willing owner
and a free night

We crowd-walked like Jesus
called out and heard responses
used microphones and mic stands
as the props we were forbidden to bear
climbed on bars to be better heard
wrote poems for duos, trios, foursomes
to amplify our solo limitations
turned one-person plays into touchstones
persuasive essays into epics
street protests into soliloquies
cyphered in circles
telling tales about our adventures

Our grandfathers and grandmothers
did the same
when the cosmos was our companion
the stars our only stage lights
And civilization was just a campfire

Our skin or status
age, accent or origin
was wiped clean
we had three minutes and a ticking clock
to change the world
and ten seconds of grace
because we lost track of time
channeling the universe

We had arch rivals and forever allies
to push us forward
Titans and Olympians
who we worshiped
for crushing stages
like city walls
or opening hearts and minds
to other ways of thinking
or living
or loving

We had kings and goddesses
who blessed the microphones
in whispers and decrees
telling us to love ourselves
in spite of ourselves
“you are good enough”
“you are good enough”
“you, right now,
hearing this, reading this
YOU,
you are good enough
you are perfect”

We had heels and cads we loved to hate
hanging on every verse
waiting for a stolen stanza
a lifted lyric
a reference to clothing they wore
a cheater who judged them too knowingly
an untruth wrapped in beautiful fiction
we could later disprove
and turn into sin

Audiences didn’t care to know our strife
in the old days of poetry slam
they hung on the shimmering words
played out stanzas in their minds
heard old poems new to them
uttered at their first hearing
they left changed, bettered and brighter
the points were never the point
they were the gimmick
to get them in the door

We asked them to judge us
sans background, affiliation or inclination
no doctorate or bibliography required
their scores, our epitaphs
8.2, even on page
6.9 because it was a sex poem
9.7 worth the bus ride home
5.8, a punch to the gut
7.1 after we dropped a line
9.3 when we picked it up
a perfect 10 with tear-filled eyes
or guts sore with laughter
or hearing their story told through our lips

They judged our game
our struts and frets
in three minutes upon the stage
they were part of the show
they, the reason we spit:
Vox populi,
vox deus,
judicat poeta

We had demigods and divas
devils and demons
and sometimes,
perhaps too often,
we were they

We were “Beauty Ba Bo” perfectly translated

We had wingless seraphim
their halos lost in stage lights
Fallen angels seeking absolution
Mortals mid-apotheosis
We knew our saints by heart
could speak their names in mononyms
Shibboleths sans surname:
Marc,
Patricia,
Saul,
Beau, Reggie, Taylor, Buddy, Gary, Roger, Bob, Wammo, Marty, Shappy, Klute,
Sekou, Shihan, Ed, Derrick, Talib, Shane, Barbara, Miguel, Mahogany, Rachel, Sarah, Phil, Pat, MuMs, Jared, Henry, Mike, Scott, Suzi, Christopher, Hanif, Dayvid, Andy, Jack, Staceyann, Ken, Alvin, Corinna, Jaylee, Baz, Blair, Bao, Betsy, Sonya, Rives, Anis, Lauren, Bill, Patrick, Holly, Theresa, Billy, Jugga, Ragan, Steve, Sean, Suheir, Sou, Simone, Sully, Celena, Zork, Omar, Olivia, Oz, Iyeoka, Isaac, Corbet, Ebony, Eboni, Janean, Jamie, Jive, Jeremiah, Jasmine, Jerry, Cristin, Kenn, Eitan, Daphne, Danez, Donnie, Delrica, Duncan, De, Denise, Desiree, Darrell, Amelia, Xero, Mack, Paul, Stefan, Angela, Karen, Midnight, Erik, Sierra, Hakim, Adriana, Frannie, Ebo, Jesse, Matthew, Doc, Lindsay, Mickie, Maya, Laura, Emi, Nathan, Mikel, Mojdeh, Tank, Thadra, Robbie, Omari, Gypsee, Tristan, DaShade, Blue, Blythe, Tony, Rudy, Andrea, Ayinde, Abigail, Alex, Akua, Adam, Taalam, Rowie, Claire, Gabbi, Gabrielle, Genevieve, Goad, Taneka, Cass, Frank, Ryan, Valence, Evan, Josh, Nodalone, Neil, Briana, Brenna, Brit, Randy, Lydia, Jess, Naughtya, Eddie, Amy, Angelica, Caleb, Dylan, Dwain, Hakim, Lacey, Natasha, Zack, Panika, Amir, Chrysanthemum, Imani, Glori, Gigi, Tui, Jerri, Omni, Emanuelee, Ekabhumi, Javon, Jomar, George, Joyce, Joaquin, Mercedez, Mindy, Morris, Mckendy, Mayday, Matt, Esme, Brett, Dahled, Sam, Sevan, Suzee, Sabrina, Soul, Cheryl, Logan, Myrlin, James, Taz, Twain, Tova, Thomas, Crystal, Christa, Guante, Angelique, Colin, Theo, Jozer, Kealoha, Keith, Katie, Kat, Khary, Kataalyst, Bryan, Nazelah, Porsha, Daryl, Ian, Jon, Jay, Jeremyah, Jordan, Duke, FreeQuency, Flowmentalz, MrHumanity, Candy, Rage, Diamond, Nova, Tempest, Verbal, Vogue, Tapestry, Rooster, Toaster, Whoopeecat
Don, Damian and Danny, the Trinity of ABQ
AJ, RJ, RC, CR, GNO, IN-Q when initials were enough
Bowerbird just happy to be there
Mona turning spoken word into silent speech
Jeanne and Jim, no distance too far
Stephen and Julia with a Tattler
Arrian with a camera,
Inkera with a “welcome”
Clebo shirtless and rarefied
and Mighty Mike McGee, whose three names are always spoken as one

And after,
always after,
always underground
where only poets could enter
if you knew the password
the secret location
was Harlym125
the crownless king
holding court
for the best of us
to duel in the round
until last poet standing
but no cameras in the courtroom
no secrets from the sepulcher
no record made in this arena,
our Holy of Holies

Some of us were broken people
writing to survive
Some of us didn’t
some cut short by our own hands
some by fate we railed against
some by time, that takes us all
they all died too young
even the old ones
especially the old ones

Some of us never healed
some only healed through slam
because of the poems
because of the scores
because of the praise
because of the failures
because we got up again, and again and again
because we could banish our monsters
cast them back into darkness with wordmagic
because we would expose our sins
And find absolution by the last line
or because some stranger
we could not see under stage lights
said later in the lobby
or at the bar
or the afterparty,
“I loved that poem…
… you made me cry”
sometimes that alone was enough
perhaps too often,
it was enough
which is why we’re still here, still living
save one
and save the world entire
their tears saving us
from drowning ourselves

If not for the old days of poetry slam
we would not know each other
not have lived the stories in other skins
served in three-minute epics
or afterparties or hotel lobbies
we would not have a safe sofa,
a paying gig and eager crowd
in 50 cities and 500 small towns
a welcome smile from a host we’d never met
but who knew us intimately
from that poem,
you know the one
the one never that good
whose ending you tweaked
100 times trying to get right
but to someone, tonight,
it will be perfect
exactly what they needed to hear
“your poems are not good because”
you say over and over to yourself —
they’re not good —
to you —
swallowed in self-doubt and self-criticism,
but to someone,
tonight,
they are a masterpiece
wordmagic from a microphone
slammed by a wingless seraphim
halo lost in stage lights
chasing their monsters into the dark

The points weren’t the point
the point was poetry
we knew that, we knew the math:
1,590 teams went to nationals
only 118 touched finals stage
we went to lose
at nationals,
lose across states,
lose across town
hundreds of hours practicing
thousands of miles traveled
to be statistically eliminated on night one
to be cut from round two
to go over minute three
but we went to share
to become family
stay family
mourn lost family
you stopped caring about the scores
about winning
about fleeting victories
you cared about family
about impressing them with a poem
trying something new
and winning because
“your poems are good”
because you became the captured sincerity of a moment
the points weren’t the point
the point was we wiped clean
skin and status
age, accent and origin
to become stories in skinsuits
we were words walking
the bards, bhats, griots, skalds, seanchaithe,
of our slam scenes back home
and a family wherever we were
we knew that
in the “old days of poetry slam”

II

We forget now
the churning civil war inside ourselves
“The revolution will not be televised”
we believed wholeheartedly
poets may start revolutions,
but we don’t lead them
without an army, armed and funded
no one fights them
airwaves aren’t free
raised fists don’t rake in ratings
empty seats at finals add up over time
But we refused to be bought
we refused to cash in
we refused to sell out
even when bankruptcy came knocking

Our poems were never that good
but we believed our own bios
in the old days of poetry slam
Gaslit by our own press releases
we knew the money would come
the chapbooks would one day be bound
TV gigs and book deals were around the corner
bars would become Broadway
book thrift shops would lead to theaters
finals night would be standing-room only
MFAs were as good as MBAs
success would fall off the shelf
if this poem was perfect
this line was just right
if this hook had teeth
if we unfurled our dreams into a ship’s sail
we could make it to Avalon or Valinor
Penguin, Simon & Schuster,
Random House, HarperCollins
PBS or HBO’s Def Poets
presidential inaugurations,
UN floor speeches
White House dinners
Olympic openings
like the other poets who did

But we forgot
no one reads poetry anymore
no one reads print anymore
we pay to be published
selling books at slams
to make it to the next gig
and we’re left with
bookshelves of others’ words from
The old days of poetry slam

It was never enough to be brilliant
you have to do the work to prove it
sometimes you have to break into Harvard
and put your poetry book on the Woodberry shelf
for it to be found there

Now we count our scars and remember
the sins and stages, the dream teams
the host hotels and victory poems
hip-hop battles and haiku head-to-heads
nerd quizzes and fifth-wheel features
group pieces and late-night erotica
a trophy we once tore in half
the beautiful bouts 0.1 points apart
with the whim of a judge —
some college kid on a date
some mom from the suburbs
some closet writer with her journal at home
some wannabe rapper
some grizzled retiree reliving his youth
or sweet grandma seeing what the kids are doing now —
deciding between prize money and parting gift

We were Kings of Kings, shouting:
“Look on my words, ye Mighty, and despair!

All statutes crumble
All empires fall
All languages change over time
or die on lips of the last speaker

“The old days of poetry slam”
are the “old days” for a reason
and the reasons were legion,
but sometimes
but perhaps too often,
we were they

III

But words never die
not once uttered and amplified
they echo endlessly across eternity
or get swallowed back into the throat
for a new voice to speak

The new slam isn’t the old slam
it’s better, it’s worse,
it doesn’t follow the rules
that we belabored and bickered over at slammasters meetings
ensconced in scripture we printed before Nationals
but it’s here and it’s now
and it’s asking us to dance
the steps are new
the new music is different
but we learned the last time
and danced waltzes across stages

“Your poems are not good …”
we shout on social media
with a million reasons why
some don’t read other poets
some don’t read better poets
some shun critique or criticism
some forget it’s a gimmick not godhood
some outshine their mentors
some have no mentors to follow
some first drafts stay final drafts
some value victories over craft
notching one-night slams into headboards
like some of us did

time will cull or cure
like it did us —
we forgotten heroes uncelebrated
we word barons stripped of fiefdoms
we veterans with razorblade tongues

Our poems were never that good
but they were good enough
and the proof is new slam is here
in the echo of the old

They love slam like we did
because we taught them to
the high schooler in the back out past curfew
the fan who bought our chapbook with $1s
the one-time judge, drunk on our fire
the mourner who saw us grieve in public
watching a man cry without sin or shame,
the teen who added 100 to your view count
didn’t you see them?
were the stage lights too bright
in “the old days of poetry slam”?
When we gave up
when the old slam became old
when we euthanized it at 34
in the city where it was born
at a meeting of 200 who loved slam so much
we had to cut its throat
when we took ”kill your darlings” too literally
they rose up
where our words had sowed them
and built temples
with the blueprints we burned
enriching their soil with our echoes

A legacy isn’t a carbon copy
it’s not a clone or a rerun
children may have our names
but they are only half-us
half-someone else
wholly themselves
something new built on the old

they read our poems in school
in chapbooks, on websites
shared our voices, videos and clips
In mixtapes, LiveJournal, MySpace,
YouTube, Instagram, Facebook,
Tumblr, TikTok, TedX,
Button, Write About Now
They heard us say
“you are good enough”
“you are good enough”
“you are good enough”
like we were taught
and they believed us
even when we didn’t believe ourselves
they still believe us
because our poems were that good
they outlived their makers
words still speaking
“Poetry is Necessary”
like food, shelter, water, poetry is necessary

No cataclysm can kill poetry
manmade or otherwise,
not really, not forever,
it’ll rise from the corpses, the ashes,
the broken bones and fallen towers
emerge from the flood waters
that could kill,
but not drown
Team SNO taught us that

We martyred ourselves in suffering
on stages or pages
but not in vain
and not in silence
and someone was listening
even if we didn’t hear it

They heard about a thing called slam
how it could change the world some day
if the poem was perfect
the line was just right
if the hook had teeth
and when the old slam became old
they made it new again

The new slam isn’t the old slam
it’ll wander and conquer and collapse
and get back up, like we did
they will learn by doing, like we did.
they will learn by failing, like we did.
they will learn but getting up again and again and again
they will anoint new saints in new styles
they will take the ghost from our rebel skeleton
and outshine their ancestors
it is out legacy even if our name is absent

We were candles in the dark
but one can light another
and still burn brightly
our words remain to light the way
even if we don’t,
some new poets will become furnaces,
others bonfires,
some just brief matches and flashes in the pan
some will come in like a fireball,
burn into explosion and fade away into the dark
like some of us did
sometimes it’s enough
just to light the flame

Our poems were never that good
they didn’t have to be
but they were enough
to someone, somewhere
and sometimes,
perhaps too often,
that someone
was me

New slam is here
there are first-timers on stage
new voices in old skins
old voices with new poems
legends in renaissance
prodigies proving themselves
and audiences oblivious to the difference
but they heard about a thing called slam

because they’re here
our poems were good enough
they’re ready to listen to wingless seraphim
see halos in stage lights
show them the glory
of the old days
in the new temples
leave them changed, bettered and brighter
like in “the old days of poetry slam”

There’s a sign up list
and a hot mic
if you have a poem to share
or an open seat for tonight
if you want to lend your ears

They just want to be heard
like we did
want to say to us —
but more so to themselves —
“you are good enough”
“you are good enough”
“you are good enough”

and hear us answer
sincerely
simply,
with hope
and with thunderous applause

Reclaiming the Stage: A Slam Poet’s Retrospective

Christopher Fox Graham’s poem, “Your Poems Are Not That Good Because (A Response),” serves as a heartfelt homage to the evolution of slam poetry. Through vivid recollections, Graham chronicles the journey from the early days of slam—marked by raw energy and communal passion—to its present state, reflecting on the art form’s challenges and triumphs. ​


The Pulse of Slam: Community, Competition, and Catharsis

Graham delves into the essence of slam poetry, highlighting its role as a platform for marginalized voices and a catalyst for personal and collective transformation. He emphasizes the communal bonds forged through shared experiences on stage, where poets confront personal demons and societal issues alike, seeking solace and solidarity in the rhythm of spoken word.​


Legacy and Renewal: The Ever-Evolving Art of Slam

Acknowledging the inevitable changes within the slam community, Graham reflects on the new generation of poets who carry the torch forward. He underscores the importance of mentorship and the enduring impact of past performances, asserting that while styles may evolve, the core mission of slam—to give voice to the voiceless—remains steadfast.​


Discover More About Christopher Fox Graham

Christopher Fox Graham is a prominent figure in the Arizona poetry scene, known for his dynamic performances and contributions to the slam community. With a career spanning over two decades, he has represented Flagstaff and Sedona on multiple National Poetry Slam teams and continues to mentor emerging poets. ​

To explore more about Graham’s work and his impact on the poetry world, visit his official biography.

Chris Lane NORAZpoets Sedona poetry AZpoetry.com

Christopher Lane

Christopher Lane: The Poetic Voice of Struggle, Advocacy, and Healing

Christopher Lane was more than a poet—he was a fearless advocate for truth, a champion for the power of poetry, and a voice for those struggling with addiction and loss. Though his life ended far too soon in August 2012, his words and work continue to inspire, comfort, and challenge those who encounter them.

As the founder and director of the Arizona chapter of the Alzheimer’s Poetry Project (APP) and a widely recognized poet and community leader, Lane dedicated his life and work to poetry as a tool for healing, connection, and self-exploration. His poetry captured the harsh realities of addiction, the depths of personal struggle, and the resilience of the human spirit, leaving behind a legacy that remains deeply relevant today.

A Poet of Raw Honesty and Unwavering Courage

Christopher Lane’s poetry was bold, unfiltered, and deeply personal. His work was heavily influenced by his own battles with addiction, mental health struggles, and self-reflection, which became central themes in his writing. His acclaimed poetry collection, who is your god now?, published by Woodley & Watts, serves as a powerful testament to his ability to capture pain, hope, and the complexities of human existence in breathtaking verse.

Through his writing, Lane fearlessly explored the emotional weight of addiction and recovery, creating poems that speak to those who feel unheard or unseen. His words resonated with anyone struggling to find meaning, battling inner demons, or searching for redemption, making him one of Arizona’s most powerful contemporary poetic voices.

Championing Poetry as a Tool for Healing

Beyond his literary achievements, Christopher Lane was a tireless advocate for poetry as a means of healing and human connection. He was deeply involved in Arizona’s poetry scene, performing at some of the state’s most prestigious literary events, including:

But his most profound impact extended beyond the traditional poetry stage. Lane was a key figure in bringing poetry to underserved communities, especially elders living with dementia.

The Alzheimer’s Poetry Project: Christopher Lane’s Lasting Legacy

One of Lane’s most remarkable contributions was his pioneering work in using poetry to connect with individuals living with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia. As the founder and director of the Arizona chapter of the Alzheimer’s Poetry Project (APP), he played a crucial role in expanding the program to other states.

The Alzheimer’s Poetry Project, founded by Gary Glazner, recognized Lane’s passion and commitment to this work. In a heartfelt tribute after his passing, APP wrote:

“We were deeply saddened to learn of Christopher’s death in August of 2012. In the early stages of the APP, Lane was the first person Glazner asked to help expand the project to other states. He was an amazing advocate for poetry. On working with elders living with dementia, Lane said, ‘I just see them as my Grandma and Grandpa and hug them just like I would my own loved ones.’ He will be truly missed.”

Under Lane’s direction, the Arizona chapter of APP, sponsored by Northern Arizona Poets (NORAZ Poets), began in 2003 and became an official 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization in 2005.

His deep compassion, dedication, and belief in poetry’s ability to break barriers and foster connection continue to shape APP’s mission today.

An Award-Winning Poet and Arts Advocate

Christopher Lane’s impact on Arizona’s literary and arts communities was widely recognized and celebrated. He received numerous honors for both his poetry and his dedication to fostering creativity and healing through art.

His notable awards and recognitions include:

  • 2010 Bill Desmond Writing Award – Arizona Commission on the Arts
  • 2009 Mayor’s Arts Award – City of Sedona (Individual Category)
  • 2009 Artist Project Grant – City of Sedona Arts and Culture Commission
  • 2008 Gardens for Humanity Visionary Grant
  • 2006 Emerging Artist Grant – City of Sedona Arts and Culture Commission

These awards reflect his tremendous influence as a poet, educator, and advocate, and his commitment to bringing poetry to diverse communities across Arizona.

A Lasting Influence on Poetry and Advocacy

Christopher Lane’s legacy lives on through his written words, community work, and unwavering belief in poetry as a force for change. His poetry remains a beacon of truth for those struggling with addiction and mental health. His work with elders, students, and fellow poets continues to inspire poets, caregivers, and advocates who believe in the transformative power of storytelling.

Though he passed away at just 40 years old, his impact far exceeded his years, and his poetry continues to resonate with those seeking solace, understanding, and a voice that echoes their own. Christopher Lane was a published poet with who is your god now? published by Woodley & Watts.

Joshua Wiss poet | AZpoetry.com

Joshua Wiss

Joshua Wiss: Spoken Word Poet and DIY Wordsmith

Joshua Wiss is a spoken word poet, musician, and storyteller based in Phoenix, Arizona. A poet of deep feeling and vibrant imagery, Wiss captures the essence of modern life, love, death, and the perils of suburban existence through his evocative performances. With a background rooted in the DIY aesthetic, Wiss merges raw emotion with carefully crafted verse, making his poetry a visceral experience for audiences.

A Veteran of the Poetry Slam Scene

Having competed at four National Poetry Slams, representing Flagstaff, Sedona, and the Valley of the Sun. Wiss has shared the stage with some of the world’s top-ranking performance poets, proving himself as a formidable force in the spoken word community. His poetry is as much a performance as it is an intimate conversation, pulling listeners into the rhythms of his words and the landscapes of his mind.

A Poet Rooted in Analog and Nostalgia

Beyond the stage, Wiss is a collector of stories and artifacts of the past. He can often be found tinkering with typewriters, playing musical instruments, or sorting through vinyl records at his day job in a record store. A self-described feeler with a voice, he embraces the analog world—a poet who revels in the beauty of VHS tapes, cassette players, and the timeless swing of Louis Prima.

Themes and Style

Joshua Wiss’s poetry is infused with powerful, often dreamlike imagery, reflecting on themes of:

  • Love and loss – Capturing the fleeting nature of relationships and memory.
  • Time and the universe – Questioning the cyclical patterns of existence and the energy that connects us all.
  • The human experience – Chronicling life’s highs and lows with authenticity and grace.

His poem Wallflower is a perfect example of his craft, blending themes of memory, presence, and the ephemeral nature of time. Lines like “every good party needs a Wallflower to stand witness and materialize memories” illustrate his unique ability to translate the intangible into poetic form.

A Legacy in the Making

Wiss’s work goes beyond spoken word competitions—his poetry is an experience, a ritual, and a reflection of the world around him. Whether performing at slams or connecting with audiences in intimate settings, Joshua Wiss continues to be a powerful and unforgettable voice in Arizona’s poetry scene.

Christopher Fox Graham Arizona Poetry Sedona Poetry Slam

Christopher Fox Graham

Nestled in the heart of Sedona, Arizona, amidst the striking red rock formations and the whispered secrets of the desert winds, resides a poet whose verses echo with the rugged beauty of the Southwest. Christopher Fox Graham, affectionately known as CFG, is not merely a poet and writer; he is a literary force that has left an indelible mark on the Northern Arizona poetry scene.

The Journey Begins

Graham’s poetic odyssey began in Flagstaff, Arizona, where he represented the city on an astounding twelve National Poetry Slam teams. A true testament to his unwavering commitment and artistry, Graham’s participation spanned from 2001 to 2018, showcasing his enduring love for the craft. Each performance was a melodic tapestry of words and emotions, a testament to the power of language in the hands of a master wordsmith.

The Mastermind Behind the Mic

In the mystical realm of Sedona’s poetry scene, Graham assumes the role of slammaster, guiding the poetic spirits of the community. His influence extends beyond the stage, as he orchestrates the rhythm of Sedona’s slam poetry gatherings, creating an atmosphere where words flow like desert rivers, carving their paths through the minds of listeners.

A Global Poetic Odyssey

Graham’s journey as a poet has extended far beyond the boundaries of the United States. In 2002, he embarked on the “Save the Male Tour,” a four-man international spoken word tour. This journey took his verses across borders and cultures, proving that the power of poetry transcends geographical confines.

The Competitive Spirit

Graham’s poetry is marked not only by its lyrical beauty but also by a competitive streak that has defined his journey. He is renowned as one of the most statistically obsessive slam poets in Northern Arizona. His relentless pursuit of excellence and success on the slam poetry stage has not always been without strife, but it is this very drive that has pushed him to poetic heights.

Jedis and Padawans

Graham has a unique perspective on the world of slam poetry, believing that all slam poets are like Jedi knights in the realm of words. In keeping with this philosophy, he has dedicated himself to mentoring aspiring poets through the Erus/Parvalas Mentorship and his Treatise on Slam Strategy. Like a wise Jedi guiding their padawans, Graham imparts his knowledge and insight to the next generation of slam poets.

Verses Beyond Borders

Graham’s poetry has transcended the stage and the written page. His words have resonated across the airwaves, reaching audiences through MTV’s “Made” and The Travel Channel‘s “Your Travel Guide” episode of Sedona. He has taken his poetry on a grand tour, sharing his verses in nearly 40 states, Canada, Ireland, and Great Britain. His verses have become a bridge, connecting hearts and minds across oceans and continents.

Christopher Fox Graham, or CFG, is more than a poet; he is a living testament to the enduring power of words. His journey has been one of poetic exploration, competition, mentorship, and connection. He has etched his verses into the landscape of Sedona and the annals of slam poetry history. As the red rocks of Arizona stand steadfast, so too does CFG’s legacy in the world of poetry, a legacy that will continue to inspire and shape the poetic voices of the future.

Discover and learn more about poets and poetry from Arizona HERE.