Tag: Slam poetry

Read Slam Poetry written by slam poets, cowboy poets, and literary giants inspired by the state of Arizona!

Alas Poor Yorick poem by The Klute featuring hyperrealistic jester at ren fair | AZpoetry.com

‘Alas Poor Yorick’ by The Klute

October 4, 2025

Alas, Poor Yorick

I regard the sad little man
As I stand in line at Ye Olde Churro Hut
With equal measures of pity and hatred
He wears a tri-cornered, tri-colored hat that is by design
Three sizes too large for his head
Upon each corner rests a single bell that jingles
With each act of prehistoric vaudeville that he performs
Mistaking the expression on my face as an invitation
He’s coming my way
Little does he know, I hate jesters
I hate them with the white-hot intensity of an Inquisitor’s branding iron
Jesters provoke within me a desire to transcend the Renaissance
And go back to the Stone Age
Where it would be perfectly acceptable to take a large rock
And smash his proto-mime skull in
But this is the modern era
While I’m certain that no jury in America
Would convict me for killing a jester
I stay my hand
Because this is not his fault
He doesn’t want to be a jester
No one does.
No one wants to don a pair of tights,
Paint their faces in the tradition of Emmett Kelly
And prance about like a magnificent poof
If God had granted him the stature he would have chosen to be a knight
Or at least a page
Had he been born with rakish good looks and a way with the ladies,
He could have been a rogue
And if he had been in possession of musical talent
He could have been a minstrel
(although I hate minstrels too)
But his thin, short, and sexless reality
Has collided with the Dungeons and Dragons fantasies of his youth
And the result continues his happy ambling gait
Towards my place in line at Ye Olde Churro Hut
I desperately scan the crowd for a broadsword
To cleave this clown in twain
But finding none,
I steel myself for the upcoming barrage of stale quips, bad puns, and friendly jibes
“Prithee my lord, wouldst thou like to hear the tale of Punch and Judy?”
I grab him by his massive lapels and pull him to my face

No.
No I wouldn’t.

There’s a reason why Punch and Judy didn’t make it out of the Middle Ages alive.
People are fonder of the Black Death than they are of Punch and Judy.
Now I know this isn’t your fault.
All I want is some fried dough
And I’ll leave.

The awkward silence is broken by the shout of “Huzzah! Another twenty pounds for the King!”
I release him and he scurries off to the friendly couple from Sun City
That seem quite willing to put up with his capering.
I collect my Churro and sit under a shade tree
Of all the things arcane that this Renaissance Fair had to conjure up

Alas poor Yorick.
I knew him Horatio.

About the poem “Alas Poor Yorick” by The Klute

Alas Poor Yorick was written by The Klute in 2002, originally intended for a chapbook entitled “Damn the Torpedoes”. The Klute was a popular Arizona slam poet for nearly 25 years, and this poem captures his satirical voice. Also known as Bernard Schober, The Klute often used humor to introduce new ideas into the Arizona culture. At the time, this poem was performed for mostly conservative audiences that dominated Arizona from the 1950s until the state began to flip politically in 2020.

Summary of “Alas, Poor Yorick” by The Klute

In “Alas, Poor Yorick,” The Klute offers a darkly comic and sharply observational monologue set in the most mundane of absurd modern arenas: a Renaissance Fair churro stand. The speaker, waiting in line at “Ye Olde Churro Hut,” encounters a jester — a small, pitiful man dressed in an oversized tri-cornered hat with jingling bells. The sight ignites within the narrator an almost comically violent hatred, one rooted less in the man himself and more in what he represents: forced mirth, historical reenactment gone wrong, and the discomfort of artificial joy.

As the speaker imagines crushing the “proto-mime skull” of this self-styled fool, he acknowledges the absurdity of his own reaction — “this is not his fault,” he admits — and begins to psychoanalyze the jester’s predicament. No one, he claims, wants to be a jester. Instead, life and circumstance have whittled the man into this tragicomic role, doomed to caper for others’ amusement while suppressing his dignity.

The narrative crescendos when the jester approaches, performing with “stale quips, bad puns, and friendly jibes.” The speaker’s fantasy and frustration boil over in a moment of confrontation. He grabs the man’s lapels and delivers a scathing retort: a demand for silence and a rejection of the hollow spectacle around him. The poem closes with the speaker’s self-aware echo of Hamlet’s most famous line — “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio.” — transforming Shakespeare’s meditation on mortality into a contemporary satire on performance, identity, and modern disillusionment.

Analysis: The Jester, the Poet, and the Human Condition

Beneath its humor, “Alas, Poor Yorick” is a deeply layered piece about frustration with artifice and longing for authenticity. The Klute’s speaker projects his existential exhaustion onto the jester — a figure both ridiculous and tragic — who serves as a mirror of humanity’s own clownish struggle to find purpose. The setting at a Renaissance Fair, a space of contrived nostalgia, underscores the tension between the past we romanticize and the hollow performance of that nostalgia in the present.

The poem’s voice blends satire and confession, a hallmark of The Klute’s performance style. His hyperbolic hatred (“the white-hot intensity of an Inquisitor’s branding iron”) collapses into reluctant empathy. The jester becomes an avatar of lost dreams and failed self-transformation — the “thin, short, and sexless reality” colliding with the “Dungeons & Dragons fantasies of his youth.” Through humor and mock aggression, the speaker grapples with his own place in a society addicted to spectacle and performance, where even rebellion feels choreographed.

Language, Rhythm, and Tone

The poem reads like a rant-turned-revelation, fusing the theatricality of Shakespearean soliloquy with the comic rhythm of spoken word poetry. The Klute’s diction moves effortlessly between the archaic (“Prithee my lord”) and the contemporary (“I desperately scan the crowd for a broadsword”), creating a tension that mirrors the absurd coexistence of medieval pageantry and modern consumer culture.

The mock-heroic tone — elevating a churro-stand encounter into an epic battle — allows The Klute to explore the futility of righteous anger in an age of trivial distractions. Even the speaker’s imagined violence serves no purpose beyond catharsis; his rebellion ends, fittingly, in snack-time apathy beneath a “shade tree.” The final line’s allusion to Hamlet reframes this moment of quiet surrender as both humorous and mournful: in trying to reject artifice, the speaker realizes he is part of it.

Themes: Performance, Identity, and Disillusionment

Performance as Survival: The jester, forced to entertain, becomes a metaphor for anyone trapped in performative social roles — whether artist, worker, or consumer.
Hatred as Projection: The speaker’s loathing reveals more about his own disillusionment than the jester’s flaws. His anger masks the fear that he too might be a performer without meaning.
The Death of Authenticity: By referencing Hamlet’s Yorick — a literal skull of a dead fool — The Klute implies that sincerity itself is dead, buried beneath layers of irony and spectacle.

This duality of humor and despair runs throughout The Klute’s work, reflecting his gothic-punk aesthetic and his philosophical fascination with mortality, absurdity, and social commentary.

The Klute’s Arizona Legacy and Performance Style

As a leading voice in Arizona’s spoken word and performance poetry scene, The Klute (Bernard Schober) has become known for fusing theatrical flair with biting satire. His performances at venues like Lawn Gnome Publishing, Caffeine Corridor, and events like The Poe Show channel the dark wit of Edgar Allan Poe through a distinctly modern, sardonic lens.

In “Alas, Poor Yorick,” his humor masks a critique of both cultural escapism and personal alienation — themes that resonate deeply with audiences across Arizona’s desert stages, where performance poetry thrives as both art and social commentary.

Learn More About The Klute

To explore more of The Klute’s work, performances, and influence on Arizona’s modern poetry scene, visit his full poet bio on AZPoetry.com.

Discover how his gothic wit, philosophical edge, and dark humor continue to shape the voice of Arizona poetry.

Chelsea Guevara

September 16, 2025

Chelsea Guevara: U.S.-Salvadoran Voice, Slam Champ & Storyteller of Memory & Belonging

From Utah Roots to National Slam Triumph

Chelsea Guevara is a U.S.-Salvadoran poet and spoken word artist originally from Salt Lake City, Utah. In 2024, she made history by winning the Womxn of the World International Poetry Slam, becoming the first Salvadoran and the first Utahn to take home a national individual slam title.

Her work bridges languages, cultures, and generations. Drawing upon her family’s histories in El Salvador, her experience in Utah, and her identity as a Latina in the U.S., Chelsea weaves together storytelling, academia, and performance to explore themes of history, memory, identity, belonging, and resistance.

Academic Life & Creative Inquiry

Chelsea is currently engaged with the academic world. At the University of Arizona, she has pursued graduate studies in Latin American Studies (as of the latest info), and her coursework deeply informs her poetry. Her academic research—into Salvadoran history, diasporic identity, colonialism, and memory—provides the scaffolding for much of her creative work.

This blending of scholarship and artistry allows her poetry to function not just as aesthetic expression, but as a site of cultural reclamation and historical narrative. Her writing is attentive to both micro-moments (family, language, place) and macro-forces (migration, colonial legacies, social justice).

Published Works & Recognition

Chelsea’s published work includes:

Somewhere Over the Border (micro-chapbook): Finalist for the Gunpowder Press Alta California Chapbook Prize in 2023.
Her poetry has been featured in Button Poetry, Write About Now Poetry, Mapping Literary Utah, and others.
In 2025, she released her full-length collection Cipota with Button Poetry. Cipota explores intergenerational trauma, diaspora, memory, and the reclamation of identity.

Performance, Identity & Community

Chelsea is not just a poet on the page—she’s a performance poet with palpable stage presence. She has performed widely at slam events and spoken word venues, bringing emotional honesty, rich narrative detail, and cultural specificity to her performances. Winning Womxn of the World 2024 placed her squarely in the national spotlight for her ability to command a stage while telling deeply personal stories.

She is also active in organizing poetry events in Tucson, Arizona, helping to build community, nurture younger poets, and create space for Latinx and Central American voices. Her work in events aligns with an ongoing commitment to representation and justice through art.

Themes, Style & Influence

Chelsea’s poetic style is marked by:

Cultural Memory & Diaspora: Memories of El Salvador, family stories, migration, and border crossings appear often in her work.
Identity & Healing: Exploration of what it means to be U.S.-Salvadoran, the tension between past and present, and the personal as political.
Scholar/Poet Hybrid: Her academic background shapes her use of imagery, metaphor, and historical context—she often makes visible what is overlooked.
Performance Energy: Her poems are crafted not just to be read, but to be heard—she’s earned her slam title by giving words emotional power and urgency.

Her influences include both Latin American literary traditions and the spoken word community—she stands at the intersection of diaspora poetics and activism through language.

Key Milestones & Why Chelsea Matters in Arizona Poetry

First Salvadoran and Utahn to win a national individual slam (Womxn of the World, 2024) — a landmark achievement for representation.
Micro-chapbook Somewhere Over the Border recognized at a national level (Alta California prize finalist).
Publication of Cipota in 2025 with a major poetry platform (Button Poetry), helping her reach

Ain't I An American by Jeremiah Blue Poem AZpoetry.com

And Ain’t I An American by Jeremiah Blue

July 4, 2025

“And Ain’t I An American” by Jeremiah Blue

I do appreciate the eagle
but not enough to call it American
and tattoo it on my arm with banners
of “God Bless the USA”

Because I am hoping that the US will be
just one amongst others blessed by God

And ain’t I an American?

I am trying to free Tibet with the bumper of my car
rather than replacing it with an American flag

I think that free-trade zones aren’t often all that free

I wrote a poem about my national pride
and it didn’t say anything about keeping the Mexicans out

Being a small minority of the world’s population
while consuming nearly half its resources
sounds like a comfortable enough position
to not be all that well threatened by immigrants
sending paychecks home to impoverished families

And ain’t I an American?

I took classes in non-violent resistance
rather than studying my enemy for weaknesses
because ‘fighting for peace’ is like
‘fucking for virginity’
Sounds like a pretty reasonable argument to me?

And ain’t I an American?

Fox: not my primary source of news.

Reality TV doesn’t look anything like my reality.

I left my Top Gun jacket and mullet
in the era they came our and perished in

I am drinking Guinness over Bud Light every time

I prefer salsa and flamenco to Garth Brooks

I think hot dogs are immoral

and I haven’t been to a baseball game
since Baby Ruth named its candy bar after that one guy

And ain’t I an American?

I don’t think you need to be a lesbian
or a woman that is mad to be a feminist

I feel it is a more productive move away from institutionalized racism
to not fill our prisons with a majority of our black and brown men

I am starting to think that it has been just a little too long
since we have had a non-male or non-religious president

There are times when the thought crosses my mind
that the American Dream is just something
that those who have been handed it
dreamed up to keep
everyone else dreamin’

And America does not, at all times,
make me proud to be an American

And ain’t I an American?

About the poet Jeremiah Blue

Exploring National Identity in Jeremiah Blue’s “And Ain’t I An American”

Jeremiah Blue’s poem “And Ain’t I An American”, originally published in 2012, offers a thought-provoking examination of American identity, challenging conventional symbols and notions of patriotism. Through a series of introspective reflections, Blue invites readers to reconsider what it truly means to be an American in today’s diverse society.

Summary of “And Ain’t I An American”

The poem begins with the speaker acknowledging traditional emblems of American patriotism, such as the eagle and the phrase “God Bless the USA.” However, the speaker expresses a desire for inclusivity, hoping that divine blessings extend beyond the United States to encompass all nations. This sentiment sets the tone for the poem’s exploration of broader, more inclusive definitions of national pride.

Throughout the poem, the speaker reflects on various personal choices and beliefs that diverge from mainstream American norms:

Opting for a “Free Tibet” bumper sticker over an American flag decal.
Questioning the fairness of free-trade zones.
Writing about national pride without advocating for restrictive immigration policies.
Highlighting the disproportionate consumption of global resources by a small segment of the world’s population.
Choosing non-violent resistance over aggressive tactics.
Expressing skepticism toward mainstream media and reality television.
Preferring cultural elements from other countries, such as Guinness over Bud Light and salsa over country music.

The poem culminates with the speaker contemplating systemic issues within American society, including institutionalized racism, gender inequality in political leadership, and the elusive nature of the American Dream. Despite these critiques, the recurring refrain, “And ain’t I an American?” underscores the speaker’s assertion of their American identity, suggesting that questioning and critical reflection are integral components of true patriotism.

Analysis of Themes and Techniques

Jeremiah Blue employs several literary devices to convey the poem’s central themes:

Refrain: The repeated question, “And ain’t I an American?” serves as a powerful refrain, emphasizing the speaker’s challenge to narrow definitions of American identity and highlighting the diversity of experiences and beliefs that constitute the nation.
Irony and Satire: By juxtaposing traditional symbols of patriotism with personal choices that deviate from the norm, the poem utilizes irony to question the authenticity of conventional expressions of national pride.
Cultural Critique: The poem addresses various societal issues, including consumerism, media influence, systemic racism, and gender inequality, prompting readers to reflect on the complexities and contradictions inherent in American society.
Personal Reflection: Through the speaker’s candid sharing of personal preferences and beliefs, the poem underscores the importance of individual agency in defining one’s own sense of patriotism and belonging.

Overall, “And Ain’t I An American” invites readers to engage in a nuanced exploration of national identity, encouraging a more inclusive and critical understanding of what it means to be American.

Discover More About Jeremiah Blue

To learn more about Jeremiah Blue’s work and contributions to contemporary poetry, visit his poet bio page on AZpoetry.com.

Gary Every

May 15, 2025

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.

Joseph Nieves

May 2, 2025

Joseph Nieves: From Comic Books to Poetry Slams in Arizona

Joseph Nieves was raised in San Jose, California, where his earliest adventures were on foot, following his grandfather into the heart of the city. Those walks — which included stops behind a Burger King where his grandfather sold marijuana — would spark an enduring connection to the power of storytelling. One fateful day, a visit to a comic book store tucked into a rough plaza behind a Walgreens opened a new world for young Joseph: the imaginative universe of superheroes, legends, and vivid language.

That encounter with comics wasn’t just a childhood fascination — it became the foundation for his creative life. Through comics, Nieves developed an early appreciation for narrative structure, myth-making, and bold emotional expression — elements that would later define his work as a poet.

New Beginnings in Arizona: Discovering Poetry Slam

In the late 1990s, Nieves’ family relocated to Mesa, Arizona. By then a teenager, Joseph found a job at a local comic book shop, immersing himself even deeper in the worlds of imagination. Around the same time, he stumbled into another transformative discovery: the world of poetry slam.

Drawn to the energy, the emotion, and the raw authenticity of spoken word, Nieves began attending slams across the Phoenix metro area. His talent for weaving powerful imagery, humor, and introspection into tight three-minute performances quickly earned him a reputation as a compelling voice in Arizona’s slam poetry community.

Rise to Prominence: Flagstaff Poetry Slam Champion

Seeking new adventures (and cooler temperatures), Joseph Nieves moved north to Flagstaff, Arizona. There, his presence on the poetry scene blossomed. In 2006, Nieves was crowned the Flagstaff Poetry Slam Champion, a major milestone that solidified his place among Arizona’s top spoken word artists.

Later that year, he proudly represented Flagstaff at the National Poetry Slam in Austin, Texas, competing alongside a talented team that included Troy Thurman, J.J. Valentine, and Aaron Hopkins-Johnson. Sharing a national stage with some of the best poets in the country only sharpened Nieves’ skills and deepened his commitment to using poetry as a vehicle for storytelling and transformation.

Featured Performances and Recordings

Joseph Nieves’ dynamic performances have been featured on platforms beyond the stage. He was highlighted on the influential spoken word podcast Indiefeed, bringing his evocative work to a worldwide audience. His poems — often balancing humor with heartbreak, nostalgia with grit — resonate with listeners because of their vivid honesty and accessible style.

Whether recounting bittersweet memories of family life, unpacking the meaning of heroes and myths, or exploring the complexities of growing up amid shifting identities, Nieves’ poetry captures moments with a sharp, unflinching eye.

Academic and Literary Contributions

While perfecting his craft on the mic, Nieves also pursued academic excellence. He studied English at Mesa Community College before continuing at Westminster, where his passion for literature extended into leadership. He frequently hosted discussions, literary salons, and community events aimed at making literature more accessible and exciting to a new generation of readers and writers.

His belief in the power of storytelling — whether on a comic book page, in a poetry slam, or around a discussion table — has always been central to his mission as both a writer and educator.

Current Work: Nurturing Readers in Tempe, Arizona

Today, Joseph Nieves continues to share his love of words as the manager of a beloved bookstore in Tempe, Arizona. In his role, he fosters community engagement around books and creativity, helping to nurture the next wave of readers, writers, and poets.

While his professional life is rooted in literature, Joseph has never lost touch with his roots in performance poetry. His background in both comic book mythology and slam poetry gives his work a unique flavor — one that blends the fantastical with the deeply personal.

Whether he’s recommending graphic novels to customers, organizing literary events, or stepping up to a microphone for an impromptu reading, Joseph Nieves remains dedicated to the written and spoken word.

Joseph Nieves’ Impact on Arizona’s Literary Scene

As a poet, performer, educator, and community builder, Joseph Nieves embodies the spirit of Arizona’s literary culture — vibrant, diverse, resilient, and endlessly creative. His journey from a comic shop in San Jose to the slam stages of Flagstaff and beyond serves as an inspiring testament to the power of storytelling to transform lives.

Joseph Nieves’ story is a reminder that the seeds of creativity can be planted anywhere — even in the most unexpected corners — and that with passion and perseverance, those seeds can bloom into art that touches hearts across generations.

14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes Doc Luben Poem Artwork

14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes by Doc Luben

April 24, 2025

“14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes” by Doc Luben

I
Don’t freak out

II
We both know this has been coming for a long time.

III
I’ve been staying awake at night, wondering if I should tell you.

IV
I bought the kind of crackers you can eat, they are in the hall cupboard.

V
Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next.

VI
I always imagined this would happen without warning and like suddenly on an ocean cliff side
But this is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right, would just mean waiting forever.

VII
I’ve just been too afraid for too long.

VIII
I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs that I owned stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen.
I don’t know how long they have been like that,
but it can only be me that did it.
It’s the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there.
I am haunting my own apartment.

VIIII
My grandmother was still alive when I was five years old and she asked me to check and see
if the iron was hot enough yet. So I pressed my hand against it and it was red
and screaming for hours.
Twenty-five years later she would still sometimes
apologize, in the middle of conversations,
“I feel so bad about making you touch the iron” she’d say, as though it had just happened.
I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn’t say until it was too late.
But how else do you tell if something is hot but to touch it?

X
I keep imagining my furniture in your
apartment.

XI
I wonder how many likes this will get on Facebook.

XII
My dad always used to tell the same joke, but I can’t remember the punchline.

XIII
I was eight years old and it took three weeks, three eight-year-old weeks, imagine! To gather
everything that I would need to be Batman.
Rope.
Boomerangs.
A Mardi Gras mask with the beads cut off.
I couldn’t find a cave near my house,
so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy.
For years after, I tried to find that spot again.
The ivy grew too fast.
I searched in so many spots it seemed impossible that I had missed one, but I never found it.
How can something be there and then not be there?
How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?

XIV
I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets.
I wanted them but thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them.
I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed.
I knew that you would like them.

Transcribed from the video 14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes by Button Poetry and Doc Luben.

Watch Doc Luben perform “14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes” at the 2014 Individual World Poetry Slam in Phoenix, AZ

About the poet Doc Luben

Doc Luben’s poem “14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes” is a poignant exploration of the blurred lines between affection and despair, capturing the complexities of human emotion in a series of evocative statements. Each line stands alone yet contributes to a cohesive narrative that delves into themes of love, loss, mental health, and self-reflection.

Summary of “14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes”

The poem is structured as fourteen standalone lines, each resembling a sentence that could be found in either a love letter or a suicide note. This duality creates a powerful tension, as readers are invited to interpret each line through the lens of both deep affection and profound despair.

Some lines convey mundane details, such as, “I bought the kind of crackers you like. They are in the hall cupboard,” while others delve into more introspective territory, like, “I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all of the things we didn’t say until it was too late.” This juxtaposition highlights the coexistence of everyday life and inner turmoil.

Analysis: Navigating the Intersection of Love and Despair

Luben’s poem masterfully captures the ambiguity and complexity of human emotions. By presenting lines that could belong to either a love letter or a suicide note, he underscores how expressions of love and cries for help can often be indistinguishable.

The poem also touches on the theme of memory and the passage of time. Lines referencing childhood experiences and forgotten jokes suggest a longing for connection and understanding. The final line, “I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them,” implies a gesture of love that may also be a farewell.

Overall, “14 Lines From Love Letters Or Suicide Notes” challenges readers to consider the nuances of communication and the importance of empathy, especially in recognizing the signs of mental health struggles.

Discover More About Doc Luben

Doc Luben is a renowned poet and performer known for his emotionally charged and thought-provoking work. His poetry often explores themes of love, identity, and mental health, resonating with audiences across the country. To learn more about Doc Luben’s life, career, and contributions to the world of poetry, visit his poet bio page on AZPoetry.com.

Doc Luben

April 24, 2025

Doc Luben: A Powerhouse of Performance Poetry in Arizona and Beyond

Doc Luben is a dynamic voice in American performance poetry—a writer, educator, stage actor, and slam champion whose impact spans from the comic book conventions of Phoenix to the literary circles of Portland and Tucson. Known for his emotionally charged storytelling, razor-sharp wit, and captivating stage presence, Doc is a two-time Poetry Slam Champion of Portland, Oregon and a finalist at the 2013 Individual World Poetry Slam. In Arizona, he claimed the title of Tucson Poetry Slam Champion in 2009 and has continued to inspire new generations of poets across the Southwest.

Whether he’s headlining comic conventions, teaching workshops in schools, or weaving narratives that balance heartbreak with humor, Doc Luben’s work proves that poetry is not just alive—it’s electric.

CalArts to Comic Cons: An Artist with Nerd Credentials

Doc Luben studied at the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts), a progressive, interdisciplinary institution known for producing some of the most adventurous artists of our time. There, he honed his ability to blur the lines between spoken word, theater, and literature—developing a distinct style equal parts literary and pop culture-savvy.

A longtime fixture at geek gatherings like Phoenix ComicCon and Rose City ComicCon, Doc is no stranger to the intersection of art and fandom. As a panelist and performer at the 2010 Phoenix ComicCon Nerd Slam, he proved that poetry could coexist with cosplay, and that the language of the heart speaks fluently in comic book references.

Doc Luben in Arizona: A Voice for the Desert’s Dreamers

Though his performances have earned him acclaim nationwide, Doc has deep ties to Arizona’s poetry community. His work in Tucson’s vibrant slam scene earned him the 2009 championship, and his involvement with the Arizona Classical Theater introduced audiences to a playwright equally adept at verse and dramatic form. As a teaching artist, he has facilitated countless youth workshops across the state, using poetry as a vehicle for empowerment, resistance, and self-discovery.

Doc has been a featured performer at nearly every major poetry venue in Arizona—including Lawn Gnome Publishing in downtown Phoenix, where he has headlined many times, bringing his signature mix of vulnerable truth-telling and theatrical flair.

What Makes Doc Luben’s Poetry Unique?

Doc’s work is a masterclass in the art of confession without self-pity. His poems often walk a tightrope between the tragic and the comic, confronting trauma, masculinity, queerness, addiction, heartbreak, and mental health with a voice that is at once devastatingly honest and refreshingly irreverent.

His performances are built like one-act plays, drawing audiences into worlds where vulnerability is weaponized and laughter is a survival tactic. Whether telling the story of a failed relationship with the fervor of a tent preacher or exploring personal grief with subtle surrealism, Doc never flinches—and neither does his audience.

Teaching the Next Generation: Subversive Workshops and Youth Outreach

For more than 20 years, Doc Luben has worked with young people in classrooms, after-school programs, and poetry slams to build confidence, encourage storytelling, and teach the mechanics of great writing. His workshops are known for being radically inclusive, emotionally safe, and artistically daring.

His teaching method, like his poetry, doesn’t talk down to students. Instead, it invites them to speak up—loudly, fearlessly, and with the full range of their lived experience.

Digital Presence and Legacy Work

Though known primarily for his stage work, Doc Luben also maintains a digital presence through platforms like Tumblr, where fans can engage with his written work and stay up to date on live performances. His blog, doclubenpoetry.tumblr.com, is a trove of archived poems, thoughts on writing, and updates from the road.

As the national poetry scene evolves, Doc remains a beacon of what’s possible when spoken word poetry is fused with theatrical storytelling, literary precision, and social commentary.

Influence and Collaborations

Doc’s influence extends far beyond his own body of work. He has mentored dozens of young poets who have gone on to become champions in their own right, and has collaborated with visual artists, filmmakers, musicians, and playwrights across the country. His poetry has been featured at slams, literary festivals, and fringe theaters, as well as incorporated into interdisciplinary performances that combine lighting design, soundscapes, and live performance.

Signature Poems and Performances

Among the most iconic pieces in Doc’s arsenal are poems that blend personal narrative with biting cultural critique. Many of these works have been performed to standing ovations in national competitions, featured on slam poetry YouTube channels, and taught in college-level literature and performance studies classes.

Some recurring themes in his work include:

The conflict between performance and authenticity
Grief and the lingering ghosts of childhood trauma
Queer identity and the politics of masculinity
Escapism through pop culture and fandom
The failures and small redemptions of everyday love

Doc Luben and the Legacy of Slam Poetry

Doc Luben emerged during the golden era of slam, alongside poets like Anis Mojgani, Rachel McKibbens, and Mighty Mike McGee. His work captures the spirit of that movement—part confessional, part theatrical, wholly raw—and continues to evolve with today’s changing poetry landscape.

He’s also part of the living history of slam’s influence in the Southwest. Like The Klute, Myrlin Hepworth, and Tomas Stanton, Doc has helped shape Arizona’s performance poetry community into one that prizes emotional intelligence, intersectionality, and stagecraft.

Doc Luben in His Own Words

As Doc once famously declared onstage:

“We are all soft parts and lightning bolts.”

That poetic duality—the tender vulnerability and the sudden, crackling insight—is at the heart of everything he writes and performs.

Where to See Doc Luben Next

Though he’s no longer competing on the slam circuit, Doc continues to perform at select venues and teach workshops across Arizona and beyond. Follow his poetry and updates on his Tumblr blog, and check AZPoetry.com’s events calendar to see when he’ll next hit the mic.

Final Thoughts: The Poet as Survivor

At his core, Doc Luben is a survivor—of trauma, addiction, heartbreak, and all the other broken things that make a poet a poet. His work is a blueprint for finding humor in the pain, power in the vulnerability, and art in the aftermath.

For audiences across the country—and especially for Arizona’s poetic landscape—Doc Luben is a legend, a mentor, and a reminder that even the darkest story deserves to be told.

Your Poem Is Not That Good Because by Christopher Fox Graham

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

April 22, 2025

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

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”

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.

David Tabor

April 10, 2025

David Tabor: Analog Artist, Photographer, and Arizona Poet

A Creative Rooted in Arizona’s Poetry and Art Scene

David Tabor is a multidisciplinary artist whose creative journey blends poetry, photography, and performance. Based in Arizona, Tabor made his early mark in the local poetry slam community, creating zines that featured his work and the work of fellow poets. His passion for the written word evolved alongside his deep love of visual storytelling—capturing life through analog photography and hand-crafted zines.

Poetry Slam Veteran and DIY Publisher

Tabor was an active voice in Phoenix’s spoken word scene, performing and producing zines during the Essenza Coffee Shop days. His eye for aesthetics and reverence for authenticity gave rise to a body of work that valued intimacy, imperfection, and the handmade. Zines were often his publishing medium of choice, a perfect format for sharing raw, immediate poetic experiences with a grassroots audience.

A Return to Analog Photography

During the pandemic, Tabor returned to one of his earliest creative loves: analog photography. Drawing on skills he developed in the ’90s, he embraced traditional film, darkroom printing, and a slower, more contemplative process. In just a few years, he produced four photo zines and honed a distinctive style centered on “finding beauty in what’s already there.”

His photographic work often explores ordinary moments and overlooked textures of urban and natural spaces. Through zines and hand-printed darkroom pieces, Tabor invites audiences to experience stillness and see the poetry embedded in the everyday.

Collaboration and Connection

One of his proudest accomplishments is a collaborative photo book with artist Lisa Tang Liu. The project was a labor of love—combining visual artistry and editorial rigor, and pushing Tabor’s creative boundaries further than ever before.

Bells, Books, and Improvisation

When he’s not behind the camera, David Tabor works as a bell maker and staff photographer at Cosanti Originals in Paradise Valley, Arizona. The overlap of craftsmanship in both photography and bronze casting has become part of his artistic ethos—use the tools at hand, trust the process, and let the work speak for itself.

A man of many talents, Tabor is also an ordained minister. He once performed spontaneous wedding ceremonies during “7 Minutes in Heaven,” a beloved performance series at Phoenix’s Space 55 Theater.

The Perspective of Time

Tabor attributes much of his recent success to personal growth and perspective. Once deterred by self-doubt, he’s come to embrace failure as a stepping stone in the creative process. Whether through poetry, photography, or zines, David Tabor continues to explore new frontiers while remaining rooted in authenticity and intention.

Hang On To Your Chairs Ass Bomb poem by Bill Campana AZpoetry.com

Hang On To Your Chairs (Ass Bomb) by Bill Campana

April 9, 2025

“Hang On To Your Chairs (Ass Bomb)” by Bill Campana

Hang on to your chairs, I’m going back to school.

I’m getting my degree, a doctorate in science.
I’m going to MIT to study mathematics, quantum mechanics, nuclear physics
and whatever else it takes to get me to achieve my goal.

Because I am going to invent a bomb
a bomb that will shame all other bombs
I’m going to invent a bomb that will kill no one,
but will wipe everybody on their ass
right off your feet
flat on your ass
and then I am going to fire up another one
just in case I might have missed some people
who were sitting at the time
and then had gotten up just to investigate the commotion.

All over the world, on the appointed day
phones will ring.
The people calling will say,
“I fell on my ass at 10 o’clock this morning.”
and the people they are speaking with will reply,
“That’s funny… so did I…”

Newspapers will print enormous headlines:

AND THEN WE ALL FALL DOWN

DEATH TOLL ZERO AS WORLD FALLS ON ITS’ ASS

BILL UNLEASHES WEAPON OF ASS DESTRUCTION

I will show you,
that you can have a sense of humor,
that mass destruction just ain’t where it’s at.

Not terrorism, but performance terrorism.

So like that bomb the Soviet Union
dropped on us in the mid-sixties,
that bomb that made everybody want to say
the word “fuck”
freely
in public
forever.

Man, that was fucked up.

But when I walk down the street
with my silver squared
and my beard held high
people will say, “there goes Bill.
He invented the Ass Bomb.
He’s really not such a bad guy.”

I can see it now.
I will become Time Magazine’s “Ass of the Year”.
I will win the Nobel Prize for Ass
and with my winnings,
support an network of underground ass-droppers.
Getting through airport security
will be as easy as dropping trow.

And you will thank me.
Someday, you will ALL thank me,
from the bottom of your bottoms,
for being making global terrorism silly
and ground zero cleanup
nothing more than dusting off your pants.

So, hang on to your chairs.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
But, I’ll never find out
until I get up off my ass
and try.

Transcribed from “Hang On To Your Chairs (Ass Bomb) from The Hit List 2 by Bill Campana.

Listen to the poem “Hang On To Your Chairs (Ass Bomb)” from the spoken word album The Hit List 2 by Bill Campana.

About the poet Bill Campana

Summary and Analysis of “Hang On To Your Chairs (Ass Bomb)” by Bill Campana

Bill Campana’s poem “Hang On To Your Chairs (Ass Bomb)” is a wild, irreverent ride through performance poetry and political satire, packed with wit, absurdity, and a surprising undercurrent of hope. With his trademark humor and grounded delivery, Campana envisions a world-changing invention—not a bomb of destruction, but one of disruption. This imagined “Ass Bomb” doesn’t kill or harm. Instead, it knocks everyone flat on their backsides—an act that, in the poet’s vision, serves to unite, disarm, and humble humanity in one shared, absurd experience.

Summary

In this hilarious and sharply satirical piece, the speaker declares his intention to go back to school and study complex sciences—quantum mechanics, nuclear physics, and mathematics—not to build a weapon of mass destruction, but a weapon of “ass destruction.” This bomb won’t maim or kill; it will simply knock everyone off their feet. Whether standing, sitting, walking, or talking on the phone, people around the world will fall to the ground in synchronized, undignified unison.

The poet imagines global headlines reacting to this act of performance terrorism:

“AND THEN WE ALL FALL DOWN”
“DEATH TOLL ZERO AS WORLD FALLS ON ITS’ ASS”
“BILL UNLEASHES WEAPON OF ASS DESTRUCTION”

The piece swerves between the ridiculous and the reflective, revealing the poet’s wish for a gentler, funnier kind of revolution—one that uses laughter instead of violence. He points to a cultural shift in the 1960s where, in his words, “that bomb that made everybody want to say the word ‘fuck’ freely in public forever” broke down barriers of censorship. Now, his own imagined bomb would break down political and ideological barriers with comedy, reminding people that “mass destruction just ain’t where it’s at.”

By the end, the poem circles back to a personal call to action. The speaker doesn’t yet know how he’ll accomplish this dream, but one thing is certain: he has to get up off his ass and try.

Analysis

Campana masterfully uses humor to critique our obsession with violence, weaponry, and the spectacle of destruction. By flipping the traditional function of a bomb—from devastation to harmless absurdity—he challenges societal norms around power and conflict resolution. His “Ass Bomb” becomes a metaphor for a unifying jolt, an equalizer that reminds everyone—world leaders, ordinary citizens, and even the poet himself—that we all fall down sometimes.

This poem is classic Bill Campana: irreverent, self-aware, deeply human, and delivered with a wink and a truth bomb. The poem functions not just as a performance piece, but also as a vision for an alternative kind of power—one that doesn’t rely on fear but on humility, connection, and shared laughter.

It’s also a subtle commentary on agency and action. As the poem ends with,

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this. / But I’ll never find out / until I get up off my ass / and try.”

Campana speaks not just of his fictitious invention, but of the creative act itself—the need to rise and create, even if you don’t have the blueprint yet.

➡️ Ready to experience more of Bill Campana’s bold, boundary-pushing poetry?
Visit his poet bio page on AZPoetry.com and discover why he’s considered one of the most iconic voices in Arizona’s spoken word scene.