Poems on Poems

[jaybay3000]

Purchase Your Copy of Learn Then Burn 2 from Write Bloody Press

Got my new contributor copy of Learn Then Burn 2. All you teachers out there looking for a compilation to help you incorporate slam, spoken word, and contemporary poetry into your classrooms, this is a good book to have. 

[poemsonpoems]

I'm in that. HOLLLLLLA.

[poemsonpoems]

Here’s to the only woman on the slam team. To the women never on the slam team. To the woman who earns the grand slam champ title after a decade of men winning. Here’s to the all-women slam team. To the women organizing events that sacrifice their own art first. To the woman attending WoWps for...

[spokenwordacademy]

To the love of my life: I imagine you old, unhappy, and alone

Sam Sax and Katelyn Lucas performing at Tourettes Without Regrets. 

[poemsonpoems]

This Saturday (September 27th 7pm & 10pm) I'll be a featured poet on the season finale of the show Verses and Flow on the TvOne network. Be sure to set your DVR or your reminders and get ready to tune in! You'll catch a a select few poets ready to close out a wonderful season of talent. It should be a great show!     

    To learn more about me: 

http://www.luxuryawaits.com/versesandflow/season-4/poets-season-4/katelyn-lucas/

To learn more about the show:

http://tvone.tv/category/shows/verses-and-flow

  To find your network's channel:

http://tvone.tv/get-tv-one

  And be sure to like my page on Facebook for all future updates! 

https://www.facebook.com/katelynmarielucas?ref=hl

  Enjoy!

[wonderdave]

Katelyn Lucas performs “how to be the perfect woman”

[spokenwordacademy]

To the love of my life: I imagine you old, unhappy, and alone

Sam Sax and Katelyn Lucas performing at Tourettes Without Regrets. 

[deadspacemoms]

Katelyn Lucas performs "How to be the perfect Woman"

A few days ago was career day at my high school and this woman came and spoke about slam poetry.  She even performed this poem for us, as well as one other poem.  It was truly inspiring (and awesome).  She’s a super cool person so you should check out her vids on youtube.

[poemsonpoems]

8 of 30

Closed Mouth Don't Get Punched

I opened the "BITCH!" and there was a mountain. I opened the mountain and there was a boy. I opened the boy and there was his father. I opened his father and there was an anthill. I opened the anthill and there was a fire. I opened the fire and there was the blood. I opened the blood and there was his mother. I opened his mother and there was so much glass. I opened the glass and there was a mirror. I opened the mirror and there was a girl. I opened the girl and there was the "bitch."

Rachel Mckibbens Exercise #96

let it be known: i did not follow the rules and will revisit to do better.

[poemsonpoems]

7 of 30

"I thought this is what I wanted but I was wrong." and you are this. what is wrong and unwanted if only tonight. in this car. in this conversation. honesty is the sharpest knife in the drawer.

and YOU are this. what is wrong and unwanted. a twist of the wrist and the deed is done. honesty is the sharpest knife in the drawer. and the blood is clean.

A twist of the wrist and the deed is done, a few heads turned, a quiet spilling and the blood is clean. there is no word for the hunger to undo.

and this love breaks necks. if only tonight. in this car. in this conversation. the words pressed against your throat until you agree, "I thought this is what I wanted, but I was wrong."

Inspired by Rachel Mckibbens Writing Exercise #89

[poemsonpoems]

3 of 30

The Last Sixty Years

Every morning, the couple sits 

at the same round table and the 

television rants about the previous

evenings indiscretions. The wife 

says, "The news never changes. 

Someone was killed. There was 

a car accident. There was a fire. 

And it repeats again and again." 

Every morning, the couple sits 

at the same round table and their 

son rings the doorbell, only to walk 

right in. He sets out the pillbox, 

fully stocked for the long journey 

of a single day. The husband cooks

 something the wife calls, "creative,"

 which is how she makes it clear

it is something she herself,

 would never serve.

Every morning, the couple sits 

at the same round table and 

talks about the night before. 

"A good one," means four whole

 hours of sleep pain-free and 

a bad one gets no words at all. 

The husband stirs his coffee 

with his tired eyes while the son  

stares at the television and the 

wife eats her breakfast. 

Every morning, the couple sits 

at the same round table and 

listens to the neighborhood tick 

as familiar as a wrist watch. a 

clock that can be heard only 

when lying in a restless bed, 

the alarm that rings for the ears

that have already heard the early 

birds feast on young worms. 

[poemsonpoems]

2 of 30

"Someone I once loved gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift."

-Mary Oliver *

Good Graces 

For all that marionette strings the body:

broken volume knobs, liquor, men drunk on testosterone. 

For genetics and what is possible:

Parkinson's, congestive heart failure, diabetes, 

chemical imbalance. 

For every man the heart has gripped and then released, 

every question their absence brought at 2am. 

For every question that became you, 

the lacking that owned the limbs. 

For every pair of hands that came empty 

and left full, blessed be their grip. 

Let every rock be left in the wet dirt, 

stones unturned. Let the answers 

never come. Blessed be the tongue,

unleashed. The muscles stretched.  

These good, good graces. Praise for 

this still light that gives the night permission. 

This shadow pulled from that dark 

which haunts the body, blessed. 

Gratitude for the opportunity

to become what I never imagined

more than once: a woman behind a door, 

disregarded, and still,

alive.

*Prompt by  meganfalley, NaPoWriMo Prompt #1

[poemsonpoems]

1 of 30

it is saturday 

and i drive across the bridge 

like i know nothing else about it

cement and steel, 

the magic of science. 

architectures finest reveal. 

it is saturday and i drive into 

a town that spit me out. 

a small town. a navy town. 

it is saturday and i drive across a bridge

in a navy town like i know nothing else about it

and what do i know, even?

i know that rope is made out of tiny strands. 

woven together in a braid. not all rope is strong as steel. 

but some is. i know that small towns and 

crooked cops look good together. i know 

that there is nothing bigger than the unknown. 

or what has gone missing. 

it is saturday and i drive across a bridge

i know nothing about into a small navy town.

not a single person with my blood lives here

anymore. 

it is saturday 

and i drive past the street where that body lived

(though i did not know this til he was dead) and 

everything i know becomes a question. every cold 

fact typed in a report becomes staging in this play. 

the one in which i am not the lead. the lead is filled 

with my blood, but not my love, and the lead is unknown

beyond cold facts. a birth name. a face in a photograph. 

everything is labeled "before" or not at all. 

it is saturday 

and i find a picture on the internet 

of a man i do not recognize but 

seem to love. a man. whose dirty laundry 

i have folded. whose body we have claimed

and buried in a soil we share in heritage. 

it is saturday. 

and i take the long way home 

to remember what i have lost 

along the way. or what can 

still be found. 

[poeticus]

[poemsonpoems]

Here’s to the only woman on the slam team. To the women never on the slam team. To the woman who earns the grand slam champ title after a decade of men winning. Here’s to the all-women slam team. To the women organizing events that sacrifice their own art first. To the woman attending WoWps for...

[poemsonpoems]

REBLOGGING BECAUSE WOWPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[poemsonpoems]

I had the honor of featuring at cal slam's body-themed open mic and it was a wonderful time. February 28, 2014.

[poemsonpoems]

Here's to the only woman on the slam team. To the women never on the slam team. To the woman who earns the grand slam champ title after a decade of men winning. Here's to the all-women slam team. To the women organizing events that sacrifice their own art first. To the woman attending WoWps for the first time. To the women who won't be able to attend but dream of it. Here's to the woman who asks for performance coaching and is told by a man, "wear a dress." Here's to the woman who asks for performance coaching and is told by a man, "lipstick." Here's to the women who do not listen. Here's to the women who ask for feedback and are asked for their phone number. Here's to the women who are soft on the stage and the women who refuse to be softened. The women who write to build, to heal, and to transform: shame into joy, pain into forgiveness, death into life. Here's to the women who write funny poems, who write about sex, who write about trauma, who write about rape. Here's to the women who refuse to quit. Here's to women who have studied slam and play to win: without compromising their hearts. To those women who aren't sure this is something they want to be good at. To the women who could care less about the score. Here's to the women who get booked only when their less-experienced male counterparts are unavailable. To the woman who doesn't get asked to host and to the woman who is too afraid to ask. Here's to the invisible woman: the one who wants to quit and has no one to tell her otherwise. I see you. The story is yours. I want to hear your voice.

[wordsfordays]

your love is a matchbook drowning in a puddle.

your love is a parking meter. a short fuse.

a close call. a sure grip.

your love is the nail to the teeth.

the wick to the lighter.

the lighter to the skin.

your love is a sloppy valentine.

a sharp edge on a smooth surface.

a flat tire. a sinking balloon.

your love

is a tired handshake.

a toddler pouring milk

by the gallon

into a juice glass.