I’ve found myself obsessed with poetry lately. Mostly because I’ve had the amazing experience of hearing Montana Poet Laureate, Chris La Tray, speak which made poetry come alive for me again. I started down the rabbit hole of not only Chris’ poetry, but that of Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser, of Naomi Shihab Nye and Stanley Kunitz. I’ve begun collecting poetry books on my TBR pile like sprinkles on ice cream. Delectable and decadent and delicious (a nod to anyone who reads Chris’ monthly Substack).

It’s reminded me that I too wrote poetry once. Mostly in college, when Poetry Slam was all the rage. My poem at the time, repeated at every slam to much hooting and hollering, was called Poetry In Motion (of course it was, I was in college). I haven’t thought of that piece in ages, haven’t thought about creating my own poetry again either, until recently, and all thanks to Chris.

So while I don’t have any new poetry to share, I thought it would be tragically humorous to share the poem that won Poetry Slams back in 2000-ish. And please remember, no one was reading this, it was being performed, which is the only reason I can possibly imagine that it won.

Poetry In Motion

You and I,
She says,
We’re poetry in motion.

Poetry in motion, huh?
Bullshit.
We’re not poetry.

We’re Penthouse letters,
   Wet dreams,
   Cheap porn.
We’re parody,
   Fantasy,
   Mystery.

Poetry in motion?
No.
Not poetry,
Not us.

And not that your hips, lips, thighs, and tits,
Don’t inspire me,
For I’ve begun carrying mints
And shaving just a little closer,
But our bodies,
Wet, slick, sliding, riding, contract, shudder, release
Our bodies
Will never be
Good poetry.