tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54069492011-04-22T00:18:16.846ZFounder of Hammer and Tongue, (UK) Ottawa slam champion 2006 (canada), blah blah blah ... various people keep asking for the text of poems,so here's where i'll put them for now... enjoy ;-)Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comBlogger161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1131802847816921122005-11-12T12:50:00.000Z2005-11-13T07:46:27.303Z

I hear an explosion going onan innovation bomb based upon the rearrangement of the Atomsthat everything is made from.The usual unholy trinityof corporations, governments and the militaryare promising the largest artillery of rapid technological changesince Michealangelo and the rennaissanceunlocked the designs of God..Imagine: the vastness of BANGBits Atoms Neurons Genesthe basic pixels of

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1100348042501772512004-11-13T13:04:00.000Z2004-11-21T17:41:17.706Z

There doesn't have to be a microphone or even a stage. Arbitrarily, we chalk out this space for unpaged poetry forms walking together in an oral democracy, unwritten without the pharisees of the grand literary traditions to edit selecta, cut down choice. We call this a democracy, not because we vote But because every voice counts and we do – we actually count we assign numbers to words.

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1089849542485421282004-07-14T23:56:00.000Z2004-07-14T23:59:02.486Z

These are the good times, these May days And nights - Adrift on play, community and easy lovin' Possibility is being born in every slam poem night time mission lazy afternoon. We’re gathering speed and joy - soon to go interstellar. These times are the easy times, springtime Stepping up to the game with her bluebells ringing reggae Untroubled Unharrased Undecided. The early morning is pregnant

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1085054814465140552004-05-20T12:06:00.000Z2004-05-20T12:08:32.280Z

If you can see him he is all trunk he is not 2 missing legs seven fingers no thumbs he is not wrists protruding from elbowless arms a wheelchair of black leather and dirty chrome if you can see him he is a bit unkempt and he is a prophet and he is an obnoxious, unapologetic, revolutionary (in an un-jesuslike way) less black than martin less handsome than che less humble than mahatma

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1069787811666081032003-11-25T19:14:00.000Z2003-11-25T19:17:22.513Z

The war on terror is about modified starch Its about soy flour, soy protein Corn syrup and fast food burger buns All padded with wheat Its about whey powder, maltodextrin sugar and sweet Sticky snacks between breakfast and dinner time It’s a war between the expanding waistline of America And a primetime army of nesquik, get fit, Low fat, burn back Nutrasweet flavour crackpot Dietary products

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1063039315667481372003-09-08T16:41:00.000Z2003-09-08T16:41:55.620Z

Satellite Song For Ilona's wedding - 5th Sept 2003 First we walk and then a bus and then an airplane and then its a coach and then a train and then a car and then we rest again. And life is a lot like this. For we are traveling people, Ilona And life is logistics. We are global traveling people, Ilona And life is bus stops and air tickets. And we are global living people, Ilona And life

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1058450409552828732003-07-17T14:00:00.000Z2003-07-17T14:00:09.590Z

I wanna make trade fair I wanna make fair trade with you I wanna make fair trade the whole night through I want to fairly trade my bananas For your coconuts and The sweated toil of your lands I’ll be grateful for the skillful work of your hands, my African partner, my latino, asian exchanger Of bountiful goods and hot exotic flavours I wanna savour your coffee , As you slurp my tea,

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1054390976922733712003-05-31T14:22:00.000Z2003-06-05T01:11:29.010Z

Advice when falling? Find ground Find firm unyielding ground And when you find it Kiss it and hold it. Advice when falling? Find life Find real life And when you find that Kiss it and hold it Find lips Find them fresh or bleeding, salty or sweet but when you find them Kiss them Find breath warm and moist And when you breathe it hungrily hold it find flesh softly

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053286386289647012003-05-18T19:33:00.000Z2003-05-18T19:42:02.900Z

Android I have sat in the back rows of enuff poetry shows to know That nobody gets up on stage unless they're feeling the rage of being blacklesbiancrippled indiginous poor gay woman in this day and age and if that’s not the case, if’s not about race or class then its about some bit of loving arse they want or they can't have and they want to confuse you and seduce you with smart rhyme

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053284821541996212003-05-18T19:07:00.000Z2003-05-18T19:07:01.606Z

The poem about the war My ancestors carried rocks Left upon graves to stand As deposits of hard grief That marked the land with misery made visible and more Carried in pockets and weathered hands They placed these stones -each on each- like cairns and this is why this is why I cannot write the poem about the war The poem about the war is unutterably sorrowful ,it’s lodged in my soul and I’

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053284649500973222003-05-18T19:04:00.000Z2003-05-18T19:04:09.563Z

Mistletoe.. I want to tell you that Right now my heart is shaped like tiny silver hands That are tugging on the shirt tails of my attention Somehow they are Connected to green excitable feet Unsteady with longing and distraction Wide eyed, racing butterflies Are coursing through my .. Couples are kissing, everywhere and lovely. And Christmas is full of mistletoe. Somehow I want to admit to

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053284526622581822003-05-18T19:02:00.000Z2003-05-18T19:02:06.670Z

Touch the earth.. So (tap tap) I shall attempt to liberate the real while data disappears under my fingers – (these are words that don't exist.) Here’s hoping language can graze skin, feel the warmth of a world bleeding but alive.. In this technopolis metropolis is our snuggledown prison, m’dear - It folds and envelops, it stamps and franks us whatever our state of address. The

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053284325165489082003-05-18T18:58:00.000Z2003-05-18T19:57:51.263Z

It grunts It grunts it rocks And explodes like an audience Roaring Big it up now and be loud For the industrial sounds of My parents snoring Phlegm and catarhh play percussion on the tonsils while a honkytonk nose is sounding the bass note and simultaneously whistling like a geezer on one.. diva and tenor mouths wide open are clearing their throat clearing their throats ready to sing ready

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053284128497790382003-05-18T18:55:00.000Z2003-05-18T18:55:37.563Z

Talkin tea.. I love it when you talk tea When the first honey rooibos of the morning pours in through our dark russian sleep. and you, dry leaves between perforated sheets of cotton, are dangled into a hot wet day on a slender string and gently stir. Teaspoons that we are together, we warm. drawn from ceramic slumber you burble, mumble sweet twinings into my cupped ears, whisper finely “

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053283547599282472003-05-18T18:45:00.000Z2003-05-18T20:05:34.333Z

Cheese'n'chalk Leaving you to sleep I knew just what seemed right so bearing love and chalks for you I set out to annotate the night With red chalk I stretched on toes as far i might reach and I scored a plimsol line to mark the height my heart leaps each time I see you. Walking more I dusted the invisible cords that drag me back to your front door with blue chalk dust. And the winds blew that

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5406949.post-1053283124083644942003-05-18T18:38:00.000Z2003-05-18T18:42:42.196Z

Big. I'm a big guy I got big arms I got big legs I got a big stomach I got a big head I got big eyes staring right at you I have big thoughts I wear big shoes I got a big body in every single part one of these days I'll have a big heart to express my big feelings with my big tongue cos I've got big news to share - it weighs a thousand tonnes. I'm going big places I have big ideas I have a big

Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327298103762063316noreply@blogger.com