Slice of Life Post for April 11, 2023 by Barb Edler

Last Thursday, I competed at the state level poetry slam which was part of a Poetry Palooza event that began with the slam and ended with a lunch and poet panel discussion. My sister and niece attended the slam which was at Franklin Middle School event center in Des Moines. It was a lovely auditorium, but a bit warm. All the slam poets were amazing with many sharing poems about being transexual or other sensitive and political themes. I was the second to last to perform in the first round out of twelve performers. Overall, I appreciated the experience, and although I like to perform my poetry, I’d say I am not exactly a spoken word poet.

The awkward part about the slam competition was that my niece and sister were convinced I was number four in the first round because they were taking score. Anyway, I think I did beat the poet that went first, but he got cheated in his scores and ended up placing second overall. In fact, the three performers who placed first, second, and third were the same three I competed against in Iowa City to get to the final competition. I placed second at that slam.

The winner will compete in June in Des Moines at the NFSPS National Convention. She is seated on the left. Kelsey Bigelow is front and center and organized the event. Kelsey is a ray of sunshine and a fantastic performing poet. Hannah, Charlie Hall is on the right. He is phenomenal. The poets’ scores were 0.1 points apart from each other. Personally, I would have liked to have seen Hannah win because he thought my scores were too low. We bonded at the first event, and he’s only 18.

Although I did not make it into the second round, I did receive lots of compliments from various strangers at the events held on Friday evening and on Saturday which I very much appreciated. A former colleague and community member from Keokuk were also at the event so that was rather surprising, and they were both very generous with giving me some wonderful supportive comments about my poetry and performances.

Glenda Funk was also extremely helpful and so thoughtful, offering to meet with me via zoom to listen to me prepare. Based on her comments, I revised one of the poems which I’m sharing today and that I performed at an open mic on Friday night.

The Burning Field

my childhood summers were slices of happy
every morning sky diving
with my neighborhood friends
into medieval forests of fling green
we were daring
jeweled in clover leaf chains
our free spirits totally teal
soared above meadowsweet mists
and a wide open field
a field two boys accidentally burned
spying the furious flames from my brother’s bedroom window
I shouted fire, fire
we thought it was such a travesty
but that field came back
more gloriously green

I remember the tree house
next to the field
in the place we called
blue city because of the violets
that grew there
trying to prove my courage
I leapt from the small wooden perch
face planted on the ground below
howled all the way home

I remember the woods behind blue city
where we always roamed
unafraid of the unknown
when life was an endless adventure of 
pineapple delights and
glistening moonlight


my world was a honey haven

until the day my best friend’s boyfriend
tried to rape me
tn the woods where we roamed
the woods that always felt like a second home

I can still feel
his crushing weight
groping hands
my disbelief

sunshine days
surrendered to shadowy shock
burned with shame and self-loathing
unable to speak
a silence grew
weaved a tangled
web of confusion

how could I tell my mother
trapped in a hospital bed
how could I tell my best friend
who thought she loved him

I didn’t know how to traverse
a burning field of flames
fearing the fire ready to sear me

but in my dreams
I burn the pain
rise back gloriously green
I fly with joy from my perch
land softly
like a clever bird
sing with glee
full-throated
warbling off-key 
remembering a time
when I was fearless
unafraid of fields of fire
violet ice
or the summer shadows
that still haunt me

The whole weekend was such a delight. I listened to amazing poet laureates and attended two workshops. One was about writing to heal led by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg. She offers workshops especially for people who are suffering from cancer. Caryn is a two-time cancer survivor. This is the poem I wrote in her workshop. It’s just a draft.

I didn't expect to survive
your death
but here I am still standing
not exactly upright
but still breathing

Did you know I see you everywhere
in a road worker's wave
a homeless person's face
your spirit always walks beside me

Forgive me for not letting go
I write my rage, sorrow, disbelief in poems
mostly hidden
readers can't always digest
the weight of grief

perhaps you understand
because you were a writer, too

I want to honor your life
it's my survival life line

On Saturday, the event ended with a panel discussion. Debra Marquart, Matt Mason, Caleb The Negro Artist Rainy, Ann McCracken, and Dawn Terpstra. (Dawn is the Iowa Poetry Association President and an Editor for the River Heron Review.) Let’s just say my weekend was full, and I was paloozaed.