So, this evening I finally took part in an open mic event. I've read poems out at a local poetry reading before, and spontaneously at conferences or church events, but this was with microphone at the
Poetry Café 'Poetry Unplugged' event in London. The poetry readings were in the basement below the café, so I bought a drink at the bar upstairs and went down below to sign myself up for a reading. The room was small, with enough seating for about 40 people. I noticed that I was number 35 on the sign up list, so I was in for a long night - though understanding the etiquette that you don't leave half way through once an evening has started, especially if you read in the first half. The small crowd grew and the buzz began to build. There were such a range of characters in the room: old / young; modern / traditional; student / professional; 'arty' / cool; and other such society sector categories. The young American next to me, here on a creative writing course for the summer, began practising his 'spits', taking the tension up to the next level. The man to my right was calmly reading over his lyrical creation, perhaps practising, perhaps choosing which to read. I had been informed by the MC that poets would have 4 minutes at the microphone, to do with whatever we wished. I began to mull over my own choices: should I bare my soul and read 'Disappointment' - a tale of heart ache angst, lightened only by the love that I feel from heaven, thereby exposing my faith, or stick to a more 'socially acceptable' theme - school or death, perhaps. Whatever, I put my hair up. It's going to get hot in here.
And so it did, throughout the hour and a half of poet filled angst at the mic, I needed some air. It was half time and I hadn't been up yet. I had signed up just fifteen minutes before the cut off time after all. I made mental plans to sign up earlier next time. However, it turned out that the order you sign up, isn't always the order in which you speak. As one of the proclaimed 'Poetry Unplugged Virgins' I got to go ahead of the remaining regulars towards the end. Having heard a range of poets and points of view, I dived in and read 'Disappointment'. It was met with noises of deep appreciation from the front rows of the crowd. It was hard to know how it was being met whilst concentrating on delivery, but I was there to flex my poetic muscles and to find my voice in a place where any viewpoint would do. I was there to push through any insecurities about what I should and shouldn't read in front of others. They (the abused; homosexuals; God haters...) have a voice, and so do I. Their voice is no more important than mine and nor is mine more important than theirs. I have a voice and have a right to be heard. It was also good to find a place where poets were understood, where angst of the soul was accepted as the 'norm' and where sharing words was considered to be an evening out well spent. I have found my home: amongst poets.
And so it did, throughout the hour and a half of poet filled angst at the mic, I needed some air. It was half time and I hadn't been up yet. I had signed up just fifteen minutes before the cut off time after all. I made mental plans to sign up earlier next time. However, it turned out that the order you sign up, isn't always the order in which you speak. As one of the proclaimed 'Poetry Unplugged Virgins' I got to go ahead of the remaining regulars towards the end. Having heard a range of poets and points of view, I dived in and read 'Disappointment'. It was met with noises of deep appreciation from the front rows of the crowd. It was hard to know how it was being met whilst concentrating on delivery, but I was there to flex my poetic muscles and to find my voice in a place where any viewpoint would do. I was there to push through any insecurities about what I should and shouldn't read in front of others. They (the abused; homosexuals; God haters...) have a voice, and so do I. Their voice is no more important than mine and nor is mine more important than theirs. I have a voice and have a right to be heard. It was also good to find a place where poets were understood, where angst of the soul was accepted as the 'norm' and where sharing words was considered to be an evening out well spent. I have found my home: amongst poets. 
