Hey! Happy Summer!
So here I am back on my blog. I am currently working on a few different entries and as some know, the writing process takes me a bit more time than the average bear. To keep my posting momentum going, I have thought about sharing some of the slam poetry I write from time to time. Sometimes I get the idea for a line and I will write it down or save it in the notes section of my phone. Then, as I think and process my ideas more, my poem forms. My favorite thing about slam style poetry is (a fabulous quote from the movie Grease), “The rules are there ain’t no rules”. Now, in Grease, they are referring to drag racing, but it is the perfect way to describe slam. Slam is the drag racing of poetry. It's raw, real, and at times dangerous, but always exciting. Slam has no rules. Slam poetry is written to be spoken. It can be interpreted in different ways. It may sound different in your head reading, than it does out loud. I know what my poems sound like to me, but the beauty of slam is the audience or reader, can hear it any way they want. Hopefully, they hear it in a way that makes sense to them best. So, screw grammar, Haiku line rules, sonnets, and specific rhymes. This is my poem. Written or spoken, I make the rules. And I would like to share this poem with you, dear reader. I wrote this poem in two parts. I got the idea while watching fireworks last year and saved a few lines in my phone while taking in the spectacle. I revisited my lines on July 12th of 2017 and titled the piece “Sparklers”. This poem serves as a time capsule for me. My grandpa was dying. It was a difficult time for my family. When I read this poem, I feel grateful and blessed for my family. Also, it literally takes me back to the exact moment of my sneakers to the concrete, head tilted back, watching the fireworks while being surrounded by the night sky and summer breeze. My slam and my singing are truly extensions of myself. This can be difficult for me to share because vulnerability is scary! But vulnerability is also what connects us deeply. So, I hope one day maybe to get behind the open poetry mic and this is a good first step. Sparklers (Written July 3rd and July 12th 2017) For Grandpa Wetzel By: Olivia Wetzel Fireworks burst before me, childhood memories, star-spangled film strips of what used to be. Another shell flares up in the night sky, tiny bits of fire flood natures dark canvas with brilliant color. Boom. My first birthday. Another shower of sparks, every graduation, every Christmas family photograph. I watch the bits of pyrotechnics dissolve before my eyes with a cold beer in my hand. Blue jeans, sun-kissed, summer hair, Wonder Woman T-shirt. I stand before this spectacle truly as myself. Boom. I think of sparklers. The ones you gave me, my brother, and cousins. Running around the backyard with lighting bugs, giggles ignited with the clean pop of sparks once its silver tip was lit. All of us, young, precious, little hooligans, writing our names on the nighttime wall for the world to see. Thank you, for loving me. Loving us. Loving this country, and this world. Why must you leave this way? I am going to miss you. The sparkler’s performance is dwindling to its silvery end, but not before it burns brightly at its core. Just like you. You burn brightest at your core. Your beautiful, brilliant, patriotic, heart that beats for everything that is good, loving, kind. You placed a sparkler in my hand on the 4th of July as a kid, but you placed so much more in my life. I stand, sneakers to the concrete, head tilted back to get the best view. I take in the grand finale’s splendor and it reminds me of you. Thanks for the sparks, love, and light. Goodnight.
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AuthorMy name is Olivia. I am woman, daughter, sister, friend, and counselor. I just want to put love in the world. Archives
October 2018
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