Ever wonder about the protocol
for the pockets of live poetry series
prolific in our nation's capital
mecca for fine writing?

A poet like myself
might ponder whether to pay
patronage to one species in chief
and keep herself indigenous
to one stage, one council

or play ambassador
of pen, voice, page
and freely hop from habitat
to habitat
sampling the lingo and colours
to harmonize with all
while maintaining her own personal stamp

must one 'come out'
of camouflaged infiltration
when sampling others' camps,
assume the dialects and mandates
variances in the tone and
atmosphere?

Some believe each series stamped
with its own sense of diet and diatribe
flavours with unique accents
despite shared roots and seed-planters
in the history of our town

might one risk being shortlisted
to the endangered roster
never again to help host readings here or maybe
even be squeezed in last, if lucky
on any open set sheet in town
for cuckolding?

Must I card my literary leanings
and aspired contributions
to the craft of
the community and our nation
an agenda for one group?

So what am I?
Strictly a regular Sasquatch beastie?
Though originally a Tree-climber
born of Irene's Pub long ago
and pool player to boot there?

Truth be told it began before that
at Whispers inspired by musicians,
praising them with poems
starry-eyed, like in the
Toni Braxton song 'Spanish Guitar'

or, that reminds me,
an El Dorado once a month
fiesta of fine arts wannabe, por favor?
Loving to cross language barriers
linger late but never late enough
listening to latin, flamenco and
patriotic music
admiring the cameraderie of open bursts
into poignant song
passionate poemas and stories
Me gusto mucho!

To confess the truth
I've always been tempted
to try 'Mother Tongue'
if not so far from home
the name of that venue itself alluring
and Sylvia shone in her launch there
last year where they had a fine reception

Ginger was there, with her Kevin,
both friends of the feature guest
handling fresh intros
holding onto my outspoken ways
a bit for me

Mother Tongue has Natalie, who's high in my esteem
I used to watch her at Tree readings
her hands-on quick crafting of chapbooks
so smooth of art and word and her heart magic
all the while discussing with me
a greenhorn then, the how-to's
if she's still there, that would be fine

and my X Press paper mentions
Step Up
for Slam
and Laurie's got things on the go
downtown
plus the bookstore
where my class is
is really reading-rocking
now

decisions come hard
and there's an old family feel
to the Sasquatch Yeti land
where Juan heralds high names
and new and veteran readers
and we in-betweens
Jane J., my inspirer's,from here
It's my home base
warm supportive nest
Julie, Sharon, Lynne, and the Woodsworths
Evelyne, Chris, George, Heather,Jacqueline,
(yes, it's true!) with so many
making it so

but I think someday too
I'd like to be a floater scribe
like Joy, and Terry Ann
who take their works far afield
that reminds me, there's the rural stretch
that sends Patrick in from Perth
where he teaches and mentors too
and in Kemptville the Valley Writers' Series
is strong

just minutes for me, across the river to Quebec
is a French series Phil's a regular at
in the quaint little streets of Hull
old-fashioned and cute
they have open sets too!

What's a poet to do?

Like a dinosaur,
even if some might think
I'd risk it making me one,
I could roam the crevices
of the planet Poetry
starting in this vicinity
then in another year or sooner
the Valley, the country
maybe the world!

Well, I'm on pathetic.com
after earlier sites
all speedy mind travel

truth be told I'm proud
of our poetry community
its bustle, casting, caring,
a talented territory
but suspect I'm not territorial

(Oops, there's one I forgot to list)
Chapters host readings too
but at their size,
they don't need much hype

I may just imitate
long-ago minstrel-troubadors
tote my poems and stories,
door to door
stage to stage, mic or non-mic
switching back and forth
from venues and languages, cultures,
styles and shops
my energy permitting
fortunate to live among
such rich, fine-peopled
performance places

like a gypsy with a guitar
her music in her head
whisking her off on her whims
wherever her dancing feet fly
not overstaying any welcome

own director of her dreams
to borrow a 'label'
from the old Boy George tune

a Karma Chameleon

01/10/2001