A Poet’s Hope Floats @The Little River Poetry Festival
Saturday started for me at nature’s amphitheater where poets in kayaks read poems that they wrote on their way down the river.
A poet’s hope floats came from a poem that one of the poet kayaker read.
While they were paddling, Jack led an ekphrastic workshop with two of his paintings (nudes) for us to write poetry to. It’s hard for me to write in the moment with people all around, but I managed this: “It’s like writing in a café / which I never do / sitting on my hands / and scanning the room / I forgot to wear a shirt / so maybe it’s a dream / I keep my eyes open / and my mouth shut / I wonder what / the other poet are thinking…”
You can expect the unexpected at the festival, and I love connecting with poets because they are wired to be honest. There were horses, a couple of dogs, a baby, a rescued kitty, at least one good downpour, lots of friendly faces, new friends to meet and lots of poetry to share.
Goosebumps and shouts. My hand hurt from clapping. Did a pin drop?
There were quite a few first-time readers and the turnout was the best I have seen (I’ve been to all 10). I wished I had recorded more poems being read, but I never knew when they started that they were going to be ones that I would want to listen to over and over.
I met LRPF first-timer Matt at The Book House in downtown Floyd while playing Scrabble and talking about poetry to my game mates. Someone apologized for our loud conversation and Matt responded that he loved it, that he wrote poetry too, and so did his wife, so I told them about the festival and they came!
Seeing my dear friend Karl was a surprise. For decades, since way back when the monthly Museletter was our alternative community’s main sources of communication, Karl has been telling me he writes poetry, but I had never heard any of it. Until Now.
One of my favorite haikus of the day was by Erika and went: An apple a day / keeps the doctor away / if aimed properly.
We coded haiku poems into symbols and colors and drew them with our resident art teacher Becky.
Our Two Trees chef played a few songs for us in between lunch and dinner.
The Apocalyptic Poets panel delved into what the group means to them, the purpose of poetry and how it can affect the individual and state of the world. A performance by them was on the Saturday evening schedule, but I missed it.
I whispered to Izzy: “I think you were a gypsy in another life. She laughed. “Is that wrong to say?” I asked. “I’m socially awkward, you know.” Izzy laughs again and says, “I am too!”
The ants are crawling around the cookies up hear on the stage,” I heard someone say and wrote it down.
