So it came to mind, as i was sifting through some of the voices delicately
imprinted on the walls of the Cafe Nowhere, what about the real thing?
i've always loved the quiet atmosphere of a poet's cafe...one where candles
flicker and muse spins through a breathless pause of intellect. it wasn't
until fairly recent memory that i took my fuzzy paged journal to a slam
session at a local cafe/open mic...the
atmosphere was, as predicted...dimly lit with a small soapbox stage. the
thing that interested me most, and countered my suspicions of these cafe's
was the fact that throughout the dark, unlit paths..there were no shadows.
ok...what am i talking about, now?
well...no shadows. it was almost a warmth from every crevice. a knowing
that there was something kindred about this share of words...something
then when the guy rambling about shooting his parents, teachers,
and the president stepped off the soapbox...*grin*
ahh well...it's all a matter of opinion. i felt comfort there...something
essential for anyone thinking of sharing your pen's tears. (it
is good to know that your voice will be appreciated, yes?). since my first
timid step into the spotlight, i have learned to crave the feedback that
comes...near instant. as a writer...it is always up to you how you go
about finding sounding walls, and i do admit it is a hard task to put your
self on the line; but the results...are growth. (YEESSSS...the G word!)
so this is my one of many stages...including, of course, the Net
duh!. i've made many a friends at the cafe, all who i deeply
respect...and we are constantly rebounding muse off eachother. so the way
i see it, there's no need keeping those beautiful voices trapped inside...
let it blossom: find your stage and use it.
~under an umbrella in June.
My Barrier Reef]
©Denise Angela Celeste