Monday, November 16, 2009

Duo Slam 2009...

The Dynamic DuoSlam 2009  is a 2-day Poetry Slam Festival being held December 4th & 5th in Durham, North Carolina.

20 Teams consisting of two to three poets will compete for a Cash Prize of $1500 for the first place  competitors. 

Registration is $75.00 per team*
*no refunds

Other festivities will include:

A Writing Workshop
Youth Slam
Open Mics
Special Guest Features
And more.....

visit for more details

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Sunday, August 2, 2009

National Poetry Slam

This is the blog administrator, Naturally Alise, stopping by to let you know Elliot Axiom will be travelling to West Palm Beach, FL to perform as a part of the Bull City Slam Team in the the National Poetry Slam. Please keep him and the team in prayer for a safe trip and to do well in the competition:

More than 300 slam poets will descend upon West Palm Beach August 4-9 to battle for the heavywrite crown. Representing 64 teams from 54 cities across the United States and Canada, these ferocious performance poets will spit fire on molten microphones during five days of lyrical combat in front of roaring audiences and randomly-selected judges. Only one team will win. Three days of preliminary competitions will be held Aug. 4-6 with simultaneous bouts held at 7 p.m. and 9 p.m. at West Palm Beach venues. Four teams will compete in each bout. The top 16 teams compete in the semi-finals Aug. 7. The top 4 teams make the finals Aug. 8 at the West Palm Beach Convention Center at 8 p.m. Throughout the National Poetry Slam there will be day events (Haiku Head-to-Head, Hip-Hop Showcase, Nerd Slam, etc.) and late night events (Comedy Showcase, Erotic Poetry Showcase, etc.) For more information on all the event times and locations, please visit the official 2009 National Poetry Slam website at

Monday, July 20, 2009

The ROAM continues

At the request of several subscribers as well as me missing blogging; I'm back! There will be a more interactive format and connections with/to other great bloggers, but primarily here we will focus on journeys and poetry. We will revisit some events (Southern Fried 2009) and preview upcoming events (NPS 2009). So, any suggestions and ideas are welcome. Stay tuned the new format will be set up this week and once again, in different ways, we will begin to ROAM together once again.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Road Calls me

A poem inspired by, and which may define, the Roam:

She asked where and why I was going?
What was I running from, looking for, hoping to see?
Why, she asked tearfully, why do you have to leave?
Leaning back I let go the key
Then I answer
The road calls me
A lover’s whisper in my ear saying
Come to me. Follow me.
Ride me like I’ve never been ridden
Position yourself between my guiding lines and
Harder than ever
Don’t look back
Keep your eyes on me
Move faster than the speed of thought
Cause if you think…you wont
But take your time
Cause if you don’t, you’ll miss the purpose
Don’t’ fly through the journey
Taste me
Lick asphalt. Kiss concrete
Suck exhaust till exhausted
Then rest your weary bones in my median
Never leave me
They say your running from your demons but you see them, Face them
Everytime you look in the mirror, do you see him?
Not a demon. Your father
Gone 13 years but still here you look just like him
I started smoking at his bedside beside him
Watching him die of cancer
Lit 2 cigarettes
1 for him, 1 for me
having found the answer
of how to commit suicide

The road calls me
Like a father
Teasing a child that’s too scared to jump off the high board
Who starts to walk back but instead moves forward to face the teasing
“Daddy watch me” he says before leaping
as feet leave safety for uncertainty
Faith overcomes Fear becoming Bravery
And now he’s happy that he’s falling
Free falling
Feeling free for the minute suspended as water rushes up to meet him
Will he smash or splash?
No one knows…so
Daddy watch me
I’m leaping
Falling horizontally toward a horizon I’ll never reach
Wind whipping passed me at furious speeds
Will uncertainty pull me to earth to smash?
Or can I fly faithfully into the sun to splash?

The road calls me
Like a mother
Trying to teach lessons only experience can make you learn
Teach me mother
Teach me love
Teach me tired
Teach me fear
Teach me while I’m here
Why I’m here
Teach me to reach
Teach me to teach, no better
Teach me to learn
She says
The lesson’s of the road aren’t elusive my son
You will learn at every turn
Teach yourself!!!

The road calls me
Like a bully
Like a child curiously
Like a stranger dangerous with the danger of strangeness
Like chocolate served on lava
A fiery sweetness
Or shy Amazon
Uncertainly massive
An unrecognizable song
Beautiful but deadly
Medley too clear for foggy morning air
Coming from over there, nowhere and everywhere
Don’t know if its damnation or salvation
Don’t know if you really care
The road calls me
Like it did at 16
when I left behind all family and friends
The road calls me
20 years later
and I answer
once again

Now she understands
So I turn the key
And leave...
Elliot Axiom 2008

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

In Retrospect by Request:

Request by Tiha scene stealer (IDK just sounded cool when I wrote it.)

Taking pictures while driving


If you take pictures while your driving, in the words of Tiha “…you might fail into the guard rail”

So I did take pictures while I was driving in the safest way that I could. No cars near or close (you tend to swerve when doing anything besides just driving as evidenced by cell phone users being 4 times more likely to have an accident) So I made sure I was as close to being clear of all vehicles as possible. Second I never, ever looked through the viewfinder OR at the display screen. The first pics I took from the car were when I was parked or standing still at a light. This gave me a perspective. I knew what I would most likely capture with the camera and at what positions. When I saw something, and if I had time to catch it, I would turn on the camera and, without looking through the view finder on the display screen, slow down and snap several photos by placing the camera in one of the pre-determined position. I kept my eyes on the road, a hand on the wheel and only checked the pictures when I stopped. If something was interesting enough and I missed it I would stop, or turn around to go back and get it. I made sure my camera was set to take action pictures otherwise all I got were blurs. Not to mention that many times I didn’t get the picture I wanted and a lot of times all I got was the car.

Note: Even with all these precautions I damn near ended up in the guardrail several times (and the rumble strips kept me out of the woods a couple more) so again.


So there you go Tiha…oh and here you go.

Monday, January 26, 2009

In retrospect by request

During the Roam there have been some events and other miscellaneous happenings that I didn’t think were blog worthy. I guess that aspiring to be a writer/poet I tend to write about tings that inspire me to or I think are somehow significant for one reason or another. With all of that said I have had some requests for blogs about some of these events from others (one in particular being the queen of pragmatism Tiah) and so here is the first in retrospect by request.

Request 1. From Naturally Alise also filed in the Goals and Dreams section.

Bury Me @ Midnight is a poem that I was inspired to write, as many poets are, by several muses. One of those inspirations was Miguel Pinero one of the founders and premier poets of the Nuyorican Poetry Café. Pinero’s poem “Spread My Ashes on The Lower East Side” is one of the most inspired pieces I have ever read. But I’m strange like that. This poem along with the chorus from the Biggie and Pac song Runnin one particular line “I wonder if they’ll laugh when I am dead” and a combination of mythology, religious doctrine, personal preferences and poetic wishes combined to form this poem. I wanted desperately to perform it at the Nuyorican, the Mecca of spoken word poetry, more than that I wanted to slam it. On a Wednesday night we slammed. Me and 19 other incredible poets at the Nuyorican. The format for a Wednesday slam there is 2 poems per poet. All 20 poets slam in the first round and are scored by 3 judges in a range of 0 – 10.0. The café itself is nothing special, as it shouldn’t be; poetry is the reason people line up around the block to get in not the Nuyorican. Bar to the right as you enter bathrooms to the left wood floors and exposed brick walls in many places. Stairs to the left next to the sound booth lead upstairs to the balcony. Mobile stage was in the rear of the club that is moved as necessary and chairs lined on 2 sides leaving an aisle to the stage. The chairs were full of poets and spectators. The first round was long and full of fire. Poets spit fire and ice. Love and hate. Discussed tender touches and brutal. When the round was over the 3 judges had selected 4 poets to continue. The poet who won the final round would have the chance to compete for a coveted spot on the Nuyorican Slam Team the coming Friday. 3 of the 4 poets, S.L.A.P., Tongo and me were within a point of each other. And all happily nervous. I had the highest score after the first round so I went scheduled to go last. The first poet spit and received an incredible score but not high enough to overtake the rest of us. Then Tongo went and spit a poem with of fire and excitement that sent the crown into a frenzy. His score reflected their enthusiasm. 29.4 he now had the lead. S.L.A.P. (something like a poet) another NC poet in NYC took the stage and was in rare form. Her poem built on the energy Tongo had evoked in the crowd and her poem was magnificent in content and performance. Again the crowd went wild. 29.6 S.L.A.P. had just taken the highest score of the night. I had to follow her. I was told by a the coach of the Bull City Slam Team which poem I should perform in this situation. The one that had received my highest score in the past. Not necessarily my best poem but the best received. That poem is entitled Pictures and is one of my favorite pieces on social commentary. It is my best received and highest scoring piece. I performed Bury Me @ Midnight. I tried to remember the feeling I had when I wrote it. I tried to recall inspiration. I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. It immediately turned into butterflies in my stomach. I moved back from the mic, remembered to breath then fulfilled a dream, which I believed was mine but in all likelihood belonged to the poem. I spoke the lines…

“even though I said you couldn’t.
Please lay my legs in Brooklyn
that’s where I learned my stride

And even though they shouldn’t.
Every now and then they’ll walk in…
Pinero’s ashes spread on the lower east side”

…and felt a chill, connection and completion of a personal quest. The judges liked it. They gave it a perfect score of 30. It’s not about the points it’s about the poetry and I was blessed to grace the stage with true poets, incredible poets. I am glad that this poem was well received. Oh by the way I went on to slam that Friday to compete for the chance to compete for a spot on their slam team. I was the lowest scoring poet of the night. Fail! LOL but as I said earlier it’s not about the points it’s about the poetry and the request for this blog and the fulfilling of a dream.

So tell me, no matter how small or big it seems and with no reservations, what dreams have you fulfilled. Think hard sometimes after we fulfill them we forget that they once were dreams.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Goals and Dreams:
Timeline: Roaming south along route 321 after performances in Columbia, SC

Subject: Burying Ghosts

What are the things that make us human? Depends on who you ask. Scientist might say that it is anything from our opposable thumbs to our ability to reason. But what do those suckers know? They used to prescribe cigarettes. Theologist might call it a soul, a spirit something divine imparted to us from God. Can’t and don’t want to argue with that. Philosophers would cite the very asking of this question as proof that we are “above” the other animals of this planet. You ask me…I don’t know. One of those things, I believe, that does make us human is our memories. More importantly how we interpret and act because of them. Do animals regret passed mistakes, at least the ones they survive through? (I knew I shouldn’t have drunk from that watering hole! Damn alligator nearly bit my nose off) or lust for lovers who rejected or ate them? (“She said she wanted some head but this is…” thought the praying mantis to himself before he couldn’t think anymore) Do animals write poetry? Speaking of poetry a poem read in the movie G.I. Jane about an animal. I paraphrase:

I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself
I have seen a bird fall frozen dead from a bow
Without ever once having felt sorry for itself
Ever feel sorry for yourself? Ever regret or lust? Ever wish or miss? When I began this trip I knew that it was more than a poetry tour. It was a search. A journey whose purpose was and is the journey itself. A cathartic journey meant to do many things one of which is to lay some ghosts to rest. What ghosts? Would be the next logical question. Well not everything is for the eyes and thoughts of others. Let’s just say that not everything happens in the T.V. show formula of buildup, event, quick resolution and fairytale conclusion. That loss does lessen over time but neither loss nor time give a damn about length. I went to bury a ghost, some ghosts, in that small town I moved to from the big city. Unlike the valiant bird on the bow above I felt sorry for myself and needed to. I regretted, missed, and even wished all to no avail. Eventually I moved on but don’t know if I really did.