- [Narrator] Here's the story.

- My job told me the other day I had to quit hosting the poetry shows so I could work at night.

So I quit my job.

Sometimes you just gotta take a jump.

And I'm not gonna slave away.

I've dedicated my life to this.

And honestly, whatever it is, monetarily, I don't think about it.

And maybe that's my issue.

But this is the real deal, and I gotta keep doing what I'm doing.

What's the reason in stopping now?

You know what?

I'm gonna kick this thing off.

What's up everybody?

Welcome to the Poetry and Prose!

Let's make some noise!

[audience applauds] - [Mychal] We are witnesses to democracy's demise.

And we the oppressed, our energy will not be suppressed.

Like the words of Maya Angelou, so we rise.

- [Ras] You could have been anywhere in the world, but you are here with us, and we appreciate that.

So give yourselves one more round of applause, please.

- [Poet 1] We're gonna get a little sexy, and then we're gonna get a little sad.

[host laughs] On brand [laughs].

- [Poet 2] When women speak in my family, we are fluent in sarcasm.

She is our mother tongue.

We flick and flaunt and savor the taste of I told you so's and reallys, and that was harsh, but you know I'm right.

- [Poet 3] Let me tell you something you already know.

The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows.

It's a very mean and nasty place, and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently, no matter how tough you are.

- [Rebecca] I loved you before you learned you could drive all the bad blood from your body, before you ever even knew what a leech was.

And look at you now.

- I plant my feet and grow my own garden instead.

I am not less of a woman, I am just more of myself.

- [Poet 3] But it ain't about how hard you're hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.

- I now hold the certification of isolation, a declaration from you that you are through with trying to push this through.

And you know what?

I can't blame you.

But unbridled love, I still brandish thee.

Though tarnished by my ghosting ghastly gestures, these feelings are real.

I still feel you deeply.

- [Damian] The sins of our fathers are scarred on our souls.

We built ourselves up in the ruins of other men's dreams.

You can clean up your act, but your eyes will carry the burden.

- [Ras] Where I'm from there's no television sitcom.

Hunger panes and quest for change will make a man do anything but sit calm.

The rolling line cross cannot be drawn, rearranged.

A natural attraction to flames, we are always just around the corner from a riot or rebellion.

- [Poet 3] Now if you know what you're worth, go out and get what your worth.

But you can't point the fingers at him or her, at anybody 'cause you ain't where you wanna be.

And that's that.

[audience applauds] - [Alex] A year ago, we went to a poetry reading in Long Branch, New Jersey to see a good friend and an even better poet read.

What we came across was a thriving community made up of poets and storytellers, of thinkers, tinkers, talkers and quipsters who all shared the same common denominators, a love for the written and spoken word, and a desire to facilitate and dwell in a safe space for writers, readers, and listeners.

This is a powerful movement of like-minded creatives promoting partnership through poetry and prose from brick city to brick town and beyond.

This revival of poetry in a post pandemic world led us to seek out readings across the state, to discover events to attend practically every day of the week.

They're called to gather by fellow poets who have the drive and ability to organize people and places.

They meet and speak in warm coffee shops, in unsuspecting bars and city libraries.

They voice their heart and mind and seem to heal by being heard.

- I want more than short-lived memories that will only cause me pain in the long run.

- The day passes through the bug net of my open window until dusk's melody plays anew.

I miss you.

- I imagine myself someplace better.

I imagine you and I can love.

I imagine the world different.

I imagine.

- [Alex] They call it the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance.

We call it Voices in the Garden.

- [Ras] Our final guest artist for tonight, I am incredibly happy to bring to the stage.

This man is an incredible poet, purveyor of arts and culture.

And at the beginning of the year, he began something in South Jersey that has taken over the entire state's attention and arguably the country's.

This man is someone whom not only do I call a friend, but I admire everything he's been doing.

As far as I'm concerned, he's this year's MVP of poetry.

Please put your hands together and welcome to the stage Mr. Damian Rucci.

- [Audience] Woo!

[audience applauds] - [Alex] Now while we've been filming you, you came to a personal crossroads where you had to make a decision, work or poetry.

Can you tell us a little bit about that?

- [Damian] I had a job that I was at for quite a while cutting meat at a suburban grocery store.

And they told me that I had to choose the poetry game or working there, and I didn't even think for...

There was no thought process involved.

I walked right out the door.

And sacrifice has been part of this story because when I really believe in something, I go hard.

I'll sacrifice everything if I believe it's the right thing I should be doing at the time.

And the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance has been something that I've watched grow from this small little happening, to this massive spread of things.

There's so many shows and people.

And people need this, they tell me.

I get messages all the time how this has saved them and helped them, and they have friends for the first time, and they feel welcome.

And who am I to sacrifice that for $16 an hour?

You know?

So I knew it when I quit the job that it was gonna be a rocky road, but I've always felt in my life that if I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing at the time, it's the right thing to do, that the universal will take care of me.

Thank you.

[audience applauds] This is for the working people.

People actually have to do [censored].

I worked 64 days in a row and I asked my boss for a raise, and they said no.

I'm the only employee.

You know what I mean?

It's crazy.

It makes me think about things.

You can find honor wherever you look, doesn't matter what you're doing, if you're digging ditches.

Going home with your head held high is not some capitalistic trope.

There's something there.

There's something of urgency of the now of life.

This is about that.

- [Alex] Now, how would you describe your own poetry?

- I call them working class bar songs.

I write about the real things in life.

I write about love and I write about being broke and I write about wanting and yearning and loss and overcoming and all of these things.

And I dabble in metaphor and I do things, but I also try to speak directly.

I want the reader to be able to think that I'm just talking to him at the bar.

And then when they're seeing me live, I want them to think I'm shouting at them at the bar.

[Damian laughs] I just think that I have these things and I could decorate them with all these pretty words and I could write this really flowery prose, but I'm not speaking to the academic in the school, I'm not speaking to the poet, I'm speaking to the everyday person, speaking to the construction worker with paint stuck on his boots.

Poetry is for the beggar and the king.

And I think that my special point in all of this is to speak directly to those people.

Enough of this, and you cure the longing.

Enough of this, and you can find yourself building mountains out of piles of dust, building meaning from the endless despair.

But with this, we are not broken.

We are constellations of trauma and loss.

We are cogs in a sinister corporate machine.

We're doing just [censored] fine, man, until the drugs are gone.

But even swan souls have gentle melodies, so we hum and laugh and stumble over the words like it's not the only dance song we know.

We live by the golden rules of the ones who came before us.

What goes on in this room stays in this room, and you're not a junkie if you're wearing your work boots.

And that the counter in the closet is not for...

I was in a bunch of bands that didn't work out, and then I went into the poetry world, dabbled in it, but it was...

I didn't know who I wanted to be or what it was.

And that's when I got hit by the car.

There's this line in my life.

It's before car accident and after car accident.

It was 2015 and I was riding on my bike to work and I got smoked by a car really bad.

And that was the line that separated who I was before to who I am now because I lost everything I had.

Lost my apartment, my job, everything.

And I ended up having to move back into my grandma's trailer and I would just post poems on Facebook 'cause I couldn't walk.

And that's how I got dialed in to the whole poetry scene again, was just like me angry, writing poems, and not being able to walk in the back of a trailer.

It was rough because when I got hit by the car, they told me that I was gonna be disabled, fully disabled.

I might be able to walk again after a year or two.

I would need all this physical therapy.

They wanted me to pay for it, and I was angry.

I was very angry that my life had been very difficult up to that point.

And then here comes this car accident 'cause I didn't wanna drive to work.

I wanted to ride my bicycle 'cause it was nice out.

And I was so angry that I couldn't afford physical therapy.

So I would wait till my grandma would go to sleep and I'd steal her walker and I'd walk around the trailer park, teaching myself how to walk on two broken legs.

I taught myself how to walk again in two months.

And then I think it was those small accomplishments of realizing that I can take this anger and I could take the way I'm feeling and use it as fuel 'cause I got this horrible disease.

And it's like, watch me.

If you tell me I can't do something, it makes me wanna do it.

So I just, I think when I realized that I can overcome any physical thing through mind and through strength and overcoming, that it was just over.

And I realized that I was just writing poems and throwing them out there and that no one was gonna give me opportunities, right?

I wasn't pretty enough.

I didn't have enough money.

I didn't have all these things that these poets that I watched did.

But I could make it myself.

I was tired of knocking on the door.

So I realized that kicking a door off the hinge accomplishes the same thing.

So that's easier to do it that way.

We were born to drink our pain from the work nights, to climb outta the gutter where we were born to make the whole damn neighborhood proud, to greet each morning with our heads above our haunches.

The real truth is something that can't be spoken.

The sins of our fathers are scarred on our souls.

You can clean up your act, but your eyes will carry the burden.

And ours hold the stories that only come out at night when the party is over and our work boots are out and the liquor outweighs our reservations.

At twilight is when the dogs come out of the men, and we can curse the heavens and tilt our hats to hell.

And the silence that befalls us says it all.

[audience cheers] When I think from those moments of being stuck back there and having nothing, and your friends visit, and then they stop visiting, 'cause who wants to hang out with a guy who can't walk and who's stuck?

And I think all those things fueled me and set me on this path.

'Cause three months later I had a chapbook out.

Four months later I had my first poetry series start.

Five months out I was touring.

And the doctors were like, "Oh, it's gonna be two years till you can walk again."

Nah, I never got physical therapy once, just pure force of will.

And I think I've learned recently, well, over this whole period of time that force of will can get you pretty far.

[audience chattering] - All righty.

Check, check, check.

What's up everybody?

Welcome to Coffee and Words.

How are you doing?

Can you make some noise?

Go ahead and clap.

We gotta put out that sound over there.

So my name's Cord Moreski.

I'll be your host for tonight's poetry show and acoustic show.

I know that we haven't really done shows in a minute because of Father's Day, 4th of July weekend.

So it's good to be back, and I'm really, really excited.

Thank you all for coming out.

So the people that we have tonight, we got some really up and comers in the poetry scene that I've been seeing last couple of years.

And then we've got an up and comer in the acoustic scene too around here, who plays a lot of shows in Asbury.

- [Alex] Do you wanna first just introduce yourself?

- Yeah, sure.

My name's Cord Moreski, and I am a poet from New Jersey.

Someday I hope this poem finds you clocking out of a dead end job or during a television commercial when you're slouching on the sofa, between sip burns of coffee at a diner when you're feeling lonely, or after gazing at the star outside your bedroom window because something keeps you from falling asleep that night, to let you know that it'd be nice for you to finish that manuscript kept hostage in your dresser after all these years, to paint that canvas cooped in your attic collecting time, to take that road trip you swore would save your life, to find that smile that used to appear so naturally before it had to be forced.

Wherever you are, wherever it was, someday, I hope this poem finds you.

Thank you.

So besides being a writer, I am a teacher.

I teach seventh grade special ed and English and I've been doing that for eight years and I love it.

It's been a wonderful experience and I get to also bring this whole poetry life into the classroom, which is awesome.

I've had open mics in my school.

We do poem a week.

We read classics and stuff, but we also read small press poets 'cause kids relate more to that.

Yes, there's great classics, but some kids don't relate to people that have been dead for 500 years.

They relate more to the guy that's writing about packing a shelf or throwing out the trash 'cause maybe their parents do that or maybe they just, they know somebody that does that and it's relatable.

I wanna make sure poetry's not scary.

You don't need a GPS to get through a poem.

It doesn't always have to be so mysterious.

Sometimes it could be...

It's gotta be accessible.

That's how you communicate with somebody.

I don't know about the meaning of life, nor am I an expert on certainty.

But right now as I sit on my porch steps and stare at the moon clocking into another summer night in New Jersey, a few things are for sure.

This six pack of cold pale lager is the perfect remedy after working a 10-hour shift, and this sausage sandwich I have cooked with the only ingredients I could find in my kitchen is made with pure love.

And Chet Baker playing tenderly on my portable radio is bringing me to tears as I smile, then hum along to the rest of it beneath an audience of stars.

Yes, it's times like these I know I'm onto something.

[audience cheers] - Hi.

My name's Rebecca, and I'm not even sorry.

What?

I love you so much the moon howls your name.

I prove this by turning my back on you less than everyone else.

On Highway D, my boyfriend turns to me and says, "Hey, you're finally awake.

You've been asleep at the wheel the past five years and now that you're up, I can tell that you've always been this bad at driving.

You know, you've been talking to yourself this whole time.

You should have heard the things that you're responsible for.

There are so many things I never knew.

Sometimes it's like I've never known you at all."

But baby, I was born for this conversation.

Nobody knows just what's in a black hole.

Before I can explain this, he continues, "See, I love you before you change."

My name is Rebecca Weber.

I'm 29 and I've been doing poetry for about 17 years.

- [Alex] Now, how would you describe and identify yourself to other people?

- Sad.

I think that I really come off as sad genuinely.

And I think that I come off as aloof and a little bit far away.

But I'm really, I'm just trying to observe at all points.

And I think that I've always taken the role of the observer.

And I'm an incredibly shy person, and I think that for a lot of people, I come off as rude or abrasive or hard to approach, and that's really not the case.

I'm really just a really shy, quiet person and I'm really just trying to take everything in.

Wait for me in a crowd, and you never come back.

Come on, you've abandoned people before, people who meant more to you than I ever could.

But I'm not everyone else, and this is the easiest way to curse to you.

I declare it here and now.

Every time the moon is half full, you'll be reminded of my emptiness and your failure to stay under the limited light I cascaded you in.

While you're sleeping, your childhood home will burn down and you won't even care.

You never cared about anything except the ending.

And I swear to it that you'll never see closure again.

You took it for granted.

You painted it red.

You were so [censored] proud of yourself, weren't you?

You turned your face to me while you tell me what it feels like to be called heaven and then not.

Goodnight, honey.

I see you on your balcony.

You're mouthing the words to an apology I just won't hear.

No one wants to hear it.

I'm hanging myself from God's ceiling tonight, and you'll have to watch from the crowd.

I'll still be wishing you the best from this side of the dream.

I'll see you here when you deserve it.

And don't you ever forget, you're the one who ruined this forever.

Everyone knows their own truth, but you better know that my truth is the only one that matters to everyone else.

That's my apology.

Take it or leave it.

That's what I thought.

[audience cheers] - You're a poet.

- That's not true.

- Actually, for me myself... [crowd chattering] - Test.

What's up everybody?

Welcome to Voices in the Garden.

Let's make some noise.

[audience cheers] All right, the cats outta the bag, right?

They've been filming a TV show about the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance.

Now we're here filming our final performance.

That's pretty dope, ain't it?

The New Jersey Poetry Renaissance has rapidly changed from initially being a moment in time that we were celebrating, this coming back after the pandemic, to being this whole wild movement of working class and diverse voices.

Really for a long time there was poetry slams, which at one point were rebellious, which very quickly became a game of winning money, and everybody sounded the same.

And then the academic, which is the rich people in the university and the ivory towers.

And me and my friends never fit in.

And we didn't know what we were.

How do you define us?

We would say, "Oh, it's poets like us," to refer to who we were.

And all that came together in the last year.

And now there's people of all kinds.

There's construction workers that come in after work, there's college professors, people from bands.

It's this real thing where anyone can do poetry.

It's for the beggar and the king.

And we're all here now and we're not asking permission anymore to do these things.

We're just popping up and building culture.

[audience cheers] All right.

This feature is somebody who I began my poetry career with at a vegan bakery shop in Mattawan.

And we looked at each other.

We were like, "We are gonna change everything."

And here we are.

He is the host of Coffee and Words in the Asbury Park Boardwalk.

Make some noise for my brother Cord Moreski.

[audience cheers] - [Cord] But I think right now we're also in a time with everything that's going on in the world where people wanna hear something.

They wanna believe in something and they want to, they wanna be heard.

And I think that's really, really important to have that platform, that foundation for those people.

And I'm not saying it was...

It was different in a way back then.

There was no pandemic, there was no...

I mean, there was craziness still, but I feel like lately, it's just people who wanna be heard.

And yeah, it's just a lot of learn and burn, you know?

So I just wanted to say before I get started though, just thank you all for coming out to this.

10 years ago when we started this, I never thought I would see this, and it means everything to me.

It really does.

Thank you.

This one's called "Apartment Karaoke."

It's for my friend Katie Mattia, and I'm also gonna dedicate it to you guys because the beautiful thing about this community is that when you find people with a similar interest, you're a family, you're a community, It's bigger than all of us.

This is amazing, and I'm just taking it in.

This is for you.

They say the world is coming to an end sooner rather than later.

And I'm sure they're right.

But tonight is apartment karaoke.

After another double at the restaurant, after another missed family gathering, after another order ticket stabbed for people more comfortable than any of us will ever get the chance to know.

You let your hair splash along your shoulders while you sing to the company of insomniacs and dreamers, burnouts and believers, with Whitney Houston's "I wanna Dance with Somebody."

As your voice carries through the cloudy living room, like confetti in the wind, celebrating another night, we all forgot about death for just a little while.

[audience applauds] This one's called "Won't You Be My Neighbor?"

They resented us when we rented on their block, scoffed at my parents' occupations, made fun of our outdated cars, felt charitable after they purged old clothes from their closets that eventually became ours.

Now I see their kids all grown up like me at bars or on social media working the same tired jobs, driving the same model cars, feeling the same familiar pain.

But I know that if they ever ask for my help, I'd still give them their shirt off my back.

[audience cheers] I've been with this guy since everything.

We really started this together in a vegan bakery with like five people, and we never, ever thought it was ever gonna get this way.

Really.

The rejections and people just constantly pushing us away, we just kept going.

And we just said that if they can't...

If we couldn't come to your party, we're gonna make our own party.

And that's what we're doing right now.

It's a celebration.

And I love this dude so much.

We've gone on tour together.

We've had some heart to hearts.

And he's my brother, and I'm so proud of him, and I just want you guys to be really loud for this.

Please give it up for my boy, Damian Rucci.

[audience cheers] - Started at nip and tuck, and now we're here, right?

Listen, I wanna thank everybody for coming out.

It really means the world to me.

Could we make some noise for Steve Rogers and Alex Newman who have been filming us, following the New Jersey Renaissance?

After the pandemic, I came back rough.

And I had left the residency I was at in Missouri, and the pandemic had started, and I had spent years before with my buddies just bouncing around the road.

And looking back on those times, I felt like maybe we were too late to the party, right?

We were chasing some dead man's dream.

That version of America in poetics was gone.

But rapidly I found out that I think we were just early to this moment now because it went from doing these things where nobody cared, maybe five or six people, to now doing three to four or five shows a week packed to the walls, and everyone's just celebrating and singing words and snapping their feet to the rhythm of these things.

And the fervor that's grown has been nothing short of organic and also miraculous.

'Cause I did shows for a long time with no one there except for my mom.

To see people come out now and support, it's authentic.

We're here in this moment and we're doing it.

And we don't need a university to give us permission or a business to fund us.

We're just doing it now.

And this has just vibrated through and become this real weird moment that's occurring right now.

I guess you have me figured out.

I never shot the sheriff, but I sure as hell broke the toilet.

I've prowled empty streets for baggies of white trash divine.

I've breathed the Atlantic and I've cursed the sky.

I played Robinhood so we could eat, and I'm not sorry.

I'd do it again.

I've chased country sunsets, with never once thinking to look back towards home.

I went searching for myself and I got lost.

I've quit every job I've ever had.

I've spit in the face of convention and paid the price of your own indignation.

My head's been wet with the midnight dew.

My shoes have worn down from running away.

I swing for home runs every chance that I get.

And I know one day I'm gonna hit the ball.

I've rolled my boulders up and down suburban hills in search for honest men at twilight.

I traded my teeth just to get off.

Can you believe it?

My tooth fairy is a tweaker with a heart of gold.

I made best friends in fist fights and buried the myths I held sacred in unmarked graves in Indiana.

I've been rich in fleeting moments and so poor I couldn't afford to pay mind to any of your concerns.

I lost faith in myself and I found it right where I left it, under all of my baggage.

I walked into the belly of the beast and I came out with its head in my hands.

What I'm really trying to say is I don't regret a thing.

[audience cheers] - Dear brother, it's been a long time.

It's been a long, long time.

I've had a lot on my mind.

Our family, me and you been on my mind.

I've been so caught up in mind, I've neglected that you've been doing time.

Lost in time and time we lost.

Now we're back in time.

So no more hiding.

Now I can see it.

Now I can feel it.

Now we can heal it.

Big bro, on the real tip, I see you, I feel you.

I'm happy with you, with you in everything we've been through.

Conversation's overdue.

I'm just happy to say, big bro, I love you.

The man you became came from the man you became, becoming better and better.

Our relationship, better and better.

I meant everything I said because it reflects everything I say.

And I guess I forgot that we have the same blood.

What's in yours, also in mine.

Now we're back in time.

Five years strong.

Man, you got strong.

You came home with your head up high and your feet down low ready to go.

A new beginning for you, a new beginning for me.

We are now the brothers we were meant to be.

Big bro, family strong.

Remix a song, let go of the wrongs.

Our family's home.

Words never spoken, written in my heart.

Words never spoken, written in my heart.

Dear bro, time has passed.

That time has passed.

Our time is now.

I love you forever right now.

Unspoken letters spoken together.

Unspoken letters spoken together.

Mr.

Consistent, stay fly and stay fit.

Big bro, rest in power.

Rest in peace.

Thank you.

[audience applauds] - [December] Hello everybody.

I am December Atlas and I just wanna say that this moment right now is really, really awesome because this place is actually the first place I ever had my first feature.

[audience applauds] This is, it's got a piece of my heart.

Avena.

Hot water evaporating in tin thermoses, filling the staircase with a musk.

Reminders of the tights on the mattress, pink and green and uncomfortable.

Mother laid them out, said when I paid the bills, I could choose what to wear.

Polyester, suffocating thighs and waist, I tried to stay inside so my pores didn't cry and make a stink.

The smell of coffee knocked on the door, calling me down for breakfast, hand in hand with a Yaucono blend.

Marching down 14 steps, pulling it tight, this is my body.

Why can't I rule it?

A grunt, another wedgie and breakfast is almost ready.

Farina fills blue soup bowls we needed permission to use.

Cinnamon stalks and small talk are thrown around.

Today, go outside and explore.

The tights will keep the bugs out from trying to get a piece of me, but mother doesn't notice the men.

Amnesia sets in.

Losing memory of the tights, gangs of rocks are burrowed in my elbows and knees after falling off jungle gyms and refusing to use alcohol to sanitize.

She says, "Your body, my choice."

Today I fill the thermoses and grind my teeth.

Frustration fills the Bluetooth.

News channels have permission to share it.

Cinnamon stalks and small talk are thrown around.

I'll go outside today and explore.

Nothing will keep the boys from trying to get a piece of me, and they won't let me forget why we don't wear tights.

When gangs try to bury their elbows and knees in teens after falling off jungle gym, and he refuses to let them sanitize.

Water filling glasses for blue pills they need permission to use.

The smell of them staining their clothes brought them down.

Hand in hand with the idea of grinding on junior, he goes down, pulling on tights.

A grunt, another wedgie, and they're almost ready.

Latex lacking for suffocation of pleasure.

Now double lines crossed and uncomfortable.

This mother laid on the mattress, remembering the tights, trying to keep the tears inside as the smell of aborted choice paints the walls, fills the staircase with questions evaporating and heated debates of my body, their choice.

[audience applauds] - [Ras] I am the stone that should forever be refused.

I am the fiasco fabricated, attempting to take shape behind the facade of pretty poems.

I am the pretty that is poison.

I'm the cautionary tale told about poets.

I am the shine that will blind you.

Please take caution.

Take care is all I have to spare for you, is the allure of things, the charm of the sirens, a price tag that you'll ultimately wish that you could not afford, a perfume that will never amount to more than the stench of bad memories.

I am the mourning after the party.

M-O-U-R-N-I-N-G.

I am the mourning after the party.

Something like what is left behind from destructive combinations of ill intentions and wrong decisions, I am ambition unhinged.

I'm the binge that does not sleep.

I'm a crude apology forever unable to weep.

I am a coming storm, sick of its own forecast, a lasting trauma with the talent for leaving impressions upon the life you used to know.

I wasn't asked for and I knew it.

Great republics have fallen because of me.

Families have been introduced to carnage because of my sword's search for glory, a story told for thousands of years that still ends in the same bloody mess, blessed and obsessed with the power to rearrange your calendar.

I can assure you, your days are numbered should you decide not to heed my warnings.

I'm worn out.

My eyes will swallow more than bones can carry.

My liver can tell you stories that my leaders would shame.

My name has been many things across the years, though it has never really mattered.

They say all is fair in love and war.

But what they always fail to tell you is that semantics is all that ever really separates the two.

What they always fail to tell you is there is no act amongst mortals that can't be summarized as an act of one or an act of the other.

What they always fail to tell you is that all that decides which is which is where you were standing when the sword is unsheathed.

What they always fail to tell you is that inevitably, without a doubt, whatever you love will always find a way to break you.

What they always fail to tell you is there are no winners in war.

All that's left from the siege are the dead and the traumatized, the dead and the traumatized, the dead and the traumatized.

I tell you, I am the stone.

Ask Goliath about my damage.

Ask Deebo what a brick can do.

Ask them both how dirt tastes.

Ask them both if the sleep is any more peaceful after the fall.

Ask yourself if you are really, really ready to cast the die and risk it all on a stone already warning you to never entrust it with your dreams.

Never build your sandcastles upon me because when the battle lines have been broken, and the sun rise has come to greet the earth at dawn, all that will be left are the dead and the traumatized, the dead and the traumatized, the dead and the [censored] traumatized.

Thank you.

[audience applauds] - Keep it going for Ras Heru.

[audience cheers] All right.

This next poet is somebody I've known very well.

The first thing she said to me was, "Do all the girls you meet pick you up at the Dairy Queen by the trailer park?"

And that was seven years ago, and we spent our entire twenties doing the poetry thing.

We got kicked out of a cult together, and then we started the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance.

Please make some noise for one of the most talented poets in New Jersey, Rebecca Weber.

[audience cheers] - [Alex] Can you tell me a little bit about your connection to Damian and Cord?

- So I met Damian via the internet in I think 2016 or something.

His page online didn't even say that he lived in New Jersey.

But I had just gone through a really bad breakup, and I had always written poetry, and then I stopped when I was dating that person.

So I had messaged him because he had mentioned that he was into poetry or whatever, and I was just like, "Oh."

I just wanna connect with anybody in the entire world about this.

And we would talk really just about poetry.

And then I was like, "Oh, where are you from?"

And he was like, "Oh, I'm from Hazlet."

And I was like, "Hazlet, like past Middletown, New Jersey, Hazlet?

Right there, Hazlet?"

I was like, "Why have we not hung out?

Let's hang out."

And immediately once we started hanging out, we were like, "Let's do this poetry thing.

Let's bring it to the people.

Let's get it together."

And he was like, "Well, I've been trying to do these things with this guy Cord."

And then he introduced Cord and I, and we really hit it off immediately.

And the three of us really were just like, let's do this.

[audience applauds] Hi everyone.

My name is Rebecca.

I am irresponsible, I am unlikeable.

I am permanently mentally ill and permanently exhausted and I'm scared of the future.

And for the next 10 minutes, that's your problem.

[laughs] [audience laughs] - My poetry is not for the pure of heart, and these are things I learned the hard way.

When you let your fingernails grow, dirt will find its way underneath them.

And every place you call home will turn into a person.

People are only good for leaving, so you must leave first.

Words are confusing when you use too many.

You'll never find the right ones anyway.

There will be moments when the silence is sufficient.

Remember this, they'll hurt you, and then they'll tell everyone how hurt you are.

They'll tell you the sun is shining and they'll laugh when you admit that you can't feel it.

When you laugh with them, laugh the loudest for your sake or someone else's.

Don't write it off as a fairytale before you know the ending.

Even the holiest of books ends with the reckoning.

These are things I learned the hard way.

I would do anything to make sure it doesn't happen to you.

I didn't go through all of this for nothing.

Someday you'll learn time soothes pain, and then asks it to go.

Someday you'll learn pain doesn't always say yes.

[audience applauds] I have one more poem for you guys.

I really wanna thank all of you for coming out and listening and for all of you for just being a little bit damaged 'cause you wouldn't be here if you weren't.

Yay.

[audience applauds] This poem is called "Soft Violence," and it's for everybody here.

I think.

No, I know.

I trust this house less than the people in it.

Three tiered and delicate, glass fronted and getting too hot from the same sun I refuse to believe Icarus threw himself into, yearned and then died for.

Honey, what's the harm in watching the first eclipse of the year?

I have and was blinded immediately, bathed in white, all electric and lost.

Will the damage be irreversible when I find myself on the other side of the mountain and no better climbing as a result?

In the unkind darkness, there's nothing to ache for, no burning star to throw myself into.

What kind of soft violence is it that the call is coming from inside the house, but every time I pick up there's nobody there.

There's no threats of harming the children.

Just the reminder that nobody calls, not in this late of the spring.

And it's all my fault.

Thanks guys.

[audience cheering] - Keep it going for Rebecca Weber.

All right, I'm gonna do one more.

That's how I usually end things.

So why not do it like this?

It's called "Y'all Were Just the Pregame."

Some say life is like a river, and we're floating from the womb to our caskets.

You always try to hold on, but we all drift away from each other.

So it's best to sit on your hands and watch the world just pass you by.

Watch the breeze greet grasses you'll never step on.

Watch the gulls dance in cryptic sea foam winds.

But some say life is like a race car, and nirvana can only be found with the wind on your face, with a stampede beneath your sternum, gulps of breath are milestones to completion, life can end in a second, and any second without the thunder of release is too long, that the devil will get his due as soon as we get ours.

But some say life is what you make of it, that men should build monuments outta their bones, to stack boulders on their shoulders until they break the heavens, another obelisk smited by our own limitations.

And we all fall short, and we all die just a little more alone.

I want the last taste on my tongue to be the bitter lightning of adrenaline, to have the hair on my arms marching to the drum of my screaming heart, to feel the wind beat these hollow bones like it was the chorus of cherub angels.

You'll know that y'all were just the pregame, that life can end in a second.

And when that second finally takes me, just know I [censored] deserved it.

[audience cheers] All right, thank you.

We're gonna do a 10-minute break.

In 10 minutes we are gonna start the open mic portion.

So you gotta use the bathroom, you gotta call someone or something.

- [Alex] How important do you feel the open mic element is to these readings in regards- - [Damian] It's the most important.

Yeah, I think the open mic is the holy part of the night.

Because the features are the show, right?

So when people show up to the show, they show up to see the features, and these are people of whatever note.

Their names are on the flyer, right?

But it's the open mic where anything could happen because the mic's open, right?

You could have people come in and cause chaos.

You could have people come in and you've never seen them before, and they're just walking off the street.

And maybe after a couple of drinks, they feel courageous and then they drop a poem that's heavy and wild and they never did it before.

So it's this real special time where the freedom of the open mic allows anything to happen.

So I scout all my talent from the open mic 'cause I wanna see how you do it.

I don't wanna see...

If your poem's great on the page, that's awesome.

And if you can perform well in person, that's awesome.

But I wanna see both.

I wanna see how that works together.

So I watch all the open mics, write people's names down on my phone to contact.

It's a real serious part of the show for me.

[audience applauds] [soft music] - All right.

Y'all know what it is.

When I say evolu, y'all say culture.

Evolu.

- [Audience] Culture.

- Evolu.

- [Audience] Culture.

When I say Jersey, y'all say poetry.

Jersey.

- [Audience] Poetry.

- Jersey.

- [Audience] Poetry.

When I say poetry, y'all say renaissance.

- Poetry.

- [Audience] Renaissance.

- Poetry.

- [Audience] Renaissance.

- Awesome.

Give it up for yourselves one time.

Thank you very much.

- This for everybody who's stuck in a rut, who's haunted, thinks they're moving backwards or are going nowhere.

You're not.

- You don't have to be good for me to love you, said the poet to the poem.

- This poem is not important.

It is not a masterpiece.

- So let us step back to the whines of whispering pines, whispering times of when we thought the times were better.

- So I turned up the radio so I don't have to think about the people waiting for me to make it home tonight.

- This poem is not a sign of genius.

It did not spring from any great insight.

- You know you grew up when the best high is to feel like you know what you're doing in life, when you're only 28, but 25 feels like you lived in a different time, a different place.

- I wish I could protect you from the evils of this world.

How I weep knowing you will be rejected over and over and over and over.

- This poem will not be published in "The New Yorker."

It will be rejected by magazines of a literary thoughtful bent.

- A man will pay your rent for a month so he doesn't have to talk about his feelings or his cold wife.

- Just a disclaimer, I'm pretty, even if I paint my face with colors that are witchcraft illusions to you.

- I will give you a home and I will keep you safe because I know that in time, you will join other magnificent works of art as you help to heal the broken.

- My sixth grade health teacher told me alcohol was poison.

She didn't tell me it worked so slow.

- But know this, please.

Regret is poison, my father told me.

So don't let pity cap your knees.

You're a work in progress, the granddad of a masterpiece.

- My thighs glistening in my denim shorts are not a yearning.

Yes, that's spelled capital N-O.

The slits on my wrist don't mean I'm crazy or hormonal.

Just like anyone with tattoos, I like the triumph of my pain to be forever etched into my skin.

My Afro, Latina, Boricua and Jamaican roots are not your spicy hot tamale, mamacita, linda, tu quieres.

[chuckles] - And it's always the lonely ones who leave you first, leave before you can leave them.

You don't realize and neither do they.

That's what they're running from and that's exactly what they're running toward.

Baby, you paid for the afternoon.

We can go anywhere.

Baby, you paid for the room.

Bury your ghosts there.

- Whether measuring time on a clock or time in a cup, we are always left seasoned, chilled by the wintry breeze, winding winds in winding woods, wintering together the woulds and the coulds, while we find ourselves still wearing the same old sweater with the half ripped hood.

- I want your grandma's engagement ring from the war, something that means something, something with history for our future.

I want the cottage by the sea.

I want the white wraparound porch, the swing, 2.5 kids, you decide which half you want, Sunday family dinner, a yard and a garden and a dog.

I give them all what they ask for.

I wanna live my own fantasy.

Who do I gotta pay for that?

- My tank top and exposed shoulders are not a distraction.

Why are you even looking?

Mr.

Professor, Mr.

Principle, Mr.

Neighbor, Mr. Stranger, Mr.

Congressman, I was never asking for it.

And my uterus is not your territory to row or wade in.

Thank you.

[audience cheers] - This poem is every poem in every open reading.

This poem is the anonymous poem buried in an unmarked grave.

This poem gives strength to the weak.

This poem joins a tumble of verse going back until the first word.

This poem is not ashamed, does not mind telling the bare facts, looks unflinching at death, sees mystery in human suffering, hopes for a bigger truth.

This poem denies truth, loosens its tongue after another drink.

This poem can overcome any mere circumstance, will wrestle anyone, fears nothing.

This poem is the greatest.

This poem flies like a butterfly.

This poem stings like a bee.

This poem outlives poetry.

This poem doesn't need a rhyme.

This poem can never die.

This poem is everything and knows everything is poetry.

This poem lays down at night.

This poem breathes hard going up the stairs.

This poem is diabetic, has retinopathy.

This poem has a bad kidney.

This poem is a worm.

This poem is a flower that never bloomed.

This poem is confused.

This poem does not pledge allegiance.

This poem is a pacifist.

This poem cries.

This poem acknowledges the worth of all other poetry.

This is not for a slam.

This poem isn't competing.

This poem looks at the stars and wonders.

This poem has no job.

This poem is not a member of any organization, doesn't have the price of admission.

This poem takes the train.

It has no etiquette.

This poem arrives late, rubbing its hands, laughing.

[audience cheers] - [Alex] Why do you feel that this local New Jersey poetry scene is so important?

- I genuinely think it's the wild, rampant, positive apathy.

I think it's just the lack of caring.

I think it's the, this darkly whimsical, strange circus of people that have all come together.

It really is, when you look out at the crowd, it's really mostly just social rejects.

And they're all wonderful, wonderful people.

But it's all this feeling of here we are together, and let's just enjoy each other's company.

And there's very little...

I mean, of course, there's always drama in any social group.

I mean, university group of theater kids, you know what I mean?

There's gonna be drama wherever things like this go.

But for the most part, there's just such a sense of community that has really sparked other smaller communities popping up.

And people come out and they say, "I want this where I am."

And to foster love where you find it and to let it grow out from you isn't really something I think you see often in poetry scenes.

And that's why I really think what we're doing here is something special.

- [Alex] Wow.

I know Damian and Cord answered in a very, very similar way, which I think just goes to show the importance and the cohesiveness of everybody in the movement.

- At the end of the day, the poetry is great.

The artists, the people that are coming out of this are so talented, and the work that they're doing will shape poetry forever.

But it's beyond that and it's bigger than that.

And it's the community itself.

- [Alex] What does the future of this movement look like to you?

- National.

Yeah.

This moment in time, the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance, has rapidly showed me that this is just, we just hit a goldmine of how to do this and be authentic and be present and no elitism.

And people from around the country have been watching this movement grow from social media this whole year.

And what I found now is that we're bringing it outside.

And I'm working with people around the country, especially in St. Louis, the poetry revolution they have out there, which is like us, but St. Louis.

I've been talking to a lot of people around the country for 2023's the year when we're gonna drive this to the masses in a huge way.

So that's what we're gonna do.

[gentle upbeat music] - Superficially secluded is a such a fragile word.

- How else can one explain a firecracker?

- I am the program.

- [Alex] What started with a single poetry reading for us... - You're new to me, but you remind me- - [Alex] Turned into a year of hearing, of healing.

- I am a person.

- [Alex] Of being together with other creatives, storytellers, poets.

- And I am moon shine on a Saturday evening.

I'm the stormy rain and I reign over this world.

I am the supreme in secrets unseen, but not invisible.

Just inconspicuous.

- [Alex] People who aren't afraid of two things that terrifies most of us, being in front of a crowd and making yourself vulnerable.

- A decade after your departure, I'm still dealing with the debris of the fallout.

My contamination has now taken center stage, and it will take more than a couple years to recoup.

But I continue.

- [Alex] Following months, years of isolation, we were made better by gathering at these soulful expressions, by listening and appreciating another person's perspective and truth.

We're all made better by thinking about the things they said, spoken as if our peace of mind depended on it.

- Is what you get.

- The future beholds the possibility of you.

So you are my poetry.

- Depression defeating the purpose of pressing on.

Deep depression's depth perception, obsessive death impression, steps of deepest depth of depression, but depression is pressing on.

Duh, press on!

- So to these shows we keep coming 'cause iron helps iron sharpen.

And we sing each other's praises so that we can all be treated like kings.

[audience cheers] - [Alex] Where does the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance go from here?

With most great movements, most literary moments in time, it isn't the first moment at all, but every subsequent one that determines its significance.

It isn't the first person that gets up and tells their secret.

It's the inspiration others get from it, and if they get up themselves.

And by that indicator, this movement, this moment is alive and well.

Time will tell.

Until then, find your local poetry reading and support your local poets.

You'll be glad you did.

[raw upbeat music] ♪ We are exactly what you see ♪ ♪ Bruised and scraped up knees ♪ ♪ Still we find our way ♪ ♪ Some come ♪ ♪ As quickly as they go ♪ ♪ Some choose their own roads ♪ ♪ Still they find their way ♪ ♪ And I lost how hard it is to lose ♪ ♪ Break through whichever one you choose ♪ ♪ You will find your way ♪