The Great Word Regatta with Shawn Aveningo-Sanders, Michael Schein, Annie Lighthart and Matthew Brouwer

Saturday, July 16^th 7pm

Rose City Book Pub
1329 NE Fremont St.
Portland, OR 97212

Come hear four restive writers bring life to hallowed Portland pub space through their wily and resplendent words. Opened by the briefest of open mics and followed by the pouring of libations. No cover, but please support your venue that so kindly hosts poets and other weirdos at no charge. Vaccination required.

Michael Schein wrote Liquid Perishable Hazardous (2019) (poetry), John Surratt: The Lincoln Assassin Who Got Away (2015) (historical), The Killer Poet’s Guide to Immortality by AB Bard (2012) (hysterical), historical novels Bones Beneath Our Feet (2011); Just Deceits (2005). Schein edited Poets UNiTE! The LiTFUSE Anthology (2015). His poetry appears in many journals and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize three times. Schein is the founder of LiTFUSE Poets’ Workshop (litfuse.us), & has taught at Port Townsend Writers Conference, Write on the Sound, and elsewhere. Spirits inhabit earth and sky. Poetry is everywhere. Write on! michaelschein.com.

Shawn Aveningo-Sanders grew up in Missouri and after a bit of globetrotting finally landed in Portland, Oregon. Her recent chapbook, What She Was Wearing, tells her #metoo story that took 30 years to reveal. Shawn’s work has appeared worldwide in over 160 literary journals and anthologies, including Calyx, Amsterdam Quarterly, American Journal of Poetry, Timberline Review, VoiceCatcher, and Poets Reading the News. She’s a Pushcart nominee, Best of the Net nominee, co-founder of The Poetry Box press, as well as managing editor for The Poeming Pigeon. Shawn is a proud mother of three and shares the creative life with her husband, Robert. (More at RedShoePoet.com and ThePoetryBox.com)

Annie Lighthart is an Oregon writer and teacher who began writing poetry after her first visit to an Oregon old-growth forest. Poems from her books Pax and Iron String have been featured on The Writer’s Almanac and in various anthologies, including How to Love the World and Poetry of Presence. Annie’s work has been turned into music, used in healing and meditation projects in Ireland, England, and New Zealand, and has traveled farther than she has.

Blending music, poetry, wit and wisdom from his tangled poetic journey, Matthew Brouwer weaves together a unique and unforgettable poetry experience that has been charming audiences for over a decade. Bridging the worlds of spoken word and literary poetry, he has performed throughout the US and been featured in numerous literary, visual and performance arts showcases. He has a new chapbook The Gospel According to Matthew which you should purchase before it is buried forever by the sands of obscurity and time.

The post The Great Word Regatta (July 16, 2022) appeared first on The Poetry Box.

Please enjoy today’s selection: “Creative Writing 101” by Matthew Lane Brouwer, which appears in Verse on the Vine Anthology:

Creative Writing 101

I forget I know anything about writing poetry

I forget I have written 500 poems

I forget there is a box beneath my bed
with twenty dusty journals in it

I forget the binders in my desk
where I have stockpiled poems
like ICBM’s

I forget my transcript has a line on it which reads
“Creative Writing”

I forget I know the definitions of terms like
heroic couplet and nonrestrictive clause

I forget there is an open mic

I forget there is a darkened room
where I have read 50 times

I forget that there are 50 people in it
with the candlelight of expectation in their eyes

I forget the compliments I have received
I forget that I would like to receive more

I forget the title of the book I’m writing in my head

I forget the vision of seeing it on some Barnes and Noble shelf

I pour my breaths into a glass with ice in it
and sip them slowly like vermouth
I study the whiteness of the walls

until the minutes halt their drip
I ask the poem if it thinks it knows
who I am

and it replies

I am not a birth certificate
nor the name written in the blank

I am not a bottle of formaldehyde
in which to place the heart

I am not the scalpel
nor the surgeon’s well-trained hands

I am not a magistrate
nor the stone of his decrees

I am the pavilion through which the breeze
might freely blow

I am the hardwood floor
on which the wedding parties dance

I am the mesh through which the sun
can peek its skull

I am the lattice up which the climbing vine ascends

I am the dissipation of the cloud
into tiny drops of rain

I write down the last shape
I think it takes

Put out an empty glass
wait to see what it collects

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