The winners were a handful, but you cannot fault any of the 17 contestants. Each winning their moment in the (shining intensely) spotlight.

The eve of the Bellingen Poetry Slam brought a full house to the Memorial Hall. The whole town came down to listen to local poets express their current state of being. The night had its first Autumn chill in the air. Us poets shiver from the cold, or nerves, difficult to tell, yet, enthusiastic as we stood ready to register our names at the ticket booth. 17 of us went through to the round. The stage was ours for the evening.

So many faces walk through the doors, lit up by the soft hall light, more and more as the chairs fill. Zohab Zee Khan takes centre stage with his facetious wit, taking on the crowd, lifting spirits with rhyme, bellows and chuckles and throwing of Minties to pick our three other judges for the night; light-hearted fun. Zohab’s presence made me eagerly await a chance to hear his poetry recited. Will he? He did, in three, and made us stomp and click to the acknowledgment the state of our globe was in, of the racism he has felt, and sighs followed from the love story so delicately addressed to a person of beauty he beheld.

Poets, each create a night of deep, sensory exploration with words of activism, love, loss, ordinary days and objects, extraordinary moments, tales of mothers, fathers, grandmothers, and lovers, furry creatures of our Australian dream, the Divine and the unseen. Expressed slowly, surely, with tears and laughter, all a visual sound-scape delivered directly to the audience’s imagination who feel and share with us, every moment. The emotions are felt, and in Bellingen style any words against the government held the highest sounds from our receptive audience.

To have your fellow community members cloaked in darkness during performance, with only the intense spotlight shown in your eyes; it is just you on that stage. Microphone and stand and light whilst your words fill the room to a seemingly empty space. The darkness making its presence known through clicks, stomps, laughs and sighs. Only to be lit and revealed during judging, bringing form back into the room.

The winners were a handful, but you cannot fault any of the 17 contestants. Each winning their moment in the (shining intensely) spotlight.

My own experience on stage, well, a challenge. A challenge to myself once again that I can do this, with all the fear that holds me back I turn myself away from that narrative of fear, getting up on stage to share words of creation. Prior to the night, returning back to registration time outside, I even had to convince another of my fellow wordsmiths to get up on stage, and she did, delivering a sultry piece of lustful yearning for the boy-next-door, only to cross the line if the end of time was upon us.

It is nerve wrecking to say the least, to expose such vulnerability to your own home, your own community. Nonetheless, the blessing in it all was when a dear friend said to me that she would love to get on stage next year, and have had written one poem. All of us witness to her declaration of courage towards wanting to perform at the poetry slam, we all chime “One is where you start, go for it!”