Radiation Writing

Kat Writes a Poem

Writing Poetry

I got a fever…

I hate poetry.

Scratch that.

I don’t get poetry.

It’s never been my forte. It always seems like a jumbled, cryptic, random form of writing.

But every now and then, I get inspired enough to create my own jumbled piece of poetry. Usually because I experience something that’s better said without words all together.

In this case, a jumbled mess of words and flashes of imagery just about perfectly capture the night I had at a local music venue here in Lafayette, LA: The Blue Moon Saloon. It’s one of those places that people from back home, people who have been here, will ask you about when you tell them about your trip to Louisiana. You won’t want your answer to be, “Huh? Never heard of it.” You’ll want your response to be a freakin’ poem — an ode to an epic night of debauchery that starts with a kiddie pool and a foam machine, and ends with the lead singer shouting from the top of Jay Steiner’s shoulders and half-naked hippie chicks bringin’ it on home on stage.


So here it is.

The one…

The only…

Poem I’m likely to write this year.



Trance inducing swamp pop

Slide-guitaring into blues

Freebird and La Grange

Floating through the air like foam through a fan

Aztecan Hurricane Dan

Puffing cigs into a microphone


A shamanic blessing from Jimmy Two-Squaws

And the show really gets started

Lucy in the sky, Mary Jane, Stella Artois

A Marlboro pirate, man

Summer’s gone

But the thrill’s still here


Floaties, inner tubes, and plastic leis

Squeezing and squeaking in the hot air

Wrapped around bodies

Wrapped around minds

It’s tops off and bottoms up

Blue Moon is upside down


Glowing butts and Dasani waterfalls

Keep ‘em comin, Babe

Handkerchief dresses sway in the front row

Photography cougars in the back

Calling all catins to the stage

Bonsoir Anya, these crazy mother fuckers can sing

About the Author Kathryn

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