It was a snowy night in DC last night, but guerrilla poets nonetheless came from far & wide — including George Washington University, from which students Ellen and Kevin rolled through — to rock the mic at Bossa. Meanwhile, a crew of stray guerrillas rocked rhymes in Hollywood, while the SF crew did a round of interviews for a forthcoming newspaper story in the San Francisco Chronicle.

On a wintry Tuesday night in Adams-Morgan….

Damian got up above the ugly stuff and decided to enjoy the ride for awhile;

Carlo derided charlatans (“So it’s a bloody tree of life, is it?”) while surprised that such good wine would follow such wretched swine;

Ellen let hate fall by the wayside and spit rhymes like magnets to rattle human batteries and keep our ideals from surrendering and falling into the bottom drawer;

Metaphysical and unstoppable Kevin disregarded iambic pentameter and crashed political parties fashionably late;

Shahid wondered whether Mo wonders whether Damian’s crazy, and suggested the cultural flood of the 20th century offers possibilities for the 21st if we simply stop and talk to one another;

Little Mo channeled our dear Brady Chalmers, now in Chicago (GPI field trip, anyone?);

Damian searched for Sidney Poitier;

Ellen derided virtual pokes and people who suggest that IWBHL (I will be home later);

Kevin was narcissistic, ugly at best (just kidding!);

Mo recalled his friend Billy’s smile and lamented wars lining the pockets of the profits of a system astray;

Carlo spit (several times, and actually apologized for getting carried away) at You, who make the world an arena;

Shahid asked why your taxpayer dollars are still going to torturers and war criminals;

Ellen hated to turn all feminist when receiving a compliment but found it foolish that appetizers at a vegan restaurant count as a dinner date;

Mo said something…

Shahid crooned the Bagram Blues while his voice cracked like a 10-year old male soprano’s; and

Damian explained that American media wants us all to be criminals and declined an offer for American charities to arrogantly stare at us.

We’ll be at it again next month, on Tuesday, February 8.  Come kick it if you have something to share…or if you just need a dose of inspiration to chase down the day’s news!

Twas the last GPI in 2010 and all throughout Bossa…

Newcomers and GPI veterans alike rocked out the night, followed by an awesome and lyrically inspiring set by Fourth Stream.

What I heard…

Gowri OPP’d violently at the neo-hippie douchbags telling her about gaia and her aura.

Carlo cockneyed about Jesus the rebel and his many exploits (if ‘e’s resurrected, where the fuck is ‘e?).

Jonathan spoke of the girl who pinned the tail on his donkey.

Shahid took the green out of the pipes of the politicians and put it into the pockets of the people.

Jeff called throughout the land for Lord Flulffybottom and his cleaning tail.

Damian told the donut eatin’ bastards to choke on that shit.

Lyndi asked Israel/Palestine…Peace process, peace process, why you call it that? Peace process, peace process, are you smokin’ creack?

Thomas recited the stuff of fairy tales…great ambitions of great sold men, let slowly simmer the smoldering regret.

Zack is into flowetic turnin’ potentials into kinetic shit.

Marcos had us all singing with glee at choir practice last night.

Laura got caught up on fallen branches and was grabbin’ grayfish by the tail.

Ashley pieced together magazine clippings of her mind.

Jessica put flames under everyone’s butts and called out the virgins.

…All in all, it was a fantasic, inspiring night. See you out at the next one!

– J