Conference Killer - A rough poem

I was recently at a philosophy conference, when a poem struck me. After listening to one gloriously presented lecture, a second lecturer took the spotlight. Well... the rest is in the poem.


Conference Killer

The battlefield set - pitting academic against academic

In a conference, competition: who will win the day?

One skillful warrior completes his task,

the crowd eager to continue the fight

A second must be given his chance

awkwardly he sits reading, his notes becoming crumpled

as he foams at the mouth with excitement

not stopping to wipe away the spittle,

weapon wildly wielded: the mind has learned, the tongue has not

slurring well thought words with a foreign sound

Inertia gone, the crows loses interest

their eyes roaming the room like prowling cats

avoiding mutual acknowledgement of boredom

others politely look attentive, leaning forward in their seats

willing themselves to not be revealed, a yawn giving them away

Few have the endurance to outlast the incomprehensible

the lecturer surfaces from his berserking on the field

the sole survivor in the slaughter of interest

Yes, I know it's rough, but I'm having a hard time moving on it. And I'm not kidding about the spittle. The second stanza is almost reporting. Of course, so is the third. Anyways. There is some writing for the day.