Poetry Slamming or Slamming Poetry?

I attended a poetry slam this week.  Had a nice time, laughed a lot, ingested too much caffeine.  Listened to a Dear Soul mumble through a short account of her bicycle ride through downtown traffic, about 250 words.  Saw two performances of Free Verse with much gesturing and an occasional shout, 3 minutes apiece.  Listened to one sonnet, which rhymed and said nothing.  

And one funny, anguished, rhythmic, alliterative poem.  Hot damn! 

I'm not one of those persons who claims with dewy eyes that poetry is "worthy", that it is "important" or that I learned or was taught to "love" it.  I just like the stuff.  I like to read it silently, in English, Spanish or French, for the sensual pleasure of its poetic elements and the subtle discoveries of layered sense.  Often I take T.S.Eliot to bed with me, or Ogden Nash ("How old is Spring, Miranda?").  

But let's get real: a Poetry Slam--which judges a work 95% on performance and 5% on the work that's performed--does not encourage the poet or poetry.  In fact, I can say from a great deal of experience that what a Poetry Slam encourages is loud harangues on material which usually would be better left unsaid.  Truly.  I mean, I do not care whether your lover left you, whether you had a lousy deal from your boss, or etc. etc.  I care about, well, poetry.  An idea, deftly expressed so that there are layers of meaning and the more you read the sucker the more you're likely to find something else that touches your, the reader's, feeling.  

So why do I attend a Poetry Slam?  Same reason I keep talking to strangers: someday I may discover something I like.  

And I adore coffee houses.