Every first Tuesday of the month, a group different ages and backgrounds gather to express themselves with words. They might not be friends or colleagues, but every one of them has something in common – they are poets. The Boheme, 2900 West St., encourages this with the Ames Poetry Slam.

The night starts off with a noncompetitive open mic session, a warm up for those who need to get their thoughts out. As fans grow rowdier, host Martin Teply, systems support specialist in English, decides it’s time to begin the slam. After downing an Irish car bomb, he initiates the ritual with a sacrificial good luck poem. He announces the first poet, or victim, to the judging panel.

The slam consists of three rounds of competitive poetry reading. Poets are given three minutes each round to present their poems. The slam panel, consisting of five judges, then rates the poet on a scale of one to 10 -10 being highest and almost impossible to receive. The poet with the best average at the end of the night wins. Teply assures the poets to remain fearless.

“Boo the judges, praise the poets,” he says.

Prizes are awarded to the top three poets, and the overall winner receives the Nick Van Berkum poster. Van Berkum, a graphic designer, creates original posters for the slams.

Beginning slammer Aaron Wiegert, junior in English, skipped the open mic session and made his way into the competitive slam. He currently writes about problems he sees in the world, hoping his words will someday make a difference.

“I get to say what’s on my mind, and express myself,” Weigert says.

Others have taken to the slam stand multiple occasions, becoming regulars and crowd favorites. Previous champion Josh Boyd strides to the mic with confidence and loud audience applause. Pain seems to be Boyd’s motto throughout the night, although he says progress and Anne Sexton’s poetry inspire him.

“We’d love to see more people get involved,” he says. “It’s a great way to express yourself, and in a variety of different ways.”

Poetry sometimes evokes visions of sappy lyrics and pity-me rhymes. Few poets at the slam aimed to rid themselves of personal baggage. Instead, poets chose subjects ranging from explicit pornography to evil tribal men. Manic hand gestures, a slow cigarette drag and a stuffed bear named Bobo were all added to heighten the intensity of the poet’s lyric.

The poems weren’t the only elements to take on personas. The Boheme had its own unique environment as well. As smoke and espresso wafted through the air, stained glass windows and impressionist paintings were shining behind the warm dim light. Soft couches, parlor chairs and cushioned bar stools welcomed any guest – poet, listener, heavy drinker or otherwise.

Although I have not made many public appearances, I managed to build up enough courage to read at open mic. I was nervous and initially intimidated, but was encouraged by fellow poets surrounding me. I felt confident with my poem, considering the “Boo the judges, praise the poet,” atmosphere. I ended up stammering, losing the spot on my page and using a consistent meter comparable to Dr. Seuss. My fans still applauded, knowing I was a beginner who had tried her best. I smiled and felt amazing the rest of the night. I may not be a poet, but on the first Tuesday of the month, I can be.