A powerful poem decrying an estranged father is fresh. The whole premise of slam poetry—performing your innermost thoughts in contemporary beats—is fresh. And their performance in the Grand Slam of the South Bay Teen Slam League? Definitely fresh.

Fremont won the event in 2003 and supplied two of the four high school teams competing in this year's Grand Slam on April 30, a testament to the popularity of an activity that didn't even exist on campus two years ago.

Library technician Ruben Zamora became interested in slam poetry as he was recruiting artists to appear on campus, one of whom was Marc Pinate, who won a national championship in 1999 as part of the San Jose team.

Zamora quickly found a group of willing students who discovered a calling in slam poetry, enough to supply two teams of four and several alternates this school year. The group, a mixture of ages, ethnicities and clothing styles, meets Tuesdays at lunch and practices in the library after school for upcoming performances.

When asked why he's a part of the slam poetry team, 16-year-old T.J. Senot swiftly responds. "Why do we eat breakfast?" he says. "It's essential on my part. It's an outlet for mental waste, for things you need to get out."

Kevin Ross, 18, agrees. "You have free reign," he says. "There's nothing telling you that this is how it has to be. You get to show parts of yourself that you couldn't otherwise."

Slam poetry gives participants the opportunity to recite their own work on any topic and put a different spin on the soporific tones of a typical poetry reading. "There's both a structure and a lack of structure," says Hannah Friedman, 15. "You can perform with hip-hop beats, in meter, however you want."

While practicing for the Grand Slam, maintaining a stable beat and remembering forgotten verse are primary problems. Zamora and co-adviser Margaret Reynolds critique each practice performance, making sure their pupils emphasize the right word for proper meaning—and remember to take their poems onstage with them if the memory is failing.

"Right now, you're talking like an elementary school teacher reading to her students," Reynolds says to alternate April Sanchez, 16, who's reciting a poem about homework. "Project those feelings outward."

The practice atmosphere is one of nurturing and encouragement—team members make sure their peers know that any criticisms are not personal. With such private, complex topics sailing through the air—self-mutilation, parental abandonment, frustration at leaving things half-finished—these reassurances might seem necessary.

The teenagers spin carefully woven tales, describing themselves in such descriptive terms as a "vocal surgeon leaving lyrical lacerations" to a "pencil pushing poetic pimp." These labels might seem lofty, but the honesty is characteristic of slam poetry. "I don't want it to not be you," Zamora says. "Let it soak into the audience a little bit."

But the team's members don't pass any judgment on each other, letting the words fly after a poem is recited just as freely as they flowed during the performance. "It's American Idol right now," exclaims Emil Frazier, 17, after Hannah's harrowing story of a broken family, which has previously won awards in competition. And when T.J. finishes his piece on his aimlessness, Emil is just as enthusiastic.

"It was poetry. It spoke to me because it was about everyday problems," Emil says. "It was fresh."