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Alexis Alexander is preachin鈥� it now, a fist raised to the sky, a head of braided hair swinging to one side. She wears a buttoned-up Che Guevara shirt. A metal-studded belt holds up baggy jeans. It鈥檚 a warm Saturday in the Columbia Heights neighborhood in the District of Columbia, and Malcolm X Park is waking up to her poetry.

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Her teammates on the D.C. Teen Poetry Slam Team nod approval like a congregation giving witness. Alexis and five other high school students have met since the end of March to prepare to face the best youth poets from around the country. They earned spots on the team by besting more than a dozen poets at a local slam. In three days, the team will fly to San Francisco for the Brave New Voices International Youth Poetry Slam Festival. No time for celebrating anymore. There are rhymes to refine. Metaphors to mold.

鈥淵ou need to slow it down,鈥� Isaac Colon, the team鈥檚 20-year-old coach and mentor, tells Alexis. 鈥淭he judges will be paying attention to every word that comes out of your mouth.鈥�

A poet and a member of a performance group called Spoken Resistance, Colon works for the D.C. WritersCorps, which sends local poets into public schools and community centers here in the nation鈥檚 capital to get young people turned on to writing. The organization is sponsoring the trip to San Francisco, where this year more than 30 teams, and some 300 poets between the ages of 13 and 19, will gather for four days of slams and writing workshops. Teams from New York City, Chicago, Honolulu, and even Leeds, England, will be represented.

The event is a testament to the growth of an art form whose in-your-face style bucks the often-staid conventions of poetry readings. A slam isn鈥檛 the place for spectators who sit in respectful silence. Audiences shout, stomp, and boo when they disagree with scores. Poets are scored on both performance and writing quality by judges鈥攐ften local poets or spectators pulled from the audience鈥攚ho rate them from zero to 10. Slam borrows heavily from the rhythms and wordplay of rap and hip-hop, as well as the stream of consciousness and metaphysical musings of Beat-generation poets. It鈥檚 raw, edgy, and delivered with an attitude that says revolution through words is possible.

Slam was born in the Green Mill Tavern, a one-time Chicago speakeasy where Al Capone imbibed, when a construction worker and poet named Marc Smith revolutionized poetry readings with an Uptown Poetry Slam in 1986. Since then, 鈥渟poken word鈥� and slam have been growing at informal 鈥渙pen mikes,鈥� cafes, and schools, according to Marc Eleveld, who edited the book, The Spoken Word Revolution: Slam, Hip Hop & The Poetry of a New Generation.

In 1996, the first national youth poetry slam was held in San Francisco. 鈥淒ef Poetry Jam鈥� premiered on the cable channel HBO six years later, featuring lineups of the nation鈥檚 best adult spoken-word poets. The show catapulted the once-underground genre into the mainstream, complete with poet-celebrities whom young performers now follow as religiously as some teenagers track the dramas of Paris Hilton.

But despite its growing visibility, slam remains at its heart an outsider鈥檚 art. It鈥檚 home to the bohemian white kid who bemoans suburban life; the black kid from the inner city sick of gang killings; the Latina paying respect to a mother who earns a living scrubbing other people鈥檚 floors; the Asian teen struggling with sexual identity.

鈥淭he people who are put down, and are not heard, pick up a microphone,鈥� Isaac Colon explains after practice.

That鈥檚 just what James Kass had in mind when in 1996 he started Youth Speaks, a San Francisco-based nonprofit organization that sends spoken-word poets and other writers into schools across the Bay area. The organization also hosts the annual international youth poetry slam. This year鈥檚 event in San Francisco marks the festival鈥檚 eighth year.

鈥淭hese young poets are like, 鈥榊o, here I am, whether you like it or not,鈥� 鈥� says Kass, 36, an award-winning writer and poet who has performed around the world. 鈥淚t has expanded the notion of what poetry is and can be.鈥�

Slam has also gotten students, long bored with how poetry is taught in schools, excited about the craft. Kass says he receives about half a dozen calls a week from teachers wanting information about how to integrate spoken word and slam into classes.

Greg Dimitriadis, an associate professor in the graduate school of education at the State University of New York at Buffalo, understands why.

鈥淵oung people turn to hip-hop and slam as a kind of out-of-school curriculum,鈥� says Dimitriadis, the author of Performing Identity/Performing Culture: Hip Hop as Text and Lived Practice. 鈥淪chools are becoming so test-driven. A standardized curriculum doesn鈥檛 have much to do with their lives. This has opened a space where young people can create.鈥�

San Francisco

Meghan Harrigan sits in the airport finishing the final pages of The Great Gatsby. It鈥檚 two hours before takeoff to San Francisco, and the junior at Washington鈥檚 Duke Ellington School for the Arts has a stomach full of butterflies.

鈥淚鈥檓 pretty afraid,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 even know slam was this big. I don鈥檛 care about winning. I just like people hearing what I鈥檓 saying.鈥�

She first got hooked on spoken word when a friend told her about a slam in Austin, Texas. Meghan, 17, listened in over the Internet. 鈥淚 thought this was some of the most amazing stuff I had ever heard,鈥� she says.

When Meghan won a spot on the local team, her friends were impressed. 鈥淢y boyfriend thinks he has such a cool girlfriend now,鈥� she says with a laugh. Dad is a harder sell: 鈥淗e says it鈥檚 not poetry. He doesn鈥檛 get it.鈥�

The quiet one, and the only white student on a team of African-Americans, Meghan fits in well with her teammates, who joke with her about her shyness and deadpan expression. Her poetry is a departure from her teammates鈥� more serious social commentary about race and politics. Her 鈥淥de to Dial Soap鈥� is delivered in a singsong, tongue-in-cheek tone.

Tony Denis is one of the team鈥檚 best writers, a serious guy with glasses who has a sharp wit that keeps his fellow poets laughing. A student at Springbrook High School in Silver Spring, Md., the 17-year-old wrote his first poem in 6th grade, and attended his first open mike as an 8th grader. 鈥淚 was terrified and shaking, but ever since then, I had a passion for performance,鈥� he says. He was selected to represent the Washington area after impressing the judges with 鈥淕odchild,鈥� a poem about a prostitute that he dedicated to a friend.

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After a five-hour flight, the team members pull up in a van at the hotel in San Francisco鈥檚 Union Square. A quick bite at a Chinese restaurant, and the team is off to a local arts center for the festival鈥檚 opening-night welcome on April 20. Poets and coaches fill the auditorium with a buzzing energy.

鈥淎ll the strong ladies in the house, make some noise!鈥� the emcee shouts, as a DJ at his turntable spins hip-hop grooves all the young poets from around the country know by heart. The poets are dancing, pumping fists in the air, shouting out the names of their cities.

But the time difference is catching up with the D.C. team. Most of them look beat after a long day. Chiston Bacon, a lanky 19-year-old on the team, is still wired, though. He鈥檚 a DJ鈥斺�淐hristylez鈥� is his performance name鈥攚ho is trying to make the jump into the slam-poetry scene.

鈥淎 lot of people told me rappin鈥� is a form of poetry as far as the expressive quality,鈥� he says. He prefers underground rappers to famous ones, who he says rap about a flamboyant lifestyle. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 relate to them,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 ride the bus every day, and my phone at home doesn鈥檛 have call waiting.鈥� Some lines from his poem/rap, 鈥淢oney Gives You Options,鈥� say it all:

Team D.C. is hurrying past funky cafes and Latino grocers in San Francisco鈥檚 eclectic Mission District. It鈥檚 the first day of slams, which are being held at five venues throughout the city.

Inside the Intersection for the Arts, a local studio, seats are filling up with teams from Chapel Hill, N.C., and San Jose, Calif. Other teams that will compete in the afternoon session are here to check out the competition.

Dominic Geinoski, an Advanced Placement English teacher, coaches the St. Louis team. He started a slam-poetry club at University City High School after students came to him with the idea.

鈥淲e are trying to make poetry cool,鈥� Geinoski says. 鈥淭he kids have a lot to say, and they are told too many times in school to be quiet. We鈥檙e creating a community of writers.鈥�

The lights go down, and it鈥檚 time to slam. Nina Miller, 16, who carries herself with a quiet intensity, is called up first. 鈥淒eeeeeC, DeeeeeC,鈥� her teammates shout as she walks to the stage. The student at St. John鈥檚 College High School holds the microphone for a few seconds, head down, silent. Then she looks straight ahead.

Nina finishes up as strong as she started, and the audience gives her a standing ovation. 鈥淥h, that was sick!鈥� one poet in the audience shouts with respect. The three judges give her a total score of 25.6 out of 30. Up next for the D.C. team is Adell Coleman, 18, a senior at Duke Ellington. She wrote 鈥淒eacon Roberts鈥� through tears and bad memories. Now she shares it with strangers.

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The room is silent. When she finishes, her teammates embrace Adell with hugs. A few people in the audience wipe away tears. The judges award her a 27.7.

Washington鈥檚 Alexis Alexander is up next, and she鈥檚 ready with a poem called 鈥淲hat Happened to Church?鈥�

The audience is converted. 鈥淏ring it!鈥� 鈥淕o 鈥檋ead, girl!鈥� The emcee waits for the judges to tally a score. 鈥淔or the preacher from D.C. we have a 鈥� 29.0!鈥�

At the end of the slam, the D.C. team has higher scores than San Jose and the Chapel Hill team from North Carolina. The Washington students will face San Francisco tomorrow in the semifinals.

鈥淵鈥檃ll are so tight,鈥� De鈥橵on Douglass, a 16-year-old on the St. Louis team, tells the D.C. poets after the slam. Lisa Pegram, the program director for the D.C. WritersCorps, who has been helping the team over the past month, is pumped.

鈥淚 want you to take how you feel today, bottle it, and tomorrow step up to the microphone and let it out,鈥� she tells the group. 鈥淭omorrow, you battle San Francisco. You鈥檙e in their town. Do what you do!鈥�

The next day, D.C. performs well鈥擳ony kills them with 鈥淕odchild,鈥� and Meghan has the judges rollin鈥� with 鈥淥de to Dial Soap鈥濃�攂ut San Francisco rides a surge of energy from the crowd to a place in the finals, where its team joins New York City; Chico, Calif.; Fort Lauderdale, Fla.; and Ann Arbor, Mich. Nearly 3,000 people pack into the Masonic Auditorium for the finals.

The Chico Speaks Out team has been impressing crowds all week. Tonight, members slam about patriarchy and government crackdowns on peaceful dissidents. And, on this Passover night, they move the crowd with an emotional poem about the Holocaust.

But the Urban Word team from New York comes on strong with a soulful piece about how rappers have sold out and disrespect women. The Youth Speaks San Francisco team has the crowd on its feet railing about California building more prisons than schools. When the numbers are added up after four rounds, New York is the winner. All the poets rush the stage to join in the celebration.

Back at the hotel, Adell, Nina, Tony, Meghan, Christon, and Alexis are disappointed they didn鈥檛 reach the finals. But they are happy with how they performed and savoring the moments they have shared. They remember staying up past 2 a.m. reciting their poetry with poets from around the country, amazed at being able to hear poetry everywhere鈥攍eaking out of hotel elevators and rooms, floating down hallways, outside on city sidewalks in the cool night air.

It鈥檚 been a trip few had dreamed of back home.

鈥淲hen you live in the city, that鈥檚 your whole life,鈥� Adell says. 鈥淏ut when you leave your haven and travel across the country, you see there is more to the world. You see everyone has a story. And everyone鈥檚 story is the same, and everyone鈥檚 is different.鈥�