A man toys with a squeezebox. A group of friends discuss movies and music. Someone orders a late dinner. A writer scribbles away, sitting on what looks like a church pew. A yellow sign-up sheet gathers a few names. Coffee brews.

It's Thursday night at the House of Hamez (389 Gregory Street), and Pure Kona poetry open mic is about to begin.

Co-hosts Norm Davis and Rick Petrie step to the front of the room and banter back and forth, setting the tone of the evening: relaxed, comfortable This week's showcase - chosen from a preceding Pure Kona night, or from another open mic around town - is a no-show, which means there's an extra 45 minutes or so to fill. One host wonders aloud," Where are all the poets tonight?"

The answer is in what Davis, the editor of Hazmat Literary Review, calls the heartbeat of the poetry scene. It quickens, then slows. People come and go. Some nights, poets read for 20 minutes, and sometimes for 45 seconds. Sometimes 20 people read to crowds of 60 or more, sometimes (like tonight) just a few people to a crowd of 10 or so. Readers are accompanied by music, or not; they sing, dance, shout, and whisper. You'll hear free jazz, spoken word, impromptu poems, novels-in-progress. Everything goes.

"There are no set rules," Davis says. Pure Kona doesn't censor, and prides itself on offering a venue where people can freely express themselves.

When you're on the mic, "your soul is open," Davis says. "You can't predict how the audience will react. They could throw things at you." He's quick to add that Pure Kona has never had that kind of atmosphere. Instead, it's friendly and welcoming.

"People will come and scout the thing out," Davis says, sometimes five or six times before they read. And when a first-timer does get up, it's to stomps, claps, and cheers.

Sometimes those newcomers turn into regulars. Petrie and Davis both recall a woman who showed up almost without fail every week for 10 years.

"It's like any other thing that's punishing at the start - whiskey or cigarettes [for example] - then you do it two or three times and it becomes an addiction," Davis says. And people constantly surprise him. One "wilting violet" of a woman showed up one night and softly read her poems. Then Davis caught her on the mic a few weeks later, and she ranted and raved, demonstrating the element of self-discovery inherent in baring your soul.

It was 1993 at Java's on Gibbs Street when Pure Kona started, forming as a splinter group for actors that didn't fit into the mold of the academic poetry circles. "Java Joe" himself named the night after a bean imported from Hawaii, and Davis, who's been with Pure Kona since '94, says even after the group changed venues, the name stuck.

Since then, the late-night performance art poetry has attracted a mix of people that includes published poets, newbies, and groups of 20somethings that will show up at 10 p.m. or 11 p.m. just to get up and do their thing, then take off.

Pure Kona's current home is the House of Hamez, and though it used to run weekly, Frank Judge of Rochester Poets recently shouldered some of the weight by starting up Free Speech Zone poetry open mic. Free Speech now alternates Thursdays with Pure Kona.

The two are hardly the only poetry groups in town. Davis also hosts the monthly Wide Open Mic night at Writers & Books (740 University Ave), which tends to be more academic and less free-form than Pure Kona; W&B also hosts a 25 & Under open mic night.

Keep an eye on City's literary events listings for poetry open mics at other area venues such as Café Underground Railroad (480 W. Main St), which runs an open mic/spoken word event weekly.