Poetry

She walked

She walked a while Maybe a little farther than she'd expected she could. She walked some more Maybe a little deeper into the tunnel than she ever would. And she doesn't know why, she fell. "I'm skilled enough at walking..." She said; And yet she tripped. And hurt herself.

Reblogs

Day 286: The Man and the Spoken Verse; ‘Fry’

For poets; their audience… And those who understand that art is supposed to make you feel.

I write, I bleed.
You see the wounds,
And bleed with me.

I write, I laugh.
You hear the joy,
And rejoice with me.

Happiness at its best
Or happiness at its worst,
Life is my poem…
And words are my medium.

manvsloneliness

I’ll be honest with you.

I have a very complicated love/hate relationship with spoken word poetry.

In the sense that I love really good spoken word.

And that I absolutely hateloathedespise really bad spoken word.

And unfortunately, the vast majority of current spoken word is really really bad. So I hate more, and nowadays, hate by default.

BUT…there are a few glimpses of hope. Some rays of sunshine. Some good examples that, I don’t know if it’s because of the muck that they are surrounded with or the true merit of their extraordinary talents, really do blow my mind.

When I was first introduced to spoken word I was just in awe of the emotion and animation that spoken word poets brought to a normally quiet and subdued art. Poetry was something you wrote and read in your mind, or in hushed tones, or in quiet…

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