“Respect the poet!” the crowd shouts at a couple at the bar oblivious to what’s going on.
Silence.
Slowly, alliterative spoken word sends chills across my neck, down my arm, and into my chest.
I’m feeling words as my eyes stare rapt at the stage.
Literary devices fly with syllables punctuated by inflection. Poetry one line, prose the next. The performer pauses. It’s 2008, and I’m hooked.
I was first introduced to spoken word while taking a creative writing class in college. I then got involved with a local spoken word community in Bryan, Texas called Mic Check, where the scene above happens weekly.
And today, I’m showing you how to craft your own powerful spoken word piece.
How to Speak Spit Spoken Word
What!?
You mean you weren’t born with an innate ability to write poetry, combine it with performing arts techniques, and rhythmically deliver a piece with clever intonation?
Performance poets weren’t either. Even if their names are Sarah Kay or Madi Mae.
Do you have feelings?
Do you wish you could let them go out, terrorize the neighborhood for a bit, and then come home to you without doing any damage (the kind that costs you money)?
Got a pen?
Let’s do this. Here are four steps to writing spoken word:
1. Tell a Story
If you’ve never written spoken word before, you might feel overwhelmed, unsure where to start. But this type of writing isn’t as foreign as you might think. It can follow the same pattern as a conventional story: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.
First, pick a theme you’re passionate about. Putting something down on paper knowing that you’re going to read it out loud later is terrifying, but having passion from the start will help carry you through. And if you’re a writer, you need practice putting fear down anyways!
While there are as many ways to begin writing as there are poets, a way that I have found particularly effective is to start with a “gateway line,” a single line that captures your theme. For example:
- “Do not keep the silence golden.”
- “Looking past Earth.”
- “Life is not ajar.”
To demonstrate this, I'll write a (short) piece around the following line:
“Practice is failing on purpose.”
Now that I have my gateway line, I’m ready to revisit my dramatic structure: what can I surround my line with? At this point I might make a list of a few plot options:
- A little boy learning to ride a bike
- A guy practicing how he’s going to start a conversation with the girl of his dreams
- A girl exploring the definition of true beauty
I fully intend to reveal something about practice that applies to craft development, but I’m going to do it by juxtaposing it with something wildly different. This will show the audience something about practicing their craft, as well as the subject of the plot.
Spoken word lets you do that. How cool is that!?
2. Flesh It Out
Now that you've chosen your plot, it's time to flesh it out into a story illustrating your theme. This is where you, as the writer, get to shine! How compact can you make it?
At this point you might be thinking that this is remarkably similar to writing anything else. You’re exactly right — it is. That’s why I’m writing this out, to show you that you can do it!
I’ve decided to write a piece about an eight-year-old boy who decides to try to ride his bike sans training wheels. Now, I ask questions to flesh that concept out:
What does he look like? Where is this? How long as he been trying to do this? Why is this important?
Most importantly, why should my audience care about him?
First draft:
Age eight with skinned knees bleeding from the last attempt he pushes two blue wheels uphill.
This time.
Salt touches his tongue as he tilts his face towards the summit. This was his Everest.
He was done training. The two wheels sat lifeless in the garage watching him from a distance.
He believed that with enough speed he could roll forever. The extra weight only slowed him down.
He fought to push the past crashes from his mind as he trudged up Mount Failure.
This was his practice.
3. Read It Out Loud
Once you have something down, read it out loud to evaluate how it sounds. Do you like what you hear?
Spoken word fills the gap between predictable patterns found in traditional forms of poetry and the art of prose. Every literary device, every poetic device, and anything clever you can think of to do while you’re on stage is all fair game. For now, let’s revisit the first draft, tighten the diction, and spice things up with a bit of poetry.
Second draft:
Age eight, and skinned knees pleading he pushes two blue wheels uphill.
This time.
Salt touches tongue as dirt-faced determination drives him to the summit. His Everest.
Two training wheels cry abandoned. Concrete floors and walls lined with tools can get so lonely.
He believed that with enough speed he could roll forever.
Long enough to run the errands that his mother couldn’t.
He fought to push past crashes and knee slashes from his mind as he scaled Mount Failure.
This was his practice.
4. Perform
Now that you like what you’re hearing, start asking performance related questions. This could include questions related to theatre, music, or even dance.
Do you want a part of it to read faster to give it more of a hip-hop sound? Or slower to make it more dramatic? Either way, it’s up to you to figure out how you’re going to read it.
And there you have it — four steps to writing your first spoken word.
Do you write spoken word poetry? What do you find most challenging about it? Let me know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes to create a gateway line and draft your own short spoken word. Your gateway line doesn’t necessarily have to appear verbatim in the piece.
Post your gateway line and your spoken word in the comments! And if you share, remember to leave feedback for your fellow writers.
Great article, but I must admit I have a prejudice about spoken word (or “slam poetry,” as we call it at my school.) Often people write about the same tired topics: since I’m at an all girls’ school, they bash men, there are terribly homophobic comments (it was meant to be Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve) and just hate speech in general. For the record, it’s not “feminist” to say that all men suck. That’s insulting to wonderful men out there.
Writing with emotion is great, but some people abuse it. Having an opinion about a certain group of people can’t justify horrible comments about them.
This is why I prefer longer narratives where you can introduce contrast: happiness with sadness, darkness and light. Life is a huge jumble, not just a huge mass of hatred.
“Life is a huge jumble” is a great gateway line 🙂
Nice
I hear ya rosie. I’ve heard tons of erotic, rape, suicide, breakup, love-hating work all in the name of “art”. It’s true: performance poetry is often used as an outlet for pain. I think LeCrae said in an interview with ESPN recently that hip-hop was created in the streets of New York by people to express the emotions of a marginalized and disenfranchised group of people. I think performance poetry is used in much the same way.
I agree that it’s sad whenever art is abused – hateful commentary might be necessary within the privacy of a journal, but I don’t think ‘going public’ has honestly helped anyone encounter real change, overcome differences, or experience freedom. I usually see the same people able to recite the same poem in the exact same way the following week: nothing changed for them having said it the first time.
What I would like to see are people using this art form to promote solidarity, kindness, respect, honor, and truth. What if performance poetry had the same ‘punch’ as that scene in the action movie where the hero chooses to rise up instead of stay beaten? What if our stories said something about encouraging us to BE better people rather than commentary on what we are not?
That’s the heart behind thirdpersoncreative – telling stories that challenge prejudice.
I think the only thing in your comment that I disagree with is the notion that you can’t have contrast in performance poetry. I believe you can, as I think that’s necessary to tell a good story (it’s also a good litmus test to see which poets are crafting their pieces, and which one’s are just railing). But you brings up a stellar point: Most of the time people see ‘slam’ as another word for ‘opportunity to rail against something’…and I think that’s incorrect. I believe spoken word is a largely untapped art form, and would even go so far as to say that the term ‘slam’ is limiting in and of itself.
Great thoughts!
I really appreciated your comment. It made me think things differently. Thanks (truly) for posting it.
My life is not my own:
I rent my hours for a living;
I whore my body to feed it;
I sell my mind to free my soul
(or is it the other way around?).
I spend my time building lies,
confabulations to appease
the growing unease,
the dissonance between my needs and my wants,
between expectations and commitments.
Past decisions have left me disowned,
owner of my cat’s life,
of garden-grown produce
and growing debt,
but my home, like my life,
is not my own.
Now a post on my blog 🙂 — http://wp.me/p3VSF5-1i
I love this Alexandre – I think it resonates with the idea that so much of industry is about trading our time for money rather than valuing our contribution to it. I think I was first introduced to that idea by Bryan Harris – that we are more than that time!
I like the rhyme you’ve got going here as they makes it highly conducive to the stage. The callback “is not my own” at the end is a cool trick that’s in a lot of poetry, and instantly adds effectiveness to the piece. Nicely done 🙂
Thanks for the feedback Avery! Glad you liked it 🙂
🙂
Really enjoyed this piece. Felt it in my bones. Uncannily uncomfortable. Thanks 🙂
This is very good.
I liked this piece very much. I did wonder on reading it if it has a little more of a poetic construct than spoken word poetry. I am not very familiar with the spoken word poetry and could be way off the mark -it’s the feel of it when read. The first three lines are great; they hook you in.
They feed me candy but I want more.
Lies make more lies and breed tumors in the spine.
I listen to your politics and want to dive in the ocean to get away.
I doubt you are truthful so I spit.
I would rather go away. Far away.
You are a breeder of man.
A dog, a liar, and a cheat.
Your candy chokes me and I am not alone.
Hatefilled orgasms lead to punishment by Cupid’s arrows.
I am tired of your political stance and I would rather eat bonbons on Saturdays.
My wounds fester because you lie beyond the stars.
I promise better healthcare, economics 101, and let welfare extend to the suburbs.
Lies, lies, more lies lead to a soul full of hate and loose phlegm from my throat.
I would shake a wiener at you but I ain’t got none.
Go back to the shady palm tree you came from, Mr. or Mrs. President.
I will dwell in the shadows with my people, the undecided and the strong.
Oh man – I’m digging the opening line as it instantly adds depth to the piece. I think your portrayal of the antagonist’s words as cancerous makes the reaction immediately accessible “I doubt you are truthful so I spit.” Nice!
If you’ll notice, you lose a bit of tightness after the ‘Cupid’s arrows” line, and you risk losing your audience there – if it helps, feel free to let the sentences flow together rather than making them each one-liners (I wouldn’t recommend changing anything in the first half – as I think that’s a stylistic choice). It looks like you’re trying to nail home the ‘why’ in the second half, and I think toning down the poetry and turning up the prose and making it more of a narrative there might be more effective. Play with it, and see what you get – would someone from your audience be more likely to see your angle after listening to your piece?
The important thing here is that it’s obvious you’re speaking something that you feel matters. And for that passion, I applaud you, not everyone has the courage to speak up. Way to go!
Thanks. This is my first time writing this type of piece. It was fun. I know I should tighten up my stuff that is usually my downfall.
Mine too 🙂
Oh boy, where to start. This piece is crammed with ideas voiced really well. I feel, because there are so many points covered, this piece could be split into more than one. Less wordy and more deliberation given to each concept. What I am trying to day, very badly, you could take much more from this piece. Tighten it up and write another one with what is not used definitely from the second half.
Great stuff
Words
Condemn me with their contempt
Or is it indifference?
To my trials, my failures, my pain
Lashing me with their savage tongues
Pinching me till drawing blood
From reopened scars
I whimper in protest
Yet sigh in Comfort
Scathing words
for my own reflection
Hiding behind fear
Cosseted by insecurity
Easier than action
Nikita – not sure if you did this on purpose…but you stumbled across something INSANELY helpful to performing artists: you made it clear where you need to breathe.
Each stanza of your piece marks a natural break point to take a pause to breathe. I like the story here – you do a great job of writing a tight poetic narrative that’s accessible to your audience. I also like the subtle ‘page’ (versus ‘stage’) element in the capitalization of ‘Comfort’ that hints at finding refuge in God. Not sure if you meant that or not, but I thought that was pretty cool.
This is great – I think if you were going to expand it you could do so in between the lines ending in ‘protest’ and ‘Comfort’ by providing a gritty example of when this happened. Not saying you should, or that you have to, just a simple insertion point if you wanted to make the piece a bit longer (it’s fine as it is – this would make this a great 1 minute poem at a slam).
The line at the end…’Easier than action’. You’d probably be getting some snaps where I come from (and that’s a good thing).
…and +1 for using ‘cosseted’ – I had to look that up!
Avery-I have returned to this page and it has now clicked in my pea brain the pieces of great spoken poetry posted here was for your critique not mine. Apologies to the two writers. I feel such a prune.
No worries! Every critique gets the writing one step closer to the story it was meant to be 🙂
And besides, if I had written something here, I’d LOVE the extra attention 🙂
…and you do NOT have a ‘pea brain’.
Hi Nikita
I love this piece. Savage in it’s imagery – biting and pinching – I felt it all. Economy of words paint a full and rich picture. Thanks for the powerful words 🙂
Thank you so much Nathy,
In my view (and I think in most if not everyone’s), additional feedback and perspective are welcome! No one wants to post to have the words sit there alone as they do on our computer screen at home. The writer can agree or disagree, but you’re providing perspective from one audience member who is willing to speak up.
To Susan- I completely agree with you. It is lovely, of course, when people say you are brilliant and love your work but it Is not useful. I do try to encourage different aspects when looking at others work and I hope I do it tactfully.
Thank you so much for your kind words and constructive feedback. First time post so I was really nervous. This is a wonderful community that i have been stalking for a while now. Glad I made the leap.
That first leap is a hard one, but you clearly made it across the chasm nimbly. Welcome!
Absolutely! I completely agree. This is my first time to guest post here, and the experience has been nothing short of phenomenal. Great people with loads of humility and who are incredibly serious about perfecting their craft. TOO FUN!~ 🙂 🙂
This is powerful! You have a lot of great images (each line!) which build the tension, and call for reflection turning into action. I feel my internal dialogue.
Thank you.
Writing it’s
my pathway
to hair-splitting
persnickety
literalism
you know
the thing great authors
are made of
sophisticated words
not the
dribble of pre-published
authors `who don’t
know their way around a show
no tell.
Listen up! Please remember;
authors and poets and artists
kill your darlings
don’t use 20 words when 10
will do.
never forget;
spit the spoken word.
(Thanks, Avery for allowing me to use your spitingly flowing phrase.)
Ha! For sure 🙂
This feels like a word-transformer…and right now it’s in ‘page’ mode. In spoken word communities we talk about ‘page’ and ‘stage’ poems. I think this one can cross-pollinate 🙂
…excuse me while I pick on you to demonstrate something devilish that a performer has to think about:
Writing
it’s my pathway to hair-splitting persnickety literalism
you know the thing great authors are made of
sophisticated words not the dribble of pre-published authors
`who don’t know their way around a show no tell.’
Listen up! Please remember;
authors and poets and artists
kill your darlings
don’t use 20 words when 10 will do.
never forget; spit the spoken word.
**************
Ah, formatting has been slain on the altar that is the stage…translation: I formatted enough so you know what parts to break at for emphasis (or to breathe), but not so much as to make it difficult to read in front of 50 people from a phone screen.
So the way you’ve written it would be what would go in a chapbook (‘page’), but the way I’ve written it would be how I’d read it from a stage. Admittedly, I’m picking on you since your piece had so many line breaks as it’s great for demonstrating the different mindsets in formatting. Great piece – loved the brevity!
Avery, you can use me any time. *scratches alligator skin* 🙂 All kidding aside, I see what you’re demonstrating. I enjoy being picked on when I can pick something up. I guess we all learned some things today. You rock. Thanks, bunches.
Haha 🙂
Wonderful! Thank you so much for taking the time to write out a piece. It takes effort to craft something under tight poetic constraints. I’m honored! And again, you did great!
‘Spit the spoken word’ you say. It has tremendous impact.
Thanks for sharing your poem.
Lilian, thank you for this. You made my heart smile.
I don’t think I have ever does this before! I am getting nervous already! I think I will pass. Too scared. Sorry.
No worries!
I love that you wrote this (and that Avery totally supported you).
Actually, it seems to me you DID do the post … a short version, but it tells a story with lots of feeling that makes your reader identify with what you have to say and feel empowered by observing someone taking the chance of admitting trepidation and being supported in your honesty.
You could have easily just not posted anything, but I’m glad you decided to share this. I’m sure it helped others.
Oh no…here goes my attempt at spoken word ( sigh) currently passionate about Lexa’s death and Clexa from the 100
Stop Killing Off The Queer
Heartbreak comes again
I’m in tears
You killed her
Yet again
I shouldn’t be surprised
She chose love
She was brave
Even in her small stature
No one could deny she was fierce
And then…
This strange girl caused her tears
But her cold heart had started to beat again
She told herself no
Too many times before
She kissed her
She loved her
And moments after
You gave her a bullet through the chest
The stomach
Her love’s departure
And now her brave soul is dead
Why am i not surprised showrunner
This is your version of how Queerwomen end
Woah!
“The stomach
Her love’s departure”
*snaps* Brilliant!
Be careful with using too many short lines else you run the risk of making your poem difficult to read from a stage (i.e. you’ll always be scrolling down if you were to read it from your phone). Still…this piece was absolutely…shall I say, killer?
You got it. 🙂
Absolutely! And the idea of a response piece to a showrunner out of feelings of betrayal is super interesting – Way to go! 🙂
Here’s the opening paragraph to my rather long piece about Call Centre frustration, entitled Tirade:
I’m sick
Sick to my stomach sick
Of being messed about and dicked around
By money-grabbing arseholes
Who continually fail
Who repeatedly manage to
Let me down and won’t relent
I understand
Is not their fault
They’re totally incompetent
Roberta this definitely has a great hip-hop feel to it because it flows so so well! I dig!
Would you opt to say the title or not before you delivered the piece on stage? I’m just curious as that decision will have a tremendous impact on how your audience thinks about your piece as they listen to it.
This is true feeling.
This is exactly the frustration I feel while waiting endlessely for my turn, at whatever, and those seemingly ‘incompetent’ staff who just don’t see me/us. We could be furniture, floor tiles or ghosts. The worst part is having to swalllow the frustration and smile, smile, smile.
Thanks for sharing.
Thanks Lillian. It came off an emptiness afternoon dealing with a telecom supplier. ..I’m sure you can sympathise!
I shall post the original full piece in my blog robertaleesmat.wordpress.com
I’m looking forward to reading the full piece.
I do indeed sympathise. xo
I’m not sure I’ve got the right idea, but I tried to write without judging or censoring myself and this came out, so here goes.
Gateway Line: “Concealed behind my curtain, I’m certain I won’t be seen”
Peering from behind the black velvet curtain
I spy on her.
Her coffee is hot, not warm.
How can I tell?
Wisps of steam rise up, from beneath the rim of her cup.
And she gently blows, pursing her cushion lips.
Her breath causes the steam to dance, interrupting its steady ascent
Making it twist and turn.
She gazes through the dancing steam, willing the coffee to cool
And yet content in her waiting.
I’m secure here, concealed behind my curtain. I’m certain I won’t be seen.
Heavy breathing roars in my ears.
The noise in the coffee shop seems dim and distant
Compared to the raging storm of my breath
And the thumping of my pulse inside my head.
Suddenly her eyes lift
They meet mine.
My chest tightens, my breathing halts
How can she see me? I’m hidden.
And yet, there can be no mistake. Her eyes have sought out mine.
They have found me, revealed me in my hiding place.
I feel exposed, naked, vulnerable.
“Stop!” I scream at her from inside my shroud.
“No” I bleat weakly.
But it’s too late. She’s on the move.
I hear chair legs scrape across the floor, as she pushes back from the table.
She glides silently toward me.
I can’t look at her.
I’m still trying desperately to conceal myself, but it’s too late.
She stops.
Inches away from my hiding place.
I feel her warm breath as she smiles and the black drapes part and fall away.
“Are you okay?” she says.
Soft brown eyes dive into mine and I am found.
The veil lifts.
Conversation begins.
I really liked it. Very well done. I could see it play out in my mind’s eye. “How can she see me? I’m hidden” is my favorite line
Thanks so much! It feels so good to get stuff out of me. I’m gaining courage from this forum. 🙂
You’re welcome. So am I.
Yes! So glad to hear that from both of you. This is the place to be your writing self.
I’ve been a long-time academic writer, but only more recently have I worked on more creative writing. I still only write very short pieces (and still compare myself to others who post), but I know now that “I am a writer” because that message is loud and clear at TWP. I was welcomed from day one when I posted a haiku that I wrote in high school and actually got positive feedback on it!
This is definitely the place for novice and more skilled alike. So much to learn from the bloggers and fellow post-ers.
Moreover, I’m so glad you both are contributing your great work and comments!
(see my comments below Member of the Tribe’s reply).
I love your work and learn from it!
Nathy,
Pieces like this are wonderful on stage because they take time for world building. By the time I realized I was going to have to click the ‘Show More’ button, I simultaneously realized that I didn’t care how long it was! I was going to finish it!
I felt like I was at another table watching the whole scene unfold – and I’m pretty darn sure I can blame your killer imagery and appeal to my senses.
(Personal) Favorite adjectives:
“Wisps of steam”, “cushion lips”, “dancing steam”,”Chair legs scrape across the floor” (ah my ears!), “she glides silently toward me” (is this sounds like a sashaying sundress), “eyes dive”…boom.
(Personal) Favorite moments when I tried reading this out loud:
“…willing the coffee to cool
and yet content…”
“…concealed behind my curtain. I’m certain I won’t be seen.” (these are just plain fun to read on stage)
“Suddenly her eyes lift
They meet mine.
My chest tightens, my breathing halts”
…makes when you said “m not sure I’ve got the right idea” the funniest part 😉
OKAY so enough bragging on ya…you DID use the word ‘steam’ three times within the first two stanzas – word frequency will be picked up on by your listeners since everything you say will be out loud.
The “I feel exposed, naked, vulnerable.” line is a good one, but I felt the interior conversation detracted from it. The reason is because you already communicated what you were going for cleanly; but then said something less with less impact, but in more words.
The last thing I can find (and, again, you made it hard) – was the “I am found” line at the end – I think you can milk this a bit more (or not, I’m just offering ideas at this point).
You killed it (and I mean that like a room full of snaps at a slam competition).
Well done!
I felt this all the way through … the long-held habit of hiding, the anticipation, and then “…and I am found. The veil lifts.”
Your details feel subtle, and by that I mean your message and images and story are allowed to come front and center while your words take a back seat. Again, not sure if that’s clear. I’m trying to say that sometimes we realize we’re READING something, but you put us in the narrator’s seat to EXPERIENCE it.
Alright, here’s goes nothing
Gateway line: “What if the third time isn’t the charm?”
—————————————————–
They told him that failing wasn’t a big deal. All the big kids do it. It’s all the rage.
But he knew inside they were just being nice. He saw them look away when he told his story of past failures. It’s too sad for eye contact while he moans about a feat they’ve all accomplished so easily. So long ago.
So today, in his third attempt at the feat, he’s alone. He’s prayed, and practiced, yet personally proved nothing to himself. He still felt as he did before numbers 1 and 2 – unprepared.
Pencils Up!
The superheroes in his mind that were supposed to keep him safe faded away. TRAITORS!
Scratching, erasing, coughing, sneezing. Even the clock’s tick is stronger than normal. IT’S SO LOUD IN HERE!
Deep breathe – nothing.
Deeper breathe – nothing.
Come on, DEEEEPPP breathe……cough. Figures.
He picks up his stones and stares down at his Goliath. He’ll laugh about this one day. He’s sure he will.
This was cute, it had me starting my day with a laugh,,, nicely done.
Thank you! I actually started intending it to be more serious than it turned out. Funny how that happens
“It’s too sad for eye contact” — *snap* *snap* *snap*
“…so easily. So long ago.
So today,…” — nice!
“he’s prayed, and practiced, yet personally proved…” – I’m a sucker for alliteration!
“Scratching, erasing, coughing, sneezing. Even the clock’s tick is stronger than normal.”
— This took me to a moment in college when I was taking a Calculus 2 exam. I was a terrible math student (should have asked for wayy more help than I ever did) and flat out didn’t know the material. I was nervous so I tried downing orange juice and coffee right before the test thinking it would help me be as alert as possible. Bad idea. It just rocketed my test anxiety through the roof.
By the time college was over I attempted (and, thankfully passed) 22 hours worth of JUST calculus. That’s more credit hours than what you need for a minor. I just didn’t quit. No matter what. I was going to graduate with an engineering degree. Period. And I did. And I look back and laugh now…but those moments of terrified hopeless failure leave real scars – and the words that you write here really do relate with audiences – they matter Member of the Tribe. The practice will be worth it the moment you speak or say the thing that echoes in the soul of someone else so loud all they can hear is “I am not alone – I am understood”…and that makes writing immortal, practice worth it, and all the time grinding pencils to charcoal dust priceless.
Thank you 🙂
Thank you Avery. I really appreciate that. I’m a big fan of alliteration too. I have to hold myself back sometimes.
Test taking anxiety is so strong. I’ve personally not had to deal with it to much in my life until yesterday when I took a licensing exam for work for the third time (which led me to writing this). Your story is crazy. I would never willing take that much calculus. You were on a mission! Ha
Definitely man – I feel ya 🙂
For sure I was. It’s funny, I think that the determination I developed in school for engineering is proving itself an invaluable asset in this world of writing.
OK, Avery, your comments are the earmark of why we MUST share our words: “The practice will be worth it the moment you speak or say the thing that echoes in the soul of someone else so loud all they can hear is “I am not alone – I am understood” .. and that makes writing immortal, practice worth it, and all the time grinding pencils to charcoal dust priceless.”
breathtaking words which now reside in my writer’s chest
[side note on choice of word: I was going to use the word ‘heart’ instead of chest, but I overuse that at times. Didn’t want to use “bosom”. I had in mind the sternum area, and ‘chest’ at first seemed too bland, but then it sparked an image of a treasure chest, so I like the double meaning.]
SO thankful for your comment and kindness Susan 🙂
Glad I wrote something that resonated, motivated, and encouraged you!
[…and THAT side note is why you’re a writer 🙂
Thank you for choosing your words with care!]
Avery, I wish this Discus had the same “Like” function as FaceBook. I find myself reflexively looking for the like button on your posts/replies. I appreciate the time you take to reply to people who respond to your article. I really enjoyed your article and have been mulling over stuff to put in my notebook … writing spoken word. Thank you.
Luanna,
Sincerely – thank you for your tender kindness. That’s encouraging to me 🙂
I’m so thankful that these words of mine, even sitting in Joe’s living room as a guest myself, have proven both their utility and inspiration to you. You are absolutely welcome!
So glad that I have such encouraging friends along this journey of learning what it means to be a soul-speaker!
…indeed it does 🙂
Ah – this hurt me to read it. I kind of giggled the first time through, but then I spoke your words out loud and they jarred and rankled me. I have a son at high school taking exams at the moment, and I’m really empathising with the pressures, so this piece really hit home. Lovely 🙂
I’m glad and sad that it hit home. The pressure is insane. The best thing is having someone in your corner to always keep things in perspective for you and help you laugh off the missteps.
Yes … so telling!
“ … about a feat they’ve all accomplished so easily. So long ago.”
“ he’s alone. He’s prayed, and practiced, yet personally proved nothing to himself. He still felt as he did before numbers 1 and 2 – unprepared.”
“The superheroes in his mind that were supposed to keep him safe faded away.”
“He picks up his stones and stares down at his Goliath.”
This is a story of anyone who hopes for change and growth, who looks at others and thinks, “How come they can accomplish that and I can’t? I know they’re no better than I am.” Practice and preparation, yet the change longed for doesn’t come … until one day the stone hits Goliath in just the right place, and what you knew you should have been able to do before, falls into place. And yes, the prospect of future perspective, “He’ll laugh about this one day. He’s sure he will.”
Thanks for your story, Member of the Tribe.
Thank you Susan. I’m glad you enjoyed it 🙂
I had a slightly different perspective with your very interesting piece… yes, so telling! I can see this as the way a very high functioning autistic or developmentally challenged kid might think.
As a nurse I could see this happen in real life: exactly.
“But he knew inside they were just being nice. He saw them look away when he told his story of past failures. It’s too sad for eye contact while he moans about a feat they’ve all accomplished so easily. So long ago.”
“So today, in his third attempt at the feat, he’s alone. He’s prayed, and practiced, yet personally proved nothing to himself. He still felt as he did before numbers 1 and 2 – unprepared.”
Superheros failing him and Clock’s tick with time pressure, all painfully too much for the child who is comparing himself to abled children. I hesitate to use “normal” for who among us is normal?
It is a blessing when extremely challenged is also child-like in mental acquity, There is less disappointment and tender aged joy at accomplishment, lots of clapping and less frustration.
All of us can identify with some area of life we are just not as good at as other areas of life, and probably never will be. This speaks so evocatively of this emotion. I think the key is to find where you are great and expand outward there, at least it works with my clients. As writers we may need to challenge ourselves more and in different ways, but that is also a way of expanding on the skills we do have, yes?
Nice job, Member of the Tribe. Let me tell you this much, I identify more with this than ever, the older I get. I think you wrote this beautifully.
Kudos
Wow. Thank you so much for the kind words Luanna. I truly appreciate that. I can see the connection you made with challenged children. And I definitely agree that as writers we need to challenge ourselves in many different ways. We can expand on what we are already great at and possibly become great in something we thought to be a weakness before.
Again, I thank you
I really appreciated your making the struggle that we all face so clear and letting it be known that we are all in this learning together. Your story, thinking about it later, spoke to me also in things I am facing in life, myself, and I thank you for that clarity it brought me, packaged in tears as it was. The universe used you.
I love it when the universe uses me to touch the lives of others. It turns the phrase “being used” on its ear and gives it hugs. OK, that sounded weird, I know. LOL , I just mean it feels good to be used by the universe. I hope you get a sense of feeling good for helping me.
Expanding on what we are already great at, and what we are good at and what we do okay at, that is what we are meant to do here. Learning new skills to build on others.
SO much time we spend comparing ourselves to others, beating ourselves up. IF our neighbors or our friends treated us the way we treat ourselves we would have restraining orders taken out on them for harassment at the very least.
Forgiving ourselves for perceived weaknesses and faults as well as perhaps abuses of our good qualities and learning to love ourselves with kindness, is bonus. Acceptance, tolerance and forgiveness, kindness, sweetness, loving ourselves. They are thoughts we can choose to use in many situations.
I am reminded of teaching I have learned and taught: You are the only one with authority over your thoughts. Even with a gun to your head no one has any real control or power over your thoughts. You can choose to think differently than the way you were perhaps taught or programmed to think. You can choose to think supportive thoughts. Praise yourself for every little thing. For one hour try praising yourself for just everything you do even okay.” Great job oversharing Luanna!” ,for instance. It’s a thing. Only a thing. I can change it or not. Funny thing is, often, in places like this, where people are really working on being better writers and improving themselves and their lives thereby; in those environs, the universe uses over sharing quite a bit. So, instead of deleting a good bit, I will post this extraordinarily long reply to you thanking me for my perception of your writing, and thank you once again for your post. Thank you, fellow Member of the Tribe!
I just started reading this. …. and I cannot wait to try it! Thank you so much, Avery White! Write Practice.. can we hear more from this guy?? Please? I will come back with what I come up with after I wrestle a bit with it. OH this could be fun….
Have a blast! And thanks for the kind words 🙂
Loser, Loser, Lost
Candy feed through clean veins
I am ready for the lies
Your politics make me want to jump
Higher, Higher, gone into the ocean
I doubt
I would rather be away, far away
You are a breeder of man
Dogs, liars, cheats, scum
Your candy chokes me
Hatefilled orgasms surprise me
I am tired
My wounds fester because you lie
Field of dreams
Field of lies
Healthcare for all, healthcare for some, healthcare for no one
Lies turn my love to hate
Raw like a egg running on a hot sidewalk
Lying bitch, lying scum, liar
I would shake a weiner at ya but I ain’t got none
Back off, Mrs. or Mr. President
I am a loser, loser, lost
My vote is with the majority
The undecided and the strong
Diamond – I’m definitely digging the re-write! Clean and swift like a hilt sword to through the scapula. How’d this version feel compared to the first one?
I read this out loud and noticed something that I thought would be killer:
1) “My wounds fester because you lie” – replace ‘lie’ with ‘fired’ (so it flows into field when you say it)
2) “Lies turn my love to hate” – add the word ‘Sick” before ‘lies’ (to contrast with healthcare)
…what do you think?
I like everything I write but the new version felt better.
Great!
I feel ya there 🙂
And I think anyone who’s had to deal with people estranged from the product they allegedly support will absolutely be able to relate.
Thanks, Dina!
Lovely advise on writing.
The older man wiped away his tear and replied, “Oh, grasshopper, try to remember that if you do not succeed then you MUST try again.” He stood up to go, then said, “However, if you fail again? Then quit. After all, there’s no use being a damn fool about it!”
What? what? I cannot take this in. Oh, cmon, I knew there were problems, but this? Where is this coming from. He’s gay?
This is not true, we have a daughter asleep in the other room.
He has to be bi-sexual, omg is he crying?
OK,ok ,tissues, where are the tissues?
Theme: Gratitude for mentors
Avery teaches
then Writer reaches
… new heights
… their potential
… for more
words swirl
into a pearl … of wisdom
something that catches
something that matches
something that hatches
into change
… an idea
… a mind
… a life
White spits out words
We put up blurbs
his suggestion revises
our confidence rises
Not only guidance
guidance to and fro
guidance 2.0
Avery sets the tone
you’re not alone
No one is
This is our biz
for one another
to alleviate
to elevate
to create
… opportunity
… connection
… change
Not strange …
words move people
move mountains
Grateful for the TWP
and 3rd person creative
Two sites so educative
They show us how
to write proud
and live out loud.
*** *** *** *** ***
My heart, mind and creative soul
send gratitude.
/…admire…aspire…climb higher/
[swa] © a colored envelope
…ellipsis poetry division… 14 May 2016
Comments on my own piece: I like some of the rhythms, rhyme and word combinations. Some ways I feel I could improve it include: use some richer vocabulary, metaphors, and create a smoother transition between “move mountains” and “Grateful for…”
After reading your responses again, Avery, to some of the other postings, I see that, among other things, I should combine some of these lines. Although in my voice, the flow is still created.
WOW! #blownaway
I was cruising through the comments, smiling to myself with an ear bud in my ear…and then I saw this piece – took out my headphones, let my jaw slacken a bit, and now I’m struggling through a response….
I mean…”I just wanted to send my thanks at this point” – mission overwhelmingly accomplished.
YOU WROTE ME A RESPONSE POEM!!!?? HOW COOL IS THAT??
I’m tempted to delete some of the all caps first draft commenting that I’ve done in the past few sentences…but I won’t. I want you to know that, as a person, I’m profoundly affected by these comments and I’m STOKED that you found what I wrote so incredibly helpful that it moved you to write a response piece. Blown. Away.
My heart really is to help, and I’m so grateful to TWP for letting me have a platform to do that. And that you would take the time to visit Third Person Creative, and give a shout out to that as well? I’m just blessed. That’s all. Just blessed. Thank you 🙂
And who am I to criticize gratitude? Never. I will only offer my own in return on this one.
Warmest regards!
OK … THAT response was FUN to read (and re-read and re-read)! Nothing like a little POSITIVE reinforcement. : ) I’m really glad you enjoyed it, Avery. I sure appreciate your DETAILED enthusiasm. Your words are happily residing in their new home in my heart.
🙂
Wow! Susan. I enjoyed your post. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Lillian!
-Brokenness is the great healer…
Winds whip through the day’s clock hands. Reminding us of our lack of control.
Pulling
Pushing
Pulling us up to mountain peaks, and pulling us into depths.
I never really believed in Rock Bottom and assumed the population was zero.
Until now
Rock Bottom, population one.
Feeling broken yet vulnerable and ready for mending.
It’s in my brokenness, that I found hope.
New life.
Rock Bottom, population zero.
This is very cool. Powerful.
KL17307
1. I apologize that it’s taken me so long to get you some feedback!
2. At a poetry slam poets are usually tasked with delivering a single 1 minute poem, and then any number of 3 minute poems. For me, the 1 minute poem has always been the hardest to write.
This covered the distance normally *attempted* by a 1 minute poem in just a touch over 30 seconds (I read it out loud). Killer!
…and I don’t want to touch it because the fact that you can get an audience there in 30 seconds is pretty sweet. Way to go!
I really appreciate you still taking the time to give me feedback. I have always loved poetry and really doubt my ability to write myself. I took a risk and tried it. This was encouraging. Full disclosure, I think this is the second “poem” I’ve ever dared to write. Yikes! I have realized I have a misconception of what I need to know about the skill of poetry before I write, which leads to my insecurity.
Absolutely! Great job 🙂
Yeah, what we believe is a powerful thing. It’s rough when it works against us in the form of misconceptions.
—- —– —–
Heartbreak is a serious condition. You’re heart is a vital organ. Seek help when it is damaged.
I miss the dawn.
Another day.
I find my way to coffee.
Through the mess I left. Yesterday.
I find a cup.
In the sink.
In the mess.
I wear these clothes again.
I don’t like me.
I’ll change. Tomorrow.
It will be different. Tomorrow.
I’m too tired to sleep.
And then I wake.
In another day.
—— —- —–
I….think I’ve been depressed. What do you guys think?
I can’t quite write spoken word poetry. It’s a style that has always alluded me, though I consider it the purest form of art in writing. Interestingly, when I was young I….oh, here it comes….
When I was young I knew I was meant to write.
I was meant to write poetry that would touch hearts just as deeply as mine had been touched by various lines over the years. Poetry had a way of letting me feel truly like myself, more than anything else. The dew on morning leaves. The wisp of a cloud across the sunrise. The pink undersides of cumulonimbus as the sun set. The peaceful soul of the ocean. Poetry was one of the few places that someone else could express those moments to me.
But I couldn’t write poetry. I tried. I tried. I tried. The feeling, the emotion I needed would build up inside me until I would run to get a pencil and paper and scribble now a line as fast as I could. And I would scribble some more. Then curl my lip in disgust. I was no poet. My words had none of the grandeur I wished for. None of the wisdom or brilliance I wish for. They did not move me. They would no move anyone. I struggled for my words to mean something. I struggled to express those moments as there were but also as I saw them. I wanted the mountains to soar above your head and for you to feel the earth breathing beneath your feet as it spat it’s glowing lifeblood at the stars.
That is what I wanted. But I could not communicate myself. I felt that my talent should come naturally, with ease, if it was meant to be. But it did not come. My life had been changed so many times by two or three lines but I could never hold so much truth in my own words.
I wrote in other ways, but with poetry I could only ever manage my second best.
It would have to do.
So I’m just going to click the post button and go to sleep. 🙂 Any thoughts anyone?
Zerelda,
Yes. A few.
1. I’m sorry that it took me so long to reply to this!
2. “But I couldn’t write poetry.” – I hope that you aren’t believing this anymore because what you opened with makes for a fantastically honest page poem…
3. This comment:
“My words had none of the grandeur I wished for. None of the wisdom or brilliance I wish for.”
…reminded me a talk I heard by Dan Santat at a conference last year. He’s a pretty spectacular illustrator for children’s books, turned down an equally spectacular job offer from Google, and a great speaker…anyways, his talk was about ‘taste’. He talked about how the telltale sign of the artist is that they create, but recognize their own inadequacy so they keep working. It’s that internal sense of ‘taste’ that drives them to keep making the soup over and over again until they get it right.
I think that your comment is an indicator of that taste.
And I would go even farther and submit to you that that taste wasn’t given to you by accident. Not everyone is dissatisfied with a sentence, or shard of poetry – that’s a gift, but perhaps I’ve overstepped my bounds there a bit.
Finally…
You might be a lot closer to spoken word than you think:
1. Take the text beginning with “When I was young” through “It would have to do”.
2. Restructure your piece so it looks like this:
When I was young I knew I was meant to write.
I was meant to write poetry that would touch hearts just as deeply as mine had been touched by various lines over the years.
Poetry had a way of letting me feel truly like myself, more than anything else. The dew on morning leaves.
The wisp of a cloud across the sunrise.
The pink undersides of cumulonimbus as the sun set.
The peaceful soul of the ocean.
Poetry was one of the few places that someone else could express those moments to me.
But I couldn’t write poetry.
I tried. I tried. I tried.
The feeling, the emotion I needed would build up inside me until I would run to get a pencil and paper and scribble now a line as fast as I could.
And I would scribble some more.
Then curl my lip in disgust.
I was no poet.
My words had none of the grandeur I wished for.
None of the wisdom or brilliance I wish for.
They did not move me. They would no(t) move anyone.
I struggled for my words to mean something.
I struggled to express those moments as there were but also as I saw them.
I wanted the mountains to soar above your head and for you to feel the earth breathing beneath your feet as it spat it’s glowing lifeblood at the stars.
That is what I wanted.
But I could not communicate myself.
I felt that my talent should come naturally, with ease, if it was meant to be.
But it did not come.
My life had been changed so many times by two or three lines but I could never hold so much truth in my own words.
I wrote in other ways, but with poetry I could only ever manage my second best.
It would have to do.
3. Read it out loud.
4. Realize that this style hasn’t eluded you…it’s just been following so close you mistook it for your shadow 😉
Those are my thoughts. And you win the award for the most effortless spoken word piece I’ve ever seen written in a public forum. Nicely done 🙂
WOW, to both Zerelda for the incredible post and follow up, the submission here, and to Avery for your reply:
“Realize that this style hasn’t eluded you…it’s just been following so close you mistook it for your shadow ;)”
Awesome. Awesome stuff.
Thank you so much. Both of you.
Absolutely! I hope Zerelda is okay with me reformatting her comment 🙂
Whoa. Thank you. And thank you for taking the time to reply. 🙂
I could ramble (believe me, I’ve edited a few paragraphs out already) but I’ll try to be readable brief and still cover everything.
2. 🙂 Honesty is my writing creed. (I write fiction.)
3.I am irritatingly familiar with that “taste” (it’s what gives writing it’s flavor). Now that you’ve put it that way, I wonder if I spend so much time outsourcing to sites like this because I’m just looking for more ingredients, not because I’m lacking in creativity (confidence boost!). And I’ve always thought (well, for a while now) that part of creativity is taking things that already exist and putting them together in a new way (oh ho ho, just like our cooking metaphor). Spoken word poetry is a new recipe for me.
Am I meant to write? Do I, me specifically, enjoy mixing the ingredients so much for a reason? One day, I gave up on writing. I quit. I said, “I don’t want to do this anymore unless I know you want me to,” to God. And the second I made that decision the lyrics in the song I was listening to said, “Don’t give up. Keep on going.” That’s clear enough for me.
Thank you for the formula. Now I know how to write this type of poetry and your comments have reassured me that I can. (The way you wrote no. 4 was beautiful.)
Again, thank you.
P.S. “I wanted the mountains to soar above your head and for you to feel the earth breathing beneath your feet as it spat it’s glowing lifeblood at the stars.” ….What was I talking about? What does that mean?…..Oh! It’s a volcano!
You’re absolutely welcome! This has been a total blast – start to finish. This community has been incredible, fun, and profoundly encouraging. It’s awesome.
– Are you meant to write? Yeah, I’d say that’s a credible endorsement!
– Spoken word is a fun recipe – especially if you have other cooks in the kitchen 🙂 Finding an open-mic community is pretty UHmazing! I’m always humbled whenever I visit Mic Check.
Thank you for the dialogue – this has encouraged me so so much!!
P.S. Your P.S. was hilarious!!
I’m heading over to your site…I’m gonna have to learn roman numerals. I have some reading to do.
Later. 🙂
🙂
OK here I go:
Gateway line: “Mama said there’d be days like this.” alternately “Justifiable homicide?”
Little sleep, new baby, bundle of joy,
sucking sore nipples,
twenty minutes,
every three hours,
LONG day with fussy toddler,
Baby down for third nap,
None for Mom, over tired.
laundry over due.
Washer clunky, shouting “unbalanced!!”
Dish slipping from soapy hands,
dishwater in hair, and left eye, bubbles dripping as
HACK glack gutteral noises,
Side stepping where floor holds Fido’s vomit,
now deposited, grass poking out.
Washer clunking alarmingly
attempting a two step out of the laundry
Hop over the next little hill of laundry to go in to washer,
banging knee into washer clanging
slapping button to make it STOP.
Blessed relative quiet.
only music from the TV…
for toddler
Balancing washing load
on sore knee,
Hitting head against front loading washer,
with startle as
Toddler screaming,(–tooth growing-in pain–)
Iced chew ring thrown, landing in vomit.
Cleaning up dog puke,
washing hands
Back up ice ring to toddler
Now audible, tv music and
Water for pasta boiling in pan, hissing,
spewing all over
the sauce splattered stove top.
“Honey! I’m home, what’s for dinner? Did you get my dry cleaning?! ”
Baby monitor coming alive with infant cries,
Smoke alarm screams “there’s steam!!”
Luanna,
I think what stands out to me about this piece is how well it tells the story of what’s going on. You demonstrate an extraordinary economy of language as you take the listener (I did read this out loud to myself – this piece just ‘works’ great!) through a play-by-play without spending too much time in any one place. Aside from that, it’s pretty darn hilarious!
This is great for the stage because the audience is there for entertainment, and anyone with a kiddo or two faced with a similar circus of activity will instantly relate – well done 🙂
I especially liked the way you used ‘over’ in the “Baby down for third nap,…” stanza.
If you were going to perform this you could either:
A) leave it as is with an understanding that it’s going to sound pretty rappy (I know that isn’t a word…but I love using it anyways), and the piece will lend itself to being read quickly.
B) Insert a paragraph of interior monologue between “bubbles dripping as” and “HACK”, and another in between “vomit.” and “Cleaning” (or “for toddler” and “Balance” – your choice). Something out of cadence with the rest of the piece to allow yourself to breathe, let the audience inside your head, and make the overall delivery more dynamic.
Great stuff!
Frist and foremost:
Thank you, Avery, for directing me where to find what I had written, I am new to this format. Not sure how it got scrolled down past Member of the Tribe’s post, when it was written after his post. I suppose this is not listed in order of being written.
Excited to have gotten a reply!
Raising hand and saying Korsach like .. OOO OO PICK ME! fashion
I get what you mean!
I did have something like what you were suggesting with :
B) Insert a paragraph of interior monologue between “bubbles dripping as” and “HACK”, and another in between “vomit.” and “Cleaning” (or “for toddler” and “Balance” – your choice). Something out of cadence with the rest of the piece to allow yourself to breathe, let the audience inside your head, and make the overall delivery more dynamic.
I took it out precisely because it was out of cadence and a bit dark (and I thought, perhaps, superfluous.)
Something like:
Bubbles dripping,
OH SHIT,
Squinting keeping soap out as much as possible
Swiping of eye making it worse
don’t step on the dog,
clanging washer urgency? pipes bursting?
don’t wake the baby!
is it supposed to be this hard?
I did four years of college for THIS??
Gotta get supper done too
He’ll be home soon
I swear if he’s doing that new breezy
life as usual sweetie pie shit,
I will…
Divorce, no, murder maybe.
It was a stream of consciousness thing, out of cadence, and it seemed petty as if I was making some coping mechanism on the father’s part trivialized more than “life happening”. On the other hand, it was honest to the character and a tie in to the justifiable homicide alternative title.
I am so new to this. It might have been better had I posted after the story, what I did here, explaining what I took out and why.
The first run at “a peek inside her head” was a bit smoother even though it was jarring in cadence. I would have used that first run to show you what I did have originally, in this reply but I didn’t save it. I think I was opting for brevity cadence and it might have felt too jarring to post her inner monologue. That is where, I got the “Mama said there’d be days like this.” with the ” its not supposed to be this hard” being too negative, and wanting to edit the honesty with some humor. ( as we adults sometimes too in life)
I really appreciated the A. ) the “Rappy” quality comments as well as the B.) section I replied to. Of course ” Great Stuff” brought a smile. Thank you again, Avery.
PS. Thanks for this comment:
“A) leave it as is with an understanding that it’s going to sound pretty rappy (I know that isn’t a word…but I love using it anyways), and the piece will lend itself to being read quickly.”
Actually, That is what I was modeling this after, the spoken word I saw on TV with a POETRY SHOUT OUT . type of program.. different artists with props orating their original work. I found the mix of writing and performance fascinating. A window into their worlds. So cool to have you bring that tie in in reviewing this.
PPS.. this is not exactly entirely autobiographical, I only had one colicky kid, and was going through nursing school with her in a snugli walking the floor. I remember sleeping, patting her butt, swaying and seeing muscle groups and bone diagrams in my dreams. Once I woke leaning up against the wall like a broken robot still swaying patting patting, because the notebook dropped and woke me. Mama said there’d be days like this.
Thanks again, Avery for ” great stuff ” .. it was encouraging. Lol, what do I hear “Oh for God’s sake don’t encourage her” … as an off stage voice.. LOL.
what happened to my post MAMA SAID THERE”D BE DAYS LIKE THIS… alternatively justifiable homicide? was it deleted??
No…you have to scroll down a bit to see it. It’s there! I just finished the feedback for it 🙂
Look for rosie’s comment, your post appears just below hers.
Them poor
Why dontthey work harder?
Them rich
Why dontthey quit showin off?
Them foreigners
Why dontthey learnta speak English?
Them locals
Why dontthey learnta speak English ta tourists?
Them Christians
Why dontthey stop tellin people whatta believe?
Them atheists
Why dontthey believe in anythin?
This world, I don’t know what it’s comin to.
Why dontthey do somethin about it?
*
My gateway line was ‘people are people too’. Made me think of all the things that keep us from seeing that. Confess I stopped at step two, ‘fleshing it out’. Didn’t move on to reading it out or editing for sound. It was unexpectedly fun though. Being a prose person, I’ve never written a spoken word poem before – thanks for pushing me to write my first!
‘I look for the landing’
Stargazer now starship trooper, gliding across galaxies, sifting through sand. stardust.
Falling through space my ship burns nitrogen as it pummels the skies.
as I
Fall back, fall down, fall through.
They say I’ll die, say the crash will kill me, say it’ll end my life
But I’m a phoenix.
My ashes rise from my urn,
and so I look for the burn.
Look for the fire of my fall,
Look to smash feetfirst after floating in the skyhigh
Look to stay grounded after flights of fancy, of fantasy,
of the fantastic.
As I careen back to earth, thrust through the stars, rush back to the world, I know.
I know I’ll fly again. Know I’ll rise again, know these ashes will get wings again.
‘I look for the landing’
Stargazer now starship trooper, gliding through galaxies, sifting through sand. stardust.
Falling through space, my ship. Burns nitrogen as it pummels the skies.
as I…
Fall back, fall down, fall through.
They say I’ll die, say the crash will kill me, say it’ll end my life
But I’m a phoenix.
My ashes rise from my urn,
and so I look for the burn.
Look for the fire of my fall,
Look to smash feetfirst after floating skyhigh
Look to stay grounded after flights of fancy, of fantasy, of the fantastic.
As I careen back to earth, thrust through the stars, rush back to the world, I know.
I know I’ll fly again. Know I’ll rise again, know these ashes will get wings again.
But right now I look for the landing.
Chibuzo, I think you demonstrate a captivating use of imagery here as each ‘scene’ of the piece affects your diction. In the beginning, when the speaker is drifting, words are connected through commas and alliteration allowing the sentence to flow with ease. Later, after the ship explodes, the lines are separated by line breaks and peppered with a repetition of the word ‘fall’ — all while staying within a reasonable amount of words to say in a single breath (this is what made it fun to read out loud). These are some of the reasons as to *why* I think your piece is particularly effective. I’m left wondering what the metaphor is getting at. Well done!!
🙂
Thanks a lot for the feedback
Hi everyone, I’m new in writing spoken words. I think I need helping hands. Thanks.
“It goes around but won’t come around”
A fat pointing stomach with fluent touching speeches, I’m sent by God to bless the land with riches, the time is now to gather the pieces, the first of chances, he stole our peace.
He raped our freedom, the speech is now limited, He shamed the kingdom, ethics are now discarded, Regalia flowing, man handsome, criticism is now like hatred,
Holding all to Ransome, flying high like a kite and that’s all he ever wanted.
Until the people all rise to repel the delegate of the devil, yes, the one he gave his duties,
Until the masses see the reason to wake to civic responsibilities,
Until the people tell their stories, the governed must be the one to tell the stories of governance.
Hence, the story of governance will always idolize he government.
The taxes, labour, revenue, donations and supports, recovered loots, have always had to go around,
If the world is sane enough to bring around whatever has to go around,
Here might just be her corridor where nothing has to come around once its allow to go around.
I have a life to maintain
A reputation to sustain
And a dignity to retain.
So, I’m in need of protein,
Such as plantain,
And not caffeine
Or even complain
I do not need to go to Spain
Or get on a plane
To stay sane
Or pop champagne.
I do not nee a campaign
To make me reign.
Neither do I need a cane,
To compel my gain
So, I am turning my pain
Into something I can contain