FINE FINE!
The weather sure is fine.
I like fine food and fine wine.
I am so, so very fine.
Fine to the point of snapping
Hairline fine, gossamer fine
Of course I’m in a fine mess
With all the unpaid fines
Fine, fine, FINE!
Yeah, sure, I’m fine
The weather sure is fine.
I like fine food and fine wine.
I am so, so very fine.
Fine to the point of snapping
Hairline fine, gossamer fine
Of course I’m in a fine mess
With all the unpaid fines
Fine, fine, FINE!
Yeah, sure, I’m fine
Her laughterexplodedinto a thousand piecesthat went skippingover his wonder. One stuckdeep in his heartand bled when she left.
If Art be the much-loved childcarried to term and delivered by the nurturing womb of Creativitywhich in turn, is impregnated by the sperm seed of an Ideawhat else can Curiosity be…but the passionate union? And yet it takes two to unite, to create.But Art, owned by the artist and not…
“No day is safe from news of you” – Sylvia Plath
Each day is a minefield to navigate.
I’ve started to figure that Performance Poetry or Spoken Word does not have to conform to specific rules. I’m choosing to interpret the form as an oral sharing of an idea, an emotion or a story. This could rhyme or not, it could involve gestures or not, could include voice…
An ode to disappointing idols, to deified affections, to desecrated loyalties,
It isn’t intimacy unless it feels a little tender.