LEAK
In between your precise words
and your regimented actions
you spilt me one look
that drowned it all.
I leak.
In between your precise words
and your regimented actions
you spilt me one look
that drowned it all.
I leak.
A house that is a warzone. A courtroom for custody battles. Dumping ground for other people’s pain. My body.
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…
I returned to the poetry circuit last week. Yes, I have been performing here and there but only where I’ve been pulled in. 2017 has hit me with so many things, I’ve needed to stop and regain my breath. I wrote a new piece and read it right off my…
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…
His voice holds me. His words unravel me. And the trouble is the unraveling, the undoing, the blurring continue long after the voice has gone silent, the line cold. Because words, they linger. Burning flesh wounds inside defenses. And everything else feels harder, sharper, steelier. I am in a world…
I’m looking for a place I once visited in a dreamIt made reality seem like the place I must wake fromAnd I’ve sleepwalked to it,ever since Join me?We’ll forge a path paved with wordsFollow a map marked with splintered dreamsAnd ride there on the motorbike of your Memphis (for WolfMamma)