Spoken Word

The air is silent. You hear the swift deep inhale before the sounds. Intrinsically connected, language and voice, songs and visuals, creating an experience like no other. The heart strings are floating in mid air and you hear the rapid swell of inhales and exhales among the breath of a story. You feel the person's heartbeat through their words as they give you a taste of perception. A perception so intimate that you may get to wear their skin for a moment . Like that old tale of the Celtic selkies, you change form and try something new. You share a story driven by soul or humor, simple human discovery, or anything else that moves you. Poetry is medicine. We cure the stale air of masks worn for too long, and shed the irony like a snake, ready to be delivered into something real. Authentic richness that is rarely felt in the cold experience of electronics.

She stands before them, tempered by the weather of the audience. Whether they are receptive or not, she will deliver her message with a completely exposed heart. It wasn't for the applaud or the show, it was for the pause, the recognition of something true. She sang between the breaths of her story, reaching out, hoping that they feel. Holding them for a moment, untethered from suppressing fear, engaged by the hopeful...reaching with sounds and frequency. Potions of poetry, lifting you from your slumber that you make wake.

They listened, but only few heard. It's not easy to be exposed to judgement, in dim or bright light. She preferred dim, so the sparkly reflections got more of the show.

Seasons and hours and years, was it for her just to collect, reflect, and share? Or was it a gift, a curse, or both? This longing to to blaze new pathways in people's minds that more light shines through. They usually scoffed, dazed and confused. She kept pressin'. She left the drawn out excuses on the mat at the front door and opened all the windows so the air could come in. There is no hiding from the rhythms that spoke way before the labor of gold.

She brought them treasure after treasure, but the dream was so real. They had forgotten how to measure. They denied what was given just to steal the whole kingdom. She mentioned that it's never too late, harmony was always available. So in the end, it was the beginning again.

How could she share this love from the table? How could she relieve someone of their burden but not be enabling. She had decided to let it be theirs. Unclaimed gold filled to the ceiling. She blew off the roof like a candle on a birthday. Spoken words are powerful, say what you gotta say! Claim your glory now, don't save it for another day.

One poem and day, will keep the doctors away, and keep the demons at bay... a tonic of truth will heal you like the fountain of youth.

Maja M 6/23/21