performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Writing A Poem Or Rhyme Or Two Or Three Every Day For 28 Or 29 Days, Depending On The Year.
My grandson asked that I write him some rap songs. Okay, I said, not having any idea just what I was agreeing to. When I handed him one of the songs, he said, "Grandma, it is too long, no one will listen to a rap song for 10 minutes! You don't rhyme enough either! Do you have a beat?" I said, okay, I can cut it down to what 3 minutes? I will put more rhyme in it. I have a hand drum I made, a rain stick and a rattle, is that enough? The musical instruments I mentioned wasn't what he meant!
By Denise E Lindquist4 years ago in Poets
Rain
The downpour is heavy. It’s pita-patting tune Releases from memory The days of great fortune. Days when I had loved. Mountain air, the frost Supple lips, a kiss! Hand in hand walks, lost! Lake Chautauqua, weirdly shaped The autumn foliage, Bemus point. The hundred acre lot, us getting caught By that jogger, who camped in the park. The way you moan! Whenever we touched. Still I long for your flesh. I yearn o so much. Mischievous smile! Eyes a fierce amber! A modest style! Your devilish candor! Will this cycle never cease? When lost emotions are released! That causeth the rain to increase. I dry my eyes, I hope for peace!
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Poets
New World
Was I wrong to dream? Of a world of peace. Where love forever abounds. And hatred? But cease! A world in which, We all belong, Of grassy fields, And birdy songs. The extinction of orphans, How great it seemed. That never again, an orphan On this world, is to be seen! Still in this dream, I also saw, No whale oil lamps. No dead macaws! No bloody stream, Leading to dead elephants! For the rich had all, Taken heed! That all are poor! Once children bleed! Then who am I, But a brother’s keeper? Yet am I thus? That makes him weaker! Am I the scourge of yesterday? Which consumes life’s essence. And dear souls take away! Doth not my hands make? Great machines of war? Yet I preach peace! One might ask, what for? Oh how I long for the day, When none shall remember, The glories of conquest, And it’s narcissistic splendor! Still in this dream, I saw the past. A time long gone, too long to grasp! There, wealth existed unlike today. In our interactions, our words, And the very games that we play. A time when gold was naught, But a conductor. And diamonds a useless rock! But for mere luster!
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Poets
