performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
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.
By Green Yoga Project5 years ago in Poets
Fresh meat
Run, run as fast as you can. Don’t look back, you’ll fall. Ignore the trees, ignore the wind. Don’t let them catch you. Don’t let them smell you. Watch your step. They’ll folllow your prints. The river won’t save u. The mountains won’t shield you. Run, run as fast as you can. Flee for your life. They’re coming, they’re right behind you. They know where you are. The branches betray you. The tall grass won’t hide you. The fields are too wide. The valley lacks shadows. The shade isn’t your friend. Run, run as fast as you can. I hear them. I’m not fast enough. I’m out of breathe, I’m out of time. The wolves are after me. The villagers, the soldiers, the bounty hunters. I’m fresh meat. I should have left when I had the chance
By Anna Torres5 years ago in Poets
The Guys in Suits
The guy in the suit that lies and waits, looking for tenants to make a mistake. Making a list and checking it twice, until the day comes, to prove if they’re naughty or nice. up and down the elevator goes, we deliver items, mail, food – and people too. Some are nice, some are sneaky, and some just needs a really big binky.
By The Kind Quill5 years ago in Poets
