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Man Dec 2020
festering like the fungus on rotting fruit
moulded to the shadow

torn from it
motion making it's stop
the flatline
an event horizon
        and   i  

blank became the canvas
as existence shrunk from view
and i saw it all;
and it was glorious

but the curtains were closing
momentary was the sight bestowed
which fleeted faster than life
from this withering device of animation

elapsing back to nothing
a fade to black
Dave Robertson Nov 2020
An explosion,
pulse quickened,
the adrenaline itch
threatened to stifle me

throat constricted,
mouth cotton dried
as I eyed the few I could see
in the front row

then the music
as familiar as my pillow
gave a beat and suggested melody
and as I sang I rose
Big Virge Sep 2020
I Guess Most Are IMPRESSED...
By Poets Who Are Blessed...
With... Mental Capabilities...
To Memorise Their Poetry... !!!!

Do These Poets IMPRESS You... ???

If Not... That's Cool...
But If YES Is Your Answer...

Cos' THIS It Seems...
Is The HOT Thing...
To Join Slam Poets School...

I Recite From Paper...
Cos' I Write From PAPER... !!!

It's Good To Read...
But MOST Now DON'T... !!!!!

Try Testing A Child And You'll BELIEVE...
Employers PLEAD For Kids Who READ...
But MOST Now Think... TECHNOLOGY...
Will COVER Their Lack of … LITERACY... !?!

I've Got A LAZY Mind...
When It Comes To Learning Rhymes...

But Poets Who I See...
With Retentive Memories...

Sometimes I Do Believe...
Can End Up STUNG Like Bees... !!!

When Words That They Had Memorised...
ESCAPE Their........... Memory...... !!!!!

Now Sometimes EVEN Reading...
Can Leave Some Poets REELING... !!!

But This To Me's APPEALING...
That Words They're Now Reciting...

Slam Poets Are Now SCREAMING...

"Our Stuff Can Have DEEP MEANING !"....

SOME Slammers DO...

But MOST Are Writing STUFF That PROVES...
They REALLY KNOW NOT What They Do... !?!

That's Got You People...
Saying... " Oooooohhhhhh "... !!!!

CALM Down Now Folks...
You Know I'm … “ COOL “...

Simply From My Vocal DROOL...
I'm Trying To Say That Reading's GREAT...
So When You Judge Judge Their WORDPLAY...
NOT Actions That Slam Poets... " MAKE "... !!!

If What You're Saying...
HOLDS NO Weight... !!!

Like KRS-One I.... " EDU-TAIN "... !!!

By Using Words...
To … FEED Your BRAIN... !!!

My Style AIN'T Built …
To Make You SMILE... !!!
Or For A Movie Like... " 8 Mile "... !!!!

I Just Compile Poems To RILE...
Slam Poets Living... In DENIAL...
cos' When Our Work Is Put ON TRIAL...
They'll Get DONE Like *******... !!!!

While Scrolls I Write In THIS HERE Style...
WILL BE Sought After Like.... " X Files "....


It's Time RIGHT Now...

"Big Virge has slammed,
and brought distress !
He's a ******* devil,
in poetic dress !"

I've Been God Blessed...
To Write... REALNESS...

So Are You People NOW...

... " IMPRESSED "... ???
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Performing Art
by Michael R. Burch

Who teaches the wren
in its drab existence
to explode into song?

What parodies of irony
does the jay espouse
with its sharp-edged tongue?

What instinctual memories
lend stunning brightness
to the strange dreams

of the dull gray slug
—spinning its chrysalis,
gluing rough seams—

abiding in darkness
its transformation,
till, waving damp wings,

it applauds its performance?
I am done with irony.
Life itself sings.

One suspects the typical American poetry professor and/or workshop instructor would advise birds to give up singing for mostly inaudible expressions of jaded irony. Keywords/Tags: performing, art, poetry, song, singing, music, irony, cynicism, parodies, dreams, imagination, chrysalis, butterfly, transformation, natural, performance
Amanda Kay Burke Feb 2020
Crowded bar
Drink held in hand
Music blaring loud
Pretty sure my soul is ******
After the second round

Shot of whiskey down throat
One more to follow
Sea of ***** keeping afloat
Weightless with each swallow

Dizzy head
Thick and light
And hazy
Tiredness drags down my sight
Legs relaxed and lazy

Warmth spreads throughout torso
Fingertips begin to tingle
Euphoria inside my brain grows
My neurons and serotonin mingle

Air heavy
Sweat and motion
Humid heat clinging to my skin
Around me is a blurred commotion
Logic and sense wearing thin

Tummy performing cartwheels
Whole place unbalanced and dark
Stool wobbly underneath my heels
Bartender pouring from a fifth of Monarch

Saturday night in a tiny town
Where everything else is just too far
So you find yourself driving the same road down
To the local nothing-better-to-do bar
In Talkeetna that bar is called The Fairview which is where I was when I began writing this little treasure haha
The Red Woman Apr 2019
my favourite actor
nothing less than perfect
my whole world, all i saw

but then you became something else
someone else
even though you were wearing the same mask
as you did when we first met

on the outside the same
but on the inside you changed
therefore i still watch you
as you perform in the crowded hallways

how do i heal from a loss of someone who hasn't died
He changed. Everything he does is like an act. I just thought that we were special, and there was no act with me. He changed into something that I couldn't recognize, and I was pushed away. I watch the face of a boy I loved, on a person I can no longer recognize everyday. Now I am left, trying to heal from a loss of someone who technically isn't dead.
Jacob Parnell Jan 2019
Heart settles for a second or a millisecond more.
Dew rises leaving the world in a smokey haze.
This is not a phase.
This is just me.
She prayed.
I stayed away from all of that.
When I was younger, everything was "as a matter of fact".
Everything was reading newspapers for the comic strips.
Everything was detective novels fit for my young mind.
She left it all behind, not by choice.
She was my voice.
She was my mom.

She watched me read poetry with sweaty pits.
Fear hiding behind my eye-lids.
It helped that she was there.
It helped the fear.
Performing in front of people, something I didn't often do.
Now the smoke rises leaving only dew.
Who am I now?
What will I become?
My mom knew me but someday I'll say she only knew me when I was young.
I'm not ready for that.
I'm not sure I'll ever be.
That day will come and the dew will rise again.
The dew behind my eye-lids.
A poem about my mom. She passed away almost a year ago now and always supported my poetry. I know she would be proud of me.
Kira Jul 2018
She was my inspiration
The way she spoke so clearly
Her voice echoed with no hesitation
and her words were meant sincerely

I could tell she wrote with passion
Not afraid to tell her story
It was her call to action
Not about the glory

I wanted her to talk forever
and not stop at the end of the paper
We had a connection I didn't want to sever
Her thoughts I wanted to savor
I've always had a love of poetry, but it wasn't until a couple of months ago that I was really inspired to write my own. This girl read a poem to me that she wrote and it was so powerful that it gave me chills and made me want to cry and I loved that I could feel so many different emotions just by listening to her talk. I hope that someday I will write a piece that will make someone feel something so deeply that they have to sit back for a second and take a deep breath.
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