I haven't done a spoken word in ages, so please bear that in mind. I think it sounds more like talking to me over the phone than an actual recital. Also, I don't speak English every day anymore — warning: more rustiness — AND to top it off, it's hottt t t .
Slightly unhinged.
— end disclaimer.
The poems I used are under the cut!
To the original writers, I really hope you like this little audio file. I know I didn't ask you for permission but I wanted it to be a surprise :)
@aubriestar
a peach of a day
it dawned golden halos illuminated with may vibes
the peach tree shimmered
an orange glow distilled from nectar within, released with a bite
juice of sun grown sweetness and a flavor bomb of pure peachyness
i lead you to it, a treasure shared how can such a simple thing overwhelm the senses
kiss me and taste it
a feeling of saturation of unadulterated flavor, of belief that love can still grow in an arid climate and i just have to reach for it, bending the boughs
peaches rescue us
.
@sanddollarpoems
Untitled
I stay silent here
Rolling in this holding pattern
Not allowing the hope
That you'll see me though it all
I keep throwing wishes
Over the wall into your garden
I wish you happiness
I wish your dreams come true
I stay here quietly
Not knowing how to break your fall
But I'll keep smiling back
Till you see me through it all
.
@fille--de--joies (sorry I butchered your username xD! My French isn't what it used to be)
Flowers on my bosom
Flowers on my bosom
Who can unseed what one's sown?
who can unsee what one saw?
Late spring sultriness ripens
incandescent bodies
made for coalescence, not orbitation —
inevitable irreversibility;
who can run from one's lot?
gulp down one's own blossoms?
Reaping the ingrown satiation
of smothered thirsts,
lessons of pain spelling
for an illiterate heart,
mind fasting for wise viscera.
How florescent of you
to never come to fruition.
.
@wordrummager
blame it on gravity
I miss the way my body turned
lightly, with care at the ballet
now I am a hippo in the muck
I remember stepping through gardens
in France feeling like a sprite
never a lady
I wonder what I would have been
with more encouragement
and less imagination
is it ok that I don’t like opera
but love stories with resolutions
and poems without sense
I hope I don’t get tired of flowers
or rivers or stars or clouds
because that’s where I see hope
.
My poem:
Facadeless
This boredom by repetition
Exposes only a lack of wonder, amazement,
And curiosity. A sense of failure
I am unwilling to deepen / signify
Alive.
Superficially, I want to be
More human.
Which is an odd thing to think. As if I am
Less human today. Still,
This skin feels too grimy;
Layered with something the water doesn't
Quite rinse.
I wish I could wear a dream,
If that makes sense (it probably doesn't);
Something that could thrive
On the idea of touch, alone,
And doesn't have to be real.
Like The Emperor's Clothes:
A cloak
That conceals nothing,
And so let's me vanish
When I am
Solely this emptiness,
Experienced
Within.
This is just so beautiful and Mark is so amazing! Thank you for breathing life into one of my poems, and for sharing the beauty you've found here in the tumblrsphere.
That stupid problem where you can write 18 pages of a new story that just popped into your brain, but you can't manage to do the 4 page essay that's due in a week... wtf is wrong with me?