spoken-word

I lovehow grown childrenwill still nametheir mothersthe mostbeautiful.It isas though,their eyeshave met the cascadingcurvesand goldensilhouettesof every woman.Yettheir soulsstilldrumto the beat_ of theirmother'swarmth and care.

I do not care what I labeled, as long as I am heard.

A man's words reveal, first, the man. The words are not the man, and yet they reveal him faithfully and are to be identified with him. Out of the abundance of the heart, the man speaks. The foundational nature of all language is therefore metaphorical because every word a man speaks reveals himself__ust as God reveals Himself through the Word. Every word spoken ultimately reveals the speaker.

You may use a thousand words for a single lie, but the_ truth has no twin.

It is time to put down the pen; time to clear the throat. Speaking is a different thing altogether from writing. The spoken word has different properties, and different powers. If I have learned anything from writing down my own tale, it is this.

who did I think we were.who did I thinkI could make you.this is the oldest mistake,to confuse wantingwith magic. silence is the undoingof every spell, and we are expertsin the unsaid. even now, I forgetto put us in past tense. as ifthe air in this city were the same.as if love is anything like its speaking.

I enjoy poetry where I can talk as bizarre as I please, but theology or philosophy, I always respect the truth by taking it a step further.

Whenever a time arises where clarity is desired, it is always wise to reflect on the sage within.

Things spoken in love always become reality.

The trouble with poetry is it's often written to the sound of a drum only the poet may hear; nonetheless, blessed are those poets who always manage to find unshakeable pleasure in their own works.

The evidence of death is before my eyes constantly. Moving from me outward. My death always a step in advance. The world is a mirror of myself dying. The world not dying anymore than I die. I more alive a hundred years from now. Than at this very moment.

To read a poemIs to see light where there is darknessIs to hear silence where there is noiseIs to dance where there is no musicIs to sing where the only instrument is wordsAnd the stirring, impassioned pauses

The spoken word is ephemeral. The written word, eternal. A symphony, timeless.

Poetry isn__ an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn__ a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn__ swimming. Poetry is water.

Flythe kitesof your soul,letyour spiritsoar.

A good writer is also an avid reader. A good reader is also a vivid dreamer. A good dreamer is also a good learner. And a good learner is definitely a good listener. A good listener is always looking to what the heart speaks. A spoken heart talks directly to a silent soul. And a silent soul is most of the time in pace with a peaceful thought. A peaceful thought is also a good writer...

I knew that my trauma, no matter what it was, was not unique. I knew that pain was the universal driving force of so many people__ knew that only in the details was it specific, and I just found it urgent to cut right to the chase and get right to the point.

The first time I saw her,Everything in my head went quiet.