A compilation of words spoken
Looking back on all I’ve said
out loud I can’t believe it.
Burning words before the crowd,
I can’t conceive it…or
funny words, heartbroken words, strong,
weak, bitter, sweet, words absurd etcetera.
Oh the good old daze, if I
hadn’t jammed at the slam…
oh well, what mattered was the listeners
drinking in my words, cheering at
reverse crescent kick punctuating
one of my lines.
Being read and being heard
are different, the latter looking
into faces that look back.
Smelling the audience, sometimes.
Shelling the audience, sometimes.
Heart and mind race except
once I froze like creature in headlights.
Important not to get hypnotized, or
too hypnotized, anyway,
before the last lines.
The things I’ve said…
excuse me, my wife is calling:
mice have ravaged the pantry
like words nibbling at my mind.
Back to things I’ve said…
I remember thinking I was free when I didn’t have a clue
of what was stewing in Hell’s Kitchen, deep within my soul…
So heavy on wounding and recovery,
needful things in many lives;
If I’d grown up with rainbows and unicorns…
Child rape, weddings, births, deaths,
divine eroticism, blessings
to Irish gods, curses to Bin Laden,
being shamed uncircumcised, addiction,
bloodletting, suicide…
What did I not speak of?
That is another story, or maybe not…
Breath on breath compel,
shape holy spirit with your holy mouth,
word by word a spell.
I am the storyteller, listen to my story,
or not, you do not have to listen,
yet mercy on me please.
I must tell my tales…
Diagnoses don’t tell the whole story.
I can’t ignore invasions of my body anymore,
as well as I was trained.
…nerves remember being raped, and will be heard.
After three weeks in tropical heat a corpse
at the bottom of a cistern doesn’t leave many clues…
…we’ve been exploring, fingering, tasting
the salt musk music of each other's wrinkles…
Who puts the voices in the heads
that put the voices in the heads?
Come to stink of it the proletariat
were caught by the Napoleon of their nexus.
…my nostrils finally clear of cellar stink,
I learned to celebrate the taste of air,
the warm caress of sunlight.
I am in, beyond my body, feeling green
fields, rooted well, and reaching for the sun.
So many more words spoken out loud
in front of ears that mostly heard me;
words won’t all fit in here. To be
continued…wouldn’t it be nice
to be continued?
Notes and syllables took the shape of leaves
cascading out of his mouth weaving into his beard and clothing him…
~ Wry Welwood
18th of July 2021
written in response to J.D. Harms’ Saturday word prompt, yesterday, in Scrittura: spoken word. Link to prompt here.
Write for The Lark
Submission guidelines for a short story and poetry publicationmedium.com