performance poetry

Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.

Alphabets Letter by Letter
Another day in Hawaii Before the wonderful sunset Cats roam around the beaches Demanding people to feed them by being cute
By Lin8 years ago in Poets
Writer's Block
As I lay I try to write But nothing comes to mind No rhymes, no verses No hidden messages Simply ... empty space. The noise in my head is fuzzy
By Sammie G8 years ago in Poets
Old Opera
Sometimes I can still smell the gunpowder and the smoke. No, I wasn’t here when the dark clouds hovered over this town. But, you can feel it; the terror and the intensity of the flames. Brick by brick, stone by stone they rebuilt the presence of this place. Memories of the town are dreary, but there is one area that refuses to die.
By Meg El8 years ago in Poets
Neato Burrito
So I've been going to this poetry slam, And sometimes I think I could write poetry. I leave all inspired Then sit and think about what to write
By Raven Moise8 years ago in Poets
Calico
Carolina, Alabama, Yankees prolly call us bamas, Back to back punches rapping now we bamming, Dodged the slammer thanks to my grammar, A prince from the jungle thanks to grandma, Antisocial ambivert mastering artistry, Why write a book when my verses are odysseys, I'm an awesome but awkward God MC, July baby, moon child, guarding his galaxy God it seems you got all mapped out for me, Middle finger to those who doubted me, Scratch that I hope your story goes happily, Hurting the ones you love, I hate war casualties, Hiphop artist and my state's martyr, Making my bars harder to keep my mind sharper, A ceremony master with his fist balled author, Known to be quiet but the boom bap get me talking, Confidence, found it when I found a pen to let the flow blossom
By Chad L.8 years ago in Poets
Another Episode (Murder The Beat 6)
I'm a focused flow-er amongst the dopest poets, These sonnets showing I'm high amongst the lowest, My motive and goal is for y'all to get know him, Murder he wrote it, the percussion getting ghosted Every poem a wallet, in out and the pocket going, The result is I'll have you shaking the picture, a magic moment Chad, said that wow, he bugging, no bragging or boasting, I'm intact with a rapping style that only goes to chosen. If you pray, write it or talk it comes when it's spoken, A cunning linguist, there's power in the tongue rolling, I had to get off strike from the pen and out the gutter, no bowling, They don't know about my legacy, warn a brother, Lyor Cohen, What do you a call snakes getting stoned and chains stolen, Cotton mouths that can't get a diamond back from their poison, Still going through motions, making decisions stoic, growing potent.
By Chad L.8 years ago in Poets
The Devil’s Workshop
An idle mind is the devil’s workshop. Hours of thinking with nothing better to do. You drink water and smoke cigarettes to fill up your time.
By Amanda Zylstra8 years ago in Poets
Alive
The rain slips down my cheeks into my chest, washing away the fingerprints and the wounds of my past lovers, freeing up space for your fingertips to explore the parts that make me feel human again
By Kasey Lomax8 years ago in Poets
Walker World
What do you feel when you touch her hands? nothing I answered, physically I have never felt them, Because when I touch her I don’t feel her hands,
By Kelsey Forjan8 years ago in Poets
Nightmare
I had a dream last night, Of kids running around And laughing loudly Like there’s no tomorrow. I had a dream last night,
By Dana Abuqalbain8 years ago in Poets
The Urge to Purge
It burns, as it slips slowly down my throat. I can feel it making it's way down into my stomach and settling there. The alcohol.
By Jessica Rasile8 years ago in Poets
Do Not Open
Hi, I'm James. At least, that's what I want to say. But instead my mouth forms different words, ones that force their way between my teeth, much like the way I force myself out of bed in the morning. But since we're talking about mornings, let me tell you about mine. These summer dresses and cute flats never quite fit. Eating my breakfast when I wish I could be eating the pain and dysphoria I face everyday, wishing they would disappear as quickly as my cereal does.
By James Stevison8 years ago in Poets