Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Wednesday, February 23, 2005


If only you knew the pull of words,
understand when the sound is
never dry recitation.
Understand then - that the pull
is vital when lifted off a page,
levitated with the force of purpose,
drama pulling conscience toward some
pulse of survival, to be in the moment
of a phrase, a unique absolute full of
electrons - a sappy, sureal natural
high just to watch.
And listen.
And learn.
Wouldn't you thank God for this?
Thank the muse for presentation
like that? We all would.
One to stand up, throw down
seeking to shock, anger,
make you cry, handstand for joy;
get inside your brain,
get inside your soul.
All the words to get you
and me up out of our seats and
osmosis the cause like microscopic
cells thriving in a Martian sea
of ice.

-- Not only remembering all the Def Poetry performances on cable, which I wish would show up again soon... But really going all the way back to the Java Cafe in Fresno when I went to my first poetry reading. They invited a group of spoken-word poets from Sacramento and I was just blown away by the whole evening. They read from notebooks... They read and every word they spoke seemed to have a life of its own.

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