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Best Spoken Word Poems

Below are the all-time best Spoken Word poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of spoken word poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Spoken Word Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Spoken Word poems are below this new poems list.

Never Forget You: Spoken Word Part II by Kae, Kre8tive
Never Forget You: Spoken Word by Kae, Kre8tive
true spoken word by junor, mark
speechless spoken word Artiste by ARTHUR, CHRISDAD KOJO
The spoken word cannot be unsaid by Broadbent, Robert
Oratory - Power of the Spoken Word by Ioane, Tiaua M
I am monster spoken word poem by Carroll, Ken
Speak Life: the power of the spoken word by nelson, louise
Sadness is a Visable Spoken Word by archuletta, dave

View all new Spoken Word Poems

The Best Spoken Word Poems

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |


Listen to poem:
My dress is made of fine peach coloured* lace Hair is in ringlets, which frames my pretty face The lights in the room cast a romantic glow My first ever ball; I must go with the flow The orchestra strikes up a wonderful tune Ladies and gentlemen glide round the room I stand on the sidelines I am oh so very shy Then a dashing young man catches my eye I smile at him, then I coyly avert my eyes I find him so handsome; that I cannot disguise He reaches tenderly for my awaiting hand We move to the dance floor; oh it is so grand His arm wrapped around my tiny waist We dance to the music, there is no haste So full of excitement at the hope of romance I float round the room at my very first dance At the end of the dance he bows down low My heart is aflutter I hope this does not show He leads me gently to the side of the room Sweet roses enchant us, we smell their perfume Time flies by so fast and we dance all night He looks in my green eyes and to my delight Whispers so gently those words I long to hear You simply are the belle of the ball my dear He reaches out gently and kisses my hand My first ever ball has been oh so grand Sadly now it is time for me to depart I bid adieu to the man who has stolen my heart 11~15~14 *English spelling used

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

The Poets of Gloop

Listen to poem:
Have you heard of the wonderful Poets of Gloop? 
Their imagery slouches and metaphors droop,
but the poems they write have the scent of a rose 
‘cause they write in a garden where poetry grows.

They live in a place called the Garden of Gloop. 
It’s a beautiful garden for such a great group! 
They’re divided in teams, labeled A, B, and C, 
but they’re never quite sure on which team they should be. 

Well, the A-team is run by the “old-timer’s” clique.  
They have been there the longest - they know how things tick!
So do NOT try to trick them with ticks that are tocks, 
They’ll assume that you’re fake if your poems are crocks. 

Team B is comprised of a colorful few
who observe from the top, and they’ll fight for that view. 
They’ll whisper their thoughts as they give you their wins, 
and they’ll keep you engaged with their winks and their grins.  

Team C are just people who try to stay real;
so they sit the on the fence, and they feel what they feel.
They’re nobody’s puppet, for goodnesses sake!
And some peeps are so good, they’re thought to be fake! 

Now, here’s the weird thing about Poets of Gloop:
They all run in circles and try to regroup!
So that guy with the A-team? He used to be C … 
And what’s up with that one?  He’s now such a B ! 

So they flip and they flop as they fight to fit in,  
and they frown as they fall, but they get up again, 
for a Poet of Gloop is a poet who knows,
they all need to belong there, where poetry grows. 

Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Eternal Life And The Total Self

Listen to poem:

Eternal Life And The Total Self

Life is but a fleeing whisper
     echoing through time,
never dying, always being
     magnificent and sublime.

The body's a receptacle,
     a superficial shell,
but in it dwells the gift of soul;
     eternity knows it well.

The soul contains the truths of life,
     to all that's ever been;
to all things now, and yet to come,
     but guards them deep within.

The mind has hidden doors to soul;
     we long to find the key...
unleash the vision waiting there
     that lives eternally.

And so mind seeks to open wide,
     grasp firm the light of soul.
and at that moment when it does,
     we know we will be whole.

So when we penetrate the shield
     that stands between these two,
we will perceive with inner sight
     our soul, complete and new.

If in this life, we cannot grasp
     this bond of soul and mind,
we'll be reborn to live again
     till total self we find.

We've been before, so many times;
     we've known many a past.
We'll be again, an echo in time...
     till mind and soul are fast.

And when that final day does come,
     at last to lift our soul,
for Him to gather in His arms...
      a perfect self, now whole.

May 19, 2016

Contest: Soul Consciousness
Sponsor: Catie Lindsay
Read: By Author

Theme:  After death, will you have to enter again in another Earth life, and Why?

Although not my religious belief, there are some religions, like Hinduism, that believe in reincarnation which refines the soul by it living many lifetimes, and after it is perfected, goes back to God.  My poem is based on that belief.  So many people, including myself, have inner feelings or momentary flashbacks like they have lived before in another who knows... 

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Worst Love Poem Ever Written

Listen to poem:
I suck at dying poems

Chemo poems, Metastatic Cancer poems,

Hair falling out in the shower poems


And I told a half truth

When I told you I could write you one

In less than six months (It's been eight)

I apologize for being so late


I wanted your poem to be pink and graceful

Like those ribbons

I see all over the internet

Filled with cheesy generic rhymes

That could get me hired by Hallmark


 I just know my metaphors will start melting

And that my similes will get all soft

 I guarantee you the rhyme meter will be off


I went to Google

And the typed in the word 'happy'

Three billion things came up

Not a single inference to

Breast cancer, hair loss

No redirects to mastectomies


The only thing research could teach me

Is that a good day on chemo

Is when your stool doesn't come out tar Black

And has no blood in it

Or when your urine

Smells better on Wednesday

Than it did on Tuesday

Sleeping less than 12 hours

When 24 would be better


Still I refuse to finish this poem

Without something bright and hopeful

And I know I'm doing a horrible job

America has more poets

Than it does alcoholics

   And Pot smokers combined

And you chose me to be

Your Breast Cancer

Poet Laureate

Trusting me to write a poem

About the biggest battle in your life


And don't think

I didn't notice your Facebook activity

Had decreased by 88%

In the last three months


And you aren't really

Coming to any more of my poetry shows

Ever again. Are you??

But we still have January, February


And how do you write

A Breast Cancer poem

With no references to breast

(I get embarrassed)

 That would be some kind of Oxymoron

I guess


But even if you had one breast

Or no breast

or if you had less hair than I do

I promise to look only in your eyes

And never ever even notice

Or even think about it

And never for a moment

Would I feel sorry for you

Yes I suck at lying too...


But I don't suck at loving you

Or at hoping you wake up tomorrow morning

 With no Cancer at all

And that The Eiffel Tower will be right outside

Your bedroom window...

And I would be right there with you

Holding your hand while we look down on Paris

And you can impress me with your French again


And if I ever make it

To the Pulitzer Poetry board

I might lose a thousand points

Just for this poem alone

And my hopes for the prize will be smitten

And some old person with white hair will say

That this was the worst love poem ever written

Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

I am Poetry

Listen to poem:
Feel me - like an autumn breeze 
Dancing easily through your thoughts
Let me stir that hidden part of your soul
That part that you’ve forgotten long ago 
Experience me, deeply breathe me in
Attempt to capture the essence of who I am  
But know that you will never pin me down
For no one is able to capture the wind

Be ignited by the flames of my passion
Frolic in the radiance of my vibrant colors
Let my heated whispers call out to you    
Embrace me, and slowly remove the layers
Leisurely explore every subtle nuance 
Attempt to discover my deepest secrets
But realize that you can’t fully know 
For no one is able to grasp a fire’s glow  

I am waves of pure intensity   
I’m sincerity, passion, pain, and pleasure
Sometimes clever, reticent, and demure 
Swim into my crystal clear epiphanies 
Bathe in the spring of my sensuality 
Drink and be refreshed by my offering 
You’ll never grow tired of tasting me
For I am timeless.  I am ~ Poetry  

Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Our Boogeyman

Listen to poem:
Our Boogeyman

There is a boogeyman within
this home of ours, we swear he's here!
He comes and goes to mess with us
and bring about a silly fear.

It happens if we're here or not; 
he seems to go from room to room
to keep us guessing why we see
phenomena that brings such gloom.

It has to do with lights, you see,
the kind you touch to turn them on;
somehow this boogeyman knows how
to toy with us, and whereupon,

we find our touch lamps brightly lit
in rooms, we enter while we're there. 
But worst of all, to find them on
when we've been out, and such despair,

to wonder how that comes about??
For sure, it doesn't make much sense.
Do boogeymen have fingers that
can generate capacitance?

May 24, 2016

Contest: Boogeyman
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Read: By Author 
True Story!

"Touch-sensitive lamps almost always use a fourth property of the human body -- its capacitance. [kuh-pas-i-tuh ns] The word "capacitance" has as its root the word "capacity" -- capacitance is the capacity an object has to hold electrons. The lamp, when standing by itself on a table, has a certain capacitance. This means that if a circuit tried to charge the lamp with electrons, it would take a certain number to "fill it." When you touch the lamp, your body adds to its capacity. It takes more electrons to fill you and the lamp, and the circuit detects that difference."

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Just Desserts

Listen to poem:
I was at my favourite restaurant and had a lovely meal
If I finished all my food then a pudding was the deal
I’d relished every morsel and was pleased as a Cheshire cat
The dessert menu was on its way, Oh I couldn’t wait for that

The waitress bought the menus and I rubbed my hands with glee
Oh sticky toffee pudding, now that’s the one for me
She came to take the order – we had waited as you do
She finally turned to me and said ‘oh Madam what can I get you’

Oh stiffy cockie pudding please was my swift reply
I didn’t realise what I’d said till I saw the tears form in her eye
I went as red as a beetroot and the others began to laugh
At my spoonerism which turned into a complete gaffe

The pudding it came quickly but I couldn’t wait to leave
I choked on every mouthful and my stomach it did heave
So please take notice of my error on this horrendous day
If you order sticky toffee pudding be careful what you say!

This is a true experience! The waitress was a student at the school I work at - I was so pleased when she went to university - I have never ordered this dessert since!

Submitted to Richard's Beginnings Matter Contest  - It had taken a month of badgering by my friend jenny Brewer to even pluck up courage to post my poems - I wondered how my humour would be appreciated!
~awarded 2nd place~

This is my first poem posted here and it is my first poem to be published in a book by United Press

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Suncatcher --recited

Listen to poem:
A visitor— icicle fingers tapping on my windows' pain— white blanket in tow Hurting enough, I paid him no mind so he kept tap, tap, tapping ‘til cobweb-like cracks appeared: a final, gentle tap shatters my windows My rainbow world now smothered, pallid, forced into boredom and slumber, sunlight chased away and I am never the same again… Soul gets plunged deep in the cold blinded by whiteness, numbed with simplicity there is an eerie stillness, almost as if no one dared to breathe, even the barren trees refused to quiver brittle dendrites seem to claw the sky futile though, for they are frozen, grasping at nothingness, clouds stubborn and stoic, brooding in silent grayness …and then from within, a filigreed whisper escapes palpable and brave~ it weaves its way through the branches, gathering strength wherever it went it beckons to the sky, which in turn gives in and celebrates ~ letting dainty confetti fall white, yet amazingly graceful each flake falls softly on the ground— a fashionable brocade trees softly sway now, and dance to a winter song the sky weeps with happiness for seeing a glimpse of life— diamond teardrops they catch a bit of evasive sunlight, of which I thought I’ve lost and give birth to miniature rainbows… all this time, Sunlight was there I just never knew how to catch it.
an audio of me reciting this poem

Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2011

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Listen With Your Heart

Listen to poem:

Listen, my fellow dreamers,
But listen with your heart,
And hear the silent music
Of which we're all a part.

Cover your ears, my dreamers
Lest the worldly tunes drown out
The inner magic symphonies
Of what life's all about.

Listen, listen, listen,
And hear the song of Love;
It's echoing within you,
Outside, beneath, above.

It's playing in the meadow
And in the city street;
Resounding in your friendships
And the stranger that you meet.

Listen, listen, listen,
To the symphony of Hope;
Its crescendo's growing louder
To help you grasp and cope.

It's drowning out the concert
Of trouble and of strife;
Just close your ears and listen
To this melody of life.

Listen, listen, listen,
To Faith's unending song;
There's magic in its music
To make and keep you strong.

Feel the mighty power,
It's flowing through your soul;
Its tune will conquer mountains
And fulfill your every goal.

Listen, listen, listen,
But listen with your heart,
And hear the silent music
Of which we're all a part.

Sandra M. Haight
Audio: Read by Author

~1st Place~
Contest: Life ~ Premiere Contest
Sponsor: Janis Thompson
Judged: 05/15/2016

~1st Place~
Contest: Simply Beautiful
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Judged: 04/05/2015

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

New York Street Horse

Listen to poem:

Plunked down in chaos
from a gentler time,
blinkered from the traffic
he pulls the coach along.
Patient, in his harness bond
he tugs at hearts, with pathos-
as to his love of duty we respond. 
Amidst the screech of sirens
and the blasting horns,
he stands and dreams
of meadows in a nosebag.
Such rhythmic clicking of
 metal shoes on concrete,
full rolling of the carriage
wheels and he, confined,
down through the centuries
he thought he'd left behind.

Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Shadow Puppets

Listen to poem:

Shadow Puppets

Once, side by side, they walked the moonlit beach
in silence, each alone and incomplete
in detached worlds, joined only by the reach
of tiny, lapping waves upon their feet.
As silver beams of moonlight iced the ground
and blotted out the warmth of sandy gold,
the warmth of humanness was hidden, bound
beneath blind souls, that shivered in the cold.

Yet on the sand, their shadows danced along—
a silhouetted couple synchronized
in motion…forms united, clear and strong
against the blankness which the moon devised.

Dark, shadow puppets sparked a guiding light—
gave living souls new vision in the night.

December 18, 2014

Contest: Pen A Sonnet On It
Sponsor: Janis Thompson
Read: By Author

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Dying Love

Listen to poem:
Those deep caramelized eyes

hidden behind continuous cries

Days, weeks, months

sitting at his side

holding his hand

the one who held your heart

the one who made you his bride

Lost, deeply entranced in memories

Nights laying by the fire

Captivated by desire

Those walks barefoot in the sand

Oh those days were grand

The soft slow kisses

The day you became his Mrs.

Making dreams come true

All the I love you's

I remember

Forty years ago when we met

sharing an umbrella

so I wouldn't get wet

You made me laugh

and giggle

.... at your jokes

I brushed your hand

and hair with little strokes


When we got to my flat

 didn't want to go in

You grabbed my hand

and pulled me in

That kiss was so sweet

One we would forever repeat

Where has the time gone

It seems like only yesterday

when we had our first date

You were not like anyone I had ever met

Such a gentleman, you were great

All those late night talks

cuddled on the couch

That little twinkle in your eye

You'll always be my guy

I miss those times

We'd sit on the porch

drinking our tea

I'd look at you

you'd look at me

We'd stare up at the night sky

Wishing upon falling stars

Picking one out

making it ours

I still hear our song

I still wear your favorite scent

I still long for your touch

 where has all the time went

I know our time won't be long

I must remain strong

those tired baby blues wearily open

gently squeezing my hand

tears roll down 

 you gaze lovingly at me

Another place, another time

again it will be we


fade to black

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

''shades of nature''

Listen to poem:

and in my dream- I find myself in a lush forest
dripping wet with life, steamy and sultry
I am one with nature and with the aqua drifting water
oh, the soft moss and the wet lime ferns
I float in tranquility and beneath me water reeds grow, swaying
so many hues of greens and colors dwelling in harmony
juniper, sage, olive, blue, pine
emerald green of a little frog and dark brown of a crocodile
small yellow little fish kiss my toes
  a lovely fushia flower, an orange snake slithers
    a fluttering purple butterfly, a blue bird sings sweetly
      green twining vines, meandering in the dark foliage
        my sage eyes, whisper come fall into the lush depths with me
I will take you to a world full of utter peace
where all beautiful shades of nature, mingle and entwine

May 18, 2016 (re-edit)

Free Verse

Entered in the Recitation Poetry Contest
sponsor, Team Poetry Soup

For the contest, The Sun Is Out
sponsor, C.T.

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |


Listen to poem:

Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back, 
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies 
at the laundromat who dive-bomb 

buzzing dryers as bleached belles 
in heels attack threadbare tiles 
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack, 

click clack. All night cafes fare 
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.

Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke 
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.

The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic.  Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation,  the grenades that wait

in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.   
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...

Ear plugs are a given.  
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.

Horror resounds everywhere.  
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers. 
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles. 

In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life    
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Snow Kissed Love

Listen to poem:

I put my head on my pillow and soon see you,
      Walking in the falling snow all alone, my darling;
Oh- is that our honeymoon cabin that I see,
            Where we shared such love and kisses endlessly.

When I fell in love with you, it was forever,
      Sweet the memory of us walking hand in hand;
The gentle snow falling was whispering our love,
             When I gave you my heart, it was completely.

Just like you darling, I too am lost in the snow,
      I walk a snowy winding path to your tomb;
The falling snow kissing my raven hair and tears,
             And I place a red rose and touch your name.

When I fell in love with you, it was forever,
      I will never give my heart to another, darling;
Wait for me at Heaven's gate-  I will be there soon,
            When I gave you my heart, it was completely.

May 23, 2016


Inspiration: When I Fall In Love, by Rick Astley

For the contest, Grens Evergreens (Golden Oldies) #3
sponsor, Teppo Gren

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |


Listen to poem:
I never knew I'd be in heaven
In the autumn of my years,
Or that I'd be immerged
In the brilliant art of words,
Or float above operatic notes,
Or view ballet through
My elated tears.

I never thought I'd meet
Inspiration face to face,
Or feel it rise within me
With a poet's surrendering grace.
I just know that I'm contented
As profound love keeps flowing
From my impassioned heart.
This is the gift that artists
Of this world yearn to impart.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2012

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

The Moaning Of My Heart

Listen to poem:

I laid my heart upon your grave
That winter day when trees were bare;
Their withered leaves fell down to brave
The chill of winter death and share
With you the frozen ground and air.
Cold tears of rain helped to impart
The gloom, as prayer some comfort gave…
But oh, the moaning of my heart.

I plucked a crimson rose that lay
Upon your grave as rain fell down
And joined my tears that solemn day.
I held it to my heart to drown
My hurt, then slowly turned around
To numbly make my way to part
And join with loved ones home to pray…
But oh, the moaning of my heart.

Then April came on quiet feet
To wake the trees with budding bloom.
Thawed ground gave birth, in Springtime heat,
To grass, that hid the ashen gloom.
Now stung to life by Springtime’s womb,
The golden youth of Earth gives start
To find new hope, new season greet… 
But oh, the moaning of my heart.

I stand in shadow of death's sting;
Oh Dad, why did you have to part?
Help me to heal with reborn Spring…
But, oh, the moaning of my heart.

April 10, 2015

Premiere Contest: Recitation Contest
Sponsor: Team Poetry Soup
Read: By Author

Not Your Average Ballade: 
The change I made is that I did not carry the recurring rhyme throughout.  Each
Stanza has its own rhyme. However, the third to the last line of each stanza rhymes with the refrain. ababbcac  dedeecdc  fgfggcfc  gcgc

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Feeding the Ducklings

Listen to poem:

Feeding the Ducklings

She is a princess sitting on her throne;
her subjects down below now make their way
towards waiting hands, for only them alone
she holds a prize she wants to give away.

They paddle towards her through the river flow
to the reward she holds for them to share,
for she is here most every day to throw
this sustenance to them with gentle care.

She is their princess, and to her, they look
with eyes intent on gifts within her hand.
So cute they are, like in a story book,
the ducklings come; they seem to understand.

The sun is bright and water ripples dance
as these sweet creatures visit her today.
There is an air of symbiotic trance...
they come, she feeds...all share a 'love buffet'.

May 5, 2016

Contest: Feeding the Ducklings
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Read: By Author

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

White Daisies Bloom

Listen to poem:
Past scenic trails once never touched
from hands of man no graces' clutched
near cloudless skies where beauty rests
in trees of maple songbirds nest

In rays of sun we find their tune
where lovers meet in months of June
holding hands with heart pledged vows
ring notes of faith when friendships rouse

Through all her wisdom hear the call
the hurdles cleared both large and small
warm winds of hope that bring forth peace
a walk through life in nature's crease

Shine in splendor white daisies bloom
Spill out glory in God's front room

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Final Letter

Listen to poem:
She sits.
She writes.
She feels lost and alone.

Clenched fists.
Scary night.
Passion turned to stone.

I tore up a book of lost verses written to my lover, since she left there are no more journals to discover. Humbled emotions penned with a quill on red paper, the blood bled dry because I just couldn't save her. I tore up her final letter written out of despair, it may be ripped into pieces but her memory's still there. Disoriented words making no sense cuz' intoxication, so confusing we could not understand the interpretation. “Good bye to my family, I can't handle anymore pain”, she left this world cleanly, but I can't erase her stain. I can't believe five years ago today she was found, in front of a fountain sleeping peacefully on the ground. She was feeding the ducks bread, we found remnants, for so long I carried too much anger and resentment. Under a blue spruce pine is where she took her last breath, No words can explain what we've been through since her death. I tore up her final letter written out of despair, look at her picture once more, lacerated beyond repair. I never want to read that filthy missive for as long as I live, She was so exhausted, eyes closed, with nothing left to give. ***Five years ago tonight we found my sister who had been missing for three months. Along with her, came her good-bye letter.*** For The Contest, Any Poem Not For A Contest, Ever, Sponsor, Broken Wings Date Written: March 17, 2016

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Poetry Soup Blues

Listen to poem:
they're fightin' over here
and mud-slingin' over there
their angsty blogs are ever on display

man, if only they could see
what their spats have done to me
my nerves were once all bundled now they're frayed


doctor doctor tell me the news, I've got the-
heart a'breakin'
body shakin'
Poetry Soup blues

she's blocked me over here
and he's shunned me over there
I'm just a simple poet (ask my mom)

dangit, can't they understand
things ain't goin' like I planned
I really thought my poems were da bomb

(yee haw)

doctor doctor tell me the news, I've got the-
heart a'breakin'
body shakin'
Poetry Soup blues


now admins are on my case
seems my jokes are out of place
I really feel the final end is near
oh if only they could see
that the jokes were all on me
why can't we just sit down and have a beer

oh doctor doctor tell me the news, I've got the-
heart a'breakin'
body shakin' 
Poetry Soup blues

(one more time)

his doctor doctor gave him the news, he's got the-
belly's achin'
heart's a'breakin'
body's shakin'
head's a spinnin'
nerves a'tremblin'
Costa Rican 
(Costa Rican?)
Poetry Soup blues

thas right

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Tribute To Georgie Cat

Listen to poem:

Tribute To Georgie Cat

Dear George, our cat grand-baby, now you're gone;
   our hearts are saddened on this rainy day.
Your family found out this early dawn
   the angels came to now take you away.

We do remember how you came to them...
   a stray, you wouldn't leave the porch for days.
A handsome, large tuxedo cat, a gem...
   you won their hearts in many special ways.

You found the family that you would love,
   and charmed them so that they would take you in.
So many years with joy and comfort of
   your loving ways...a special gift you've been.

Goodbye, sweet Georgie, now you fly away
   to kitty heaven...find Felisha, Charlie,
Lucy, Bessie, Tessie to now play
   with these sweet kitties that were family.

Sandra M. Haight
May 2, 2016
Read by Author

Georgie, a stray, adopted our daughter's family in 2002 when he was already 
about 3-4 years old, so he was between 17-18 years when he passed today
and will be so missed by all of us.

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Death's Delirium - Poe's Untimely Demise

Listen to poem:
What mystery of mysteries
Lie buried there on yonder hill?
The truth dispers'd in silent wind
Held fast these past two centuries-
The penance paid for wanton sin.
(To swallow now such bitter pill
Cast down my throat against my will
Hath left me in a ghastly state
And yet my spirit must relate).
An evil gale on that night blew
And terrors that he never knew
Did visit dark upon that place
As death pursued and quicken’d pace
Yea, overtook him in the chase.
No starry night to light the sky
No moon o’er head the sky to ply
Just ebon in the heavens ‘bove
As darkling figure flutter’d wing
Unearthly sound unlike the dove
Hover’d o’er him - a ghostly thing!

It happen'd one dark and stormy night...

A wager made the ante in-
The loser who for want of heart
Throws in his last remaining coins
And prays tonight’s the night he’ll win.
A feeling deep within his loins
Portends his money shall depart
And ne’er he’ll gain a fresh new start.
Lo! The deed held in pocket deep
Ensures the promise he will keep.
And so once more a playing hand
Is dealt before a wretch’d band
Of cons who’d never pray’d to God
Whose lives had ever felt the rod
The holy path they’d never trod.
Thus trembling he arose to leave
No ace to hide under his sleeve
His loss and pain now evident
The deed he left, his payment last-
The cold outside, his courage spent
O that this night might soon be past!

And the raven flew into the night
And the raven flew into the night

The deed a closer look was made
And ‘fore too long ‘twas evident
That all was not quite as it seem’d
‘Twas nothing but a grim charade.
What happen’d next as if a dream
The guild of men with cruel intent
On finding Poe were now hell-bent.
And so into the night they sped
A hound from hell came-with for dread
The rabid beast held fast by chain
In chilling wind, in blinding rain.
A shadow in the distance seen
A man alone or so it seemed
The hound set loose in low ravine.
It's prey ran high upon that hill
Each howl his tingling spine did chill
Until ill fate caught up with him
His future prospects e'er so grim.
The evil jaw upon him clench’d
He scream’d aloud before the fall
The poison in his blood entrench’d
Delirium now cast it’s pall.

And the raven flew toward the light
And the raven flew toward the light

There as he lay on yonder hill
The chase now o'er, the silence sweet
He gazes 'bove in still of night
As clouds departing shew goodwill.
The vision ’bove ‘tis nay for fright
He hears a steady rhythmic beat
So low and calm as if discreet.
The heavens part to his delight
A figure standing in the light
Extends to him an outstretch’d hand-
A voice like waters bids him stand.
He wonders now if just a dream
Or are things really as they seem
A voice or just a nearby stream?
Quite suddenly he feels no pain
As wind abates and same the rain-
The hand then grabs him by the throat
Another tears his woolen coat
His life doth flash before his eyes
And thro’ the dimly lighten’d sky
He sees his bride - to his surprise
Whose only word to him is, “Why?”

And the raven flew into the sun
And the raven flew into the sun

He breath’d his last then bade goodbye
The troubl’d bard who’d gone awry-
The mystery resolv’d at last
On how it was that Edgar pass’d.

And if thou wonder how I know
These secrets held from long ago-
Although the truth thou surely crave
I’ll take such knowledge to my grave.

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |

Mountain of Madness

Listen to poem:

lured to their summits
    at the mountains of madness...
          brave kings of the hill

Mountain of Madness

A mountain madness, Colorado Springs'
Pike's Peak, some twenty miles to summit's top,
with roads like winding snakes that coil like rings
and at the open edge, steep cliffs of rock.

This mountain madness soon directs and reigns
along its highway somewhat heaven bound;
a narrow road with two-way traffic lanes
and many curves that zigzag and astound.

We held our breaths while driving, quite unnerved;
an hour and more to reach the mountain peak.
Just one wrong turn along a sharp, tight curve,
right off the cliff we'd fly into a heap.

And, yes, this has occurred...a hazardous
slow, rugged ride that leads to awesome rise;
with mountain madness, you must pay with trust
and take your chances earning nature's prize.

And one more mountain madness to unfold,
we started out in warm, eighty degrees;
but when we reached the top, it was so cold
and snow was whirling with a blizzard 'breeze'.

Yes, mountain madness, Colorado Springs'
Pike's Peak, a steep, fourteen plus thousand feet;
America's most famous mountain brings
adventures to explore and goals to meet.

May 16, 2016

Contest: At The Mountains of Madness
Sponsor: Timothy Hicks
Read: By Author

When we visited Pike's Peak in 1995, the highway was not
paved and there were no barriers along the side.  I believe most
of the highway is paved and there are barriers at some of
the curves today.

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Spoken Word Poem | |


Listen to poem:
This boogeyman was scared of the dark But tried frightening kids in the park When dusk started to fall For his mummy he’d call He'd go dashing home quick as a lark Young children thought it was great fun Seeing the poor boogeyman run They’d leap out from a bush Make him fall on his tush For he didn’t scare anyone So the boogeyman joined in a class His assessments he quickly did pass He leaps from dustbin lids Now he’s scaring the kids This transition he cannot surpass Contest Boogeyman sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron 05~24~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016