Spoken Word Poems | Examples of Spoken Word Poetry

BLOODLINE ECHOES

I walk with a weight that I never quite chose,
But somehow it fits, like the thorn on a rose.
The pain and the beauty, they bloom just the same—
Two sides of a story that whisper my name.

Born of a mother whose roots ran so deep,
But stolen at birth in a silence that still weeps.
They called it

THE GROOVE IS MIGHTY HIGH

THE GROOVE IS MIGHTY HIGH/ LET’S THROW DOWN AND FLY UP TO THE SKY/
KEROUAC BLOWIN’WORD JAZZ WITH STRINGS/MILES AT THE BLACK KAWK, MAN WHAT A SCENE/ JACK AND MILES WALKED THE WALK AND TALKED THE JAZZ TALK/ NO BLUE NOTES HERE/JUST HIGH NOTES OF BE-BOP KOOL/ MAN I’M INTO THIS JAZZ SCENE/SAY BABY WHATCHA SAY?

Jesus Doesn't Need A Rebrand - Part 02

If the message doesn’t have lights,
If the preacher doesn’t rhyme,
If the singer isn’t “branded” enough,
You say it’s not Spirit-filled.
Since when did the Holy Ghost depend on your playlist?

I cry for you.

I cry for the singer drowning in the noise of their gift.
For the preacher who can draw a crowd but can’t discern demons.
For the Christian

Jesus Doesn't Need A Rebrand - Part 01

Let’s stop pretending.
This isn’t evangelism.
This is idolatry in disguise.
You’ve baptized compromise and called it creativity.
You’ve clothed rebellion in relevance,
And made God’s altar a stage for your ego.

How much more of the world must you wear
Before you realize the Gospel is naked truth
Not a costume for cultural approval?

How many times must you flirt with sin
Before you

Lust, A Dangerous Master -Part 02

If you cannot overcome lust in the time of grace,
What makes you think you will stand in the days without it?
For the trumpet is close, the sky ready to split
And only the righteous shall be removed from the wrath to come.

Flee now while mercy still calls.
Run from the screen, the scene, the shadow, the scroll.
Run

Lust, A Dangerous Master- Part 01

I lift my eyes from the place of my struggle,
From the dark corners where battles rage unseen.
My help comes from the Lord,
Maker of heaven, earth, and the depths of my heart.

Lust has destroyed more than wine ever could
It cloaks itself in pleasure,
But its bite is sharper than steel.
It kisses the lips, then devours the soul.

It

WORSE THEN DOGS

WORSE THAN DOGS

Mi step off di docks, salt burn in mi chest,
Suit sharp-press, hope pin to mi vest.
Windrush blood, calypso fire,
Dreams of gold — meet cold barbed wire.
“Welcome,” dem sneer wid a crooked grin,
Door slam shut — all ‘cause a mi skin.

Signs in window cut like knives:
NO BLACKS. NO DOGS. NO IRISH. — lives.
But truth

DAMAGE

I open my mouth
My anger spills out
I say things I don’t mean
And mean things I won’t say
Damage

Oh such damage

Strangers or friends
Words I can’t defend
Family is broken
From words that I’ve spoken
When will it end?
Damage

Too much damage

So conflicted
I’ve inflicted
So much hurt
So much pain
Words like weapons
Sharper than knives
Killing dreams
Shredding lives
Damage

Unjustified
Unspeakable
Damage
Bludgeoning words
Shattered spirits
Wounded hearts
Crippled lives
Killing words
Chilling words
Handful of syllables
Damage

Chasing A Heartbeat

Chasing the Heartbeat Heart racing, pulse chasing, I used to be a living hell, But your love, man, it knocked me off my feet, your kiss was sweet candy made of sugar cane,  I’m no longer bound, not tied to my past, but on this mind-bending road of truth, I found in the gospel

MILES AND POLLOCK

The smoky clubs of thought/ where shadows dance and poets talk of truth whispered low/man, a story without end/ can you dig it, my friend/ improvisation’s the key, always unlocked in time, a jazz riff echoing truth in research of a  paradigm/
assumptions about the nature of reality in jazz talk, scales, and harmonies, the

5:31 am

I’m losing a battle I did not choose to fight in,
I have waited nearly fourteen years for freedom. 
There is still no stopping him. 
I lay next to someone I adore and 
He still clogs my thoughts like hair in drainage.
I glance at my love as they sleep,
Peaceful and snoring softly,
And I wish I could

ANDY'O ON THE SHOW

Andy O’(Snaps fingers rhythmically) The air hangs thick with midnight blue/And the city hums a graffiti tune/  a voice cuts through, a velvet blade/Andy O’, where stories are made/Poet, Musician, Broadcaster's soul/Navigating the sonic scroll of a downbeat that will never fade/KUVO Jazz, a haven's light/On Sunday nights, banishing the uptight/The Nightside a whispered

my rapist's follow request on facebook

ping!
like pavlov's dog,
i glance 
quick
at my phone
new facebook follow request.
i click the account
click!
my rapist. 
it's been nearly 14 years since the first the time
he laid his hands on me
but i feel them
like it was this morning.
ping!
his son
liked my post on Instagram 
,
are they working together?
are they a team again?
father and son,
teacher and apprentice,
master of none
but

In a Coat of Pain

I’ve knocked on every door of medicine men—
doors painted with hope.
Swallowed pills of every size and colour.
Been told,
“This one never fails.”
Another promise—
fulfilled only in disappointment.

The body that once felt mine
now feels like a stranger’s—
still wearing my name tag.

I sleep early,
trying to rinse myself from pain,
but wake up
still dressed in it.

The coat I wear?
Pain-stitched—
by a tailor

Whispers of the Wild

I walked where the trees don’t speak—

yet somehow, I heard everything.
The wind and the trees held secret meetings,
and the leaves nodded in agreement,
like spectators dressed in green.

The waters didn’t rush—
they marched steadily down the riverbank,
telling stories in ripples—
of rain that once fell,
and mountains they had kissed on the way.

The sun appeared,
golden and gentle.
Snakes and lizards

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