Life Spoken Poems | Examples
These Life Spoken poems are examples of Spoken poems about Life. These are the best examples of Spoken Life poems written by international poets.
What's your story?
Is it a sop story too
Cause seemingly everyone claims too
And maybe there's not a good story to tell out here
What's your story?
Is it worth even telling at first
Or you believe it needs to be told
That's why you get all grumpy when no one wants to listen
What's your story?
Why do you think yours has the punch
And are you sure we don't have a story like yours out here?
Or you just want to tell yours too
I ask cause why should anyone care in the first place
Cause if you're doing it just for people to care,
Then are you really living?
Or you're just doing what all the others before you have done
Must you curve out a name and still make everyone say it
I thought the greatest satisfaction comes from knowing you did it
Or doesn't it count until they all know?
That's why I ask What's your story?
My story is already out there
But I'm sure you missed it
Cause we only relate to stories closer to us
That's why we live on hurting each other cause why should you care?
The PO£T
As children life is just a game we play,
Learning new lessons as we live each day.
Year after year as we grow and mature,
We sense that there’s more than to just endure.
We must have a purpose and not just fun,
Something worthwhile to pass on when we’re done.
Something to show others, we understand,
Encouraging words to be all that they can.
A guiding light as they live their own life,
Words that will help during struggle and strife.
Tell them of the common things that we share,
Demonstrate our love so they know we care.
Then pass on our truth as we say farewell,
Like teachers taught us, we should show and tell.
Loving You Is an Art ????
Loving you is an art,
Not just words, not just emotions,
Not just romance.
It is like carving a linocut,
Each stroke, each cut—
Careful, gentle,
So I do not wound the sketch,
The same way I hold your heart,
Responsible not to hurt you.
Loving you is an art,
Like stringing beads with patience.
And when the thread breaks,
And the beads scatter
I do not leave them behind.
I gather them, mend them,Like
The way I would gather your broken pieces
And heal them with love.
Loving you is a design,
A vision that sparks in my mind daily,
A creation I bring to life,
Over and over again.
Loving you... is my masterpiece.
I cannot see the essence of thee,
Yet in thy deepest mystery lies reality.
Not with my eyes but with my heart I see,
Truth is inside of me.
The chaos of this illusionary life is blinding,
Yet still unwinding.
Within my inner solitude, I could be finding,
My authentic self is revealing, reminding.
All peace is in wholeness and unity,
Not in living as the illusionary me.
I need to change what others see,
Let my spirit truly be.
A spiritual observer in a physical state,
With unlimited powers to create.
To reveal your true self is Truth’s mandate,
Allowing harmony to escalate.
Just telling others what they want to be told,
It’s not your giving, they’re just being consoled.
Speak the truth, speak up, be bold.
Or the fate of our world will be darkness and cold.
Jack 155 10 Mar 2025
I met my younger self today
He insisted it was at the pub
He needed to be comfy and had much to say
I declined his offer of a pint
Declaring I’m good with the water, thanks anyway
He insisted, come on have a beer, it’s what we do
I told him, one day he will know, he lives in the darkness of extreme
I remind him of the expression of two ears and one mouth
Wishing him mindful awareness, that might cure his deafness
He told me stories that I already know, saying it’s all just about fun
I spoke about all the untold waste, not just of time and money
But of lost days and unexplored capability, potential and provision
I looked my younger self firmly in the eyes
I explained that life shouldn’t be about regrets
But there will be what if’s, maybe’s and I wonder’s
I know he hadn’t heard me, there certainly wasn’t any thank you
I just smiled, knowing that sometime in the future
He will say
I wished I’d met you earlier
Jack 172 - 4 Jun 2025
Once solid like Ice
Life painfully boiled me to a liquid
The heat continued until I evaporated
Never knowing what I was meant to be
I wake to choices, mine to make,
No predetermined path to walk,
No scripted lines I have to talk.
This Fourth of July I celebrate
Not just a nation's founding date,
But my own revolution won
The day I chose to be someone
The neighbors whisper, "Strange," they say,
"Why live so differently this way?"
But their approval never fed
The hunger growing in my head.
My heartbeat sets the only pace,
My dreams determine every space,
Where independence isn't just
A word—it's oxygen and trust.
Some nights the freedom feels too wide,
Some days I question what I've tried,
But then I breathe my own sweet air
And know I'm finally living where
This is my declaration loud:
I've broken free from every crowd,
These walls are mine, this life is real,
And no one else can make me kneel.
Why does the sky keep falling —
but never fall?
Each dusk a slow descent,
yet it never shatters.
How do planets remember
the path their fathers walked?
No traffic signs, whatsoever!
yet still, none collides with the other.
Why do clouds — swollen and quiet —
give birth to rain,
already full-grown,
ready to kiss the earth?
Who whispers to the raindrops
which road to take?
Which village to visit,
which river to fill?
How do babies breathe underwater,
in secret wombs,
wrapped in fluid,
unafraid, untouched by drowning?
Who painted the sky blue —
and not red, or pink,
or gold like morning fires?
Why does it never peel?
Where do plants sew their green?
And who assigned them
a uniform so consistent,
a badge of life?
Who taught the birds
to weave with twigs and time,
to shape cradles from wind,
to fold shelter from nothing?
And the sun —
who tells it when to burn,
and when to blink?
So many questions,
so few answers.
But still,
the earth turns.
The sky holds.
And I —
I stand in awe.
by Davie Kaliu
There is a silent visitor inside you now —
softer than fresh-baked bread,
more precious than gifts from wise men of the East.
A second heartbeat,
gently echoing beneath your own.
You carry more than a name.
You carry memories yet to be made,
a mirror of past souls,
a vessel for tomorrow’s joy.
So walk gently,
eat wisely,
rest fully.
That bottle of cider —
it whispers lies.
That puff of smoke —
it scorches what is still becoming.
Feed this life with love,
with hope,
not with chemicals that dilute beautiful expectations.
Go.
Sit with those women in white —
the ones who read charts like oracles,
plotting the rise of a king or queen within your womb.
Let them weigh the weeks,
count your months like blessings.
Endure the prick of needles —
not just for you,
but for the strength of the life to come.
And when the countdown draws near,
remember:
Swollen feet will give way
to first smiles.
Too much sleep
will surrender to sleepless nights.
And sleepless nights
will bloom into stories —
told by the very angel
you now carry.
by Davie Kaliu
They said
she imagined it–
that flicker in her spine,
like a vow whispered
between the bones,
a hush older than memory.
no temple,
no mantra,
no saint's breath on her shoulder–
just a silence
that split her
softly
like dawn splits shadow.
something rose–
not seen,
but felt,
like a secret carried
from life to life,
finally unfolding.
it wasn't light,
not yet
it was heat
that knew her name.
each breath shimmered,
each thought dissolved
until she wasn't girl or name
but wind,
and flame,
and everything in between.
was it fiction?
maybe.
but the fire didn’t lie–
and neither did her eyes
afterward,
still glowing
with the memory
of being touched
by something
The world could not explain.
Searching for a light that guides the way,
Embracing dreams that beckon us to play.
Awakening the spirit, bold and true,
Kites of hope soaring, chasing skies so blue.
In every whisper, freedom sings its song,
Navigating paths where we all belong.
Freedom’s breath is felt in open hearts,
Reaching out for love, where every life starts.
Eager steps on journeys yet untold,
Daring to break chains, and be brave, be bold.
Onward we move, with courage as our guide,
Moments of joy waiting on the other side.
seconds slip through fingers like fine sand,
Minutes melt away in morning light.
Hours stretch and bend at day's demand,
Then vanish with the coming night.
Where does the time go when we look away?
When laughter fills a room, when tears fall free?
It pools in moments we cannot delay,
Then rushes forward, boundless as the sea.
It hides in coffee cups and halfway smiles,
In bedtime stories, stretching past their end.
It's lost in daydreams spanning countless miles,
And found in conversations with a friend.
Where does the time go? Perhaps it never leaves—
Just changes form like water, air, and light.
Becoming memory that gently weaves
The tapestry we carry through the night.
I am 1,248 songs of complicated rhythm. Prose and verses tell a story of my decisions…my indecision. I am skin shaped, in 42 different shades of foolery, a life lover doing my best to avoid an other, but they seem to be everywhere these days. Crawling out from under rocks, or latent in my twisted fantasies. I think I may be terminal with delusional romantacy. A proverbial symphony strung together with sinew and longing. Discordant chords bending into melody when I blink too long or laugh too hard at the wrong moment.
I can admit, I have been the composer of songs that I was never meant to play. Still, I finger at the keys, an untuned melody stretched thin across the vastness of possibility, a quiet rebellion whispered in 3am silences, telling truths I didn’t ask to know, but I can’t help but pick up on the tone. I am every note you thought I missed, the calloused fingertips of my mistakes, still strumming, still singing. Harmony may elude me, but the melody is mine to claim. Yes, I am 1,248 songs of messy humanity, and I’ll rewrite the chorus as many times as it takes to finally hear it in my own voice.
Black And White
We are given all the pieces
to play and indulge in life’s great feast
outrageous fortunes be dammed!
Given full reign to Ego’s unfettered beast
and the moves we make shall
establish our legacy
Why are we here?
We can either dazzle with brilliance
or baffle with bulls*it
Shameless are unleashings of doubt
only makes a lesser us grow
inhibits our muses
disables our abilities to sprout
I’m no longer vulnerable
to slings and arrows
validity with magnanimity instead of
sentiments design to disparage
are a marriage of lucidity
Opt for words that heal, and clarity!
Phrases that reveal
a simple way of life,
carpe diem, austerity
too much comfort makes a lazy lone
what a poet shall write
shall be etched in stone
in B
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and
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Apologies
If I say I'm sorry
I will get my way
Your thinking to sway
Apology to look good
Narcissism under the hood
For me everyone will root
Apology to provoke guilt
Creates self-doubt to the hilt
Blame to you will shift
Apologies made from half truth
My own feelings to soothe
Everyone thinks I stand on truth
Apologies to put it in the past
Knowing fake peace won't last
Over you a shadow will cast
Apologies made but nothing changes
To break you down in stages
Slowly your mind deranges
Apologies not from the heart
When you never state your part
Will always tear us apart
By Cathrin Stuart