Spokenword Poems - Poems about Spokenword

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...

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In whispers soft, the gentle words arise, A dance of thoughts that weave the heart's expanse, In verses bright, their beauty never dies, Each line is a dream, a truth, a fleeting chance. With rhythm's pulse, the soul finds its own voice, In every rhyme, a spark of life displayed, The silent muse ignites, we have no choice, But to embrace the...

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A poet with words that never sway, His heart was full, his mind a stream, Yet silence cloaked his dreamlike gleam. Oh, the voiceless poet, under the moon, Crafting verses like a lonesome tune, He sat by the brook with a pen in hand, Sketching starlight on the golden sand. The villagers spoke of his absent song, Whispers and tales, they wandered along, "Why...

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I had a dream last-night Well more like a vision In a temple I awoke and A guardian monk to me He spoke. We have been waiting for You. He said to me yes in my vision my eyes were Open but I was half asleep. The monk handed me a candle with A flame a small but bright flame, a flickering Flame bright...

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They say love yourself, As if it were that simple, As if I could just flip a switch And suddenly see what they see. But every mirror I pass Reflects back their whispers instead of my face, Their judgments carved into my skin Like ancient hieroglyphs of "not enough." I've spent years Apologizing for the space I occupy, Making myself smaller, Folding myself into origami shapes That...

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Let me tell you something they don't teach you in fairy tales, Let me deliver a message you can’t find in the mail, something your grandmother should have whispered in your ear before you went looking for love in all the wrong faces, spaces, empty-places. Love does not hurt. you've heard the songs that make suffering sound romantic, seen the movies...

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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. ...

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Ancestral Celestial Grand Rising high A journey so questrial Elevate Motivate A divine connection Between spiritual and creative realms A spark A flame A birth right A name Wild free untamed Authentic Unchained Poetic drums are my native language We know each other so well A colonizer could not change it An oppressor could not enslave it For me and my poetic drum are one Grand rising Melanin thriving under the divine shining...

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They say the hardest shells hide the softest centers, That diamonds form under pressure, That the most beautiful songs are written in the dark. I believe them. I have seen mountains crumble into valleys And valleys rise to touch the sky. I have watched oceans retreat from shorelines Only to come crashing back with renewed purpose. Listen— There is a thunderstorm inside my chest Where...

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Looking in the mirror I saw an image it was clear. I told my reflection you are loved and shed tear No longer prisoner to shame, I watched my shoulders slowly rise. The person that I dared to name Now gazed back with gentler eyes. In that moment of pure grace, The walls I'd built began to fall. Years of doubt...

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In the chambers where thoughts are supposed to roam free, Foreign voices echo, not belonging to me. Words planted like flags on conquered territory, Thoughts that flower in soil not my own. I speak in tongues my ancestors never knew, See through lenses ground by hands I never touched. My dreams are shaped by stories I did not choose, Yet they...

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Words dance across the canvas of my mind, Brushstrokes of meaning, colors of sound. In poetry's rhythm, art is defined— Where image and language are forever bound. The painter speaks in textures, light, and shade, The poet paints with metaphor and rhyme. Both cast their visions that will never fade, Standing defiant against the rush of time. A sonnet blooms like petals on display, A portrait captures silence between breaths. Each stanza and stroke has something to say Of beauty that outlives a thousand deaths. In galleries of verse and painted dreams, We find ourselves reflected in the streams....

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I plant my feet firm on this ground And declare with every breath in my body— Never again. Never again will I shrink myself To fit into spaces not built for my expansion. Never again will I dim my light To make others comfortable in their darkness. Listen— My body remembers every time I said "yes" when I meant "no." My spirit carries...

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I used to think poems lived in leather-bound books, guarded by professors with stern looks, that words worth speaking needed permission, academic citations, scholarly submission. I sat in corners swallowing syllables, choking on metaphors I couldn't pronounce, wondering why my tongue tied itself in knots while others spoke verses smooth as river stones. The first time I wrote something real, my hands shook like...

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A shoulder in the storm when others flee, A voice that cuts through silence, clear and true. In chapters dark and bright, you stand with me, The compass when my skies have lost their blue. Not bound by blood, but something just as deep— A choice renewed with every passing day. The one who knows which secrets I still keep, Yet...

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