Why Poems Should Be Read Aloud
I have been ambushed, startled of late by
days once lost, the unimportant rising
with a sudden star-burst of insight;
gone nova when I heard my own voice reading
a poem recorded; and I knew.
No story told, is wasted. Ordinary emotion can move
significance anew the way a
gambler cuts, shuffles, and fans the cards.
Feeling paints on mind an aurora that folds
and flares to embrace word,
color, scent, taste, and touch
revealed by accidental pain and discovery.
Our moments come laced with
bold joy surprised among dross. Each day deals
another chance to play it with skill and grace.
Or not. It is up to us to mine riches from the
intangible. Joke, kiss, cry, labor,
loss, shock, birth, insult, orgasm, dream,
hate, fear, love, or hurt spoken is breath in progress,
the DNA of feeling unchained
breaking life from death into our own story.
Aren’t we dying to tell it? Shout it out
I say, with every tick of your heart.
Speak poetry, and beat the silence dead.
The end will give us history enough.