performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Little Hands, Big Plans
It’s noon, and I’m on my way to pick up my older nephew from kindergarten. Stopping in front of the gates, I spot him—the blue whale bag with squiggly eyes gives him away in the horde of kids. After picking him up, I take him to the car. His incessant chattering doesn’t stop until we reach home. The moment I open the door, he dashes inside. Kids and their never-ending energy levels. While he freshens up, I decide to make spaghetti for lunch—a bowl for me, a bowl for my little nephew, and the rest for the family when they return. I leave the table once my nephew rubs his stuffed belly. Meanwhile, I need to tame my hair—the heat is turning it into a wild mess. I turn on the baby monitor to keep an eye on my nephew. Everything seems fine at first: he’s playing with his pet cat, both dressed in matching hoodies. But my instincts tingle—something’s up. As I spray my hair, I notice my nephew and the cat sneaking into the kitchen. What mischief are they up to now? While combing my hair, I keep watching the screen. The duo pads barefoot into the kitchen, glancing around—clearly searching for something. The cookie jar—of course. He tries standing on his tiptoes, but even then, he can’t peek over the counter. The cat, however, peeks over easily, eyes locked on the prize. Working together, they stack a few books and a pillow into a makeshift tower. (Why they added the rubber ducky, I have no idea.) My nephew points at the jar, and—as if the cat understands—it climbs the tower. But its stubby arms send the cookie jar tumbling to the floor. Thankfully, it’s plastic. The tower collapses. The hood falls off. And now? They’re sitting on the floor, each happily munching on a cookie. Mission accomplished. I really hope this was recorded—I have to show it to my brother. Are your nephews like this too? Tiny toes and kitty paws, Sneaking past the kitchen doors. Stacking books to reach up high— Crash! The jar falls from the sky! Now they munch, crumbs on their faces, Two small bandits, swapping races. Next time, hide the sweets with care— This duo’s everywhere!
By Staringaleabout a year ago in Poets
No Face
I’m a man with no name No face My mind disconnected My heart lost in space A fantastic phantom animating atoms Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Light Breaks Water
like sunlight upon the skin of the world A hush before the morning breath, then gold unfurls across the lake— fine trembling lines that softly press on ripples trailing in their wake. A shimmer slips through woven reeds, each glint a whispered, fleeting thought; the surface stirs with quiet needs, light dances where the dark is caught. So thin the veil where sky meets deep, so tender every gleaming seam; the water wakes from shadowed sleep to drink the warmth, to hold the gleam. And in that meeting, time dissolves— the hours melt in liquid glass; where light breaks water, life evolves, and breath and radiance slowly pass. ---
By Huzaifa Writerabout a year ago in Poets
In the Heart of the River
--- In the heart of the river, where waters flow deep, Stories of ages in silence they keep. Between stones and shadows, through currents unseen, A whisper of life runs pure and serene. It sings of the mountains, of rain and of snow, Of journeys unending, of places to go. The river remembers, the river forgives, It carries the dreams of all that once lived. It speaks without voices, it moves without sound, Through forests and valleys, o'er ancient ground. It cradles the moonlight in arms of the stream, Reflecting the world as a shimmering dream. In sunlight it sparkles, in moonlight it sighs, A mirror of stars in the midnight skies. It bends and it weaves through valley and glade, A timeless dance that will never fade. The fish glide like shadows, the leaves float like song, The river keeps flowing, forever so strong. Its heart beats in ripples, in rhythms so true, A pulse of the earth in silver and blue. When the storms come raging, when winds tear the skies, The river still murmurs, it never denies. It carries the sorrow, it carries the pain, And cleanses the spirit again and again. In the heart of the river, so wild yet so free, Lies wisdom for those with hearts that can see. A song of endurance, of hope ever new — Flowing through time for me and for you. ---
By Huzaifa Writerabout a year ago in Poets
