The Beauty of Spoken Word

Poetry? What first comes to mind when this topic comes about? Shakespeare, couplets, rhyming are just a few components to poetry that, to the average person, a definition of poetry. Poetry has so much more to offer than just a "Once upon a time, there was a rhyme." There is inspiring expression to be shown, especially through spoken word poetry. This recently developed art form has stormed through North America as a new way to manifest feelings and address world problems. I took the time to listen to a few spoken word poems by Shane Koyczan, Sarah Kay and Taylor Mali. Here is just a snippet of the beautiful spoken words of these poets.

The first spoken word I chose to listen to is, “The Crickets Have Arthritis” by Shane Koyczan. It chronicles a man in a hospital bed dealing with complications from smoking and how his young, room partner was even more ill with cancer. He goes through the pain of knowing that he could have prevented himself from going to the hospital, while this little boy could not have. The dismal poem sends a message to those who are listening, that they take their lives for granted and that for “… every breath [they] breathe has to be given back,” so they need to remind themselves to sometimes “…hold [their] breath.” This poem is one to allow tears to fall and one that should be heard by all.

Another amazing poem that I got the chance to absorb is “Brother” by Sarah Kay. This heart felt poem has no meaning, other than to fill ones heart with memories of a younger sibling and feel the need to call them up and tell them how much they are loved. Kay goes through the different ways how her little brother affected her life, the same way most typical sibling relationships are, she highlights points in the “…caracole ride of [his] life,” emphasizing her appreciation for him sarcastically. Kay has a unique perspective on her family’s relationships.

The last poem I listened to, or the last one I have enough space to suggest, is one by Taylor Mali. It is a semi sarcastic and empowering poem called “What Teachers Make.” Mali uses satire to make the point that what teachers do is far more important than what they make. He goes through ways he positively affects the children he teaches and their parents. Some of the accomplishments he states are things no other person can say they have the honor of doing. He proves the point that “...teachers make a goddamn difference!” This poem gave me chills throughout because it really makes one think about the importance of everyones jobs, which is something that is often overlooked.

Next time there is nothing to do, on a lazy day, or there is a poetry night at a café in town, don’t be afraid to get up and check it out. The empowering words of some of these poets can change the way one thinks or even the way one lives. It can put a real spin on ones view of poetry.   

A Night To Remember

           Every girl, since they were 7 years old have had an image bestowed in their minds of the perfect night of their lives, in conclusion of their high school career. That image is of Prom. The whole idea started out innocent enough, boys in tuxes and girls in dresses, a little fancier than what they wear to school. It was the perfect way to end grade school, before being released into the world of reality.

           With the significant influence of movies, such as Prom, High School Musical and Mean Girls, it has evolved into a much classier and grander event than the Prom of the past. Straightforward dresses covered in rhinestones and the finest of chiffon, replace the disgraceful, simplistic corset and gown that girls used to wear. Considering the dress has been deemed the most important part of the prom outfit, it must be perfect. Dresses are only desirable if the price is just right, taking a loan out from the bank for a dress is far more useful than saving the money for a new car. If there is a struggle to find a dress that doesn’t make the girl look pale, not a worry.  A dress with more rhinestones will tan them the day of Prom, from the reflection. It is best to buy sunglasses along with such dresses.  If rhinestones don’t cause enough of a glow, one can cook their skin using a tanning bed. The tanning bed will even throw in a free gift of skin cancer with each session. As for the colour, it should be the least of girls concerns. Everyone’s friends and enemies alike will recite a compliment on how much they love the dress, that they have practiced since they saw it on the Prom Dress Facebook group. Clearly, there is minimal effort put into prom by girls.

            The girls have it easier than the guys? Think again. All the guys have to do is find a suitable date to sit awkwardly at a table, with a group of friends. With this new concept of “promposals” it is easier than ever for a guy to work up the courage to impress his potential date. It will only take him 30 hours of research to find the perfect way to invite a girl to prom, only to have another guy ask her the day before he got a chance to put his research to use. If a guy does succeed in finding a date, his wallet will be filled more than ever before. A proper gentleman, as most guys try to be, will pay for his date’s ticket, as well as his own. It only costs him about the price of a round trip ticket to Disneyland during Christmas Break. He may as well enjoy the highs and lows of prom, as he would if he was on a roller coaster. The price is only most suiting for the food at prom because it is the same food served on an airplane, minus the peanut packages. The boys have no real work to do preparing for prom or even going to it.

Prom and its prestige have grown immensely in the past decade, into something worthy of the cost of a wedding.  It is no wonder how it has become more central to both boys and girls graduation, than the schooling itself. Nonetheless, it is still an important part of the year, to end it with a bang and is a great experience for each person to have. One can only hope it lives up to the 7 year olds expectations.

 

I Have A Dream

Fifty score, years to come, half of the earth’s population will be swimming along with mutated fish and the other half will be walking along a wasteland, diminished by its own people. When the earth’s own people exhausts the earth until it is no more than a barren, stark rock, barrelling through space. When the earth’s own people have devised and concocted new species' that have the ability to override the human race. When the earth’s own people, because of their laziness, have boiled the waters that surround us at every pole. When the earths own people plead for David Suzuki's forgiveness, for their disbelief.

The world we live in does not have to trudge down such an infamous path. We do not have to spiral our environment into a whirlwind of peril. We can take the steps forward that are necessary to help our planet thrive and we will. We can start new programs to eliminate our waste that is sent to the landfills and we will. We can propagate extended car pooling and busing routes to cleanse our air of the toxins of fossil fuels and we will. We can make the small alterations in our everyday lives for the better of the environment and we will.

No longer will our schools only have a garbage can and a returnable bin, they will also have a compost and recycle bin. No longer will our cutlery and cups be made from plastic and un-disposable products; they will be made of 100% compostable materials to be used for gardens. No longer will each town be dependent on produce from across the globe, but they will have crops locally to supply families with produce. No longer will that produce be taken home in un-disposable plastic bags, instead cloth bags that can be reused. No longer will we stand by and watch our surrounding melt away, but instead do what is in our power to protect the one earth we have. Because, no longer is this a problem only facing our children to come, it is a problem we are facing today.

There will be moral battles to be fought. There will be conflict with what past generations have taught us. There will times when people give in. It will take time. It will take labour intensive work. It will cause some people to question, what the purpose of what we are doing is. It will make the world around us a single unit. It will allow us humans to hang around long enough to have our dreams fulfilled.

So join me in fulfilling my dream. My dream can guide all its followers to their own fulfillment. My dream can unify our world as one. My dream that although may seem too colossal, is in fact much smaller than the icebergs we have endlessly been melting. Although, some may not share my dream or lack any dreams at all, I have a dream. I have a dream we will not boil the water that surrounds us, in the lethal kettle made by us. I have a dream that the world population can and will be sustained for many generations to come. I have a dream that needs a support system of the globe. I have a dream that is possible. I have a dream that will come true. So follow with me if you have a dream and together, as one, we can fulfill our dream.

Hosptial Anticiption

I walked into the hospital waiting room and sat down desperate for some good news about my mother. The hospital was thriving for 4 am. I glanced around the room filled with morbidly ill people, searching for a familiar face or at least a face from this millennium. Unsatisfied with what I saw, I leaned myself back into my chair, pressing my frigid skin against the clammy vinyl. With my eyes shut tight, I let my mind float away from my body and let my ears fill with the orchestra of the hospital waiting room, hoping that this would be my refuge from the fear of my petrifying reality. A serenade of hollow, mucus filled coughs and the tic, beep, bop of the many colossal machines, swallowed my empty thoughts and tore my eyelids open. Nothing had changed; I still peered around only to see people made solely of bones, covered so loosely with skin, which hung like pale, distasteful tissue paper wrapping a present of sticks. They could not change the way their bodies were aligned nor could they change the sullen looks that filled their faces. So, they just sat. Hoping for good news to come their way, like me. The stench of acidic lime cleaner lingered in my nose, becoming stronger each time I inhaled, until it burnt my throat. I heaved out a roaring cough, clearing my body from the toxic chemicals that had invaded it, only to be replaced with the foul taste of morning breath. Finally, the soft voice of a petite nurse called my name to speak with the doctor. Unsure of what the doctor might say, I shuffled each foot a little more hesitantly than I should have, losing the nurse as she turned a corner. Moving each foot more rapidly now, I started to run down the hallway, with my heart pacing each step. I reached the corner only to find a man painted with splatters of blood and his head bowed down. The man's face grew distant from me with his words even farther away as he started to say, “I'm sorry, Son.” A whirl of warm, moist wind brushed my skin as the floor rose to hit me in the head, as if trying to accuse me for what had happened. From this flurry came black, no sights, no sounds, no smells, no taste, nothing to feel, except empty darkness.

The alternate scene

George looked up from shoeing the horse to see the outline of Curley's wife in the doorway of the barn. They were alone. She took another step forward, her bust leading her more than usual.

"Ya seen Curly?" she asked innocently.

"He ain't in 'ere," he stated. "Go check yer house, I thought I saw 'em headed that way."

"But I was just there and it was as quite as a mouse," she said, pouting her lips and batting her eyelashes at him.

"Now quit flauntin' yerself  'round 'ere," George exclaimed.

Curley's wife ran her fingers over the gate, that held the other horses, seductively.

"Oh you didn't pull the wool o'er my eyes George," she said, while biting her lip. "I saw the way ya were likin' yer chops when I was in the bunkhouse."

George stopped shoeing the horse and looked up at her hesitantly.

"Wha...Wha... What do ya mean?" George asked as he started sweating bullets.

"I mean sometimes you gotta let yer hair down."

"I am perfectly fine with ma hair how it is!"

Curley's wife started to stroke the horse gate even more seductively, trying to make George give in to her body. The gate latch clicked and swung open, just missing her by a hair. She stood there staring as she started to scream like a banshee.

"What the hell do ya think yer doing, ya tart?" George screamed as he rushed to close the gate.

He was too late. Horses galloped in every direction like bats out of hell. George scrambled after all the horses, while Curley's wife sat on the milking stool, admiring her nails.

"A lil' help would be nice?" George scolded.

"Well, no use cryin' over spilled milk, now is ere' George?" she replied nonchalantly.

George pounded his way to where she was seated.

"Look ere', lil lady," he said,ripping the stool from underneath her. "If yer gonna mess with the bull, yer gonna get the horns!"

Shocked that George was so stern with her, she looked him straight in the eyes and said, "You sir, have bitten of more than you can chew."

Swiftly she turned on her heel and plodded her way on the trail towards her house. Leaving George, running around like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to find a good excuse for what Curley's wife had done.

“Finding a ‘scuse fer ‘er is like tryin’ to find a needle in a hay stack,” George mumbled to himself irritated with Curley’s tart of a wife.

A Girl Floating Above the World

Soaring through, life McKenzie Ricard takes full flight not caring about the clouds that have passed her by. While airborne, she keeps her mind vastly open for new paths to prance down in the future, her mind and spirit free to tango, strut and sway like an elderly couple on jazz night. Once back on soil, she is bombarded with vigorous responsibilities and given unyielding decisions to defeat, without complaint. So, rather than diminish in fear, like the coward she once was, she delicately embraces each option. Giving her obligations the care and attention they desperately yearn for, so her reasoning is always justifiable. Reasonable with everyone, McKenzie never allows others to stress her or to falter her ambitions to make the most of her time on the planet. Whether in the air or on the ground, each moment that enters her presence is precious to her. Seeing the world from a bird’s eye view, McKenzie has come to speculate that life is a gift, but what is unwrapped is only as valuable as one is grateful for.