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December 2007 
Slam Poetry
Posted on Mar 26th, 2006
by 
Vanessa
Vanessa
I've just started playing with the art of slam poetry. I don't really know anything about it and I've basically just made it up here but wanted to post my first attempt to play with it. Its a great way to just let ideas free flow from the pen with no pauses or breaks. Of course this peice is somewhat edited to make it coherent, but as you will be able to tell, not really much sense to it either. It was a good release after weeks of not writing.
A young boy stole my hatred today. An obliterated fear found its reach over the thickets and smiled. It was a surprise to look to colors of red, the shades of his ruby bicycle wheels blurred into the dizziness of a disoriented mind. It was a strange moment, a pure heart that wanted to see my face. The young boy held eyes with no shame for forthcoming on pyramids of crystal reflection, a sacred selection for endangered souls and I realized this was home and yet home was never where we wanted to be. A blind heart wrapped in fear, a scream to ugliness, fights the sight of unending delusions, a corrupt flight of terror from a world that had abandoned its soul, a young boy found me here. He stills the silence spinning the sacred and filing away fear only to hold with love the tears of my careless grieving. The Buddha sits, Kali spits, to document quiet moments of our holy reception, Immaculate Conception, hurling thoughts into the dark abyss, our human scars bare witness to this distance from where we’ve fallen. His eyes held me there, the touch of regret rolled across my sacred skin, a rough pasture to tend within. When a broken projection is harder to accept than our own death it breeds a state, where the ground disintegrates and the body falls forward into the flame, and we sit naked to surrender to the universe our natural hospitality. Our bodies breathing the pain of this uncertainty and exposing the continuity of eternity, our puke and piss holding the world in unconditional bliss and forcing the art to stream from this…recognition. Laundromat inspirations caught in wildfire, cross piled with bedding sheets; blindness pulls and holds the feet, as we creep to this void that finds us in the deepest of sleep.
A young boy stole my hatred today. An obliterated fear found its reach over the thickets and smiled. It was a surprise to look to colors of red, the shades of his ruby bicycle wheels blurred into the dizziness of a disoriented mind. It was a strange moment, a pure heart that wanted to see my face. The young boy held eyes with no shame for forthcoming on pyramids of crystal reflection, a sacred selection for endangered souls and I realized this was home and yet home was never where we wanted to be. A blind heart wrapped in fear, a scream to ugliness, fights the sight of unending delusions, a corrupt flight of terror from a world that had abandoned its soul, a young boy found me here. He stills the silence spinning the sacred and filing away fear only to hold with love the tears of my careless grieving. The Buddha sits, Kali spits, to document quiet moments of our holy reception, Immaculate Conception, hurling thoughts into the dark abyss, our human scars bare witness to this distance from where we’ve fallen. His eyes held me there, the touch of regret rolled across my sacred skin, a rough pasture to tend within. When a broken projection is harder to accept than our own death it breeds a state, where the ground disintegrates and the body falls forward into the flame, and we sit naked to surrender to the universe our natural hospitality. Our bodies breathing the pain of this uncertainty and exposing the continuity of eternity, our puke and piss holding the world in unconditional bliss and forcing the art to stream from this…recognition. Laundromat inspirations caught in wildfire, cross piled with bedding sheets; blindness pulls and holds the feet, as we creep to this void that finds us in the deepest of sleep.
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