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Slam Poetry Quotes

Browse 16 quotes about Slam Poetry.

Slam Poetry Quotes

“A poet if anything must be a poet and far more than just a writer of words. The poet is the storyteller, the shaman, the jester and the rogue. The poet lives in the world of language and imagination, love, death & obsession and yet still sees the universe in the smallest of everyday things that we merely take for granted.”

“(I pull the second to last item out of my bag. Her purple hair clip. She told me once how much it meant to her, and why she always keeps it.) This purple hair clip? It really is magic…just like your dad told you it was. It’s magic because, no matter how many times it lets you down…you keep having hope in it. You keep trusting it. No matter how many times it fails you, You never fail it. Just like you never fail me. I love that about you, because of you. (I set it back down and pull out a strip of paper and unfold it.) Your mother. (I sigh) Your mother was an amazing woman, Lake. I'm blessed that I got to know her, And that she was a part of my life, too. I came to love her as my own mom…just as she came to love Caulder and I as her own. I didn’t love her because of you, Lake. I loved her because of her. So, thank you for sharing her with us. She had more advice about Life and love and happiness and heartache than anyone I've ever known. But the best advice she ever gave me? The best advice she ever gave us? (I read the quote in my hands) "Sometimes two people have to fall apart, to realize how much they need to fall back together." (She’s definitely crying now. I place the slip back inside the satchel and take a step closer to the edge of the stage as I hold her gaze.) The last item I have wouldn’t fit, because you’re actually sitting in it. That booth. You’re sitting in the exact same spot you sat in when you watched your first performance on this stage. The way you watched this stage with passion in your eyes…I'll never forget that moment. It's the moment I knew it was too late. I was too far gone by then. I was in love with you. I was in love with you because of you. (I back up and sit down on the stool behind me, still holding her stare.) I could go on all night, Lake. I could go on and on and on about all the reasons I'm in love with you. And you know what? Some of them are the things that life has thrown our way. I do love you because you're the only other person I know that understands my situation. I do love you because both of us know what it's like to lose your mom and your dad. I do love you because you're raising your little brother, just like I am. I love you because of what you went through with your mother. I love you because of what we went through with your mother. I love the way you love Kel. I love the way you love Caulder. And I love the way I love Kel. So I'm not about to apologize for loving all these things about you, no matter the reasons or the circumstances behind them. And no, I don’t need days, or weeks, or months to think about why I love you. It’s an easy answer for me. I love you because of you. Because of every single thing about you.”

“the world is being built up by greedy people wanting higher towers and then there’s a war or a hurricane or a tsunami or a virus or a financial collapse happening to put things in balance. this has happened all through history and the humankind survives and moves on. this is not an exception: this is a rule. and you are not granted to stay here, that is not your right. you were handed a gift of walking here for a little while, breathing the air, feeling things, but did you say thank you? ever? or just took for granted, carried life like a burden and now you’re being angry because suddenly things outside of your control are threatening your peace? why do you let your peace depend on things outside of your control in the first place?”

“سيستغرق الجرح وقتاً ليكتشف الليل حزن القمرْ… هنا الأرض أضيق من رغبتي بالبكاء، وهذي السماء،على الرغم من كل بهجتها في المساء… ورغم اتساع المدى واخضرار الشجرْ… عروقيَ خيطان طائرةً في بلادي، وقلبي حجرْ… دعيني أصدّق عينيك يا حلوتي، كلّ من كان خان، دعيني أصدق أنّ يديك اهتدائي الأخير إلى لغتي الواعدةْ… دعيني أفسر جوع العصافير وهي تحوم على سورة المائدةْ! دعيني أفكر بي، وبنا، وبمن قال إن الهويات نصلٌ بأحلامنا الهامدةْ… لماذا تظل البلاد التي عذبتنا طويلاً ندوباً بأرواحنا الباردةْ؟ وهل نحن نرحل ما دام تبقى البيوت ثقوباً بأجسادنا الشاردةْ! لقد قطّعتنا البلاد إلى حطب من رحيلٍ، وقد أحرقتنا اشتياقاً، لماذا تحنّ الغصون إلى الريح والشجرة الجاحدة؟ ولماذا على غرقٍ أبيض حين أكتب أسكب كل القصائد في دمعة واحدةْ؟”

“منتظراً، مثلكِ، وعداً من خلف البحرِ ومنهمراً مثل الأمطارِ على بيروتَ، وأقنعُ نفسي ألا ضير بقفزٍ من سطح الغيم إلى بئر الحب.. وأكتبُ: في موت القطراتِ حياةْ كالموجِ أميلُ يساراً جهةَ القلبِ، أفكرُ أين سأصبح بعد كتابين من الآن، أصوّرُ نفسي حتى لا أتصوّرُ نفسي من غير يديك وأحلمُ بالآتْ... ضوءُ نهارٍ آخرَ فوق الشاطئ ماتْ تنكسرُ على قدم المقهى أحلامُ البحرِ وأمواجُ العاشرِ من آذار... كما تنكسر على شفتي الكلماتْ في آخرِ سطرٍ في دفتر هذي الليلةِ أكتبُ: كفّاكِ سفينةُ نوحٍ... صدركِ: ذهبُ الله الأبيضُ.. قلبكِ: كبريتٌ يشتعلُ جمالاً وطموحْ شفتاكِ: عناقيدٌ تحلمُ أن تُعتصرَ نبيذاَ أبدياً... وتُعتّق في خابيةِ الروحْ هل قلتُ يداكِ سفينةُ نوحٍ.. نسيتُ التوضيح: حياتي نوحْ...”

“في حضنها كن ندى.. كن غيمةً... مطرا‬ واغمض يديك على نيرانها لترى لن تفهم الحب، حاول إن وقعت به أن تفهم الفأس لا أن تفهم الشجرا... ولا تفكّر كثيراً، دع غداً لغدٍ كن عاشقاً، أجمل الأغصان ما انكسرا خف من بقائكما لا من رحيلكما لن تحبس الريح مهما تحبس الوترا لا ورد يملك عطراً، وهو يسكنه والليل مهما سرى لن يملك القمرا دعها تحبك... دعها أن تحب... غداً يبقى من العمر... حبّ كان... وانتثرا...”

“الأدراج: قصائد المدن نحو معانيها العالية… على أيّ درب أواعدُ عينيكِ... والأمنيات ثكالى وكلّ الدروبِ بلا آخرِ... تعبنا نفتّش عن حلمٍ واحدٍ للبقاء.. فلمْ تلتفت نجمةٌ في الحنين إلى غربةِ العابرِ نُسينا وحيدين حتى تقاسَمنا الوجدُ والطارئون فما همَّ من باع عهد الضياع ومن يشتري وصافحني سيف هذا الرحيل.. وقد كنت غمداً أصيلاً فلم أخسر العنفوانَ ولم تخسري”

“The ongoing problem with most American poetry & poets today is their lack of belief in themselves & that they don't expand upon their ideals or experiment enough with their craft. That's why we are all stuck in the same old literary grind & groove still pushing out old ideas, listening to ridiculous banter of egotistical critics & still worshipping the old schools & movements of long past yesterdays from decades ago. Dead icons, dead ideas, dead slams and an established academic system that's biased and too busy promoting all the cliche events that they believe are all about community but mainly promoting their own of which are not open to all poets without degrees but mostly only to students & the inner sanctum. Poetry is for everyone and it needs a new vision of our times. The 21st century. The majority of poets who are producing new & original works are being ignored. Poetry should be independent and free of bias and uncategorized. Workshops or classes are not the solution.”

“For me the poem and the poetry open mic isn’t about competition and it never will be. Honestly? It's wrong. The open mic is about 1 poet, one fellow human being up on a stage or behind a podium sharing their work regardless of what form or style they bring to it. In other words? The guy with the low slam score is more than likely a far better poet-writer than the guy who actually won. But who are you? I ? Or really anyone else to judge them? The Poetry Slam has become an overgrown, over used monopoly on American literature and poetry and is now over utilized by the academic & public school establishments. And over the years has sadly become the "McDonalds Of Poetry". We can only hope that the same old stale atmosphere of it all eventually becomes or evolves into something new that translates to and from the written page and that gives new poets with different styles & authentic voices a chance to share their work too.”

“There are moments in every relationship that define when two people start to fall in love. A first glance A first smile A first kiss A first fall… (I remove the Darth Vader house shoes from my satchel and look down at them.) You were wearing these during one of those moments. One of the moments I first started to fall in love with you. The way you gave me butterflies that morning Had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else, and everything to do with you. I was falling in love with you that morning because of you. (I take the next item out of the satchel. When I pull it out and look up, she brings her hands to her mouth in shock.) This ugly little gnome With his smug little grin… He's the reason I had an excuse to invite you into my house. Into my life. You took a lot of aggression out on him over those next few months. I would watch from my window as you would kick him over every time you walked by him. Poor little guy. You were so tenacious. That feisty, aggressive, strong-willed side of you…. The side of you that refused to take crap from this concrete gnome? The side of you that refused to take crap from me? I fell in love with that side of you because of you. (I set the gnome down on the stage and grab the CD) This is your favorite CD ‘Layken’s shit.’ Although now I know you intended for shit to be possessive, rather than descriptive. The banjo started playing through the speakers of your car and I immediately recognized my favorite band. Then when I realized it was your favorite band, too? The fact that these same lyrics inspired both of us? I fell in love with that about you. That had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else. I fell in love with that about you because of you. (I take a slip of paper out of the satchel and hold it up. When I look at her, I see Eddie slide her a napkin. I can’t tell from up here, but that can only mean she’s crying.) This is a receipt I kept. Only because the item I purchased that night was on the verge of ridiculous. Chocolate milk on the rocks? Who orders that? You were different, and you didn’t care. You were being you. A piece of me fell in love with you at that moment, because of you. This? (I hold up another sheet of paper.) This I didn’t really like so much. It’s the poem you wrote about me. The one you titled 'mean?' I don’t think I ever told you… but you made a zero. And then I kept it to remind myself of all the things I never want to be to you. (I pull her shirt from my bag. When I hold it into the light, I sigh into the microphone.) This is that ugly shirt you wear. It doesn’t really have anything to do with why I fell in love with you. I just saw it at your house and thought I’d steal it.”