Spoken Word Poetry

Spoken Word Poetry - By: Pamela Hunnisett
Posted on 12/09/2019

Our Creative Writing Grade 11 and 12 students have been writing, memorizing and performing Spoken Word Poetry.  We are creating a Spoken Word team to perform in Alberta’s Provincial Youth Poetry Slam in April.  Here are two of our poems by Nazeefa (Grade 11) and Abhay (Grade 12). 

Mathematics: Try and Calculate Me

Spoken Word Poem by Nazeefa A – Creative Writing 25

 

Mathematics: try and

calculate me. Determine  

the set values of my 

symmetry.

 

Mathematics: solve algebraically, 

the coordinates forming my 

parabolic anatomy.

 

Mathematics: prove me

with your trig identities, and 

try to figure out

the complexity of my 

geometry.

 

Mathematics: follow your

order of operations, your

methodical foundations, and 

place a definition beside 

my identity.

 

You, derive logic from chaos, and 

reason from digits,

find limits contained in one tenth of a minute;

angles from slopes, and

side lengths from tangents.

But

your obsession with accuracy, your

perfectionist mentality,

fails to interpret the vastness of 

my personality.

 

You, look at me 

with frustration, only seeing an

unsolved equation, so

you restrict my domains, and 

quantify my range, and 

graph my inequality so 

my values may never change? and 

bound my beauty between greater than and less than;

you look at me and see someone to solve, to prove, to sketch, and

you try to classify my incongruities 

by using probability to predict my inconsistencies.

You may illustrate and extrapolate,

and verify after you evaluate,

but your rational mind can’t stretch far enough

to reach 

my infinity.

 

You, desperately try to explain,

where my parabola is on your cartesian plane, but  

Mathematics, I 

am still the unsolved variable to your 

erroneous equation,

my solutions having

no constant definition.

 

Mathematics, my values are beautifully miscellaneous

but you just call them extraneous, because you

fail to understand that my beauty wasn’t planned. 

It can’t be plotted point by point on your stern command.  

Your maximums and minimums will not sway where I stand.

 

Mathematics, you 

describe me by rearranging digits from zero to nine, but 

the square my values blows up your calculator everytime.

With the real number system,

I cannot be confined.

 

Mathematics, you may try to

bound me in a right angled triangle with

ninety degree vision, and

Pythagorean precision, but

a2 and b2 will never equal c2  

because the hypotenuse 

continues 

curves

and points, telling me 

that I require no proof to become an identity, 

that I am unpredictable, thriving in my spontaneity, 

that my beauty is too massive for you to try and

calculate me.

 

So Mathematics, 

Please try,

and calculate me

  

We are Given one Face but Paint Ourselves Another

Spoken Word Poem by Abhay P – Creative Writing 35

 

I look up,

I look around,

I see that dark horizon.

I look up,

I look around,

And I see me.

 

I see how the day begins,; how I wake up with one face and end with ten. I have an inside and an outside and don’t know how to mix them. Just like the stars ache for that dark night, I ache for a cover of darkness to cover me like a blanket, something that won’t slip and occasionally forget to cover my feet as well.

 

The faded glow from all the powder and pretension, revealing itself as cracks on my skin. These colours remain and refuse to let go, so I keep on concealing, concealing, concealing: a hint of cologne to mask the indecent smell of my insecurities, a small dab of pomade to slick back my disordered self, a final look in the mirror - a face not familiar.

 

We are given one face but paint ourselves another.

 

Like a painter who paints our portraits perfectly, occasionally seeing a glimpse of our insides. An overwhelming fear builds up: what if they have seen too much, what if they know too much.

My desire to vanish so strong in this moment, my desire to remain so weak. The way I show myself is not what it seems and sometimes I like this ambiguity, and sometimes it just hurts. All who I trust, all who trust me - shoot past the horizon, never again to be seen. 

 

We are given one face but paint ourselves another.

 

Smiles are not just smiles. They carry the weight of so much more: pretension, posing, pain. Look beyond that crooked smile, and you’ll see how I’m a double sided coin with one face completely removed; that side is only for me to admire and not for the world to corrupt. So when I flip that coin, my odds seem pretty strong -  I made my own luck.

 

Now, because of it, I stand on the shore - I stand alone. My loved ones turning into strangers and so am I.

 

We are given one face but paint ourselves another.

 

I see that dark horizon:

I look up,

I look around,

And I see me.

 

Click here to see the Spoken Word Poetry videos from our students. 


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