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The Way I Write | A Slam Poem

I was asked to write- on the way I write-

That steady demarcation of black on white.

I suppose, your query

Was not, by hand or type?

But why I chose, this guise

Playing loose with my prose

A mix-

Of decisions and provisions

Hurdles, Opportunities

That have coalesced or disapaced.

I decided-

That I would never let ‘words’

(and their purported real-ness, diction’ry defin´ed-ly)

confine me.

If Shakespeare is so lauded

For all he recorded

And credits abound

For the words he set down

Than why

should I

Keep within the bounds

Of letters as they ought to be

All ordered accordingly


I always read aloud

...just in my head.

The very idea

Of running your eyes

over a wordy summise

and not hearing spoken

Lyrics unbroken

baffles me!

It’s also, clearly, hampered me,-

I cannot read without narrating and that’s mild-infuriating.

Basely confining me

to consume text stringently

no faster, than that voice, in my mind, allows me.


I think it also forces me,

to wend words chorally,

To navigate

each note

I pen,


If I am forced, the world consuming, to constantly narrate

I might as well find places where that will carry some weight

Not be a hindrance horrendous

but a harmony stupendous

A hymn of declined declensions

For me to propagate

Where also-

my drudging dyslexia, won’t




in absentia

Where my scribblings won’t-

be held up for wrong homonyms,

mispent commas

and mispelt ostentatia

I’ve always been caught,

In a bind of distance

Between myself

And what meaning a page will insist on

I twist my words, I lay them out lengthways

And somehow people still don’t get what it all say

I knew what I meant, how did they not?

And it’s why I write to be spoken a lot

I take some of the base

instincts of comedy.

Never repeat a word

when it precarious synonym

will provide more colourfully.

I did learn something from all that schooling.

That compliance with assonance produces a resonating song

That artful alliteration is aesthetically alluring.

And some things come

simply from

repeated nights

Tacked before the machine.

When you’ve graduated from, the pen and the sword

the word-processor primes you

to play with position.

‘The english language is wonderfully reworkable.

Language in english reworks wonderfully.

Work and re- your wonderfully language, English.’

Never too seriously

Never too tight

Never repeat or run a’mill or run away from the fight

Experiment and play and don’t fear their laughter

Read broadly, listen widely and write even farther.

And you’ll make mistakes

You’ll look back and self-censure

But you’ll have written a line here, a piece there,

good ventures

You’ll write upon your writings, moving up and moving out

And you’ll write yourself to here

With all the life you’ve writ about

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