I have to say it’s getting to be a lot of fun going to poetry nights and reading at the open mic. Each of the different venues has its own flavor and style, not to mention differences in quality of the sound systems and that sort of thing. Tonight I was in a good mood and when it was my turn started with some banter about how I had written a piece about ten days ago that I thought would work well here, given that it is a coffeehouse, my poem Coffee, which recounts my love affair with that beverage. However, I told the audience, I realized you might not like the ending, so of course I gave them the last few words:
“Love ends
Even for coffee
Grounds for divorce”
(Good natured groans ensued)
Then I mentioned that I had written another brilliant poem just a few days ago that I had planned on reading, which I waved in the air, like Craig Ferguson, and said that I wasn’t going to read it at all and referred folks to my blog if they wanted to read it. Then I set up Words by saying that I had just written this poem this morning and that it really isn’t meant to be autobiographical but just grew out of thinking about the phrase that repeats throughout:
Words
We had words
Big words
Words with sharp consonants
And barbed hooks that tear the soft flesh out of your throat
Words that fly out of your mouth and circle overhead like seagulls
Who feast on binscraps and bombard sidewalkers with unwelcome splats
Words
We had words
Eye popping vein throbbing temperature rising words
Words that ricochet against the walls of your closed mind
Like the deathlead heat of a thousand rounds
We had words
Words that are furyflung and meant to wound
Words that don’t listen for responses
Carpet bombs that blow any semblance of conversation into smithereens
Words that thrust and parry
Pointed words that slip deep into unarmoured flesh aiming for the heart
We had words all right
But it’s not all
And it certainly isn’t right
Those words were poisoned
Toxic words
Words that initiate chronic conditions
Flesh eating words
Whose wounds grow larger instead of smaller
Never scabbing over with the promise of a new thin skin
But become suppurating angry ulcers
And the only treatment is amputation or exile
So just saying that we had words
Is a little like saying a gang banged rape victim had sex
Those words had us when we had them
Because sometimes words do become flesh
Bleeding, infected, painful and mortified
And if I could take them back I would
And maybe it would have been better to cover my ears
Walk away in retreat
But we had words
David Trudel © 2013
This was a fun reading, and I put a lot of spoken word inflection and emphasis and animation into it. I got some very positive feedback but mostly I felt that I had done the poem justice and was happy with my performance, which isn’t always the case.
