Echo by Woodsy the Performance Poet

John is able to elicit emotion through words more eloquently than anyone I’ve ever known. I’ve found his words sometimes haunting, sometimes consoling, hopeful, and dark. The contradiction shadowed only by the truth of it. There are moments of triumph, moments of defeat, and most importantly millions of little moments in between, that can only be captured by a true poet. Someone who feels completely, and knows that words can become a gateway to human connection.

I thought I would share here, one of his pieces, accompanied by a few of my own works, I hope you’ll consider reading some of his other beautiful poems at https://woodsydotblog.wordpress.com

I saw your face this morning –

something I needed,

outside of it all.


I reached out,

years too late to feel your skin,

and felt the echoes of your spirit.


These days,

it is the shadows

and empty spaces

that push me forward –

not quite

a ride or a dance or a dream…

just the last little ticks of nightmare…


falling away.


But here you are,

nestled in blue…


in the surf and the sky

and the morning…

and all of those things I can’t do.

 
Here you are,

filling

this crater of heartbeats

with the echo of yesterday’s screams:


“I’m getting better!”


The one damn thing you needed.

The one thing I did, too.


So did the world that forgot you were there…


showing it something,

everywhere.  


Sometimes, I’m lost here,

just like you,

slicing the world

with a hot steel blade:


“I’m getting better!”


(from this, from them, from you)


Trying

to shove a kinder,

less merciless truth

into indifferent ears:


“I’m getting better!”


(from this, from them, from stuff you say… stuff you do)


The only scream

I have left –

and sometimes,

the only scream nobody hears anymore.


A ghost scream,

throwing out my numbers and my codes,


filling

the crater of my heart

with precious bursts of echo,


like that smile:


always the gentlest

of explosions,

your smiles.


Starbursts

in the bear pit…

tiny factories of bonfire,

sat on the edge by darkness

and

blossoming

somewhere between…


I saw you sadder than before.

You saw me deeper in there too.


You hold some part of me

that’s still far better in your hands,

haunting

all those happy endings

that came scavenging

in your wake.


The truth is,

I’m more at home in darkness now,

whittling your echoes into kindling

and lighting our bonfires

with their own kind of peace…


riding out your faces and your loves


and showing the world

and the lights out of town


just what they say about me.

2 thoughts on “Echo by Woodsy the Performance Poet

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