Ziggy’s Spoken Word Museum

Ziggy’s Spoken Word Museum

Showcasing a wide range of poetry through the medium of “spoken word”, any poem that is spoken outload, sung, chanted, cried-out or howled. This is a database of sound recordings and videos by Spoken Word Artists, in their own words, modern and old, all styles and modes, for your listening pleasure…

Including: Maya Angelou, Jack Kerouac, Mary Oliver, Billy Collins, Joy Harjo, Carl Hancock Rux (featured above) and more, I’m always adding more.

Listen to poems from poets you would not normally think of as “spoken word”, hear them from a new perspective.

If you like this idea and would like to add a poet/artist to Ziggy’s list, just let me know!

Ziggy’s Spoken Word Museum

an argument between drums and horns

        down at the jazz factory
landlord keeps the beat 
this is landlord’s parade
        and this is how he plays it
his sticks are tight, the music tight 
        this night feels
			all right
landlord hits the cymbals 
                and it starts to rain
                just a little sprinkle 
and the horns walk in, start jumping
		into puddles
trombone is the backbone, the big brother
trumpet is the poet of the family
		he pours the coffee
        da dee-deet
and the girl 
        with the whiskey fist
and the rose on her lips
                blows him a kiss	
so he talks to her
da dee-deet
time gets loose and thin
but landlord snares it in
			so tight
shh-tat-ta-tat-tat-splash, shh-tat-ta-tat-tat-splash
landlord punched the clock
        and we start to rock
        da dee-deet
landlord is pounding
                horns are laughing 
pounding and laughing
and pounding
        all of a sudden 
                                the music stops
all is



holding your breath 
before a storm 
and landlord says
			“time to pay the rent!”
boom-boom-splash-boom!, bah-boom-bah-boom! bah-boom! ric-a-tic-a- splash!
boom-boom-boom! thump-a-thump-a-tic-a-tic-a boom-bash-boom-splash! 
boom-splash! boom-splash! rat-a-tat-tat-tat-boom, bah-boom! bah-boom-boom-
        splash! splash! splash!
and then the trombone blows up, and the trumpet blows up, and the room blows up 
and the moon blows up, one whole city block blows up, and all of harlem
all the whiskey fists and red rose lips screaming “drums have won! horns have won!
							all is one!”
just the way i like it

posted for Shay's Word List #7
posted for dverse oln #307
posted for poets and storytellers united

attack of the babbling acrobats (3rd draft)

(for all the fringe artists out there feeling a little beat-up)

damn those goofy fools
and their rubber bones
who drag their wild weather
wherever they go 
so ferociously flexible
so transcendental  
        so rude

acrobts are the leading cause of jungle gyms, 
       giggle-ism and restless leg syndrome 

acrobats are like sugary snacks, they’ll ruin your dinner 
       evil playmates who eat birthday cake 
       all year long

worst of all, acrobats will steal your tv, so easily
and so completely, you won’t remember owning one

all acrobats wear bullet-proof jackets, just in case in snows 
all acrobats wear ugly hats, except those who don’t

acrobats like to feed baby ducks on the grave site of 
dee dee ramone, king of acrobats

acrobats make and trade the most horrible things:
        chinese finger traps 
        left-handed puddle shovels 
egyptian ice cream forks 
        poetry and totem poles   
and worst of all, nun flavored gum 

all acrobats have loose screws, which makes them rattle 
        like spare change in the dryer 
        some call it music, some call it inspired 
songs that sound like lunatic finger-strumming rubberband lips  

nobody like lunatic acrobat music, except those who do	

	and worst of all
we need to build a wall, to keep them contained 
        some kind of acrobat habitat 

but what is it exactly 
that makes them so dangerous to cardboard cutout society?
too quick with a joke? too fast on their feet? too many tricycles on flimsy highwires? 
dancing on beach balls? running around thinking their own thoughts?

        damn them! damn them all to kansas! 

and how do we defeat them?
some call an exterminator
some scrape away the bad brainwaves with a hot coat hanger
some bang their heads on church bells
some cuss out the waiter and leave one percent tips
        some get their yawn on and try to forget 
some bury their heads in suburban homesteads and wallow in comfortable sorrow
        but not me
i’ve got acrobats in my attic
and couldn’t be happier