Lip-sync, lip-sunk

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    Poem Commentary

    I had a bad stuttering experience at an ' open mic' gig.

    Lip-sync, lip-sunk
    My lips and voice-box had a fall out,
    last Tuesday week,
    on route to a verbal deliverance.
    Sounds plucked on vocal cords,
    swerved, uncontrollably,
    like lemmings on space-hoppers
    down flooded ‘Cavity Canyons’.
    Some crashed into remains of ‘Road Kill’,
    festering between chewing sites
    filled in by a fusion of silver and decay.
    The lemmings that made it,
    cascaded down ‘Phlegm Falls’
    into a raging whirlpool
    that spilt over white cliffs.
    Power lines to the speech formulation flaps
    were sabotaged by Parkinson’s Pirates,
    only allowing a low wat, wat, wattage through.
    The result was a varying narrow gap.
    The steely determination of these vocal conformists
    forced some words through,
    only to be choked at birth.
    Prepubescent vocals that failed to find a way,
    smacked into the back of these flaps,
    landing spread eagled,
    drowned below the gum line.
    Words ‘lip-sync’, like lip-sunk.
    So today I greet with phenomenally functioning,
    flap formulating, calculatingly clear,
    vocal violin of delectable deliverance,
    until Parkinson’s pop-up pirates pounce.

    © Phil Golding 03/09

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    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

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