Lipsink Lipsunk ©Phil Golding 02/02/2008

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    Poem Commentary

    Occasionally I am effected by my speech impediment. I wrote this after a gig

    Lipsink Lipsunk ©Phil Golding 02/02/2008

     

    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 lemming that made it

    Cascaded a raging whirlpool

    that spilt #forced some words through

    only to be choked at birth.

    Prepubescent vocal that failed to find a way

    smacked into the back of these flaps

    landing spread eagled,

    drowned below the gum line.

    Words ‘lip-sync’ more like lip-sunk.

    So today I greet you with a phenomenally functioning

    flap formulating calculatingly clear

    vocal violin of delectable deliverance

    until Parkinson’s pop-up pirates {{{{{{{{{POUNCE}}}}}}}}}

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    Rhymer commented on Lipsink Lipsunk ©Phil Golding 02/02/2008

    09-24-2010

    Pondering the words that form on the pallet, only to be expelled in squeaky reverberations providing more laughter and a few tears. Excellent piece.
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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