A Time for the Spoken Word

It is a rainy day here in Greenville. I stomped around outside for a bit, feeding the newly planted trees. Now I am inside at the keyboard stroking away. In contemplation of my writing addiction, I feel no remorse in composing new poetry. While I feel guilty about pages upon pages of short stories that have never been read by another, my guilty pleasure is the addition of new verse to the world.

Poetry comes from the long held tradition of the spoken word. Long before we recorded letters to form text so story could be recounted and spoken again, we could only rely on our memory for the performance in the form of a play or an oratory such as a lecture or dialog.

Our present time is rife with cacophonous rhetoric. We seem to talk at one another rather than to one another. The end result is not much listening gets done.

What are your views?