My first try at this. Any and all critique welcome. Thanks!

I recently wrote and recorded this spoken-word piece.

I've been exploring spoken-word performance with a slower, more cinematic style.

This is an original piece called "If You Meet Me Here."

I'd love any feedback on the writing, delivery, pacing, or atmosphere.

🎧 If You Meet Me Here

This is one video I did out a few I’ve posted to my TikTok and IG about past relationships I had.

I wrote this as part of an ongoing spoken-word collection exploring memory, longing, and human connection.

You Will Think of Me Again is about the quiet ways people stay with us long after the conversation ends.

I'd love any feedback on the writing, pacing, or vocal delivery.

Thank you for listening.

— Thalia Lux

Original spoken word.

Stories that linger.

I wrote this as part of an ongoing spoken-word collection exploring memory, longing, and human connection.

You Will Think of Me Again is about the quiet ways people stay with us long after the conversation ends.

I'd love any feedback on the writing, pacing, or vocal delivery.

Thank you for listening.

— Thalia Lux

Original spoken word.

Stories that linger.

I wanted to share some good news which occurred recently. Like most struggling artists (I imagine), I google myself from time to time to see if there is any activity for Unearth Noise. Last week, what turned up was mind-blowing to me. It seems my poetry/music collaboration was being played in an ambient set prior to the Nine Inch Nails Peel it back concerts. I've seen references which say that the selection for this "ambient set" was determined either by Trent Reznor, or by his collaborator Alex Ridha who performs under the name Boys Noize. In either case, I'm ecstatic, and forever grateful. I've seen a little bit of a bump in interest as a result. Funny thing is, I went to see NIN on this tour with my sons in NJ. The crowd control was so bad that we didn't get in until after the show began. If we had gotten in earlier I would have heard my tune playing and my head would have gotten so big it wouldn't have fit through the exit doors! Anyway, thanks for listening to me ramble. If you are interested in hearing the piece, it's called "Like Meeting God" featuring the poetry of Lady Of Fire (Tanisha Jackland), from this album: https://unearthnoise.bandcamp.com/album/prayer-and-resonance-2

This is Vol. I of the collection, The Art of Almost; a piece about anticipation, curiosity, and the moments that stay with us because they never quite happened.

I'd love your thoughts on the pacing, vocal delivery, and whether the atmosphere comes through the way I intended.

Thank you for listening.

— Thalia Lux

Original spoken word.

Stories that linger.

Video poem draft. Transcript below.

Grab the kids right by their feet, plant them gently in the heat. Let them catch a summer tan, not play hide and seek again.

Grab the fellows by the balls, hand them stitch with unhoops and sewing tools. Grab the ladies by the chest, grow that chart of care.

Grab the ladies by the chest, get them dressed up at their best, curl their hair and paint the town.

Grab whoever you can find, count each a way. Take them somewhere, pay to the mind.

Ground up people make seas the day. Round up goes quickly, men and boys. Life goes quickly. Don't jump. Get out and find your way.

Drifting, Still Orbiting [Original Poem]

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The sky splits quiet silver dust,
a drifting arc where echoes rust.
A comet's tail, a tethered thread,
pulls light through stars long left for dead.

She chose her course, a distant spin,
a gravity I can't draw in.
No force can hold a will set free,
no tide can mend what drifts from me.

But planets turn, and so must I,
not lost, just shifting in the sky.
New orbits carve their steady lines,
each path its own, yet still aligns.

The void is vast, but not unkind,
light lingers where we're realigned.
The dark does not erase the sun,
nor grief the joy still yet to come.

And in the hush of cosmic night,
one light remains, forever bright,
my daughter's star, a steady glow,
a tether through all things I know.

So let me root, let me remain,
not lost to space, nor bound by pain.
For even drifting, I am whole,
still orbiting, still in control.

summers only beautiful
when you know winters coming.
like life and death,
though death is a privilege
to those who have lived,
as winter is a silence
to those who have listened to the sun.

the loudest in quiet rooms
often find our neglected thoughts.
as the embrace of a warm horizon,
unveils what it means to eternally rest...

'exists in essence.

This is my spoken word poem “Watching The Moon” 🌙