Sarah kay told the exact same line "every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order" 8 years ago in her Ted talk...i wonder if they are still friends...would love to see them performing together💙
@@marysastorm7182 that one haha. I downloaded it on my phone. I love studying English through poetry ❤. I write poetry but in Spanish lol. Poetry is a treasure itself
@@marysastorm7182 not really haha. I only post sometimes some videos of poems I like on UA-cam, (in English) haha. Let's say I write in Spanish but I usd English for telling them lol. Are you from USA? I'm from Latin America (Argentina to be more specific) Right to the end of the world haha btw KokoroMadrynense it's my lil af channel hahaha
Every great story has a beginning, middle, and end, not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories. Chapter 394, the boy, hair still long, fingers still too short, is 98 years old. Sits at a restaurant alone. The stranger sitting next to him is eating bread pudding, the boy's favorite. the boy takes his fork, sticks it in the stranger's meal and takes a bite. Chapter 14, the boy is 7 years old. He and his best friend have a great idea for a prank. They are sure they will not get caught. The next morning, every house on the street has toilet paper in the front yard... except for his own... they get caught. Chapter 146, and the boy and the girl live happily ever after. Chapter 231, and the boy and the girl vow never to speak to each other again. Every great story has a beginning, middle, and end, not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories, though not all written as chapter books. I know, there are hours not meant to be bound. When we have scribbled too much in the margins to read our own page numbers. Like the night you thought you were invincible. Ran out into the lightning storm with a million keys tied to a million kites and a clench in your jaw that said, "Take me with you, damn it, I dare you." Or the weeks when you finally reached out to feel your father's cheeks and... just found papercuts. I know. The nights we shatter hourglasses to fall asleep. The afternoons we take photographs of our own shadows just to prove that we left a mark, but... I stay awake, reminding myself of the wetness of my own lips. That I am a leaf off of the tree of my parents' first kiss, and if I hold my shrubs to the sky, I can still see their veins there. Every great story has a beginning, middle, and end. Not necessarily in that order. Chapter 189, the boy, too old now to celebrate his birthdays and too young to treasure them, uses his fists. Punches his own reflection to see if it is real. Breaks his hand back into the opposite of a fist. A conch shell of sinew. Puts it to his ear and can hear the ocean of his own bloodline. Stand up, boy. Not just with your legs. Be your own story. You, magnificent page turner. You, 600 words per minute. You, never stop to read the back cover even though you know what happens at the end. Chapter 431, once upon a time there was a boy. He's not here anymore. But the branches he left all hold their leaves to the sky. You can see the outline of his shadow on the sidewalk. Prologue, once upon a time there was a woman and a man, and the first night they kissed, a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck.
It reminded me of "Hopscotch" ("Rayuela") by Julio Cortázar. It's a novel that you can read in two different ways: you can either read it as an usual novel, from the first chapter to the last one; or as he offers you, which is skipping certain chapters and going back and forth in the book and it tells a different story! Highly recommend it!!
I saw your profile picture and you said phil (my dumb ass not realizing you were talking about the guy speaking and not lester) and i was very confused for a moment 😂
I love Phil so much it’s not even a joke, I recently read his book and cried a good 5 times. It was awesome reading his book because I was able to read the poems and hear him say them in my head the way he preforms them.
It hasn't been too long before I started writing poems, short pieces like momentary bursts and the like. Lately, after having moved through phases of depression over this past year, I've been having this urge out of nowehere to try my hand at spoken word. But I don't know why, I'm scared at the very idea. Also, I have stage fright/ social anxiety and the depression has definitely led on more than originally should have been. But somehow, listening to Phil Kaye causes this tiny spark in me somewhere that tells me in a small voice that I must try my luck at it.
Give it a try, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose.If you fail once get better and try again until you make it even if you have to try it a 100 times.
Every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories. Chapter 389, the boy ,still hair long and fingers too short. is 98 years old. Sits at the restaurant alone. The stranger next to him is eating something that looks vaguely delicious. The boy takes his fork, sticks it in his meal and takes a bite. He says “I’m 98 years old, go ahead say something… asshole.” Chapter 14, the boy is eight years old, he and his best friend come up with a great idea for a prank. They are sure they will not get caught. The next morning, every house on his street except his own has toilet paper on their front lawn. They get caught. Chapter 146, the boy and the girl live happily ever after Chapter 231, the boy and the girl vow to never speak to each again Every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories, but not all written as chapter books. I know, there are moments not meant to be bound. That we scribble too much in the margins to read our own page numbers. Like the nights you thought we were invincible. Ran out into the lightening storm with a million keys Tied to a million kites with a clench in your jaw that said “take me with you god damn it. I dare you” In the weeks, when you finally reached out to feel your father’s cheeks and just found paper cuts. I know the nights we shatter hourglasses to fall asleep. In the afternoons, we take photographs of our own shadows just to prove that we left a mark. I know the wetness of your lips. Know that you are a leaf off the tree of your parents’ first kiss. As you hold your shrubs to the sky you can see their veins there. Know that in later chapters you will complain about how things were better back in your day - give yourself lots to complain about. Know; that your legs were made to run, your bones were made to heal, so let yourself fall so deeply into somebody else you do not know which way is up - knowing, that one day you may fall out, know exactly which way is down, call your mother, crying like the first day you were born. “Baby,” she will call you. “Baby, it is okay. Every great story has a beginning, middle, and ending. Not necessarily in that order.” Chapter 189, the boy too old now to celebrate his birthdays and too young to treasure them uses his fist to punch his own reflection to see if it’s real. Breaks his hand into back into the opposite of a fist. A conch shell city. He holds it into his ear and can hears the ocean of his own bloodline. “Stand up boy and not just with your legs” You, be your own story. 600 words per minute. You, glasses by age seven You, never stop to read the back cover even if you know what happens in the end. Chapter 431, once upon a time there was a boy, he’s not here any more. But the branches that he left all holds the leaves to the sky You can see the outlines of his shadow on the side walk Chapter one, once upon a time there was a woman and a man. The first night they kissed, a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck.
Idk why, but felt as the representation was reluctant... As if he was reciting the poem, but also got so deep into it that a detachment point happened... Where he could also re-feel all the feelings.
The night you thought you were invincible, ran out in the lightening storm with millions keys tied to million kites and clenched into jaws that take me with you damn it I dare you ❤ ❤❤❤
I love Phil's work, and this poem, but the cadence of his delivery never changes. Just an observation, not a dig. In every poem, he sounds the same - a little bit monotone, a little bit sad, with the same rhythm across all of his works.
Leaves grow from the branches, and he refers to his parents as trees, he said earlier in the poem that he is a leaf off of their first kiss, so when he says a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck he's referring to himself
Sarah kay told the exact same line "every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order" 8 years ago in her Ted talk...i wonder if they are still friends...would love to see them performing together💙
I just watched the two of them perform 10 days ago! They've been on a tour together.
Angie Long yo youre so lucky :C
i was just gonna say that
What. I think they were a couple
@@yams6754 nope, they always say they’d never date, only friends!
to be alive in the same century as this man and his words
whew such a blessing
Yep, but also there are poets, writers, artists in prevous centuries which I'll never get to meet unless time travel gets discovered.
I shook his hand! 😁
Doesn't he get prettier as he gets older?
He definitely does.
My thoughts exactly...
HE WAS AND IS SO PRETTY
Best comment
I love every one of Phil's poems. They never cease to amaze me. His performance and poems are all just so perfect. Not hard on the eyes either lol
Indeed. He's amazing so far "when love arrives" is priceless
@@Dagmadryn The one he performed with Sarah? Because I love that one.
@@marysastorm7182 that one haha. I downloaded it on my phone. I love studying English through poetry ❤. I write poetry but in Spanish lol. Poetry is a treasure itself
@@Dagmadryn Oh, that's so cool! Do you post them anywhere? I write poetry in English, haha.
@@marysastorm7182 not really haha. I only post sometimes some videos of poems I like on UA-cam, (in English) haha. Let's say I write in Spanish but I usd English for telling them lol. Are you from USA? I'm from Latin America (Argentina to be more specific) Right to the end of the world haha btw KokoroMadrynense it's my lil af channel hahaha
He's really rocking the long hair.
so beautiful to see the ways he has edited and changed the words and the way he speaks them over the years.
"Take me with you, dammit, I dare you." Even to a female this is relatable and beautiful.
why wouldn't it be relatable to women lol
@@Jazz-nr7nk exactly what I thought when I saw what the person wrote
Every great story has a beginning, middle, and end, not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories.
Chapter 394, the boy, hair still long, fingers still too short, is 98 years old. Sits at a restaurant alone. The stranger sitting next to him is eating bread pudding, the boy's favorite. the boy takes his fork, sticks it in the stranger's meal and takes a bite.
Chapter 14, the boy is 7 years old. He and his best friend have a great idea for a prank. They are sure they will not get caught. The next morning, every house on the street has toilet paper in the front yard... except for his own... they get caught.
Chapter 146, and the boy and the girl live happily ever after. Chapter 231, and the boy and the girl vow never to speak to each other again.
Every great story has a beginning, middle, and end, not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories, though not all written as chapter books. I know, there are hours not meant to be bound. When we have scribbled too much in the margins to read our own page numbers.
Like the night you thought you were invincible. Ran out into the lightning storm with a million keys tied to a million kites and a clench in your jaw that said, "Take me with you, damn it, I dare you." Or the weeks when you finally reached out to feel your father's cheeks and... just found papercuts.
I know. The nights we shatter hourglasses to fall asleep. The afternoons we take photographs of our own shadows just to prove that we left a mark, but... I stay awake, reminding myself of the wetness of my own lips. That I am a leaf off of the tree of my parents' first kiss, and if I hold my shrubs to the sky, I can still see their veins there.
Every great story has a beginning, middle, and end. Not necessarily in that order. Chapter 189, the boy, too old now to celebrate his birthdays and too young to treasure them, uses his fists. Punches his own reflection to see if it is real. Breaks his hand back into the opposite of a fist.
A conch shell of sinew. Puts it to his ear and can hear the ocean of his own bloodline. Stand up, boy. Not just with your legs.
Be your own story. You, magnificent page turner. You, 600 words per minute. You, never stop to read the back cover even though you know what happens at the end.
Chapter 431, once upon a time there was a boy. He's not here anymore. But the branches he left all hold their leaves to the sky. You can see the outline of his shadow on the sidewalk.
Prologue, once upon a time there was a woman and a man, and the first night they kissed, a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck.
Thank you.
"The afternoons we take photographs of our own shadows just to prove that we left a mark" made me get chills. This guy is absolutely amazing.
i will forever appreciate Phil Kaye and his poetry
It reminded me of "Hopscotch" ("Rayuela") by Julio Cortázar. It's a novel that you can read in two different ways: you can either read it as an usual novel, from the first chapter to the last one; or as he offers you, which is skipping certain chapters and going back and forth in the book and it tells a different story!
Highly recommend it!!
Phil always manages to bring up feelings inside me that I didn’t know existed and I can’t thank him enough for that
I saw your profile picture and you said phil (my dumb ass not realizing you were talking about the guy speaking and not lester) and i was very confused for a moment 😂
@@robin8095 same 😂😂😂
"The days we take photographs of our shadows just to prove we left a mark."
I just love his voice like he may every word count and it's mesmorizing
I love Phil so much it’s not even a joke, I recently read his book and cried a good 5 times. It was awesome reading his book because I was able to read the poems and hear him say them in my head the way he preforms them.
I love the way the poem changed over the years. They just keep improving!
His voice is so soothing
Ohhh that hair Phil and your eyes what am I even imagining........love you for the love of poetry
I love Phil's poems they sound so beautiful and calm. Reminds me of a memory I never had
Phil and Sarah will forever be my faves.
I could listen to him read a text book. His poems and how he pauses, looks at the audience...just uh love it
He is such an inspiration to those who want to write their own pages of thoughts
He's the one guy who can rock long hair AND facial hair. Damn.
Oh, and his poems are great, too.
His poems are so spectacular and his voice is heavenly.
I SQUEALED I LOVE THIS PIECE AND I LOVE PHIL 💜
Again? Well I'll never get bored of this poem. Love you Phil
I really love the language he uses in his poems
I was enchanted by the voice and the imagery. He casts spells. Words are magic.
Phil always makes me feel at peace
The way he speaks is calming & his words are compelling.
Love each and everyone of your poems man, outstanding writing
So in love with his persona and tone of communication
This poem hit hard... Stories are everything in the end.... 🙁💜
It hasn't been too long before I started writing poems, short pieces like momentary bursts and the like. Lately, after having moved through phases of depression over this past year, I've been having this urge out of nowehere to try my hand at spoken word. But I don't know why, I'm scared at the very idea. Also, I have stage fright/ social anxiety and the depression has definitely led on more than originally should have been. But somehow, listening to Phil Kaye causes this tiny spark in me somewhere that tells me in a small voice that I must try my luck at it.
Give it a try, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose.If you fail once get better and try again until you make it even if you have to try it a 100 times.
his way with words never fail to entrance me. i'm constantly in awe.
His voice is so beautiful to listen to.
Phil's voice is amazing 😍
Every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories.
Chapter 389, the boy ,still hair long and fingers too short. is 98 years old. Sits at the restaurant alone.
The stranger next to him is eating something that looks vaguely delicious.
The boy takes his fork, sticks it in his meal and takes a bite.
He says “I’m 98 years old, go ahead say something… asshole.”
Chapter 14, the boy is eight years old, he and his best friend come up with a great idea for a prank.
They are sure they will not get caught.
The next morning, every house on his street except his own has toilet paper on their front lawn.
They get caught.
Chapter 146, the boy and the girl live happily ever after
Chapter 231, the boy and the girl vow to never speak to each again
Every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order.
We are all great stories, but not all written as chapter books.
I know, there are moments not meant to be bound.
That we scribble too much in the margins to read our own page numbers.
Like the nights you thought we were invincible.
Ran out into the lightening storm with a million keys
Tied to a million kites with a clench in your jaw that said “take me with you god damn it. I dare you”
In the weeks, when you finally reached out to feel your father’s cheeks and just found paper cuts.
I know the nights we shatter hourglasses to fall asleep.
In the afternoons, we take photographs of our own shadows just to prove that we left a mark.
I know the wetness of your lips.
Know that you are a leaf off the tree of your parents’ first kiss.
As you hold your shrubs to the sky you can see their veins there.
Know that in later chapters you will complain about how things were better back in your day
- give yourself lots to complain about.
Know; that your legs were made to run, your bones were made to heal, so let yourself
fall so deeply into somebody else you do not know which way is up
- knowing, that one day you may fall out, know exactly which way is down, call your mother, crying
like the first day you were born.
“Baby,” she will call you.
“Baby, it is okay. Every great story has a beginning, middle, and ending. Not necessarily in that order.”
Chapter 189, the boy too old now to celebrate his birthdays and too young to treasure them uses his fist to punch his own reflection to see if it’s real.
Breaks his hand into back into the opposite of a fist.
A conch shell city.
He holds it into his ear and can hears the ocean of his own bloodline.
“Stand up boy and not just with your legs”
You, be your own story. 600 words per minute.
You, glasses by age seven
You, never stop to read the back cover even if you know what happens in the end.
Chapter 431, once upon a time there was a boy, he’s not here any more.
But the branches that he left all holds the leaves to the sky
You can see the outlines of his shadow on the side walk
Chapter one, once upon a time there was a woman and a man.
The first night they kissed, a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck.
Melissa Maharani thank you!
❤❤❤
Uhh, this is like halfway right. Why write out the words if you change whatever you feel like? Boooo
only2comment98 he has done other readings of this poem where the words match these ones written, it's probably copied from them.
Thank you for this. It's super interesting how he's changed it over time.
Idk why, but felt as the representation was reluctant... As if he was reciting the poem, but also got so deep into it that a detachment point happened... Where he could also re-feel all the feelings.
Oof I love Phil his style is so good I'm crying
Beautiful as always. His skills only get better.
His approach to his pieces
i never get tired of hearing Phil’s voice
Phil’s hair is everything!! 😭😭😭
Just love his voice and all his poems!!
This is my favorite poem from him.
This remains one of my faves from him
Literally ONE dislike
Phil Kaye is great, you can't change my mind
Ian Robinson 5*
I wish I knew more people like this in my every day life
Love the tree metaphors.
He gets me ...............Every time...................Every damn time
I watched this stoned as fuck, but this didn’t make sense to me for a second. Gonna have to watch again sober lmao
gracious! so good
Chills!!! You have such a way with words.
I love his voice❤
I am Yemeni living in Yemen, and there are parts i couldn't understand😭
Yet, i felt so emotional 💖
Beautiful
Man i love this guy
This is so beautiful. I love Phil so much.❤
Beautiful.
0:36 He's talking about his bestfriend Ben. From his poem 'before the internet'
You are the Best!!!!
THIS PIECE!! 💕💕
The best poet I know ❤️
That's such a great story
"I am a leaf off of the tree of my parent's first kiss"
- damn.
I love phil
yooooo this is my favorite poem from him
'We are all great stories, not all written as chapter books'
"Stand up boy, not just with your legs"
He is love
🖤
Deep
The night you thought you were invincible, ran out in the lightening storm with millions keys tied to million kites and clenched into jaws that take me with you damn it I dare you ❤ ❤❤❤
i like that very good
He's so dope
I love Phil's work, and this poem, but the cadence of his delivery never changes. Just an observation, not a dig. In every poem, he sounds the same - a little bit monotone, a little bit sad, with the same rhythm across all of his works.
Unfortunately I have to agree. I wish he went outside his comfort zone a bit.
I feel like it's his signature. I like it.
That’s his signature
Where is button poetry performed? Who are you?
Thank you. All the films have a similar ‘feel’.
Imagine having a boyfriend with Phil Kaye's voice. So comforting!! 💖 hehehe I love you!
Sounds beautiful.
I didn't get it
❤❤❤
Does anyone know what the "and a seedling blossomed in the back of her neck" might mean? That line has me so puzzled.
Leaves grow from the branches, and he refers to his parents as trees, he said earlier in the poem that he is a leaf off of their first kiss, so when he says a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck he's referring to himself
Does anyone else think him and Sarah Kay have such a similar writing and performing style?
Tima Yes!!
🌺
Cool
Is this a reupload because I swear I know his next words
Ms pino sent me here
☺💕
I love Phil's poems, I admit his art, but honestly the 2011 record of this poem was MUCH more emotional, more true
Who else brought Date and Time?
😍 😍 I ❤️ u
What does this poem mean?
what is the main argument?
his teeth are so white and he is beautiful
If he told me he loved me I’d just marry him
I was not expecting a beard
Crying high key
His words are so good but his poet voice is so predictable
Deep