The Power of Poetry: When Words Become Magic

Poetry is a heartbeat,

a spark in the silence,

a secret stitched into sound.

On paper, it whispers,

in voices it roars

spilling truth like stars across a night sky.

Spoken word is the pulse of language,

breath turned into fire,

a story leaving one mouth

and finding a home in many hearts.

Because words are not just words

they are bridges,

they are mirrors,

They are revolutions in disguise.

And here at The Groovy Moo,

We believe in the magic of them all

scribbled, shouted, sung

reminding us that creativity lives

wherever words dare to dance.

Poetry is a spell cast with syllables. It’s the whisper between heartbeats, the ink that turns a page into a universe. A poem can be as small as a single line scribbled in the corner of a notebook, or it can swell into a storm, shaking stages and stirring revolutions. From the quiet grace of Emily Dickinson to the fiery calls of Maya Angelou, poetry reminds us of the shimmering truth: words hold power. “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.” – Audre Lorde

Some words sit quietly, soft as daisies pressed in a book. Others roar, heavy as thunder rolling across the sea. Poetry is where words breathe. They gather rhythm, carry memory, and move through us like music. Hone Tūwhare, New Zealand’s first poet laureate, listened to the land itself: “I can hear you / making small holes / in the silence / rain.” – Hone Tūwhare, Rain Selina Tusitala Marsh, with her Pasifika pride and power, performs words that feel like wings unfurling, turning ancestral memory into future fire. These voices remind us: poetry isn’t about perfection, it’s about honesty, the kind that makes someone listening nod and think, yes, I’ve felt that too.

When poetry steps off the page and into the air, it transforms. Spoken word is poetry alive, performed with breath, with pauses that hold more weight than ink ever could. It’s the way a line lingers in the room, the way a voice cracks or rises like a song. From Allen Ginsberg howling “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness” in San Francisco, to poets in Auckland cafés sharing raw, unpolished stories, spoken word becomes a shared heartbeat. The performer offers their story, and the audience carries it home in their chests. It’s communal magic, words no longer belong to one person but to everyone who hears them. Words can comfort, ignite, heal, or haunt. They can hold love like a secret, or set fire to silence. Maya Angelou wrote with unshakable defiance: “You may trod me in the very dirt / But still, like dust, I’ll rise.” – Still I Rise And closer to home, Tusiata Avia’s performances remind audiences of the fierce truth of Pasifika womanhood, carving space for voices long unheard. A single phrase, whether from Shakespeare’s sonnets or Hera Lindsay Bird’s unapologetic, playful lines, can replay in the mind for years, shaping how we see ourselves, how we dream, how we stand up for what we believe in. This is the gravity of language: it pulls us closer to one another. And when words are woven into poetry, they become more than sound; they become truth, stitched with rhythm and courage.

Here at The Groovy Moo, we see poetry as part of the same kaleidoscope that spins music, art, and storytelling. It’s messy notebooks full of half-finished stanzas. It’s voices cracking on open mics. It’s love letters, protest chants, and quiet words scribbled in margins. Rupi Kaur distills tenderness into fragments: “if you were born with the weakness to fall / you were born with the strength to rise.” – Rupi Kaur And in Aotearoa, Hera Lindsay Bird dares to be sharp, funny, and dazzling all at once: “I get so sentimental / about everything.” – Hera Lindsay Bird

Poetry is proof that creativity doesn’t need glitter pens or guitar strings to shine; it only needs a voice brave enough to speak. And when that voice does? It reminds us that we’re all made of stories, waiting to be told.