The power of the spoken word


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Perhaps it is because we are voting tomorrow and I am wishing for people of vision that my thoughts turned to Martin Luther King’s I have a dream speech on August 28, 1963 on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. when asked where and when I would bring my students if I had a time machine for the Ontario Extend’s Daily Extend #oext195.

Listen to it here from Archive.org

[archiveorg MLKDream width=640 height=140 frameborder=0 webkitallowfullscreen=true mozallowfullscreen=true]

I also thought of JFK’s  Inaugural Address, January 20, 1961, United States Capitol, Washington, D.C.

[archiveorg JohnF.KennedyInauguralAddress width=640 height=140 frameborder=0 webkitallowfullscreen=true mozallowfullscreen=true]

Winston Churchill first speech as Prime Minister.

[archiveorg ChurchillFirstAddressPM width=640 height=140 frameborder=0 webkitallowfullscreen=true mozallowfullscreen=true]

For a different take on the spoken word, may I suggest Figures of Speech from Almeida Theater.  In particular, Patient Zero:

 

Featured Image Photo by Bogomil Mihaylov on Unsplash

 

Randomness Writing Prompt

Daily Extend #183 Tell a story based on Randomness Story Generator Widget.

Random Story

Arlo stood at the side of road, watching the figures fade into the distance. He sighed. They were so sleek and slender, spinning faster and faster away. How he longed to be with them, zipping here and there.

The freedom they must feel, wind at their back, able to cross vast distances in no time. Well, alright, not no time but little time. Certainly, less time than Arlo. Short, fat, dumpy Arlo, low to the ground and, at the moment, low in spirits.

As he plodded along down the road he imagined what it would be like to be one of them. It would never happen. His legs were far to short. But oh, what a thrill it would be to sit upright with two wheels beneath him, hands on the bar, feet on peddles. He would zip away from the dust and the grit of the road, the pounding sun and the endless plodding.

Hours passed as Arlo waddled down the road. Well, alright, what seemed like hours. Who could keep track of time with the monotony of laborious step after step! Wait, what is that down the road? All those fast bikers, just standing around? As Arlo neared, he could see their problem. The bridge was out! The river was swollen with the recent rains and had taken out the only bridge across for miles in the last storm!

Hmmm, pondered Arlo. What would they do now? Embarrassed, Arlo plodded past and slipped into the water. With his powerful tail, the fast-moving water was nothing. He swam easily to the other side. His legs were short but powerful as he gripped the bank and rose from the river to glide up the bank.

Spencer stood with his bike at the side of river, watching the figure fade into the distance. He sighed. That one was so strong and powerful, swimming faster and faster away. How he longed to be with him in the river….

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