Compilation Poem for 2/26/15 by the Writers of SFYS

Now, let me get lyrical:

Being a girl is complicated,

Like there’s needles in your lungs,

Black, bitter, gleaming, and hard.

We forgot about the teddy bears,

Glass jars, and fireflies,

But after hours of this torture

it all starts over again;

Only a mother knows.

I was having a conversation with my mom at one in the morning.

Ask questions, ask questions, ask questions!

What is that? Who is he?

I just don’t see what’s so great about him.

No bishop would help him with an electric bill,

And it’s like you never needed me.

I’m not strong enough to drag myself up;

How does one will to rise?

They tell me I can’t do it--

I’ll waste away my body and my money.

We all know who’s at fault here—

I need an excuse.

Maybe I’ll just give up halfway through.

Is it OK if I sing when I’m nervous?

Did you just call me a unicorn?

You can be anything you want to be,

But I smell like my father;

I am an apparition

So full of certainties, agency, chain mail made of lies,

Watermelon seeds on white paint,

Deflated broccoli,

Like Mary Poppins’ magic bag

Spilling Ping Pong balls.

I wouldn’t want to be part of any club

That would have me as a member.

You don’t ask a butterfly to be a fish.

I keep getting grounded,

Every time I kiss you--

We were happy to be forgotten

Under the watchful eye of the great pine priest.

The earth was made round

So that we could not see too far down the road.

I want to be committed,

With a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe,

But I sneak past again and escape, westward.

Oh, when can I go back home?

Compiled by Colin Douglas

Know Your Server Spotlight on Kat!

We had a great treat this week as our server (when she wasn't needed behind the counter) stepped behind the mic to perform!  This, we learned, is not new for her as a recent graduate of BYU in the areas of acting and directing.  We hope she will perform for us again as she was quite dynamic!  Also, her favorite menu item is the lemon butter salmon (having had the salmon before I can attest to the gloriousness).  Meet your server Kat!

 

Compilation Poem for February 19, 2015 by the Writers of SFYS

A little seed lay in the ground. Smooth, tart and luscious treat. Because I never cared for the blues they leave, they sometimes never come back. My sanity hangs by a thread, facing front on metal chairs, with ankles wrapped. Of course I should have known they were wowed by the candy. It's painful to make this confession, but it's with the devil I converse. Beauty is pain. Your serious song, there lies a woman her back pressing heavy into the valley, her skirt up around her hips. Not a specific destination or future. I saw God walking on I-15. Whose life was balanced on a wire. Life treats me like I just hit a dog and I realized there is more to be happy about than sad. Because Pudding Pops are only savored by the lonely and forlorn. Do what society tells you to. I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder. Hey, what's with the Pudding Pops. They lay tethered to a bed of fear while the joys of youth pass them by. Why the sky, why so high. Find me I am waiting. In order to avoid guilt by association. It takes 100 trees to build a house. When it comes to living authentically, starting here, starting now, I am not pretending. My key, my success in this life comes from the papers of my soul.

Compiled by Laura Smith

C. Dylan Bassett, Featured Writer on February 12, 2015

Our very first non-local featured writer, C. Dylan Bassett, has strong ties to the community and also hosted an open mic when he was a student here in the Provo area.  He has moved on to the Iowa Writer's Workshop (wow!) but was kind enough to spend an evening with us while he was visiting Utah. His work was evocative and interesting and he is officially our first featured writer to sell out of his books at the end of the evening (which nearly brought some of us to blows ;) No, not really.  Because Daniel knows I could have quashed him if I really wanted to).  Thank you for taking the time to share your work, Conner!  Please stop by the next time you are in town!

I almost got a picture of Conner with the noisy coffee machine :)

 Check out Conner's new book!

Compilation Poem February 12, 2015 by the Writers of SFYS

The Body Clocking Wayward

The body is given to oblivion

Feet anchored in the memories of ancient wars

An organism of exquisite art

memories so sweet they seem stolen

determined  and determining

innocence died screaming in you

Stuck in the gaze of new eyes

time trespassed into vision-

sight trespassed into time

hours away, miles away

I hear the clocks ripening,

ripened without permission this decay of the mind

cracks in the skin of the sky

no longer bitter hearts and bitter minds

a redundancy of syllables of self loathing

so we cannot see far down the road

clocking wayward

I have a memory of an echo

of seeing the knife cutting

deep into your finger before it happened

So- add another layer of glass to those cliffs of insanity

and stop doing back-flips of cadmium blue- star-struck

a body given to oblivion

(Compiled by Paul Francis)

Know Your Servers!

Have you been wondering about those wonderful people who serve you during Speak For Yourself Open Mic?  Wonder no more!  We are going to spotlight the great folks at Enliten periodically so you can know them, love them, and tip them generously :)

Today's spotlight: Taylor!  He has an amazing talent for making great drink combinations and his favorite menu item is a Secret Menu Item (you won't find this in print anywhere but if you ask the right person with a wink you may be able to acquire it): White Irishman Latte (white chocolate, Irish cream, and mocha).

Thank you, Taylor, for helping us get the microphone set up and for keeping us sugared up and ready to read!

Jesse Parent: February 5, 2015

Fans of one of Utah's most well known performance poets packed the house last night to hear Jesse Parent perform live (and get a signed copy of one of his books).  Having been referred to his YouTube videos when researching slam poetry, it was nice to find that not only is he a wonderfully engaging performer in person, he's also a generous writer and all around nice guy.  Several of our writers told stories of being helped by Jesse in some way as a writer and many others stayed after the open mic to ask questions.  Thanks for sharing your work, Jesse, and thanks for always being willing to help developing writers!

Compilation Poem for February 5, 2015 by the writers of Speak For Yourself Open Mic

I, last year, started writing again because the Sea Witch stole my voice.
I'm not a very good judge of where these things are gonna go.
If there's an elephant in the room, talk to it.
Don't be oppressed by my issues.
A long, wearisome slog through miles of tangled underthings.
I wear my clothes for me, not you.
I usually don't say that part because it's not the most eloquent use of my words.
Perhaps my thoughts on poetry will be expressed musically.
I am going to rock some sonnets for you tonight.
Have you been bleeding from your hellish thunder down under?
Oh no don't touch red
And then I'll be like, "Pancakes!"
What day is it again?
No one ever answers rhetorical questions and if you do, I hate you.
I would walk down the halls like the Green Mile.
I took my hand, filled with thoughts from my head and placed it, and them, on my heart.
But I am a painter, I say, a creator among you.
My poetry is pretty angsty and none of it rhymes and I don't care if you like it or not.
Do I look like Jesse Parent? There's not enough grey here.
Without a second thought I stepped forward and took a leap into the ocean.
Attempting to solve/resolve this mystery that is me.
Otherwise I'm like, nah, Netflix!
Why can't you fix anything??
Part of me wishes you could see me now: I can speak.  Look at me!  I'm speaking!
Screaming "Let me out!"
I'm planning on disappearing for a year or two.
You will understand why when I read it.
The men who rule the world have bullets for teeth.
I know it's easier to be vague.
Aren't you worried you will do more harm than good?
Every moment where I encourage you to move forward while clinging to your ankles
These strands are so suffocating that at times I can't breathe.
I expected you to understand; you're an adult.
I'm sick of waiting.
At least I can look in the mirror in the morning and know that I am beautiful.

(Compiled by Marianne Hales Harding)