Open Mic Themed Creative Writing, Part Two

Ode to speak for yourself

by Daniel Gladden

Shepherds of the night.

For the last year thoughts and inspiration filled this brick haven. I feel the twinge when I contemplate how many poems were lost to the nothingness. Lost in the exhaled breath that could not be held in the fleeting thought. Lost in imperfect memory of souls held in small bodies that somehow touch the stars and in these precious moments manage to bring the shining fragments to a eager audience of fellow seekers. And there are days I bring my rage that can bring its beast that needs the music to calm. And I thank all the poets that yearn for Thursday nights and for the moment I paused long enough to listen to the song in this breeze. I leave each night filled with inspiration, so much so that the pages of my book are stuffed to the brim and some nights I find myself unable to sleep, looking at the last blank page, thinking of the loops in cursive ink that fill in white until it make sense to my furious thoughts.

Open Mic Themed Creative Writing, Part One

No Man’s Land

by Marianne Hales Harding

This is a reenactment of what happens when you are introduced in Relief Society as a theater artist: “Oh!  I did theater in high school!  But then I decided I didn’t want to be around those kinds of people.”

Thanks.

It’s somewhat similar to the reaction of many theater folks when they find out you are heavily involved in organized religion: “Oh.  I used to be religious.  But then I decided I didn’t want to be around those kinds of people.”

Thanks.

You could say that I have dual citizenship in two warring countries.

Countries with a somewhat permeable border but a huge problem with friendly fire.

Because even though most of the bombing campaigns aren’t aimed at me, personally, it’s impossible to set up house in No Man’s Land without acquiring some wicked scars from misdirected grenades.

I know what sort of Christian I am (and what sort of Christian I am NOT) but it still gets under my skin when someone rants about Mormonism.

And by “rant” I don’t mean “explore personal experience and come to a different conclusion than I would” or even “angrily denounce something I hold dear.”

And I know what sort of artist I am (and what sort of artist I am NOT) but it still gets under my skin when it is assumed that anything raw, anything that hits hard, anything that’s rough around the edges isn’t worth listening to.

I know which grenades are aimed at me (and which ones are NOT) but that doesn’t mean they don’t knock me off my feet when they explode.

Could this please be 10 square feet of Provo that doesn’t have a land mine?

Where we can be raw and open and personal and vulnerable and SAFE?

Where no perspective is deemed more valid or more truthful than another?

Where you don’t assume that I’ll grow out of my theology and I don’t assume you need to be rescued from yours?

Where we don’t stand here yelling at each other and never see beyond the Propaganda Enemy on the newsreel?

Where we start with the assumption that we are all good, smart people doing our best?

Isn’t this where a lasting peace starts?

Isn’t writing a quest to understand and be understood?

To take something foreign and make it familiar?

To make peace between two warring concepts?

To make us all residents of No Man’s Land?

If only for 7 minutes on a Thursday night.