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Loud as a lion,
Bouncing off the walls.
...then there’s me, sinking into my insides.
It’s an accomplishment to speak.
Face beet red, fingers trembling, voice squeaking.
Hours to prepare, yet seconds to blow.
Quiet as a table. Everyone’s tame.
Everyone’s sane.
But then there’s me, bursting with affection, reaction, injection, rejection.
Unique and flared.
Standing out as if I didn’t give a care.
Overachieving to stand out.
The same as anyone? That’s a doubt.
She is the wallflower.
She is the show.
So quiet, so low
So proud, so loud, so high she could reach that sky.
The opposite girl.
2 people.
2 names.
1 body. Read more »
His lips move like a slicked up sewing machine
his lips move like a slicked up sewing machine and
he stiches his hands and my hands together with a
click click click click click click click
I See You, i say
i see your lips your eyes
i see your coat pickets filled with buttons
and bobbins.
Don't mend me.
His lips move like a slicked up sewing machine.
His hips move like sawed up sediment
crumble crumble mumble mumble Read more »
Lovely to know that no one noticed
That was my life, put in my soles
Worn holes in my shoes
I look through windowpanes
Of the latest fashion
Nearsighted, now sighted
Pane glass
Fasting
Four months.
Beautiful to see no one wanted
Handles built sans machine
On dreams
Stationary defeat comes pre-marathon
Does that turn you on?
No.
Happiness does not burn forests
It builds waterfalls
So what if Sundays sleep?
My frames have changed
Do you lovely notice
My soles unshaken?
Fasting faster?
Looking lighter?
Once the coins tossed on the counter
Now, there are less encounters
Dripping, and sticky, and sweet and pink
I don’t think
About
The words I heard
Gorgeous to feel it crawling on my back
Trees are legs, muscles lacked
Called beautiful by a stranger
Obligated to feed the fire that is my danger
Who couldn’t know that
Echoes in my mind remind me
“You’re so fat.”
The slam (open mic) tonight was a lot of fun. The next one is on December 21 at 7. Hope to see y'all there.
I got a new boyfriend. His name is Icarus. I made him out of candle wax and feathers from a toy that my cat ignores. He stands on the windowsill at night and watches me sleep, and when I wake up he’s always in a different spot— on the dresser, or on the floor, or in the oven— I know it’s not my cat, she won’t go near him.
He’s pretty cool, as boyfriends go. He’s a good listener. It’s nice to have somebody around the house. His face is kinda lopsided and has a deep scar down the side from my fingernail accidentally but it suits him. I gave him a kabob skewer as a sword and now he guards me when I sleep because I sleep a lot and anything can happen, people can knock on my door and want to talk to me or kill me. I stopped going to classes and I quit my job by not showing up for a few days so I have lots of time to sleep and watch British teen dramas on Netflix and I think that’s why my dreams are so vibrant and so much more real than the washed-out daylight when I wake up, when the sun’s setting, when it’s five o’clock of one more day of the lost month and I guess I’ll do laundry tomorrow. People are walking past my window. I live in the basement so I just see their feet, shiny black office shoes and high heels getting wet in the slush and it’s getting dark and this is my time so I go find Icarus and we watch the rest of season three together.
pilot precise ZING.
this pen can’t hold my thoughts, it can only jot down my dreams
but you know,
there are leaves in those trees and they,
they hold the future.
they hold the seasons and convince us
that time itself is passing
us by.
and there are reasons for these things in nature.
if it weren’t for the leaves on those trees,
how would i count the days i’ve known you?
the days i’ve bit my nails
down to the skin,
then bit some more until
it hurts because
your shoes keep hitting the pavement
every morning for
two miles
three miles
four miles
moremoremore miles
while your body burns every little calorie in you.
is it about being thin,
or is it only to have control?
‘cause honey,
you can’t control life any more
than you can control the color
of those leaves,
and they won’t wait for anyone.
Here is my slam poem! I mean, it doesn't start until about one minute into the recording, thanks to my very long introduction about why I'm uploading it here in the first place, BUT, enjoy.
YWPs Third Friday Poetry Slam and Open Mic. All ages!
NEW LOCATION: Block Gallery coffee shop at the top of the Winooski Traffic Circle in the Winooski Block Building
Open Mic at 6:15. Theme: Lonely Hearts Club!
Whether an anti-Valentines Day rant, poem, short story, or 10-minute play, come to our YWP Open Mic Lonely Hearts Club and speak your lovelorn, lovesick lovewriting from the YWP stage.
10-minute time limit. PG-13 rules apply.
xoxoxoxoxughxoxoxoxox
Poetry slam at 6:45. Slam poets sign up at 6:15.
Bring 2 original poems to slam. 3-minute ltime limit. All ages! PG-13 rules apply.
Welcome back, YWP Slam Poets! You've been away at college, or the Peace Corps, or traveling the world, or road-tripping around the USA and now you're home for a bit.
Take a break from your winter break and come back to YWP Headquarters to SLAM WITH US!!
Open Mic at 6
Poetry Slam at 6:30
- 2 rounds - bring 2 original poems - 3 minute time limit -
Remind us how it's done!!!
The Spoken Word-Music Jam!
Friday, December 2nd
6:30-8:30
YWP World Headquarters, Champlain Mill, Winooski
*our house band*
*your poems, prose, stories*
*your instruments, your words, our microphone*
A spoken word open mic with instruments backing you up! Bring prose, poems, stories, and other lyrical wonderfulness to read with our house band backing you up. OR bring an instrument to play along to someone else's words. 10-minute limit. All ages, but PG-13 rules apply.
Hello Poets, Scribes, Writers, and Dreamers,
Introducing the DEBUT of our YWP First Friday Spoken Word Series:
The Spoken Word-Music Jam!
Friday, December 2nd
6:30-8:30
YWP World Headquarters, Champlain Mill, Winooski
*our house band*
*your poems, prose, stories*
*your instruments, your words, our microphone* Read more »
The only slam I performed last night, but I enjoyed doing it more than any poem I've done before, and I got some laughs for the first time as well, so all in all, I don't mind. :)
Welcome to the definitive guide to flying
Without the aid of an airplane, glider, wings
Or any other apparatus
Many believe that there is a way to mentally steel
One’s self for flight
But contrary to the whole wide world
Of Preparation for Flight books Read more »
My second slam of the night. This one's my favorite of the two... I changed it up at the last minute so the first lines before the STOP were improved. I don't know if they're matching exactly what I slammed, but they're pretty close..
~~~
A-a-are they looking at me?
Are they looking at
me?
What do they see?
My bio teacher tells me that I'm really only ten percent me.
The rest is bacteria.
Are they looking at me?
Are they looking...
STOP!--Think.
You're on the brink
Of insanity bubbling up in your mind in your mouth in your head Read more »
My first slam from tonight. Actually, my first slam ever. I might post a podcast if I ever feel less lazy and actually look it up to teach myself how to do it...
~~~
Hello, hun. I know you're in love
with that man on the moon man he's miles'n'miles off
one thousand two thousand three thousand, four,
you're falling too soon and when you hit the floor
it will hurt.
It will ache.
All your breath it will take
and your gentle heart break and
sometimes he's not even there,
but occasionally he's everywhere and
that's when you swear Read more »
She was held together by careful stitches,
each meticulously placed
as to never break,
so she would never fall apart.
She was held up by invisible threads,
attached at each joint each nerve ending
as to create every movement, every response possible
so she would never fall down.
How enticing was the thought of something,
of something, that would cut away all the threads
and split each of the stitches.
But, Read more »
Three Things: One, This Is My First Slam; Two, I'm Doing This To Impress A Girl; And Three, It Was Her Birthday About A Week Back, And This Is Her Present Read more »
Based on: http://youngwritersproject.org/node/58486
Language warning.
This is because I miss you and I
love you and I
am sorry.
I’m sorry that
I loved him more and
I’m sorry that
I couldn’t bring myself to leave him and
I’m sorry that
I’m in this constant state of apology
with you.
I picutre you now in an apartment in the city with
no children and
one husband who will cook and clean for you like you know I never would have and
maybe just
Maybe you will think of me sometimes as you put your head to
your pillow but mostly I will be gone.
memories of springs and summer will fade away.
You used to tell me—“memories are like smoke”
as you took drag
after drag on that
filter-less cigarette
as your smoke curled to the sky and mixed with the stars.
It was always nighttime when I saw you.
and
I miss you.
and
I love you.
I loved you when I was with you and even more when you
were gone because
it’s so true—that thing they say about loving things more when they’re gone
and
Read more »
Not the happiest piece, but entirely fictional and not inspired by real-life angst. I think it counts.
* * * Read more »
Another GREAT slam at YWP headquarters! Thanks to all participants, and the crowd of spectators who came out to cheer the slammers, and boo some tough judges.
Come to the screening of LOUDER THAN A BOMB, to take place at Champlain College Auditorium 7 p.m. Friday April 8, open mic to follow!!
NEXT SLAM will be on April 29th at 7pm, YWP headquarters.
REMEMBER, you must have competed in at least one regular slam to qualify for consideration for our final slam at FlynnSpace on May 27th. So whether you're a new contender, or a seasoned veteran, come slam!
Check out the pics from Friday night in the mini gallery; apologies go out to those who aren't featured in the gallery yet, my camera battery failed midway through. More pics and podcasts to come! Read more »
(So I decided I had heard one too many rap songs today and needed to just get the rhymes out of my system so I could think straight. It's not supposed to make much sense. Here goes.)
Knitted gloves;
soft in appearance,
coarse in touch.
Fingerless fabric,
made into a gift-
a thought from the heart,
(yet itchy, & uncomfortable, & rash-giving, & my favorite part: handmade)
'Tis not the feeling
of the coarsness
beneath ones skin
that creates the
assumption of the gift's
intent,
but the thought that
someone out there
put their time into
some special present
just
for Read more »
I wake up, it’s morning, Read more »
I may not stick out by the eye
I may not pierce your conscience
but the world you live in won’t be the way
once I make your day
Follow this dream
this passion
this life.
And your eyes may eventually open themselves to all the possibilities.
But, don’t think you will have to prove yourself, cause if you think I am a game, you ought to be ashamed.
2+7 is 9 more
Notice the small things like the shape of a door.
What a night! Here are a few shots from our last slam. You can literally see the energy! More to come...
Slam-Slides from Young Writers Project on Vimeo.
Sound to come. Video, well, it'll be here someday.
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You are not a light friend; I cannot carry you on my shoulders and support you.
I cannot tell you that everything in my day was great,
Because you are weighing me down. I'm sorry, I just can't carry you.
Do you realize that sometimes people need a break from using their 20 pound shovels?
You are mine.
20 pounds of you on my back every day, weighing my spirits down with every step.
I do not like telling you this, I don't. But you have to get off.
Of course, Read more »
Written in about 5 minutes for the last round of YWP's first monthly slam...
Read more »
I only write these days,
it's like I can't seem to get past these uneven punctuations
& harsh words,
raw and unfeeling,
thrown on to paper in a way that makes them
just
beautiful
& I have to say I'm addicted to broken secrets & broken hearts & broken thoughts & wonder why it has to be so...
broken.
(or maybe that's just me?)
I'm consumed by these new notions & styles & ideas & ways of living & these ink stained fingernails from the never-ending words that flow so seemlessly from everyone's minds
in this beautifully chaotic kind of way, Read more »
SLAM POETRY COMPETITION AT A YOUNG WRITERS CONFERENCE
Nick: Alright...ahem...this is just a short poem I wrote...not that any of you will like it...
Judge: Clock's ticking, Nick.
Nick: DON'T OPPRESS ME!
Judge: Um...I'm not oppressing you, it's just that there is a time limit. It's an established rule.
Nick: The establishment has no power over me! FIGHT THE ESTABLISHMENT!
Judge: Nick?
Nick: Yeah?
Judge: Just read the damn poem.
Nick: Alright, here goes...
I sit in my loneliness,
Darkness consumes my soul,
Annihilation is my only escape, Read more »
