This is the first Messy Poetry Slam! We’ll be posting one every month. All the poems are submitted by you guys, if you want to be a part of the next one send us your poetry to ‘email@example.com’.
Make yourself some tea and head over to Haley’s Spotify to set the scene. Picture yourself sitting in a worn out velvet chair in a cafe tucked behind a book store. Drinks being poured and all you hear is quiet conversation and the crinkling of paper as people reach into their bags to grab their piece of writing. There are a few people leaned against the walls with film cameras in hand snapping shots of couples with thick sunglasses on, groups of friends practicing their poems, and people sitting alone sipping a drink and flipping through a novel. No matter who you’re here with, it doesn’t matter, it’s one big community.
I ponder at the sky, its a partially clear night, with little clouds that are scattered on the dark sheet of navy blue, so low I feel i could reach up and grab them. The stars are visible, spectacular spheres of fire, each one representing something special and unique. The sky; is a book of which is read differently to different people. Planes speeding across the pages pretending to be comets. The moon brightens the background, showing a deep blue rather than a never ending black. It feels better that way; a slight reduction in isolation. Because I know that there are others out there, looking at the same moon. Alluring, isn’t it? one of the things that never fails to shine every night, something we all can gaze at, with a feeling of comfort as we know we are not alone. However to others, the sky is an on going black pit, its a fear of the unknown. We as humans are afraid of not being in control, for example, when I was younger I was terrified of the dark; i couldn’t see what was there and that thought scared me. Now, when i think about it, I realize that not seeing, not being in control is a beautiful thing, because it is a lot harder to be let go then it is too hold on.
I have no doubt in my mind that you are there,
only an arrangement of atoms between us,
millions of elements, and a vast distance,
but I can still see you crystal clear,
the glass between myself and the outside is just another layer,
do you ever think about space?
it has the power to inspire or create an epitome of deep sadness,
I can feel both simultaneously,
your light is blinding,
yet only a spec on the infinite sheet of nothing,
you are not the only one,
my eyes divert to the others around you
smaller, they flicker sometimes
a reminder that they are simply luminous spheres of plasma, held together by its own
gravity, even the description is poetic
perfectly positioned in my eyesight
sitting by my window, I can see you now
brighter than the others
that means you are closer
but I will never see you in detail
sometimes, I think you are her
and the holes in the sky pricked by needles, are them
her and them, also known as the lost ones
maybe I’m just hopeful
not everything has to make sense for you to believe it
because not everything makes sense
so what would you have left to believe?
The Color Yellow
I have spent every moment since I met you looking for a way to string phrases together in order to express my depth for you. I come up short every time, so my attempts will have to do.
your presence brings me such genuine tranquility; thinking of you is like a slow quiet hum that lets me close my eyes and understand stillness .
I never was into the “light of my life” thing because I guess I never got it ,
But when I think of you I see the sun.
I feel the sun, I am the sun.
You are the color yellow to me.
The thought of you is so incredibly soft and gentle on my mind, it’s almost sedating.
I cannot stress enough the gratitude I have for the shade you have colored my world,
And the hues of tenderness and adoration you have evoked in me.
Never have I dawned such zeal for affection from anyone.
You are such a blessing & I cannot fathom how to say how I feel for your heart in words.
You are my Santa Monica dream.
I want to spend lazy Sunday’s watching the sun go down with a bottle of booze and Bob Dylan on the back patio with you.
I want to love and care for you so endlessly it hurts my head to imagine the idea of being so lucky as to grow old along side you. My affection for you will cease to dim nor will the light you’ve allowed me to discover in myself. For that and much else I thank you and pray you bury me so I never live on a planet that you don’t touch ground.
the bitter taste of coffee you had earlier
in that little, tiny corner café.
the misty clouds that lie so beautifully, soft
like a duvet on the hills covered in evergreen trees.
old, crackled vinyls
playing on your cheap record player,
reminiscing the beauty in the music of the past.
young and beautiful,
artistically capable of anything
like a clean canvas that screams to be fulfilled.
the sleepless nights of thoughts
wandering from east to west
about life’s mysterious ways to unfold.
the starts and planets
that hang on the roof of the sky in tiny strings. ”
Frida B. Aagaard
Don’t forget to submit your poetry for next months slam!