by Maia Wheeler
City Not Spoken
City of sorrow.
It is turned to dust. Never seen, taken away.
Once love, but never grown.
You feel it, but don’t see it.
Stomped to pieces by the above.
To be taken care of, but destroyed out of pity to make the better, better.
Maybe forgotten, but seen daily.
Taken to waste.
Living among the rest of its kind.
The harder it tries, the higher the better goes.
Higher and higher, more and more.
It will never be replaced in sorrow, but in captivity.
The sun shines over the blue sky creating the golden crisp color over the melted mountain tips.
Swallowing the golden rays of the slightly crispy golden turned over biscuit sun.
Chasing butterflies by children’s skin darkened in the sun by the rays of the harsh sunshine.
Flowers peeking through to welcome the sun from its night's long rest.
Basking In the sun watching the clouds wisp away like moments happening.
Yellowing sunflowers hold the seeds the birds eat as the sun watches over its land.
The sun sits over us making the animals able to be happy with overwhelming joy.
You live for moments, you die for moments. You create moments of your own. You watch yourself draw closer to who you are. You lose your thoughts and move on. You lose touch of yourself. Getting farther to what being yourself is. You never feel right in your own skin, but feel right being you. It makes the air thinner and easier to breathe. It slowly is taken away, but all you can say is, how. How did it come to this—how did I become this person?
You are finally the person you are. The person you created.
Finally finding yourself and where you fit in. Your weapon in the battle of life is your willingness to be yourself and never give up.
All I can say is I am me. I am the person that I always wished was someone else, but I am myself and who I am willing to be.
You are you. No one can take that simple phrase away. You are who you are because you are unique and are embracing yourself in this battleground of life.
by Sela Corliss
I noticed everyone’s cool shoes and decided to take videos of them so other people could see them. I think that shoes are one of the ways that people can express themselves.
by Ty Mikuta
I started painting purely for the sake of art. I never want to become a washed-up artist, barely clinging onto relevancy by painting petty political jabs, or pieces using purely recycled meaning."
Art for the sake of art is a concept that has always interested me. Pieces with absolutely no meaning behind them other than being entertaining to look at. I used to get confused on whether or not I was painting to send a message, or if I was painting purely for the sake of art. As the political climate changed, so did the environment around statement art. Political pieces of art became repetitive, unoriginal backwash that everybody had heard a million times before. This is why I started painting purely for the sake of art. I never want to become a washed-up artist, barely clinging onto relevancy by painting petty political jabs, or pieces using purely recycled meaning. I don't want to pat myself on the back for making meaningless pieces about modern issues, acting as if I had caused any real change, or helped anyone in any way. I believe in art for the sake of art. I shouldn’t need a poorly-constructed message to be hidden behind every piece for it to be considered good. I’ve always believed in the concept of art for the sake of art, and these pieces are my contribution to that concept.
by Dani Cooke
It is 6:50 on a Tuesday night, and a group of idealists and romantics are gathered in a small room on the Hill. Bookshelves stocked with poetry line one wall, next to which exposed brick lines the backdrop for a small stage. Someone in the corner lazily tunes an old guitar; someone else scribbles furiously in a notebook; someone else orders a coffee. Every so often, an individual will approach the sign-up sheet—perhaps hesitating, perhaps standing with the confidence of ten thousand Jack Kerouacs, perhaps already strumming a ukulele—and put down their name.
Innisfree Poetry Cafe, an unassuming icon of Boulder’s creative scene, was founded in 2010—but it’s easy to feel upon entry that it has stood for many decades. As one of three poetry-only bookstores in the United States, Innisfree is a home-away-from-home for a community of artists whose connections extend well beyond their words.
I never expected to seek out stage fright on a weekly basis, but it’s on the Innisfree stage that I’ve come to find myself trembling each Tuesday behind a microphone. The open mic nights are truly that—open—and the lineup includes award-winning poets (Johnny Osi) and idealistic teenage girls (myself) alike. As the night moves on, stand-up comedy blends with ukulele solos between odes and sonnets and slam poems and ramblings and sips of wonderfully cold-brewed chamomile tea.
It is truly a place where people celebrate one another, whether in the overwhelming applause for someone performing for the first time or the echoed announcement of “New sh•t!” being shared. So, whether you’re a poet or an artist or a person in this (crazy, often disheartening) world, take two hours out of your week to hear something beautiful. And, if you’re feeling particularly brave (or particularly timid), get up on stage and try it for yourself.
Innisfree Poetry Cafe & Bookstore hosts open mics every Tuesday from 7:00 pm until 9:00 pm.