Table of Contents Poetry
Photography
Lisa Lenard eulogy for a love affair ....................1
Beth Lackey ...........................Cover
Elizabeth Wev My Prayer ..............................4
Cindy Carter ..............................3
Denise Duncan Forgotten in Time ........................5 Proof ................................. .29
Come on a journey: Soar upwards See our aspirations rise, Aspirations revealed in prose, poetry, photography. Chrysalis, the literary-graphic arts magazine Provided by and for The Ferrum College community, Takes you on its journeyCome, Soar upward, See our aspirations Rise .....
Gene Bayer ...............................4 Cathe Hart ................................8 Kayla Barudin ............................15
Pam Washnock Autumn Sun ............................13 Being Loved ............................32
NeilGlock ............................19,31
Diana Winslow October ............................... .13
Bruce Friel ...............................21
Bill Ameen ...............................19 Jerry Reed ...............................35
Jeanette Lawler Limbs Against the Moon................. .13
Phyllis Dudley ............................36
Mary Jean Shaughnessy Poetry in My Head ......................16 Last Poem of the Last Class ...............39
Art
Lee Chattin Rain ..................................17
Connie Nichols (ink sketch) ..........12, 37, 38
Connie Nichols Frost ................................. .17 Emily ................................. .37
Sarah Holley (painting) ......................9
Anonymous Les Langues ............................22
Barbara Babcock (painting) .................18
Dorio Gribbin Les Amis ..............................22 Kassie Burtner You Are ............................... .29 Michael S. Colley A Day Unreal ..........................35
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Barbara Sykes ..........................2, 6
MarthaGuffey (painting) ....................9 Khank Quoc Huynh (drawing) ..............14 Doris Leppanen (painting) ..................18 Bill Shaffer (pottery) ......................20 Roger Vest (pottery) ......................20 Laura Pero (weaving) ......................20 Sharon Johnson (batik) ....................20 Phyllis Dudley (batik) ......................20
Becky Turner GradeB ............................... .38
Joe Sheridan (drawing) ....................23
Short Stories and Essays
Roberto Fasquelle (drawing) ................30
Nellie Fisher A Restful Place ..........................7 John VanPatten Spirits ................................10 Mark Rainey Into the Andeleas. .......................24 Beth Phalen ForJill/ForJoey ........................34
Mark Rainey (ink sketch) ..................28 Carolyn Parker (drawing) ..................33
eulogy for a love affair yesterday night making love with you was the same to me as brushing my teeth i felt better afterwards, but it was routinely done with robot precision and all the decision and anticipation gone brushed away with over-familiarity. this morning when you kissed me good-bye there was no chill deep inside me. i
know how you kiss, and your secret ways aren't secret to me anymore
and all the curiosity and expectation gone kissed away with over-formality. but i can't let go-can you? i hold on to what is gone and know my fingers grasp nothingness and tight�n my already clenching grip. i don't want to have to learn it all again with someone new, but there is no feeling in me when i see you. i am dead weight under your roving touch that knows all the places and spaces; i am bored to tearswhich you mistake for my pleasure. i will never stop loving you, as i have never stopped loving those who came before Y,OU, but anticipation and new expectations are my lifeblood. forgive me for knowing you too well. or perhaps it is that you know me, and i do not wish to be known.
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-Lisa Lenard
-Photo by Barbara Sykes -1-
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My Prayer Now I sit me down to study; I pray the Lord I won't go nutty. If I should fail to learn this junk, I pray the Lord that I don't flunk.
-Photo by Cindy Carter
Now I lay me down to rest; I pray I'll pass tomorrow's test. If I should die before I wake, That's one less test I'll have to take. -Elizabeth Wev
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-Photo by Gene Bayer
Forgotten in Time
In the corner of the attic standing all alone, Is a sad little hobbyhorse who hangs his head and moans. He remembers a time when his life was a joy, A time when he was a most favorite toy. When Tom the cowboy rode on his back, He watched old trains roll down railroad tracks. As he rounded up cattle with sun blaring bright, And then headed for home as day turned to night. He was a warhorse when Colonel Johnny led him to battle; He'd be surrounded by shots causing windows to rattle. But when silence descended and the victory was won, Colonel Johnny would praise him on a job well done. When pretty little Ginger had nothing to do, He'd be her showhorse that made people woo. She'd sit in the saddle full of beauty and grace, With pride and a smile alighting her face. Jane would take over after Ginger so small, And then he'd emerge from a rodeo stall. With Jane he'd gallop as fast as the wind, Winning a ribbon at the very end. But now the children, his friends, have all grown, Leaving him there, covered with dust, on his own. And with each passing day the little horse cries, Left in the attic, the little horse dies. -Denise Duncan
-Photo by Barbara Sykes -5-
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A Restful Place by Nellie Fisher The most restful place I know is a cove that brings the roaring Atlantic Ocean to a smooth calm and spreads the deep blue waters into the marsh grass along the shore. It is here that I have gone most of my adult life to let the peace of the waters and the brisk ness of the breeze cleanse my worried soul. Sometimes I have only had a few minutes to spend, but no matter the length of time, the results have always been the same: I always come away rested and at peace with myself. The waters pour around and over the obstacles along the shore, leaping, parting, reclaiming the scattered lace along the beach. Gulls, with their wild cries, swoop across the sand, seeking a rock footing in the wash of salt. The infinite sky is motionless over head. A kind of spell cast by the sun and the wind stirs my being as I watch. The waves seem to liberate my spirit. Gazing across the water I can see the NASA radar towers, testaments to man's technology, and, in the foreground, a large farm house, electric lines, and a new pickup truck reflecting the sun like jewels. A striking, bald red barn in a fenced pasture of grass so beautifully green takes my breath. Man's technology set against God's beauty gives me a sense of balance and the strength to meet the challenges of everyday life. In a small sea of marsh grass when the wind is up, I can hear the gentle swashing of the reeds as they bend back and forth. At times, when the wind is just right, the swaying and swashing cast a hypnotic spell. Watching, I have often thought how fragile the reeds are, and how willingly they bend. In their bending is their strength. I who have come to gaze upon that strength realize that I, too, must bend or break. Falling under the spell of this magic place, letting the sights and sounds and smells fill my mind completely, has always enabled me'to come away from there refreshed and renewed. Now that I am so far away from the sea shore and my restful place, I still am able to visit my place. I just sit down in a quiet corner, close my eyes, and the great Atlantic rushes in and spreads gently through the cove of my mind.
-Photos by Cathe Hart
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Spirits by John VanPatten
-Painting by Martha Guffey
-Painting by Sarah Holley
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The ruckus all started when the fed'ral boys came down from Charlottesville Jookin' for stills, but this time they wasn't goin' to jail us-they was fixin' to fine us five hundred dollars. Why, we'd never seen much more than twenty greenbacks at one time here in the gap, much Jess ever owin' 'em. Now, news like this spreads quick in these parts, and by noon it was well known. Well, Gresham was on into Crozet, and the news hit there just 'bout the same time the revenuers got to Pigeon Top. They ran amuck up in them hills turnin' over every twig. Wasn't for twenty minutes, neither, til they found "Saunders Works." OJ' Gresham was on his way back hopin' he had some time. Luck doesn't run with Gresham Saunders. Matter of fact, no sooner had he got to Pigeon Top than he ran up on a porchful of fed'rals. "Men have got themselves shot," Gresham howled,"for less than stealin' a man's belongin's!" He always was one for howling. OJ' Gresham's holler shrunk to a subdued growl when that fed'ral man pulled back his jacket showin' off a right fancy shootin' pistol. "It's good mister," sippin', "real good, but you know it just ain't a real accepted thing." Wiping the jug, "not where we come from." Well, they took Gresham in and held him for the court. And when the court got through with him they was goin' to take his farm and auction it to get the fine they charged him. Five hundred dollars was more than Gresham had, handy, or otherwise. "How the hell am I gonna live without my land?" "If we get more than the fine, it's yours." "You ain't gonna give nothin' then; you can't get five hundert dollars for my place!" "He's right," the revenuer behind him, the one who arrested him, reassured. "Well sir, the Jaw's the Jaw." It was one of them circuit judges, just like 'em all. Don't give hell 'bout people. It's the Jaw,even if you are a good ol' boy. The next day, well, Jebidiah and I was talkin' over Gresham's predicament when Lloyd Howard from Calf Mountain come runnin' up.He's all wound up 'bout the new talk that'd been driftin' around 'bout the Saunders still.
"Zek'el! Jeb! You got money? Anything? Just as much as you can spare! We're gonna get back Gresham's farm!" Lloyd was a-pantin' and excited like he'd been chased by a bear up the hollow and back. "Ya don't reckon he been dog bit and got rabid, do ya Zeke?" Jebidiah was a codger, slow movin' but smart for an •old man. "Now calm yourself and tell us what all this fuss is about,gettin' Gresham's farm.How?" "Well, me and the boys at Billy Wyant's store, we're gonna do somethin' 'bout these fed'rals!" Lloyd was one o'those prone to run with the pack. "A man can get hung for killin', Lloyd." Lloyd always was slow so I figured I'd remind him. "Ain't talkin' killin', Zeke, we talkin' money,lots of it,five hundred dollars to pay the fine.You two gonna help?" "Hell no! Zeke and me got no money for no damn fine." "Jebidiah Keton,you the one always sayin' to help anybody anytime!" "Damn it,Lloyd,don't pull the jug from 'neath the still fore it's full.All I was sayin',and what I was 'bout to tell Zeke before you come rushin' in yellin' 'bout money and friends, was that we don't need to pay his fine,and Gresham ain't gonna lose his farm." Jeb was a schemer too. "What are you talkin' about?" "They're gonna auction off his place, ain't they?" Lloyd returned a questionin' nod. "The entire spread, huh?" "Yeah." "And who's gonna bid on it?" Jebidiah ain't worked any harder tryin' to pull up stumps than he was pullin' for the answer outa Lloyd's head. "I don't know." ''We are!" ''And you be callin' Gresham a friend . "Resh up, Lloyd," Jeb cut into the tongue Jashin' he was sure to get. "Settle down and listen. The farmers 'round here are the only ones who hold an interest in the place." "We ain't got no interests." "Gresham does,and if we bid low or not at all ... "
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Rain
When I look out of my window and see A million raindrops falling at the same time. I am not too happy at the prospect Of all day walking through mud and slime. And hundreds of tiny droplets Clinging to my glasses making it hard to see. On days like this I have difficulty, Finding any beauty. But a sight comes to my eyes and I have to stop. And marvel at the perfection of one single drop. -Lee Chattin -Painting by Barbara Babcock
Frost
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Touching dawn on this earth again flying as a winged bird, while the soft delicate petals of a rose glide placidly amidst the frozen air.
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Leaving at day ·s light as the sun ·s golden fleece covers the sky like butter on bread. Leaving those too frail to survive - frozen dead. -Connie Nichols
-Painting by Doris Leppanen
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Arts and Crafts
J Weaving by Laura Pero Pottery (left) by Bill Shaffer Pottery (middle and right) by Roger Vest
-Photo by Neil Glock
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-Photo by Bill Ameen
-Batik by Phyllis Dudley
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-Batik by Sharon Johnson
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-Photo by Neil Glock
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You Are ... You are the first, the alpha but omega. You are the time, the night and day. You are the wind, invisible but visible. You are the sea, !ugged and solemn. â&#x20AC;˘ I
You are the savior, who punishes but rewards. You are the Christ, the father and son. -Kassie Burtner
Proof
Every time I gaze at a distant star, Or watch a gull glide over the ocean far, See a rose open towards the morning sun, Or view a painted sky when the day is done, Hear a song that brings some cheer To one whose eyes are full of tears, Read a poem that brings me hope, Faith and courage, the strength to cope, Feel a child's hand grasping i;nine For reassurance that all is fine, Obtain the fact that people care, That not everyone will just stop and stare I am certain, a smile crosses my face, God gives us proof of His good grace. -Denise Duncan -Drawing by Roberto Fasquelle
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Being Loved Hold me During this peaceful night Ever so gently And let your body surge With overwhelming passion That drowns us in This sea of darkness So that the only Sights and sounds of this evening Are of our quiet whispers And a small glowing flame. -Pam Washnock
-Photo by Neil Glock -31-
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for Jill/for Joey (whose death !foresaw)
by Beth Phalen
He came with long, lean fingers that seemed to continuously reach out, grasping and clutching at thin air, never quite touching you, but biding his time for the right moment. His eyes were cold, unrelenting, and they pierced through you. touching your very soul. They were black pools in which you could drown. Just as black and murky as a swamp. Once inside, there was no turning back. Those black orbs turned and focused on the girl. who stood tall and straight. awaiting yet defying him. I cried out within myself. telling her not to meet his scrutinizing stare. for once she did she would be signing a contract. and his greedy glance would extend into her very soul to touch and probe. I became blinded by my tears and yet I had to warn her. "Run, run, and don't look back." But logic filtered through my hazed mind and forced me to appear strong, to emit a strength that she could absorb. She greeted him much as 1 suspected, with a cocky little shake of her head and a smile upon her lips. He was taken aback-it was written on his face. But only momentarily, for then his steely composure returned. as though it were a black cloak which encompassed him. As he left. the gnawing fear that had been building up inside of me exploded and dawned the realization that the beginning of a commitment had been signed. The beginning of an end had come. . . . for Jill The gauntlet of life is beginning. Live the future today and fulfill your innermost fantasies .
-Drawing by Carolyn Parker
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. . . for Joey Look to the sky and find a peace in tomorrow, but accept the beauty of today.
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-Photo by Jerry Reed
A Day Unreal
I took my stand at daybreak when the snow came falling down; the sky was depressing and cloudy and the birds were southward bound. The trees had bowed to greet me from the snow and then a gust, the wind echoed throughout the woods and the ground was a frozen crust. Motionless on my stand on a stump attacked with moss, I sat there cold and silent like a window covered with frost. A deer walked out in front of me but I couldn't shoot that day, so I just tried to keep warm and watched him run away. -Photo by Phyllis Dudley -Michael S. Colley
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I'm a grade B egg The cracked one in the dozen My yoke is heavy My shell is fragile Someone broke me And my yoke Was at last released
-Beckie Turner
Emily
-Drawing by Connie Nichols
The stranger is like Emily; we together form a simile. Emily Dickinson is her name; she sits alone; he never came. But she will survive, yes, she will, ¡ glorifies nature to get her fill. Sometimes, sometimes she writes poetic words, they float.out the window then fly with the birds. Onward, Onward, Upw2rd they go out of the warmth, now into the snow. -Connie Nichols
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-Drawing by Connie Nichols
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Last Poem of the Last Class CHRYSALIS STAFF
I mean I guess I shouldit being the last class of the semester and after having pages of poetry opposed to pages of notes, written on previous pages of previous classes, it's only fitting. But what should I writeof pines outside the window or bare trees on mountains; or about the lecturer, or that solitary yellow jacket who's been in class all semester also. But, no, they've been written already (on those previous pages); But then again it is the last class. One more last poem about them all: last class the windows open the pine swaying in the wind the yellow jacket circling the light people calling all caught up in the atmosphere of ending classes, the lecturer finishing up, last class. -Mary Jeanne Shaughnessy
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EDITOR ASSISTANT EDITOR PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR MANUSCRIPT EDITOR ART EDITOR GRAPHICS POETRY EDITOR PHOTOGRAPHY SPONSOR
Jeanette Lawler Mary Jean Shaughnessy Bill Ameen Jay Deldon Ellen Thompson Connie Nichols Leah Blackwell Neil Glock Daniel Gribbin
We would like to thank the following individuals for their assistance with this year's publication: Judy Singleton Caroline Chung Peter Crow Donald Secreast Herb Hobbs Jane Stogner and The Iron Blade To our printer, Jim Flanagan, of Copenhaver Publishers, Inc.: Thank you for your cooperation, assistance, and quality workmanship.
Let your aspirations riseContinue the journey of the Chrysalis.