Chrysalis
Literary and Arts Magazine
Ferrum College Fall 2021
Chrysalis
Literary and Arts Magazine Staff
Abigail McGovern, Editor-in-Chief
Caroline King, Assistant Design Editor Kristina Cossa Meghann Hartman Daniélle Jansen Van Vuuren Judges Makenna Lemon Art: Jane Stogner Brandon Mullins Photography: Bob Pohlad Shela Muriel Poetry: Marybeth Bond Marina Powell Prose: Linda Kay Simmons Trent Proctor Mason Rogers M. Katherine Grimes, Advisor
Ferrum College Fall 2021 The Butterfly by Anna Tomlin
Table of Contents Under the Shade by Caroline King Cover The Butterfly by Anna Tomlin 1 Under the Glass Table by Mackenzie Ensley 4 His Hands by René Settle 5 Portrait of Lady Day by Casey Craddock 6 Hearts Impaled by Marina Powell 7 She Smiles by Laura Dymond 8 Rare Moments Keeping Me Grounded by Nicolas Simpkins 9-13 Spring Glass by Makenna Lemon 10-11 Star City View by Carrie Lawton 12-13 The Year Spring Forgot by Mason Rogers 14 Beautiful Butterfly by Carrie Lawton 14 Phoenix’s Forest by Brandon Mullins 15 Sun Two by Jonathan D. Taylor 15 Ethereal by Brandon Mullins 16 Lake Mead, Nevada by Isaiah Clark 16 This is How Things Fall Apart by Abigail McGovern 17 Different Parts of the Universe by Carrie Lawton 18 The Builder by Marina Powell 19 The Beauty of the Burn by Laura Dymond 20-21 Sweet Dreams by Caroline King 22 The Euthanization of Our Children’s History by Caroline King 23 Lucero by Braden Homsey 24 Death is Beautiful by Nashay Wiggins 25 Out of the Grove by Brandon Mullins 25 Addicted by Ian Hester 26 Disclosed Fantasy by Shaylise Jones 26 Screams by Marina Powell 27 Enchanting Tree by Carrie Lawton 28 Insomnia by Abigail McGovern 29-30 Feel the Breeze by Caroline King 30 Keep the Wolves Away by Oceana Thomas Mollet 31 Foxy by Alyssa Hogan 31 Paper Person by Madison Cline 32-33 Darkened Still Life by Casey Craddock 33 A Mother by Reagan Hall 34 Girl Invisble Girl by Abigail McGovern 35 Hugo’s Legacy by Laura Dymond 36 The Twisted Witch of the West by Madison Cline 37 This is Sam: Log 1 by René Settle 38-39 Monstrous Monstera by Casey Craddock 39 Meerkat by Shela Muriel 40 Leopard’s Gaze by Brandon Mullins 40 Joy of Christmas by Makenna Lemon 40 Elgie, School Mascot by Laura Dymond 41 2
Momma is Watching by Caroline King 41 Blend for Safety by Caroline King 41 Time by Ashley Minnick 42 The Change by Alyssa Hogan 42 Wishing for Spring by Abigail McGovern 43 Frozen Foliage by David Dungee Jr. 43 The Night by Makayla Hubbard 44 La Bella Notte by Anna Tomlin 45 Hallows Eve by Kristina Cossa 46-47 The Coin Man by Madison Cline 48-49 Pride by Alyssa Hogan 49 Sexism in Agriculture: A Poem for Women in Agriculture by René Settle 50 Colorado Farmland by Isaiah Clark 51 Sunday Church by Alyssa Hogan 52 Face Value by Caroline King 53 Prom by Alyssa Hogan 53 Self-Acceptance by Kristina Cossa 53 Go Fast and Don’t Die by Mason Hamer 54-55 The Other Side by Shela Muriel 56-58 Family Mansion by Kristina Cossa 59 Days Past by Brandon Mullins 59 My Sister by Shela Muriel 60 Pink Goddess by Sean Makle 60 Light My Way by Sean Makle 61 Beautiful Friends by Mackenzie Ensley 61 The Day of Broken Glass by D. Bruckshaw Campbell 62-63 Flag by Jonathan D. Taylor 62-63 Cloak of the Hours by Jordan Thompson-Murphy 64-65 Radiant Dawn 64 Jubilant Midday 64 Descending Dusk 65 Midnight, the Stars, and You 65 Dog-Gone Excitement by Caroline King 66 Flora in the Golden Hour by Casey Craddock 66 Husky by Chance Dillon 66 Almost Perfect by Alyssa Hogan 67 Pirates by Alyysa Hogan 67 Alternative Universe by Carrie Lawton 68 Nexus by Brandon Mullins 68 Shoes by Ashley Minnick 69 That Mom Look by Caroline King 69 Stream by Parker Watkins 70 Look at Me! by Shela Muriel 71 Butterfly by Shela Muriel 71 Song: Here for a Reason by Jacques Moore-Roberts 72-73 Cotton Candy Clouds by Lindsey Foster 72-73 Secluded Night by Lindsey Foster 74-75 Evening Flowers by Brandon Mullins 76 3
Under the Glass Table by Mackenzie Ensley First Place Photography 4
His Hands By René Settle First Place Poetry His hands were rough, my eyes kept closed. I tried to look, but felt too exposed. He said he loved me, but his hands were tough. It felt like nothing, it felt like something. It felt disgusting. It felt like his touching, my heart thumping, his pulse rushing. It felt like the bonds of trust cutting, like this was his all or nothing. His hands started drumming, he now was grunting. Had he been fronting? I just wanted to be enough. Even though I had been opposed. But this was normal I supposed. But it wasn’t in actuality. I guess I had given up. His hands were like snakes, oh, how many, many mistakes. All of the headaches and heartbreaks, and all the keepsakes, for xxxx sake. The feeling of my shakes, of the wakes, of the backaches, of the earthquakes. …
His hands were rough. 5
Portrait of Lady Day by Casey Craddock 6
First Place Art
Hearts Impaled By Marina Powell First Place Prose Here in the forest it should be bright, would be bright, almost is bright, but for the suggestions of shadows lurking in the trees. They seem to hide when I look for them, they seem to watch my turned back, they seem drawn to the darkness in me, even though I try to hide it. The anger responds to them, welling up from the cracks in my chest. Here the ground should be normal, would be normal, almost is normal, but for the vines and their hatred of the world around them. They want to kill something, they are bitter and hollow, they envy the trees content flourishing, just as I’m tempted to. The grass doesn’t grow here, and the vines drag at my feet, wanting something to choke. Here the music should be joyful, would be joyful, almost is joyful, but for the pained silence drifting wearily. It wants to say something, but can’t. It listens to the babbling around it and finds no comfort, it sighs in agony. The birds keep silent in respect for its grief and the wind gives it privacy. Here the colors should be vibrant, would be vibrant, almost are vibrant, but for the way the green turns its head away to hide the tears. The shades withdraw to silent mourning, the reds don’t want to see my hurt, even the sky looks away and dims the trees to ash. The sun draws the covers over its head and the shadows deepen. Here the surroundings should be gentle, would be gentle, almost are gentle, but for the cruel iron spears growing black in the ground. They speak of hearts impaled, they trap lost memories locked in concrete slabs, they separate two worlds. I smile, but inside I lament for one who had no grave, only lingering in my memory and bone-white ashes on the wind.
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She Smiles by Laura Dymond 8
Second Place Photography
Rare moments keeping mE grounded
By Nicolas Simpkins Second Place Poetry
It was a rare moment the second I glanced down the stadium steps. Panther pride grabbed me and filled my mind with so many flashes of hard work. Each morning in my later years of high school had developed my mind and body for this moment. The early morning warm ups. The embrace of the dew hitting our faces while getting that extra rep in right before Coach blew the first whistle. Every sweat bead that strolled down our faces. Every moment we wanted to cry with pain, but mustered up enough to grunt through the long summer practices helped me embark on these moments. It was a strong message daily working to beat the person I was the day before. Striving to meet goals and crushing at least one a day led me to understand not to allow any distractions to damper my path. I credit so many people for being placed in that path. The team captains allowed themselves to lead me to understanding the game. I also credit the Coaches for keeping me intrigued to dig deeper and get better every time we stepped on the practice field. I credit my senior teammates who allowed me to develop into who I am with their help. It had a special meaning being a Spartan, and nothing will ever replace that. It made me proud that those stepping stones had built this passion in me that thankfully no one can take from us. Those memories, those moments, and that time spent with my brothers doing what we loved most in times that passed so quickly helped me conquer the Continued 9
questions within me, “Who am I? What will I do now?” Through those crazy moments as a teen each moment and each person placed along the path helped develop this moment of purpose. I had found my purpose through the high pitched squeal of a whistle, and learning how to build folks up, and not allow them to get down. Each practice led me to an understanding that most criticism is actually the labor of love a coach invested in me to be better than we were the day before. It led me to understanding their purpose, and mine all at the same time. Each rep, each highlight, and each loss captivated understanding of major progress in a boy becoming a man. I credit a special Coach for instilling purpose into my life. He probably sits back still to this day and states he would have never seen this coming from the boy I was prior to football until the man I was at the close of our senior season. He helped shape me into the very being I am striving to be. There was dead silence the moment that final second deducted from the final game of my high
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school career. My mom wasn’t lying when she tried so hard to make me understand how precious time was, and her eagerness for me to partake much sooner than I did. It didn’t make sense to a footballobsessed family that being able bodied with zero desire to compete at an early age could be. They never pushed me. They allowed me to blossom and grow under the desire of my own path. They thought they were doing it all wrong, but in reality they were doing everything they could do the right way. “Thanks, Mom!” I often get to say that. There will never be a better support to me than my Mom. She pours herself into sports. Her desire to encourage people and their progress is represented daily in everything she does. I learned about effort from her. I snapped back into reality at the top of W.B. Adams stadium steps, and quickly stumbled on my words. “You must be Nicholas!” Coach Adams replied. My mind had just gone through the entire journey of high school football in seconds stepping onto that field. “Yes, sir!” He grabbed my hand even under a worldwide pandemic, and we shook under the glare Continued
Spring Glass by Makenna Lemon Second Place Art 11
of a beautiful day at the Panthers Den! As we entered a new oasis at the Hank Norton Center, every moment Coach Williams did his job and transformed a scrawny young boy to an eager player that was making more strides for it not to end moved the moment. I didn’t have the gumption to give up, and that helped me straighten up and execute in the interview. Each player that had more talent crossed my mind. Each play that rocked me into the love of the game needed to pour into the conversations. Till this day I can honestly say I had never seen my Dad smile as big as he did that day! You can never really be prepared for the adrenaline that pops off your body when you finally feel accomplished. I felt accomplished after that meeting. I felt like a man being respected. I felt like everyone that crossed my path had built an insecure boy into a student eager to be a sponge, and absorb everything I could take in, and utilize it later. I’ll forever be indebted to each soul that poured into me and the program that built us. My thanks to Coach James for being so humble, and kind, and understanding that passion for people can collide in every moment of football if you give a chance! “Gick, I missed you sooo much!” The hug Nate gave me in the stadium felt like home had reached out and grabbed me. It had been 4 weeks since I had seen my inspiration. I honestly can’t remember a time where it was ever more than a couple hours prior to me leaving for college. You see, my brother is the oldest of my parents’ children, and is a remarkably unique individual. He was born special, and absolutely loves football. Often I had heard my parents say, “Man, if Nate could suit up, those opponents would pay!” He is super tough, and sometimes doesn’t know his own strength. We were raised in football even without 12
playing until later in high school for myself. My Dad coached. Our common denominator to our family is football. It is a very close second to food in my brother’s eyes. He loves to eat, and then it’s family, and anything football. Coach Williams is like a god to Nate! He talks about “Coach” all the time. Every night before he would go to bed he had us repeat all the special people he was eager to see the next day at his school. “Coach Williams, Mawmaw Burton, Lucas, Andee, Boggee!” Every single night he rattles that off sometimes 100 times before drifting off to sleep. He inspired me to suit up! He helped shape me into the man I am today. Every moment I live is for him. He misses out on so much. I often reflect what kind of lineman Coach Strader, Coach Breeding, and Coach Williams could have made him. I have worked out every day for 3 years in hopes of allowing Nate to live through me. He inspires me to work harder and tougher daily. Every single moment of truth is for you, Nate! The moment of truth came suddenly, even after 4 solid weeks of learning what time management meant. Embarking on my education and being on the football field for hours hasn’t been easy, but it has definitely been worth it. Most people never have the chance of a lifetime. It has been so humbly fantastic to work alongside the souls that execute passion with every breath they take. It makes me thankful every single time I have a second to breathe that every moment has led me right where I was meant to be. Reality has taught me to keep chasing it, and these rare moments keep me grounded. Thank you just doesn’t seem like enough to each soul that poured into this life. I’m grateful. Star City View by Carrie Lawton 13
The Year Spring Forgot Second Place Prose By Mason Rogers My eyes flutter as pale sunlight rays tickle my eyelids. The day is oddly melancholy. No birds chirping, bugs chattering, or wind chiming. No daisies, dandelions, or daffodils. My breath hesitates, and my forehead perspirates. Where were Spring’s delicate days or mystical morning magic? Did Spring deviate from the usual April arrival? Where were the staple maple-colored trees? It could not possibly be! Has spring fled the coop? Has the world become content with the crushing cold and dower glacial showers of Winter? Has the world frozen the clock, and told Spring to stop? I stand at the windowsill, staring up at the pale sky. For where has Spring gone? Is Spring done? Three days late, alluding to Winter’s refusal to dissipate?! Oh where oh where has my lovely blue sky filled with bountiful beautiful birds gone? It’s getting late with little reason to wait. I take my leave from reality. Into my thoughts shall I dabble. Into my dreams I shall elaborate. And until Spring sings its signature song—then I will gladly awake.
A new day, greeted by a familiar friend. A vibrant and vigorous golden shine graced my retina. My ears serenaded with ducks quacking, bugs yapping, and the wind prancing through the flavorful flower field. Spring, my cherished friend, you’ve come four days late, but that’s better than coming on next year’s predicted date. Beautiful Butterfly by Carrie Lawton 14
Phoenix’s Forest By Brandon Mullins Crisp, crimson canopies cover the fall forest Like crowns of fiery phoenix plumes burning brightly— Glorious now, but withering by the day Until the final flickering ash grows dim And their majesty awaits a warm rebirth That carries with it the promise of new hope.
SunTwo by Jonathan D. Taylor
Ethereal By Brandon Mullins A single ghostly petal falls from the withered tree, And with not so much as a murmur ’pon the chill wind, It softly settles on the frozen floor below, Joining its lost siblings at last.
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Lake Mead Nevada by Isaiah Clark
This is How Things Fall Apa r
t
By Abigail McGovern
If I could, I would turn back all of the clocks I would be un-tragic, un-lost, and break open all these old locks Twist time in the other direction and live it all in reverse “I love you” would sound more like a promise and less like a curse The rain would fall upward, from the ground to the sky And this time when we jumped we wouldn’t fall, we would fly I would un-break the windows and un-bolt the doors If I could, I would be so much more
And this is how things fall apart And this is what it looks like inside a broken heart And this is what it feels like when we part
When we live it this time ‘round I’ll remember to keep my head from the clouds And an outstretched hand would be to help the wounded to their feet Not a “goodbye, hope never to meet” When the storm clouds roll and the rain falls again This time it’ll be to wash away the pain If I shatter, you’d pick up the pieces of me Neither one of us would be broken, neither one would bleed
And this is how things fall apart And this is what it looks like inside a broken heart And this is how we make a new start
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Different Parts of the Universe by Carrie Lawton 18
The Builder By Marina Powell
I can’t ever build connections, but I’m always building bridges, I put together strong excuses, but never any fixes. I make a lot of walls, problem is, they won’t come down, I wish I could build trust, but I just don’t know how. I design a lot of smiles; they’re always in demand, But when the sun goes down sometimes I’m left with empty hands. I build a lot of dreams that I’m too afraid to try, I’m a builder; it’s who I am, and I cannot lie. I’m always building skyscrapers from blueprints in my head, But when I reach for my own sky, I cannot grasp it yet. I build a lot of homes, but I can’t manufacture love, I put up a thousand street signs, but direction still won’t come. I make things for everyone, they all believe I’m smart, But the vices that I build myself won’t seem to come apart. It’s easy to talk; blueprints are easy to write But when the bluster fades away it sure is hard to build a life.
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The Beauty of the Burn by Laura Dymond
Sweet Dreams by Caroline King
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The Euthanization of our Children’s History By Caroline King Today we no longer use our book bags for books; instead, we use them for the latest MacBooks, AirPods, and our iPhones. Instead of paper and pen, we use keyboards and screens. We no longer teach our teachers how to teach, but teach them how to adapt to the latest technological advances. Our profile pictures have become our entire identities, with our bios being all we need to truly know about one another. For the people who still use products of the past, they are shamed or often looked at as outdated. So my question for you is this: If this is what today looks like, then what will tomorrow look like? Will our society fall victim to the rapid advances being pushed on us? Will our jobs be taken over by state-of-the-art machines designed to think more like a human being than an actual person of flesh and blood? I could not imagine a life without books. No, not an e-book, but authentically bound pages. I do not want to lose the rush of excitement I get when I am finishing one chapter and then eagerly turning the page to the next. I am scared. I am scared because when I walk into a middle school today I see 12-year-old children with improper postures, their eyes resting on the screens of their smartphones for comfort. I am scared because the only time a child can speak up about abuse is through social media, and when we hear about it, it is far too late to save that child. I am scared because I feel disconnected without my phone by my side when I know that all of my friends are out together on the weekends. Because of my absence, if I do not check Snapchat, Facebook, or Instagram to see what they did without me, then I will not be able to be a part of their conversation on Monday. This is the life that we are being groomed into, and no one has yet to look past the soothing sensation of the brush.
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By Braden Homsey
Death Is Beautiful By Nashay Wiggins Death usually brings pain, sorrow, and heartbreak. When my uncle died, it felt like the world had shrunk. So I bury my emotions for my heart’s sake. Consuming liquid courage and ending up drunk. The memory of his still body drew tears down my face And I wanted nothing more than for him to wake up I wondered about his afterlife and where he’d be placed Somewhere peaceful, if it was just his luck Then it hit me; he would no longer be in pain No more hypertension, no more dialysis. On August 12, at 7 am, his relief came. My feelings of sadness morph into bliss. Now I see that death is beautiful. Something like a newfound peace that is spiritual Where you transcend from your physical cage And meet your new journey at the golden gates. I still mourn for my uncle; he had the sweetest soul I tend to be very optimistic when I think everyone will grow old But he received life’s greatest prize, a set of majestic wings And I imagine eternal rest and place of serene And glorious music when the angels sing Death is beautiful.
Out of the Grove by Brandon Mullins
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Addicted By Ian Hester
Why oh why Does the band you tie Make this poor child you conceive want to die? Could it be for the feeling you get when high? Or is it out of hate To destroy this infant’s fate? Before life can even begin You made sure it came to an end. You shoot up to be like everyone else, But the consequences don’t only affect yourself. Get high, run wild, act like Neanderthals, And watch as your baby is in the NICU going through withdrawals. Everyone is free to make choices of their own But if they’re not the right ones you’ll be locked away forever just like Capone. If you slip up it’s okay–there’s a way out, But your baby will be suffering more than you without a doubt. Why must you make this decision Before this infant can have its own vision? This isn’t fair and there’s no reason why To make an infant be born and want to die.
Disclosed Fantasy by Shaylise Jones
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Wuthering Heights 2015 by Tina Hanlon
Screams By Marina Powell I’m bottling up my screams for you, in a dark place where I can’t see them. I can’t let them out and I can’t make them go, So I’m forced to let no one hear them. I want to cry, but I have no more tears, and I can’t even look at your face. The bottle reminds me, and when I close my eyes, Your picture will not go away. I’m bottling up my screams for you, in the dark where belief used to be. I never thought it would come it this, never realized you’d stop loving me. If I wasn’t so hollow, broken in two, maybe you’d be able to care. If I wasn’t so tired, so empty, so scared, then maybe you could be there. I’m bottling up my screams for you, in a house that cannot listen. Remembering days when you said you loved me; I never thought I would miss them. Would things be different if I wasn’t cold or if my blood decided to flow? If I tried to be who you wanted of me… but I cannot, will not, go. I’m bottling up my screams for you, regret enters my mind. “Too late” are the words I wonder about; I don’t know if they’ll one day be mine. The story ends with questions; I hold the cold bottle close. Would anything change if the screams came out, If “I love you” weren’t stuck in my throat? I’m bottling up my screams for you and they’re asking, “What did I do?” And the one that most haunts me and rips at my chest: “If I died, would it matter to you?”
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Enchanting Tree by Carrie Lawton
Insomnia
By Abigail McGovern
This is one of those nights. When the silence is so loud, and the world is so wide, and you are so so awake. You are battle-scarred and breathless, hair tangled and ink-dark circles pressed under eyes. You’re a figure made of moonlight and shadows and the frantic, thought-filled spaces between sleepless breaths. The product of the moonlight on your rug and the deep, expectant night all around you. There is something inside of your chest right now that is bigger than all of that, questions that outnumber the watchful stars in the sky above you, with answers that feel maybe-almost-as-vast. The thoughts are whirling or the pen is scratching or the keys on the computer are clacking. And you are also all of those things, trying to outpace the moon’s path across the sky. There are some things that are harder to face in the sunlight. There are some things that have to be said loudly and boldly, but first they have to be said in the shadows, softly. This will be the hardest thing you have ever had to say. But Urania is whispering in your ear now, pointing out your window. Look up, she says, there’s still so much space for your story, puzzled in among the others, racing across the sky. So, little stargazer, seize the night with both your hands. Set the Earth spinning around the sun. Map out the cosmos, set humanity dancing among the stars, if that’s what you want to do. When you stop to breathe, it all just seems so daunting. The force of your heartbeat and the sheer sound of it. You have run for so long that you can no longer feel your legs beneath you, but you can’t stop moving. You have climbed so high that every breath feels too empty for your lungs. When you stop to think about it, the nighttime seems so much more vast, so much more alive, so much more than you will ever be. But Calliope spins the globe, the one on your desk that you never use. And wherever her finger lands, she says there is a hero here just like you, who thought the weight of the world belonged to them, who thought they had to battle all the monsters and sail the wine dark sea alone. She has kept track of them all, and she reminds you that you will be remembered. You have it all in front of you, desperate answers to those desperate questions that only creep out at night. Something that is as loud as the sound of your soul, something that could break through the silence. But when you finally put that pencil down or step away from that keyboard, you’re afraid you won’t be loud enough, afraid you won’t make a dent. You’re afraid your words will get lost among all the others, that if your 29
blood spatters, it will only be on a marble floor, wiped away before reaching the pages of history. But Clio keeps the books and she tells the stories. And she knows what bravery it takes to get noticed, for good or for bad. To march an army across the Rubicon, to make music you can’t even hear. To be a light in the darkness or a shout in the silence. She reminds you to keep going and stand tall when you’d really rather let go, enjoy the fall. You don’t have to be loud to make the pages, just brave. This is one of those nights, tragic hero, when it’s you and your keyboard, your pen, your proverbial sword. Up against the cavernous silence, walking the line between frantic and fearless. This will be the hardest thing you have ever had to say. But—artist, wanderer, warrior— it will also be the biggest. So let your moonlight thoughts fly free for once. This is your moment to be brave, to carry not the whole world, but at least a few. And at least for tonight, you have the muses behind you.
Feel the Breeze by Caroline King 30
KEEP THE WOLVES AWAY (Inspired by the song by Uncle Lucius) By Oceana Thomas Mollett My back aches My heart breaks The days and nights weigh heavy on my shoulders Like two massive boulders But to keep this sweet child smiling I must keep going Just to keep the wolves away
Foxy by Alyssa Hogan 31
Paper Person By Madison Cline I am just a paper person Made of little paper dreams I walk the streets but no one sees me They stare through my lines. I am a sketch of a person; A sketch of a dream. What is my name? I can’t remember. Do I have one? For I am only the charcoal and sweat Of some poor artist who forgot to claim me. Can you see me?? I shriek inside Can anybody hear?? I must be something I must be someone Because I’m here Can anyone hear?? The tree is falling in the forest Every Single Day But the other trees aren’t listening. Have I even made a sound? I ride the subway to work each day I sip the coffee in cafes I trudge to my white-collar job And sit and write 32
And sit and write On paper as thin as me. Will someone come and flesh me out? Add the rose to my lips Add the tint to my cheeks But I am all alone I think Perhaps I’ll drift away.
Darkened Still Life by Casey Craddock 33
A Mother By Reagan Hall
From her we got our name Our home Our peace, love and faith alone. She gave us sunshine And a reason to smile Taught us the rain only lasts a little while. For us she gave her all Her strength, her time, her life And kept us from the world and all its needless strife. For all of this we thank her, Without her we would die, Starve, and pine, and cry, All things her simple face can not bely. So if she is so vital, to all we learn and do, why do we hate and hurt her, and treat her the way we do. Her love for us knows no end, She keeps coming back for more, To care for and love us like no one else before. One day she will be gone, Her love will be no more, And you’ll spend the nights crying, Down on the bathroom floor. No two are just the same, No one is complete and perfect, But time and time again, She’ll come running for her baby, And you’ll thank the lord for it. What would we do without her? No life would be worth living, So tell her that you love her, Even if you think you’re busy.
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Girl Invisible Girl By Abigail McGovern One day eyes started skipping over me, An empty blank look, they can’t seem to see. I find my tongue has gone silent, My words hushed forgotten quiet. When I walk my footprints vanish in the sand, Just like I was never even there and Nothing comes out when I try to scream, What is this endless nightmare, this waking dream? If no one sees me, am I even really there? Or am I girl invisible girl walking on air? One second, life is all linked hands and laughter Best friends, promises, “I’ve got your back forevers” The next, it’s an empty road, And where did all this sorrow come from, this new heavy load? I never felt lonely when I knew I had you, Because I never knew just how much a crowded room feels like a tomb, When you’re left standing there, suffocating on your own And I never knew what it felt like to suddenly be so alone. And when I look in the mirror, I see lines from new tears But if no one notices, am I girl invisible girl about to disappear? I don’t understand this new version of you, And these people you surround yourself with, all brand new. You handed me the poison but I am the one who drank, So which of us is really responsible, the victim or the snake? I guess if I think about it, I understand There’s poison on my teeth, poison on your hands. There’s too much toxin here for us to bear, And you are wishing very much that I hadn’t been there. And the outcome, it just isn’t fair Because now I truly am girl invisible girl walking on air.
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Hugo’s Legacy by Laura Dymond
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The Twisted Witch of the West By Madison Cline Evil is Evil And Good is Good But what if Evil Is misunderstood? And who decides such things anyway? The façade of a wizard Or a munchkin with hay? What stories hide in that pimpled green mask That makes lions cower And grown men gasp? “Destined” to be Evil since she was born Her mother screeching like a hen A discarded babe treated with scorn Where was Good to help her then? Imagine being hated your entire life With no one to love And nothing but strife. There’s no such thing as yin and yang Just Good changing morals Leaving “Wicked” to hang. Why bother with morals When they’re always changed? Why bother with Good When it’s so deranged? Good is a parlor trick, nothing more With sparkling bubbles and dress colored coral Playing God and keeping score. Good is not a merciful God. Who will be the next Evil? 37
This is Sam: Log 1 By René Settle
This is about my imaginary friend Sam. Sam’s pronouns are he/ they. He’s never actually told me this (Sam doesn’t speak any manmade language). And I know I’m not supposed to assume but I figured since they don’t get mad at me for using those then it’s okay. I will describe his body so you understand Sam a bit more. Sam is very tall. Their skin is the color of smoke and grey charcoal that has burnt and his body looks like it needs lotion. Sam doesn’t bathe. Sam doesn’t eat. Sam doesn’t do a lot of things. Sam has no mouth. Sam has no ears. Sam has no eyes. Sam has no nose. Sam’s face is very blank. Despite Sam’s limitations he seems to do fine navigating the world and staying close to me. Sam’s face is the only thing that looks smooth on him. There are no holes, only divots where I assume most human face accessories would go. His neck is very long. When they are with me in the car his neck bends at an unappealing angle. He doesn’t seem to mind though. I can see the bone on their neck. It looks bumpy and reminds me of a starving dog’s spine. He has six shoulders, three on each side, one on top of the other to support his six arms. Sam has six arms. All of them are long but only the bottom pair drag behind him (sometimes). The two on top are boney and creak a lot. At the end of them are two large stabbing claws. Sort of like a velociraptor. He uses them for intimidation . . . but I’m sure they could do damage too. The middle pair DO have human-like hands. The fingers are long and the nails are unkempt and dirty. He uses these for grabbing things. The bottom pair are long octopi-like tendrils that squirm constantly out of control. They feel slippery and slimy. He can make them shrink if they get too cold however. Those are used for wrapping me up in hugs. I told a teeny-tiny lie. Sam does eat. They eat my emotions. While I’m being hugged his skin seems to suck all my emotions out until I feel weak and blank. I think he means well and is just trying to get me to stop feeling sad. But he ends up taking out everything on accident. I also might’ve lied about Sam not being able to speak. He sometimes whispers in my ears before I go to bed. Idk what he’s saying but he repeats it really fast over and over. Idk how he talks without a mouth; I think it might be telepathy but I never look at him 38
when I’m in bed. If he’s not whispering, he’s screaming. Sam’s chest is strange. They have nipples but the breasts they have are very flat, saggy, and misshapen. They look like wrung out cloths. I can see Sam’s boney ribs. Sam’s waist is tiny like a Barbie doll. I fear if I touched his waist it would snap in half. Sam’s hip-bones are very prominent. They stick out from the body and it’s very off-putting. Sam doesn’t have any genitalia, only a large bulge of skin where I assume a penis would be. Sam’s legs are very long (which makes the fact that their arms drag behind them more uncomfortable). His thighs remind me of old white men running in speedo shorts. His knees buckle sometimes and constantly pop in and out (he doesn’t seem to mind though). His calves are really really skinny and I wonder how he can support himself. His toes are long and he has grimy toenails. Sam is my imaginary friend and the metaphysical vision of my PTSD. Every part of his body is a metaphor: he is a walking, breathing poem. His face is my pain, his arms are my prisons, his hugs are my closure, his chest, waist, Monstrous Monstera by Casey Craddock hip-bones, lack of genitals are my self-image, his legs are my evasion. Sam is indeed my friend, and no matter how grotesque or horrifying they look . . . I cannot part with him.
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Meerkat by Shela Muriel
Leopard’s Gaze by Brandon Mullins
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Joy of Christmas by Makenna Lemon
Elgie, School Mascot by Laura Dymond
Momma is Watching by Caroline King
Blend for Safety by Caroline King 41
Time By Ashley Minnick
The Change by Alyssa Hogan
Why must time without you pass so slow? It’s as though I am sand in an hourglass I aimlessly fall waiting for you to come. Yet, when you are here time is still my enemy She runs as fast as she can catching up with the rest of the world for the torturous pace she took me. I spend seconds kissing you before I realize hours have passed I spend days loving you before I realize it’s been my whole life. No amount of time will ever be enough But I plan to take it all.
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Wishing for Spring By Abigail McGovern
And darling, I understand that you’re wishing for spring, You’re aching for a new start, those brand new soft green things, The weather is turning and you’re starting to get scared, I know you remember what happened last time this chill was in the air. You’re focused on cherry blossoms and softly falling rain, Desperate for a chance to wash away this pain. But darling don’t forget, autumn is the season of change Let the passing of the seasons give you a chance to rearrange. Keep on wishing for spring, for the months of rebirth, But in the meantime, let the bright colors remind you of your worth.
Frozen Foliage by David Dungee, Jr.
Darling, I know you’re tired of all the storms, The dark rolling clouds, the blizzards, the desperately trying to get warm. All these long cold nights, God is there any sort of reprieve in sight?
The Night By Makayla Hubbard The night that you kissed me My stomach filled with a thousand butterflies Like a swarm wanting to be set free The night that you held me close to you Our shadows tangled together Like roots of a tree So twisted together that they don’t break free
The night that you told me you loved me Our hearts aligned as one Like the stars forming a constellation In a clear dark sky The night you told me you didn’t love me anymore My heart broke into a million pieces Like shattered glass so fragile and easily damaged
The night you left me Tears streamed down my cheeks Like waterfalls flowing down a mountain side
The night you found someone new My soul shredded in two So easily ripped by the hands of you
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La Bella Notte by Anna Tomlin 45
Hallows Eve
By Kristina Cossa
Samantha didn’t believe in ghosts or anything related to the supernatural. Despite what some people in her town thought, even some of her own friends believed in it. She didn’t; she was a science girl and figured that once someone died, they either went up or down. They didn’t stay on earth and wander around haunting people. Besides, most people who have claimed to see ghosts were either lying or had no evidence to prove it. Taking a deep breath, she flipped her long golden hair and pulled out her phone as she walked to class. Through her earbuds the song “Safe and Sound” played, and she fought the urge to sing the lyrics. Because she was distracted, she didn’t notice when she almost ran smack into another girl.The impact made the girl drop all her books, and Samantha knelt down to help her pick them out. “Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! I didn’t see you,” Samantha apologized. The girl gave her a kind smile and told her not to worry about it. As she stood up and took her books back, Samantha took in her appearance. The girl was beautiful, uncannily beautiful. Her skin was almost pure white with a slight touch of tan. Her hair was a river of long silver waves, and parts of it looked to be dyed blue. Her eyes were a shade of teal green, which to Samantha’s knowledge should be impossible. Her clothing matched her appearance perfectly; her dress was a light blue that faded into a royal blue on the ends. She also looked to be a bit older than Samantha was, maybe fourteen or fifteen. “Are you new?” Samantha asked, not sure what else to say. “You could say that. I’m Clarisse,” the girl said. “I’m Samantha,” she answered, holding her hand out for Clarisse to shake. Clarisse blinked, not sure what to do. “Why are you giving me your hand?” she asked, confused. For a minute Samantha thought the girl was joking. Hadn’t she ever shaken a hand before? “So you can shake it,” Samantha answered. “It’s how I say hello,” she continued. Clarisse blinked again for a few seconds before shaking Samantha’s hand. Maybe she was dreaming or crazy, but Samantha felt her body shiver when they touched hands. She was probably just imagining things, so she didn’t bring it up when she pulled away. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get to class,” Clarisse said, turning on her heels and walking away. Samantha shrugged and walked in the opposite direction to her next class. Today was Halloween, so everyone in the hallway was discussing their costumes or how much candy they planned on getting. She paid no attention to it, until she found her seat in the biology lab. 46
“So you guys are going out tonight?” a boy asked. “No way. Don’t you know what day it is?” another boy asked, looking a little scared. “Halloween,” the first boy answered. “Yes, idiot, but it’s also been ten years since a bunch of children went missing while trick or treating,” the second boy explained. His friend groaned at him. “Oh, come on. This again? Man, there is no such thing as ghosts or anyone that looks like the grim reaper,” the first boy responded, rolling his eyes. “What are you two talking about?” Samantha asked, turning around to look at them. “This guy thinks the Ghost Master is going to come for him in the night,” the first boy said, pointing to his friend in a mocking way. “Again? Come on, Jake. You know that’s just a story, right?” Samantha asked, furrowing her eyebrows at both boys. “He is too real! I’ve seen him,” Jake responded, and Samantha sighed as he went on a rant about his encounter with The Ghost Master. The story was always the same: Jake said that a few years ago when he was trick or treating a ghostly figure with skeleton features and a black rope grabbed his cousin. “And he was never heard from again because he was turned into one of the Ghost Master’s minions,” Jake finished. Samantha yawned from boredom, having heard the story a number of times. “Right, and I suppose that adds up because he only appears one night every ten years,” Samantha said to him. She was clearly more interested in her school supplies than Jake’s story. “You both laugh now, but tonight when he comes for you, he will be the one laughing,” Jake warned. “Cut it out, man, people are going to think you’re on something,” his friend said to him. “I’m not crazy,” Jake said, trying to defend himself. But the argument ended there as the two boys began talking about girls they liked. Samantha rolled her eyes at them and wondered why all the boys she knew were like this.–save for her brother, who was a precious gem that needed to be sheltered from all the bad in the world. He was only eight, and really her only friend as she was pretty much a lone wolf and only hung out with the few friends she made through the chorus. Not that she wasn’t not grateful for them, but it would be nice to have a best friend who would always have her back. But no, most teenagers today were concerned with their social media accounts and technology. She was brought out of her thoughts when the teacher arrived and told them that class was about to start.
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The Coin Man By Madison Cline S l o w l y he creeps On lean raven’s feet Nimble and tactful Mute and lethal Watching and waiting A dark obsidian shadow Swallowing all light Observing his prey With hungry silver eyes. The child sleeps peacefully Wrapped in a plush coral blanket Worn rag doll held tight Dreaming sweet dreams Of sticky lollipops and emerald castles Radio Flyers and golden retrievers A smile painted on her pretty face. The innocence evokes maddening greed An intense thirst to steal it for himself He lusts to fill the empty void that is his heart To feed on her soul And leave a vacant shell behind. The night light flicKeRs The piggy bank s h a t t e r s Thin purple curtains twist and tear In the invisible wind of his agony. He yearns for it. He needs it. 48
He flips his coin with spindly fingers. Heads. The child shrieks Parents stir And all that remains Is empty flesh And two silver coins Hanging in midair.
Pride by Alyssa Hogan 49
Sexism in Agriculture: A Poem for Women in Agriculture By René Settle I know all the guys think you’re some pretty young thing, They’ll whistle and honk at you in their big ol’ trucks, callin’ you ‘hun’ But they don’t know the real you They don’t know all the work you did during the hot spring All the times you missed out on having some fun How your best friend only says one word, “moo” How that little farm is your everything How you know your dad wishes you were a son How you feel like you have so much to live up to How you don’t cry from a bee sting How you’ve been working and everyone else’s day has just begun How you worked even when you had the stomach flu They think you only want that ring They don’t know all the work you’ve overdone And they think they know you just out of the blue? If only you had been a male offspring Then maybe they’d let you shoot the shotgun Instead of telling you to go make the stew But know you can do anything, that you are a king So don’t stop when the man says, “you’re done” Because they don’t see the world through your view
Colorado Farmland by Isaiah Clark 50
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Sunday Church by Alyssa Hogan
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Face Value By Caroline King She is broken Kind, friendly, outgoing She is broken Always willing to help She is broken Wearing her heart on her sleeve She is broken She smiles because she is loved But she is still broken. Prom by Alyssa Hogan
Self-Acceptance
By Kristina Cossa
Reality often seems disappointing because it strives for perfection. Everyone at one point has struggled with their flaws, myself included. I’m moody, I struggle with some things, and I’m very picky. It bothers me, but they’re parts of me. Depending on how you look at it, my flaws don’t define me. Yes, I can be quite moody, but I’m mostly happy. I work hard every day to keep smiling, which I hope brightens everyone else’s day. I struggle with some things, yes, but everyone does. Nobody is perfect, and even with all my flaws I’m still me. So maybe reality isn’t disappointing after all. 53
Go Fast and Don’t Die by Mason Hamer
The Other Side By Shela Muriel On October 19th you had been at home in your attic trying to clean it out and get it organized. The attic was dusty as if no one had been in it for years, which might have been the case. The circular window on the attic wall had been broken, allowing wind to blow through. Outside you hear the wind whistling through the trees. You are just moving some boxes around when you notice a cloth blowing briefly. Wanting to make sure that there is nothing hidden under it, you make your way toward it. The wind continues to ripple it as you inch closer to it until eventually you make it over, and your hand grips the cloth as you pull it back, revealing an old bookcase. “What is this?” you ask. The bookshelf hadn’t been there before. It looked to be falling apart. You look at the shelf briefly noticing that there had been nothing in it at all, or so you thought. You touch the wood, which was starting to rot, and as you feel the wood, your hand touches a strange button that you hadn’t thought would be on the shelf. Curious as to what it was, you decide to press the button. Suddenly, the back of the shelf slides open revealing an even older cloth covered in dust and smelling of mold. Despite the putrid smell, you pull it off and find an old leather-bound journal. You are in complete shock finding that the journal was in perfect condition–well, aside from the yellowing pages. Confused, you bring the journal to your room and sit down on your bed. Your original task being completely forgotten, you wonder why there was an old leather journal hidden within the shelf. However, looking at the closed object wasn’t going to give you the answers you are searching for. Thinking that the name of the small leatherbound book would be inside, you decide to open it. Rather than the name of the person, you find a date and old cursive writing. October 1st, 1871 Dear Diary, It’s the fall of 1871, I’ve been sitting in my home doing nothing but writing. I sit at my desk which is dark wood with ebonized designs all on the front and around the back. My family and I had just moved into this strange new home this past summer. I have to say that, aside from the creepy atmosphere, I find that it’s fairly nice. While I can’t exactly give away this information, I do know that I may actually like it here. At least that’s what I’m assuming. I should probably head downstairs now; my 56
mother is calling for me.
Sincerely, Frank. You reread the small part of the journal entry and find out that his name was Frank; however, due to the amount he had written, you aren’t sure who he was or where he was writing. You can already assume that he was writing in your house and in your room, but you feel strangely connected to this individual like you’ve known him all of your life. You flip the page over and notice more writing. October 5th, 1871 Dear Diary, Strange things have been happening around this house and I’m pretty much spooked. Last night, I heard something in the attic. Boxes were moved around, and no one really thought about what was up there. I approached my mother and asked her a question. “Mother?” I said. “You hear the strange movements in the air, don’t you?” “My son? What do you mean?” asked mother. “You mean the strange movements upstairs? I think it’s just rats.” “But how could rats move objects?” I questioned. But no matter how many times I tried to explain, mother would not hear of it. She told me that it was all in my imagination, but that must have been some big rodent if it could move objects around. I won’t give up trying to figure out who or what is up in our attic. Sincerely, Frank. “Okay? This is weird…,” you say, unsure of how to react. You have a hard time trying to figure out what to do with the journal. Should you throw it out? Or should you keep it with you and bring it to someone who knows what they’re talking about? Shaking your head, you set the journal down and make your way to the kitchen to get something to drink. As you finish getting yourself a glass of water, you turn around only to see the leather journal had somehow gotten to the kitchen without your help. You slowly approach the journal and see that it had been opened to a new entry which seemingly is still being written.
October 31st, 1871 Dear Diary, I saw again the figure. It was hard to tell, but I could have sworn it was tall with y/h/c and y/e/c. It was freaking me out, this thing was 57
standing over me watching me write and I couldn’t help but freak out. I told my mother but once again she said that it was my imagination. In a matter of seconds, I felt that I was always being watched and I wanted to figure out who. If anyone is reading this, if you are a spirit, please let me know on the empty page. That way I’ll know I’m not crazy. Sincerely, Frank. You reread the paragraph wondering if it was even possible that you could respond. You look around your house for a pen, until eventually, you stumble across one. Suddenly, you realized that this stranger had described who you were and what you looked like. Doing your best not to show fear, you walk over to the table and begin to write on the empty page. Rather than a paragraph, you write sentences.“Who are you?” you write. “How do you know what I look like?” You wait for a little bit until eventually, someone begins to write back. The way the sentences disappeared reminded you of that Harry Potter book. You try your best to hide your fear as new sentences appear in response. “I knew it! Are you a spirit?” the sentence questioned. “I am not a spirit; I’m a real person,” you respond. However, as the sentence begins to disappear, you feel a sudden chill in the air as you look up and come face to face with a stranger. But it does not seem like a human being; it looks more like a spirit. It stares at you for a couple of minutes tilting its head like it is studying you. You gulp and try your best not to freak out, but the stranger continues to stare until it begins to fade away. “Wait!” you exclaim. “Who are you? Are you Frank?” but the spirit does not respond. In fact, it only disappears, leaving you in your kitchen alone. You look down at the book only to see that it is closed. As you try to open it again, it doesn’t seem to want to open. However, before you try to pry it open one last time, the book begins to disappear until you can no longer see it. You sit there shocked trying to understand what is going on, but it is no use. The journal is no longer in front of you. You search all around the house for it, though eventually you give up, forgetting all about it and trying your best to carry on with your everyday life. One thing is for sure: You’re never going to go through furniture again.
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Family Mansion by Kristina Cossa
Days Past by Brandon Mullins 59
My Sister by Shela Muriel
Pink Goddess by Sean Makle 60
Light My Way by Sean Makle
Beautiful Friends by Mackenzie Ensley
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The Day of Broken Glass By D. Bruckshaw Campbell
The clever men all gathered In their right and in their white With law degrees and fake decrees They thought would give them might Like the Berlin Opera House Armed with impunity They brought the hammer down to ground To fire the boiling sea Did you see the broken glass The vandals in the halls They beat him with the flag And made the margin call With devil horns upon his head And tear gas in the air Look upon your mighty works, despair Marching past the barricades And past the fathers fore The noble line that held them back Dissolved into the score They climbed the Hill and scaled the walls With ignorance as tools And seized upon the podium Like Lords of the Misrule Did you see the broken glass The vandals in the halls They beat him with the flag And made the margin call With devils horns upon his head And tear gas in the air Look upon your mighty works, despair
They trampled on tradition And staked their claims to hate To overturn or else they’d burn Three of four estates “Enemy of the people” “Oh, let freedom ring” They tread on all their tenants In blind hypocrisy Did you see the broken glass The vandals in the halls They beat him with the flag And made the margin call With devils horns upon his head And tear gas in the air Look upon your mighty works, despair Peaceful in transition Has met its own demise While truthers speak unfounded facts That darken with each lie Like Milgram with the buzzers Of blind obedience A recipe of grave deceit That fed the deviants Did you see the broken glass The vandals in the halls They beat him with the flag And made the margin call With devils horns upon his head And tear gas in the air Look upon your mighty works, despair
Flag by Jonathan D. Taylor
Cloaks of the Hours by Jordan Thompson-Murphy Radiant Dawn
Jubilant Midday
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Descending Dusk
Midnight, the Stars, and You
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Dog-Gone Excitement By Caroline King My heart races I hear her voice call my name I quickly run to her She stands over me with a smile I sit patiently and wait She hands me a blue bowl It’s dinner time.
Flora in the Golden Hour by Casey Craddock
Husky by Chance Dillon 66
Almost Perfect by Alyssa Hogan
Pirates By Alyssa Hogan I’ve always wanted to be a pirate And set sail on the open sea I’ve always wanted to be a pirate To take off and just be free But a pirate’s life is not for me It was not written in my stars Between the men and the scurvy I cannot bare those scars Then maybe I’ll be a gangster Gamble, drink, and steal I wish I could be a gangster But that, for me, is unreal Gangsters are a thing of the past Taken out by disease or the law Just like pirates and their dark masts I want to be a pirate, I want it with my all 67
Alternative Universe by Carrie Lawton
Nexus
By Brandon Mullins ------------------I stand on the junction of somewhere, nowhere, and everywhere, Between now, then, and never. Thousands of well-woven worlds have I traveled in all my years, Each the product of countless efforts to which few are truly privy. Seamster, too, may I think myself, But that thought is mere fiction. Dozens of designs lie dormant in my mind, yet unrealized. 68
Shoes By Ashley Minnick I never thought about tying my shoes Tying my shoes was something I could take for granted Until I watched my grandfather tie his shoes Until he would hold the strings, Staring a few seconds before tying them, Until the seconds grew to minutes, Until he simply forgot, Until he had no reason to wear them anymore. I’ll never take my shoes for granted
That Mom Look by Caroline King
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Stream by Parker Watkins 70
Look at Me! by Shela Muriel
Butterfly by Shela Muriel
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Song: Here For A Reason By Jacques Moore-Roberts don’t know what I do or how I feel I just gotta heal - I just got to heal somehow granny I know you watching - I shed tears about you I keep my circle small, cause people don’t care they just wanna know your drama - so they can exploit your problems that’s messed up - but that’s the world in which we live and it’s sad that we can’t do anything about it we all got dreams, but everybody don’t believe in em - can’t force people to believe in em big blessings? I’m receiving em - remember nights when I really needed em I guess God heard me through it all - it was always my angels there along that’s why I have no fear at all - so that’s why I see clear now I told you I was reincarnated - that made me look inside the mirror and it’s safe to say I know I’m here now I know why I’m here, I know why I’m here, I know why I’m here - it gotta to be a reason I feel like I’m getting closer to this - I’m focused again - I’m going to win I was chosen for a reason real life nightmares I was right there I was rocking Reeboks when they won’t hot - never had Nike Airs they ask me how my heart got cold - let time tell it I’m a survived soul - time traveling - I know that stuff is mind-boggling I just wanna get bands properly - invest in advanced property loyalty running through my body - gift and curse let’s talk about it they say love will get you killed - they wrong - it’s only when you show it they asked me what I do to heal Saze (African origin meaning ‘loved by God’) - Bob Marley - Isoken (African origin meaning ‘satisfaction’) - dark skin just like my body
I was inside the crib when Ralph got killed - I got that call from Markus my city been having a lotta blood spilled and it be over nothing it seems everybody been paranoid - clutching they don’t wanna be the next victim - can you blame em? let’s discuss it people yelling stop the violence - but y’all can’t find no repercussions and we got the blind leading the blind what’s after that? - destruction popping percocets on missions - people heartbeat pumping sounds like sasquatch feet - they ready to die like B I G Lord forgive my people - they don’t know better - they just wanna live sasquatch feet - they ready to die like B I G Lord forgive my people - they don’t know better - they just wanna B R E A T H E They just want to breathe - They just want to breathe Lord forgive my people - They don’t know better - They just want to breathe They just want to breathe - They just want to breathe I’m here now I know why I’m here - I know why I’m here - I know why I’m here It’s got to be a reason I feel like I’m getting closer to this - I’m focused again - I’m going to win I’m chosen for a reason spread your wings - spread your wings and fly away because I know my guardian angel’s right there beside me as I walk so I’m going to let you talk - all day everything you say just add more to the flame style? too authentic - I can’t be duplicated I been trying to count my blessings - while I step to release my soul all my raps are about My Life - everything you hear is Truthful try again these people ain’t knowing that I’m locked in Foreign, Foreign, Foreign, Foreign, Foreign that’s how my dreams been Skrr, Skrr, Skrr that’s how my dreams been
Cotton Candy Clouds by Lindsey Foster
Biographies Judges Marybeth Bond ‘16 is a Ferrum College alumna who majored in Theatre Arts. She was a member of the Chrysalis staff. Bob Pohlad is professor emeritus of Biology and Horticluture. He holds degrees in Botany, Mycology, and Plant Pathology. Dr. Pohlad and Dr. Carolyn Thomas were married for 45 years until her death in January 2020. They taught and conducted ecological research together for 41 years. His and Dr. Thomas’s love for travel and the outdoors is well documented in his photography. Linda Kay Simmons is the author of three novels set in Southwestern Virginia.Ancestral stories, greatly embellished, are her inspiration. Her latest work, Pissant and Cinderella, is a fictionalized memoir shedding light on child abuse. Ms. Simmons lives in Moneta. Her Facebook page is www.facebook. com/LindaKaySimmonsAuthor . Jane Duncan Stogner is an award-winning artist who taught art at Ferrum College, retiring after 33 years as a tenured associate professor. Best known for her landscapes and skyscapes, she is also a respected leader in the art community.
Staff
Kristina Cossa from Apex, NC, is a junior with a major in Liberal studies and minors in English and Theater. In her free time she writes short stories and novel-length books. M. Katherine Grimes is a professor of English and advisor to Chrysalis. Meghann Hartman from Roanoke is a Liberal Studies major with minors in English, History, and Education. She works with Financial Aid and Conferences and Events. Daniélle Jansen Van Vuuren is a freshman from Western Cape, South Africa, and a member of the equestrian team. Caroline King from Wytheville is a senior majoring in Secondary Education with an English emphasis. She is on the golf team and the equestrian team. Makenna Lemon from Bassett is majoring in Graphic Design with a minor in Media and Communication. Her main interests include Marvel, quilting, and drawing. Abigail McGovern is a junior from Round Hill, majoring in English with a Creative Writing emphasis and minoring in History. She is a member of the Boone Honors Program, Help Save the Next Girl, and the cross country and track and field teams. Brandon Mullins is a senior from Union Hall majoring in secondary English education. He is a member of the Boone Honors Program and a tutor for the English program. He enjoys reading and writing about nature, philosophy, and fantasy. Shela Muriel is a senior from Greensboro, NC, majoring in Creative and Professional Writing and minoring in History. She wants to write and to travel around the world. Marina Powell is from Russia. She is a member of the Boone Honors Program. She likes running, art, writing, her dog, and rock music. Trent Proctor from Cleveland, Ohio, is majoring in Recreational Leadership with a
minor in Business. He is on the wrestling team and plans to become a wrestling coach. Mason Rogers from Bassett is majoring in Biology and Art with a minor in English. His main interests are children’s books, drawing, and writing.
Other Contributors D. Bruckshaw Campbell teaches English and advises The Iron Blade. Isaiah Clark is a freshman football and track athlete and member of the Boone Honors Program. He is majoring in Recreational Leadership. He loves the outdoors and music. Madison Cline, a sophomore from Christiansburg, is majoring in Agriculture with a Horticulture emphasis. She is a member of the Boone Honors Program. Casey Craddock is a senior majoring in Animal Science. She works at Titmus Agricultural Center. She is an equestrian. Her hobbies are crochet and reading. Chance Dillon from Franklin County is a senior with a Biology major and Chemistry minor. David Dungee Jr. is a sophomore from Roanoke. He is a Music Performance major with a minor in Education. Another of his interests is physics. Laura Dymond is a senior from Woodbridge. She is majoring in Environmental Science and hopes to one day be working in the forests that she loves. Mackenzie Ensley is from Smithfield. Her major is Music Performance, and her minor is Forensic Science. Her interests include practicing the violin, drawing, and photography. Lindsey Foster is a junior from Wirtz majoring in Media and Communication and minoring in Spanish. She is a member of the Iron Blade staff. Reagan Hall is a freshman majoring in Animal Sciences and Pre-Vet, and minoring in One Health Policy and Criminal Justice. Reagan plans to attend vet school and get a Ph.D. in Agricultural Sciences. Ian Hester is a freshman, even though he has been to college before. He is from Botetourt County. His major is undecided. He runs track, and he wrestled in high school. Alyssa Hogan is a senior in the Social Work program. She is from Roanoke. Makayla Hubbard from Franklin County is majoring in Biology with a minor in Chemistry. She wants to work in a zoo. Shaylise Jones from Buckingham is a Studio Arts major and History minor. Shaylise enjoys trying new art techniques and taking breaks from art to play video games. Carrie Lawton from Roanoke is majoring in Marketing with a minor in Graphic Design. She is interested in painting, fashion, crocheting and photography. Sean Makle from Owings Mills, MD, is a Theater Arts major with Acting Emphasis. Sean has a photography business called Cordon Bleu Photographie. Ashley Minnick from Henry County is a junior majoring in Elementary Education. She is a member of the Boone Honors Program, Help Save The Next Girl, the National Society for Leadership and Success, and Delta Phi Epsilon Sorority. Jacques Moore-Roberts, an English major from Hampton Roads, is an aspiring artistic writer and lyricist. Upon graduation, Jacques plans to study law. René Settle is a sophomore from Botetourt County majoring in Environmental Studies and minoring in Agricultural Sciences. Rene’ hopes to become a Soil Scientist. Nicholas Simpkins from Pembroke is a Music major and Recreation Management minor. He is a member of concert choir and plays on the football team. Jonathan Taylor is from Dinwiddie. He is a religion major and has plans to be in fulltime ministry. His hobbies include photography, church, and music. Jordan Thompson-Murphy from Hardy has a major in Accounting and a minor in Business Analytics. Her interests include crochet, cosplay, and playing video games. Parker Watkins is a freshman from Apex, N.C and a member of the football team.. Nashay Wiggins is a senior Business major from Queens, NY, who plans to be licensed in Esthetics. Nashay loves to try new things.
Secluded Night by Lindsey Foster
Acknowledgements The staff of Chrysalis wishes to thank the judges for sharing their time and expertise. The staff also thanks the Integrated Programming Board for prizes for Ferrum College student winners.
Evening Flowers by Brandon Mullins 76
