Espial 2011
Off the Shelf
Thank you April!
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Espial 2011 Green River Community College
This publication of Espial is dedicated to all who dare to dream and all those who have the courage to put their dreams on paper. To the artists, writers, and everyone in between, this journal is a celebration of the creatively inclined who strive to make our world beautiful. And finally to our readers, who give life to this edition every time they open its pages. The students of Espial 2011 would to thank everyone who has made this publication possible. First, thanks to April Jensen (Executive Vice President) and Mrs. Ruth Fogarty of Stuart, Florida, for their continued support. We would also like to thank the faculty and staff who contributed to Espial. Furthermore, we want to thank our divisions Deans, Joyce Hammer and Christie Gilliland. Our thanks to Tony Sittner and his students for their help in printing this journal. And of course, to everyone who submitted work to the journal, thank you! Without you, this journal would not exist. Finally we would like to thank our amazing faculty advisors Avis Adams, Heather McGeachy and Gary Oliveira, whose guidance and enthusiasm led to one of our best publications yet. Espial is a collaboration of English 236 and Art 150. The students of these two courses designed and edited this journal and brought it to life. Students, faculty, and staff of GRCC are invited to submit work for our yearly publication. For information on how to submit work, please contact Avis Adams (English) or Heather McGeachy (Art).
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Table of Contents 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 30 31 32
Untitled Art Delicious Temptations Artifact As I Travel the Interstate Untitled Art The Sticky Note Enviromental Portrait Every Tree Untitled Art Gray Matter Creature Puppet Masters Untitled Art A Wasted Weekend Volar Rana Sonnet of a Soggy Fry Untitled Art Vietnam Vet: The Life Untitled Art Until Us Part from Death The Sunday News When the Earth Moves Flower Pots The Sun A Mother’s Love Untitled Art Smile Like a Skeleton
by Tina Bugert by Carola Parker by Ann Lovell by Wendy Bell by Oliver Zimmerman by Emily Kosterman by Gari Watkins by Becca Smulski by Marissa Baker by Holly O’Neal by Mel Kime by Amanda Zietzke by Jonathan Kwon by Albanna Rauoof Mohammed Abdel by Tanya Cohen by Anthony Garoutte by Emily Rider by Spencer Lee by Brittnie Vanguilder by Chelsea Grimm by Emilly Kelly by Wnedy Stewart by Cicely Natasha Sugito by Warren Koeppel by Tanya Cohen by Silas Henderson by Nicole McCarthy
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Table of Contents 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56
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Untitled Art Breaking Youth Girl Wanders Child’s Play Untitled Art Dare I Name the Harlequin? Untitled Art Empty Promises Untitled Art If there came a day Untitled Art Windows Fall from Bliss Jagged Serenity I’m sorry St. George and the Dragon Faith in a Firestrom Untitled Art Dear Friend Loss Sandman’s Gift Untitled Art I Remember... Sea Wolf The Tragedy of Sound
by Chelsea O’Sullivan by Kelly Simons by Michelle Bednarski by MacArthur Gilstrap by Alannah Hed by Tessa Woods by Euy Joo Yeo by Tina Knight by Ben Davidson by Nicole West by Colleen Davis by Darrel Borchardt by Darrel Borchardt by Hannah Anderson by Shandra Clark by Sarah Wicorek by Nicolas DeSelms by Catherine Rabould by LaVerne Gaston by Jennifer Hartman by NacArthur Gilstrap by Carola Parker by Alexis Lorenz by Victor Rivet by Alex Orlowski
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Table of Contents 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76
Untitled Art Speculations Contemplation Meet Me at Sarah’s Untitled Art Long Island Ice Tease Untitled Art Awaiting Death Untitled Art My Dog Dax Agony My Idiotic Nightmare Glimmer of Hope At the End of the Day Erased Back to My Lesbian Porn Untitled Art Dedication to Cameron Untitled A Beautiful Beginning
by Heybin Cho by Anthony Garoutte by Emilly Kelly by Briana Brooks by Brittnie VanGuilder by Nicole McCarthy by Alison Chiu by Jess Wagner by Jean S. by. Corwin Carson by Joe Kallman by L. J. Hughes by Hannah Anderson by Carola Parker by Emilly Kelly by L. J. Hughes by Catherine Rabould by Paul Yoho by Catherine Rabould by Toree Mayes
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Untitled By Tina Bugert
Delicious Temptation Dark and smooth, soft and creamy, Velvet to touch, rich and dreamy. Delights the palette with its sensuous taste, Savor the moment, but devour in haste. What is heavenly, hardly real – Mysterious as a woman with alluring appeal? Covered in swirls of liquid perfection, Could this be the most exquisite of confections? Solve the riddle; “Of what do I speak?” Why – a dessert of course that is scrumptious to eat. “Chocolate Mousse” There it is said; but of calories beware, Certain death to the girth will bring total despair. By Carola Parker
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Artifact Ann Lovell
As I Travel the Interstate A blur of cities and towns rushes by as I travel the interstate in the languid breath of predawn. Could I stop the moment and search for you? There is too little time between the interval sweep of a second hand and the rotation of a wheel. Despite the swift passage, I sense your spirit and remember our hellos and farewells amidst our laughter and the clangor of words.
remains with me as ribbons of memories are tenuously woven into bonds. Beyond the interstate, distant from my view, children wake and parents prepare for the day. A man whistles for his dog. As day edges the sky, my exit arrives. My speed diminishes; a procession of shops, homes, and crowds comes to focus. Do you stand waiting at the next intersection?
Only a flash of light, breaking sleeping shadows Wendy Bell
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Untitled
Oliver Zimmerman
The Sticky Note Green, neon as Las Vegas. Purple, brilliant as an amethyst. Blue, deep as Ocean’s Eleven. Yellow, ripe as a pear.
You will never forget if you have a Sticky Note on your: refrigerator, computer, desk, mirror, dresser, bedstead, microwave or coffee cup.
That simple, geometric shape that holds so much of our daily lives in its little size.
Immaculate, tidy, ever ready, the perfect secretary… if only it could talk! “You’re late for your scream. 4:00 appointment!” it would
The Sticky Note is to what I refer, that ordinary, startling piece of stationary that holds our crazy mission statements and briefing notes.
“Dinner at 8:00!” “Give the dog a bath.” “Anniversary coming up!” “Job interview on the 10th.”
The clinical way to remember the fastidious and the slovenly, it holds every type of writing style on its amazingly bright carapace.
So prompt, so punctual, the ideal companion to have on any endeavor. The one, the only, the Sticky Note.
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Emily Kosterman
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Environmental Portrait Gari Watkins
You see a tree, I see a story. Every tree has a story, you see.
How many branches she loses matters not. Her roots will always remain.
Her weathered, bare arms reach towards the heavens, ever so faithful.
She smiles at the harsh winter, takes pride in her weakness, spills her spirit for those who weep.
Glowing leaves, coloring her arms once, are now shamelessly discarded.
The wind carries rumors of her insanityshe cares not. After all, she might just be.
Rough, dark skin is all that can be seen, peeling off of her.
A story, you see? I see a tree.
She does not recognize Her disgraceto her, nothing is wrong. She does not fear the wind that comes to rip her apart, hungry for every peace she claims.
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Every Tree
You see, every story has a tree. Becca Smulski
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Untitled Marrisa Baker
Gray Matter Opening a sketch book Filled with iridescent colors, and curved lines. Half finished drawings, pictures without their background A drawing without its pigment Unfolding my thoughts though images Hopes, dreams, and surely, desires. Simply displayed, on a blank paper. What happens, when imagination comes to a halt? Its imagery gears grinding. Like cogs in an un-oiled clock They screech together, The images once displayed though focus— Now, become languid.
Merely seen in black and white frames Page after page, filled with empty space, Only white space. Their pages bound spirally, Its surface so white and so clear, yet so clouded, Dust filling itself onto its surface. Untouched gray-matter Lying like winters first flawless snow blanket It seems it will stay this way Nothing is worse than the dust, That molds itself onto inspiration Forever it seems to stay.
Holly O’Neil
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Creature Mel Kime
Puppet Master I’m lying in a bed of roses, my cockroach friend beside me. With his paintbrush he composes a dripping image of the sea. He sighs at me and throws it down and tells me it’s not worth it, then flips the page and with a frown starts to paint a portrait. As I try to sneak a glance of the image that’s unfolding, he turns around and makes me dance with the string that he is holding. He ties me down and braids my hair and says “it’s rude to stare.”
Amanda Zietzke
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Clock and windows Johnathan Kwon
A Wasted Weekend
A Wasted Weekend Have I wasted my time hanging out with my friends? No clock in hand, yet everyday still ends. It seems to me I can’t finish my work. “Can’t time leave me be?” I say with a smirk. We’ve run like the wolf pack throughout the woods. Going where no one else dared and looting the goods.
We fought off the hordes that boredom will bring. We strung our bows and let our blades sing. No, it was not a waste, I enjoyed all of it, every bit. I didn’t just copy and paste and now I smile as I sit. Because time gives birth to thought, a waste, my weekend was not.
Albanna Rauoof Moh
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Volar Rana Tayna Cohen
Sonnet of the Soggy Fry At the bottom of my McDonald’s bad There is a container of golden fries At the bottom is a fry with some sag Underneath where my favorite fry lies In order for some fires to be golden Others sacrifice their chance to fry right While soggy fries get stale and they olden, The golden ones beckon for a big bite How is this different from everyday? Some take their chance while others sacrifice That is why I find those who give away To be the most beautiful and most nice And that is why I love the soggy fry The best people are the ones most passed by. Anthony Garroutte
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[Untitled] Emily Rider
Vietnam Vet: The Life Oh the days I have seen, velvet skies swelling with peasants’ scream. Bodies amass filed the press release. A single monk, quenched with fire preaching peace. Oh the men I have met, in the jungle buried with sweat. Friends I had during the war, all of them dead resting beneath the floor. Oh the battles I have fought, decrepit images infect my thoughts. Can’t say what I have seen. Memories infested with darker beings.
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Oh the protests I have viewed, how can these people be so skewed? I’m fighting for the freedom of a fellow man, if you don’t agree, contemplate leaving this land. Oh the things thrashed upon me, I’d be better off dead beneath a tree. Yet society awaited, threats and beatings left me deflated, binging, dilated. Oh the corners I have dwelled, cardboard sign, dirty names being yelled. Couple dollars here, couple there enough to get a fix or bottle, I swear. Oh the miles I have collected, here’s to the gifts I have accepted. Now I rest on this free land, eyes half closed, what is left of a man.
Spencer Lee
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Untitled Brittnie Vanguilder
Until Us Part from Death Around March 2000 I see him on the field by himself during recess. I’m in third grade and still shy, but when I see he’s there by himself with not even a ball in him hands to hold; I feel bad for him. I feel like I have to do something, so I sit next to him even as he ignores me. Later in class, a girl tells me he’s from the fifth grade. Around February 2005 he stares at me and waits patiently for me to say what’s on my mind. When I finally stutter out, “I love you,” he laughs and shakes his head before he grabs my hand and leads me to class. I laugh it off lightly too. Around July 2006 he goes on vacation. He hands me an envelope before he leaves. Inside are both his house and car keys. I smile as I skip over to his house and “borrow” his car. Around September 2005 he literally drags me out of bed and into the icy morning to show me his new car: a black mustang with white trimming. When he turns around to look at me and blushes, we both realize I’m wearing only a black tank top and a small pair of white panties. He says that my clothes match his car. I blush and run back inside.
and shake my head before I get out of his mom’s car and walk around to the driver’s side. When I open the door, his expression is almost scared. I climb into his lap, close the door, and kiss him until we’re both grinning. Around August 2008 he asks if he can come over to my house. It isn’t until the movie credits are rolling and my parents have gone to bed long before that he tells me he’s moving two thousand miles away. I hold my breath for over a minute to keep myself from crying, but when I breathe out, a choked sob comes with it. Around January 2010 I got a boyfriend. I broke up with him two days later. He is nothing like him. Around February 2009 I receive a long-distance call. A familiar, feminine voice tells me there’s been a car accident. I run to the bathroom and throw up. Around April 2002 I smile and tell him he’s my best friend. He frowns in thought and says “I’ve never had a friend before.”
Around March 2010 my mom says she wishes I had a boyfriend. I tell her books are more interesting. Around Jun 2005 he tells me he loves me. I laugh
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Chelsea Grimm
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The Sunday News Emilly Kelly
When the Earth Moves Reflections on the Sendai Earthquake and Tsunami, March 20
When the Earth moves Humans huddle hopefully in doorways Grasp hands with strangers in shaking streets And, whisper, desperatelyWhere is my Daughter? Mother? Father? Son? When the Earth moves Roads rumble and skyscrapers sway Buildings, bridges, temples tumble People hold tight, awaiting their fate. When the Earth moves The water soon follows, surging to motion Oceans, lakes, rivers rise up And echo the groundswell of force from beneath.
When the Earth moves Bodies are lost; souls slip quietly away Princes and paupers all equally leveled Their common debris spread quite democratically. When the Earth moves It alters the natural order and turning of Things Civilization Shift in the ancient atlas of history Time changes and ushers in new Ages. When the Earth moves So too does Humanity With a force unseen, yet strong to the core Rising All together to much higher ground.
When the Earth moves Walls of waves flow forth in unstoppable paths Swiftly consuming everything in an insatiable mass Leaving little evidence of lives once carefully constructed. Wendy Stewart
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Flower Pots
Cicely Natasha Sugito
The Sun Brightly burns the Sun at noon. Evening comes too soon. The world sleeps and the Sun does too. Brightly burns the Sun again. Flowers worship dark’s Bain. Evening follows without refrain. The Sun does not rise this day. Gloom and gray rule the bay. Rain comes to clean the dirt away. Life renewed, creatures stir then. Flowers grow and gardens mend. To all life and Sun is a friend.
Warran Koeppel
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A Mother’s Love Letter’s from the dead series Dear Reader, As you know, zombies have taken over. It is really hard to believe that these will be my final words, but I am hoping that if you are reading this then there are survivors out there. If anyone is still trying to save civilization then I hope my final words might help in some way. I’ve locked myself in my room, but I know I have no chance of surviving the unenviable consequence of being eaten alive. I just wish that it wasn’t my children outside the door ready to kill me. Please know, dear reader, that I don’t blame them and still love them with all of my heart. It is not their fault they have become these creatures. I just wish I was strong enough to have saved them. I blame myself for being so blind. It was just a day ago my husband came home from work with this crazy story. He worked at Boeing as a programmer analyst. He said that a coworker, Mike was his name, just walked in and started attacking people. It wasn’t Mike took a bite out of Paul’s throat that they understood the seriousness of the danger they were all in. My husband was one of the men able to help tie Mike up and contain him while they called 911. Everyone else was fine (well other than Paul, that is. he was dead). The sounds outside my door are becoming harder to bare; my poor boys are so hungry. Sam came home early telling this fantastic story and proclaiming that the plant was shut down for the day until they could get everything under control. As we started watching the news, we began to see that the same events were happening all over the world with the main locations surrounding Boeing plants. Evacuation notices started to become a big possibility so we decided to pick up the boys from school.
While we were filling up the gas tank, a man came stumbling up to my husband. It looked like he was hurt and as Sam reached out to help him the man opened his mouth and just bit Sam’s arm. My husband was able to fight him off but he was bleeding everywhere. We were all panicking even as he climbed back into the car. The twins were crying and I have to say I was not controlling myself very well either. I kept screaming at Sam to get us to a hospital or to go back home so that I could stop the bleeding. Since the roads were now all blocked by abandoned cars and a confused mayhem broke out with people running in every direction, we decided to go home and hole up there. Sam was not doing well by the time we got here. He was sweating and claimed that he felt nauseous. After getting him bandaged up he insisted on helping us secure the house. By midnight, all of the power went out and we were left in the dark. The streets were quiet around 2 AM and so we thought one possibility is that the police were able to get everything under control. We decided to wait until morning to investigate hoping that by then the power might be back on, or at least we would be able to have some light to move around in. By 4 AM, everything changed. Sam became one of those monsters and he attacked our children. He was fine one minute then the next he was grabbing our children and biting into them. Even now as I sit here the image of my husband killing our children is haunting me. I know now that I will become one of them, the walking undead that will eat anything alive and then the memories of their little faces as they screamed for me to help them will no longer be there. Nor will the one of me blowing Sam’s head off with the double barrel shotgun we keep in our room. I failed my boys and I killed my husband. I better go now, my boys are so hungry and the door is beginning to splinter. The sun has just risen over the horizon and through the slits of my boarded up window I can see that there are no clouds in sight, it looks like it will be a beautiful day to die. If you are reading this please find a way to kill us. I didn’t have the strength. Sincerely, Martha Harris “Mommy’s coming guys. I’ll make the hunger go away, at least for a little while.” Tanya Cohen
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Untitled
Silas Henderson
Smile Like a Skeleton Peel yourself inside out. Get comfortable. Filter and rinse your toxins and abominable sins. There is no room for skeletons here. Find something new; find something old. Pour yourself back into your empty carcass and smile with relief. Pull out the needle and thread from your back pocket and gently sew your chest cavity closed. Day has passed and you feel different; numb. You drag a flashlight across your flesh to take stock of your organs. Veins and blood pulse and scatter as you continue up your arm and down your stomach. Rest the light on your chest to find your heart is gone. Not stolen, not misplaced‌ just lost. Nicole McCarthy
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Untitled Chelsea O’Sullivan
Breaking Youth Sorrow chokes the parlor. Wearing a smile full of grief and death, she cracks even the strongest of souls.
Optimism trips through the door, wrapped in tears of joy. She establishes her presence in peace.
Distress smacks the boarding gate; Clothed in a guise of strength, he leaves behind a forsaken soul.
Courage cries out through weeds, lying naked and exposed. Her battle with evil never ceases.
Heartache trembles up the stairs, endowed in false notions and misplaced trust. Secretly, her eyes rain with tears.
Hope shines in the empty lot, bearing the shape of empathy. Slowly, it silences all anguish and despair.
Misfortune claws at the window. Covered in greed and loathing, he spits his lethal venom.
Kelly Simmons
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Girl Wanders Michelle Bednarski
Child’s Play The pitter-patter of little feet Has taken on a stealthy tone. The blood pounding in our ears Suggest they’re not all grown. The nation’s fascination With murder and suspense Dulls the sensitivity To obvious offense. Even though we don’t believe And use a brighter light, Anyone with half a brain Rests uneasy in the night.
MacArthur Gilstrap
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Untitled
Alannah Hed
Dare I Name the Harlequin?
Dare I name the harlequin? Dare I give it a second chance? Dare I leave it to its’ dance? Its’ face is tainted with a grin Its’ features ugly, torn, perverse The white paint cracks with every smile Fake black tears, a charade most vile Laughing at the funeral hearse Time has not been kind to it, no. No, it cannot understand, Its’ mind caught in a Neverland Its’ young body cannot grow I cannot hope to coerce, For it can’t reason, tit-for-tat It’s just laughing at this, laughing at that, Laughing at the funeral hearse The little imp crackles as it spins A gripping spectacle to behold Catching the eye with bells of gold Its’ movement akin to violins Its’ bones rattle with hollow rings How does it continue to dance? Beats me I bet the devil pulls its strings
It reaches out, touches my face Smearing paint upon my cheek Black mixing with white, the gray oblique Off together, set on a chase And I knew my foe all the worse We stomped, jumped, hopped, twirled, Our sanity far long gone from this world Laughing at the funeral hearse And the mourners, they join! The paint is white beneath their skin Smudged black tears show gray within Laughing with them, the harlequin Surely it has them bound in a curse Their dark-clad forms no longer deceive For not a soul continues to grieve Laughing at the funeral hearse At the fountain, my knees do sink Mirrored in me, its’ foul smile appears And from my face, I cannot clear The black and white and gray stained ink My heart is tainted with its’ grin I have left it all to chance I have left it to its’ dance Dare I name the harlequin? Tessa Woods
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Untitled Euy Joo Yeo
Empty Promises Empty promises. Broken dreams. Said you would be here until the end, but now you’re gone like the wind. Nothing but a memory. It should have been me, instead of you. I shouldn’t have asked you to go, and cover for me. I should have went and fought. Maybe I would have died, or maybe not. Did it hurt when the bullet traveled through your head? Did you know what had happened? Or were you dead before then? Tina Knight
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Untitled
Ben Davidson
If there came a day If there came a day I would arrest your mind and steal your heart Edited by Michele Cunningham 4/21/11 If there came a day I would speak only the truth of the stars If there came a day I would say that you’re never far from my reach That the sea of love would carry you home And bring you to my feet Never fear hurt or deceit These things can never touch you Because if there came a day that you needed me I’d be there beside you
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Nicole West
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Untitled
By Colleen Davis
Fall from Bliss By Darrel Borrchardt
Desperation glances over the cliff Clothes hanging loosely from her frame Flutters in the winds during her fall into sadness
Windows By Darrel Borrchardt
Guarded is He, with clouded windows Blind is She, who sees all Unaware are they, of their choices Ignorant are we, to the results Forsaken am I, for my apathy Damned are you, upon your betrayal Shattered they be, separating us forever
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Jagged Serenity Hannah Anderson
I’m Sorry
Dear little rain drop, That just landed on my head, You fell from so far up, And now, well, you’re dead.
I’m sorry that there was nothing I could do, I’m sorry other raindrops didn’t try saving you. If only you had been more aware of the danger, That comes when you land on the head of a stranger.
Shandra Clark
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St. George and the Dragon Sarah Wicorek
Faith in a Firestorm A fireman’s life is a hard one to grasp, Living each moment in fear if it’s the last. There’s always stress, trouble and confusion, Hoping they’re strong enough to fight off disillusion. Their wives understanding as they miss dinner, If they run out of church, don’t think they’re a sinner. Answering a call is top priority, Helping out victims of every minority. Jumping from bed, fighting off cold, Knowing what to do without ever being told. They rush to the station, jump on the truck, Depending on skill, practice and luck. Putting life on the line, it’s anyone’s guess, Hoping and praying to survive every mess. “Bravest men in the world” the title is fitting, They all do their best, never thinking of quitting. Next time you’re aware and see lights blaring, Get out of their way, don’t sit still blankly staring. It’s a hard job, so show them you care, Please help them out by saying a prayer. Nicolas DeSelms
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Untitled Catherine Rabould
Dear Friend Today was the day you died, my friend because of something you couldn’t end. I wanted to drive you home that night, but instead you put up a great big fight. I wasn’t drunk; I didn’t drink, but you didn’t even stop and think. What if it had been me that day? Would you be sitting here today? I sit here and I cry for you Because I love you, that you knew, but now you’re dead and in the ground. I miss seeing your smile around. Why did you have to drink and drive? If you hadn’t you’d still be alive. I wish you were still here today. Now I have to keep them at bay the demon that you fought that day. It’s really hard not to give in Maybe just one coke and gin? But no, I will not drink because of you Till the day I die this is true. Because honestly I don’t want to be you. Sincerely LaVerne
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Laverne Gaston
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Loss Jennifer Hartman
Sandmans’s Gift I take a trip along the Nile Needing escape for just a while. Grasping warmth from golden sands, I let the grains flow through my hands.
Some find the Nile a source of life, But vibrant green creates much strife. While sands of time flow down and down Precious sands of life all change to brown.
So it goes for miles and miles And silent Sphinx maintain their smiles.
MacArthur Gilsrap 53
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Untitled
Carola Parker
I Remember... wind and the dark, gloomy sky, The cold nipping teachers’ patience are thin with the kids’ running by. The crunch of the snow and the whiz of the sleds, some are stuck home ill in their beds’. Animals’ footsteps are leaving a track, Every now and then a branch goes crack. As the night comes close everyone scatters, home to your loved ones is all that matters. Pull up the covers right under your nose, making sure it also covers your toes. The night is all over and I am sad to say, tomorrow will not be another snow day.
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Alexis Loren
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Sea Wolf By Victor Rivet
The Tragedy of Sound Late night whispers heard throughout the house, mumbling. Flickering lights across the street, off, on. Interest in hollow quiet swift crescendo. Sound is dead. A slight buzzing is heard in the distance. Lights blazing. Red cuts, black is gone for now. Blue is present. Blanket flapping in the midnight breeze, widow crying.
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One man lying beneath a willow tree cold as Hades. Lost forever, for this man time is frozen. Sound is dead. Revival, sunlight shines strong, a beacon. A solitary man holding his breath, indefinitely. Avoiding glances underneath an ancient oak. To him, Life is complete. Murderer of Sound. By Alex Orlowski
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Untitled Heybin Cho
Speculations All of my friends say to give up I cannot sleep and speculate that end Forums call me a beta wolf archetype I cannot sleep and speculate that end Two stories for every scenario winds me I cannot sleep and speculate that end Those who don’t know simply write me off I cannot sleep and speculate a friend Hate how I am for hating how I feel I cannot sleep and speculate that end No optimism will alter what others can’t see I cannot sleep and speculate what I mend
That uncertainty ebbs at my confidence I cannot sleep and speculate an end An end to these thoughts, till I know I cannot sleep and speculate to bend To negative thoughts, suppression I cannot sleep and speculate thought I mend An end to self doubt till she tells me I cannot sleep and speculate that end “Anthony, I like who you are” I want to sleep and speculate that end
Anthony Garoutte
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contemplation Emily Kelly
Meet Me at Sarah’s Can we just go back to dining on pancakes and drinking coffee? To that time when you wouldn’t let me see the bill and when I still owed you breakfast? Let’s just skip the part where I call you from time to time, where I hope you’ll pick up the phone. Because I know now that you’re gone, and that your number’s been disconnected. Let’s just go back to that booth and wait for the rain to stop. Do you remember the time we were driving around in your truck, and we got lost because you’re GPS kept leading us to dead ends? Dead ends…we’ve reached the end of you,
So now there can never be an us. I never told you that you truly were the nicest thing I have ever seen. Now there’s no more chances for something. I was told they whisked you away to California, maybe in a pretty vase? Did they find you with your eyes still open? Or maybe they found a work and spoon or pills scattered on your nightstand. Did you exhale your final breath in a white smoke cloud? Did you really hurt that much? Now I really hurt that much. So let’s meet up at Sarah’s where you’re still you, and I’m still me, and we’re both still here.
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Untitled Brittnie VanGuilder
Long Island Ice Tease Warm and soft. My head rises and falls slowly on your chest. A cool breeze slips in the room and circles us; my hair dances silently in the wind. You breathe in deep, breathe in me. I could stay like this forever. Silent. Frozen. You and I. Your heart echoes in the caves of your chest. So distant, yet demanding to be heard. You took me by surprise. You came in the middle of the night and stole my heart. I had stolen yours sometime before. What clever thieves we turned out to be. You have my heart now, the question is what will you do with it? -Will you smash it on the rocks? -Throw it in the river? -Drop it down a well I am tethered to you like a balloon to an anchor. Will you hold me tight and keep me grounded or will you let me go? Damning me to float endlessly in the unsympathetic skies until I am no more? -Will you devour my soul or keep it from harm? -Will you feed me to the lions? -Pin me to the sun? -Sacrifice me to the sea? Or will you do what I least expect?
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Stay.
Nicole McCarthy
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Untitiled Alison Chiu
Awaiting Death She’s sitting alone on an empty bench, waiting for the bus. A forgotten widow, dreaming of tomorrow. It will be here soon, she thinks aloud. And hopes she’s right. Thinking of the past, of younger times. The street lays silent. Dreaming of the future, when she will fly. Lonely no more.
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And there in the distance, the bus approaches. She smiles and breathes in one last breath. When the doors open wide, there’s a beautiful light. And finally, she goes home. Jess Wagner
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Untitled Jean S.
My Dog Dax Clumsiness, galloping over the ground Rippling feathers of gold surround The flapping tongue, ferocious sound Dedication, sniffing over the grass Bedraggled feathers; a muddy mass As snuffing loud, he makes a pass Faithfulness, casting over the field The green hairy ball unwilling to yield His search pays off, it is revealed Joy, grabbing over the sphere Slobber covers all that’s near Finally dropping it, right over here Weariness, lounging over the floor The muddy coating is no more But the golden retriever longs for more Corwin Carson
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Agony Joe Kallman
My Idiotic Nightmare OMG. OMG! I think I’m in love! Oh, wait. That was just a dream. And you were just the nightmare that played the main role. My heart was the director, and my brain wrote it. It started out great, wouldn’t you agree. Late night conversations, and long morning texts. You liked it, I loved it. I guess that says it all. I missed you, but you have forgotten. You missed me, or so you said. Awkward moments of in person hellos.
Saddened moments of goodbye. I loved you, you idiot! Dammit! You just didn’t get it. I gave you my all, and you gave me shit. Excuse my language, it’s my heart talking. My brain calls me the idiot, cause Lord, I should’ve known. But my heart was strong. But look at it now. It’s weak and mellow, my poor small muscle. How could you do this. Fuck! There goes my heart again. You know what, I’m done. Text me. L. J. Hughes
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Glimmer of Hope Hannah Anderson
aT THE END OF THE DAY
The tree does stand so grim and bare, Leaves on the ground without a care. The branches hang in sorrow deep; Within the trunk, the sap does seep. Disjointed from root and limb The old tree dies and forever sleeps; To forget the pain of body and mind Rest eternal removed from mankind. Without the spirit, the soul is gone – Without the heart, all life is none. Just a shell remains; a trunk of a tree “Who cares for what, or who it ceased to be?”
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Carola Parker
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Erased Emily Kelly
Back to My Lesbian Porn Can I be blunt with you Fags for a minute? Thanks. Who told you guys to walk around, flaunting your colors? Your kind of love is unnatural, kind of like interracial dating. Both should be outlawed. And damn right disgusting. Then you have the audacity to want to get married. How dare you!? You don’t know what love is. Only heterosexual white males know what true love is. Stupid people. Then you have the nerve to say that you don’t choose to be Gay. Choosing to be a Fag is like choosing what to eat. One day you want cereal, and the next you want waffles. And we all know what the bible says. It says it’s wrong, look in one of those chapters. I just can’t believe you people think you’re normal.
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No. You guys shouldn’t even have the right to vote. Voting is for the upper class white people. So, Gays, women and blacks should NOT vote. Why don’t you Butt Pirates get it? Guys shouldn’t be sexing other guys. It’s not manly. A real man sleeps around with tons of women. With no attachments. And watches Lesbian porn. Boy, that Lesbian porn is something else. Lesbians rule! Anyway Fags. Stop wasting our lives with your plea for attention, and get back in the closet. Now, back to my Lesbian porn.
L. J. Hughes
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Untilted Catherine Rabuold
Dedication to Cameron 12/14/89 – 05/14/10 Falling from the tree And sent to the sea He was meant to be free In thee I see A score you be Final time Near of three Tidal waves, crashing on the sea Two near of three Silent and soft Calm, the wave may be Nine of one Comes the final sun Assault on thee Tsunami Paul Yoho
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A Beautiful Beginning Handsome makes way to the isles end Wearing a stunning and costly tuxedo Coming to a practiced standstill Support proudly walks down next Wearing matching formal attire Dividing and taking place on the stairs Youth struggle to keep focused Dressed formally and maturely Positioning themselves as directed Beauty strides down the isle Wearing a gorgeous white gown Heels stopping at her groom Love kisses the bride Wearing a tux which matches the others Takes his seat next to watch the ceremony Toree Mayes
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Meet the ESPial team! Desirae Belcher Editor
Ella Cheng Editor
Michele Cunningham Editor
George Doescher
Editor and Art Coordinator
Zac Farley Editor
Alicia Hyland Editor
Samantha Koler
Contributor’s Page and Editor
Kerry Kralovic Jedi Master
Cover Artist and Editor
Angela Polupan Editor
Nikole Quincy
Keepter of the Box
Spencer Smith
Lord of the Spreadsheet
Iris So Editor
Olesya Spatarel Page Layout
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