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ANDERSON COLLEGE ART AND
LITERAI
2
Ivy Leaves Staff
LaToyna Scott
Babinchak
Keith
Matt Boston Chasity Baxley
Carlo Carter Stacv Coleman
Andv
Burrelso
driving 1-85
driving 1-85 at night at seventy miles
the mind of reason/grips the
harnessed
in
body
the right seat eyes
in
an hour
strips
stark fear
mesmerized by one
shining ray unfolding mile after mile not daring to
look from side to side but straight
hands seeking something belt visioning metal like
box cars
end
to
from the devil
off the rails like
bow
in
Margaret Hayes
a puppet
into
a seat
each other
a child's blocks stacked
a tangled heap
like
an arrow
or a bullet to a target like fleeing
like fleeing
from the devil
like
upon metal slamming
end collapsing
released from a
ahead
to hold onto other than
from the devil
like fleeing
Mon
grand-pere
Papa, walking blessed the
hand
stick in
fruit
of his loins
with the palm tree's sweet wine.
He made music
with a
gnarled, carved
in his
and The
lulled the night to full
bamboo youth
stalk,
rhythmic slumber.
moon gazed, entranced
by the poignant melody of
whose brown eyes whose wrinkled quietly smiled.
Ada
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
Ezeokoli
retold
face,
this
primeval soul,
a century of earthy splendor,
upon breathing
its
last
The House Up on
the
skeletorial
hill, its
to disturb
come
to
peaceful slumber.
its
a place
shadows
with
remains
someone or something
stand, waiting for
that
But
who would
seems almost haunted
that run across the floor
as you walk by, wind that howls through the
open walls and doors.
Rain falling onto the open floors,
lightning flashes across the sky
leaving
all
who
see
feeling both horror
Where
One
is
this
this
—
great sight
and wonder.
—
place
lone tree stands
in
the yard,
no branches only a trunk pointing upward, a perching spot to
for
watch as cars pass by on
dirt
road, sending dust
into the
empty yard.
growing, making
it
and gravel
Tall
grasses
impossible to see
the animals hiding in wait
The house the
on a
is
many people
crows this
hill,
—
looking over
below, haunting
some
with each clap of thunder causing them to
shudder
Maybe we
in fear.
should
all
take a
moment
and look up
at these remains
with respect
and even
then quickly run away.
Mary Morris
fright
—
Miles linoleum print 1
2"xl 2"
Stacy Coleman
Epitaph Stranger, look
upon
this
marker and smile
in
the knowledge of the exceeding
of
my
life.
Not
that
it
was
easy,
but richly blessed; not that
I
but that
I
to
overcame the world,
now go on One who
be with the
John Lyons
did.
abundance
Les Saisons
Trees
spew
forth fire,
Valleys rage with shifting hues...
White death, backstage,
Outside children
smiles.
frost,
Taste fluffy drifts of white rain...
Angels
sifting salt.
Frozen breath escapes,
Tanned Birds
Ada
skin
pen
on white sand beckons.
their lyrics.
Ezeokoli
Sleeping through class. Stay open
.
it
through
this class.
Dry erase and chalkboards coffee wears off at
blur
last.
I'm drifting into oblivion
Where no science teacher exists And no one can remember How many classes have missed. I
fieri
Hancock
.
eyes
little
You gotta make
As my
.
Marriage oil
on panel with cheese
5'x3'4" Allison Holdredge
cloth
The Bagel Shop At the door,
I
pause before entering
considering the sanity of myself
and those
â&#x20AC;&#x201D; brewed coffee and bagels â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
inside,
assorted group of early risers
this
perfectly
that defy the still-slumbering
Not
solitary light
that
we'd choose
to sleep in for hours
we would
and
if
of dark storefronts.
given the option,
our tradition,
stick to
rising before the
world
among a town
a
inside
sun
like
the fresh bagels
to experience the familiar consistency
that suspends daily
chaos
allowing us to prepare for the day,
one hurried
task after another
where we can,
for just
peacefully sip our
just that
It's
that never
a few moments,
cream and sugar-laden
the eyes of the tired looking clerk
seems
to muster
a
smile,
the salesman's neatly pressed suit
and
the wrinkled T-shirt of a
proudly displaying
his
random
and well,
to
tattoo...
the hour,
collection of lives,
I
can't help but appreciate the purpose in
when we
our only shared experience of the day
Moore
common
leave.
each of us
being here
unknowingly acknowledge our
Jill
tie
the infinite possibilities that will meet us
has even this,
and
man
forearm
and when you consider the
coffee.
ground.
A
Home
Feeling of
Sometimes when
Though
I
pass by a particular house,
suddenly
I
is
it
sad and
feel
a house
lonely.
never lived
I've
in,
never even entered,
something about
look brings back
its
known sometime, somewhere in the past.
a happiness
I've
a feeling of home,
It
is
a
memory
of
my own
that clings
to the place,
as intangible as a wish,
as solid as a stone. It
as
is
if
I've
been
away and
left
behind something or someone meaningful,
and now have come back I
It
I
it
lost for fills
my
soul with a wistfulness
somehow
don't often feel, but
as
is
if
to the things
a while.
arms
I
once
trusted
beckon me back,
and a voice
and
my
I
house,
that
take It
is
calls to
wish with
all
my home
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
childhood place no one can ever
away
or completely forget.
the joy of being a child again
with the innocence
so
welcome me, heart it were
my
little
and
which hasn't grown up as nor
one
trust
feels
as time escapes us,
become
cautious as
I
but remains forever sealed
remembered simply as
Margaret Hayes
have,
I
have, in
love.
the heart,
Confessions. They
tell
Climbed
When
the story
when
at
I,
4
and cut her a moment.
into Frances' crib
left
alone
for just
"What happened
to this
curls
baby's hair?"
Mother laughs as she repeats my ready
lie.
Looking straight into her eyes without blinking,
Holding her scissors behind me, covered "The
rats
did
it,"
I
in curls,
answer.
My conscience was
born
when
I,
at
4
Was laid down for a needed nap Among coats and handbags of visiting
aunts.
Sparkling coin purses inside handbags beckoned. First
Then
a penny from each, then a dime, guilt,
remorse
for all of
Did they find out and I
always worried, "did
Joyce Stein
my
life.
shame me? they know?"
silently
Hinduism on wood
acrylic
24"x24" Lashanda
Salters
A Confession I
once ripped the mirror
off
my
to
park
parent's car, trying
I
the
in
it
my
To avoid
tried to fix
narrow garage.
father's wrath,
with help from a friend
it
who knew all sorts of things about cars. thought we had done a good job And reveled in my success until the next day when my father was driving to work and I
the mirror at
I
a stop
convinced
To give dollar
off
fell
sign.
me
bill,
my younger sister new crisp
her in
exchange
for
a magic quarter. I
could buy so much more with a dollar
Than I
was
I
could with twenty-five cents. quite proud of myself for
outsmarting a six year old
showed
to
Mom
until
she
the "magic" quarter.
Andrew Anderson
Solitary
I
walk over
flattened, shining leaves,
Through a lamplit
stretch of
parking
lot.
My hand, as reaching to scratch A phantom itch, searches to hold your if
I
I
down
look
am
the
lot
hand.
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
acquainted with every step
I
will take,
Trudging through a photograph I've
I
seen too
my
pull
Resting I
many
times...
step before crushing a red
in
cannot fathom why, only
Like
a drop of blood
Forgetting myself
Chagrinned as The
bloom
the sea of trodden foliage.
I
my
lift
in
a
how
solitary,
field of
snow.
up the flower,
careful fingers crack
stiffened petals,
Dry as a desert. There I
is
cinch
And
it
nothing more to know.
my
grip over the dried rose,
crackles like a
Allison Holdredge
fire in
my
hand.
Music Box
On a stage of velvet, A miniature ballerina Tiny hearts.
Gossamer
gracefully twirling,
weaves dreams for Her porcelain flesh draped in a
fabric, forever frozen in time.
Arms posed above her head, as if she Ready to take flight, instead of racing Around and around her lonely stage.
is
The haunting music of a forgotten
Composer
rises
from beneath her feet
Racing to keep up with
And
her, then
Tiny hands reach out to start the
They
slowing
stopping an instant before she does.
slip
and
the music
dance again,
box crashes
The ballerina races out of
control.
to the floor.
The music
Gets louder and louder, then suddenly Silence.
LaTonya Scott
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
Brice oil
on canvas
74"x41" Carter Boston
a merry-go-round
Life is
Constantly moving,
until
That one moment,
You
lose
And
your grasp,
fly off
Hitting the
I
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
pavement.
super glued myself to the bars,
Hoping
to
be the
Then a persistent
doused
Idea,
And
hit
I
Head
the
last
person there.
idiot with the
my hands pavement
in
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
first.
LaTonya Scott
Outside the
air
has
Settled in the crystal cold
Of
winter evening.
The rasping crawl of Fallen leaves rakes along
Midnight parking
As
the
door
lot.
clicks shut,
draw ice into my lungs, And cling to my arms. I
Allison Holdredge
same
acetone
a
Cats'll eat tuna
'Ere they'll taste
a spoon
Anything else
the fridge.
in
o'
"Cats won't touch boiled cabbage,"
new adage,
To coin a
But they'll help with the
Cats won't take
Why
just
Enough
bacon a smidge.
their vitamins.
the sight of 'em's
to
make my
kitty
cringe.
But give her a spider That'll fight
She
purrs,
back and
bite her,
"O, what a heavenly binge."
Angie Owens
The carnival
A
sits in
faded rainbow
Of
the valley
in
the midst
nature's green.
Lights as bright as the sun
High above
brilliant
once blinked here
patchworks of
tents
That held within their folds
Throngs of excitement.
Mechanical rides soared, the creaking machinery Mixing with the
And
jovial
Over
the unusual
Children laughed
Candy At
and
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
exhilarating.
coated, sticky joy
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
sights of delight.
Their voices
A
sound of music
the delighted voices of crowds exclaiming
still
drift in
the wind,
haunting sound chanting through the
Left
behind are
Faded booths and abandoned Broken
lights
and
tattered tents
Forlorn, Left for
reasons forgotten,
Nothing but a memory That
will
always
Wendy Morgan
exist.
rides,
trees.
Fumie oil
on canvas
28"x34" Tracy West
REASON In
creating a
artwork,
I
magazine format
was hoping
on campus. This allows the
and help
to create
interested
staff to
a buzz about
about
its
to display
a strong image through
to create competition
existence.
among
have more images
Ivy Leaves so that students I
also
wanted
to get
pamphlet look which other covers conveyed This
is
the artists to
a magazine, not an
Lashanda
in
away
from the
the past.
instruction guide.
Sailers
work with, become more
HV
Y
JOIN THE COMPETITION
Starting this year there will be a
competition to get your artwork featured on the front cover of Ivy
Leaves. Entries are accepted during the Spring Semesters.
This
is
would
open to ALL ARTISTS who like to
be featured
annual publication.
in this