Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art — Vol. 78

Page 1

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Anderson College Art and literary Magazine

2003


Saturday Night

The hours drift by as city lights fade, The radio singing stories of lives we'd never lead Running yellow lights we passed the time, And wished the road didn't end at the edge of town. The radio's stories of As wheels beneath us

lives

we won't lead play

rhythm Wishing the road went on past the edge of town. We drive back and forth hoping the path will change

The tires

spin a

spin out a

rhythm on the road.

Passing abandoned buildings that

litter

downtown

streets

We hope for a different ending each round we make, Young and bored with nowhere to

go.

Through downtown streets littered with abandoned Running yellow lights we passed the time

buildings

The radio singing stories of lives I won't live. The hours drift by as city lights fade.

Jeff

Massey


Tata

Evan Bugg 22"x 28" Oil on Canvas


Mama's Teapot

Pristine, white, its

gentle curves

soothe

my spirit,

appeal to the artist in

me

Open

to air

it fills

a hallowed spot in the room.

and sunshine,

Inherited from one as inflexible as the material

from which

she hid behind tears that

enough

to

fill

it is

made,

fell readily,

the pot and

more

Lacking the gracefulness that describes this simple pot,

and

hardened with a fear that misshaped her tender years, she was

filled

with a love

she could not pour out in

ways

—

that satisfied her soul,

or quenched her thirst

Margaret Hayes


HAIKU summer heat, mushrooms hidden

In the old

become dried

in grass,

sculptures.

Two Yellow Finches, gorging on sunflower seeds practiced pillagers.

Bare, snow-sprinkled trees

framed by window edged

in black,

Japanese painting.

Margaret Hayes


..

'^VS^

,

-:M

Blender Jonathan Tribble 28"x 32" Oil on Canvas


To be free from propaganda Is

the biggest

human freedom.

Human thought starts endless wonder Through I

was

the stars of Father's kingdom.

lucky,

I

was

let be.

For the answers on I

was looking deep

my questions inside

me,

And provoking two-side tension. From the outside-proud pity, Trying

to defend existence

Of disastrous cold of cities And production's truth resistance.

And inside I've got the answers, That

inspire

me with power,

Open up my knowledge sensors Just like in drought

I

don't

But

I

blooms a little flower.

know which way is truthful,

choose the one that chose me.

What I'll do if

I

love sun, and

Prefer poetry to prosing?

March 2002 Kamila Bobrova


The Album The book opens

with a cracking spine,

pages spew gray clouds into the like ghosts, rising

air

from the grave,

The thick air weighing on my tongue. Pages spew gray clouds into the the smell of years past

air,

now revisited

the thick air weighing on

my tongue,

making me think of times never ending.

The smell of years past, now revisited. Young faces made immortal even in death, making me think of times never ending, childless

mothers and three-year-old

Young faces made immortal even

soldiers.

in death.

That book opens with cracking spine. Childless mothers and three-year-old soldiers, like ghosts rising from the grave.

Aaron Archibald


Grandpa's Palm

Sundays too

and put

my grandpa got up early

his tools

on

in the

moonlit shed,

then with black hands, bruised

from labor

palmed I'd

in the

midday

trees bleed.

harvest,

made

Mama never stopped him.

wake and hear wine trunks

trickling streaming.

When clay jars were full, he'd call, and quickly

would

I

ducking daily duties

rise

and

dress,

at the house,

Listening reverently to him,

who whisded and reveled

to the palm's beat

his folk tales to telL

What did he

know, what did he

know

of time, etched indelibly on his hands?

Adaobi Ezeokoli


Untitled Chris Bailey

22"x 18" Pen


A

Parkinson's Portrait

Who Am I

am

I?

— What's my name?

forgetful

Who I

am slow

are you?

tomorrow or yesterday? Wait for me.

Is it

Don't rush me. I

am jumpy

May

Shall

spill

I

freeze?

I

my

on you?

coffee

me something

Give

to

Please don't ask to cut up I

look scary

Go

if

be shocked too,

had to look

I

me some

Find

am morose Tell

at

me

me.

kids to scare.

— Cheer me

Take Take

up.

a joke.

my mask.

off

off yours.

I am impotent What can I do about it? Go to bed with me So you can turn me

It's I

meat.

ahead, look shocked. I'd

I

stir.

my

am

old

up to you,

over.

girls.

71 next deathday or

is it

12?

Backward, turn backward, O time in your flight.

Make me

a

monkey

again,

Just for tonight. I

am

medicated

Where's Sinemet,

my fix? I

love you.

I'm just a Parlodel junky.

I

AM FRIENDLY — Feel me! Hug

No A

But belly

Who am I'd

I?

me!

— frame hug, to belly!

Damn you,

be safe in a nice

Where sometimes

James Parkinson.

cell, in a I

feel

I

If

it

wasn't for you,

straight jacket,

belong.

bill

bridges


Untitled Rachel Warren 28"x 34" Oil on Canvas


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Clay


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Alley Parnell 12"

Clay


Death of a Box Turtle

Hollow turtle shell, inside open without shame to the sun,

and the

rain,

—

me who found you on the ridge and even

looking

like a

waiting to be

cup filled.

bony remnants

Left with only the

of your former

you knew

life

self,

intimately

living close to the

soil,

caressed by grass,

comforted by sun, nourished by

rain.

An accident, I'm sure, turned you up just

so,

(one doesn't give up easily)

and then you surrendered as

do

shells

from the

—

in surprise,

sea,

and as even must I, to what will be the journey's end for

all

of

us.

Margaret Hayes


Untitled

Theresa O'Rourke 5"x 7" Black and White Photograph


.

Pilgrimage

Who are these pilgrims stomping through Provence? Don't they

know

that stone lips never kiss,

That no echo of faith still hangs in the air? That now cats eat Mass on crumbling altars? But lo! Hear the booming bourdons Cutting through the dusty air!

Nimble

voices

and fingers untie

To praise God everywhere! Bill

Bill

Bridges was a faculty

1964-1991.

He

member

Bridges

of the music department at Anderson College from

passed away in February of 2003.

The rays of sun will whisper gently: Wake up, wake up new day is waiting! Don't miss these early hours sleeping

Most precious moments morning's The smell of flowers is so teasing .

—

giving. .

I'm falling into sea of dreaming.

My heart feels weightless when I'm stretching And makes me sigh-Life is Amazing! I'm looking up above the skyline

And

thoughts are soaring in

warm air.

My gorgeous home, my kyrgyz mountains, Oh,

how

I

miss you

when

I'm here! April 2002

Kamila Bobrova


Summer's Child

A big bullfrog croaks splashing across the cool creek, small bare feet follow.

Jennifer

Rose Keel

The Fourteenth

I

make my last handshake of

with

and

the day

my office doorknob

battle to the nearest flower shop,

racing against the countless other determined men.

Securing the I

first

lead the line of

bunch

I

see,

men

swiping a plastic card for a scentless trophy:

A dozen perfections impaled on twelve crude

sticks.

Elizabeth

Aaron


34"x 46" Oil on Canvas


.

Alice

wake up! You're falling again. You spoke and shouted unruly things

Alice

Riddles of talking Cheshire Cats

A queen and king that ruled you out You spoke and shouted unruly things A rabbit late for tea with men?

The queen and king that ruled you out,

What did you do to make them

shout?

A rabbit late for tea with men, Is this

what brought the

state you're in?

What did you do to make them shout? Reason? Logic? Or lack within? Is this

what brought the

state you're in?

Riddles of talking Cheshire Cats.

Reason,

logic,

and lack within

Wake up Alice!

.

.

You're falling again.

LeAnne Gray


Three Haiku

Dragonflies linger,

Rapidly thrashing their wings

They Rain

slide

falls

on the water.

silendy

Tap-dancing on the surface

Of

a glass skylight

Purple roses sprout

Horizons of lavender In white babv's breath.

Jessica

Gregory


.

She Danced By

Autumn of

childhood,

her well-placed bun

fallen,

dust covers her

a bottle forgotten.

like

As dew moistened pines creak, night comes, she must leave Cool amber lamps of night posted. I'd

wait and watch those night lamps usher twilight in sneaking whispering

When the fall breeze hastened, she'd quiver, and

in the

gray sunset

I

would stand and

listen,

hearing distant melodies of fading jazz. Parting reluctantly from her,

who had shown winter's chill approaching and nature's slumbering face bowed.

Did we feel, did we know the last dance?

Adam Foster

Mykonos Night dew teases her

frilled petticoat

Sun runs gentle fingers through her As Diana picks early morning lilies Gandhi sits at the field's edge

hair

—

Feet crossed, back to the setting sun

Adding final touches Harriet

to Theresa's robe

Tubman whispers

to

—

them

The river bank her respite

A curious butterfly trapped in her lace hem. In

Mykonos

the roads are red brick

Brazen under the sun's glare

Kennedy and King Jr. Play the lyre and harp

And Mykonian

angels dance.

Adaobi Ezeokoli


A Life

Remnants of

The nail's point was Like the edge of an It

sparked the

Nails

sharp, icicle,

memory of

hammered

the

into the

Fibers of the oak bed frame.

The hands of

the clock

moved

arms Of the windmill blowing on

Across

its

face like the

The land of

her father's farm,

Slowly, quietly

—

never stopping.

The viola found on Its

Of

neck

the dresser,

slender, like the

neck

the wine bottle found on the

Kitchen counter, vacant from

The thirst of an angry man. Jessica

Gregory


Journey of Anticipation

Tracy West 72"x 76" Oil and Acrylic on Fabric


Self Portrait

Brian Burrell

32"x40" Oil on Canvas


e

Ivy

Design Editor Chris Bailey Christin Bradley

Sarah Colson Rich Gregory Jason Johnson Joshua Foe Annabelle Robinson Jay Strickland Renee Tanner

literary Editors

Aaron Archibald Tanner Cappe

Ada

Ezeokoli

Jessica Gregory Kurtis Miller

Advisors Wayne Cox Jane Dorn

Cover Design Sarah Colson

ieavee Staff


The cover design expression.

I

expressive faces.

are

in

color:

is

based upon the definitions of

used them as a backdrop for the If

you look

emotion,

closely, ,

three worde

and

feeling.

This emphasizes worde that characterize the five faces. The five faces convey

some

of the emotions

and writers when they forms of art depict an

or feelings felt by artists

compose

their work.

All

emotion and also create an emotional response

from the audience.

Ivy

Leaves

is

a

campus

publication

in

which

students express themselves. May this book inspire

you to express yourself through an

art form. Sarah

Co\eor\

Graphic Designer

2003


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