Archbishop McNicholas High School 6536 Beechmont Avenue Cincinnati, Ohio 45230
Table of Contents Writers
Pages
Artists
Pages
Bartel, Leah Beck, Margaret Boehm, Mark Carmosino, Devin Dill, Adam Disalvio, Patrick Edwards, Taylor Frenzel, Scott Fritz, Kayla Gentry, Phil Gerome, Alex
19 38-40 23 4 17 46-47 54 5, 33 21 11 4, 7, 11, 14, 20, 22, 24, 29, 31, 34, 35, 37, 43, 50, 51 25 8, 12, 16, 27, 35, 36, 44, 49 14, 45 15, 52 44 21, 26, 41 56 7 48 54 55 13, 51 8, 41, 45 53 6, 31 9, 22, 34, 42, 49 20, 32 42, 50 6, 24, 28-29 16 18 10, 30 2
Bechtol, Kelsey Dornbach, Alley Fay, Sarah Forsthoefel, Matt Fortin, Emily Hayslip, Patrick Higgins, Connor Kaimer, Ericka Kaising, Erin Meineke, Alison Miller, Bridgett Scott, Lauren Simmons, Megan Tierney, Gillian Wright, Francine
44 7 27 cover 13, 47 9, 41 17 20 10 6, 19, 30 8, 21, 31 42 cover 1 22, 37, 43
Glaser, Drue Heineke, Anna Huffman, Peter Lynd, Danielle Marcum, Alec McPhillips, Evan Miller, Bridgett Paquette, Joe Parra, Andrew Powell, Loren Rehl, Kristen Ruwe, Sarah Schmidt, Ben Scott, Nicole Sheehan, Maggie Shrader, Corey Simmons, Megan Swing, Christiana Timmons, Drew Timmons, Kyle Verbryke, Patrick Weir, Maddie
Chief Editor: Megan Simmons Editing Staff: Mark Boehm Drew Timmons Moderator: Mrs. Meloney Feldkamp Special Thanks to Consultants: Mrs. Valerie Combs Sterling Shaw
Photographers
Pages
Beckman, Rita Constable, Alex Crooker, Anna Evans, Rebecca Gabbard, Sammy Kaising, Erin Losekamp, Tony Neltner, Joy Weiler, Katie
36, 49 12 51 32 3 15 26 48 34
Special Note: John William Waterhouse’s The Lady of Shalott, page 56, was found on www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com. Works by J.W. Waterhouse are in the public domain.
Reflections is a co-curricular publication of the English and Fine Arts Departments of Archbishop McNicholas High School, 6536 Beechmont Avenue, Cincinnati, Ohio 45230. It features original poetry, formula poems, reflections, songs, a short story, artwork, responses to famous paintings, and photography of students in grades 9-12. Archbishop McNicholas High School does not necessarily endorse the content of any of the writing, artwork, or photography, but offers the magazine as a vehicle for creative expression. 3
Never Forgotten It started out a normal day The clear blue sky complemented the Manhattan skyline as the sun began to rise People shuffled to work, too busy living to realize What was going to happen that fateful morning All of a sudden, a ramrod of light pierced tower 1 Flames shot out, lives were snuffed out Like candles on a birthday cake Friends held each other Strangers held hands Husbands called their wives And mothers called their children. People underneath took the stairs The people above opened a window For a moment they soared Free of the pain and sadness of this world, They fell - like a bird with a broken wing And as one we cried This great nation filled with all different people Different tongues lamented And hands of different colors held fast For as different as we might be, Sadness is a universal language We will forgive someday But we will never forget what we lost You can turn out the lights but you will still see We burn flames for the ones we lost We will never forget you Lost but never forgotten Devin Carmosino 4
Betrayal - lyrics When something you love Is put on the line And everything you know Becomes a lie When all hope is lost And the ground turns to frost Let thy will be done To whomever thou chooses
Alex Gerome
What I didn’t know it but this Dumpster keeps on gettin’ deeper I didn’t know it But my anger can’t get any steeper You built me up You fed me well A lamb for the slaughter Well I’ll tell you I’m not down I’ll just work harder
You’re Missin’ An avalanche But you can’t Make it stop A phoenix from the ashes A diamond in the rough A star burning brighter Oh I’ve had enough I don’t need a helping hand Cause I know who I am I’m a star, I always glisten I’m gonna show you What you’re missin’
I feel at the bottom But I’ll be at the top Cause you can watch An avalanche But you can’t Make it stop
I may be flexible But even rubber tends to break I really didn’t know how Much more of this I could take And the only way to find out Is when it’s all way too late
A phoenix from the ashes A diamond in the rough A star burning brighter Oh I’ve had enough
I feel at the bottom But I’ll be at the top Cause you can watch An avalanche But you can’t Make it stop
I don’t need a helping hand Cause I know who I am I’m a star, I always glisten I’m gonna show you What you’re missin’
A phoenix from the ashes A diamond in the rough A star burning brighter Oh I’ve had enough
I didn’t know it But I’m a door mat bein’ used I didn’t know it But winners never seem to lose You couldn’t shout Any clearer Without saying a word But my voice won’t be silenced I know I’ll be heard
I don’t need a helping hand Cause I know who I am I’m a star, I always glisten I’m gonna show you What you’re missin’
I feel at the bottom But I’ll be at the top Cause you can watch
Scott Frenzel
5
Sleepy Darkness I lie in bed wanting, waiting to sleep. I lie in bed where to my head dreams slowly creep. I wait for the darkness to consume me. I wish for the darkness to take me to faraway places across the sea. I wish for the darkness to relax my body and free my mind, And to carry me to worlds where people are so kind. Come to me Hypnos and Morpheus, Sleep and Darkness, my dear old friends! Come to me, when my day ends. Drew Timmons
Alone She’s alone, That girl everyone talks about. Can’t you see? All she ever has is doubt.
She’s alone, That girl that always has a smile. She’s dying inside, But will always go the extra mile.
She’s alone, But you will never see that side of her. She’s broken and in need of help, Because her life is just a blur. She’s alone, But not a soul knows. She seems quite happy, but in reality, Her life is coming to a close.
6
Maggie Sheehan
My Creed I believe in the goodness of others, The importance of education, The lessons mistakes can teach us, The good things that come from taking risks, The necessity of truth, honesty, and trustworthiness. But the belief that you don’t have anything to offer to the world is ridiculous. I believe in caring about the welfare of others, I believe that faith will brighten up your life, I believe in a peaceful world, solidarity, unity, harmony. And I believe in the fact that nothing is handed to you; you have to earn it. Joe Paquette
The Tide The tide It grounds us, traps us It suffocates us And it gives us life The tide - it goes against us, unless we go with it Alex Gerome
7
Senior Year A small hand blindly reaching Tugging at the floor Fingering the satin threads Folding and tucking, We did like the shapes and the attitudes Ben Schmidt
Dreamland
When I lay down to sleep I dream of the big blue sky. And into that sky I leap To spread my wings and fly Into a world of light Full of hopes and wishes Where imagination takes flight, And we can dive with the fishes Or soar in the sky. Everyone is happy, everyone belongs Stars and colorful planets shimmer up high As we gather ‘round a bonfire to sing our songs. But daylight begins to break And I take to wing once more And in my bed I awake But my heart continues to soar. Anna Heineke
8
Acquainted With Death Stillness. I’m called by a newly widowed Dressed in white, Then by her cunning husband Dressed in crimson. I’m summoned by her, Then beckoned by him. Close behind is faith, But closer: laughter. Faith of uncertainty always Vague and misguided. Like a child, the blind hope. “It will change.” “They will cease.” “I will leave.” But I won’t. They won’t. It won’t. The sun beats unforgivingly, But I haven’t seen the day in years. And he never will. I finally arrive. She had changed her shirt: Crimson to match his. I have been acquainted with death. Corey Shrader
9
bitter tea poetry this poem will be bitter, the way i hate my tea to be. it will be about boyfriends and backseats. it will be about my father’s approval or the very ironic lack thereof. it will be about parties and people and other things i don’t like that much. this poem will be bitter, the way i hate my tea to be. it will be about laughter and late-night confessions to my mother, it will be about my best friend and my favorite socks and my thousands of little things. it will be about a boy who drinks green tea. it will be about all the things i don’t ever say out loud and all the things i can’t write down anymore because people find the things you write down and then you don’t have anything for yourself. it will be about the itchy-skin feeling of wanting to leave where you are and the way you sometimes want to stop being your parents’ kid. it will be about all the paintings i don’t finish. it will be the things you find out about your family at a too-young sort of age. it will be my three without-permission-piercings. it will be the poems (this one) that i’m afraid are too cliche and it will be bitter, the way i hate my tea to be. Maddie Weir
10
One day You stay home, To avoid people. You stay away from mirrors, to avoid yourself. You can hide forever. One day you will realize. Alex Gerome I do not understand Why people hate gay people Why they are not allowed to be married Why there are some people who think that other people having equal rights will send this entire nation to hell But most of all I do not understand Why people dislike gay people so much They are the exact same as all of us (the only difference is their preference on who they love. Just because they are different from you does not mean they are trying to do anything bad at all) What I understand most Is that every one is the same The color of your skin, gender, or sexual preference Does not change the one basic thing about us That we are all human Phil Gentry
11
Nature’s Fireworks Bursts of light in the sky Mark each 4th of July
They make no sound but all behold Their colors burn from green to gold
Loud explosions sound in ears At celebrations of Chinese New Year’s
Nature’s fireworks are brief But they shine bright in every leaf.
But the greatest fireworks of all Happen each year in fall
Anna Heineke
Reds and oranges burn on the trees And yellows and purples adorn the leaves
12
The Rematch Until we moved to Ohio, I’d never heard of McNick. For high school, I was supposed to go to Newport Catholic. But that all changed when my mom married Steve. My home town and my friends we had to leave. But I loved McNick after all And junior year we played NCC in football. I couldn’t wait to see what the outcome would be. For my cousins still went to NCC. This game was a big deal to my family. My cousins and I had a rivalry. They had beaten us the year before. And they claimed they would do it once more. In August the day finally came For the long awaited game. It was a bright sunny day. Many people were lined up to pay. Grandpa walked in and the collectors ignored. He got into everything by carrying a clipboard. The field was so green and the bleachers shined I could picture us winning in my mind.
With a few extra inches, no glasses, or braces I could see the confused looks on their faces. It’s truly amazing how much can change When for three years you have been estranged. There’s the kick-off! The game had begun. Around the field I watched the players run. We scored, they scored, we scored once more. I could barely cheer over the crowd’s roar. As I watched I was on my tip-toes, Anxious as the points rose and rose. When the buzzer sounded I almost couldn’t believe The victory McNick had achieved! The game was done. Hooray! We won! And to the convent steps we had to run. We were as happy as could be. As we began our jubilee. “Hey Rockets! What’s the score?” “Twenty-seven to twenty-four!” Then the players sang the song. And we cheerleaders sang along. And so I thought as we sang and cheered I couldn’t wait to see my cousins’ sneers. I was leaving for our family dinner soon. Boom chica-rockachica-rockachica-boom! Sarah Ruwe
On the field I saw a few NCC teammates. They were my former junior high classmates. I mustered my courage and thought I’d be brave. In their direction I smiled and waved.
13
Horace and the Thesaurus I met a guy whose name was Horace Who told me he’d lost his thesaurus. Said I, “I’ll try and take a look For your misplaced synonym book. But, if the book I should procure, I’ll need a description to be sure.” The kid replied, “A lovely hue Of cerulean, ocean-blue, Cyan, turquoise, and bluish-black Was this thesaurus, on the back. The front, a shade of ochre mellow, A bit darker than lemon yellow, In retrospect, it may be gold, The cover shows distress; ‘tis old. The copyright from ’74, A tenth edition – or maybe more. The sixty-fifth page is ripped out, Of that fact I have little doubt. My cat attempted to play with it, And it was torn a considerable bit.
The pages yellow, stained from wear, But this edition’s ‘specially rare. It’s sentimentally attached To me, and from me cruelly snatched. Irreplaceable and dear, And now gone far away, I fear. I cry, I weep, I sob, I mourn, I feel depressed and quite forlorn Over my dear dead book of mine, A thesaurus so rare and fine, ‘Twas made for no one else but me. (I monogrammed the front, you see.) About six inches tall in height, And in the columns, notes I’d write. So precious to me, but now lost; I wonder how much a new one costs?” As he kept ranting with his voice, I noticed outstanding word choice As evidence that he did read it. Said I to him, “You sure don’t need it!” Peter Huffman
Poetry A form of music without a tune A sense of being without a beholder A fantasy that becomes reality Alex Gerome 14
The Goodbye I love the way the shadows fade and halo around his head, And the smile that grows, the fingers and toes that spread across the bed, And those beautiful eyes, the grins and the sighs, upon which I am fed. So I wonder and wish, and hunger and fish for some clue to what he’s thinking, But I’m sad and I’m scared and I’m still unaware, and I feel my heart is sinking. So how can I hope, and why do I need something so sweet and pure? Because I’m lucky right now to mop the sweat off his brow and have our lives appear secure. But my love it will fade and the time it will wane until it is no more Because he will move on when night becomes dawn and memory is all that remains.
Danielle Lynd
15
Who’s Acting (Response to Acts of God) The sky darkens, shadows fall You hear the wailing siren call. Death and pain surround you, And you’re not sure what to do Or who to blame. Is this all just a game? Is there someone up there Who’s trying to give us all a scare? If life’s a stage is all this an act Or are these doing fact? Birth and death are His on a whim Punishment, too, for unknown sin. Is He to blame, or are we? Perhaps, it’s all up to me.
Anna Heineke
Our Identity
What is it that I see That others seem to be? Hidden in the dark As if they are marked Just like a prisoner. Wanting only to be seen. They only know to act mean. I see in them light While only they fight. For everyone is good. God’s image is what we make it, So let’s act together to make it fit. Our choices aren’t set in stone, So we must change our tone. To be as God wanted us to be. 16
Kyle Timmons
My Piano I want to play my piano, Less the power will die, All in life with their piano, Not a soul will cry, So I’ll cry to myself tonight, But I will not close my eyes, Because I’ll be up making music tonight, When nothing brings such bliss, An eternity’s gone that you have missed, I watch the clouds go by, And wave my flag in the air, Sink as the time goes by, And live my life on this chair, The cost outweighs the victory, And without eyes I cannot see, Look at me now there’s nothing to do, But sit and pray all day, When everything still gets in the way, I’ll be up playing my piano, I want to play my piano, Less the power will die. 17
Adam Dill
Silent Day I hear a new voice singing, one that rings crisp and clear. It rings through silent canyons, filled with smooth and polished metal of varied colors. These heaps of dusty hue, red, green, blue, yellow. Now they lie abandoned, never to be used again. On either side of these canyons are towers of metal and rock, open faced and blackened. Out of their faces rush huge glowing rivers of liquid that shine and glimmer in the newly risen sun. These rivers run smoothly and slowly, down in a flow that will never stop. Through these canyons are scattered thin white bodies, reclining in the sun. Never moving they lie, partaking in the warmth of the new risen sun. They don’t dare to stir, even to touch the passing animal, dog or cat, which quickly moves away, in their eternal quest for life. They lie there in rain or sun, in cloud or snow. Seeming to always enjoy the weather, no matter how hot or cold. They grin upward at the birds, which fly on gentle wings through these silent canyons. This new voice also rings through silent fields. These fields, like the surface of a crater scarred moon, charred and blackened with soot. Here and there is the broken surface of some building forsaken long ago by its occupants, left to rot in the sun. One building, a tower of thin metal sheets, glances through open windows in every direction. Here too are the reclining white bodies, lying among metallic birds that will never fly again. Birds fly over these fields, looking down in pity at their metallic brethren. This field is covered by grasses, who listen quietly to the new voice singing its song. The voice reverberates through shallow seas, pierced by wooden shards of abandoned usage. Here also lie the smiling thin white bodies, partaking of the seagulls and fish. They lie scattered among metallic bodies, ripped open and submerged long ago. The fish dart in and out of these bodies, flying between chairs and table, cups and plates, all now lying abandoned. This new voice echoes across the land, ocean, and air. It enters into every space and hangs thickly on the air. This new voice, though silent, is as fast as any wind and as clear as any bell. It sings not only of a new world, but of one abandoned long ago. This new voice sings crisp and clear, on yet another silent day.
Patrick Verbryke 18
Drenched Phenomenon Please cry. I wish to see the drops roll out of the crevices of your eyes. I can only hope to hear you sniffle, to see you run for a tissue, to hear a sob escape from your pursed mouth, your pursed soul. Soon enough my tears drenched everyone I knew and strangers. Because if you cry, maybe I’ll be able to too. They felt the weight of their damp clothes. My eyes are made of cement, They saw the reds of my eyes, the shininess of my they never leak. cheeks. Yet, my eyes are controlled by my They have a choice. heart which is made of stone. They can wring out their clothes or, My face wears a mask as nifty they can cry too. as Zorro’s. They choose to cry. Keeps everyone out and keeps me and Soon enough, everyone is soaked to the soul and somemy tears in. thing funny begins. But what if I leaked? We begin to laugh, What if a crack formed in my chuckle, wall as hard as rock that slowly giggle. spread down to the base? We talk to one another like we never had before, Then one day, something very simple, full of meaning. something like a bird landing on We all knew who each one of us was. my cement wall cracked it. We all loved one another because we all understood The water held by my wall came what had just happened. rushing down. So I’d like to ask you, what would happen The sound of the water could only if we all be described as a shriek of pain, would simply and relief. cry?
Leah Bartel
19
A Thought from the Top of the World “We are in this universe, but perhaps more importantly, the universe is in us.� -Neil Degrasse Tyson Surrounded by Gray-tipped ashen skies, icy wind. Snapping, biting. It breathes Alive The crusted earth spins below White smoky sycamores, fine-toothed branches Prodding, swaying. Prickled like goosebumps Alive And the snowy rivers Half-frozen currents, black ice Rushing, pouring. Throbbing watery arteries Alive
Gone Gone Like the wind During a storm
I am on top of the world Lungs and skin and blood, human Observing, studying. Impossibly small But alive
Here Like my heart Beating beneath my shirt
I am on top of the world, And I am alive Because the world is alive
There Like the birds Who have two homes
Megan Simmons
Where Like the destination That goes unplanned Alex Gerome
20
Fight the Good Fight
Response to “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” Do not give up on this good life Do not walk toward that peaceful light Do not halt the beating of your heart Do not wander into the dark There’s too much to cling to, too much to lose Too many loved ones praying for you All of these memories and lives that you’ve touched Are the reason you can’t go, they mean too much What do I tell the children when asked, “Why did my grandpa have to pass?” I can’t honestly say it was just his time, Grandpa was old and he lived his life I cannot believe that God would steal A soul so sweet, with words that could heal Please don’t leave I have so much to learn There’s tales to be told, words to be heard. But I know you must go, if not now then soon And so I depart from this despairing mood But there is one thing that I ask for through love Please watch over us from up above. Evan McPhillips
Failure Failure is infinite darkness It sounds like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard It smells like rotting eggs in the trash It tastes like stale brownies covered with expired icing Failure feels like a never-ending nightmare
21
Kayla Fritz
Lost Face of an Entheonaut Romance is lost! My eye for passion sinks lower to watch the Twisted face of freedom. Its dull jaws could crush even the Fearless wanderer. His eyes shoot upward, Begging for a task. And could you believe it? His throne made not of stone, His bone made not of bone, but His heart A holy grail of youth A pinnacle of truth And I Sit staring at the smile It mocks me Scoffs at the oral contrast. But parallelism will prevail. Too soon. I collapse: Never stop searching! Never stop searc Never st Ne Corey Shrader
Breathe The cool air fills my lungs The salt stings my nose The waves are music to my ears The sand is heaven beneath my toes Paradise is here Where I can breathe, and feel, and be Here, Anything is possible. 22
Alex Gerome
Breach (My Strong Will) A man I trusted once told me That he’d always have my back. He called me brother Said we shared a holy mother But as soon as I mentioned A lover with a man’s name He started playing cruel games. And no matter how many tears he saw He made me suffer through it all. A saint in mind trying to leave his sinful past behind.
Then I better do what you can’t And practice what I preach. So even with all your pushing My strong will you won’t breach. Every tear I shed Made hate my desire. Every verse you threw at me Only gave fuel to the fire. You thought you were saving me But I only resent everything You think you stand for. You think you’re a prophet But you just want the profit And the heaven you preach about Ain’t the one I’m aiming for. So let me say this and settle the score.
I want to hate you! I want to cry when I think of your words. I want to forget you! Go on not thinking of your name. I want to be gone! Run into the rain every time you open your mouth. But if I really want coexistence Then I better do what you can’t And practice what I preach. So even though you keep pushing My strong will you won’t breach.
I want to hate you! I want to cry when I think of your words. I want to forget you! Go on not thinking of your name. I want to be gone! Run into the rain every time you open your mouth. But if I really want coexistence Then I better do what you can’t And practice what I preach. So even though it’s weakening It’s still rock solid My strong will won’t let you breach my heart. So even though it’s tempting I won’t ever strike you down.
Who are you to throw stones With your racy past? Look me in the eye and tell me Sinner to sinner that I’m worse than you. Then lie to me and say that it’s the church’s word. Well your self-adoration stops here This whole thing’s gone south Besides I’ve heard enough from your poisonous mouth I want to hate you! I want to cry when I think of your words. I want to forget you! Go on not thinking of your name. I want to be gone! Run into the rain every time you open your mouth But if I really want coexistence
I’m gonna practice what I preach And forget that you’re a leech. Gonna practice what I preach Give you your two hours to teach. I’ll practice what I preach And I’ll keep playing nice But know when I get home A man will be my choice of “vice”.
23
Mark Boehm
Happiness Happiness is walking into the hospital and seeing your newborn baby brother Happiness is wrestling with your dad, who’s always away on business trips Happiness is having lunch with your mom at Wendy’s and it’s just the two of you. Happiness is reading the book The Necromancer and you can’t focus on anything except finishing that book, even if you’re getting ready for exams Happiness is getting your first kiss from a lovely girl at the Homecoming Dance Happiness is smiling all day long because you got a part in the winter play Happiness is making a wish on a star and waking up the next morning to see that it came true Happiness is receiving letters from people that tell you that they love you Happiness is getting your first pay check and seeing that you made over two hundred dollars Happiness is thinking about happy memories and writing your heart about them. Drew Timmons
Courage Courage is doing something, Even if it’s the hardest thing to do. Courage is speaking out, Even when the consequences are grave. Courage is being a dare devil, Even when the stakes are high. Courage is going into something, Not knowing the outcome. Courage is lending a hand To your worst enemy. Courage is facing your fears. So will you join me on the yellow line- or walk the sidewalk? 24
Alex Gerome
Fire Fire is an inanimate object and therefore is incapable of having feelings. But he always takes rage, always has the chance to ruin something, always wants to take revenge and erase whatever he is attempting to destroy. But worst of all, fire’s favorite thing is the ability to spontaneously spiral. Fire holds a power over us. He likes to dangle his gift over our heads as if we are dogs, being forced to sit and perform our best tricks in order to get that treat, get what we want. He is a devil who laughs at our distress, who gets in our way, and makes us hot and angry. But there is a little bit of good in everything, right? Fire can be a light, a beacon in the night, a big hug feeling, beauty in its simplest form. We revolve around fire. And not in some poetic, metaphorical way that a good writer could make sound interesting; we literally revolve around fire. The sun is our light, it is our heat, and it can cheer us up after a rainy day. The sun can be a smiling face in the corner of a 6-year-old’s coloring sheet, a source of hope for another day, warmth that surrounds and engulfs us in a hug of yellow colored rays. The sun can make a rainbow shine. It can make beautiful fireworks on the Fourth of July, which gather family and friends together to gaze at the sky in complete awe. Fire heats our ovens and helps us make delicious brownies and cookies from Grandma’s kitchen, whose scent brings us to reminisce on a not-so-good day. Fire can build us up and break us down. But can’t everything in our universe do that? Fire is a solitary object, likes to work alone. He has no partner in crime or little angel helper who sprinkles dust over things to make his master appear. Fire is, but fire does not want. Or if it does, what does it want? What are fire’s goals? What does he wish to achieve? Does he think in its blaze racing thoughts, or a simple concept such as punishment, envy, or destruction? If fire does think, where is its brain? What was his life source? How did fire come to be so angry and distressing? What was the source of fire’s unhappiness and unrest? Could it be that someone awoke him from his slumber, asleep in the vast, empty dimensions of the universe? Or could it be that he just doesn’t enjoy being at a boiling temperature at all times? Does fire wish to cool down sometimes? If given the chance, on a hot summer’s day, does fire wish to just swim in the pool? Is fire envious of the cold or living beings? When introduced to snow, was it love at first sight, but just not meant to be, which tore him apart, and he’s been angry ever since? What made fire so unfriendly? But fire is said to be inanimate, isn’t it?
Drue Glaser 25
Love Love is undying, the immortal soul Of men and women and the world we know Love brings joy to a world full of pain Gives the lowest of the low elegance and grace Everyone is equal in Love’s lowly eyes It makes men with hearts of stone break down and cry Love makes cripples feel they could fly Love lives on even after we die Love makes you do things that you would never try Love makes sane men lose their minds Something so simple yet something so sweet, Sweeps the strongest of people off their feet It flips your whole world on top of its head And keeps you awake while you lie in your bed It paints your mind with beautiful scenes of your one true love as they haunt your dreams There is no escaping through life or death It follows thereafter you take your last breath Embrace this idea, hold it in your heart Because everyone knows that’s where love starts. Evan McPhillips
Belief Do you stop believing in the moon during the day? Do you stop believing in the sun when clouds block the way? Do you stop believing in spring when winter drags on? Do you stop believing in night with a new dawn? Do you stop believing in light when all is shadow? Do you stop believing in truth when you don’t know? Do you stop believing in dreams when you awake? Do you stop believing in life when death makes your heart break? Do you stop believing in warmth because of a freeze? Do you stop believing in wind with a lack of a breeze? Do you stop believing in hope when all is despair? Do you stop believing in yourself because you think nobody cares? Well I don’t and you shouldn’t cuz the moon will still glow, The sun will still shine and the plants will still grow. The light will be back if you just let it blaze, The truth will be known, it has its ways. The dreams will return when you drift off to sleep, Life will carry on after you weep. The wind will blow and hope will surge like the sea, As long as you believe in yourself and let your heart be free. 27 Anna Heineke
Faceless Reflection “Can I look into your eyes?” Those were the words he asked before everything hit the fan. It was in the school theatre when Jack came in. Jack and I decided to do the school’s production of Hamlet. We’ve been good friends since freshman year. Jack has been in theatre for most of his high school years. Because he was a senior, this was going to be his last show, and he wanted to go out big. Me, well, I wanted to try something different. Since it was my senior year as well, I wanted to try new things before heading into college. So when the director, Mr. Jones, announced that the play was going to be Hamlet, I thought, Why not… When I told Jack that I was going to audition, he congratulated me and wished me luck, but I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t that happy that I was auditioning. I never did understand why, though, until the incident. Well, auditions came along and I auditioned. That part was actually pretty easy, but what really got me worried were the callbacks. Never before in my entire life had I been more nervous. I was a complete wreck. Jack got a callback as I had expected, but I never thought I would get one. During the callbacks, Jack was as cool as a cucumber and me, well to put it plainly… the amount of sweat I produced equaled two times the amount of water in the entire ocean. I was called back for Hamlet, Claudius, Horatio, Polonius, Laertes, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. Jack was only called back for Hamlet and Horatio. When I went up, I was sure I failed at all of them. My legs were shaking, and I stumbled on words; it was terrible. I was so sure Jack was going to get Hamlet or Horatio. When the cast list came out, I was too scared to go look. Jack went up and looked at the list. He looked at it for a second, then two, then three, and then he was there for about a minute. I went to ask him what was wrong when I saw the list myself. I had gotten Hamlet! I was so shocked and happy that I jumped up in the air for joy and shouted, “Yes!” I then turned to Jack, whose face looked completely devastated. I then read the cast list and said under my breath, “Oh no.” Jack didn’t get Horatio. He didn’t get anything. Zip, nodda, nothing. I faced Jack and put my hand on his shoulder. “Jack, I’m so sorry,” I said. He shrugged my hand off and walked a couple of paces back. “Forget about it,” he replied turning from me. His voice was completely shaken. His hands were trembling when he said, “Congratulations.” He walked off toward class. His mood got better a couple of days later. He decided to work crew for Hamlet to still be a part of the show. As I got busier for the play, I started seeing less of Jack. At first, I thought it was because of my schedule, but knowing what I know now, I believe he was purposefully avoiding me. When we weren’t seeing each other as often was when I noticed his mood getting worse and worse. My suspicions came true on that day, on that ironic day of the fifteenth of March. 28
I was eating with the other actors, waiting for play rehearsal, at a table when Jack came in. I hadn’t seen Jack in a while so I was glad to see him, but he looked like a complete mess. His hair was messy and he had huge bags under his eyes. He approached me and leaned toward me and asked, “Can I look into your eyes?” I looked around at everyone, who were getting kind of freaked out, and nodded nervously. He looked into my eyes and nodded. “Just as I thought,” he said and then laughed to himself. “You have it, you have it.” He then leaned forward again and turned very serious. “Now look into my eyes. What do you see?” he asked. I then looked at everyone again when he slammed his hands on the table and screamed, “What do you see?!” “Okay, okay,” I said, raising my hands up in defense. I looked into his eyes that were filled with an emotion mixed of sadness, anger, and loneliness. “I don’t know? Myself? Blue irises?” I wasn’t sure how to respond. He bent his head and shook it. “But do you see a spark?” he asked almost desperately, with his voice cracking like he was about to cry. “A spark?” I asked, completely not understanding what was going on. I had never seen Jack like this. That’s when he exploded. “Yes dammit, a spark! The spark of talent, the spark of life, the spark that shows you exist.” I tried to interject when he screamed, “Shut up, Dylan! You don’t know what I’m talking about because you’ve never had to deal with it. You always had that spark. That’s what allows you to play the guitar so well; that’s what allows you to act so well. Me? I’ve never had it, or once I had it but I’ve lost it now. You want to know what I see in the mirror? Nothing. I see a faceless reflection because that’s what I am. I’m faceless and no longer have a purpose. Without that spark, there is no living, only existing. Shakespeare was on to something about living and dying, about being only flesh and being forgotten. And you know what? I agree with him when he said, ‘Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take up arms against a sea of troubles.’ I think death is better. I honestly do.” With that he left the theatre, leaving everyone in shock and awe. And me? I shifted my head a few degrees and saw a mirror. I took a good look in the mirror and cried.
Drew Timmons
Chaos The mirror reveals none of the hurricane within, Only that of which the owner allows. 29
Alex Gerome
reflect there’s a standard where you go to college and you get married and you have babies and i would like to pick d.) none of the above, and i hope that doesn’t sound pretentious. it’s just that i don’t think everyone’s life should look the same. i don’t think everyone ought to go to school. i don’t think everyone ought to commit to just one person because some people just aren’t wired for promises and i don’t think everyone ought to have babies because some people, people like me, can’t even handle feeding their cat on a regular basis, much less taking care of an entire human being. i think we should go back to where people who paint are artists, and people who write are writers, and people who think are philosophers, and people who love each other spend their lives together, and people who want babies have babies and people who don’t want babies travel around the world and drink coffee in european cafes with a different stranger every day. there should be no standard for life. there should be exploration and love and the pursuit of truth, and cups of tea and poetry, but there should be no standard. reflect Maddie Weir 30
Please Don’t Leave As I walk down the aisle, Which feels like a mile, I see familiar faces with sad eyes. I glance over and see my brother sigh. We sit as a big family, My uncles trying not to cry and be manly. I hear my mother softly weep, Trying not to make a peep. The priest motions me up To bring the bread and cup. As I pass the casket, I leave a rose-filled basket. I hear church bells ring As we sing “Raise me up on Eagle’s Wings.” Please Grandpa don’t leave, I really don’t want to grieve. Maggie Sheehan
Creature The creature called pain Has crawled up inside me and made its home, I fear it is not temporary. It bites and claws away at me, And I die a little more every day. But today, It took much more, And there’s not a thing I can do to stop it 31
Alex Gerome
Life, Probably A worn threaded bracelet, the colors faded with dirt and time. A whiff of sea salt. Clean clothes. Cinnamon gum. So many little things that remind me of But that was long ago. I remember sometimes. I think back. To when the stars came alive and the world was The world was different, I guess. Our world was different. I think of the way you played the guitar - picking each chord carefully, your brow furrowed in dissatisfaction with any mistakes. I think of the way you watched the sky, and the way I watched you watch the sky. And then it all comes crashing into me at once, bursting through my carefully laid dam, moonlight and dancing and freckles and talking, your hands brushing back your forever messy hair, running and running until we couldn’t breathe and And I had never felt more More What happened to us? When did the phone calls slow and eventually When did you no longer smile each time that I It became awkward. Each movement felt deliberate and stilted. And we turned to the classic, “So…what’s new?” We fell slowly. Softly. Without a word, We fell apart. I wonder if you ever do this - think of me like this. I wonder if you’re happy. In a weird way, I wish that God. What happened to us? Life, probably.
32
Megan Simmons
Silver Lining I’ve made it through the dark days But the clouds still remain I’m waiting for the pleasure But all I feel is pain What doesn’t kill me Makes me stronger So why am I still On the ground? I’m building back up again But I just get knocked down It’s like I’m tryin’ to fly But I am bound I can make it to my feet But I just fall down I need a crutch to stand on Where’s my silver lining now? Where’s my silver lining now? I’ve made it through the bruises I’ve made it through the bombs I just want the happy I just want it all I can’t take another blast I can’t take another blow Just a gift from above Is all I really want to know
I’m building back up again But I just get knocked down It’s like I’m tryin’ to fly But I am bound I can make it on my feet But I just fall down I need a crutch to stand on Where’s my silver lining now? Where’s my silver lining now? I will make it I will fight I’ll make a crutch From my own might Balance is all it takes I may wobble But I will never Break I’m building back up again I won’t get knocked down When I start to fly I won’t be bound I can make it on my feet And I won’t fall down I’ve got my crutch to stand on I’m my silver lining now I’m my silver lining now 33
Scott Frenzel
On Faith and Sensation
Ever Want to Be
The poetry of the earth is never dead When there is man to mimic its stories, And the rest of us breathe them. When there is love and wonder, When there is fear and thunder, When silence becomes sensation And thought rests, Passion bursts through the machine. What was flesh is now æther, And we understand.
Never Is just an ever want to be It has its fancy N, And it thinks it’s so grand. But really it’s just an ever want to be.
Poetry will never die As long as the lights stay on As long as we move on And color in the spaces, As long as we weave our tales, As long as we watch our tails.
It’s the opposite of ever, And it really can’t be, Any word in the dictionary So it will just sit in its lonely corner, As an ever want to be. Forever. Alex Gerome
There lies he. There lies she. And they bring grace in the form of charcoal. The smeared smoky spaces are Braille for the soul. Without them we scratch sandpaper But poetry lives. Corey Shrader
34
The Walker Under the moon glowing black In the pale orange sky, Through a forest of bare, gnarled, black trees An old path does lie.
Lost
And down this crumbling, cracked path of stone sickly green With dead, dry, grey grass growing between The Walker walks. Wrapped in a cloak of tattered, brown wool Topped with an old, brown top hat pulled low His face in shadow, his shoes worn and scuffed Silently does the Walker go. The white ravens caw as he goes by Ghostly blue wind through branches, does sigh As the Walker walks He passes by towns empty and hollow Past cracked, dusty blue riverbeds he goes without turning his head On through the emptiness he follows the path Through silver fields and cries of the dead. The pale night unending casts all in shadow Hiding secrets only the voiceless know Alone the Walker walks.
Nothing, We are fighting for nothing. We are winning. But we are losing Our souls, Our kind. Our own. Lost Those who won And those who accepted defeat
No one comes to bar his way, All lights in all broken windows are dark. Desolate under blank, unseeing stars Far away a battered dog has no more bark.
All- Lost.
An empty land of empty dreams Nothing and everything is as it seems Onward the Walker walks.
Alex Gerome
In a clearing lies a mossy, broken circle of stone Within this circle lies the answer To end the everlasting night and free the day, No one is left to look under. Here at this circle the path fades away And so the barren, shadow world awaits the day, While the Walker walks. Anna Heineke
We are fighting, Fighting til the death. For no apparent reason. We are winning, But how long will it last?
35
Where is the Magic? They say there’s no magic, only science and reason are sound, But I believe in magic, it just has to be found Because… Magic is the wind that dances through the air Magic is a parent’s tender loving care Magic is the sun shining so bright Magic is the moon that glows with silver light Magic is a song that lets our spirits sing Magic is a bird as it takes to wing Magic is the waves as they crash upon the land Magic is the friendship we hold hand in hand Magic is a story that moves our heart Magic is the stage where all know their part Magic is the fire that brightens the dark Magic is the ancient trees with scarred and toughened bark Magic is the seasons that turn the cycle of life Magic is the strength we gain from weathering times of strife Magic is a horse galloping free Magic is the honey made by the little bee Magic is the stars and places yet explored Magic is a ship out to sea with friends on board Magic is new life in a baby’s birth Magic is a gift to share with all on Earth. Anna Heineke
36
Or is there Or is there An alternate universe Or is there Life on Mars Or is there Water in the seas Or is there Clouds in the skies Or is there Vampires, werewolves, and demons Or is there Magic Or is there People on the earth Or is there Trees, birds, and bees Or is there A reality Or is there A fantasy Or is there‌ 37
Alex Gerome
The Agent’s Tale I was on my way from the Florida Keys to Rio de Janeiro My trip started with an escape that was mighty narrow I am thin and tall with long hair and a face that is plain Just remember when we get off this raft… I go by Jane For your safety and mine, I shall say no more Now I shall tell you my tale, one never told before… That island we can see in the distance is one to fear People who have committed serious crimes are sent here There they receive their punishment for what they have done What happens there is a mystery, though, a great one Every person sent there has never returned And all evidence of what might have happened has been burned Until one day five convicts were sent Four very guilty and one innocent One was a young man who murdered his wife The next was a rapist who stabbed a girl with a knife The third shot his son, straight through the head The fourth stabbed her daughter repeatedly until she was dead The last one was different, though, young and frail She was accused of killing her mother while they were hiking on a trail She swore it wasn’t her, that she was innocent as can be But the jury didn’t sympathize and found her guilty These five were sent out to the island, one at a time To face their horrible punishment for their crime The first to go was the man who murdered his wife He had never been more petrified in all his life When he arrived on the island, it immediately began to get dark He began hearing eerie noises and swore he heard a dog bark It was difficult to see as he shoved his way through the bushes and trees He thought he heard footsteps, but decided to blame the breeze Now this fellow had a fear, a strange one for a guy A fear of falling off a cliff, tumbling down to die The man looked up and saw his path was blocked ahead
And then he began to hear the voice of a screaming woman in his head He ran in fear, ducking under the tree in his way And found in front of him the edge of a cliff, clear as day The voice continued screaming, drawing nearer and nearer And when he turned around, he turned cold with fear His dead wife grabbed him by the shoulder and with a wicked smile Threw him off the cliff and stayed to watch him fall for a while With the first one now dead, the second was sent The one who had raped and stabbed a girl from a convent Now his greatest fear had always been of drowning Ever since the death of his wife, Carol Browning When he arrived at the island, he was dropped off by the lake The only life in sight were a few birds and a drake He began to walk along the shore, with a single tear trailing down his cheek When he thought he heard a soft whisper, quiet and meek He turned and saw no one, but felt something queer Like someone was watching him and knew his fear He froze with fright and began to quiver A chill went down his spine and caused a shiver Cold hands clamped over his mouth and drug him towards the lake He looked up in terror and saw his victim, not dead at all, but very much awake! She took him into the water and there he drowned The first two are now dead, after what they have found The next to come was the man who shot his son No one is sure what made him pull the trigger on that gun He arrived on the island in the mid-afternoon And was unaware of what would happen to him soon This man’s greatest fear was getting a disease A disease so serious it would kill him with ease So as he laid down his head upon a rock to take a nap His young son he had killed came to him and sat in his lap The boy said some strange words and was then out of sight As soon as he had gone, the man woke in fright He felt feverish and ill and drowsier than before And laid down to sleep on the grassy floor From his slumber he would never wake For the illness killed him, faster than poisoned cake
Next to appear was the fourth woman who had stabbed her daughter She was sent to this island charged with manslaughter She had grown up in Kansas and had a great fear of twisters When she was young, one of them had killed her baby sisters By now I assume you have caught along And can probably guess what went wrong Not long after she arrived, the twister appeared And sucked her right up through the tunnel, just as she feared The last voice she heard right before she died Was that of her daughter who cried “You got what you deserve, you horrible mother! And now in death we shall join each other!” With the first four now dead, the fifth one finally came She was the one who swore her innocence and said she was framed All she wished and hoped for with all her heart and mind Was that someone would believe her and be kind As she sat upon rock, shaking and crying She saw a white figure and thought she was dying The white figure approached her and put a hand on her head He then began to talk, and this is what he said: “On this island, we, the creators of this place, can look into one’s mind And seek for truth and fear and desire and other feelings of that kind In yours we see something different than those of the others We believe you wholeheartedly, you did not kill your mother For this you shall be rewarded with what you want most desperately Which was someone to believe you, and I do, completely Back to your home you shall return and carry on with your life But do not wallow away in grief and strife For your mother is now happily here living with me Now go! Be gone! Live happy and free.” And with that he was gone and the girl returned home And she recounted her story to everyone she knew, in the form of a poem Margaret Beck 40
Untitled
Lord Byron imitation poem
The ocean is jealous Of your eyes so blue The sun’s rays are zealous To dance with you A smile so white Puts snow to shame Your spirit is so bright Such beauty hasn’t a name You steal the appeal From the stars in the sky Such perfection is surreal God smiles at your life But then you were taken, Swept away From a world unsuspecting In the middle of the day The atmosphere changed The world grew cold The air felt strange As death stole your soul Now the birds’ songs Don’t seem as sweet My heart it longs To hear yours beat Heaven, prepare For the most wonderful sight Please wait for me there My love, my light. Evan McPhillips
Box Revisited Box as ocean Box and movement Movement as box Within only the restraints of said box With restraints are box, Restraints so unusual So... out of the box Into the world of campaign Part box Part box Box as lake Box vexes the quiet. Would you look at that. Isn’t that something? Ben Schmidt
41
The Withering Crow A dreary winter landscape;
a shadow in the snow. Over the bare fields and bare forest stumbles a shabby looking crow.
When the night travels fast
and the cold winds blow, there is not much to comfort the tattered looking crow.
Once she was more appealing And flew with the flock. She is ugly and torn apart, She can barely even walk.
The Warm Inner Light Brightest light Sight without seeing If one were immersed If something had meaning
She is old with a bent back
and terribly thin. So now she looks over the field that she’ll soon rest in.
Wisest soul A purest greeting When all is aligned Feeling is believing
Her mind glances back
Over many years. When she flew with her friends, And when her family was near.
Highest growth Of thought and feeling That one may adapt That knowing is healing
While she sits for a while,
Watching the setting sun. She is content in her heart, That her time to fly is done.
It’s a start for the close ones Alone and all right A warm inner light
Christiana Swing 42
Corey Shrader
No Trust There’s no trust here. I opened up, I let you inside, but there’s no trust here. No matter what you say I never will believe you again. My lesson is learned. Because you lied to my face and stabbed me in the back. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong. So I’ll send you this song, to let you know, that I understand, now. There’s no trust here. Never was. Never will be. There’s no trust here. I opened up, I let you inside, but you didn’t do the same as I did. So I let you fall to the ground, you can drown yourself in your misery. Because I don’t care and I never will again, I moved on with my life. There’s no trust here. I opened up, I let you inside, but there’s no trust here. So when I let you fall, you were so shocked, I gasped, because I thought you knew you lied to my face and stabbed me in the back, but I guess you were too foolish to see your own mistakes. See, when you left me, I was all alone. And see, when you left me, I worked my own way home. I found love again, you never did. That’s what you get when you try to tear me down; yeah that’s what you get when you try to tear me down. There’s no trust here. I opened up, I let you inside. But there’s no trust here. So when you looked into my eyes and you saw envy, well darling that’s not envy that is anger, at the lies you told to me. There’s no trust here. You thought I cared, you thought I still loved you. But that’s a lie, because you saw through the wall you built, to keep me out. There’s no trust here, darling, I stopped caring, I stopped loving you that day, when you tried to tear me down. I stopped caring I stopped loving I stopped wanting you There’s no trust here, never has been, never will be, never again. There’s no trust here. Alex Gerome
43
Where are the rebels Now no longer dreaming Where are the ones stirring our feelings
Maybe Maybe I should stay Maybe I should go Went too far away But how was I to know? Maybe you should sing, Maybe you should cry, Let your laughter ring, Or heave a sorrowed sigh. I don’t know what to do When you’re not around Whenever I’m with you I feel like I’ve been found. Maybe this is right Maybe this is wrong We’ll walk into the light, With you I can be strong. We can find a way We can carry through I think that I will stay Maybe you’ll stay, too.
What’s left of the fighters It couldn’t be quieter Everyone’s hiding away What happened to the fire That turned to a pyre Now burning the night away Greed has consumed Oil it exhumed To brighten the darkest day Now dark in the night Suffering out of sight Left to rust and decay We try to recycle But can’t break the cycle That even taints the day It has not ended But cannot be mended Endgame in name and voice
Anna Heineke
But it’s still our choice We can still be the voice For those too afraid to say That it’s not ok We must not delay The future is ours to be saved
Alec Marcum
44
On Contributing to Reflections When I reflect on procrastination, I think of Reflections Magazine. The talent within could surpass a nation (As long as it’s kept relatively clean). Yet I have failed to get off my butt, And submit a poem well before the deadline, And although I am a poetry nut, I won’t create Poetry Magazine’s next headline. I’m submitting this for the fun of it In an e-mail message to Mrs. Feldkamp And perhaps when I’m finally done with it They’ll give it the Reflections approval stamp. My name will be in the index this year! I’ll be a contributor once more!
Anticipation fills me (along with fear That this “masterwork” will be regarded as poor). I write verse only because I enjoy it (And it forces me to get off my rear!) And perhaps someday I can employ it In some far-fetched literary career. But for now, I’m content to have this found Alongside poems of summer and insects, Although I won’t gain any worldwide renown From having my name in the Reflections index. Peter Huffman
Internal argument, disruption and the eventual resolve Is love natural? Because frankly, I can’t see how it is. Living in accordance with nature was not a desire... at what point in the lecture of human history? because because why desire lacking is why because of human lacking experience lacking value because love is value why because love value and human condition human experience human value love because love can’t see naturally because why the point of the lecture in human love because love love why love is lecture love is human value in accordance with what? because can’t human love value lecture? because history can’t see value of love? because what history was so desirable? because at what point was love natural?
45
Ben Schmidt
A Father’s Mother Oh may all the gods on Mt. Olympus come Help me recall this epic that is great in sum. Allow me not to falter, And I will prayeth upon your altar. This epic occurred many moons ago. Ay yes I remember it so. There was a young lad named Pat And his father, Joe, spoke to him as he sat. “Now son you know my mother is getting old And I am her son alone. That’s why she must move down here And I do not want you to fear.
The days went on and they were tough. Pat didn’t realize things were to be so rough. “Father was right This will take all my might. Life has changed in so many ways. This will last how many more days?” The days turned into weeks, And Pat has nothing to seek. The weeks turned into months, He couldn’t decide his wants.
We will buy a new house That you can play in throughout. She will most likely be here the rest of her life And I pray thee, please don’t fight.
He wanted life back to normal, But really his life wasn’t in that much turmoil. Pat did not wish anything bad upon her, But he didn’t know how much more he could endure.
I know your relationship with her is not close But I ask that you try and get the most. Get the most out of the time with her Please do this, no matter what may occur.”
The months turned into years, And Pat lived through times of jeers. Sometimes his father’s mother would fall, And say she didn’t want to live at all.
“Yes father I will do as you ask. I will take on this challenging task. I know it will be tough, Especially since this was way off the cuff.”
For Pat this was hard to hear. It almost made him cry a tear. The words felt like a knife, As sharp as the one used by the snapped wife!
Pat didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t believe it was true. Then the day came, It seemed like just the same. But Pat was wrong so, He didn’t know how this was going to go.
It had been a while since Pat had seen that land. The land of a grandma’s love that was nice as a beach of sand. It was like Odysseus longing for his home, Because nothing else could atone.
Then one day Pat left on retreat, And what he learned was a great feat. He learned to make the first move, And this advice proved to be true. “Goodbye Grandma, I love you.” These the words Pat would use. Every time he left the house, But his father’s mother stayed quiet as a mouse. It took a week or two, For her to make a move. But I love you was started to be muttered, And to Pat the words were as sweet as butter.
Later that night the medical people came. He held the door for the stretcher, with her still looking the same. “Goodbye Grandma, I love you” The words Pat again used. She grabbed his hand and held it tight. Pat held back with his might. He heard the words, “I love you too.” And he absolutely knew it was true.
That was the last time he saw his father’s mother. Not another word would he hear her utter. But Pat reached that land of a grandma’s The relationship between the two began to grow. love, The love from each other was as obvious as snow. And he knows she is looking after him She began to ask more about his life, from up above. And the one thing they no longer had was any strife. Patrick Disalvio But then one day she got ill. Pat worried as fear began to fill. “Pat you should go say goodbye because it could be your last, You may soon complete my task.” So Pat finished his meal, He wasn’t sure how to feel. His father’s mother had recovered from being sick before. This was to happen again he was sure! He went down to spend some time, His father’s mother seemed just fine. She asked about his plans for college, But he let her know that of his plans he had no knowledge. 47
The Gilded Age Looking around, it isn’t hard to see the hurt War, starvation, children living in the dirt To them our arrogance couldn’t seem worse Living in a country that they call first But it isn’t hard to see that we’re hurting too That many of us are just trying to make it through To a time where life will be true Pain far away, and troubles few We look to our parents for the answer We know we’re living in a world that we must tamper But going to them only makes our thoughts damper Mom’s at work and Dad’s got cancer Can’t people see that the young can’t take no more Kids are cutting themselves as early as grade four Then in grade five they’re getting hooked on porn And all too soon they’re wishing they hadn’t been born Sometimes, it gives me chills That some think the only escape’s a bottle of pills Just the thought of it makes me ill And I wonder, how is this God’s will But it is up to us to be strong To go into the world and right these wrongs To fight for this cause to which we’ve been drawn Though the path is hard and the road is long So look up and see this “Gilded Age” Look at this world we’ve been told is our stage I for one will turn a new page Put on my mask, and enter this masquerade Andrew Parra
48
The Mountain Morning Awake! Rise, and Fall into a dream. The mist that rests upon the stream Will hide the time. It climbs into the dizzy head, the broken bed; It throws a cloak of spirits over all the living dead. The glitter gleam of morning sings to seize the day; The mountain morning calls us all away. Corey Shrader
Star Kite The moon shines down from the dark night sky And I watch the stars go whirling by As I gaze out my window I am drawn into the night And my heart fills with joy as I take flight. There’s a breeze at my back and the wind in my hair And as I soar up I can’t help but stare In space I float among the stars and dance on Saturn’s rings, The magical breeze takes me on a prismatic tour as if on wings. I race a comet and sing in a meteor shower, The wind spins me past distant worlds and galaxies until the hour When I must return to my now distant Earth, But I’ll never forget the wonder and mirth I felt when I glided through the night On a breeze, drifting like a wandering kite. 49
Anna Heineke
Under a Daemon’s Shadow I saw her in the store again, standing right in front of me. Her groceries in one hand, and her son’s hand in the other. She looked fine to me when she scanned her green tea. I said she looked like a good mother, and she dropped all that she had.
The laws of life Love is like the sea You the water, and me the salt.
I saw her in the street again, Her face all black and blue. I asked her what had happened, But she looked at me confused. I told her to be careful, And I knew she would be fine. Soon the pain will be over, And it only takes time.
You the creatures, and me the life. You the sand, and me the shells
I saw her in the mirror again, Her eyes swelling up with tears. She was crying once more, Her face deformed by scars, She was overwhelmed with fear.
But an iceberg has passed through Separating. Destroying. Engulfing.
I saw her in my house again, Love is like the sea - the tide controlling She was lying on the floor. all. She said, “This cannot be excused, the horrors and terrors we endure. The scars and pains that will Alex Gerome forever be placed on our hearts. We must speak up for the ones who are trapped in the shadow of a daemon.” Christiana Swing
50
The New Days I remember the old days… Your little black car at the end of the lot Waiting to take us from school to Scenic View Eric and I raced as fast as we could For the coveted front seat right next to you. I remember the old days… I’d find the hidden key to unlock the door Every Thursday when we would come to visit. You’d be in the kitchen reading newspapers. That swivel chair was your favorite place to sit.
The truth about forever The truth about forever, Is that forever doesn’t exist. Not on earth. Not in space. Forever is within us. It is us. Only when we are not looking for it, do we find it. Forever is such a relative term, That means nothing. And yet everything to us. Why do we cling to the hope that forever exists? We will only be waiting forever. Alex Gerome
I remember the old days… I loved to help you make homemade popcorn And we’d eat it together with lemonade. You could talk about Haymarket Riot for hours Carpe diem is your catchphrase. Seize the day. I remember the old days… And I hate that those days are now the old days. I miss the time when those days were the present. And the right now was way off in the future. Looking back, I realize how much the old days meant. I remember the old days… Some of the best days I’ll never forget. But still I want many more days with you. My heart will never be ready for that day When the old days are all I have left of you. I remember the old days… And as much as I love the old days That’s nothing compared to how much I love you. Please, for me, keep holding on for the new days. I’ll be by your side, praying for the new days too. Sarah Ruwe 51
Her red beetle was still in the driveway. It was weird that it was there. It was weird that we had to park around it in her driveway. It was weird that we were surrounded by black, but the day was sunny and there was her cherry red car in her driveway and her gorgeous smile just outside of our collective reach. Seeing that car was almost like seeing her smile again, seeing her face that was so like the sun, seeing that beautiful energy that made her do stupid things like buy that goofy garish car in the first place. But seeing that car hurt too, because I would never again see those watery green eyes or her long red hair or her freckly face. It hurt because all that was truly left of her was that shiny red car sitting in the driveway of her parents’ house. Nobody looked at the car for very long. They’d lower their eyes, glue their gaze to their highheeled patent leather shoes, or else grab the hand of their nearest loved one and just hurry into the house—into her house. They were confused mourners; they couldn’t for ten seconds focus on the thing that she loved so much, the thing that was so her, but rushed without hesitation into the house she had lived in all her life, the place that knew more about her than any of us had the fortune to. But I’m not rushing. I’m standing on her driveway, fiddling with the sleeves of a suit that no longer fits, staring dry-eyed at the car that is at once so her and so empty of her that I can’t fathom that it possibly has or ever will belong to anyone again. And I feel so with her and so empty of her that I can’t possibly fathom that I will go on without her either. I look at that car and I see that road trip we took to the country. How we leaned back on the hood and drank sparkling apple juice because we were too young and too poor to get actual champagne, and how we stared at the stars and failed to comprehend the absolute hugeness of our universe. I see that time I found her in the Kroger parking lot, crying in the driver’s seat while I was outside, the rain pouring down around me as I tried in vain to get her to reach me through the glass windshield. I see her pulling into school in that silly, bright car, her eyes dreamy and her life full of possibilities and I wish with all of my heart that it had been me and not her. But it was her. It was her, and I am alive. I am here, staring at her car, and I am alive and I am wishing in vain that I was with her. Not dead, just with her—with the girl who, before I was paying attention, stole my heart from me. And the people flood around me, all of those people who loved her and lost her too. They hurry into her house and I stare at her car and we’re all just a little more empty than we were yesterday or the day before, like somehow she was a stopper in our lives and now that she’s gone, there’s nothing to hold the happiness inside us. They rush, and I stare, and the world stands still in the wake of her glorious passing. 52 Danielle Lynd
Writing Across the Curriculum These last few poems were written as an assignment in art classes. Without the influence of titles, students examined several paintings and photographs by various artists. The students then responded to the piece of art that inspired them the most. The poem below is a response to Drought Refugees from Oklahoma Camping by Roadside, Waiting for Cotton Picking, a 1936 photograph taken during the Great Depression by Dorothea Lange.
Worrisome
He’s scared. He doesn’t know what to do. He has a family to care for. He has a little baby to feed. How will he manage? How will they get by? Where is the next meal coming from? All of these questions need answers. Answers that he doesn’t have. Work is scarce. He is weak and can’t do much. Life is throwing curveballs that he can’t catch. She just wants the best for her family. She is finding it harder and harder to trust him. It’s a scary situation they are faced with. They will make it through. They have to.
53
Nicole Scott
What have I done? What will I do? How do I get past this feeling blue? I’ve smoked for years, Now it’s repaying me with a ton of tears. How do I get past a diagnosis of cancer of the lungs, when I have a husband and other young ones. I remember when I was a teen when smoking I did start, trying to be cool was probably a part. Once I started I found I could not quit, all I wanted to do was take another hit. Why does God have this plan for me, it must be part of the picture which I hope someday I’ll see. All I have left is guilt in my heart, I should have just eliminated smoking from the start. Loren Powell These two poems respond to a 1936 photograph by Dorothea Lange called Daughter of Migrant Tennessee Coal Miner. Living in American River Camp near Sacramento, California.
He is coming home today. I cooked his favorite meal, And wore his favorite sundress. I wanted to look beautiful, for we haven’t seen another in such a long time. Now I’m sitting on the swing he made before he left. Letting the breeze run through my hair. The waiting is killing me, it can’t be too much longer now. He said he was able to come home, And that we could finally start a family, Here he comes, I run down the porch steps. I stop. It’s not him standing there in his uniform. Now the pain is unbearable. Taylor Edwards 54
How Did This Happen? I have nothing. How did this happen? I went to sleep in my bed And I woke up in a box. How did this happen? Yesterday, I played in the yard. Today, I am living in one. How did this happen? Last night, food came to me. Tonight, I look for it. How did this happen? Each day, I choose style. Nowadays, I can’t choose. How did this happen? I used to be a kid. Now, I am an adult. And I know why this happened.
Kristen Rehl
This poem is in response to Dorothea Lange’s 1936 photograph Sharecroppers’ Families Gathering Needs for Their 4th of July Celebration, Whites and Blacks Together. 55
The Lady of Shalott. 1888. John William Waterhouse
Earth and Sky His heart is the sky, cloaking my body in the slyest winters of night, keeping me warm with delight. Together we watch the children of the North, fly high with colors ever so bright, lighting up the Christmas night. His eyes are golden stars, unmasking the lace from my face, into a new beginning, for celebration. I race, smiling, playing and cheering with a pace, to bloom into the wonders of the old Dogwood Tree. His breath is the wind, blowing sweet joys of laughter my way. My feet ripple in the bay as I watch sailors drift away. Listening to a neigh from the old bay, waiting for her master on this summer’s day. His hands are rays of light, reaching out to the tips of my hair. Embracing me with his care. With my dress, ever so fair, blending into colors of the harvest year. Together we are sitting with kin, to feast of thanks that we share. I am the earth and he is the sky, always watching, always listening to the wonders of life. Bridgett Miller 56