GROUNDSWELL
SPRING
2016
“All men by nature desire knowledge.� Aristotle
GROUNDSWELL SPRING 2016
UB’s Magazine of Literature and the Arts
Editor: Danielle Wedderburn Advisory Board: Eric D. Lehman, Amy Nawrocki, Diane Krumrey, and Emily Larned
Designer: Marlon Estacheski Design Service Shintaro Akatsu School of Design University of Bridgeport
TABLE OF CONTENTS Editorial Danielle Wedderburn
07
Yarnelle Bauzil Untitled
10
Alissa S. Montanaro Tick Tock, Sounds of the Madness
11
Alissa Montanaro Wild’s Law
18
Brett Cousins Apparition
20
Kadijah Dickson Untitled
21
Brittani Brown Operetta
22
Brittany Capozzi Untitled
23
Brittani Brown Symbiosis
24
Jerica Olson Lone Leaf
25
Caitlin Hennessey First steps out
26
Danielle Wedderburn Places I’ve been
34
Derve Jean Black Buick
36
Enilda Betances July
38
Aiden Cross-Stone The Green Autumn
39
Florin Timish The Red Beauty
40
Florin Timish Tomorrow
42
Hamad Alzannan Through the Desert to Yazd
44
James S. Flook A Glimpse of Hell
46
Jerica Olson The First Collision
48
Yarnelle Bauzil Lone Leaf
49
Jerica Olson 13 Years Ago
50
Katherine Collado Cleanse
52
Katherine Collado Eyes of the Lonely Flower
54
Dadielle Wedderburn Hermit
57
Marcdana Antoine Her Body is a Conversation
58
Nasse Albarrak Trees - Gifts of Nature
60
Nicole Morales I Wanna Bury Him Underground
62
Junga Jin On the Steps
63
Nicole Morales Just Know
64
Anhar Sulaimani Untitled
65
Nicole Morales Loneliss
66
Aiden Cross-Stone Every Mile Counts
67
Brittany Capozzi UB
68
Aiden Cross-Stone Coming Home
69
EDITORIAL Danielle Wedderburn
It’s easy to overlook the true essence of language and the power that it has over us as humans. A simple sentence, phrase, or even a word is enough to change the lives of many. When I think of writing, I think of countless numbers of people, being able to communicate with each other without limitations. There are no language barriers, no experiential requirements, or any specific distance that one has to be. Writing is universal. Writing is timeless. For those simple reasons, this edition of Groundswell is a very important project. I’ve compiled many different themes and messages from some of our very own writers here at UB. Although we are all not the same, as a student body we all have something to share, something unique. Our voices open up many doors and windows to our own lives that allow others to view all that lies inside. We are never fully aware of the connection that we all have with each other, which is why it’s important to exercise our creativity. Luckily, the hardworking students at UB are more than just students, but we are creators with multiple views on the world. Along with some of the wonderful writing in this year’s magazine, I’ve also had the utmost pleasure of compiling other pieces of photography and artwork to truly share our connectivity with you page 7
all. I can assure that there is a piece of artwork literature inside of this edition that will touch someone, which makes this edition truly special. I couldn’t be more grateful to be given the opportunity to indulge in some of the great minds that study at our school. GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
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This edition of Groundswell goes to show that we are all more than just students, but we are also creators. That, within itself, is the most beautiful connection that we have not only with each other, but also with those outside of the UB campus. Because of that, we will all continue to carry ourselves far with our commonalities through art. This is the greatest gift that connection can give us.
Y
arnelle Bauzil
Untitled
Alissa S. Montanaro Tick Tock, Sounds of the Madness David -boy that runs the show Martin -boy that’s in it for the fun Kevin -boy that seems to not fit in but loves what happening Charlie -boy closest in age with David and second in charge Carla -girl witness Maureen -girl witness
PART 1 [In an empty classroom with only a few lamps on, a few boys are circled together in a corner, laughing and saying crude things to each other.]
David: Did you get the list? Martin: Right here, I have everyone’s names taken down from the school registrar. David: Great. Kevin, did you write down all the procedures that we thought up? Kevin: Ah, yeah got it in my bag. Just hold on. David: Jesus Kevin, I’ll fuckin kill you. Don’t leave it in your bag? What if someone found it? Huh? Then what? Kevin: Here. Sorry, it won’t happen again. David: You damn right it won’t happen you mopage 11
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ther fucker. Kevin: Sorry. David: Kay, but I swear I’ll freakin kill your ugly mug if you do it again. Kevin: I won’t. David: Alright, where the fuck’s Charlie? You texted him right? Martin: He said he’d be here. David: He’d better. Charlie: I’m here, sorry for the wait but you guys won’t believe what luck we’re in! Martin: What, spill the beans already! Charlie: The schools finalized the date for the event. It’s perfect. Leaves us a month. David: Good, that gives us enough time. Now sit your ass down and lock the door. Charlie: Let’s get this meeting on a roll! I’m pumped! David: Just sit dumbass. Charlie: Kay. Hey, no ones coming in on us for sure, I just put some caution tape and wet floor signs. Martin: When’d you get that? Charlie: A few days ago. Spilled my water bottle just to make legit. David: Smart thinking. Alright, enough chit chat. Let’s get down to business. I contacted some folks I know that have connections with a black market down on the outskirts of the county, they said they’d provide with the cheese. Kevin: No kidding?
David: It’s the real deal, and they’re dirt cheep, nothing fancy. Talked with my man down there and says they’ll give us four of the easiest ones they’ve got. Charlie: Oh? What are they? David: hmm, there are some Ruger 22/45, Browning Buckmark, Smith & Wesson 686, and the Glock 17 Gen 2. These will be the easiest to handle, and easy to conceal on school grounds. Charlie: Sweeeet. Kevin: When will we get them? Martin: Before the event hopefully, or we’ll have to plan everything all over again. David: No, we’ll get it before then. Martin: but I also like the idea of signaling out people individually. That had a nice ring to it. Kevin: Yeah, and what about all our plans? I mean, I’d like to take out some of the shits in my class. See their faces up close when they know its over. Charlie: Same. How about we do some practice shots before the event, what do you say David? David: hmm, I don’t mind. You guys all saw what I did with that girl Kelly, right? Martin: Oh my, that had my blood pumping. Charlie: Heh, and you did it with your bare hands. Kevin: Loved the look on her face. David: As long as we don’t leave any evidence, it’ll all work out. I’ll try and get the choppers before then. Charlie: Hey, why’d we just get a mini bomb? page 13
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David: You kidding? You know how to handle one? No? Then shut your fuckin gums. It’s just not reliable. You gonna give that job to Kevin? Charlie: Fuck no. Kevin: H-hey! Charlie: I’d do it myself! Martin: But where’s the fun in that? We won’t get to see anything. David: Exactly. You wanna be at home doin’ nothing while it goes off? Charlie: No. David: Right, so shut the fuck up and listen closely. Nobody knows were Kelly is right now, that’s good. I’ve been thinking you guys need some turns as well. Charlie: I’ve always wanted to get the punk Miller. He’s just a plain eye sore, and he’s perfect, he stays with his grandparents and is dirt poor. Nobody will give a shit if he’s gone for a few weeks. David: Good. You got his schedule? Charlie: I know what classes he has and what time he gets off work. David: Great. We can do it this Wednesday. Martin: I’d like to get Shella. David: Who? Martin: Shella Burgess. She’s not in anyone’s class but I see her in the halls sometimes. I hate how she talks, looks, everything. I want her out. David: Oh? We can do some of the methods we
came up with, you can choose, but you’ll be next week. We’ll meet and talk about how to deal with her later. Martin: Shits going down now! David: How bout you Kevin. Kevin: Mr. Holler. David: What did he do this time? Kevin: The freaks always singling me out, the bastard. I swear – David: We’ll do it. The fuck lives alone right? Kevin: Yeah. David: Then we’ll get him in two weeks. By that time we’ll have experience and we’ll have the gatts in our possession. Martin: Do you think the event will be canceled with all the missing people? David: Hah, no. Don’t worry ‘bout nothing. I’ve got Mr. Holler’s number and can always call in for him saying he’ll be takin’ a few days off. No one will know nothing. Kevin: Great. Can’t wait to see his face! Martin: Man, shut up. Nobody wants to hear about your obsession with faces. It’s creepy. Kevin: The creepy thing is you getting at a girl you don’t even know. Martin: I know her type. It’s all the reason I need. Charlie: Haha, calm down. We all have our own preferences, no hating. Kevin: What about you huh? Why you wanna get at some dirt nerd like Miller? What’s he to you? page 15
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Charlie: A mother fuckin eye sore. I hate his kind. Filthy shits. They just pollute everything around them. I swear he stinks up the room when he’s in it. David: Hahaha. Alright, mostly everyone will be at the event, we’ll get a crack at all of them, so don’t waste your breath. Kevin: What about you David? Why’d you get at Kelly? David: The fuck Kevin. I am gonna kill you one of these days, you fuck. I just said we don’t need to talk about it. Charlie: No, but for reals, tell us? David: There is none. She was there and I was ready. Nothing to it. Martin: Shits going down. Kevin: Just wanna get at the shits that mess with me. Charlie: Anyways, it’s getting late. Don’t want my ma to call a search warrant. Kevin: Don’t fuckin joke about the pigs. You just ruined the mood! Martin: Fuck, left my phone in the science room. David: Well, might as well. Alright. Give me the papers. You shits can’t even hold on to your own phones. [They all stand up and leave the room, laughing with excited mirth, never knowing that the room had
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been previously occupied. Two girls clung to each other, their hands over their mouths as they tried to keep their breathing as quiet as possible.] Carla: S-shit. Holy fucking shit. Maureen: Shhhh, we have to wait… don’t move and don’t say anything… Carla: Oh, shit Maureen. Shit. Shit. Maureen: Breathe… breathe. It’s alright. We just need to wait till they leave the building. I already texted Mrs. Tailor, everything is going to be alright. Carla: God, Maureen. Fuckin Christ. What did they do to Kelly? Maureen: Shhh, I don’t know. Shhhh, I don’t know, but help is on the way.
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Alissa Montanaro Wild’s Law
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Undecided figures twisting and snarling Mask in night’s grasp, dance in moon’s paths Falling leaves draw translucent circles in the air They are moving, vicious and menacing The Wild runs in their veins, burning with wraths Demons gaze, glowing eyes, bristling thick hair. Muscles stretch, sinew strain, and saliva dripping Feet silent under the veil of leaves and obscured by tree paths Hunting, hungry, starved souls seek weak victim’s lair; This is the law, this is the way, Evolution is not fair Together, one unit, with many faces, teeth bare Survival and struggle, all must obey Wild’s law with care.
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Wild’s Law
A
lissa Montanaro
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Brett Cousins Apparition
GROUNDSWELL
Mine eye perceived a form Hung in the ghastly night; Yea, no question plagued my heart: Thought I, it gave off light!
SPRING 2016
Mine eye perceived a form, Perfection manifest, And though my soul is wont to chide Mine heart longed after it. I chas’d it through the trees And ne’er did I come close, But also ne’er did cross my mind That, lo! I chas’d a ghost. One foggy night, I caught it — Too sure I did believe — Yet, naught I found save old man’s words: The forms here cannot be —
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K
Untitled
adijah Dickson
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Brittani Brown Operetta You you you Sweet speaker Honeydew GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
Sticky words Trickle down Your shirt Hard seeds Fall too So I withdrew
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B
Untitled
rittany Capozzi
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Brittani Brown Symbiosis
GROUNDSWELL
He overwhelmed her with love He spoke of nothing else Only acrid clichĂŠs And sweet nothings
SPRING 2016
She slurped it all in Like a bee collecting nectar And she was so filled with love She became a beautiful rose bud Blooming in the sun One morning on the pink sofa.
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J
erica Olson Lone Leaf
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Caitlin Hennessey First steps out
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The Blocked-In Forest wasn’t really a forest. That’s what Liam had said, anyway, his muzzle tilted up to look mournfully up at the moon. Real forests, he said, were places a pack could run for miles and miles every day without finding an end. Places where the birds could go up and up and up and touch the clouds, and there was no end to the sky. He was the only one who remembered the Wilderness, so they all supposed it must be true. Kazuki tried to imagine it every time he ventured out to one of the big, white Barriers that penned the Forest in with Liam or climbed up to the perilous tips of the trees to touch the Unseen Barrier that kept Petra and the others from going too high. It was hard, trying to think of what could be beyond when the Blocked-In Forest was all he knew. Was it covered more trees and real forests, like the ones Liam talked about? Or was it more like those odd moving pictures the North Barrier sometimes showed them, the ones with the funny blocks and the odd, two-footed creatures that both did and didn’t look like Kazuki? “Humans, Kazuki,” Jessamine corrected, exasperated but affectionate. Her thick, lovely twang made the words prettier than anyone else’s, and it was the only remnant of her first home the way
Liam’s memories of running with his pack was the only remnant of his. “They’re called humans. And this is a ‘movie’. ” Kazuki frowned. “Am I a human, then?” The cat’s tail twitched apologetically, her long white fur brushing against Kazuki’s face. “Ah don’ think so, chère. You look like one, but… They don’ speak the People’s tongue. An’ you don’ speak theirs.” Kazuki looked down at his hands, frowning. Dada and Tavii all said he wasn’t a chimpanzee because he didn’t have a tail and couldn’t hang by his feet, and Adabowale said he wasn’t a gorilla because he was wasn’t big enough and his feet were wrong, but those were the only other People he knew who could move on two legs like he did. “Then what am I?” “Pack,” Liam answered simply, trotting up to nose at Kazuki’s cheek. “You’re pack.” Jessamine sniffed, haughty, and Liam gave her a narrow-eyed glare. “Pack,” Liam insisted, “whether you’re a cub or a kitten or fledgling fallen out of the nest, Kazu, though we may be one short soon. I’m starting to wonder what cat tastes like.” “Try it, wolf, and Ah’ll bloody your nose but good.” “Guys,” Kazuki sighed. This was an old argument – one page 27
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he wasn’t interested in hearing again. The two stared at each other for a few more seconds, then Liam bared his teeth, snorted, and turned his attention back to Kazuki. “Mulligan wants you to join him at the stream,” the wolf said, and pushed at Kazuki until he got up. “There are fish again, and he wants to give you another lesson in catching them. Up you go.” Kazuki wrinkled his nose. “But Liam, Jessamine’s telling me about the… The…” “Movie,” Jessamine prompted. “Movie. And all the fish are going to end up in the pond anyway; it doesn’t take much to get them there. Why do I have to learn to catch them in the stream?” “Mulligan likes having company,” Liam answered, prodding Kazuki into moving. “And it’s a good survival skill to have.” “There’ll be another movie on later, chère,” Jessamine added. “Get on with you, and we’ll work on your pouncin’ later.” “Right, right… I’m going.” At least Mulligan was fun to be around, even if the ‘survival’ skills were useless – what was there to survive in the Blocked-In Forest? Bees? Ooh, hey. Maybe Mulligan would take him to get some honey after they’d fished – the big brown bear was awesome at taking down their hives. He never got stung like Kazuki did, either. “A little lower,” Sholeh coached, and Kazuki looked out doubtfully past the tall grass to the dusty field.
“You know, now that I think about it, I’m not so sure I can do this,” he admitted. “It’s not really my… thing.” “Pah,” the fox scoffed. “You just need more practice! Now shush before you’re heard.” Kazuki sighed a little and hunkered further into the grass, ducking his head low the way he’d been taught. Sholeh eyed him carefully as she did the same. “You said a cat taught you how to do this?” she asked again, ears folding back as she looked him over. She hadn’t overly pleased with the distinct feline-ness of his stance, and had spent a large portion of the morning trying to train it out of him without much headway. “Yup,” Kazuki confirmed. “Jessamine said pouncing was an important skill for all kittens to have.” Even if he wasn’t technically a kitten. It had been almost six full moons since Kazuki had woken to find himself in this strange Wilderness, a place so far and so different from the Blocked-In Forest that it had been terrifying. Liam, Jessamine, Mulligan, and all the rest had been nowhere in sight, and it suddenly wasn’t just the sky that went on forever – it was the earth, too. There were so few trees, here, wherever he was, and the few that he’d found looked so different from what he knew. There were no lush green meadows, either, or softly bubbling streams with little fish ponds at the end. There weren’t even any strange block for the twopage 29
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-feet, and how could the Outside be so incredibly different from anything Kazuki had pictured? The survival skills his friends had taught him hadn’t even been of much use, which had been an awful realization in itself. If he hadn’t run into Sholeh, he wouldn’t have made it a week. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed you for a cat-kit,” Sholeh mused before giving a fox’s equivalent of a shrug. “Then again, I wouldn’t have guessed you for one of the People at first, either. Anyway, I dunno what you’re so worked up over. You’ll be fine; pouncing properly is practically the hardest part.” “Not for me. Pouncing I’m good at, sure. It’s the catching things at the other end I’ve never mastered,” Kazuki replied wryly. He could practically hear Jessamine sighing at him. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you sometimes, Kazuki, she’d say, curling her tail around her feet. It was a phrase he’d heard often over the years, and he dearly missed not hearing it now. “We’ll fix that,” Sholeh promised. “Just you wait; I’ll have you hunting proper in no time. You sure grew up strange, though, Kazu. You know I’ve never even heard of half the types of People you keep telling me about? And the rest is just so hard to believe! I mean, the Cooped-Up Forest, small cats. Really? Come on – cats aren’t small.” “Yeah, that’s what you keep telling me,” Kazuki replied, amused. “And it’s the Boxed-In Forest. ‘Cau-
se it was big, just… Boxed-In.” He paused and frowned. “I thought we were supposed to be keeping quiet?” “We are,” Sholeh stressed. She shot him an exasperated look. “You’re the one who keeps talking.” “Wha-?! I am not! You –” Oh, forget it. Kazuki huffed, pouting a little as he settled in for a wait. “What in the name of the Great One are you two doing?” Kazuki and Sholeh both started in surprise, Sholeh skittering off a couple feet before turning around defensively. Kazuki grinned as the fright faded, though, looking back at the huge orange tiger in delight. While he’d befriended Sholeh pretty quickly after arriving in this strange place, they had met Ravi only three full moons ago. He didn’t travel with them all the time, still a little leery that Kazuki looked like a two-fo… A human, despite not actually being one, and he wasn’t used to having others around. Besides, Kazuki and Sholeh weren’t strong enough to hunt with him. Maybe one day Kazuki would be, though. If he got good enough. “Ravi! You’re back!” Kazuki cheered. “Sholeh’s trying to teach me to hunt better, see?” Ravi stared at him for a long moment before turning his amber stare on Sholeh. To her credit, the fox stood her ground, even lifting her muzzle up proudly. page 31
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“…Really,” Ravi deadpanned. Kazuki covered his mouth to muffle a giggle. Sholeh shot him a dirty look, though, so apparently he hadn’t done a good enough job. “It’s a necessary skill that Kazu hasn’t mastered yet,” she retorted snippily. “I don’t see why I can’t help him improve a bit; I’m a hunter, too.” Ravi looked down at her skeptically. “Mm-hm. So why are you stalking Blackbucks?” “Er…” Almost as one, Sholeh and Kazuki turned to look at the big, antelope-like animals. They were easily five times Sholeh’s size, and if their long, twisted horns were included, then they were even about as tall as Kazuki. Fox and boy shared a look then turned sheepishly back to Ravi. “Wishful thinking?” Kazuki volunteered hopefully. “The thrill of a good challenge,” Sholeh tried. Ravi looked skyward. “Great One help me,” he muttered, and heaved a sigh as he laid down. The dry earth plumed up around him, then settled again. “Alright, back into place, the both of you. Kazuki, shift your hindquarters back a bit more; you’ll get more power that way. Sholeh, you’re a year old; stop fidgeting.” Kazki did as he was told, the two shiny circles that had appeared on his wrist sometime during his relocation clinking together softly. Once he
was good enough, he decided, he was going to find some way to get back. He wanted his family again. “Hey, guys? When I can hunt, will you come look for the Blocked-In Forest with me?�
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Danielle Wedderburn Places I’ve been
GROUNDSWELL
There’s an energy that lingers And thickens the atmosphere It’s gotten harder to breathe Counting miles away from here
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Time flies and the days pass Confusion amongst familiar faces I’m not quite sure of much anymore Maybe I’ve been to the wrong places Boothe Park was up the street We barely ever walked, though Blended in with the passing of cars Racing against the moon’s glow I never felt more at home there The swing set and the picnic bench The wood filled with trees behind us And flowers that carried a familiar stench I remember the wind in your eyes Your lids twitched with the air And my heart sank into pit Filled with ever-growing despair Summer’s lamp held no remorse page 34
Our bond broke amidst the heat Reminded of everything that we once felt At a place that held memories so sweet Recollections trail inside that solstice A footprint in my brain’s gravel I’ll leave those times at the park As lasting impressions of you travel
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Derve Jean Black Buick
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My black Buick shines Like the full moon. I purchased it for a reason but don’t look passed its shadows as I drive down Laden avenue. My interior is smooth like sanded wood, the music I blast falls into streets like a monsoon and the shower, distracts them from my final hour. My big rims spin like the song on repeat, I’m tired of this CD, But I listen until I arrive Letting it spin and spin, as my black Buick is speeding down Laden Avenue dancing with my nervous heartbeat to an upbeat tune as I wonder if they know I have come to my doom.
But those who walk the streets do not stare too deep. I’m dying slow on the inside holding the gun as people stare with eyes of admiration. All I wish for them to see is my black Buick’s beauty and not my planning.
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Enilda Betances July
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Growing up Early morning my house smelled like Coffee, bread, and hot chocolate I ran into the kitchen Abuela, tia, mami All of them sitting on the floor Because in the middle of July that is The only cool spot “Quieres café?” my grandmother smothered me in kisses my mom would say how did you sleep? “I slept great mami” Tia would say “my little butterfly, don’t fly away so fast “ my mornings were amazing one day a darkness hit and the pitch of darkness never lifted my world was turned upside down. No more Sitting on the kitchen floor The holidays were empty The birthdays never came The darkness took over And never left I learned to live with it
And become friend with the darkness I mean what other choice do I have When it took my “tia�
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Florin Timish The Red Beauty
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Your frenzied eyes, so full of passion, are like the fire lighting the frigidness of the forsaken empty night, Your venal heart, beating above the sybaritic desire, warms like a memory fading from beyond the sight. Your dreams, spread like the feathers of a lonely bird, venture deep inside the knowledge of the diluted past, Your words––wild waterfalls demanding to be heard–– fly dragging the future and breaking its ancient blast. Your gentle touch – an old wind caressing dead leaves foreshadows odious warnings of darkness and illness, Your looks fall like the muffled steps of cruel thieves ready to steal my thoughts and vanish in the stillness. Your cries, like thunders breaking the absent silence, sneak deep, searching for the fragile reason of my mind,
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Your seraphic wings – hungry wolves flattering violence devour my purpose, leaving my ego so humble and blind. Your arid wishes, like the whispers of a forgotten lover, encircle my fragile heart in pain, revealing that soon the day will vanish away destroying my foolish cover, finally bending my will to you, my Red Frozen Moon.
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Florin Timish Tomorrow
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The fall is over end-date is near Coldness is empty filling the void of fear.
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The night is growing old rain is pouring New winds are cold my fear still rowing. A soft leaf flying waiving a tired tree One wing is dying rushing to quiet sea. My flaccid hope is lost in the rifts of yesterday Nothing but angry frost to greet the endless day. I hide my frail belief beneath rusted faith I’m drowning in grief begging fate to be late. Old clouds chasing page 42
time growing old Past days erasing what’s left in the cold. No questions to ask the future is narrow Painting a new mask… I’m ready for tomorrow.
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Hamad Alzannan Through the Desert to Yazd
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I woke to wind up trundling through a gigantic, dyed white desert extending similarly as I could see. Just the periodic staggering rock development split up the sea of sand as it stuck up towards a sky that even this at a young hour in the morning, still seemed, by all accounts, to be strangely blue and splendid. To the side of my pad lay two jars of peach seasoned non-alcoholic ale - a blessing from a benevolent kindred traveler who had demanded that I take them as I was slithering up into my bunk for the night. My trip through Iran from the heavenly city of Mashhad to the desert spring of antiquated Yazd couldn’t have been less demanding. When I strolled into the train station, I had been taken under the wings of the inviting local people and guided up towards my shockingly agreeable tall building support. Not long after subsequent to resting between the fresh white sheets - and to the side of a little pile of sustenance I’d been talented by my billet mates - I was drawn into a profound, satisfying rest by the constant rhythms of this dashing iron stallion. As our carriage thundered on however this boundless expanse, one of the most seasoned urban areas on the planet started to rise up out of out of
this severely excellent no man’s land. Like a delusion set amongst the desert fog, the wind grabbing towers and the heavenly minarets push up from the sands towards the unforgiving sun.
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James S. Flook A Glimpse of Hell
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The light burst into asunder during its astronomical descent to a hellish planet of blue and green inhabited by the savagery of infantile creatures content with carrying out the extinction of themselves. An orange-red giant, motherly of action, hung heavily in the vast hugeness of the sky casting warm rays to the blades of green that line the cold dirt. The giant unknowingly kept these brutes alive by allowing the embrace of its warm bosom. Holy by Birth yet defiant by Nature; the creatures ran rampant with thirsts so ravenousness Adam and Eve would be ashamed. This Holy light was converted into fractals upon its fall from the heavens and the ant appearing creatures from below, greedily sought out the rays of life. Vehemently the creatures plucked all fruits they could find, but the maximum punishment had already been sentenced. The sun unwillingly emitted its rays to this unforgiving planet full of the Damned. Adam and Eve have been forgotten, all truths revealed, human loathing and vanity with a whiff of conceit only remained... the age of enlightenment, indeed! On the surface, young imps ran amok tarnishing the name of chivalry. Young flowered-sprites contaminated the small-propagandized minds of the imps to further the descent into their inevitable
damnation. Side by side, arm in arm, as chivalry slowly withered away, femininity with it. Wandering aimlessly with a loss of morality is all that encompasses the scurrying creatures that litter the surface of the insignificant blue-green damned planet. Firstly, groves of imps and sprites gathered together to form small tribes of snarling savages safely concealed under the mysticism of their own creation. Then villages formulated from the underbrush of a barbaric lifestyle from a long forgotten time. Palaces of stone sprouted from the tainted soil and gave rise to a multitude of elaborately designed castles, dressed in royal golds and purples to signify their importance to the natural world that they so righteously turned their back on.
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Jerica Olson The First Collision
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Liberty is taking the very first step upon an expanse of thin ice layered above dead, dampened grass. Unaccompanied by flesh in a shaded, spacious field. You lift your pruney padded foot, leathery like the skin of a cold-blooded sea creature, and it applies the needed force, through ebony boots, to the surface of the clear, crisp crust. The Transparency As pressure from the boot collides with the limpid surface, a small stream of water that has been lurking beneath the exterior for a long while, Floods through the frozen coat. As you step downward onto the coat that is attenuate but protective, the stream slithers across the blanket of ice, Shattering fragility. Now the ice has been broken, yes, But you did not slip. You did not fall.
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Y
arnelle Bauzil Lone Leaf
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Jerica Olson 13 Years Ago
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
I contemplate the only evidence from that day. I do not clearly remember this day you always describe to me, But I can sense it. It stings and burns the delicate tissues surrounding my sinuses. Inside of the warped & wrinkled image Your heavy weight sits atop a large pumpkin. You smile assuredly at the camera. Your arms Clutch my pubescent frame; You are so proud to keep me contained, I am “yours” But I knew differently. Even now I hear my young, hollow eyes plead through the photo; I was sick that day, But you were unaware, utterly unknowing. Today you claim that developed photo’s ink, because of course
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you must claim, use, & waste everything. You still clutch for me, But I do not clutch for you, even then I did not. There is no sentiment attached to this photo, only the pragmatic proof that you were never aware. You always say I was just “crabby” that day Yet, I know I was ill, and I knew it then too. A sickness purged through me that night once we came back from that pumpkin patch, it physically poured out of my being. “stomach sick” you said— No, I was sick of you, sick and tired, exorcised and exhausted, and I was only seven.
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Katherine Collado Cleanse
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
My feet are the wooden floors, walking through the pain of everyday work. I hardly rest my feet; the old, wooden ground always endures other people’s footsteps, jumping and dancing, not seeing that they cause injury for their own pleasure. My mind is the closet; clothes thrown everywhere, without any kind of organizationtraces of socks that doesn’t match, one green, the other beige and pink. Shirts sliding from the hangers, trying to hold on, slowly departing from its place. My sneakers and heels are battling with each other, the sneaker on top of the heel, the heel stabbing the sole of the shoes. A blue faded sweater covers the entrance, next to the high-waist jeans that couldn’t take it anymore; the pain of being out of place left holes and rips on the innocent pants.
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Recently, my body has been getting tired, losing energy and strength. The body is the light bulb, that sometimes flickers rapidly, in need of a new spark. The order of life is disintegrating since there’s never time to clean up. This swollen heart of mine is the white door with faded paint, slamming and locking, pushing and pulling, leaving things out and nervously opening, hoping not to damage it. My eyes are the curtains, The sun radiates through my pupils every morning. Let me bring the shine back to this lonely place, so that I may remind myself that there was once peace.
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Katherine Collado Eyes of the Lonely Flower
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
Has anyone ever noticed a fine daisy? Sitting in its grass, watching the world go by. It cannot do anything but observe- forced to witness the people argue, and watch them dance, going through a rage of emotions from a mere phone call. The daisy is so little in our universe, like an ant under a heavy, dusty, navy blue carpet that covers a royal living roombut still has a vibrant color and warmth to make a little girl smile as she walks towards it, or an elderly woman who stands there and reminisces in memories. The daisy brings highlight to the eyes, its yellow burning our darkened pupils with the reflection of the radiant sun. But the daisy can only sit there and watch the world.
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The daisy has no choice but to agree to let it get stepped on by the army of the population, or get devoured by helpless animals. No one thinks to care for it. After all, it’s only a daisy. The daisy is alone at night with the exception of the chorus of stars. That’s when they can breathe the crisp air and find serenity. But who cares about a daisy? Their nature is nothing compared to gadgets and gizmos. Blinded by the season of modern production, No one spends any time outside anymore. It sees the changes in personalities as civilians walk past. The storm in one’s heart, who clueless about showing the fragments of their pale faces breaking off in public. The joy in one’s soul, page 55
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
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delighted by the squirrels running around and the leaves moving to the tree’s melody in springtime. The daisy will never understand how to have an emotional heart of its own, For it can only sit there and watch the world.
Hermit
D
anielle Wedderburn
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Marcdana Antoine Her Body is a Conversation
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
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Her body is a conversation The verbs comes out of her mouth Like the scribble on her head But she’s evasive The way her adjectives sway And her lips smack Cause she declared her nouns; Monty, Rockland, lip gloss Her coy gloat Will make any man jolt From her double entendre Yet, you shouldn’t holler, Not flag or whistle Cause she’s a lady For her body is a conversation She has rules and structure The beginning to all ends Since she’s her own author But her mother birthed her To use her adverbs And write her rights to finish Her chapter, however Her body is a conversation You shouldn’t had slander Cause her grammar Became slang
We modified her letters To accommodate to societal pressures And altered her to a new conversation Now her body is a book Told over time and time again As many hands passed her for a read
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Nasse Albarrak Trees - Gifts of Nature
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
page 60
Trees are the simple gift of nature to us. From the beginning of mankind, trees have been very useful and helpful. Not only do trees provide oxygen, they keep the soil fertile, keep the environment clean, give us fruits, provide shade over the head of a tired passerby and shelter birds. Moreover, we cut trees and use the woods for construction work, as fuel, make papers, etc. I have drawn something very simple as the tree because there are a lot of similarities between a life of a human and a tree. A good human being is like a good and healthy tree. A tree grows best when it is watered on time and gets sufficient sunlight. A well maintained tree would grow tall and strong. When the time comes, it will blossom flowers and will bear fruits. A tree cannot blossom flowers or bear fruits without water or sunlight. In fact, if a tree is not watered well and does not get enough sunlight, leaves will wither from it and the tree will die young. In the life of a human, water is like love and sunlight is the education. In order for us to be sound-minded human beings, we need both love and education while growing up and only then can we do wonderful things; like how trees blossom flowers and bear fruits for us. Trees do not grow flowers and fruits for themselves, they grow it for us. When we are loved and educated
the right way, our activities and deeds benefit the society. A good man is indeed like a matured tree that gives to the people and stays silent.
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Nicole Morales I Wanna Bury Him Underground My baby-brother Bentley was once a seedlin’, all quiet and kept. Mama told me Papa planted him perfect out back. GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
Guess he found a patch of good soil and took dead aim. I hate that day! He made a monster. He’s to blame! My baby-brother Bentley is so LOUD and so neeeedy. He took the best of Mama’s years, so wonderfully pretty. She used to dance and laugh and sing away! She wore dresses the color of summer’s day. Now she hides and she cries, and all she ever wears is a face full of worry-lines. Her clothes are always loose and soiled. Her life – a fixed coil, wrapped tight ‘round her body. The strain of being his mommy! I wanna bury him underground inside the very patch of soil he came ‘bout.
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On The Steps
J
unga Jin
page 63
Nicole Morales Just Know
GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
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Midnight always follows the lightest blue of all. I will wail a prayer with ruthless enmity. God of ire, punish he who stole from me the enviable pot of gold.
Untitled
A
nhar Sulaimani
page 65
Nicole Morales Loneliss The whistling crescendo of a small, brown nightingale GROUNDSWELL
SPRING 2016
that waits, restlessly, on the thick of a bough, damp from the trials of its long-lasting search. It flutters its wings and loosens the grime, it trills out a song with powerful rhyme. Its melodious voice carries the night, and reaches the ear of a friend in flight. Refuge is on its way! Loneliness, soon, will stray.
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Every Mile Counts
A
iden Cross-Stone
page 67
B
rittany Capozzi UB
page 68
Coming Home
A
iden Cross-Stone
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A
iden Cross-Stone The Green Autumn
“All men by nature desire knowledge.� Aristotle
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Groundswell is the annual publication of the University of Bridgeport, English Department, intended solely as a repository for exhibiting UB undergraduate students’ best creative work.
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