The Normal Upside Down: A Literary Arts Magazine Stockton Collegiate International Schools Volume 2 2013-2014
At The Normal Upside Down, our mission is to: Influence young writers and the minds of our readership through the poetry we produce and publish Showcase the unseen and unheard words of young poets Highlight the normal upside down in every day life Provide young poets the necessary support to express themselves Provide a place for young writers to publish and gain publicity for their art Volume 2 2013-2014 Student Editors Theyanna – Layout and Page Design Paula – Photography Carmen – Cover Design Advisor Hauna Zaich
Sofia Mary Sofia is a senior who write poetry as a means to express herself and alleviate stress. Her poetry tends to be one of a darker nature, often based around emotions and/or monsters. She is autistic and is it is very difficult to frighten her with typical horror.
Agony Agony, That familiar blanket to wrap ‘round your heart. Patch the bleeding heart with safety pins and needles. Pain the comforter rather than safety, Blood the ambrosia over wine, Metal bits and all. Because hurt is constant, Whereas joy is not.
The Fault of Man Evil does not lie beneath the Earth A worm ripened by the rock’s molten core Nor does it lurk in the hearts of beasts No matter how sickening their sounds may be Evil, that prickly and tongue-cutting word Has always and will forever lie beneath the skin of men It is a creation of his A companion to man’s concept of goodness But he lies to attribute it to other things In the belief he can somehow rid himself of it He blames the Devil for his envy and lewdness Just as he blames the wild beasts for his own madness Man can justify all he wants But he will never acknowledge his own wickedness Because his very creation has turned against him Damning him until Death comes to take his filthy soul
Carmen Carmen is a junior. She started writing poetry in the sixth grade after reading “Because I could not stop for death,� by Emily Dickinson, and was inspired. Carmen likes to look at the world in a new perspective and finds it best to describe the world within the words of poetry. Carmen is also an artist who won a few awards for her art. She is currently learning digital art that allows her to connect images to her poems.
Rather Be A Weed Then A Rose When I was young I was told That every girl can turn in to a blossoming rose, But I was not a gentle rose with pointed thrones. I was not like every other girl who left a bloody torn. And everyone knows that every rose has its throne. I was not a copy of the rest, Placed in a garden where I was not different from the rest. To only be picked for my beauty and soon be tossed and left when I began to welt. But I was not a rose, I was a little weed. I was a weed, being me, being free. Free to grow where I pleased. To see the world by every word. And grow through the toughest of spots. For I was strong from root to stem. Most tried to tear me from my place, For not being welcomed for my appearance. And some may move me and throw me But I was still stood strong to get back up I’ll grow within a bright new area. I was beautiful in a painters way. I had sun setting petals that were light on life’s darkest day. I grow tall and strong and was able to dance freely in the wind.
And when I got old all my hairs turned white as they were out of place, A young child would come and pull on my outdated stem. They would close their eyes and made a wish from deep inside, And when it was ready They blow on my head and let me spread throw the air. All my little white hairs each apart of me, will travel and grow, And every place they land I will be Reborn, But not before that child’s wish comes true. I’d rather be a weed then a soft red flower, No I rather be me and be free.
Sister The one I have looked up to since the day I was born was my loving older sister who cared for me forevermore. She always put others in front of her self without even paying attention to her own health. Well what can I say shes a loving person who dreams of being the guardian angel for everyone she loves. Her soul was strong but her heart was weak though she always kept those bright features that lit the darkness in my eyes. Her laugh is everlasting her smile is always shining. The world was brighter every time I saw her. Though the world grew darker on that frightful day. She wakes with a screech while falling to her knees. I heard her scream and come running to her need. I saw her there lying in front of me and I thinking this cannot be happening. Mama came in and laid her gently on her bed. My beloved sister’s breath was all of beat. It skipped from the rhythm as she held her chest fighting for her breath. Then I saw or what I thought I saw was a darken figure over her telling her it's too late. My sister whispers no to this darken creature and that's when I tell mama we got to go, we have to take her to a hostel to get her to see a doctor. Few minutes later we're at the hospital and my sister it taken to a dark but lighten room. We're told to wait but all I do is pray saying please let her be ok. I sat there in what felt like forever, when the doc.
came out and said she'll be ok but things are still some kind of strange haze. They don't know why it happened or how it happened they say I can see her that she's in her room resting her broken soul. I walked in to see her smile I do the best to return that smile, but it turns upside down with clear tears rolling down my eyes. Her voice is weak but I can still hear her speak. Her hand placed gently over mine as she's telling me "don't cry everything going to be alright. Look I'm feeling fine so there's no need to cry". I just stare at her and say "I hope you are right". When I feel her hand turn ice cold and a painful roar escaped her voice. Blood slowly drips from her cold pink lips and the darken figure returns closer the before. I turn to the door not wanting to let her go. I'm yelling all throughout the halls and the nurses are all rushing and the doctor is just walking. I'm yelling at him, telling him, If she dies I will know why. It's because you didn't want to keep her alive. I'll blame you if she slips away from life so don't let her go hurry up before her times up All she ever wanted was to correct the wrong. Why did she have to go through all this pain running through her veins. The darken figure returns once more. I walk up to it and tell it to take me instead and let my sister rest peacefully in bed. It just stares at me as if my words mean nothing to it. It takes a step back and with a deep grim voice it says “Everything will be ok�. Before I could say anything it's
disappears within thin air. I look over my shoulder to see my sister is no longer in pain. A few weeks have gone by with the darkness right out of our minds. My sister is her normal cheerful self once more. But I can't help but notice that her heart says shes alive, her body says it's alright, her mind says it's still a fight, though her eyes say otherwise. She just looks at the road that's been placed out for her not letting fear get in the way. Just pushing it to the side and moving on feather down her road. Well what can I say she’s the one I admire most. The same brave strong sister I love forevermore.
Death Remember the time when we used to think we were unstoppable, when we thought we were unbreakable. When we jumped from our tree in the backyard thinking that we could fly and that we would never say good-bye. We were fearless. 'Till we heard the beat of deaths drum say come, come, come. As the living we fear death for when our time comes it takes us away. Even when you have the choice placed in the palm of your hand there is still fear. But Death is nothing more than the beauty at the end of the cycle of life. When our soul is at rest and we leave all our worries behind. Remember that Death is not a scary thing; it is not a terrifying skeleton in a dark cloak with a blade at your throat. No, Death is the end to the story of your world, But the beginning to the thousands of tales that will be told of your life by the ones you love. Even when the ones we love will cry and ask death why? Why it took us away from their loving hold. Thinking that our new home is a cold place beneath the world. Though Death has a home filled with billions of books all established within the shelves, or stacked upon each other near the open fire. So that they are closed to death for when
he's tired. Each book within his collection is different from the rest. From children stories to horror novels but no matter the story they each have a moral. Each book has its mark, has its place. Each book has a different color. Some rich with text others faded and dusted. Some have a tale spun through the years with thousands of inked pages all tucked away behind it's bind. Some only have a page or two for the two year old who tried to live as the grains of sand slipped through the clear glass. And as most days Death has seen it all, brings home a new book that has been soaked within its own tears and of the ones who said there last good-bye before death took it away to be placed within an open space. Though today Death pulled out a bright new red book that was quite dry and light. One of a child, a young girl who died far too early, leaving a loving family behind. Death opens the book to read the story of how her life was filled with nothing but dreams and joy. Every paged lightly scribbled with hope, and dreams of what the child wanted to be. Death turned to very few pages at the end of the book to read of the part he had just witness only moments ago. He was there with the girl who laid in the crisp coffin of forever rest. Death could heard her family's cry saying “we will miss you”. He heard them say "we had so many happy memories, good and bad. Every memory will invade my mind just to remember you all throughout time”. Death could hear
them say how they could wish to turn back time just to be with the girl once more and have her in their hold and to never let go. But they know that she's had been called on and that it was time for them to let go but it hurt so much to have that little girl slip through there hold. It's funny how life can end within a second, disappear within a moment. Death watched with the child at his side. The little girl who walked up to his mother, father, and baby sister who she will look after as she grows. She looks at them with a smile says “please do not cry. I'm in a place shining bright within the sky. In a place where there exist peace, and no harm, where we can bask in the golden rays of the evening sun. Mama I know you will love it here they even have your favorite flower that’s named the same as your daughter. But I will wait for all of you to join in when your time comes, but for now all I can say is see you soon�. Death closed the book and places it back within its spot. Amazed of a child so young age, could smile and let go. For one who's been alive since the beginning of time, one who can say he's seen it all, there still so much for him to see. Even through all the tears, all the hate he still remembers his job. Death takes us to a new home where our name is placed in stone, where we choose the path we want to follow for we will live forever. Death lets us know that there
is no more pain, no more suffering, no more sorrow. That our new destiny is a path to eternity. Death does not tell us to run and hide. It shows us to live our life. When we are born we learn to take our first step, speak our first word, and as we grow we show the world what we are made of, and our stories follow. Through the years as we write our tales, we write all of our dream and hopes, we write the best, and the mess, we tell of the time we fell but got up and brushed of the dust. And when our last golden grain slowly slips through the stained glass of the colors we have made. We will play that story in our mind making sure that each chapter is long enough, each picture is perfectly placed, and that our time through it all is clear for one to read, see and hear. So that it is ready to give to Death for when he opens the cover and reads title. He will welcome us to his home.
Best of Friends In the garden with flowers sat two girls dressed in black and white. Unnoticed by the people passing by. They sang their sweet soft lullaby. She whispered forgotten secrets about the people who’ve gone by. They each made a promise, to never say good-bye In the garden with flowers we sang a soft melody. That would have made you cry tears of a long lost memory. Hear the sweet smooth voices of our dear friendship still at bay, to never sail ways, to never be alone, because we will always stay together. And even if we were to break apart I know it will be no good-bye but a simple I will see you soon. In the garden I sat alone, long lost within the flowers. Looking for you my friend who had sailed away. To only find a golden flower placed within the suns gentle rays. To only be picked by two people of great friendship. So I will wait for your return in the garden filled with flowers,
But I, for now, sing our sweet lullaby because we will never say good-bye. So I will sing all day and sing all night because I know you will be my best friend till the end of time. A friend of mine sent me this poem to let me know that I am never alone. Our paths may have parted and our voices may have lowered, But our friendship is still bright and golden, to never break or bends but stay strong and whole till time fades away. Though I know the truth of her new path, one full of fake smile, and trials from left and right. So lost and alone with only one bit of shining hope. So she will know she is never alone. I wrote this poem for her My dear friend, Remember the past as it wonders before you. Remember the times when we laughed and cried. Don't forget you are not alone; I'll be there right beside you when you need me most. Don't stumble and mumble all over your words, your heart will keep the rhythm while your mind stays on time. Stand strong through the fight and get up whenever you have fallen, but remember I'm there to help you stand back up.
Call me see me whenever you need me. I'm there to listen to the best and to the mess. I'm there to make sure that smile of yours never ever leaves your face and if it doses I'll make sure to find it once more. Don't you dare smile a mile and say you’re OK when everything is not. I can see through your thick hardened mask, your walls built so high, hiding it all. But I will to have my hands bleeding and beatings in pain till those walls come crashing down. I'll have them come down piece by piece till I remove that mask placed upon your face. Because I want to see your bright smile. Not some painted on forced on smile, NO! I want to hear your everlasting laugh as we forget the past, and sing to the future that's not too far along. But for now will stay close to each other protecting each other because that's what friends do. We've been through a lot you and me. We've seen the world by almost every word. And I know if I am ever crying you will be trying to make me smile and I most likely will. You pick me up when I have fallen. You depend on me as I depend on you because that's exactly what I would do or you. Because that's exactly what best friends do.
Paula
Paula is a sophomore. She was inspired to write poetry in 7th grade, continuously growing her knowledge. Poetry brings her peace, especially when bouncing ideas off Theyanna. Paula loves to have people question their sanity and enjoys her own insanity.
Victimized Reflection
How many times have you deemed your body imperfect, according to society? Seeing only the blemishes upon yourself. How many times have you scrutinized the body in the mirror? When there aren’t any flaws to spot. Brand a veil over your insecurities, leave no passage of doubt. How many times have you desired for an improved dent? Feeling nothing but shame at the damaged individual. How many times have you been victimized to the reflection?
Human Fear
When we talk about fear, we speak of spiders and monsters. Illusions founded at a young age. Yet there is one fear that runs through everyone’s mind. The fear of humans. We don’t admit it or take notice. Cloak the merciless truth that will bound to hunt us down. For it’s a human that can ruin a life, hurt one another and shred us to pieces. It’s a human that rules us all. No matter how much we deny it, it’s human that rule our fear.
Theyanna Theyanna is a sophomore who started writing when she was twelve, and has been devoted to poetry ever since. She’s forgetful, but often writes about memories, time, and relations between people. She’s an avid reader that questions Paula’s sanity on a daily basis. She loves caffeine, sweets, and learning about different cultures.
Who I Am Where I’m from, Is the quiet of a suburban neighborhood. Superficial pleasantries thrown about the air No words exchanged and walk away I am from Old car seats, The smell of gasoline and oil, The bumps on my head, From the bumps on the road. I am from The darkest mornings, Sleeping with the smell of donuts, And the paper thin feel of cash. I am from a little girl and an unknown man. I am from a year apart From chess and markers, IOU and 123 The “Listen up!” and “Stay Awake!” I am from the smell of books,
Of ink on paper, And the sound of scribbles. I am from past memories Of smiles and tears, White sheets and fire. Without realizing, Where I’m from, Became Where I belong, Who I’ve become
Yelling WHisper Whispers surround me They buzz in my ear Loudly Loud enough I can’t ignore Painfully opening my eyes To the cold harsh truth Pretending everything's fine Trying to refute Ignoring the proof That Life is not quite right. It’s all -right Everything's all-right I scream Yell Shout Anything To block the whispers Quietly buzzing
Silently yelling Shattering My perfectly fake vision Of reality One I hold so dear A blissful naivety I clutch onto Tightening my fists So it won’t run away. I stay Stuck on the border line Of reality And insanity Teetering and tottering Unbalanced Unstable Taunted by the whispers Screaming in my ear Echoing around my head I can’t I can’t run I can’t stay
I can no longer hear anything But the little whispering In my head
Gladly a heretic The shadowy figure A large beast With his own armor Made of impenetrable scales Guards the beloved knight Fighting for her lord her country. The beast covers over her protectively. Steam blowing from his nostrils As he prepares Fire tickles the back of his throat Stepping back He releases a dastardly heat Destroying everything in its path The knight Loyal and earnest She prays to God On one knee She thanks Him for all he's done
Yet begging Him Let this battle be won Please let your word ring true Throughout the land Let peace far past due wash over Granting hope to everyone And as she prays An army comes forth With faith they march With hope they fight Under the orders of the knight Until the day they knew They didn't know who she was They didn't know why Until that day She had to die Sneaking past her protector They capture her
For the sake of their country In the name of their lord They burn her After all she's done After all the battles they've fought Under her leadership the king was crowned And yet they burn her They call her witch For doing what Her Lord has told her For deceiving others For fighting as only men could do For trying to protect what she held dear Her country, her God And for that she became a witch Gladly.
Mary Mary is an eighth grader who started writing poetry at the end of seventh grade when she had to do a school assignment. At first she despised even looking at a poem, but as she started to write she noticed it allowed her to express her feelings and emotions, and it was enjoyable to put phrases together. Mary loves avocados.
Denied Time With a cold heart, a whip lashes, and smacks the wind, missing its primary target. The water mixes with emotions, and blends into 1, becoming indistinguishable. Re-doing yourself for the unexpected outsides, the figures, and obstacles. They approach closer in need of accomplishment, and desperate relief. Everything in your mind gathers, adrenaline pumping, with emotions mixed. Flowing to your heart with no excess of joy. You wish to retrieve a long forgotten time, where things could have been healed and people repaired. Your hunger strives for more, but your conscious puts on a demanding halt... before the tragic end.
Spot of Imagination The hushed clamor of the pages leafing through, under a soft touch. The hardback books, jammed side by side. They feel the gentle wind, as one passes by and skips the pronouncements written on their pages. Not as imagined, the library does not consist of a stingy damsel, who commands individuals to stay quiet. By strolling past the one and only library, you become aware of the pages calling, and the world you are to be imprisoned by if you open a work of wonder. You continue to roam the outsides, but you surrender. Without delay, your feet scurry. They march to the location where expressions dance around you, and engulf you in a world of imagination... The library.
Labibah Labibah is an eighth grader who started writing poetry in the third grade when she tried out for a competition. She likes to write poems because they are fun and allow her to express herself. She loves music and has pet pigeons.
My Old Buddy My old buddy. You are a precious treasure. You would wait for me every day, With a smile on your face. I’d remember those days. Those days that I’d sleep with you every night, With your coziness, You fur was as soft as a baby’s skin. You would wait for me to play tea party with you and the others, How you would ask me for second’s with those beautiful black glimmering eyes of yours, And how you would be very happy when you would get your food and eat it so delicately. I remembered how after playing tea party we would play House. Those games that we would play with each other, Those games of creativity and imagination. A game of Magic.
That would make me feel like I am in another world, A world of enchantment full of talking stuff animals. I remembered the first time that I got you when I was 4, That I got you from my auntie, How I held you for the rest of that day, And enthusiastically told my parents “It’s a Pink Elephant!” With your beautiful Pink Elephant appearance, With your adorable silky, polka dot bow on your cute head, With your fluff which was as fluffy as the feathers in Pillow Fluff, You were a part of my life, And I was a part of yours.
“Oh My Gosh, Slugs” Slugs! Slugs are the world’s ugliest bug, Slimy, strange and mainly hideous, They would go hide under your rug, I saw a slug trying to go inside my mug, Good thing, my dad killed that hideous slug, No other bug wants to hug that slug, One day, when I went to kill that slug I put a bunch of drugs next to it to see if it would die, Instead the slimy bug was alive, I was checking on the internet where these slugs come from. They came from the Lake Zug, The ugliest lake in the world, Filled with awful slugs. I took the awful slug and put it in a bowl of water, Put in on the lake so it can go to Lake Zug.
Daryl Darryl, a.k.a. Rainbow Hamster, is a seventh grader who started writing in the sixth grade, when she joined The Normal Upside Down. There, she found chocolate, rainbows, and inspiration. She continues to progress her writing skills. Darryl loves to write poetry because her opinion and feelings, as well as humor, are expressed in only certain words. She loves to swim and play soccer, as well as hang out with friends and play with her dogs.
Never Let Down
When I was a pyramid, I stood tall. When my tears and rage summoned a sandstorm, and my stones clattered off, you wouldn’t let me fall. When you were pushed around, I’d catch you, before you would crash against the hollow and sharp edged walls. When I almost drowned, you pulled me out of the water. When smoke filled your lungs and you choked, I carried you out of the fire. We are family, it matters does it not? When I was shot down, you shot me back up.When you were pulled down into the depths of coldness, I pulled you up to the sun, to melt your freezing heart. And when you almost hurt yourself jumping the bridge, I leaped and embraced you, so you Wouldn’t be hurt. So you wouldn’t be alone. Family matters, and I would never let you down.
La Rissa LaRissa is a seventh grader who started writing when she was little and kept writing and found it to be a haven when all else failed; it is her escape. She likes to write because she finds creative ways to express herself and to find relief in each poem. She enjoys sharing her knowledge and passion with everyone who reads her work. According to Ms. Zaich, LaRissa is a, “roaring mouse who can pull a thorn from a lion’s paw but she is equally the lion.”
Ink Pondering poems in a pool of ink. Words dripping out of my pen falling onto paper. Ink sloshing in its puddle while they splash onto my paper leaving tracks of words that will lead to the end of the page, but will linger for the world to hear. The words “desperate for attention” which will trail to the end of the page in blotches of red ink. Screaming for attention to be heard and never to be left again. Writing, a timeless expression a way to breathe life into an empty page for relief. Detach from chaos, and let words be your release to a forgiving world which you can’t find anywhere else but only at your fingertips. Feel the imprint of a word ringing and calling deep, see the image, and hear the change. Now it’s my turn to fill the page and leave you to ponder in my personal pool of ink.
Ode to Pencil Pencil so sleek so smooth your soul purpose in life to make others happy and lively with each word you write. You entertain and inform us with each stroke. Persuaded by each tolerant word. Oh pencil the modern age is extinguishing you, setting fire to your wood and turning you into ash but they can never replace that pensive feel and rigid touch. Oh pencil sometimes you bite me back with inspiration in each pinch. Cramping hands at the end of the day, a lingering voice rustic and rough but inquisitive, reflective, communicative, and open minded. My eraser diminished into nothing. Many mistakes have turned into an annoying flush dust that heckles me with each speak clinging to me and my paper, Oh pencil your tip is dulled pushed past its breaking point and now I have to sharpen your senses with a new beginning in each turn in the sharpener. Oh pencil you have given me a place to take refuge when I needed you the most, you gave me a fresh start and taught me that I can use my eraser to fix my mistakes. Oh pencil you have the power to change the world and the people in it, but its the person holding you left with the withering decision to use you for the good of others or for the bad.
Juliana Juliana is a seventh grader who started writing poetry out of curiosity and boredom. She writes poetry for absolutely no reason, but feels it will be entertaining to people. Juliana likes strange things that no one discusses or likes, but she herself is pretty strange, so that might explain why. Juliana cares about her friends, is an Aries, and enjoys entertaining and making people laugh. She might want to be a comedian, but she makes the worst puns. She at least thinks she is funny.
Reflection of the Puppet Maker Maybe we were both wrong Maybe it meant nothing Feeding off a lost cause It could’ve just dropped And we would’ve reverted to the core of our bond But it set you back Maybe if I stopped at there It wouldn’t have broken you Even if I tried It was just a lost cause Looking at the mirror You still wouldn’t respond I may apologize for taking you But you’d never hear it anyway The preserved rusted puppet you were No longer wanting to deal with it Maybe if we didn’t act so foolish Time wouldn’t have dropped Just like you.
Untitled Pantoum It seems as if you’re lost again Denying and attempting swiftly, forgetting Desiring for what’s only you have in mind And I state of the time we can’t rebuild Denying to hide swiftly, ignoring Cringing in these words you hate And I state a warning of what you identify as foreign Just keeping it out of sight Cringing into these consequences you regret Dropping to wail in your self-pity Just keeping yourself out of sight As it seems you’re no longer lost When you’re caught swiftly into a trapped point Dropping to give up your lungs in your hourglass of self-pity
As it seems you’ll no longer forget It seems as if we’re together again.
Ms. Zaich is an English teacher at Stockton Collegiate International Schools. She is the advisor and member of the Poets Collective. Ms. Zaich knew that she was a writer in third grade, when she wrote a story about a troop of animals creating a national holiday and won the young author’s faire. She loves to write prose poetry and enjoys writing about the complexities of personal relationships. She loves sharing her passion for poetry with her rad poetry collective. She’s also good at making candy.
Ice picks into jelly. I pull out the thin red threads through the milk. You leak and leak and leak. The thread I bind to my finger. Remember, tie it tight. Circulation stunted so we don’t forget. This is not an apology. This is not the thread cut. I am not forgetting. Crimson, the thread dangles across the room, hanging limply from opposing corners, all knotted in the middle. The thread, broken dental floss, pulling red through the crevice of off white teeth; you drip and you drip and you drip. My mouth, a thoughtless stone, weighs you down. So you unravel and forget.
A heavy bucket heart sloshing around emptiness echoes Snow decays brown in the gutter on the lawn, revealing cold death
Salvation is sound and fury Desperation echoes, changes Steam rises and falls So does the heart Desperation now, echoing, changing Comes in the night like sleep So does the heart Beating, blushing to bruise In the night, like sleep Hard cold silence Beating, blushing to bruise You find: a sister, a daughter, a mother. Hard cold silence Drifters, gripping letters in absentia You find: a sister, a daughter, a mother Cascades of days, years, time. Drowning.
Drifters gripping letters in absentia You do not live here anymore. Cascades of days, years, time. Drowning The fond days of leaking distance. You do not live here anymore Steam rises and falls Fond days of leaking distance Salvation is sound and fury.