The Cardinal Review Vol 5, No. 2 - Introspection

Literary Magazine Presents: Introspection

Note from the club leaders:

On behalf of the Literary Magazine Club, we hope you enjoy this collection of student writing. We want to thank everyone who put themselves out there by submitting their work and applaud them on their new status as published artists! Sharing your art with others requires a commendable amount of bravery and we are so proud of each of you for taking that step.

The theme of this issue is “Introspection,” a consistent element in the works we received. We hope that reading the pieces in this issue allows you to consider deeply your circumstances and connections with the world and people involved in your life.

If you are inspired by the work in this magazine, please submit your own work for the next issue. We hope to work with you soon!

This issue is dedicated to the 2024 seniors, Rocket Davis and Aleah Ham. We all wish you luck on your future endeavors.

Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Maddie Rosales

Down the Stairs

By Hugo Royalty

I take a step, I take another

I see a face, I see desire

I hear a voice, I hear my mother

She’s silent, I know she’s screaming

I take a sip, I taste the grieving

I take a look, I see the shadows

They reach to me, They know im leaving

They stare at me as if I’ve already left

I take a step, I take another

I see a face, I see a fire

I hear a voice, I hear a rupture

And once I’m gone, I can’t recover

The Window

By Addison Bay

The frogs dance and sing,

Rejoicing at the end.

For their storm has finished,

But mine has just begun.

The wet window weeps.

My fingers press the glass.

I wish I could weep too,

But it is too cold for that

Dark clouds veil the sea of blue, The hills, an afterthought.

The sky wipes her tears away, Zeus’ anger, gone at last.

I don’t remember where I am,

Or why I even left.

I keep looking out the window,

I wish I could go back.

11 ‘clock.

An hourglass to hollow away the past to an empty treasure.

Anonymous

Reminiscent By

Remnants of a golden time float among the air above her fingertips. She sits upon worn away fabric, molding around her cotton dress, dreaming of silk.

Her eyes remain stuck to the shrieking flurries attempting to return the amber leaves back among their roots.

Ivories lined by tobacco mock an intimate ecstasy she slowly observes slipping out of reach.

Ivy encloses a memory she fights to hold every day at a time she can no longer recall.

Honey Coated Forest

By Anonymous

I stopped anxiously waiting for my prey

By the edge of a pond, there it lay,

A decomposing canoe, mildewing over

With every inch of water that tries to digest

Its splinted edges

Beyond a golden aura shone down from the heavens

A veil of smooth, sticky honey

Accompanied by the joyous laughter of leaves

Playing with their lifelong friend

Not giving victory to the earthly decay

The whistling, chirping, and singing of birds

All on their own tunes, yet

Connected to the greater chorus

Inviting along my darling prey

Rustling from out of the bushes

Its brown coat, in shimmering honey

As it enjoys the pure bliss of life

The music notes welcome its presence

As I creep, the soft squelch of mud meets my feet

My prey, my deer, gazes up at me

No blink or notion of fear, only eyes of beauty.

Slivers By

Anonymous

On the dirt floor, we sit, quietly absorbing the mysteries that whisper in the evening.

Beneath the tree, like humble roots anchored in the earth, we watch as the sun’s sharp blades slice through leaves.

But at last, there is no we, only me. Alone on the moon, overwhelmed with thought and bathing in its glow.

A distant light shoots toward me, and a faint, warm feeling flutters in my soul.

Yet, in an instant, like all else, it's gone.

Tears tear paths down my dusty cheek. The drops, wisped away by the wind leaving only a momentary trace. In the theater of my thoughts

I’m fading like final lights, fearless and forgotten. And then it happens—I am long lost and, in that moment, Loved.

Yellowstone Wonderland

By Anonymous

He stopped patiently

At the top of the rock face.

The wind whistled by as I stood in my place.

The trees swaying, shivering, and stirring in nature's breath,

As he pointed out and began to stare.

The snowy cliff tops

And the low-reaching sandstone.

A pillar of water rained down from the heavens,

Absorbed by the stench of his fading deodorant.

The sun dwindled

And the ice spread, as though an infection through one’s body.

His expression, full of exploration and passion,

Absorbed by the cold and wintery sorrow.

Till next time, it just might be tomorrow.

Arcade Amazement

By Anonymous

Bright neon burns my eyes,

Flashed with the sun’s somber sunset.

Entering the clamorous, crowded cave,

The dark room becomes all-consuming.

The flashing, luminous glow dizzies me.

Overwhelmed by the grimy machinery,

Screens buzz, rattling maniacally.

My seat rests uncomfortably on the hard plastic.

The monitor awakens from its slumber,

Beeping and yammering uncontrollably.

Overwhelmed as the chatter fills my ears, I enter the portal into the alternate world.

Daring to begin, I stab the bright bulging button.

I sit for hours studying the game,

Obsessively, I play until the crowd is gone.

What have I done?

Afternoons To Hold Onto

By Anonymous

Droplets of joy scurry down your face,

Splashed on when King Cyrus of the Cove

Retaliated the mermaid's playful ire;

His valiant knights at his every hip, atop their seahorses, hydrogen.

May your kingdom be at peace forever.

Naked feet tread water over stones the size of your most favored teddy bear.

Sit there as the sound waves of children in ecstasy echo off of the hillsides,

And feel the mighty train

Pass swells through your kingdom,

Reverberating the growing pains of rust between screws reinforcing the old oxidizing bridge.

A train fueled by the same capitalism, soon to steer your life.

One day,

You will not revel so carefree in your bathing suit.

One night,

Your friends will dive off that stone bridge,

Will you fall through your air of innocence with them?

And thwart the crystal castle ceilings of your kingdom, Nevermore.

Oh dear,

Don't you pollute their minds just yet, Let them breathe easy for a little longer.

Thought

By Bennett Rawlings

I am lost in my thoughts.

The intoxicating aromas of alcohol and smoke spill from my pores, Igniting the memory of a disapproving glare piercing through my soul.

My jaw, shattered in the relentless grip of agony,

My teeth, stained a vulgar hue of yellow,

My scalp, burned by the flame of torment. A symphony of pain echoes within me.

Yet I am numb.

Amidst the chaos,

Eerie screams and sirens ring in my ears.

Yet I hear nothing but the faded whispers of reality.

I lick my lips, drenched in viscous metallic blood.

Basquiat

Is this real? Or another figment of my imagination?

While grasping for the sight of my surroundings,

I find myself encircled by thoughts.

Amongst the ring of uncertainty, I ask myself,

Am I insane or not?

Deserted By

Anonymous

That quiet morning, I finished my slop and escaped from prison, expecting to be captured and brought back again.

But as I joyously danced in the golden light, no one chased after me, night after night.

Sand and sun charred my skin in the expanse of dull brown that never ends.

A seed in my stomach began to form. A nagging sensation, like the knock of a door. With every breath, the seed budded and bloomed. My desire for freedom became one for food.

What I could not provide, the seed stole from my soul. Its growth turned my flesh into coal.

I hurried back home in a ghostly hollow.

My body was a landscape of mountains and holes.

I entered the town, relieved and grateful, but soon fell in fearful sorrow.

A broken windmill stood tall in the dunes, while my pen sunk deep like a stone in a pool.

A quiet house and an absent carriage told the tale.

Where had they gone? Did they not care?

The Mistress of Death perched gently above me. She cackled at my regret and awaited my ending.

Grim Monolith

By Anonymous

The grime that grips under the fingertips have almost a magnetic pull

Yearns to return to its origin.

A black hole of an object looms on the horizon,

As morning creaks to life.

Life has been withheld.

The monolith envelopes all around.

Streetlights left in a daze in its wake.

The monolith pulls the whole town in

The morning church bell rings to little pleasure

Under the grim sky.

Ash covers all as it vomits out of the tower voraciously,

Rain does little to clear the smog.

The trees have withered.

The people have withered.

The lake seems alive with the plops of water droplets; Yet no fish live there.

An empty stomach complains to no avail.

As work in the tower grows near.

The town heaves under its weight, And life is smothered.

The Lake of Colors

By Anonymous

Colors, colors everywhere.

Love right now is in the air.

Pink, purple, green, and blue.

Little do you have a clue.

White, teal, black, and yellow,

I certainly do love that fellow.

Aqua, turquoise, lime, and sage.

Why are you so hard to gauge?

You said you love me, I love you.

The Woman with the Cigarette

By Anonymous

While walking down the path, a deserted divan sunkenly stands in the pathway, rust, dust, and kaleidoscopic florals dancing across. Red, yellow, green, and gray.

An old woman sits; her dress bleeds color into the cushion, red, blue, purple. She lights a cigarette. The strong smell of tobacco wafts through the air.

Her gaze indifferent and aloof.

Behind her stands an old garden trellis overtaken by the weeds, vines intertwining and winding with full freedom.

Time is like an ocean at high tide, as the waves surge toward you, the water’s cool touch is inevitable. The woman knows this, Yet she smokes her cigarette. Its ashes hang in the air,

not unlike the constant thought of aging lingering in her mind.

She tosses the cigarette butt to the side. Ashes fall as the fire burns out.

The Breadline

By Junior Cox

The dryness in their mouths, like chalk as their saliva thins from dissatisfaction.

Hunger

“Drop” the tiny droplets of water left in his cup taunted his very existence. His disfigured complexion tells the whole story.

Hungry

Uneased stomachs growl crowded together like tumbleweed.

Hunger

The voices speak as nothing, nothing but A low resonance.

Hungry

The crowd of men have some similarities, but their desires vary with a shared aspiration.

Hunger

Their breath contained little, and their suits were covered in dirt and dust. As appall and despair take over, what is left?

Hungry

A small face cheek attempts to rise, but shut down by the prolonged yearning

Hunger

“Rip, Rip,” the suits make as the crowd tumbles toward the gate of fulfilled desire

Hungry

The gate then closes to keep the time of perpetual patience.

Waiting again, again To start the process anew.

My One and Onlies ♡

By Eleonora Tartaglione

It’s only one day, one pretty pink ray. Only one saint who’s in charge of who gets to paint. Couples all in love, like pure white doves. Being each other’s valentines, dedicating heartfelt shrines. As if all were sweet strawberries splattered in chocolate. One day to be married, and kick their legs high like Rockettes.

The strum of a string, ding, as they walk by.

Looking around, my friends and I dance as if we were in a trance.

Realizing they are my galentines, and one day, I will make them shrines.

By Anonymous

Math. Science. English. Art.

Sign. Stop. Light. Start.

Work hard, go far.

Wrong move, high bar.

Eat. Sleep. Don’t play.

Eyes straight. Road. Stay.

Work. Hey. Go. Hey.

Wrong. Hey. High. HEY!

Whatever you do, never stop driving.

The Man

By Anonymous

The man’s shoulders slump.

His arms whisk the bench.

The feet fall loose.

His clenched fists unfurl.

A coal-colored crow watches,

Just waiting behind him.

Reading his face,

Watching it fall to the grass.

First goes the mouth

Curved down at the ends, Then goes the eyebrows’

Descent down the forehead.

Despair, dejection, desolation,

Cross the face of the grieving.

For the friend that he lost,

Forever a former memory.

A reaching oak bows, And releases its leaves

In mourning solidarity Of the face upon him.

Ceilings

By Anonymous

The house was too small for love to breathe

You had become my ceiling

While protected from nature's cruel changes

I was sheltered from the things that once made life great

The walls remember the shared laughter

The bed still holds the shape you took

My heart beats the same

But it aches like it'd been ripped from my chest

A yearning, a whisper, a ghost of the past,

Love's residue, in the form of a child

These hands that once held you tenderly

Struck at the drop of a hat

Door hung open as you took your things

Left holding our child, begging you back

Apologies leak from my mouth like a flood

But you don't dare to turn back

The house was too big for love to breathe

You had become my ceiling

Nature's harsh calls pounded at my door

I wish you were here to make life great

Watching the Passing Storm

By Anonymous

The sweat enveloping my body.

The cold air pierces, crisp, yet serene.

I gaze upon the once gray sky.

The clouds welcoming an opening above,

Letting the light escape.

Beside me stands the trees softly singing.

Losing myself in the distance,

The hills perched below the cloud-covered sky.

Trees scattered like thoughts on the ground.

Light filtering through the clouds,

As if to reveal the glistening water.

The sailboats rest on the water.

As I stand, feet firmly planted in Earth.

Realizing the passage of time.

Surrounded by the forest’s shadow,

The raw air coming from the sea

Alone, no.

Accompanied by the birds circling in the free

And the insects squirming below

And the red and white umbrella next to me.

The passing of the storm, Leaving behind the newfound serenity.

The Nomad

By Anonymous

Sand dunes stretch infinitely into the horizon:

What have I gotten myself into?

The vultures talked overhead

Reminding me of my limited time.

A town once bustling with people and life

Now lay completely deserted and abandoned.

The sun scorched the sand below me

While the vultures waited patiently.

The vast emptiness has a strange beauty to it

Like a blank canvas ready for a new painting.

The drained water tank stands alone

Like an overgrown gravestone.

I want to stay, but need to go

Or else I may never leave.

The vultures scream one last time

As a reminder of everyone else’s fate.

The Fast Track to Grown-Up-Ville

By Anonymous

Walking the streets, soaked with water

The asphalt on my feet couldn't get hotter

Leaving footprints like a criminal trail

Going outside to play in the hail

The salt in my eyes, they’re going blurry

Biking so fast, as if we were hurried

The shrimp in the pail, ready to eat

The sap in my hair, along with my feet

The hammock hanging on by a thread

The unpleasing smell of undercooked bread

Fishing for hours, ended with no luck

Seeing a squirrel at the park chasing a duck

The crust of my bread left uneaten

Losing hide-n-seek, left defeated

Building a fort out of blankets, pillows, and chairs

Screaming down the street, collecting stares

Tripping and falling, left with a skinned knee

Running and screaming, stung by a bee

My favorite movies with a bucket of popcorn

My childhood blanket that’s slightly torn

Growing up in the blink of an eye

Growing taller, touching the sky

Walking to school, along with my friends

5th grade graduation, where it all ends

War in my head

Battles getting louder.

Broken Lullabies

By Hunter Cramer

Cigar wisps dance with my exhale

Unconcerned for the tiny human laid before me.

Glass Bottles shatter in the background.

CRASH!

Friends' strident snorts are filled with crave.

Gunshots fire in the distance.

Boom, BANG, I don't flinch.

The smell of skunk and rancid wine weaves through the air,

Reaching the baby's nose.

It starts to cry, and I let it;

Don't know how to stop it;

Don't want to care.

This baby, an unexpected intruder,

Cradled in the rough embrace of this unkind world.

Defeat looms over me—one reckless decision to the next; And now, another life to show for it. This child is a stranger to me, and I am to it. Its big doe eyes look up at me;

Gazing into the eyes of the unknown, Innocence meets my gaze,

Patiently waiting for the world, My world, to break its heart.

I am refreshed. In this cold, dank cave.

refreshed By Anonymous

Refreshed, surrounded by the bright bursts of brilliant light that bounce off the dark walls.

Refreshed, as a cold breeze runs through me, almost as though I am not alone.

Refreshed, in the silence that is so quiet, even my breath echoes.

As I sit in this chilled cave, and stare into the emptiness, and the stars on the wall, all I feel is refreshed.

The Clouds of Dusk

By Anonymous

The clouds of dusk paint dreamy hues, yet hide the sun in secret rooms and cool my lonely bones with ruthlessness and delight. They convert majestic icebergs into glowing, burning needles threatening to attack my ship and me if we creep an inch closer. My ship, with sails at half-mast, makes no haste to escape, or to fear, or to dream of home, or to catch the sun’s dulled rays. It cherishes the peaceful silence as it loves a steaming cup of tea on a December night. But I need to escape this place or find a human face.

This ship, my love and closest friend, cannot comprehend the loneliness of the seas, or the cold, or the whisper screaming into my ear. Now, the sun abandons the sky, too tired to cast its charming light. My ship and I survive another night, for we need neither light nor life to find the will and reason to carry on and venture into stranger seas.

Silence Is the Call for Help

By Jr Cox

The crumbs of the original cheesecake cover my taste buds like sand Salt is what touches my tongue as the burning sensation from holding back the tears starts to break

The glasses of celebration clink together ringing for truth

“Sizzle” the steak on the grill makes as the glass falls and breaks, breaking the swift silence that filled the air The coffee machine purrs as it fills the transparent glass-covered in broken memories longing, longing to be mended

The man in the hat I motion to

Unotices my glaring complexion

The sharp pain rushes through my body as my husband's firm grip holds, holds me like the dress he made me wear wasn’t

tight enough

Silence replaced the forced laughter with a taunt, but the thoughts are rushing, rushing like a mighty wind

Sometimes, the sustained sound of silence is the loudest call for help a woman can make

212 Blaine Street

By Anonymous

In the heart of young summer days

My small old gray house displays

Me picking plums with dad, a sweet delight

Running through sprinklers, flying a kite

Next door to Anna’s, swinging in the breeze

Ascending trees, feeling nerves ease

Lemonade stands, pennies the prize

Block parties under the blue night skies

On our bikes, riding through streets unknown

Exploring and claiming the world as our own

Racing home as the evening draws near

For David’s pizza, with laughter and cheer

Nostalgic memories washing over me again

How I took them for granted back then

When I was young, so wild and free

In my small old gray house, you see.

Time

By Marley McCabe

A step back onto familiar ground,

Rain pounding hard as bullets on my window pane,

Salty tears mingling with the drops from the sky,

Yesterday, the world was not the same.

Yesterday, I stood on unfamiliar ground,

But now the ground I knew the best,

Souls of joy surrounding me on that ground, Now today are thousands of miles away,

Emptiness spreads like a virus through my chest,

How do I move on from who I know best.

Emptiness creeps, a silent tide,

How to navigate this sea of change?

My mother’s voice, a soothing guide,

"This is not goodbye," she whispers, "it's just a rearrange."

But time, relentless, marches on,

Fading memories of the past,

Leaving behind what once shone, A bittersweet reminder that nothing lasts.

Yet in the heart, those moments stay,

Etched like marks upon the soul, Though people and places may fade away, Their essence forever makes us whole.

Inhale of Acceptance

By Mia Cunningham

I wake up to the heavy reminder of my failures perched on top of my chest, she coos softly in the crisp morning air

Her plump cheeks illuminated by a golden sunlight streak streaming in from the apartment’s singular window

The grimy hardwood floors scattered with empty milk and whiskey bottles

I instinctively rustle through my satchel for a pack of cigarettes

The draw of sweet tobacco automatically soothes my racing mind

Distant clobbering causes the building to groan like a dying dog

My back gnaws with broken commitments

Diapers piled on the dresser like a fresh stack of poker chips

Prompting me to think of my old, once-glamorous life

Gambled away on a foolish bet

Dirty martinis and sleeping in till 11

Exchanged for powdered formula and 14-hour workdays

What has my life become???

Grease and dirt cake underneath my brittle nails

Hands rough and ragged from rigorous toil

Suffocating me in factory stink

A shrill cry, a last inhale, our eyes locked

Fatherhood awaits.

Despair

By Anonymous

Despair.

The skulking sense of a story's end. Like a moon that creeps into an empty night sky. The impending liberation from a wretched tale. A windmill groans, as a sandy gust sweeps through its broken limbs, and casts death over a deserted dwelling.

The beast strains its slender neck into a well that no longer provides; a tongue gropes the bitter earth, like a hand that fumbles in the dark. It prays for something more than splintered ground, yet only memories of a fruitful past meet its withered mouth. Is this freedom? Asks the beast. Skin grips the skeleton tighter than a clenched fist, letting ribs and vertebrae smear their shadows onto the scalding sand.

A wave of death

descends upon the droughted dunes, its graceful wings slice the sullen skies, as it prepares for the feast of a story's end.

Game 1, 6, 0

By Anonymous

After Dos days deserted

In a desolate world

I return with a rumble

For this special day

A day with meaning for Sea Town

Something rare as an emerald

We yearn for October

As time widdles down

The stadiums' anxiety roars

As does my stomach

My hanger needs to be quenched

So, as if it were Philly

I stand in a line

For one Philly steak

With caution tape cheese

A man wanders by

Carrying one of them Phillies

My nose has been convinced

As well as my brain

To taste one sweet steak

Topped with that Caution Cheese

But do not be caution

As it tastes so dear

My hanger's cruel ruckus

Is quieted to rest

My anxiety is not

As Marco marches

Alongside the diamond

A floor of fallen leaves

His march continues

Before a battle

A battle like Bull Run

With many strange spectators

Who hold yellow signs

Like those in the locker of Lasso

We’re begged to Believe

In a video of moments

That makes me tear up

From memories, I treasure

My anxiety roars on throughout the game

But Jarred breaks through

To ease the harsh feeling

The game now concludes

With a depressing loss

That begs us to continue

A curse for another year

A curse of 2 decades

How Much Longer?

By Berke Ozturan

Clink

Clink

Warm smog scoured our minds

Warm smog strangles us tightly

We all drink our sour sweat

We all breathe in what's left

Clink

Clink

Haunted amongst the hoots and howls

Holding on to our lives by the handle

Holy statues watch over our empty heads

However our hammers were their creators

Tick

Tick

Time remained a lost child

Simply no sense of direction

When was our work finished?

How long till we were dead?

Mundane Existence

By Jasmine Yi

Rich, earthy aroma of roasted coffee beans

Disperses throughout the box like a swarm of flies.

It is accompanied by layers of buttery sweetness.

Yet the box is cold and eerie,

As if in the imagination beyond what’s captured

Are infinite lengths of walls and vacant space.

Parallel lines persist to expand,

Depicting the two humans in the corner

As whiteflies crawling on the wall.

The overhanging white fluorescent tube flickers.

Colors in the enclosure can be counted with one hand,

Except for the candy apple red backdrop

That casts a glow upon the woman.

Maybe not a living organism, but an

Embodiment of human proportions.

Her coffee brims up to the rim,

Echoing a soft and rhythmic pitter-patter.

The surface of the bar table is an ice rink,

For the polar numbness seeping into my skin.

No sugar, no cream, just how I like it.

A pang of bitterness infiltrates my tongue,

And my pastry is clasped onto the roof.

The wrinkles that overlaid my neglected smile

Are now occupied by grains of sugar.

I observe the man.

His intellect ascends to where his mind pondered.

Yet, if I were to knock those unsanded, plaster statues,

The sound of flat, empty thuds would bounce back, Resembling souls that are shallow and hollow.

The mind carelessly drifts away.

In other’s eyes, we are objectified

Due to their egocentric behavior and inflated self-image.

We are too busy up in our heads to notice That our lives closely align with one another.

I mean, what’s the significance behind our indifference?

I wrote the page, A testament to my rage.

The wrath in my veins

Sought to sire the fire. It burned brighter, Obliterating the holder.

The mind Is now blind.

The person, A shell. For the vessel of fury, Belongs not to himself, But ablaze, on ire’s shelf.

Ablaze By Anonymous

Amidst the Whispering Leaves

By Brenna Olson

Amidst the whispering leaves, I find my peace

Where nature's symphony bids my worries cease

Beneath the canopy, a sanctuary untamed

In solitude's embrace, my soul reclaimed

Through sun-dappled glades and winding trails

I wander freely, as time unfurls its veils

The babbling brook, a gentle guide

Leads me deeper, where shadows hide

In the hush of dawn, the world awakes

As morning dew upon the ferns forsakes

Birdsong fills the air with melodies sweet

A chorus of solitude, a retreat

Amongst the towering trees, I stand tall

Finding solace in their ancient call

Their whispered wisdom, a timeless lore

Echoes of solitude forevermore

In nature's embrace, I find my true home

Where worries vanish, and I freely roam

For here, amidst the wild and free

I find the solitude that sets me free

The House by the Bay

By Anonymous

The yard ahead is foggy from the misty bay

One last time, grimly gazing at the dead stumps

Trees stripped bare from my hunting knife long ago

I wish I were different, kinder, and loving for my fantasy world.

Where I traveled far away as a superhero or policeman

It was, after all, my escape from that house with doors of iron and walls of stone. I leave that place

With more thoughts and now too grown.

I will return, return to those walls when I’m ready to face

That wasn’t too bad after all.

The Mill

By Eneko Gerard

Driving back home on Interstate Five

The air takes a smoky turn. The darkness surrounded the highway, until the factory appeared. Tall concrete chimneys mimic the tree stumps while the bronze brown factory blends into the cleared landscape. The doors into the mill stay swung open to display the sweaty workers. Their faces hide behind the shadows from the sparks. They all look the same, no one could tell them apart.

My parents focus ahead, unmoved by the mill.

My toy reminds me that its home is that mill.

I want to help set it free.

When I arrive home, the smell of my toy is still smoky. Moving upstairs to my room, I lay him down to rest, on the waxed wooden dresser.

Sitting still,

Thinking back

Daydreaming By

When the sun shines bright.

Anonymous

Our feet thudded with every step.

Heaving our way,

Up the tiresome hill.

Adjusting the tons on my back, We reach the peak.

Songs from symphonies of birds, Are backed by my breath. Peacefully lying,

In a blanket of grass. Green spikes wave like flags. Slowly, I drift back.

The Heart of America

By Anonymous

The horses give out from the long journey.

The men are tired, and we don't know if we can make it through My mind is spinning and spiraling. The clouds part. We made it.

The beautiful sky reflects over our final destination.

A canyon deep, with bold colors, Reds and oranges, like leaves in fall.

Carved by rivers, relentless and free, A testament to the American Dream.

Rigid cliffs, majestic and magical,

Stretching out across the land. Water rushing from the cliff.

Flowing down the stream like a gust of wind

Echoes of the amazement from my friends down below,

In the canyon's heart, a timeless sight.

Layers of rock, like a puff pastry unfolding.

Horses rustling in the distance.

Recovering from the journey to the canyon.

A light breeze brushes past my face.

The smell of fresh air and new beginnings.

Flowing through my body like the river in the canyon below.

A Supply of Silver

By Anonymous

A silver droplet drips down my back, leaving behind a sparkly silver streak

Like a sweet bit of honey on a spoon to a starved child, It's agonizingly slow.

It stings the whole time, but I do not mind—they say it is meant to hurt

Perhaps in a while, these drips will increase and pour down my body

As the rain pours on plants in a drought

My dry soul will soak it in

Then I will be shiny all around— Cracks here and there—But precious all the same maybe the silver can even make it to my veins

For then, I will be a marvel

A light

A beacon

A delight,

Never to be dampened, not even in the cold, cold night

My only issue Is silver these days

Is short in supply, and I cannot lie

I’m afraid it will stop

Or even worse rust

That heavenly stuff Is fragile

Engulfed in Nature

By Anonymous

I walk through unmapped forest

until I see a clearing in the trees

I hurriedly dash out

When I’m suddenly stopped at a luminous lake

My responsibilities blow away with the wind

My eyes look up to find a massive mountain

Trees poking out the sides and top

To the right sits another mountain

With a staircase of water streaming down the side

Nobody is around, but I’m filled with life

Surrounded by chirping birds in towering trees

I am like a piece of nature

Existing with everything and no one

But the bliss miserably ended

When wind blew across the terrain, rustling the rifle in my hand

And I am jolted back to reality

Flushing My Mind

By Anonymous

I stare out to the empty horizon,

Where the world cascades off a cliff.

Boats dance across the sea as seagulls traverse through the sky.

Big booms turn into the sizzle of a frying pan.

Surging waves spill onto the shore like molten lava.

Ripples desperately reach to grab my feet and pull me in.

Loose dirt clings to the mangled hills.

The soaked sand swallows me.

The dense smell of seaweed suffocates me.

A crisp, salty breeze grants me breath.

Ice-cold water shocks my nerves,

As steady waves flush echoing toxins from my mind.

Murky waves turn crystal clear.

My mind is finally clear.

The sight from above

By Anonymous

The crisp fresh air was cool,

The pointed bristles of the mule,

The chirp of the bird and the wind through the trees,

My old and weak knees and the wind through the leaves,

My child chuckles, laughing with glee,

The bird watching closely from its perch on the tree.

I can hear the donkey, the sound of its bray,

From the high hill above, the buried far bay.

The clouds up above spun tight like a spider.

The land goes real far, getting higher and wider.

The Beach House

By Anonymous

The Beach House

The crunch of gravel pavement underfoot,

As we race through the front door,

Shoes flung aside, bags dropped in a flash.

Greeted with warm hugs, laughter in a dash,

This is our place.

Awoken to the screams of children running down the stairs, The scent of sizzling bacon fills the air.

Fluffy eggs and pancakes, a feast awaiting,

My mother grasps a coffee, warm and true.

The outside world a mesmerizing view.

Bursting outside, our feet skin into the sun-kissed sand, Sharp twigs and prickly bushes squished between our toes

Pain is but a fleeting thought, it seems,

As fathers build fortresses in daydreams.

Playing house, we fake British accents,

Beneath the restless sun, mothers ply sunscreen.

It's time for a popsicle, cool and pristine

This is our place.

Now, a longing fills my heart,

Returns bring bittersweet memories.

Yearning for simplicities gentle hold,

Yet times relentless march so bold,

Knows no stopping; it's persistent chase.

This was our place.

People watching

By Anonymous

Balmy yellow light-washed streets, devoid of noise

meet a tall man; wool coat collar snapped up against his cheek

Like a stray dog, wind nips at his slacks

Plastering cotton weave against skin

He kicks at it

With a leather-gloved hand

The man reaches into his right coat pocket

Pulls out a cigarette, yellow-bodied and wrinkled

And balances the limp thing from his lips

From the left, he drags a light

Snapping at it with his nails

Orange flame burns a halo of warmth against his palm

Across the walk,

Yellow light still washes over the streets

Bleeding from rounded windows and buzzing fluorescent

He meets the eyes of a red-dressed woman

From behind the glass

She makes no indication of his presence

Besides the downward twitch of her lips

And tearing open a sugar packet

Spilling the tiny cubes into her coffee

And onto the dark wooden bar counter

Splaying out like white twinkling stars.

Untitled

By Anonymous

On the rusted wall of somewhere high

Cunning paint blesses the side. The painter ran somewhere far from here, But left part of his head to jeer at the cruel and crude crevices where

The people dwell. Shadowed by the shade of smog. Their streets stitched and patched together, refuse seeping from the interludes.

Like their clothing. The houses lay torn and boarded, stripped

Of all color, decaying and consumed in the yellow mildew eating the walls.

So in this scene, it lays its eyes and thinks without thought, a reflection of its mind. Because it’s just the same, torn up and ruined,

Today, it still remains a smudge on the pale horizon, only visible through the maze of hardwood and gnarled metal.

Yellow rot fills its nostrils, its teeth peel to reveal murky, blood-lined gums that drip down the wall into their heads.

Soul

By Vincent Hunt

When the sun goes down,

A new life begins,

Filling the night sky with sounds of blues.

An overpopulated street,

Forced police to stand by,

As I danced and listened to the swinging songs.

Bass boomed like a steady heartbeat, Connecting the beats through my soul.

Saxes stopped.

Drums break.

And the trumpet howled, like an elephant call, Crying out notes filled with message.

Each note of each instrument,

Telling a story,

Filling the hearts of those in need.

I shut my eyes,

I listen to the music,

And let it swing throughout the soul.

Sea Salted

By Anonymous

Air crisp, like a sea salted chip

Completely alone, but not lonely

Waves and memories crash together where the sea hits sand

Her words rocking back and forth with the tide

Sand castles and footprints, everything washed away

Erased from sight but forever present

The sun reaches down, sprinkling salt in the ocean below

Seasoning it, to balance out it’s sweetness

Soon, light will reappear, sending down warmth

Only for her to wish for the cold uncomfort she had before

Floating in the water, curvy rays of light

A single crab on the shore, sea salted

The breeze blows, salt flies through the air

Whistling and humming, the wind growing harsh

Makeup Sessions

By Vivian Jones

The candy pink, five-cent lipstick

Patiently waits its turn,

Balancing carefully atop the rusty rear

Of our family’s old farming truck.

The truck that has sat

Stoically like an oak tree in a flood

For five whole springs,

The entirety of my existing.

My sister scolds me, “Keep still!”

As her small fingers, with earth tucked beneath her nails

Grip the grimy blush brush

That tickles my supple cheek skin.

Obediently, my bare toes clench down

Onto the dry, prickly grass,

Holding my breath to steady

As my sister paints my magic mask of maturity.

The gentle sun dances off my shoulders

And runs across the grass

Leaping from hand mirror to hand mirror

And to the top of her Rapunzel head.

She then rocks back to study her canvas,

Approves it with the jut of her chin,

Then declares, “Now for the lips.”

The eager pink lipstick

Practically jumps into her palm

Spins itself out of the tube

And kisses my lips.

My sister picks up a glowing mirror from the grass

And reflects it at my front,

Exclaiming excitedly, “Look at her!”

As I look into the eyes of my sister.

To be like you

By Anonymous

In a world of filters and perfect curves

Teenage girls will navigate these twirling nerves

Images painted, ideals hard to trace

Caught in the quest for an unattainable face

The comparison of every scroll

A desire to fit in and reach the goal

Their reflection a puzzle, so hard to embrace

The mirror distorts, leaving them disgraced

They lose sight of themselves and what transcends

Yet, within a voice cried to be free

To embrace their uniqueness

And let it be

For beauty lies not in a chase

But in the smile on her face

Symphony of the Sizzle

By Anonymous

The black top crackles and pops,

As bacon strips lay themselves down.

The man next to me,

Whos outfit, a contradiction

Unformal, vibrant, but black

Redefining formal norms

Sideburns grown out, Creep and crawl through pale skin.

One cup o coffee,

Is all i need, Bubbly, and hot Steam dances, to my face

The mug climbing,

Closer to soul,

My lips hug the rim

My face now a stage

Covered in dance

Liquid, pooling through my lips

Falling down my throat

Thawing out my broken soul

My Tristen

By Bennett Rawlings

I have a dog named Tristen, and he sleeps all day. He acts grumpy in his chair, but when you pet him he is jolly and gay. He barks at nothing and loves to weep. But when his head starts to feel heavy he lies in his chair and goes to sleep I will peel a banana, which triggers his eye . He dashes over to me And begins to cry

He won't stop whining, till he gets his treat. Then he will scarf it down and begin to retreat

Built in Role Model

By Anonymous

Pulling out an elastic, she takes down her hair

Sweet fresh flowers grow into the air

The most beautiful woman I know, it isn’t fair

Everything she does is with so much care

Golden orange freckles covering her skin

I hope to grow up looking just like her twin

She hugs me and wipes my tears

When I’m with her I have no fears

The best mom I could ever ask for

With her in my life who would want more

The wind sheared past,

The Top

By Miles Stout

Signaling the weather’s change,

Step after step, We must keep moving.

Already out of breath, the journey has just begun.

The snow is silent, speaking with every step,

Seeping into my boots, the sweat begins to collect.

My vision starts to waiver As the air starts to thin. Our journey persists as the fading light begins.

The top? Is it even there?

Seeming like it's running away,

Quitting is for the weak, Even if it never stops.

The wind persists, sharing stories in the air.

Uncertainty lingers off the side, depths of the canyon below.

Steps on the glossy, rocky white,

Conceal the challenge of its icy might.

For a moment, the clouds clear,

Unfolding the white tundra.

With every step, the snow crunches and complains, Yet, we move forward, breaking through its restrains.

A sense of isolation blankets the face,

It was as if the mountain and I were connected.

Still, we push through, Mount McKinley, you are you.

Rigid rocks guide us to the place of dreams, Momentum pushes me forward.

A tunnel forms in my mind, The final steps I make: This is the only summit I'll find.

I don’t like cats.

I Don’t Like Cats

By Anonymous

They stand and stare on stairs

With an arched back

Hissing like a squeaky door

Sometimes, there midnight orbs

Stare straight into your soul

And if you try to pick one up

You're lucky to keep your fingers

Another devious trick of these devilish cats

Is that they might decide to take a nap on your lap

And if they fell asleep, then you’re stuck

Because how can you wake a cute cat from its nap

When you’re young, it’s “cats or dogs.”

One is right, and the other is wrong

But maybe there's room for this cat that‘s sleeping on my lap

Because how can you wake a sleeping cat?

Carnivorous Blaze

By Anonymous

The demonic flames run rampant.

Townsfolk flee, forced to watch their town burn to the ground.

The deadly claws of fire crawl up the buildings, setting the night sky alight.

Clouds of pungent smoke flood the air, singeing the nose, suffocating the lungs. Smoldering waves of heat radiate outwards like a pulsing heartbeat of the inferno.

Screams and sobs

are drowned out by the cackling of the carnivorous blaze as it consumes.

Crumbling homes and workplaces creak and crash as they fall.

Praying Mantis

By Ian Law

When the sun goes away, I'm still

The same old man with two few teeth

And a bronze plate in my hip and a Replacement knee. I’m broken, you see For I’ve lived too long, and I’ve fought For too long, and I’ve wished this would end But the sun goes down, and every day I weep.

Everyone in this wretched town knows about How I came to be in this town and how I went to war for this town, and when I returned, my father had left this town. So when I leave for the store and take My dog out on his walk and look across the street

And see my neighbor with his three kids

Who all look the same and who have all known Their grandfather because he never left this

Wretched town, my lungs are cold, and they don’t warm.

And yes, my lover left me

Long ago, when windows screamed like

Children playing among daisies and wildflowers

With candy canes stuck between the gap in their

Two front teeth and mud-stained upon their raincoat

That never dries. And yes,

I never was the same without my left eye

That fell out in Vietnam, or my ring finger that

Was blown off next to my friend Richie

Who never found his way back to the bunker

In time to escape the metal shards and glass

Bits and lead casing that still

Shred through my dreams. But you said

You didn't care when we read our vows

Next to that creek in the woods

Miles away from where we first shared

A scone and said to each other

I’ll never forget you.

But now the snow covers my lawn and the Praying mantis that once loved you now suffocates

Under piles of dead leaves that never decomposed

Because it stays below freezing all winter long,

And the trees provide no comfort in the rain.

And your love provides no more comfort than the pain

Of empty bottles of palliatives next to my bed.

Because, in truth, I never did forget you.

Even when the tree you planted died and the Creek in the woods dried up, and

That field where we watched our first and only son collapse

While running around second base, was burned to the ground.

And when the doctor, who we’d known since high school

Told us he’d be fine, we believed him.

And we took him home, and he fell asleep on your shoulder

While we listened to Pink Floyd on that Bright blue vinyl record player.

And five years later when I stood in his empty room and Stared at the shelves that still had action figures and Comic books, and looked at his bed that remained unmade, I broke down and filled my arms with his clothes. And ten years later, when I watched you leave for New York with only half of your things, I still Thought you would come back, and sit by the fire with me reading Ernest Hemingway while sipping

On the only flavor of tea you would ever buy, because Every other flavor was either too sweet or Too bitter, but chamomile was just right.

And now, every time the sun passes below the mountains

In the west, I sit on my porch and wait,

Hoping I’ll see a taxi stop next to the mailbox

With three different painted hand prints on it. And you’ll

Step out, with the suitcase that your mother gave to you

Even though you insisted you’d never need one, and I’ll look at your face, and maybe you’ve changed your hair,

Or perhaps it’s still the same, but you’ll smile either way,

Because you’ve missed me.

Or maybe I’ll stay there on the porch,

And you’ll never come back, and the weeds

In the garden that used to shy away from your hands

Will finally return and wrap themselves around my Bones, dragging me below the dirt. But by then

I’ll be long gone, and the world will have forgotten about

The little house that belonged to a man

With one eye, who never did leave that wretched little town

Doctor’s Auditorium

By Anonymous

Warmth glows from above

Like god.

Muscles tense,

And restrict.

Sharp scalpel slices

Through slippery skin.

Dark beet-red blood squirts

Like a firehose.

Screams and mutters

Spread the room

Like a flood.

Eyes pierce

From all sides, Tension rises,

Sweat drips

And pupils dilate.

Purell

From hands

The Gross Clinic

Whooshes around the room.

Feet stomp in

Teacher's crowd

The subject

Hands reach,

Slice, and Stitch.

Blood hugs the floor.

The auditorium turns blank.

Teeth Clinch

As all watch.

Mirrored Mountains

By Anonymous

The lake unfolds in a vibrant array,

With waters reflecting the light of day, And the mountains stand tall, their peaks aglow, Mirroring onto the water as it shimmers and flows,

Subtle ripples repeatedly trace the lake's expanse,

As if caught in a mystical trance, Sky and land in perfect fusion, Where the horizon meets in a seamless illusion, Colors blend and softly collide, In the tranquil waters, worlds coincide.

What is a Dancer?

By Anonymous

Her body is her paintbrush

Every step she takes is a brushstroke

When she leaps, the paint splatters

When she spins, the shapes spiral

Each of her fingers and toes is a different color

She paints endless rainbows

As she articulates through her spine

She creates smooth curves and circles

Dancers are artists

Her movements tell a story

Every move she makes is a sentence

When she stomps, there is conflict

When she falls, there is climax

Each of her expressions has a different meaning

She tells endless resolutions

As she arches and contracts her back

She describes the rising and falling actions

Dancers are writers

A Love’s Scent in Blueberries

By Anonymous

Blueberries whisper the sweet, hidden desires

Of a love that faded, lost in the fragrance

Blueberries once vibrant and plump,

Now bittersweet and turning grey

A haunting memory of flavors

Each berry, held your scent

Leaving an aroma of regret

Of a melancholy glow

Where fingers stained with blueberry love,

Now an evanescent embrace

Reminscing about the past

Leaving only a fleeting heartbeat

A love story full of life,

Now wilted, hanging on a bush

Our hearts intertwined, lost in the blueberry fields

A reminder of those seasons of blue

You leave me your scent

Compass

By Anonymous

The turning of suns has never quite made sense.

How the West sets pink with purple clouds,

The East rises mutely.

The warmth of Spring never reaches me,

My white-covered land was left barren.

With the Northern winds billowing,

A chill brought by icy hands.

I somehow feel more at peace when darkness settles in, When moonlit skies stretch far and wide,

Where bees will never buzz.

The Southern clouds have never danced so gracefully as when you appear.

I realize I may not know what brightness truly means,

But the snow of my land may just melt

If it’s your sun brushing the horizon.

Thinking Again

By Bug Murray

I awoke to the static

Again

My gaze fades in and out

The dark harshens your soft features

Your face flashes again

And again

Your memory

An extension of myself

A grip on my existence

My eyes attached to the vague outline your face has left on the screen

And I disappear

Again

A thousand daggers hit me at once

They strike my once-numb body

A cry escapes with every edge against my flesh

they rain down

Again and again

Frozen in loyalty to your legacy

The corners of my mouth itch upwards

While each of your features exemplifies

Till your figure complete in my intellect

If you are forgotten I have failed,

Again

The McChicken

By Eben Thompson McKenzie

Like a dance through the stars, It lights up my mind.

The McChicken its called,

It's one of a kind.

This Sammy I long for,

The Juice and the flavor.

No sandwich would be better, Each bite I will savor.

The journey is long,

At least ten minutes.

To reach the McChicken, But it's worth the distance.

The girl with the Butterfly Tattoo

By Jaeda Norwood

I see that girl, the one with the butterfly tattoo the ink glides along softly her colors bright and glorious her wings curving in all the right places drawing attention to her charm shes deemed pretty worldwide the spotlight forever shining on her yet the ugly brown moth, must be drawn to a flame? her astonishing beauty never put on display Even with her everlasting grace and wings as delicate as lace her details intricate and endless the pristine patterns often ignored,

elegance disregarded

longing

to be chosen but

Her beauty is rarely not rejected, now

left waiting for someone who sees beauty as subjective

I Don’t Like Valentine’s Day

By Anonymous

I really don’t like Valentine's Day.

And it's not for the reason you may have guessed, but because every year it seems love dwindles less and less. When has Valentine's Day been anything but a chore?

Colorful candy hearts for pretty girls, guys just want to score. Teachers buy creamy chocolates for ungrateful little brats, meanwhile, suburban stay-at-home moms continue to put on an act. What about young love? Of course, you ask.

Well, it's just become a social media task.

A day to post your hot girlfriend on your snap chat story, to make other guys jealous of all of your glory.

So, if you continue to ask why I hate Valentine's Day, my real response is, why don’t you? It's not like love ever stays.

My Blue Angel

By Anonymous

She flits by, almost indiscernible from the rest, but I must look. A blue swirl of color as she warms her muscles for the last time. There have been others, four to be exact. Each pairs, but she is on her own this time.

I take a last glance at her now frozen form, a butterfly now pinned, kept only seconds from her dance of fame Forever.

I step away,

back through the frame

to run back to grandma

Back through the page

to run off to bed

And to dream of my Blue Angel

Our Team

Club Leaders:

- Maddie Rosales

Club Faculty Advisor:

- Hannah Conn

- Patti Crouch-Cook

Club Members: [in order of grade, 9-12 down]

- Oliver (grade 10)