Erin
The Literary Magazine St. Michael’s Catholic Academy 2013-2014
Table of Contents Title Where the Aurora Comes From Christmas Time Daydream The Night’s Sun Sin Introvert Golden Jungle Gym The Perusal of Sight Is He the One? First Day Orientation Nature Study What Dwells in the Dark The Second Self Summer Jewel Beautiful Treasure Clockwork In the Cogs of the Mind Second Grade Art Class Through the Many Days Photography College Collection of Haikus Federacy of the Wise Photography The Changing White House On Deck April Showers The Full Moon Stride A Modest Proposal Not a Cinder Stone Parallel Mimicry Reaching For the Zenith of Ambition In the Darkness and in the Light A Friendly Canine Have I Known Grandfather Clock A State of No Return The Journey Eggplant
Author Marcella Massarenti Emmaline Potter Elizabeth Kelley Crystal Mountain Kathleen Shea Elizabeth Kelley Crystal Mountain Suyeon Kim Anonymous Cam Lutz Kate Bush Jay Davidson Suyeon Kim Suyeon Kim Daniel Luque Liliana Debonis Ryan Pelarski Kathleen Shea Michael Wood Callen Flynn Lance Sharp Sarah McCormick Elizabeth Kelley Callen Flynn Kathleen Shea Sarah McCormick Dominique Ramirez Suyeon Kim Tomas Maia Elizabeth Kelley Suyeon Kim Suyeon Kim James David Mahoney Nicholas Moser Liliana Debonis Michael Wood Patrick Shea Liliana Debonis
Page # 3 4 5 5 6 7 8 8 9 10 11 12 13 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 26 27 27 28 30 31 31 32 33 34 35 36 36 1
I Am The Mask Stealer The Peace of Silence Ballad of Flight 93 (Let’s Roll) Creativity Unleashed What is it like? Airplane Infestation at the Temple A Woman’s Dream Cosmic Consciousness Time Clouds of Silver Desert Light The Pelican A Child’s Fantasy Demanded The Masked Marauder The Firefly The Jungle at Night I AM Charcoal Identity Mother Deer Photography Splendor of the Body Time Running Out Iridescent Pandemonium My Dreams Evaporation The Aquarium The Ocean Midnight Luminescence on the Strand Stars The Way of the Warrior
Sarah McCormick Marcella Massarenti Cam Lutz Michael Wood Crystal Mountain Genoveva Guerrero Annie Carnegie Marcella Massarenti Carl Schiro Elizabeth Kelley Annie Carnegie Marcella Massarenti Cam Lutz Elyse Andrews Dominique Ramirez Elizabeth Kelley Michael Wood Tomas Maia Marcella Massarenti Julia Erin McElhenny Suyeon Kim Amanda Dugas Callen Flynn Ryan Pelarski Tomas Maia Crystal Mountain Frances Hodapp Kate Bush Marcella Massarenti Patrick Shea Suyeon Kim Annie Carnegie Dominique Ramirez
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Where the Aurora Comes From By: Marcella Massarenti
Description: “I learned how to draw on my computer when I was 4-years-old, and it has been my favorite hobby ever since. Back then, of course, I did everything with my mouse on MS Paint, but over the years I've been improving, perfecting my technique little by little and starting to use better instruments and software. I use a Wacom tablet and my favorite programs are PaintoolSAI, Gimp and Paint.NET. I am constantly learning new things and my style is always evolving, and that's what's exciting about what I do. I love drawing animals and I usually draw fantasy illustrations, but I also enjoy doing pet and people portraits.�
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Christmas Time By: Emmaline Potter Once the weather started chilling, instead of heat it was so thrilling, People started wearing coats to keep them warm in colder air, The trees were starting to look bare, when their leaves had fell everywhere Landing in playing children’s hair when playing out in the cold. Winter now is on its way and Christmas must be soon foretold. Cookies, treats, and gifts behold. Everyone out buying presents, part of merry Christmas events, Mothers and kids baking cookies from their family recipes December puts you in the mood for family, joy and yummy food. Family members all together, all of them from young to old. Stockings hung and trees renewed, with ornaments and garland gold. Cookies, treats, and gifts behold.
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Daydream By: Elizabeth Kelley Phantasm words arise from the amalgamation of the mind order banned, ideas romp and rollick even as the mirage roils ripples rends, keeping the countenance stoic pulsations throb across the scape, bringing new life and potentiality to the resplendent perceptions of time’s everlasting tides. Meanwhile, the lecture monotonously carries on. The Night’s Sun By: Crystal Mountain
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Sin By: Kathleen Shea I am the fear that makes you run; With strength, I can be overcome. I am temptation that whispers in a quiet voice. Do not blame me; I am a choice.
You hear the right And know the wrong. There will be an epic fight To find out who will be strong.
I am like a storm cloud over a field; You are the knight without a shield. There is one of you and many of me, But if you stand together You’ll have more power than me.
You have your Father, your Spirit, your Son; I am just me, alone as one. Together, I promise we will have fun Until the morning of the rising sun.
The guilt you feel is the price you pay To be on my side in which you play. I should warn you that you will be judged By your Father, your Spirit, and your Son.
I may be easy,
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But my burden is heavy, So make your decision When you are ready.
I see you regret choosing me And think that it is easy to leave. But once you start, I am hard to stop.
Just build some courage And stretch your voice. I can be stopped I am your choice. Introvert By: Elizabeth Kelley Introvert Sit somewhere alone. Observe. That is how it is done. No need to intrude, no need to talk. Just look with open eyes, and hear with open ears. Snippets of conversations and ways people walk, avid, lively movements, and people still often talk. To keep chatting is wonderful, that it may be, but to watch is sublime wherever you may be. This is how it is done.
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Golden Jungle Gym By: Crystal Mountain
The Perusal of Sight By: Suyeon Kim
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Is He the One? By: Anonymous His dimples as he smiles make my heart skip a beat, His glistening, laughing eyes make me smile, His sarcastic yet juicy humor makes me split my sides, which then makes me think: is he the one? He’s as much of a bookworm as I have been all my life, We both play sports competitively, too. We share different opinions on what movies to watch, yet I still hold up and think: is he the one? He holds the door open for me and honors my dignity, I do the same for him (minus the door opening as well). He always insists on paying the bill, which gets me thinking: is he the one? I love how his tempo rises as he speaks of a topic passionately, How he cherishes his family as I do my own, How he regards his friends with utmost respect, which drowns my mind with the thought: is he the one?
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First Day Orientation By: Cam Lutz Amidst a jungle Of migration, I am alone In oblivion. I cannot see, I cannot know Invisible To all who go Across my stare. Now blankness grasps My tender air. Nowhere to go, Nowhere to be, Unfit to flee Yet nought to know. Boundless hall Endless expanse, Long and lonely, Cold and empty, Oh hollow void Oh frozen ground Oh starless cave. Who’s to usher? Who’s to see? Who can account For my own course? This world so big, This empty world. Deprived of life I wander weak Neither stupor Nor deep sleep As if immersed All too deep In the Lethe. 10
No one perceives That which vanished Vanquished spirit. Never nearing, Never knowing, Never to gain, Never to be, Not even here. Invisible. Nature Study By: Kate Bush
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What Dwells in the Dark By: Jay Davidson Once the sun has finished setting, that’s when Sam begins his fretting. Then his bravery abandons him; he shivers in his fear. Yes! He lies in blackened room; he feels a sense of coming doom. Biting lip through eerie gloom, now he sheds a single tear. This is something Sam can’t hide from, for the moment’s drawing near. Monsters of the night are here. Fretting that which lies awaiting, beasts whose hunger needs its sating. Ghosts, and demons of the unknown, praying that they won’t appear. While he lies there, shaking slightly, clutching bed sheets to him tightly. Open windows blowing lightly, Sam can see them oh-so-clear. Silent stalkers of the nighttime, growls reaching both his ears. Monsters of the night are here.
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The Second Self By: Suyeon Kim
Summer Jewel
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Beautiful Treasure By: Daniel Luque Why are you hiding beautiful treasure? I have been searching for so many years. I have struggled and gone through great measures, but my work will soon turn into great cheer. You shine unlike any star in the sky, and lead every man on a desperate chase. Now is the time for me to not be shy, for it is with you that my heart is placed. Everyone says the odds are against me, that I should settle for silver instead. But you are the one my eyes always see, and to you only my heart has been led. One day, oh treasure, my dream will come true, for the map on my heart leads straight to you.
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Clockwork By: Liliana Debonis
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In the Cogs of the Mind By: Ryan Pelarski In the mind from other planes Grinding gears of heavy metal Hefty thoughts lifted by cranes Steam blows from ports as thoughts churn out
Tinkling sounds of intellect Hissing, pumping and steaming pistons Crushing notions of flaw and defect Time for the action after the thought
Routes are taken and the movements are made Kept on time or not, each to our own clocks Unless forgotten the goal does not fade The body and the mind or the machine
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Second Grade Art Class By: Kathleen Shea We did not know What was happening. There were shrieks and moans From the room with the sink. We rushed to see What the commotion was about, Despite the teacher’s plea To stay out. It was my best friend at the time With a naughty red-headed boy. Her face was red; she held her neck tight: This was all part of his twisted ploy. Kids yelled, “It is an asthma attack!” But I knew more. The thumbprint on her neck Told me to rush to the door. The nurse came with me; The EMS filed in. The red-headed boy would pay the fee. I never saw him again.
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Through the Many Days By: Michael Wood The days they come and go away; They will in fact ‘til judgment day. God gave to us His only son, To save us from what we have done. Jesus came through incarnation, To give to us our salvation. The burden of our sinful ways, He cast aside in just three days. And to the heavens He did rise, And took with Him our very lives. From God to man this path He chose; He lives among us as He grows. But on this earth in mortal tme, Let’s not forget He’s still divine. Satan knows that God has won, But continues on with a lashing tongue; To deceive our wandering thoughts, Away from God and all He’s taught. We mustn’t let the serpent’s breath, Instill doubt of Jesus’ death. Through meditation and in prayer, That in His life we’d like to share; We act in goodness and through right, And follow Jesus in God’s light!
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Photography By: Callen Flynn
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College By: Lance Sharp As a kite needs the wind to fill its sails A string is kept wrapped around a spool, To keep safe the kite in the chance it fails To be a helping hand not unlike a stool. The kite begins to fly, up and up it goes Unaccustomed to new surroundings, Kept safe by the spool always juxtapose Wind picks up, increasing its boundaries. Curving and winding throughout the fierce air Even though the string was kept dry and well taut, Wind, who waits for no man, causes a tear The kite flies away with the wind it had sought. The kite drifts far away into the night With desire to reach a new boundless height.
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Collection of Haikus By: Sarah McCormick Poem #1 The radio on, a woman's sweet symphony consoling us all. Poem #2 Postcard perfect scene, blue water, white beach, adobe Santorini, Greece. Poem #3 Football in the yard. Aroma of barbecue. Sundays in Texas. Poem #4 Flowers blossom in bright red porcelain rain boots placed by the front door. Poem #5 A strong gust of wind sprays sea mist, soaking the polished wooden deck.
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Federacy of the Wise By: Elizabeth Kelley A flailing flat-footed fury-fight, An eager from the eccentric enemy-earflaps, Arises from a physically gauche, but gritty green hunter’s cap, As an opaque obelus-opposition, For the faultless fantasy-federation found fervent in the mind. Here, the hortatory heed for all, highbrow and head-heathen, Is beckoning to boycott modernity in favor of the benediction of Boethius, To forsake this newfangled pleasure-passion of the present period. But, surely, this quixotic qualm-quagmire queries all too much. Companionship constrained, creating chaos in the conscience-core, Inhibits the ideal ideology of the instant-time. Steady habit diverts from the deviled distraction of the distant veteran-date; Outliers do not outlive their orderly commoner-comrades ordinarily. Then, the torturously treacherous trepidation began, In the base form of the bulbous life-beast, the bout-breaker, Of time timeless: the temporary textile factory and tenacious trough of frankfurters. No, this noggin-notion is not unintelligent, nor is it nefarious. The conquest has come to a close and commands the ceaseless calm, Of Fortuna’s felicitous wheel of fortune in the forward trajectory. A finished whisper of the final white word-wing, Ends the enduring task-work and engenders effort-euphoria In the glad daughter of Sean and granddaughter of Rod. The elaborate style of this story-keeper is something before not seen, Normally; the words were not unknown to the life-novice. Accomplished still, the story is adapted.
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Photography By: Callen Flynn
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The Changing White House By: Kathleen Shea On every hook and doorknob in her bathroom, dripping on the towels She is ready for action, says each empty water and Powerade bottle She is a running girl, says the wear of her shoes Covered in dirt and dust, drying in the garage; A swimming girl too, say the hanging swimsuits Desperately trying to dry before another use; Scattered around her room; A messy girl as well, Says the clothing left on the floor, each pile a complete outfit, Atop cold tile and white carpet. She has brothers, says the grocery bill falling out of her mother’s pocket Almost every day of the week; Two of them, say the two Play Station controllers Dropped near the two televisions, lined up side by side; The other playing the game version of the first. One playing live sporting events, The older of the brothers is off to college, Says the tear in her mother’s eye As she puts away the steaming white dishes; Says the hard expression on her father’s face, Typing in his partially-closed-door office; Says the closed door of the other brother’s room, with just a crack of light beneath it; Says the empty room alongside her own, collecting dust, No longer being disturbed to unlock the shared bathroom’s door By the other brother. Her family Notre Dame fans, says the flag hanging out the window Of the white limestone brick house the week of the eldest brother’s graduation From the high school she has been dreaming of attending Since four years ago when he was a freshman; Like she is now, two grades below the other brother, Drying on the deck above the pool after night runs. Who is also a runner, says the sweat and blood stained on his socks and shoes A Catholic family too, says the pile of church bulletins piled high On the coffee table in the living room that is decorated with family portraits. Her mother a loving one, says the too large canvas of the eldest brother’s face Hanging on the wall, smiling back at her as she walks up the stairs Carrying the freshly washed and folded laundry in a basket almost her size. Her father a supportive one, says the Lost Creek Aquatics Polo shirt Hanging in his closet, alongside his running shoes covered in dirt and sweat, Just like those of the girl and her brother, Used on the Town Lake trail every Sunday morning,
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Says the sound of his car engine leaving the house at 6:30AM All year round. Things were changing, say the charity bags full of St. Gabriel’s uniforms Sitting on the curb by the basketball hoop in front of the white house. The lack of cars pulling into the driveway on Wednesday nights Say Plucker’s Trivia Night is no longer being attended by the eldest brother. High school has started Says the pile of novels on the floor in her room Atop the fluffy pink and blue rugs And beneath the clean laundry thrown on the floor After her mother has neatly placed it on her bed. Things were changing, they say, But some things will never change, Say the family portraits hanging in the living room And at the top of the stairs, smiling back at the girl Scrambling to the car pulling out in the rain Her father and brother stopping for her anxiously but lovingly, Holding her socks and shoes, At 6:35AM, Like any other Sunday.
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On Deck Sarah McCormick Sliding lower down the seat, until you face the night sky the creamy white vinyl is cool against your shoulders the wind is a steady rush above your face you can hear the silent slice, of the deck boat cutting through the wind and the steady thumping as the bow meets the water the water, rippling, the deepest blue, nearly black white foam at the wake occasionally spraying a facefull of kisses all the while, your eyes entranced upwards on the clouded magenta glow of the milky way on the white sprinkled dots, nearly filling the slate on the steady pulsing of each one on the white crescent, so clear you can see dark craters upon its surface on the glow it emits, illuminating itself a blue border however you try, your eyes cannot be torn away the stars only twinkle out here in the company of the sea.
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April Showers By: Dominique Ramirez BOOM! CRASH! BAM! WHOOSH! CLAP! Thunder and lightning lighting the sky with strong lights. April showers are rougher than people believe they are. The Full Moon Stride By: Suyeon Kim
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A Modest Proposal By: Tomas Maia (For Enriching the Academic Experience of Students at St. Michael’s Catholic Academy, and for Improving the Atmosphere in Which They Learn) It is a great shame in this community that the once well-renowned high school of St. Michael’s Catholic Academy is losing both students and prestige to other private schools in the Austin area. Loyal families and faculty alike recoil as the number of St. Michael’s students dwindles over time. Even worse, the very institutions that siphon off those members of our community, such as Regents, St. Dominic Savio, St. Stephen’s, and St. Andrew’s schools, are beginning to receive greater recognition for educational achievements. Having the utmost pride in our beloved school, we cannot bear to see it lose ground to such inferior establishments. Thus, in order to preserve the exceptional quality of education and spirit of St. Michael’s, we have developed a plan that will ensure SMCA’s supremacy for centuries to come. Our first priority must be to eliminate the expression of school spirit. Students these days are much too distracted by silly competitions and events which demonstrate pride in St. Michael’s. To correct the problem, there will no longer be any school days set aside for entertainment or community activities. Such petty interruptions of the school schedule include Community Day, pep rallies, and Homecoming Week. At one point there existed a SeniorFreshman Week, in which first-year students were dressed in every manner of costumes to be welcomed and shown school spirit; thankfully, however, the ungodly practice was abolished and may now serve as a beacon for our future policies. In addition, colorful decorations will be banned and the student dress policy will be restricted to gray jumpsuits, as black and white are also too vivid to be seen around the hallway. This new strategy will ensure that our scholars remain focused on their studies, while also increasing efficient use of our class days. Another solution that must be put into action is a steep increase in the productivity of the students. This will be mainly accomplished through a mandatory rise in the level of homework assignments and essays. All teachers must assign at least forty-five minutes’ worth of homework each night to be assessed the next day, and not to be completed in class. Meanwhile, during the hours of the school day, students must be constantly working, whether writing notes during lectures or doing in-class activities. Not to worry, proper painkillers and arm braces will be provided for overworked pupils. The change will be also be accompanied by a new eight-period
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schedule, without study halls, to further streamline the learning process. All of these procedures will boost efficiency at SMCA, earning us greater academic status and brighter graduates. Lastly, we deeply feel that the overall environment in the hallways of St. Michael’s is in need of improvement. Our students and teachers alike deserve a school building as wonderful and well-kept as the rigorous time in class that they enjoy! To create such an atmosphere, we have concluded that the majority of the school’s funds should be directed toward improving the interior hallways of the school. The walls with be covered with new paint, and elegant new TVs will be placed in whatever spot we think would be a good place to put one. Although mention was made of an upgrade to the restrooms, we feel that it is unnecessary and that they are in passable condition; besides, students can always wait to use the bathrooms in their own homes after school. As an added bonus, we will set aside funds for interactive laptops and tablets to be given to each student, and will distribute them as soon as we can find the money to revamp the school network. We eagerly anticipate this new wave of progress at St. Michael’s, as we are certain that our esteemed and well-liked administration will most likely approve it with flying colors.
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Not a Cinder Stone By: Elizabeth Kelley Do you see it? Or would you rather see the flesh and blood, bones and tendons? Do you see it? The flicker of a lively ember not the dead cinder stone? Hear the golden aria rather than the monotonous tune? Drink from the ambrosia cup. Feel the ichor rush in. Smell the born ashes and beat with the amber ember heart drum.
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Parallel Mimicry By: Suyeon Kim
Reaching For the Zenith of Ambition
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In the Darkness and in the Light By: James David Mahoney In the darkness Of the night In the day And its bright light I was overcome by fear, And my reality surpassed my grasp And death drew near. Only then Did I realize my soul, My soul Was alive. My soul Was near. My soul, Made itself evident And made itself clear In a simple statement, “I am here�.
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A Friendly Canine Have I Known By: Nicholas Moser A friendly canine have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in my readers' ears alone, The feelings I have felt. When I did once come out to play And have a little fun, I found that she had run away, Beneath the summer sun. Upon the road I fixed my eye, Unto the narrow street; And from my lips escaped a cry: 'My dear, come back to me!' And now I raced toward the wood; So silent and so still, And through the trees I swear I could Hear her bark, and then be still. My feet moved on; step after step I trudged, and never stopped: When up above my head she lept, My friend, upon me dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a child's head! 'How foolish!' to my pet I cried, 'That I had thought you dead!'
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Grandfather Clock By: Liliana Debonis
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A State of No Return By: Michael Wood As the light fades into the blackest night, From everywhere shadows begin to prowl. As the darkness overcomes the day's light, When none can see without aid but an owl, A man stands alone under a street light Moping about dreams long past, all the while A feeling of dread holds on to him tight. He's lost the one who could give him a smile. He thought he was her shining valiant knight, but now he's just in a state of denial. She proclaimed words that all men learn to hate; Now friendzoned his wish is to eschewal. From that wretched zone he must escape, But with no time left, now it is too late.
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The Journey By: Patrick Shea The days draw longer as the years sprint past, Memory strikes as the clock tick-tocks too, Through shyness and awkwardness skies o’ercast, I hear Heaven’s bells ringing, it is you. Sometimes I wonder where it all began, On the playground? In the gym? Advanced math? But in honest such won’dring is for man, For God knows it was forever the path. It has not always been clear, one can see At a glance. Obstacles and struggles line The way; But now it is worth the degree Of pain, as the stars begin to align. Each and ev’ry morn’ as rises the sun, I thank God for the journey just begun. Eggplant By: Liliana Debonis
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I Am By: Sarah McCormick I am a cheerleader I am blonde, artificially I am a procrastinator I am the always unlocked doors of my Jeep, And the donation of my cash to the homeless I am Jack Johnson on Pandora and a Bath and Body Works candle I am a bubble bath every night I am an evening run when I feel like it And a tub of ice cream when I don't I am an answered call at 2:00 in the morning And a friend to many I am full faith in humanity And overly trusting of strangers I am a mani pedi, catching up with friends I am a birthday present waiting at the front office I am a Pinterest addict And an on online shopper I am spotlessly organized when I want to be, And disastrously messy when I don't I am the daughter of a dentist I am the older sister of a "gamer" I am a boat ride on Lake Travis in the heat of summer And a golf cart an adventure with friends in the dead of night I am my pink Hunter rain boots I am a Californian by birth But a Texan by will I am Sarah Cailan McCormick.
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The Mask Stealer By: Marcella Massarenti
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The Peace of Silence By: Cam Lutz Silence beckons me to fields unknown. Withering wheat whispers yet unheard, Simmering seas swirl in torrents, sown To dusty dirt, perhaps preferred. Dusty paths writhe through bubbling seas, The moon mocks me, as though to seize All my sanity and my soul. I know not why I fled, nor from whence. I must escape this harrowing ache Of time long gone, or some offense. Yet I know nought, only awake To swirling seas, to jeering moons. I wander, weary, now harpooned To the path which leads to limbo. Amid the darkness of the ripe night, Blackbirds descend severed from shadow, Motionlessly sailing, taunting, Across the field in which paths writhe, Amid boiling earth, mocking moon. Yet now, all is fixed and still. My eyes closed, I shan’t feel more thrill; I’ve no more will.
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Ballad of Flight 93 (Let’s Roll) By: Michael Wood In memory of those aboard Flight 93, who valiantly gave their lives to protect the people and to preserve our Freedom. May they rest in peace. In the skies above, One last call to the ones they love; Not knowing what’s to come, But knowing something must be, knowing something must be done. I heard him say, that day, he said, “Let’s roll, roll, roll.” I heard him say, that day, he said, “Let’s Roll.” Never giving in To the hate that drove those men Their courage knew no bounds as they plummeted to the ground, as they plummeted to the ground. I heard him say, that day, he said, “Let’s roll, roll, roll.” I heard him say, that day, he said, “Let’s Roll.” When faced with tragedy, Those aboard Flight 93, They showed us how to stand, When Evil makes demands He said, “Let’s Roll.” I heard him say, that day, he said, “Let’s roll, roll, roll.” I heard him say, that day, he said, “Let’s Roll.” Roll on to victory, Roll on to keep men free. Remember one and all our new clarion call “Let’s Roll.”
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Creativity Unleashed By: Crystal Mountain
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What Is It Like? By: Genoveva Guerrero What is it like? Is it slow and peaceful or does it hurt like hell? Will it sound like a jackhammer or ring like a bell? Am I alone in this darkness? Will there be any light? And will I be happy or shall I cry with fright? If only someone could tell me what it’s like. I remember learning two sides to this deal One of entering heaven, to wonder if it’s real The other falling to hell with no one to catch me Landing in darkness with nothing to see If only someone could tell me what it’s like. What is it like? Should I be scared? Should I think of it at this age? Or should I be mad and begin my rage? Stomping and screaming I realize…why? “Don’t worry.” I finally tell myself-Save your cry But will no one tell me what it’s like? I’ve seen in movies people dying and taking their last breath They just lay there…quietly in their bed of death They seem calm and at peace While sleeping in their state of decease Maybe they could tell me what it’s like? What is it like? I asked my grandma and she said “It’s okay. Just don’t think of it. Go outside and play.” Do I want this answer that will end my life? To know how it would feel when they stab me with a knife? But I wouldn’t have to go through that strike If someone could just tell me what it’s like? What is it like?
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Airplane By: Annie Carnegie A deep darkness encircles the city; as another dreary day begins. The sun looms beyond as I loosen the bed coverings. Daylight breaks and I dash downstairs to bring forth the boarding pass from the printer. The passage-giver permits entrance on a great, grumbling, metal beast. The monster’s lair is far from my locale. I navigate the narrow road, driving my steel-steed, decelerating beneath bright yellow orbs, and halting before hellish red demons who give way to gracious green fairies. They bid me safe travels, speed, and good tidings to conquer the grisly ghoul. After these strenuous struggles on the wretched roads, I approach the rouge’s retreat. The beast lurks beyond the lighted lobby of its lair. I wait in line. An agent announces my approach and asks for my identification. “I am Grace Ann Carnegie, daughter of Laurie Ann Pye, granddaughter of Nan Nunn Hische, great granddaughter of Grace Naomi O’Baugh.” My advance approved, I apprehensively await attack. As, I approach the air-beast, it abruptly and devilishly devours me! It swallows hundreds of humans and I struggle to escape its stomach. Gripping and grappling at the sky-monster’s guts, grasping and Blundering in its belly, I barely breathe. Racing and roaring above the runway, the beast’s rage was not reserved. Hands helped distribute drinks within the monster’s depths, yet I could not safely sip for the wind-demon’s rambunctious inner rumbles rocked me rebelliously. “A tiny turbulence,” a distant voice declared. The victims murmur, while a muffled mutter makes known intentions to disembark. The sky-fiend hastily halted, hurling its humans headfirst. As it settled, it spit me out and weakly wandered away. Tired and timeworn, I desperately departed from my battle with the beast. Injured and inclement, the sky-brute desolately deserted the dismal tarmac. Who won the war is hard to say, but the sky-monster seemed weary when I walked away. A strange setting I soon saw, with glittering skyscrapers and gleaming streams.
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The ghastly air-demon had unloaded me in unusual whereabouts. The location unknown to me, I quickly looked around to see a simple sign. Shading my eyes, I shyly skimmed the symbols; they read “Chicago.�
Infestation at the Temple By: Marcella Massarenti
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A Woman’s Dream By: Carl Schiro At times the man would see her there, Among the long, fresh grass of home, And gaze as winds blew hard her hair And sigh as light controlled the gloam. But she would stand and stare aground At leaves that fell as time did pass, And she would love the world around As though it were all made of brass. He would, in fear, turn round and cry That she would not turn back and see The love he had for her and try To run as fast as clouds in sky. But she did love him all along Dreaming that she to him belong.
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Cosmic Consciousness By: Elizabeth Kelley Only when a symphony equates A discordant cacophony, Sounds blossom into iridescent rainbows And colors sing a melodious tune, Does one finally grasp At the fluttering butterfly-idea that We are but droplets in the vastness of the ocean.
Time By: Annie Carnegie My heart glows bright when I behold A star shimmering in the sky So it was nights long ago So it is now when I wish, and oh So be it when all told Or I will cry! Time stands still and still will flow; And I could wish for it to stop But then would see no longer stars atop, So I will not.
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Clouds of Silver By: Marcella Massarenti
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Desert Light By: Cam Lutz A hot breeze rustled the desert sand around my body, contrasting sharply with the cool, shifting earth under my skin. The yellow orb of the sun quickly rose over the horizon, flooding the desert with light. I groaned and rolled over, my mind attempting to make sense of the situation, but nothing came to mind. I opened my eyes, then quickly shut them again at the bright sunlight. I lay there for a while, trying to remember something - anything - about my life. All I had were fragments: a harsh, yet strangely familiar face...a bright flash of light...and a name Zion. Yes...my name was Zion! Finally I arose, partly out of thirst, and partly out of curiosity. Though the day was still young, heat blazed across the desert. All around me, I saw nothing but empty wasteland. I walked west toward the sun. After walking for what felt like many hours, I collapsed to the ground. My skin red from the deathrays of the unfiltered sunlight. Thirst clawed at my throat. My eyes were sick of seeing the sickly, bleached white sand, of gazing at the pale, hazy horizon. The sand burned against the exposed skin on my arms and face. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stand up and keep going. Even in my agony, I began to realize something...I know this land! But at the same time, I didn’t. It was like trying to put together a complicated jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing. Quite suddenly, I realized a figure was advancing toward me. He wore a loose, white cloak with a hood, much more adequate clothing under the circumstances than my jeans and tshirt. We stopped several feet from one another, apprehension boiling in my stomach. A sudden gust of wind blew back his hood, for the first time revealing his face. I inhaled sharply. The man’s face was the same cruel face I remembered from my past. My instincts took over. I threw myself at him, tackling him to the ground before I fully realized what I was doing. I had no control over my actions. We wrestled over the scorching sand and gravel for a short period of time - maybe a minute, or perhaps just a few seconds. My side suddenly flared, and a bright red liquid hissed as it dripped into the sizzling sand. Something glinted in the man’s right hand. I kicked out and managed to detach myself from the brawl. I needed to leave. Now. But something caught my eye. A metal cylinder lay on the ground, near where my adversary began to
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get up, looking slightly disoriented. I dived at it, knowing it might be my only chance at survival. I grasped it, as I frantically rolled away, the knife gashed a mark on my shoulder. I ran for what life I still had within me. My whole body felt like it was on fire and being torn apart. Glancing back, I saw to my horror that I was being pursued. Energy from somewhere deep inside me surged into my body and I forced myself to keep going. After an eternity that stretched for only a few minutes, I stopped and, with trembling fingers, opened the cylinder of hope. Inside, there was little water left in the container, but enough to keep me going for several more hours. I took a gulp, and wonderfully cool, life-giving water burned a trail down my raw throat. As the sun sank below the horizon behind me and a numbing darkness settled from all about, I forged ahead with a new strength. Miles of the same barren landscape passed by and I began to wonder if I was running to anyplace in particular. The desert could not go on for eternity, could it? Was there any point in running if there was no place to run? Strength seeped out of my body despite the refreshing cold of the night. I could not go on forever, and my pursuer seemed to know it. He was following at a distance, letting me spend my energy. I dreaded the passage of the calm night into the blistering day. There was no way I could make it through another day. After an eternity of endless wandering, the sky began to gray. I came to the crest of a hill and collapsed, completely spent. A few moments later, I heard the soft footsteps of my foe approaching. I managed to pull myself up to a sitting position, and he sat beside me. Together, we gazed out as light began to creep back into the land. A hot breeze blew in, carrying the cool morning air away with it. Below us lay the ruins of a city - my city… Suddenly everything made sense. The flash of light - it had been a bomb. My beloved homeland, with all the hills and forests I had so loved, was now no more than an arid wasteland. My family, my neighbors, everything I had treasured - now only dust. “Zion. Do you remember now?” asked the man with the harsh, yet strangely familiar face. “You...You did this?” I gestured at the destruction before us. “No. You did this.” The man’s voice was deadly calm. “We were scientists, perhaps the best in the world, working on a special project to protect us from an extraterrestrial threat. Is it
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coming back to you now? We created a bomb, one powerful enough to annihilate the life on an entire planet.” Horror seeped into my veins as memories, unbidden, began to flood my mind. “We were on our way to test it on another planet, but you did not properly repair the connection to the second capsule - the one with the bomb. It came loose during the takeoff and…” The man, who I now recognized as Xavier, shook his head, eyes glistening. Everything came back to me. How Xavier, in his awful wrath, had flown back down and left me in the midst of my destruction. Leftover chemicals from the explosion must have affected my memories. He must have come back to see that I was dead. “It was an accident…” I pleaded. Xavier’s face hardened and he slowly and deliberately drew his knife. “I know we have long resented each other, but-” “No!” A mad glint shimmered in his eyes. “Your soul is unfit to roam this earth!” He raised the knife as the sun rose fully above the red horizon.
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The Pelican By: Elyse Andrews
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A Child’s Fantasy By: Dominique Ramirez The forest fairy comes at dawn— a shimmering kaleidoscope endowing earth with graceful hope— she blesses flowers, then is gone. Wings beating like a hummingbird, Her smile telling dreamy spells, Each movement making sounds like bells, Her chiming laughter always heard. I even dream of helping her, our mist enchanting all in bliss, entrusting springtime with a kiss, our magic uber and astir. But those who don’t believe in fantasy Will never see these qualities.
Demanded By: Elizabeth Kelley To keep still, to keep quiet: that is what we were told. “Stop fidgeting!” “Don’t talk!” is what we were told. It wasn’t our fault; we really couldn’t help it. We’re sorry, we won’t do it again. But then, we do. We don’t mean to. It was just what we were told.
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The Masked Marauder By: Michael Wood From the depths of the shadows comes a small stalker skulking in the night; He could smell the sweet scent of the feast before; He was watching us, waiting for his time to strike; He had round eyes with rings like a mask, That proved useful in the perpetual darkness; The dark rings greatly improved his nocturnal prowess; He was concealed from our view, but could see us clearly; In the darkness sleep fell heavily upon the group; It was his time to strike; He lept into the camp and tore at the trash bag with his tiny claws; Tearing it down the middle to obtain the treasure inside. He greedily gorged himself with the leftover grub. Little did he know that there was one yet to be taken in by the lulling darkness. Michael was his name. He was a mighty hero, the head of the group, An eagle by nature, a lion at heart, Michael had grappled with bears and braved swarms of bees He would not tolerate theft, nor be tricked by such a tiny creature The group’s head lunged at the masked-marauder, who made a break for the woods. The ring-eye was startled by the surprise attack Why would this strange supersized day-seer be chasing him in the middle of the night? The mask hurried through the trees and flew over hollow logs; He ran through the trees and flew over hollow logs; He ran through the briars, and he dashed through the brambles, And he sped into the bushes where Michael didn’t dare go. This little masked-marauder had evaded the colossal creature. Michael was baffled; he had been beaten, tricked by that sly creature. Never once had he been bested, Especially by a creature so small as a raccoon.
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The Firefly By: Tomas Maia Firefly, Firefly, burning bright On the porches of the night, What mere mortal child’s eye Can ignore your glow as you glide by? In what celestial factory Glared thee in thy history? What Maker dare screw in the light? What the bulb ignites the night? And what lamp-switch, and what wire, Could create a bug like fire? And when thy light did oscillate, What foolish insect took the bait? In summer evenings with air so fresh, In what furnace was thy flesh? What lidded jar, and what clasp, Would dare to keep you in its grasp? When your Creator sent you out To summer midnight fields throughout: Was He who made you very pleased? Did He who made the flame make thee? Firefly, Firefly, burning bright, On the porches of the night, What mere mortal child’s eye Can ignore your glow as you glide by?
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The Jungle at Night By: Marcella Massarenti
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I AM By: Julia Erin McElhenny I am Julia, A JEM by design, I am 17, Five feet and six inches of freedom. I am a girl. I am someone who loves to be in the sunshine, I and the bridge and chorus to Dust, The smell that greets you when you walk into my house, My dog’s wet tongue on your hand in greeting. I am the breeze in the woods, The smell of dirt and peace. I am the baby blue eyes, tinged with green flecks, The ones that refuse to hide my true thoughts. I am the stabbing pain in your shoulder that never goes away, The tender, juicy, but well-cooked steak that oozes deliciousness when you cut into it with a butter knife, The cuts, scrapes, dirt, that cover the brown Ariats. I am the unexpected smile from someone you never met, The warm hug that is all too familiar, The inviting surprise of a new adventure. I am colorful. The red of my nail polish, The yellow of my hair tie, The pink of my lips, The blue of my fishing hook bracelet. I am not filtered. I am the thoughts that should be silenced, yet are said out loud anyways. I am the typical summer country song,
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The mason jar that no one should know about, The moonshine in the water, The wind in your hair when your windows are down. I am Sunny and 75, A silver butterfly that is ever present, A finger on a trigger. I am the words I feel and the emotions I speak. I am honest. I am the straightforward opinion that you asked for but weren’t expecting. I am the individual. I am the muscles that make you feel protected just because they are with you, Yet I am also the one that needs protecting. I am the only math problem my brother can’t solve, The fashion crisis my sister can’t stand. I am the younger sister that was a veiled blessing, The never-ending worry of my mother, The hockey pal and letter buddy of my dad. I am myself.
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Charcoal Identity By: Suyeon Kim
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Mother Deer By: Amanda Dugas It pranced among the tall and breeze-blown grass, With gentle step and silent graceful poise. I watched and let its tiny followers pass, Their white-tailed mother never causing noise. As quiet as a pleasant evening breeze, As vital to her young as breathing air. A guiding star rising behind the trees, A careful guard dog with a cautious stare. She quickly turned her head at every sound. On high alert in danger-laden woods. Her love for each young heartbeat so profound, The mark of blood and family understood. They leapt along, but I stood still in awe, Their shadows gone and selves behind the green. The love of child from mother, pure and raw, Had painted me a captivating scene.
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Photography By: Callen Flynn
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Splendor of the Body By: Ryan Pelarski Timid eyes and a shy smile Fidgeting hands in playful laps Faces ask one to stay awhile Soft hair hanging to supple waist Pretty people who are polite Never minding how they look Always nice to talk in the light Friends, lovers meet whenever. Quick touches of arms and of backs Looking at slender or at strong legs The dancing body never slacks Feelings surround a tender lover Skin yielding to touch Like the music, go with the flow Lovers give so much At the end bring memories home.
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Time Running Out By: Tomas Maia The human race Is the only kind That keeps track of time, That discards instinct And chooses to think, That sees the reality Of its own mortality. Humans think within seconds, Act within minutes, Live within decades. So, naturally, The human race Is the only kind That’s afraid of time Running out.
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Iridescent Pandemonium By: Crystal Mountain
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My Dreams By: Frances Hodapp I floated through my dreams at night, Like puffy clouds across the sky, When all at once I saw a light, That shone on field of lilies, Beside a flowing river stream, That glided through a misty steam. The water sparkled in the sun, Whose rays were bathing light on trees. And lilies danced with gleeful fun, Whilst tossing petals in the breeze. Continuous as sands on shores, The lilies freed their baby spores. A poet could not but be pleased, To know that soon some buds will sprout, And push their heads through earth with ease, And grow new lilies strewn about. With such a happy thought I saw The vast surroundings with great awe. The wealth the land had brought to me, Has flashed in my most deepest mind, And brought my heart much bliss and glee, For such a dream has been so kind. And once again I close my eyes, To dance with lilies through the sky.
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Evaporation By: Kate Bush Sometimes I wish that I was made completely out of water. So that when the sun’s rays intensified I would be burnt up and transformed. I would graze weightlessly against the cheeks of the daffodils outside my house. I would choose to be the condensation on your car window. To greet your tired eyes and sensitive fingertips on a Thursday morning. Would you cast me away with an unfamiliar sleeve? Or would your prints carve the words, “I love you” into my exterior? I would hope for the latter. The Aquarium By: Marcella Massarenti
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The Ocean By: Patrick Shea The waves roll gently on the sand, Making sound on the sacred land. The foam is white and bubbling forth, Cleansing sin’s stain and bringing worth. The rhythm of the sea will fade One day, but remain in the blade That time has made, forever more. Reminding there is more in store. I touch the surf with my white toes, It’s cold, stinging as the wind blows. But I do need the chilling surge, From chaos of life it will purge. The demons of the past remain, But in defeat, for I have slain The heartache of previous life. I live anew, but still face strife, But we all do, it is the rule From waters deep to shallow pool. The sea does not know what I’ve done, Or who I’ve hurt, or songs I’ve song. It does not take away the pain, Felt by others, from my sharp chain. When lost at sea, in Satan’s storm, It is a chance to be reborn. I feel it still in sorrow day, But here comes again a new wave. It stretches farther than I see, Maybe there is hope left for me? But that is not why I am here, To bask in self and fear the mirror. What do I gain in these few lines, I speak of me, a selfish child. If there is anything to learn, The ocean is big, have concern For all around you on this earth, 66
In them lies the key to your worth. As I leave the huge ocean’s sight, The brightness of day turns to night. A chance at redemption here lays, I can be saved from hellish days. But in the past I hear those waves, Tell the point is not to be saved, But to save.
Midnight Luminescence on the Strand By: Suyeon Kim
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Stars By: Annie Carnegie I meandered silent as a mouse That scurries across fields and floors, When at once I saw above the house A score, of shining shimmering stars; Beyond the green, before my eyes Glittering and gleaming in the skies. Astounding as the trees that sprout And grow throughout the light of day, They beamed with strength, oh, so devout Beyond the bounds of where we play: Millions saw I at one glance, Winking their eyes as if in trance. The flowers beneath them danced; but they Out-shone the joyful blooms in spark I could not help but shout “Hooray!” Despite being alone at dark I stared—and stared—but hardly knew What joy their glittering brought through: For now, when all alone I lie In worried scared or somber mood The stars shine within my mind’s eye And grant me joy happily hued And then my heart dismisses scars To twinkle with those endless stars.
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The Way of the Warrior By: Dominique Ramirez What does it mean to be Samurai? To simply protect ones people ’til the end? To be mercenaries with no calling to a king? Or create peace with silent strength to rectify? In veracity, there are countless truths to keep in mind. From the moment one wakes, to the moment one sleeps, Devoted to the perfection of whatever is being pursued, Exemplifying aptitude of an ox, disciplined and unconfined. Utterly dedicated to a set of moral principles, Forever following Bushido, the Samurai code: Rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor, loyalty— All being visible yet invisible reputable laurels. For the Way of the Warrior is seeing things through, Pressing on and refusing to stay down, At no time or moment crumbling under pressure, Not once surrendering with strong resolve and value. Attempting to seek and find a stillness of the mind, Striving to better the self in all aspects— As a Samurai, one must strengthen character; As a human, one must perfect spirit. Being among brave companions, Warriors willing to give their lives in the name of honor; Never forgetting who one is or where one comes from Nor neglecting the original soul no matter one’s fortunes. 69
In some cases, half the battles may be “knowing,� In others, proper spirit can win a battle before it even starts. Additionally, if one does something of worth, No matter how trivial it is to others, life has meaning. So what does it mean to be Samurai? To simply protect ones people ’til the end? To be mercenaries with no calling to a king? Or create peace with silent strength to rectify?
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Dear Readers, We have loved putting together this issue of the literary magazine. Seeing the talent of the young writers and artists in our school and enjoying their creativity has been a real joy to us this year. Our love for writing really began when we were a part of Dr. Weibly’s creative writing class. Both of us went in apprehensively and weren’t sure what the class would be like. Luckily, joining Dr. Weibly and the one of kind class that was A block creative writing opened our eyes to a new way of penmanship. So when Dr. Weibly asked us to be editors for the 2013/2014 issue we could not help but jump on the opportunity. One of our favorite parts was not only reading the creative poems and short stories but also the amazing artwork that our very own SMCA students produced. Our cover, done by the very talented Kate Bush, was a clear winner to portray the literary magazine. Erin, the title of the issue, is named after a young girl who attended St. Michael’s and passed away after suffering from cancer. We hope that our issue, a magazine comprised of the talent of St. Michael’s, pays tribute to Erin, her life, as well as her creativity. We aspire for everyone to enjoy reading and seeing the amazing work that this year’s students produced! Sincerely,
Dominique Ramirez & Jacque Rousseau
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