Literary Magazine 2011 with Cover

St. Michael's Catholic Academy Literary Magazine 2010 - 2011

St. Michael's Catholic Academy Presents:

Erin The Literary Magazine 2010 - 2011

Editors: David Vaughan DeVine Beth Smith Ben Russell Leticia Hernandez Ryan Pelarski Elizabeth Kelley Advisor: Dr. Penny Weibly Cover: ―Bicycle‖ by Erin Spencer (TAPPS District Champion in Painting)

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Table of Contents Title I AM‌ Homecoming for the Guys The Season that I Love the Most Autumn Evening Homecoming Untitled Fallen Hero Man of Autumn The Prius Tree The Night before Homecoming A Perilous Journey for the Daughter of Eve With What Hands Untitled Westlake Dressing Room An Ordinary Day On the Feelings Evoked by Chuck Norris Art Seasons of the Heart Influential Person Pesky Pets Baba O‘Riley When I Get the Chance Important Issue I Am A Poem Poems True Love Loneliness Untitled Love Lost to Winter Hunger Snow The Silent Day Untitled Those whom are Seen through the Water The Christmas Untitled The Basketball Player Lockgnar You Were Too Much With Me Winter Months

Author Erin Crowley Michael Cimino Ryan Jasse Pelarski Ashley Hancock Elizabeth Kelley Nia Johnson Iliana Rodriguez Seth Bernacki Jennifer Mott Cella Mahoney Ryan Jasse Pelarski Rachelle Caparroso Joey Rousseau Nia Johnson Emily Zagger James Boone Cameron McCarthy Nia Johnson Derrick Merkel Jennifer Mott Beth Smith Elizabeth Carls Elizabeth Carls Jennifer Mott Julianna Barreiro Kasey Zimmermann Yvette Cannata Christie Ross Marissa Martin Ben Russell David Vaughan DeVine Amy Breen Michael Cimino Ashley Hancock Ryan Jasse Pelarski Briana Muniz Leticia Hernandez Joseph Tybor Joey Rousseau Kimberly Trimble Catlin Whiteley

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Title I Bleed Love like a Broken Heart How Valentine‘s Day Began Y.C. The Dinosaur It‘s a Feeling Love Flower Three When In Unfailing Love a Child is Born Valentine‘s Day Poem Untitled Dance With Me Gin Passing Period Flower Two Journey to Paradise Tears I‘m Just Me Baseball No Path in Mind Oak Flower One On Hearing a Mocking Bird My Battle with the Sea Channel After the Rain Untitled Paint the Boy Crush Don‘t Judge a Book by its Cover Assorted Haiku The Illusion of American Culture The End of the Day Swing The Medicine Woman Flower Four Untitled Lament of the Primrose Toads La Croiox and the Tower of Eternal Darkness The Lego Man Butterfly

Author Bylthe Storrar Andres Alverez Michael Cimino Kimberly Trimble Nancy Van Gompel Tyler Paul Leticia Hernandez Iliana Rodriguez Anonymous Andres Alverez Cella Mahoney Danielle Spagnolla Jennifer Mott Leticia Hernandez Anonymous Maria Salmeron Mallory Hill Tyler Paul Selena Alonzo Brianna Muniz Leticia Hernandez David Vaughan DeVine Beth Smith Leticia Hernandez Danielle Spagnolla Mallory Hill Derrick Merkel Anonymous Ben Russell Phillip Flagg Yvette Cannata Cella Mahoney Christie Ross Leticia Hernandez Kira Parsons David Vaughan DeVine Elizabeth Carls Josh Rodriguez

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Matt Leibowitz Erin Crowley

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Homecoming for the Guys Michael Cimino Girls have it rough On this night so dear, Working on being pretty, But let's get one thing clear.

For guys it is harder, This should be plain to see, To make this night perfect To ensure their girls glee.

Asking is the worst, Oh, but girls wouldn't know The challenge of creativity To ensure our caring shows.

Then there're the tickets, This is no simple deed, Working hours for money By picking up weeds.

We need to get a ‗mum, Or make it if one dares, Then carry it down the hall Feeling other's judgmental stares.

But there is a bright side, An end to the means.

They have the time of their lives A night of their dreams.

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The Season that I Love the Most Ryan Jasse Pelarski Every season I do love but none so much as Fall.

Many mind the cold but I only see the leaves changing.

Autumn I simply thrive in; I will pick any day over winter.

Who doesn‘t like warm fire? The warmth they give from their brick house?

Every season I do love but none so much as Fall.

So many love the other seasons but Autumn is the only one for me.

I love the cool mornings, they are much better than sweaty nights of summer.

This season I claim has great weather for flying kites in many of its days.

Every season I do love but none so much as Fall.

Cold drinks for me no more; I only have hot tea, chocolate or cider.

I do blatantly exclaim, ―rejoice all, for Autumn has fallen on us!‖

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Autumn Evening Ashley Hancock

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~Albert Camus

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Homecoming Elizabeth Kelley Within the first few hours of Saturday, an excited hum started in the air. The sky gradually turned a lighter and lighter blue, until the sun finally rose. Colors painted the sky as if the sky itself was excited as well; bright yellow, an almost neon pink, an indescribable red, and a vivid shade of orange scattered on the horizon for just a moments. It all faded away and the sun fully revealed itself in its unnatural glory.

A breeze fell on the waking city, the animals awoke, and the world became alive. Many humans slept in on Saturdays, although some had gotten up early for unenthusiastic work. The peaceful silence of sleep was broken by the realization that slapped some late-sleepers wide awake. The now charged atmosphere has hints of excitement and nervousness for the oncoming event. Teenage girls dragged their mothers or friends to the mall to get last-minute things. The few hours before the school event were spent by busily fretting over clothes and hair and such.

The sky turned the same colors when it had rose. It was eight o‘clock.

Few drove there, some went by their mothers or fathers or both, and many went together in swarms packed into cars like sardines in a can. Inside, lights of every color flashed and blinked crazily. The strings of silver fell from the ceiling onto the floor. No one danced in the beginning. Then, a group started the dance and others joined in. An hour later, everyone was dancing and sweating waterfalls. It all swirled together; the dancing, the dizzy lights, the sodas, the music became a blur and seemed like a dream. It finally ended after four, long hours. People bid their friends good night and good bye. They all parted ways with friends or parents. The Homecoming came to an end.

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Untitled Nia Johnson

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Fallen Hero Iliana Rodriguez Gazing at the blue September sky Remembering the feeling of our summer‘s breeze Numbing my pain, praying it‘s a lie I slowly, slowly, fall to my knees With eyes closed there is pure freedom Safety in your warm embrace Wistful winds, I graciously greet them Your hands caressing my darkened face Lingering thoughts, lingering scents Thoughts of you come with every breath Hearing your voice, it all makes sense God Our Father, putting me to the test Drowning in a sea of emotion Lost in a moment when you were mine Until death do us part you have my devotion For all of eternity, until the end of time Selflessly courageous and forever brave The discharge of the guns bring me back to reality Faithful husband, father, and son is engraved Families mourning the loss of each fatality Deafening silence fills the air My strength now lies beneath the ground As tears fall, I whisper a prayer With God, peace in my heart is found Handed the magnificent stars and stripes Holding a box of unopened letters God heal this hurt, give me back my life For my children, my family, moments we will treasure Right here in this moment, I choose to move forward Holding onto you as my guardian angel Although my heart and life are forever altered To God I will forever be grateful.

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Man of Autumn Seth Bernacki Oh merciless change, you've struck me again.

The root of all that is evil, all that's good.

Your pressures weigh down, too much for a man.

You feed off the weak, my calmed nerves your food.

Silent as an illness, you've taken me.

Left behind in shambles, I am your wake.

A casualty to your cruel, sick mercy.

Doting on lost thoughts, icing on the cake.

No discrimination in your actions, Even motionless veins of wood fall prey.

Despite the use of modern contraptions, All that is left now is for us to play.

Change is not something to run and hide from.

I'll be a man, the calm and contrived one.

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The Prius Jennifer Mott I press down on the break pedal – that black rectangle below my toes with those lines, running from left to right, that imprint themselves on the bottoms of my feet – and slide my hand down the steering wheel to the power button, which I push as I watch the light under my fingers dim and then go out. My left hand roams down from the wheel to the silver handle on the door.

I tug the metal, cooled from the air conditioner, and the door yields, opening with a crump. My feet lift from the carpet, matted with mud, and alight on the asphalt, which had been warmed from the sun – the pebbles embedding in my soles. I retrieve my bubble sword from the pocket inside the door before easing it shut. Walking around to the trunk, my fingers trail the side, leaving red paths in the grey dust. I fumble along the underside of the overhang above my license plate, searching for the trunk-opener. I press up with two fingers and the trunk unlatches with a click. I lead the lid upwards, guiding it through to the ends of its reach because, after so many years, it‘s begun to stick around the midpoint. I climb into the trunk, right knee on the bumper as the car creaks under my weight. Crawling on all fours, I rest my back against one side and nestle into the tan carpet. I twist the cap of my bubble sword and unsheathe it, allowing the excess to drip back into the yellow scabbard. The bubble juice clings to the inside of the sword, bending the light so that shapes are distorted and the world is striped with purple and blue. I blow my first round of bubbles and they sail away, out of my trunk, bouncing and dancing as they soar towards the sun.

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Tree Cella Mahoney

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The Night before Homecoming Ryan Jasse Pelarski It was the 16th of September, a Thursday, the day before the Homecoming game. The ride to San Antonio Christian had been a long one. We were up against the Lions, our game started around 7:30. We got called on a lot of holding the first quarter. When the second through fourth quarters came we kicked it up, put it into high gear, and won the game. We all gathered to Coach Morelan and he gave us our after game speech. I was so happy I hugged Coach Grief. I tried to hug Coach Clanton, but he ran.

We started to head back to the bus carrying our football gear and water jugs. I picked up a red Gatorade on the way back. I took a sip and closed it up. As I was walking with the others to the locker room that SAC let us use to change, I realized the Gatorade wasn‘t all the way closed, it had leaked all over my white jersey. I told Coach Morelan, He told me I need to take better care of my equipment. As I put my jersey in the pile the team was making, I hoped that when they were washed they wouldn‘t all turn pink.

As I got all my stuff, I headed to my mother who had been waiting in our car near the bus ready to pick me up. My sister was there too; in another car were old family friends. We headed to Applebee‘s to celebrate my team‘s victory. The family friends drove in front. We lost them several times and broke several traffic laws because of their erratic driving. After dinner we said our goodbyes and headed home. Once I crawled into bed I wondered if the Homecoming game would be as good. I had no need to fear though for it was better.

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A Perilous Journey for the Daughter of Eve Rachelle Caparroso Her heavy heart thunders and thumps as the daughter of Eve steadily sits as she studies.

She impatiently waits for the day-ender to release its reverberation throughout the dark deep depths of the clamored corridors.

The time-giver strikes its not powerless sword at twenty to four, and the drowsy drones are electrified as they burst through the doors with a synchronous roar.

Rays of light illuminated and dominated the darkness that devoured the souls of students.

The daughter of Eve and her sisters struggled to conquer the hectic waves of hustlers.

The minds of juveniles cease to operate as their chaotic figures cease to cooperate with control and order.

The daughter of Eve stumbles as these not-so-drowsy drones trampled over her knowledge-givers held together as bounded stacks of papers.

She trudges through the length of an endless pit where she watches the naïve newcomers, and is reminded of those carefree days.

The daughter of Eve glances through a clear glass window only to realize that the college-helper is not there but she left a shadow.

With every step Heaven‘s gates are at reach with the Dean of Students who‘s there to greet.

As the daughter of Eve approaches the door, she realizes that there is no ending to this academic war.

With longing breath and one last heave, her eyes brighten and widen to the chirping of birds and the summer air, at last she‘s relieved.

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With What Hands Joey Rousseau If they don‘t believe that he came to be, More tired than the man who walks all the day, With weary eyes, alas, he not to see, For his soul be cast in darkness away.

Dragged down by hands of wretched demons, They are just the fingernails on his hand.

Covered by the Earth left without reason, Their heads lay low, and wander the dark land.

These souls will wallow, the thieves of the swell, You are a thief, a fiend, and a liar.

To be cast ever more into deep hell, He will summon the hands of a fighter.

But I have seen his grace save us before, The thief is saved, by the Lord ever more.

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Untitled Nia Johnson

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Westlake Dressing Room Emily Zagger The ballet dancers crowd into the room carrying baskets full of costumes. As they enter, the grey door, loose on its hinges, swings back and forth. A breeze settles into the area. The mirrors, covering every wall, are lined by shelves that gather costumes, make up bags, and cans of Aqua Net hairspray. The yellow light bulbs overheat, bringing humidity into the space. As I come into the room, sweat gathers above my brow and a droplet of foundation rolls down my cheek. I take out my Wet n Wild red lipstick, and it melts and stains the crème counter. The stools are arranged in front of the mirror stations. The other teenagers place their personals in front of a mirror and hang their costumes from the shelf. The sign on the door lists the order of the dances and the attire for each piece. My iPod blasts, playing ―Big Girl You Are Beautiful‖

by Mika. We bounce and dance around the room to loosen up before the show begins. Our nerves bounce off the tiled floor and vibrate in the sounds waves of my iPod‘s music. The beat fills the room with rhythmic vibrations, settling nerves. The smell of cupcakes, available for anyone, combines with the stench of hairspray creating a confusing, yet exciting show day aroma.

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An Ordinary Day James Boone John is in a transport on his way to the private barracks of Tiberius Croncade. Generally, the researchers at the Stanly Milovsky Center for Scientific Advancement lived in on site housing. But Tiberius always did like to keep to himself.

It was very troubling, that was certain. That was perhaps the only thing that was certain.

John had never had a case like this. In fact there had never been a case like this at SMCSA and even if something like this could have been anticipated, who would have suspected Tiberius; He was the most patriotic scientist John had ever met. He had seen Tiberius stop mid-sentence just to salute the Federation flag.

Once, he had given John a ride to work because John‘s hover car had broken down.

Tiberius accidentally hit a small woodland creature on his way to work. He had been heart broken. The poor thing was lying on the ground squirming, trying to escape, in so much pain.

Tiberius had gotten out of his hover car with tears in his eyes; he was so distraught that he had struggled to unlock the truck. He pulled out a high powered tranquilizer gun and his hands were shaking when he first loaded the gun. Then he shouldered the weapon and became as emotionless as a machine, as he shot the wounded creature. It was out cold. Tiberius got a large plastic bag out of his trunk and wrapped the creature in it. ―To think that Tiberius was going on trial for treason,‖ John thought to himself. He was currently whizzing along the country side on his way from Tiberius‘s home with the suspect‘s personal journal. All employees were granted an SMCSA electronic journal log that would be backed up on the mainframe. They were encouraged to write in it regularly about their day-today activities. Once for a week or so, John had stopped writing in his and a representative from the Department of Control had stopped by his room to see that he was all right. This had been the moment when John had realized that in addition to the physicists making sure that the level of radiation was livable and the biochemists taking electronic readings of the level of artificially created bacteria in the air, there were psychologists monitoring their behavior. He was a little shocked, at first, that he had no real privacy. But then he questioned why he had expected not to be a lab rat, especially since SMCSA was devoted to advancing every field of science, even the social sciences.

The Stanly Milovsky Center for Scientific Advancement was shaped like a hexagon SMCSA was divided into six departments: Biology, Computer Programing, Engineering, Physics, Psychology, and Control.

All in all it was a pretty amazing place to work and live. One could find physicists running experiments with a particle accelerator and the biochemists trying to grow plants that could open doors for people. It was the kind of place that science geeks dream about when they are young.

But John wasn‘t a scientist. He worked on the security force which was a much less exciting job that one might expect. Today was a little bit different though. It was exciting, but it was also troubling. He was to transport the private electronic journal of Tiberius S. Croncade to the main security center where it would be entered as evidence in the trial of Tiberius who was accused of treason. John could not say what caused him to look in Tiberius‘s journal. He guessed it was probably curiosity and he was probably right. He wirelessly connected the journal to his cars computer and put the car on auto pilot. He loved a good story.

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The life of Tiberius S. Croncade: Star date 21-47-9-03 From the moment I wake up until the moment I lay down to rest my day is scheduled for me by efficiency experts. I moved out of the SMCSA compound to get away from all the micro management but space cannot keep them away from me. They managed to sync my home with the central computer so that they can still set my alarm and decide what I eat for breakfast. Sure I have some say in the matter and they generally let me eat what I want, but it should be entirely my decision what I eat and when I eat it not theirs.

The other day I was pulling my hover car into the docking bay and I saw a spot closer to the airlock entrance than I usually get, but when I went to take it they overrode the controls to my car and parked me in my usual spot. It‘s not that I don‘t like walking it‘s just that they are trying to take away my right to control anything and they are succeeding. I‘m here under contract. The living conditions are good. The company I keep is sociable and intellectual. I am doing what I love. but I do everything according to their schedule.

Yesterday, when I was parking I bumped the hover car in front of my. Today, when I went to park they had the computer park for me, but I don‘t care. I hit that car on purpose, and they can deal with that. They might dock my pay, but why should I care; my next payday is thirty three days away.

Everyday, I go through two security check points where I walk through a scanner. Seems like a waste of sacred energy to scan everyone twice.

I spend less than an hour on everything I do. The inertia alone is enough to drive anyone crazy.

Star date 21-48-9-03 At lunch I sit in the cafeteria with my friends. They are more like associates. They all joke and have a good time, but the jokes have nothing to do with their lives and this momentary break from the mundane day means nothing. It means nothing at all.

The research center exists as a side project to the power plant there. Sometimes at lunch some of my ―friends‖ will talk cynically about that, but I like the power plant. It is so dependable, so constant. It‘s like the sun.

Star date 21-49-9-03 At lunch I see couples sitting together. It reminds me about how things where back on Earth. When I was with Lucy, but, as you know, she said she would not be able to stand dating someone who was not on the same planet as she was, that the odds of them working out were astronomical. I wanted to at least try a long distance relationship but she wouldn‘t have it. I had loved her. Today I heard that She is going to get married.

Star date 21-50-9-03 There is an hour of recreation time everyday and I never seem to do the same thing twice.

Star date 21-51-9-03 There was an award ceremony today. Before I went to the ceremony I visited the core. I love the core. I brings life to everything here. It seemed to be calling to me. I reached up to touch the glowing orange heart of the core but it was one hundred meters above the floor. It wants me 22

to set it free. I know it will destroy everything that I have done here. And that it will kill me but I have to try to free they poor soul trapped in a steal cage.

I realize that if your reading this I have failed and that they will lock me away somewhere or execute me, but I don‘t care about that. If I have failed then there is still a gentle beast trapped by bolts and beams of cold cruel metal and I urge you to take up my quest and bring freedom to the beast.

John stopped reading. It was weird. When he first read that Tiberius had actually intended to breach the core, he had been surprised, but now he understood it. He didn‘t know what had brought about this sudden revelation but what he did know was clear: First, Tiberius was not crazy.

Second, he had a purpose in life.

And nothing mattered but freedom for that beautiful bringer of life.

He took the car off autopilot and stepped on the gas. He only had one shot at this and if he worked quickly he wouldn‘t have to kill that many people. Not that killing people was a problem, there were no more problems. But if he had to kill people to free the core, then they would slow him down; if he took too long to unlock that steel cage, his mother, trapped, would be disappointed.

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On the Feelings Evoked by Chuck Norris Cameron McCarthy His fists like flaming balls of fury, His eyes as dark as the deepest forest, He answers to no judge or jury, I speak, of course, of the one called Norris.

He watches you when you go to work, He hears everything that you‘ve said.

You never know where he will lurk, He‘s probably crouched behind your bed.

He was the Walker Texas Ranger, The god of the roundhouse kick, Our lives are constantly in danger, His ass kicking moves are seriously sick.

In truth we should all count our luck; We exist only at the whims of Chuck.

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Art Nia Johnson

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Seasons of the Heart Derrick Merkel When people ask me about what I think of love, They expect answers of candy, romance, Romeo and Juliet, Although these things do symbolize the subject of love, I like to compare it to seasons, The seasons that affect our physical world.

As we grow, we experience different feelings from the heart, From the heart, we feel pain, From the heart, we feel joy, We feel sadness, We feel life.

Life, sadness, pain, and joy. If you think about it, They are feelings that can be represented by seasons, Pain with winter, Life with spring, Joy with summer, Sadness with fall.

Perhaps we are more connected with the world then we thought.

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Influential Person Jennifer Mott The prevailing goal in my life has been to become, as I call it, a ―super-kick-ass adventurer‖ – excepting a brief period in the first grade when I wanted to illustrate children‘s books and another when I was eleven and wanted to take over the world by harnessing the power of extraterrestrial visitors. This desire can be most easily traced to an early encounter with one of the world‘s leading experts in super-kick-assery.

At age four, my father first introduced me to Henry Jones Jr. when he decided that he could stand the Thundercats no longer, and switched off the cartoons against the ardent pleas of my older brother and myself. He then, with great reverence, inserted the VHS tape while muttering something about awesome hats and quality entertainment.

I watched in amazement as Indy deftly avoided poison darts and fled that gigantic boulder (which, upon dragging my parents to the Indiana Jones show at Disney World, I learned was made of papier-mâché) all while managing to safely remove the golden idol from the temple. My heart raced at the thought of how Indy was possibly going to defeat that unbelievably intimidating guy with the mad sword skillz, and I squealed in delight at his simple solution. My young mind marveled at what terrible aim Nazis have because Indy only got shot once, a mere graze of the arm, even though the assailant was only two feet away. And I have, to this day, never witnessed the havoc wrought by the opening of the Ark upon those nasty Nazis because Indy said not to look.

It seemed incredible to me that someone could possibly get paid to look at books instead of computer screens, to travel to ancient cities instead of cold office buildings. But here, Indy had studied (most likely in books) and he had explored and he held in his hands one of the most widely sought treasures mankind has ever known. In seeking it, in holding it, in rescuing it, he became a part of its history – a history which began so long ago and was so much more than him.

He was just one person, but he was able to experience something that no one had experienced in thousands of years, and save the world to boot.

The effect was not so great on my brother as it was on myself – he was still bent on becoming a Power Ranger – but I had found my calling. From the moment the end credits began to roll, I felt within me, not only a healthy fear of snakes, but a yearning – which was somehow powerful enough to remain strong to this day – to hold in my hands anything (though the Ark of the Covenant would be preferable) that had survived through the ages. Naturally, this yearning has led to an interest in the pursuit of archaeological studies and a well-maintained sense of awe and gratitude towards Indiana Jones.

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Pesky Pets Beth Smith I‘ve always loved animals, especially dogs. One of my childhood rooms was covered with every ―101 Dalmatians‖ product ever produced. Unfortunately, I haven‘t always been lucky in love. After years of incessant begging, my parents reluctantly agreed to go from the stuffed version to a real dog. I envisioned something on the scale of Clifford, the Big Red Dog, but my parents were thinking much smaller, so we ended up with Buddy, a seven pound Yorkshire terrier. It didn‘t take long to discover Buddy was a tiny, cute… curmudgeon. He loved us, but snarled and barked at anyone who came to the door and chased my friends around the house, biting their heels. So after less than a year with the little beast, he had to go ―visit‖ my aunt; fourteen years later, snapping at people he can barely see now, he is still enjoying his visit.

By the time my parents agreed to another dog I had memorized almost every breed and was well known at the pound. Lucy came to us from a rescue foundation. She was a dream come true; calm, sweet and affectionate… until the first storm. At the sound of thunder, Lucy panicked, racing through the house, frantically chewing and tearing things apart trying to find a safe place. The mystery of teeth broken at the gum line was certainly solved. With no one home during the day to comfort Lucy during the storms, we had to give her up to the foundation.

Fortunately, they found a patient, retired couple capable of managing her thunder phobia.

Afraid to risk another heartbreak, I decided to get a fish. How badly could that turn out?

The beta fish, which I creatively named Beta, was awful. He smelled, he splashed water out of his tank, and honestly, he wasn‘t very interactive. But that fish, that smelly fish, lived for four years, the longest I have ever had a pet. By then, I was ready for another dog. Riley, a beautiful Golden Retriever, was everything a girl could want in a dog. She could have ben cast as Lassie.

She was playful, friendly and smart… but, one big hairy allergen to my father. After sinus surgery, his doctor recommended a pet free home. It was my Dad or the do, and after several days of weighing my options, I finally agreed we‘d keep Dad. So Riley went to live with friends.

I haven‘t lost hope; I‘m sure my best dog years are yet to come. In the meantime, I have adopted a hermit crab. I thought it was a pretty safe choice. It‘s not the most thrilling pet. In fact, I‘m not even sure he‘s even alive right now; he hasn‘t moved in a couple weeks. I guess it wouldn‘t be the worst thing in the world if little Willie passed away. My plan of moving into a college dorm doesn‘t really include finding a place to put my crab cage.

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Baba O’Riley Elizabeth Carls Last summer, our neighbors and family friends, the Weisers, invited us to climb the Grand Teton with them. Their family, Mr. David, Mrs. Mary, my best friend Leah, and her little brother Nathan, live on the adventurous side of Glenview Avenue. My parents don‘t own a bike between them, let alone camp or even hike. However, because I spent roughly equal parts of my childhood on the calm and adventurous sides of our street, I readily agreed to the climb, and on a whim, my dad agreed to come, too.

The soundtrack for our drive to the Grand Teton National Park was The Who, but when we finally saw the snow capped giant in front of us, not even the hard rock could ward off the inkling that we might have taken on more than we could handle. None of us had any technical climbing experience, and we hadn‘t trained. Fortunately, we hired two guides who shaped us into amateur mountaineers during two days of intensive climbing school, after which we successfully summited the mountain.

After the adventure, our exhausted crew piled back into our tiny rental car, dirty and glad to sit down. As the engine roared to life, the CD picked up where it had left off when we began our expedition. We all recognized the first few notes of ―Baba O‘Riley.‖ It was the song we had been listening to when the mountain first came into view. As we sailed down the park‘s main road, the kids in the backseat played a vigorous air guitar while the dads held down the percussion on the dashboard and steering wheel. While both head-banging and fist-pumping, we sang five different versions of the words in five different pitches, only uniting for the chorus: ―Teenage wasteland/ oh, yeah/ teenage wasteland!‖ For the dads, the song was the rebellious music of their teens; for us, it possessed the warm familiarity of childhood.

Our nondescript silver Camry zipping peacefully along under the full moon would mean nothing to the buffalo in the fields or the other travelers on the highway. But for us, for our tiny, victorious family, we had just performed the most beautiful rendition of ―Baba O‘Riley‖ known to man.

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When I get the Chance

By Elizabeth Carls I haul myself along a steep ridge in Alaska‘s vast backcountry. Laís, the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) instructor accompanying me and two other students on our peak ascent, calls a stop so that we can put on our heavy fleeces, gloves and hats to protect ourselves from the peak‘s relentless wind. Over the past two hours, we have followed a game trail, a faint ribbon etched into the rock, up the side of a mountain.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot…up and up until finally the world opens below us. From up here, the delicate tundra nestled in the valleys looks deceptively green and fertile, especially in contrast to the Mordor-esque mountains. At the foot of our mountain is a large lake, almost black in the center, fading out to blue, then green, the shallows tinged with red. On its banks are the dark outlines of our tents and the tiny specks of our friends who didn‘t join the ascent. I can also barely make out last night‘s campsite near another alpine lake and the route of today‘s hike.

Other than those two lakes and the six miles in between them, everything is unknown, a wilderness we will only ever know as contour lines on our topo maps. The endless pattern of mountains and valleys disappears into the hazy distance sheltering who knows how many rainbow lakes, grazing caribou, and nameless peaks climbed by forgotten expeditions.

Emmy, Alexa and I squeeze each other‘s gloved hands and grin. We take pictures of each other seated on the summit as evidence of our exploits for our families back home. When the cold finally exhausts us, we begin tracing the game trail back down the mountain. It is past midnight, but the summer is just beginning to set, silhouetting the wise old peaks against a burning backdrop of pink and red.

As the world finally whispers goodnight, I am quiet. I realize that it isn‘t enough to see the beauty of the wilderness on a PBS special, or to read about survival in Hachet. I have to be part of it. I have to feel the freezing North wind on my face, press my hand to the spiny lichen of the tundra, eat macaroni and cheese with salsa and miss the greasy calories in a hamburger. I have to explore beyond my tiny piece of the world, and launch myself into a place where humans aren‘t always at the top of the food chain. I have to be alive, really alive, and I have to climb a mountain when I get the chance.

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Important Issue Jennifer Mott I have often heard it argued: ―Some people believe that marriage should only be between a man and a woman.‖ To them I reply: ―Some people believe that chocolate-chip cookies taste good.‖ Bear with me on this one. Sure, chocolate-chip cookies do taste good, as most can agree, but they don‘t taste good all the time. Sometimes, you get a batch that‘s burnt, or your brother decides to put off his homework to ―help‖ you make cookies then he spills the entire container of vanilla extract and you‘re left with a runny, vanilla-y mess that doesn‘t make cookies the right shape or consistency. Sometimes, spouses are unfaithful, or the whole process was a drunken mistake made at a drive-through window in Las Vegas after a shot too many of Jagermeister, and you‘re left with a sloppy, impulsive blunder that doesn‘t make for a sincere relationship or a proper child-rearing environment. That‘s not every instance, to be sure, but there‘s a reason 41% of all marriages end in divorce nowadays. Yet, this sloppy, impulsive blunder has legal validity over the earnest desires of two people in love, who happen to be of the same gender.

Personally, I see nothing wrong with a good, white-chocolate, macadamia nut cookie.

Granted, the chances of them burning or being ruined by my sous chef are about the same as with chocolate-chip cookies, but I make them less often, so I try to savor them a little more. Just as the majority of citizens applying for marriage licenses are opposite-sex couples, most of the cookies I bake are chocolate-chip. However, white-chocolate, macadamia nut cookies have just as much of a right to be baked as chocolate-chip cookies. And, as same-sex couples are recognized as valid so rarely, the opportunity to legitimize their relationship is often taken with more reverence than allotted by the average opposite-sex couple.

Same-sex couples, being composed of citizens of the United States, are entitled to all the liberty and justice for which America stands. And while chocolate-chip cookies may be your favorite, you have no right to say that a macadamia-lover is not allowed to have his or her cookie just because it doesn‘t match your standards of what a cookie should be. A cookie is a cookie, and a person is a person – they‘re all made up of the same stuff, mostly, and they all deserve equal treatment and respect.

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I AM A POEM Julianna Barreiro I AM A senior Tired Worried about college In need of inspiration.

I WONDER What will become of my life?

Who are my real friends?

Is my family normal?

How will my life turn out?

I HEAR Nails screeching on the chalkboard The sound of cotton balls sending shivers down my spine Love Want I SEE The struggles of humanity The fire inside me The waterfall rushing through my body Sadness I PRETEND To be invincible That I‘m not afraid That I don‘t want it That I don‘t miss him I UNDERSTAND The need of friendship The fun in being a senior That I need to make something out of my life I AM The caterpillar turning into a butterfly The first snow of the New Year 11:59 PM on December 31 The candles on a birthday cake A girl who dreams I AM ME

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Poems Kasey Zimmermann Dreams Darkness brings happiness and fear Making my dreams scary and dear Some seem so real waking me with a fright Yet some are just fantasies all through the night Hoping that all my good dreams come true And the scary ones stay away from me and you!

Night The sun drifts off to sleep in the trees and the moon sets off on his journey A blanket of blue sheds across the sky The wind howls as the waves rest on the sand The sail boats sails are no longer singing The stars shoot up in the sky and night is ready to look upon us Sunrise The sun awakes from its slumber under the trees The wind is no wonder howling The sky is like a painting that took all night The gulls screech in the sky The world is set for the day Raindrop on a Lily Pad It rained all day The willow tree was soaked and sprinkled a drop of water on the lily pad The lily pad danced on the lake The rain played a little tune While the wind whistled to the song The rain stopped and the lily pad stopped dancing

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True Love Yvette Cannata

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Loneliness Christie Ross The lone tear that doesn‘t want to be seen. No one knows it‘s there.

The lone tear wells up inside almost escaping. It‘s fought back and people pretend not to notice.

Waves crash inside.

The lone tear continues to build and build, afraid to show itself to the outside world for fear of how it will be received. A storm begins to form.

The lone tear gains momentum. A sea storm inside forces out a drop onto the smooth surface below. The ripples are the only sign of a struggle.

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Untitled Marissa Martin

We live stress filled days and sleepless nights, but with one look at the sunset, we are reminded that God created the world for us to enjoy.

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Love Lost to Winter Ben Russell I am afraid to tell you this, my dear But I lost your heart to the snow today.

Please, I do not want you to have the fear That in an icy tomb you will e‘er stay.

After all I had done to get your heart, I would ne‘er leave it in the cold to lay.

Search and quest again from the very start For you are something I can‘t outgrow Never again shall we be so apart.

I desire your return, face aglow.

But please don‘t fret yourself, my snow-golem, Your heart is staining red the once pure snow.

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Hunger David Vaughan DeVine ―Will write Poetry for food!‖ ―Will recite Poetry for food!‖ ―For God‘s sake, spare a dime to spend one moment of your time to hear a broken man quote something great…

God bless America?‖ My home howls at me.

Its eyes and its cries to do something ―more‖ have torn me apart.

But what more can be done?

I‘ve gone about, and received nothing ―more‖ than what I had then: An audience, constantly moving too quickly to hear all of my words before they pick up and leave, while only a few of them pay any heed to what I‘ve got to say, A handful of spare change that is something so light, that I rarely am able to enjoy the delights of the food and drink you down while you are unaware of your own surroundings.

A little scrap of luck, but not too much to hear the cries of a newborn child, or to see the smile in the eyes of her mother.

A good coat, and … a decent pair of jeans.

And to some, that might seem like a lot, which is sad … but day by day, I get by just …

38

fine.

Pity and philanthropy have been my lunch and dinner, donations my clothes, piety my shelter, and generosity … my medicine.

And that‘s how we all get by, out here between sun up and sun down.

That‘s how we move, that‘s how we breathe, and for the more lucky ones of us, how we talk or see that there‘s something of value left above those bridges, and between those streets, even if we don‘t meet it… too often.

I fight the hunger the same way we all do… waiting until we go get food, or have it given to us…

Humbling isn‘t it, to be fed, and to depend on others, as if … a child? ―Compassion or Charity!

Whatever you prefer today!‖ ―Get a job!‖ And I‘ll turn it around, and then, as they‘ve all taken a history class, understand. ―Lonely Poet fights hunger on the streets of a small city.‖ And then they know.

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Snow Amy Breen The dark whispering sounds of the moon enter, The fear of infantiles come as sudden as Texas Winter, Streets are restricted from the apprehensive guardian, The wishes for the snow days are just now honest, The principals are yearning for every student present, The only desks occupied are a very few attendance, The powder falling joy incites, The successful dreamers all unite.

Sledding down the frosty hill, Gives the children an apprehensive thrill, Hoping that the descending never ends, Turns the snow into a casual trend.

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The Silent Day Michael Cimino We've all heard the tale of the Jabberwocki of a beast that was o so frightening and bulky but who was slain by a maiden fair whose calloohs echoed throughout the lair But hath you heard a sight not seen the beast whose mouth glistens and gleens as slop slobbers from its jaws alight with five rows of teeth large and white Tellest the young ones of the plight for this beast hath begun its flight eyes seen with a garrulous glare burning villages without a care But where is our maiden fair?

Surely she would be the one who dare face this beast so grulish and horrid and become a part of village lorid.

But alas this beast so brutish and crass hath slain our fair maiden lass And after all this blood and gore the villagers calloohed that day no more

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Untitled Ashley Hancock

One kind word can warm three winter months.

- Japanese Proverb

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Those whom are Seen through the Water Ryan Jasse Pelarski One cold morning, lost and confused was I, After long afternoons of hot football practice I came to where things were reversed From early to school late to leave, To late to school early to leave In football I could have as much air as I wanted, but little water In swimming I can have as much water as want, but must conserve my breathing.

The coach is old and strange yet very wise The assistant coach is young and cheerful, but very stern.

I but a beginner watch in amazement as the others swim so gracefully, Like a duck in water, like a dolphin in the sea.

Each part of their body works in perfect harmony, Never out of sync, their rhythm never broken.

So unlike myself, I who flounder in the water who nearly stop to sink Yet I never give up, I always swim My breathing is heavy, but my teammate's care keeps me going My coaches‘ advice is always upheld, To the point where I will greatly improve.

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The Christmas Brianna Muniz Someone had left the television on ABC. A bubbly voice announced HEB‘s extremely low holiday sales on turkey. And then, I heard Linus‘s peculiar voice proclaiming to the Peanuts crowd the story of Christmas. His voice stuttered over the big words as he swaddled his pastel blue blanket. Schroeder‘s music began to fill the air, swirling in the air like fresh snowflakes, note by note warming my heart. Breaking the spell, a pair of footsteps rushed closer, pounding on the hard wood floors. And then a voice. ―Sarah! Where did you say that toy was?‖ Jack inquired, while sprinting up the stairs two at a time. ―In the closet? The closet? Why is it there?‖ I figured they were talking about me. At least, I hoped they were talking about me. For the past 58 days, my life has consisted of staring into Jack‘s striped and polka dot silk ties until my eyes were exhausted. His collection of ties surprised me; every morning Jack analyzed his outfit and only selected the finest tie for the day. And then I wasted time trying to tell the difference between Jack‘s numerous gray suits. The brisk breeze extending from the vent above me was making my wheels chatter against the hard shelf. When Jack flung the door open, I jumped.

After shifting aside an empty shoebox for golf shoes, Jack brusquely grabbed me off the shelf. Before I knew what was happening, he strapped a girly bow on me. The gleaming red of the bow shined in the light. I settled in between his arm and trembled as we dashed through the lengthy hallways towards the Christmas tree. Puffs of toasty air came through these vents and warmed me; I was grateful for the heater. As I was released from Jack‘s arms and set on the ground, a few needles uncomfortably poked me in the side. He kindly adjusted the limbs over my package; however, he forgot to remove the prickly arrows jabbing me. Jack stood up and turned the television off as he and Sarah strode to the mahogany door, decked out in embarrassingly festive scarves and marshmallow-like coats. A couple of snowflakes snuck through the opening, instantly vanishing into puddles. ―So do you think we‘ll be back ‗fore midnight? I hope Chris stays asle--,‖ I heard before the door slammed. The Christmas wreath shook, knocking off a plastic holly berry, the luminous lights shimmering. The hollow thump echoed through the enormous house.

I waited for something to happen as I surveyed the room from underneath the tree.

Above my head, multi-colored lights blinked and flashed in rhythm like yellow stoplights at nighttime. Throughout the rest of the dimly lit room, I noticed the cleanliness and order. A few holiday magazines filled with savory mouthwatering recipes were arranged on the stout coffee table. Along the edges were left over pieces of tape and a scrap of snowflake blue paper rustling from the fan. A cinnamon apple candle flavored the air. Hanging off of the mantel, four elaborate stockings were overflowing with giant candy canes and Ghirardelli wrappers. I almost thought they would each fall off their flimsy hook because of all the gifts inside. The silver thread sparkled, illuminating the cursive names. Curious, I thought, as I read the fourth name.

Who is Finn?

Suddenly, as the clock struck eleven, a timer dinged in the other room, vibrating against the surface. Within a few seconds, the peppy beats to Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer permeated the house. I dreamed of what Rudolph would look like, whether he was a nice guy or not. His red nose sparkled in my mind; I touched his caramel colored fur, feeling the softness.

The gust of wind would slam me back, chilling me to the plastic center, if I flew with Rudolph.

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The song then changed, waking me from my fantasy. ―Jingle Bell Jingle Bell Jingle Bell Rock‖.

After thirty seconds, I was annoyed with the song. The volume had been turned up to the point that the pine needles shook around me. While I was dealing with the present problem, a scruffy puppy zipped past me. The blur of white fur caught my attention. A screech, then nails digging into the wood floors alerted me that the dog was going to run into me. My mustard yellow bumper wiggled as I was squished between the fluff ball and the box of socks for Jack.

Everything else irrelevant now; the music was drowned out by the excessive apologies. ―I should have stopped! I didn‘t know! I‘m so sorry! Forgive me? After all it‘s Christmas. Well not yet. It‘s close enough, right? Please. I never meant to do nothing, man.

So?‖ I sounded my siren to make the whining stop. ―Come on, buddy.‖ His round eyes stayed focused on me, a big feat for this terrier. I could tell by his jumpy legs that he wanted to keep running around the house, but something was holding him back. The golden-flecked eyes studied me as I shot my ladder into the air, making sure it still functioned after the hit. He sprang up half a foot when a shiny silver ornament tumbled off the tree, hit by my fire-fighter ladder, smashing into practically invisible pieces everywhere. By coincidence, the music had ended, and the house was silent again as we stared at the broken family heirloom.

Aby‘s First Chri read the only remaining piece. Tears formed in my eyes. So far, this night was going badly. The dog was shaking; I was unsure if he was fighting against laughter or tears like me.

Thankfully, like Niagara Falls, the laughter whooshed out of the dog; his tail waving like a sail. The silly snickers told me it would all be okay. He introduced himself as Finn, when he slowly regained control. Finn was new to the family, recently bought last Christmas. He bounced back and forth in front of me, inviting me to play with him. I noticed a patch of green and red fur on his back when he spun around leaving dirty paw prints in his wake. His over excitement was contagious as I imagined myself getting cool splotches of glitter on my red truck.

He poked his nose at me, leaving a trail of slobber on my side. Unsure of what to do, I watched as Finn turned his head from side to side, studying me. The wheels would be ideal chew toys and my ladder an excellent tug-a-war toy. As he was pushing me on my side with his nose, of course, inspiration hit. ―Let‘s go!‖ I blurted out, uncharacteristically, letting loose on my horn as well. Finn‘s elfish ears twitched at the high-pitched blare as he let me go. Promising to show me around the room, he sprang forward, elfish ears pushed back by the speed. He ambled towards the flat screen television to admire his snowy fur.

With inhuman ability, Finn whirled around when he noticed in the reflection I was not next to him, offering praise. I mumbled to myself that I had never once turned my wheels.

Never felt the satisfaction of the wheels swiveling, guiding me around obstacles. The silver rims looked menacing, enclosing the immense rubber wheels. Fake fiery stripes had been painted on my sides, giving me false hope. I refused to meet Finn‘s sparkly eyes. Instead, I stared down with dark eyes at my wheels, wishing for a Christmas miracle.

Finn sensed a problem and sped over to the toy basket on the other side of the room.

Tennis balls and chewed up squeaky toys went flying around carelessly. I flinched as a chewed dog bone soared towards me. An angel figurine, glorified by the lamp‘s bright light, crashed to the floor when a Frisbee smacked into it. ―Whoops‖ slipped out of Finn‘s mouth casually. He went back to searching in the toy basket. When he finally found the tug-a-war rope toy, frayed at 45

the edges, he appeared at my side. The rest of the toys were left in his wake, as if a high school party had gotten out of control.

Biting onto one side of the rope, avoiding the slobber, I shut my eyes. With Finn‘s help, I would take my first roll. The stringy rope tasted like dog food, and I wanted to get it over with.

Finn barked, growled, and ruff ruff. ―Can I see the gingerbread house? And the snowman? And the advent tree? Oh please?‖ I begged. ―Yessir,‖ replied Finn, struggling to stay composed. I did not pay attention to him.

As he counted down to one, I prepared myself. The first tug came, but too quickly. He jerked the rope out of my mouth. Awkwardly, I spat out the few pieces of string hanging on my teeth. Finn barked at me, cackling in his terrier way. He wagged the thick rope in front of me, teasing me. Again, he positioned himself in front of me. I cautiously held onto the rope; this time biting on the very edge. All of a sudden, my wheels turned! The tiny traction smoothly rolled over the Christmas tree skirt, making pine needles fly up. I dropped the rope and continued moving, smiling as wide as a slice of watermelon. The scraps of wrapping paper crunched underneath my wheels. I shook as I crossed the massive lilac rug; the bumpy texture made my siren vibrate. Because I could now move, Finn and I explored every inch of the room.

We played hide and seek; I hid behind the tree until he found me and I jumped into the toy basket. We sped in figure eights around the ancient nutcrackers that Finn picked off the coffee table. Finn sprang onto the table and stole two Christmas cookies for us. Mine was the shape of a candy cane, with red and white stripes. Crumbs flew out of Finn‘s mouth, sticking to the carpet. Eventually my ladder whacked the side of the classic soldier nutcracker, knocking him over onto his tall red hat. The hat thankfully did not split, even though I noticed a scratch in the hat.

Finn had found out a way to turn the music back on earlier by jumping up on the kitchen table. With a skip, he ran away to blast the Christmas music on 95.5. When he returned, we sat facing the Christmas tree, shaking the boxes and listening to the noises. His barks and my siren were making quite a storm when the radio announced excitedly, ―Santa Claus has been sighted.‖ I became quiet, while Finn chatted on about Santa, jumping every so often. I vaguely heard him mention a jolly red man with a marshmallow-like beard and a Mary Poppin‘s kind of bag.

Because I had been bought before the Christmas décor had been placed around Target, I was unsure what was going to happen tonight when Santa came. He sounded nice enough from what Finn said. Again the radio made another announcement concerning Santa. I rolled towards it to hear better, when Finn bumped into me. The radio screeched to the hard wood floor, yanking the plug out of the wall.

Thump, thump. Someone was shuffling around upstairs. We froze, waiting to hear a door creak open, but there were no more sounds. Finn barked at me incessantly as I drove in tight dizzying circles. Dog toys thrown everywhere; wrapping paper falling like snow; pine needles trailing around the room. The flashing Christmas tree lights were now threatening, as if I was standing in the middle of a crime scene.

Finn barked once before escaping out the back door. So much for buddies, I thought.

Suddenly, everything was too much to handle, and with the threat of Chris, the boy, coming downstairs, I had to fix it. I would not break the Christmas spirit for my new buddy. However, as I sat in the center of the room, I wondered what to do.

The chimney shook slightly, sending thick plumes of ashes out the end. Four crimson stockings rocked back and forth on their pins; a candy cane broke loose and soared through the 46

air until smacking into the brick fireplace. ―Ho Ho Ho,‖ someone bellowed down in a boisterous voice. I was unsure where to hide because everything was overturned and broken. With a resounding thump, a belly that shook like jelly plopped in front of me. I was overwhelmed by a whiff of peppermint. His white beard was ruffled and his cheeks tinted radiant pink. Santa quickly headed towards the smell of sugar cookies and left his bag of toys near the tree. I could smell the vanilla from here in the living room, overpowering the Christmas tree smell even.

There were reindeer cookies, candy cane cookies, and snowman cookies, all smothered in sprinkles waiting for Santa in the kitchen. Propped conveniently nearby, a tall glass of refreshing milk sat, prepared to freeze the fingers off of anybody. While Santa was tackling the cookies, Rudolph trotted outside the room. I could see him through the frosted double windows besides the Christmas tree. He waved his hoof for me to approach him, so I cautiously wheeled forward. This was just like one of the songs I had heard, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I stared into his large, gingerbread colored eyes, mesmerized by his presence. He politely asked for a large carrot stick or some sugar cubes, but I had no idea where to find them. His hooves clip clapped against the floor as he came closer, and then into the toasty house. Just barely, his willowy antlers fit through.

Surveying the damage, Rudolph worked fast before the parents came home from their party, and more importantly before Chris, the boy upstairs, woke up. Curiously, Rudolph turned his head from side to side, scrutinizing me. My small stature and vivid red often caught other‘s attention.

In a bold voice, Rudolph said, ―Now, little one, do not worry. We will save Christmas together.

Everything will be okay, my friend,‖ as he looked down at me.

Forgetting Finn, the coward, Rudolph and I zoomed around the room to clean up.

Occasionally, a howl emitted from the kitchen where Finn hid, bolting down the cookies.

Rudolph‘s commanding presence prevented him from wreaking more havoc on the house before Christmas. Rudolph told me he had met other dogs like Finn. It was always the same. The terrier was unaccustomed to having to share his life. His master plan was to probably frame me on Christmas Eve and ruin my future as Chris‘s new favorite toy.

Rudolph and Santa packed up their sleigh, stuffed with cookies, and jingled over to the neighbor‘s house. Finn was sent to his firm bed without any gifts from Santa this year. Jack and Sarah stumbled back into the house around 4 a.m. singing the Twelve Days of Christmas. Chris stayed upstairs, asleep and oblivious, dreaming of sugar plums. In a few hours, Chris dashed down the stairs, flying to the tree, to tear apart the wrapping paper and removed the silly bow from me.

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Untitled Leticia Hernandez

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The Basketball Player Joseph Tybor The tall athletic boy questions While his coach makes suggestions, Their playoff future is riding On this game, which is frightening The game starts in minutes, They‘re going to push the limits To put that banner on the wall To end the doubts once and for all.

He is standing tall and confident Gonna play like the prominent Player that he is, putting points Up trying not to disappoint.

The game is rigorous and rough, The teams effort is not enough They are slowly falling farther Into a hole getting darker, The boy realizes it‘s the end He was supposed to help them mend All the problems into a feat That would earn them district repeat.

Sadly their valiant efforts failed Game ending the winner unveiled The snooty St. Thomas Eagles The pain similar to needless Basketball is a crazy sport Dreams started and ended on the court When ended it is a harsh blow But it is the fame we love so

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Lockgnar Joey Rousseau Out of the morning sea Came Lockgnar, the Swell Surfer, swift and sly.

The son of Orthorp brother of Talin, Ring-Giver of the sea. Long, lean Lockgnar, lurking lively, lowering the tides. readily riding the rapid waves he boasted, ―Kinsmen, I am the great Lockgnar, the DepthDefender. I am son of the omniscient, omnipotent, Ocean-Oracle Orthorp. Second of the thrashing, thoughtful Throne-Keeper Talin. I have battled the banks of boundless swells. Torn thrashing holes through boats time and time again. Defeated the daunting, dark, demon Dezrin, freeing many a kind of more meek kinsmen.

And now I sit and stalk the stirring storm; the daunting depths have become my dorm. I envy no enemy, who‘s arms stretch a thousand moons. Or who‘s blundering, broad blade has buckled and broken men to soon. I hear of Wrydeow the Wrath-Reaper, who wallows and wakes when women and men weep or sleep, their souls and hearts he forever keeps. This Grim-Goblin, who grabs and grinds and grows from the girth of the earth. This Heart-Hoarder, has held hastily, hiding away, for he knows of my arrival some day.

Now I mean an honored heart match for Wyrdeow.

Finish his fear-filled torment with fighting.

My proud purpose for less or more, a noble challenge, the Man-Murderer will live no more.

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You Were Too Much With Me Kimberly Trimble You were too much with; always late, too soon, Taking then breaking, using your disarming powers: Hardly ever we see what we really want, need; We have opened our hearts, a pleasurable wound!

It started with a kiss, which sent it to its tomb; It might have lasted more than a few hours, If it were nourished with a watering can, not spring showers; For this, for everything, I must apologize to you; Your feelings were for naught. – Oh God! How I‘d rather be Anywhere else than in a gaze so torn; So that I, as I merely tried to be, Would be free from a heart so worn; Would be free from your revelation and plea, Or let the heartbreak be bravely born.

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Winter Months Caitlin Whiteley Blistering cold on our skin Can‘t wait to get in the school building in the morning.

Wind that nearly blows us over, Rushing to our cars at the end of the day.

Layers upon layers, Going out to face the cold.

Everyone complaining about the freeze, But not us, not me.

For the soccer team these cold days mean one thing, Playoffs are here.

Feeling as though you are an ice cube, But practicing anyways.

Wind burn instead of sunburn Teens instead of hundreds.

It may all seem like torture to y‘all, But for us it means one thing.

The cold means we made it, Made it to play another day.

It may seem cold, But for us it means one thing.

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I Bleed Love like a Broken Heart Blythe Storrar I bleed love like a broken heart That is split into two pieces, When in you come with a spare part, Your words, with several creases; One full page, stained with ink, Mending and healing what I think.

Puzzling as the handwriting used A scribble of meaningful words, Repairs the heart, but it‘s still bruised, Several small scars left as girds, Stained as a lasting memory, Is what these words will leave with me.

Although it said we could not be All I can see is ―I love you‖, But thank you for your honesty, It is a beautiful to hear too, Just knowing that you really care, It helps me deal with my despair.

In the darkened night I ponder The words you wrote to show regret, And let my mind sit and wander, How brave it was for you to get, Vulnerable with poetry, For you I‘ll smile happily.

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How Valentine’s Day Began Andres Alverez Red paper cut round in bounds, In the aroma of morning coffee grounds, Was how Valentine‘s Day began.

Lace trimmed around the border, Everything at this point was in disorder, But that was how Valentine‘s Day began.

The amount of candy hearts used was absurd, And the girl had yet not heard, But that was how Valentine‘s Day began.

I puckered up some nerve, And tried not to swerve From the path towards her, And that was how Valentine‘s Day began.

You may wonder if I walked to my demise?

But the hearts and lace worked to my surprise!

And that was how Valentine‘s Day went.

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Y.C. Michael Cimino I can remember a time Before rhymes And reasons When love was a game That was played in all seasons Girls were the target A means to and end To love and to leave But never to tend I see I was foolish I see I was wrong I have never felt right Since You came along You have stolen my breath That‘s the least of your crimes You have also taken The heart that was mine This was not surprising It was easy to see You‘re the girl that I want You‘re the girl for me And now every day My thoughts are of you Of holding you close Whispering love so true You may think I‘m crazy You may call me insane But if this is true love Why not call it the same?

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The Dinosaur Kimberly Trimble Dinosaur! Dinosaur! Of great might In the jungles of twilight, What force or object from the sky Dare erase reptilian royalty?

What misconceptions or outright lies Are told concerning your demise?

Did a volcano send you to your pyre?

Or was the threat from some place higher?

And what Earth must have been like at the start, A beauty so natural, did it pain thy heart?

And when the birds began to tweet, Were you already up a creek?

Running, flying o‘er the plains, Enjoying sunshine and the rain.

When did living become too hard a task?

When did your breath start to rasp?

Did you sense the end was near?

Did you experience any fear?

Mass extinction: your unlucky fee.

But how could dinosaurs cease to be?

Dinosaur! Dinosaur! Of great might In the jungles of twilight, What force or object from the sky Dare erase reptilian royalty?

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It’s a Feeling Nancy Van Gompel It‘s like a knife in the center of your back.

You don‘t want to tell, yet you do.

Everyone knows, yet no one does, they just hear words, They don‘t feel the meaning or the reason of them.

These words are powerful, They are heard, spoken, lived.

But their meaning is different for everyone.

Love It‘s like ice on the back of your neck.

At first it freezes then melts, Running down your shirt like a river.

Love It‘s the warm feeling that runs down you throat like hot soup.

It’s the

kiss that

Makes you feel

like you have

Butterflies in your stomach.

It’s a feeling that

No one can describe in words. It can only be Described in actions and color. The best Way to feel, and to describe it is by Experiencing it for yourself.

By experiencing Love.

I love you.

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Love Tyler Paul If time could stand still, I‘d freeze it here, So you‘d always be with me, Close and near.

You in my arms, Where you‘re meant to be, My heart‘s full of love, The perfect kind you‘ve given me.

Our lives entwined, To be as one, Upon this journey, We‘ve just begun.

Where you and I will find no less, Than eternal love and happiness.

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Flower Three Leticia Hernandez

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When in Unfailing Love a Child is Born Iliana Rodriguez When in unfailing love a child is born Before one breath, one cry he ever takes, Before his life, decided by our Lord One night his mother suddenly awakes.

This life, this future, tomorrow unclear, Now in machines he silently does sleep A father‘s hope brings all of us to tears Their faith in God tells them their son He keeps.

A poet? A writer? A business man?

The sunset, the wind in the trees, a rainbow Experiences never in God‘s plan Valleys, shadows of death soon over blow This three week old child, now back with our God And forever with angels Duke will trod.

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Valentine’s Day Poem Anonymous Happy Valentine‘s Day to you, I love you I truly do, You are my heart‘s desire, My passion burns for you like a fire, You are all I know, You make my heart glow, You are so sweet and caring, and I consider myself daring, to chase someone as perfect as you, You are so sweet and charming, I love you so much some find it alarming, but the only person I care about is you, with all my heart I definitely do.

I had my eyes on you for quite a while, But I guess I simply was not your style, I could not tell if you liked me or not, And at that point my insides began to rot, But then suddenly everything changed.

You began talking to me more and more, And you were never a bore, We started hanging out in groups with our friends, And I wished that my time with you would never end, I still could not tell if you liked me or not, And once again my insides began to rot, But then suddenly everything changed.

One day you came over, to watch a movie, And you still had not proved to me, How you felt, And when you didn‘t my heart began to melt, But then you surprised me and kissed me on the cheek, And my knees went weak, And then everything changed.

Now we are inseparable and together forever.

Happy Valentine‘s Day.

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Untitled Andres Alverez There she stands wearing her gold locket.

Here I am holding a box of chocolates.

But wait!

What happens next I warn you, Will make you wish I had a redo.

It all started with my untied shoe, That thing caused all this hulabaloo.

After stepping on my untied shoe, The chocolates all flew, And of course, hit her too.

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Dance with Me Cella Mahoney I beg of you Dance with me Hold me close Hold me tight Take my hand Lead me ‗cross the floor Please twirl me Pull a stunt Take a step Another step Again and again Dance, let us dance Like no others Exist Just us two Together close Close together Hand in hand Arm in arm Heart hugging heart The music We listen to Is not The importance Of this dance But the moonlight Above And the people Non-existing Just us two Just us two Dancing, dancing.

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Gin Danielle Spagnola

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Passing Period Jennifer Mott Tiredness stings my eyes and loosens my joints so that when I sling my backpack off my shoulder, it falls faster and harder than I had meant – the zipper clanging against the metal wire basket beneath the desk, sending cold, high reverberations through the near-empty classroom.

Two girls in the corner giggle, and my eyes glue themselves to my hands as I squeeze into the tiny blue chair, letting loose a held breath to feel the desktop tighten its grip around me. Deep aches seep into my shoulders and back, and I stretch and arch within the confines of my desk in an attempt to ease them. Searing pain races around my head, striking my left temple to mark the laps. I close my eyes, but, in the darkness, the pain is more concentrated. I, now dizzy from the circling stinging, open my eyes to the image of my hands, only to notice that my fingernails are uneven. The nail on my left ring finger is longer on one side, and I lift the finger to my mouth, clamping down on the long end and pulling my head back to tear the nail into uniformity. My eyes are dry, and I can feel my contacts hardening. I blink a few times in rapid succession and knead my right eye with a knuckle that is extending out of a fleshy, clenched fist.

I take a deep breath, wincing as the desk rams farther under my ribcage, but effectively gathering enough courage to chance a glance over at the girls who had laughed at me. They were standing next to Cecil, one of those dim-witted football players. Bobbie and Sandy. How I dislike them. Co-captains of the volleyball team, best friends since second grade, Hell, I heard they lost it together in a three-way with one of the guys on the football team – that’s how close they are. Bobbie, with her gorgeous, shiny, blonde hair, also has eyes that are set way too far apart and her teeth overlap on the bottom. Even if you were somehow able to get past those things, there‘s absolutely no substance to her – physically, emotionally or intellectually. Her arms look like they‘re about to snap any minute, and I don‘t think I‘ve ever heard her say anything remotely intelligent. The closest I‘ve ever seen her come to expressing actual emotion was last year. * * * Walking back to my locker during my free-period after having tutored some freshman in Latin, I heard a group of kids talking around the corner. I noticed that the voices belonged to Bobbie, Sandy, and Bobbie‘s brother, Evan. I slowed, debating whether it would be better to turn around and find an alternate route or awkwardly walk past them on the way to my locker. ―I love your highlights, Evan,‖ Sandy gushed. ―They make you look just like Lance Bass – I had the biggest crush on him when I was little.‖ She giggled. It was disgusting. ―You know Lance Bass is gay, right?‖ Bobbie pointed out, jokingly, but I guessed that she must‘ve been at least mildly grossed out by her best friend hitting on her brother.

I couldn‘t see Evan, but I could feel the waves of anger rolling off of him. ―I don‘t want to hear you talk anymore, because nothing you say matters, because you‘re a fat, little bitch who no one could ever want. At least Lance Bass could get someone to do him if he wanted to.‖ These words were spat at a controlled volume until ―someone,‖ then it got loud. I could picture Evan‘s beady little eyes narrowed and his face growing increasingly flushed while, with every word, his mouth opened just a little bit wider so that his giant, jagged teeth looked like they were on their way to your jugular.

Now, I knew that those comments were unfounded, but apparently, insults don‘t have to be even remotely based on fact anymore.

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I heard footsteps rounding the corner, so I turned towards the nearest locker and started to enter in my combination, knowing it wouldn‘t work, but not caring because the point was just to blend in. My periphery was limited by those hideous bangs I used to have, so all I could glean was that her face wasn‘t blotchy or contorted like it would be if she were crying, and I think that‘s when I decided that she must be a robot.

She went into the bathroom, and I was overcome with an, admittedly, sick curiosity regarding my robot theory. When I walked into the bathroom, one of the sinks was running, but no one was using it. So, I (ever the environmentally-conscious-upstanding-citizen) turned the faucet off. I don‘t think I was actually expecting to hear gears shifting or metal compartments unlatching, but I definitely wasn‘t expecting to hear coughing or sniffling.

I left the bathroom immediately, and decided that going the long way to my locker was the best course of action. * * * The pain in my head swells at this recollection and I can feel a crushing heat suffocate my thoughts. I lay a cool finger on my forehead and revel in its icy touch – the doctors say I have bad circulation, so my hands are always cold.

Something Cecil said brought out the same kind of giggle Sandy had used in that conversation with Evan last year. She ran her pudgy fingers through her long, frizzy, mass of orange curls before moving to fiddle with Evan‘s class ring, which she pulled, by its chain, out from under her shirt. They had started dating the day after that conversation, and, based on that giggle, I would guess that they‘re going to be stopping the day after this one.

I‘ve never understood how Bobbie and Sandy go through so many boys. I could probably do that if I ever wanted to. I‘m not so different from them – I‘m just smarter and cleverer and actually respectable.

Sandy thrusts her hip out towards Cecil and her undersized polo shirt pulls up, loosing a roll of flesh that flows over her snug pants (it probably took her like, fifteen minutes in squeeze into those). I can‘t see Cecil‘s face, but I hope it‘s disgusted. But, he‘s on the football team, so he‘s probably just picturing her without the pants that push all that weight in his face. He turns away from the girls, his small features composed in a grimace, no doubt intended to make them want him more, and rifles around in his backpack. He pulls out his homework, which tells me that he must be having a particularly hard time in his class because he‘s done the homework.

As I sit in the back corner desk, closest to the door, a bubble crosses my line of sight and I swat it away, turning as far as my desk will allow in order to locate its source. Elaine. My eyes narrow both at her obnoxious bubble blowing and at the neon yellow sweater she‘s wearing. Her short, brown hair swoops with her as she cranes her neck to watch a bubble drift up to the ceiling, only to be shot back at her by the air vent. The little bubble twirls around her, and she moves freely within her desk, following it all the while.

Cecil turns to Elaine and smiles as a bubble drifts past him, asking if he can check his answers with hers. His smile is disgustingly fake – his lips are far too big and they stretch really awkwardly around his small, plaque-glazed teeth. Elaine agrees and passes him her paper, which surprises me because I‘ve always considered her above cheating. Despite her obvious, needy, attention-grabbing ploys, she‘s a good person, and I am astonished that she can‘t see that he‘s just going to copy off of her. You would think that someone who‘s going to Yale would be a little savvier.

Personally, I‘ve always preferred Harvard. Cambridge is so much nicer than New Haven.

Plus, the people at Harvard are all bright. Yale is almost as bad as Brown with the number of 66

weirdoes they let in. But, Harvard doesn‘t let you apply early, so I have to wait in agony for three more months to find out if I‘ve been accepted. I know I would fit in perfectly there. There, people are smart, and they‘re there to become important people, not to waste their lives with meaningless relationships like these people I have to put up with now because they don‘t have the brains to succeed in the real world. No one needs anyone else. I don‘t need a relationship – I don‘t need anyone but myself.

Cecil takes Elaine‘s paper and compares the two, scanning his eyes from one to the next.

Honestly, I‘m amazed – he must have a fantastic memory because he handed the paper back to her within a minute, only scribbling something down once or twice. He says something about a question where their answers are different; of course, he‘s just trying to fool her into believing that he hadn‘t used her. She, believing him, leans over and glances at the problem, but, I guess she didn‘t see anything because it was probably just the same work as hers. She looks at her paper and erases something – probably something that didn‘t have to do with Cecil‘s problem, and if it did, probably just to make him feel better – then blushes (forced for sure) and writes something else down.

She really is too nice to people. I don‘t understand how she can manage – especially to be so nice to those people. Those people aren‘t good – they‘re hardly even bearable. They‘re just using her, taking advantage of her generous nature and her above-average cognitive capabilities. Everyone in her family is like that, though. Even her little brother is nice enough to spend time with the little cretin my parents are trying to pass off as my brother.

I swear he‘s not of this planet. One time I had friends over, and he baked us these chocolate dipped profiteroles – as if an 11-year-old boy who loves to bake isn‘t weird enough.

I‘m pretty sure they were poisoned, because when my friend, Mandy, ate them, she started talking about her plans to apply to ATM just because some guy she‘s been dating for a few years wants to be a vet, and his parents won‘t let him move out of state. Madness. Also, how is it at all fair that he can be just as smart as I was at 11, but he spends all his time playing video games and the piano? He‘s so annoying. But, he‘s not even close to as awful as my sister.

She‘s the devil. She‘s blonde and tall and thin, and everyone‘s always going on about how beautiful she is, but she‘s not. Her teeth are too big, and they‘re only straight because she had braces for like, five years. Her eyes are huge – like bug eyes – and they‘re so creepy and flat and vacant, like there‘s nothing behind them. And she‘s so dumb – granted, she tests well, but that is really the only reason she got in to NYU. She just uses other people – that‘s how she got through her math classes since fifth grade. I legitimately never saw her do homework. Ever.

She‘s dated at least three different boys every year since she started school, and every time, at least one of them was her academic superior.

How can things come so easily to people like her, and not to me? I work harder. I study more. I earn everything I have. But with her – people just give her things. Our parents are paying for her to go to one of the most expensive schools in the country; they paid for her to go to this soul-crushing little private school that now I have to attend and that my little brother will have to attend. Everything just seems to fall into her lap. But not with me – just because I have the dignity and self-respect to not hit on anything that walks by in hopes of receiving some kind of pay-off, I have to work harder. There‘s just something about that combination of luck and sluttiness that makes this world so unfair for all the people like me who have to actually put some effort into their lives.

Someone walks in as the bell rings. Class is about to start, so I rummage around in my backpack for a pencil. He slides into the desk in front of mine and turns to face me. I‘m looking 67

at my hands again – when I hold my pencil, my wrist bulges like a fat baby‘s wrist or like one of those glitter tubes you get at Dave & Busters.

I recognize the plaid shirt in the corner of my eye, but I don‘t want to talk to him right now. All Keith does is complain. The fact is: if he would just take control of his life, everything would work out fine. But he insists that it‘s entirely out of his hands. He goes home, and he watches television until two in the morning, then he complains about how he couldn‘t find the time to do his homework. His mother makes him breakfast, packs his lunch, and bakes cookies for a living, but all he has to say about her is how much she‘s smothering him with her oppressive need to rule his life.

You would think that with all the people in his family who are normal, smart, and responsible, he would turn out that way too. His parents met at Stanford. His aunt and uncle met at Stanford. His sister graduated from Stanford a few years back, and there‘s another one going there now. If he had just turned off the television and stopped feeling sorry for himself for an hour or two, he wouldn‘t‘ve missed the deadline to apply to Stanford. But, then he wouldn‘t have that to complain about for the rest of his life.

Don‘t get me wrong though, he‘s my friend and everything. I mean, he is a good person and all that. But, he‘s just so dependent on the kindness of others that I don‘t think he‘ll be able to handle anything on his own. I mean, the only reason he started getting to school on time (instead of forty five minutes late every day) is because Elaine found out that if he kept up this tardiness, he wouldn‘t be able to graduate, and she made him start carpooling with her. She was telling me about it a few days ago, and it sounds terrible. He‘s actually been making her late.

She gets to his house at the same time every day, and every day he makes her wait for twenty five minutes before they can leave. She‘s told him to wake up earlier, but he refuses to listen to her. Elaine‘s never been late to a class in her life, and I think this is just another example of exactly why you can’t do that – you can‘t be so invested in other people, because they will always just end up dragging you down.

I haven‘t looked up from my hands. I know that once I do I‘ll be doomed. He has his shoulders turned towards me, and he‘s fiddling with his cuticles. The pain in my head is making me dizzy. I draw in a deep breath and try to let it out slowly, but it comes out more like an exasperated sigh as I lift my head. ―Hey, Julia. How‘s it goin‘?‖ ―Fine.‖

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Flower Two Leticia Hernandez

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Journey to Paradise Anonymous A world with six point seven billion souls And so few like me No matter where I go or who I meet They seem to be the same With only slight differences One or two like me are precious gems For me to treasure their company Maybe I‘m doomed to wander the Earth Talking mouths always ahead of me Until I give in.

Or maybe I persevere and keep walking Trying to find that place With others like me, but if I don‘t, Is an eternity of isolation better Than losing myself to company?

Of course it is They might be out there Waiting to celebrate another arrival Another soul saved for the mind.

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Tears Maria Salmeron Tears Tears Tears roll down her face You can just see the scene within her space Of the eyes she saw all the lies She lay there asleep only to wake From all the light that came out fake To the horror of the fight, Now it is no longer day but only night.

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I’m Just Me Mallory Hill

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Baseball Tyler Paul Stealing bases, Graceful slide, Hear the ping, Watch the ball glide.

Swinging hard, Burning heat, Muscles flexing, 350 feet.

Fielding grounders, Moving fast, Make a play, Rob the blast.

Throwing hard, Trying to stretch, Runners out, With a great catch.

Playing at the diamond, Spring is near, Joy is back, Baseball is here.

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No Path in Mind Selena Alonzo No path in mind, I wandered through the green Hoping that things of beauty would appear.

When suddenly arose sights to be seen Lights reflected upon water so clear, With a pathway of stones leading the way To an oasis where water did spray.

The stones had been scattered in the pure pond As if tossed by the All Powerful Hand, Greenery surrounded from moss to fronds As if they had come from a rain forest land.

Ahead of me was the greatest wonder Waterfalls making the sounds of thunder.

The green and blue produced vivid contrast A vision that awakened the senses; In a world where time can go by so fast One must admire the beauty so immense.

Gazing with wonder at what I had found Glad that nature continues to astound.

But now I have departed from that place, Making it only a spot in the past, Yet oftentimes I go back to retrace That scene of awe, willing it to last, And then my mind is joyful once again As peace and tranquility start to reign.

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Oak Brianna Muniz I tip toe around the grass, afraid to crush the blades as they struggle to grow. The kaleidoscopic zinnias, classic red poppies, and cheerful sunflowers flourish, and the colors dance around me. I sense the spark of life. Before I realize, the vivacity slips from my grasp and clouds pop out of nowhere; the spirit crawls out of my reach. My thoughts shift to the majestic oak tree, the lighthouse shining a light on me. As the wind shrieks through the branches and the leaves tremble like butterfly wings, it reminds me that I must act now.

I dash over the grass, not caring anymore, as raindrops begin to pound me. In mid step, a crimson leaf drifts towards the ground, patting me on the shoulder, terrifying me. I collapse from fright. My legs twist like a pretzel as I prepare for impact on the rocks jutting out from the dirt. I embrace the vine dangling on my left, which snakes along the trellis, gleaming in the shade.

Accidentally, a grab squishes and a rush of juice trickles down my arm.

I begin to sprint again, yearning to be under the branches and away from this spattering of rain. The oak extends itself to me, dragging me inside of it. Although the weather bites at me, I detect a tenderness and charity from the branches, the leaves, the trunk, the body. I release my anxiety, and I settle against the trunk, despite the bulges. It resembles walking barefoot on the asphalt during the afternoon, but I do not notice it. Surveying the yard in front of me, I watch it get drenched. The color melts away as the rain begins to puddle up. I will wait out the storm underneath the oak.

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Flower One Leticia Hernandez

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On Hearing a Mocking Bird David Vaughan DeVine IF I were to die, and again come alive to this Earth, I think that I would do so, singing, banded like a bird.

With black and white distinct from greys, I would lounge about the trees and play my voice along, for with what else would I play my song, the dusk and the dawn and round this day-long?

Talons and beak and many chords, but not a thumb in sight, and if even I may pluck at a string, it would not sound the same than if I were to sing about this Spring an dance, my plumes all, ruffled.

And for miles ‗round my friends and I would harken to each other‘s sounds, that for those miles travel along through stolid doldrums, never to be muffled.

And when the noon-tide greets the moon in April, all a-glowing, I‘d sing my song, of my death and past-life never knowing 77

My Battle with the Sea Channel Beth Smith I battled the vein of the bitter sea one sunny summer ago. My sister and I, foolish in our flamboyant ways, took our canoe from the blissful bay out into the adjoining treacherous channel.

This seaman’s passage was known for possessing the power to only keep strong sailors from swimming in its waters.

Therefore, when our weak water-glider turned into the channel, it was swept swiftly down with the tough tide toward open water, the shark’s domain.

My sister, terrified and trembling, yelled, “Paddle harder!”

As I summoned my strength, I pounded and paddled my oar into the challenging channel, hoping helplessly we would start to move forward.

I knew this waterway was meant to turn the mighty meek with mourn.

Miraculously, I remembered the marsh to our right and reached for it.

I grabbed the green , giant sea grass and stopped the boat from going farther down.

I hesitantly removed one hand and hurled forward to hold the grass further up the marsh.

The canoe, cautious yet continuous, crawled along with my every grasp.

My sullen sister sprang with new life at our slow movement and also mauled at the marsh.

The two adventure-seekers advanced amid the waging waters.

I noticed a neat red line running from my hand to my elbow, and realized the tall grass had been tearing tons of tiny lines in my hands from the death-drip I had.

The sweat stung as it smeared into my smarting eyes, The sweeping current splashed in my sorrowful face as I met the front of our fighting freighter.

My heart hauled the wave-rider forward.

After an eternity amid the perilous sea creatures’ pool we reached a promising opening to the bay.

Fearful and faint, I was forced to leave the safety of our sea-home and emerge myself into the sea to steer the starboard around the steep corner to the security of the beautiful bay.

I clung to the side, the current fighting against me, trying to claim my life.

We finally finished our fearful flight and peacefully paddled over to the darkening docks connected to bay.

I was no less tired than a solitary soldier in warfare.

We emerged from the evil water as warriors, and held our heads as so.

Our prize was paid for with sweat.

We returned home and received long awaited praise from our loved ones.

We had conquered the courageous sea, battled the beast filled waters.

We were Poseidon.

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After the Rain Leticia Hernandez The schoolyard fences rust to a dull red.

Wooden fences blacken to a dark grey.

The grass is licked clean of all dirt and impurities for a moment, the world is innocent.

The street is full of puddles as taillights reflect off calmly, expectantly.

Mud on the shoes of children leaves behind prints on the sidewalk for a moment, the world is silent.

The tree stands proudly though its bark is beaten and battered from battle its roots satisfied and content. for a moment, the world is peaceful.

From the clouds break a new ray of light, shining softly on the dirt floor.

The sun peaks out hesitantly from behind, like a small child.

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Untitled Danielle Spagnola

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Paint the Boy Mallory Hill Lays abandoned like a child Whose mom was found inept.

The child‘s life left to the wild But with loneliness it wept; The brush it lay‘s on paper crying, The paint dries up, the paper dyeing.

Imagination draws a blank Like clouds that block the stars, Leaving corners dark and dank Mind locked up by prison bars.

Waits on a hand to seize it tight, Create a world that‘s filled with light.

To flow as music in its time Composer‘s pen draw all the notes Master‘s beauty in every rhyme The colors sing as paper soaks.

That hand that dances on the page: The greatest master of the age.

And though my hand now lays at rest He walks by, my eyes in wake, Heart beats wild in my chest and I offer it for him to take; Hand still no more, ―it‘s better late‖ Paint the boy, I‘ll forever wait.

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Crush Derrick Merkel When I learned of a close friend‘s death, I immediately felt that familiar dark feeling, A feeling that can bring me back to multiple other events in my life, I could feel its endless tonnage weighing onto my body, I wondered how I could sleep, Without going into a madman‘s dream, This weight stayed with me throughout the year, That cruel year damaged me, In mind, body, and soul, But finally, I was made aware of the truth, I awoke to the fact that during that time, I felt the most alive.

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Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover Anonymous It was the first time I met her, At a camp in Wyoming.

She was standing in a circle, With group of her friends.

And as I met her eyes, She stared back at me with coldness Her dark hair and green eyes made her look selfish As the director told us our roommates, I hoped my roommate wasn‘t the girl with the glare.

But of course, my wish was in vain.

I became roommates with that girl.

Her name was Sarah As it turned out, she way shy and nice, Unlike her first impression.

During my short time at camp, I spent every hour with her.

From which blossomed a friendship like few others, As we got closer, we saw our personalities mirrored in each other.

Our bond was so close that we became best friend.

And we made millions of memories, In only three weeks.

Of course this time passed like tornado has.

And as the camp came to a close, I regretted. And I remembered a statement., ―Don‘t Judge A Book By It‘s Cover!‖

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Assorted Haiku Ben Russell Listen. From the trees The burraciousness of the Cicadas fills ears.

On rippling water Leaf rafts floats, wasps stop to sip All from the cool pool.

Cheese mixed with bread and Served lightly buttered. Take a Bite, it melts away.

Sickly sweet and slick To touch repels the gobblers Of this gobbling meat.

Orange slice I bite At first pain then pleasant then Nothing but water.

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The Illusion of American Culture Phillip Flagg America, the land of free and the home of the brave: That's what we have been told to believe, led to believe. Perhaps it's because the truth is seemingly too awful to face, the truth that all that America is and stands for, is an illusion.

We inflate our grades and our egos, we create this illusion that we're good, but more than that, we're better! We‘re better than other countries and other people. We say we're the greatest nation in the world, we say we're free and powerful and wealthy and educated. And yet, when you really look at it you realize that these are really mere illusions.

We may be "free" but only in the sense that we elect people who then make decisions for us, sometimes not in our best interest and sometimes we elect the "wrong" (relatively) people.

We may have a powerful military, but we're certainly not unrivaled. Also, is that how power is defined? Military might? Economic might perhaps? What about our intellectual might? Our scientific might? Our 'spiritual' might? We may have a hugely powerful military, but at what cost?

Killing Bin Laden may be a victory but the ultimate victory would have been for him to not exist in the first place, for our precious planet to be freed from these shackles of unreason, superstition, and irrational hate. the ultimate victory would have been for every human being on this planet to be so enlightened that war itself is viewed as absurd, violence, hatred, and unreason, are all cast aside as relics of the past. How powerful are we in that sense? We grow complacent, fat, ignorant, and apathetic, we eat our hamburgers and guzzle our sodas and drive to work in our cars and lose ourselves. We tear away any meaning to life that we have assigned; we regress into childhood, living to be entertained. We seek all the easy answers to all of the hard questions, we accept authority, and we obey. We quit.

We want to think we're special, so we find someone to tell us we're special. We want to feel smart, so we watch our TV‘s and tell ourselves how much smarter we are. We mass produce education and deliver it to the youths of this nation and slip into the coma of our willing ignorance. We watch the world burn to the ground from behind our computers and busy ourselves instead with our trivial concerns and meaningless pursuits. We‘ve become a nation of pretenders, a nation of addicts looking for a quick fix, better to live for today and forget tomorrow.

The brilliance of America is that we have managed to create a separate reality from our own, one where our small little bubble is all there is. Where bad things only happen in far off places to far off people but that‘s ok because we're safe where we are and we always will be.

And if we should ever grow uneasy about our fate we can simply turn off our questioning, we turn off our humanity, we drink another coke and watch our favorite TV shows and in all that glare we simply forget.

We forget to ask questions and seek answers, we forget our humanity. We‘ve become less a nation of people and more a nation of drones, a nation of babies. Just bring us our feed and give us something to watch and we'll be good, we wont cause trouble, we wouldn‘t know how anyway. We feel safe in our ignorance, so we swaddle ourselves in it. We forget to learn and we learn to forget, we let go, and ignorance reigns.

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The End of the Day Yvette Cannata

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Swing Cella Mahoney I‘m in love I‘m in love with this thing In love with this thing This thing called swing Dancing Makes my heart sing Rock step Kick and Twist on seven Oh God this is my heaven Rock step Step And S l i d e back on seven You know my wish for eleven eleven Would be To have a dance partner You and me Rock step Step Kick and Fall into your arms And twist back in harmony Honey, let‘s just swing

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The Medicine Woman Christie Ross The moon shone on the teepees in the field. Smoke billowed from inside a teepee in the middle of the cluster as a loan moan could be heard throughout the plains. An honored warrior of the Comanche tribe in central Texas was suffering from stomach pains and convulsions. ―Where‘s the medicine woman?‖ ―Get the Old One!‖ ―Someone find Kateri!‖ Were the shouts heard in the night.

Hearing the commotion, Kateri awoke, bewildered as to why she hadn‘t known someone was in pain. She hobbled to find her bag and put on her cloak in her small teepee on the outskirts of the group.

She stumbled toward the center of the activity. ―Please, leave,‖ she commanded, and everyone humbly left the space. She went to work at once.

Closing the down flap and pouring out the contents of her bag, she began to chant, ―Spirit come. Come so that I may help your people. Come. Come to alleviate darkness. Come.‖ She began to boil water and sitting in the center of the teepee with her hands on the man‘s bare stomach she again said, ―Spirit allow me to enter your world so as to better see the ailments of the afflicted. Spirit who conquered the wind storm, spirit who takes the shape of wolves, spirit come.‖ A chill slowly crept into her as she realized the spirit was not coming. She was being denied by the spirit world. The man let out a murderous scream as his back arched toward the stars. Hurriedly she left the man‘s side and knelt down examining the contents of her bag. There was not much time and she had not relied on herbs to heal for many years. She picked up a small jar of a gel substance that smelled strong and bitter and rubbed it on the man‘s stomach saying, ―Spirit help the afflicted with the concerns of mind and body. Allow the pain to be removed and placed on the shoulders of the one designated, the one called, place the pain on your servant, place the pain on me.‖ Kateri then seeing that the water was boiling put two peyote buttons into the water. She again went to sit in the center of the teepee, this time placing her hands on the man‘s forehead. She looked into his dark eyes for the first time and said, ―You shall be my last.‖ As she spoke the words a sharp, familiar pain engulfed her. The relieving pain of healing. The warrior‘s ailments were being healed. Slowly Kateri was taking on the suffering. She gazed up to the stars through the small hole in the center of the teepee with a sigh of relief on her face, a single tear trickled down her face more out of sadness than from the pain she was enduring. She knew her healing powers were diminished, yet she did not know why or who would be her successor. As sudden as they had come, the pains were washed away leaving a weakened and worn Kateri. The warrior lay peacefully in a deep sleep on his cot, healed of his ailments. She gathered her things and left the teepee stopping outside to speak to the man‘s wife. ―He is healed. There is tea inside. When he wakes make him drink it. It is bitter: he must not fight it.‖ ―Thank you,‖ the woman cried out with a trembling voice. ―You are truly great Old One. Praise you!‖ ―As always the spirit of the wolf is the one to thank. He is my key and your savior. He saved our descendants from the sand spirit many years ago. Praise him.‖ With that Kateri walked away, knowing she would never return to the cluster of teepees she was leaving. With the rise of the sun, the tribe would be off to find better herding ground, but she would not be there to see their next destination. She made it back to her teepee without speaking to any of the people that looked at her with amazement. The sky was taking on a dark, purplish hue, which she knew meant the sun would soon come. She grabbed her walking cane and added a few small jars to her bag knowing she was not strong enough to carry anything else. She glanced back at the many teepees that belonged to the ones she had healed and said, ―Spirit, protect those here and keep them from harm. Place a careful watch on the sand spirit. Do not let him escape your power, especially while my tribe is without a healer.‖ She then took her first step towards the end, not yet knowing where she would go.

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Kateri stumbled through the wilderness. Not wanting her tribe to catch her on the plains, she had taken off to the trees while the veil of darkness was still present, allowing for her getaway. She did not know where to go or what to do, and she could only walk so fast among the roots and branches of all the trees that surrounded her. She hoped the spirit would come to her to give her a last piece of advice, a warning, or an omen, but nothing happened. She continued to walk, knowing her time was coming to a close. She thought about the dwindling numbers of her tribe and how they would soon be extinct without the aid of a healer. She thought about her one hundred and seven years with them, and she thought of her younger days when she was just learning how to harness her power and the spirit‘s together to heal. Her thoughts turned to a conversation she had had with her father, the healer of the tribe before he had passed the power and responsibility on to her. ―There is only one known place to heal the kind of suffering we endure,‖ her father began. ―Our pain is not the kind we heal. Our pain is more powerful because we feel the pain of all people and things.

The pain we take on when we heal stays with us always. It is a reminder that we are not invincible, and our day will come too. We must use our gift to help others and never shall we work with evil spirits. The one place that my father passed to me and I now to you that will alleviate our pain is a special spring hidden among rocks that is the source of a creek. By submerging yourself in that water you will wash away the suffering of others. I have yet to see that place and doubt I ever will, but remember always it is there.‖ Kateri‘s heart began to race as she realized there was hope. She needed to find the spring. She looked at her surroundings and noticed that the trees were changing. The cedars and oaks were disappearing, and cypress trees were becoming more common along the path as she continued walking. ―Water is nearby, that is what the change must mean,‖ she thought to herself. She continued walking knowing that this was her only hope. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, not wanting to fall. She had to increasingly use the trees and her cane for support. It seemed with each step forward her strength dwindled. She noticed that the terrain began to change, and smooth rocks could be found under her feet. She looked up and saw what appeared to be a rock formation. Cautiously she approached the grouping. As she drew closer she saw that the earth beneath her sloped and gradually met with crystal clear water. Her heart leapt insider her. ―The spirit was with me. It guided me here,‖ she thought.

She quickly disrobed and inched into the chilling water toward the center of the spring. She began to float above the dark circle that was the source of the creek, trying to call upon the spirit to heal her. She felt nothing. With a sense of desperation she submerged herself in the water. Still she felt no change. She came up for a breathe of air and went back under the chilling water. She kicked and fought to stay under.

Bubbles emerged all around her trying to push her up, yet she fought it thinking that she must suffer one last time underwater to heal her pains. Her chest burned, and she began to feel light headed as a light shone in her eyes. ―This is it,” she thought. ―I will be healed!‖ Her body slowly relaxed as she unconsciously drifted through the water. The spring was still, the bubbles were gone, the ripples caused by her kicking were no longer.

A splash suddenly echoed off the rocks. A young woman had jumped into the spring. The woman powerfully cut through the water, reaching the Old One just before she hit the rock bottom of the deep hole. She grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the surface. As both the woman‘s heads punctured the surface, a sharp burning pain stabbed the young woman‘s hand where she was touching Kateri and Kateri‘s eyes sprang open. ―Devil! What have you done to me?‖ the young woman bellowed.

Kateri gazed at the woman with astonished eyes. ―What is your name, young one?‖ ―Who sent you here? What are you? Get away!‖ ―I‘ve been led here by the great spirit. I came to be healed, and I was. You healed me.‖ ―You speak words untrue! I am no healer!‖ ―But you must be.‖ Sensing the old woman‘s confusion, the younger of the two softened, ―I am Nitika. I have lived here, guarding the spring for one year now. I rarely make myself known to people. This is an exception.‖ 89

―Why did you help me?‖ ―I felt you needed help.‖ ―And now?‖ ―I will leave.‖ ―Wait!‖ Kateri croaked. ―I feel the spirits have called us together. You have a power you are not aware of, daughter, and you are a good person. I need you.‖ ―I will not take part in the act of a stranger,‖ as Nitika said this her eyes met the golden eyes of Kateri. Her stare emitted a sense of wisdom, but also a tired desperation. Nitika realized she must help the woman. ―Please,‖ whispered Kateri. ―I will. What must be done?‖ ―Is there a place to go and rest? I am weak, and there is much to share.‖ Nitika led Kateri up and behind the biggest rock situated to the left of the spring, being careful not to touch her. After being alone for a year, trusting another was difficult to accept. Nitika made a space in the clearing for Kateri and sat down herself. ―What is this about? You must tell me now.‖ ―I am a healer or medicine woman,‖ Kateri began as her breathing became increasingly difficult. ―With the great spirit‘s help, I can enter the spirit world and understand what is ailing a person,‖ she took another sharp breathe. ―This allows me to heal their mind and body. I also use herbs to help the ailments of the body.‖ ―And what does that have to do with me?‖ ―I am weakening. The spirit has decided my role here is over. I can no longer heal as I once could, and my tribe will soon be nonexistent if there is no replacement.‖ ―How could I be a replacement? I am no such healer.‖ ―Ah, but you are. You are caring, otherwise you would not have jumped in after me. You are not vain, though your outward appearance could say otherwise. You did alleviate my pain when you touched my arm, and you were given the burden. A healer takes on the pain of the one being healed when they touch. I came to this spring to try to lessen the effects the others‘ sicknesses had on me, yet you, not the spring, took it away. Even a healer should not be able to take my pain away. You are special, Nitika.

There is not much time. My life is dwindling.‖ As Kateri said this, she knew it was true. By the time the sun, now high in the sky, was no longer she would also perish. ―I will not do this. This is not what I want.‖ Nitika began to hurriedly grab her things, putting them in a rucksack, preparing to leave. She turned away from Kateri gathering a few small mementos from her time at the spring before stepping away. ―Nitika, you know you are needed. You‘re life will not be the same. You will be plagued by the spirits, good and bad until you pledge a side. You‘re life was changed when you tried to save mine.‖ Nitika stopped. Somehow, in some unknown way she knew the old woman was right. It was like she had known this would happen all along. ―Teach me your ways,‖ Nitika murmured.

Kateri went to work at once. Unpacking her bag she explained each jar to Nitika and what the use for each was. The sun had begun to turn a dark red when Kateri looked up at the sky and felt comfortable with the knowledge she had passed on. ―How do I heal with the spirits?‖ ―That is for you to discover. Each healer has her own spirit that comes to them. It is for you to decide who will be your guide, good or bad.‖ ―How did you know?‖ ―Listen to your heart.‖ The stress of the day was becoming evident on Kateri‘s face. She laid her head against the cold, hard rock as if it was a field of grass. Again she looked up at the sky. The sun was now only a quarter visible above the tree tops. The stars already twinkled at the prospect of another night. ―It is time for me to pass my powers to you if you accept.‖ Kateri whispered.

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Nitika nodded sensing the pain this was causing Kateri.

Kateri righted herself with her back still up against the rock. She smoothed her hair and tried to clear her throat. She reached for Nitika‘s hands and held them close to her chest. ―Oh, great spirit, I have understood your will for me, and now I ready another. Let the spirits come upon her and freely allow her to make a choice. Let her guide be true, steadfast, and loyal. Allow her to serve those you wish that are in need,‖ Kateri‘s hands began to shake as she recited the last line. ―My duty is done. I release the burden and power knowing it will go to the one prepared. Knowing it will go to Nitika.‖ As this was said, Kateri slowly closed her eyes, and a tear fell from Nitika‘s face. ―Beware of the sand,‖ Kateri breathed.

Nitika looked towards the fading sun to keep from letting another tear fall from her face. She watched as the final ray of sun left the sky, and the sky became a purple world of shining silver. She looked back towards Kateri and noticed her chest was not moving. She let her hand come to rest on Kateri‘s forehead, and she felt peace. A gentle wind stirred causing the water to ripple as Nitika‘s tears hit the rock. Her stream of tears flowed of the rock and into the rippling water below. At the same time the wind picked up nearer to the shore and caused sand to whirl about. Remembering Kateri‘s last words, Nitika knew it was time to choose. She carefully lay Kateri down under the overhang of rock and gathered the herbal jars in her bag. She grabbed Kateri‘s walking cane and slowly stepped into the water. ―Water spirit, come to me now. I choose you. Please, be my key. Unlock the spirit world when I am in need. Be my guide and friend. The water swirled around Nitika blowing her long hair this way and that. The sand storm on the shore began to move towards the water, yet each time it was turned to mud and had to gather again before it could attack. Nitika cried out, ―It is over. I am ready. Let it be finished.‖ As the words were said, the water billowing around Nitika again came to rest in the spring. Nitika stood still for several seconds waiting for the surface of the water to again become smooth as glass. Moments later she saw her own reflection gazing at herself with a different set of eyes. The eyes staring back up at her where a deep golden, like the color of the fading sun. The world was at peace once again, and everything was as it should be.

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Flower Four Leticia Hernandez

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Untitled Kira Parsons Fiery orange stripes gleam against the trees Paws pace forth carefully, head to the ground He sidles beneath the thick canopies.

Blessed with a still day, he awaits a sound.

The striped beast crawls, skulking into dense brush So he can hide that which gives him away.

He stops, his adrenaline starts to rush Was that a twig snapping? he cannot say.

Now! His ears perk up, his eyes glimmering And he spots his prey, and gives his jaw a lick.

Their eyes meet, prey‘s eyes sadly shimmering One beat of silence, palpable and quick The a careless step, a rustle of leaves And the prey is his, glory he achieves.

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Lament of the Primrose David Vaughan DeVine

IF ever there was a joyful lament the earth would sing it on this day in the way a primrose, laden with dew does cry, and is weighed down by holy rain.

In its growth, she becomes myth, while she longs for companions, far along the hill, but in the ills of loneliness, holding up the column, she grows so strong.

In this soil, shallow and rocky, she stretches her minuscule roots in the hope that one day she will crawl away.

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Toads Elizabeth Carls The sky was clear and the summer breeze warm On the night I discovered a secret art room Mixed with the songs of birds and crickets‘ tones, From a dark pond came an amphibious moan.

The music stopped as I neared their abode.

For fear of a predator who liked to eat toads.

But after I passed, it started again, A chorus of baritones like tipsy old men.

Hearing the croaks, I ran back to the shore, Mischievously crashing their party once more But I hid in the reeds and made not a sound And the toads forgot that I was around.

They sang their ballads, recited their prose, Unaware that now there‘s one who knows Of the strange cacophony of voices, The music of toads.

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La Croix and the Tower of Eternal Darkness Josh Rodriguez I had just finished my homework. First time in a while that I had actually completed it before I got to school the next morning. And I must say, it was pretty difficult. With YouTube, and Facebook beckoning to me, it took all my willpower not to succumb to their tempting calls and to finish reading my IR book. I didn‘t think I could stay focused long enough to do it, but somehow, I did, and now the time for video games, my favorite pastime, had come at long last. I turned off the light, and ran to the next room fired up the Xbox. ―This is the life,‖ I said to myself as I relaxed in my comfy chair and laid waste to my virtual enemies. That‘s when my Mom walked in. When I saw the expression on her face, and I knew that she needed help with something. I pretended not to notice her for fear of being asked to lend a hand. I didn‘t want to be torn away from my game, I was doing great too. Sure enough, she said to me, ―Jacob, I have some work that I need to finish tonight.‖ I knew where the situation was headed, but I let her keep talking to see how it played out, maybe I was wrong with my assumption it wouldn‘t be the first time. ―So I‘m going to need you to put Lauren to bed. Do you think you can do that for me?‖ I knew it! I really didn‘t want to. I mean, who wants to stop playing an awesome game to put a 5 year-old to bed? ―Yeah O.K.‖ I said as I reluctantly stopped what I was doing and sullenly walked to her room.

Lauren is my five year old sister. If you haven‘t met my sister, you should probably first know that she‘s not the easiest person to deal with. She‘s stubborn and doesn‘t listen, like at all!

When most people meet her, however, they find her charming and adorable. I have a hard time seeing her like that though. I have to be around her every day. In my opinion, a little girl who argues with everything you say isn‘t adorable. We often get in heated arguments about the stupidest things like whether or not we have any pancake mix. So a long story short, my sister is a pain. You might find her adorable, and she might even agree with everything you say; maybe it‘s just sibling hostility. Luckily, most of the bedtime ritual had been completed for me before I got there, so things were easy. I found her pajamas and told her to get dressed and to brush her teeth. I sat on her bed waiting for her to finish. The walls in her room are painted two colors.

The wall was yellow from the floor to halfway up the wall and from there up, was a creamy off white color. My parents had chosen that color scheme because they worried that we might have a boy and not a girl. They thought it would be a good idea to paint the room a gender natural color. Toys were scattered on the rainbow colored carpet and stuffed animals were hung by clips from the ceiling in the corner of the room by the window. I looked at the time on my phone.

Only eight. If I finish this quickly, I can get some Halo in before I go to bed. I figured that this bedtime thing would be a smash and grab job; get in, get out, and I‘d be done.

She came back with fresher breath, crawled under the covers and sat up against a propped up pillow. ―Tell me a story,‖ she told me. ―O.K what should I read tonight?‖ I grabbed a stack of books that were sitting next to her bed. ―Any of these grab your interest? We can read Robin Hood, Mulan or Aladdin.‖ ―No, I don‘t want those.‖ ―You‘ve got to choose one. That‘s all there is.‖ ―Just tell me a story.‖ ―Oh alright, I‘ll make one up then.‖ So I started my story.

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―There was once a mouse named La Croix; he was…French. And he lived in the far away kingdom of Mozzarella. He was their hero, and everyone looked for him when there was trouble. He wore a duster and always looked cool. He even had cool little mouse booties. Oh, and he also had a cool hat with a feather. No, I take that back. He didn‘t have a hat; he liked the sun in his eyes, it made him fight better. Now this little mouse had his eye on the princess, Cheddarella. She was a pretty little mouse and was everything that La Croix could hope for in a female. They had similar tastes in music and movies and had a great chemistry.

One day, he got enough mousey courage to ask her to accompany him to a cheese and wine social. He made his way to the castle, and just then there was a deafening explosion in the tallest tower. He rushed up the tower, double stepping, even triple stepping the stairs to get to the princess at the top of the tower. When he got to her room, he sliced the door open with a slice from his mighty sword and rushed in, ready for action. The castle guards were strewn about the floor like playing cards, wounded and or dead from battle. There was a gaping hole in the side of the room where the explosion had come from. ‗What happened here soldier?‘ questioned La Croix. ‗It was the evil sorcerer *cough* Ratberg the White. He‘s taken the princess. I‘m sorry; he was just too much for us.‘ ‗You‘ve done well soldier. Besides, there wasn‘t much you could have done against his evil.‘ It was then that La Croix noticed a piece of parchment lying on the ground near the hole in the wall. He walked over to it and read it out loud.

Hahahahahah! By now you have noticed that your precious Princess Cheddarella is gone. You’re probably wondering where she is. Well let me save you some time; I have her! If you want to save her, you know where you can find me.

Your nemesis always, Ratberg the White. ‗That fiendish fiend!‘ exclaimed La Croix. ‗He‘s taken her to the Tower of Eternal Darkness, I have to save her!‘ He ran to the ledge and gave a sharp whistle and summoned his trusty steed. He jumped off the ledge and landed on his valiant—‖ ―Lizard!‖ shouted Lauren. ―A lizard?‖ I asked. ―Well, alright, he jumped off the ledge and landed on his valiant lizard named Edgar, and scurried off towards the Tower of Eternal Darkness.

La Croix rode for what seemed like hours but what was actually about five minutes; everything seems to move faster when you‘re as small as a mouse. He rode until he reached a dense forest. It was dark and mysterious, and was therefore called the Forest of Mysterious Mystery. Upon arriving at the forest, Edgar began to hiss and stir restlessly. ‗It‘s alright old friend, we‘ll go in together,‘ assured La Croix. The two friends entered through the foreboding trees and were soon engulfed in the foliage. The Forest of Mysterious Mystery was very foggy and was pretty much the creepiest forest you‘ve ever seen. La Croix‘s eyes were playing tricks on him, and he was sure that he had passed that tree before. Then it was apparent; he was lost.

He rolled open a map of the kingdom but there was nothing on there about the Forest of Mysterious Mystery. La Croix was regretting not going around the forest especially since the detour would have taken him through the Fields of Eternal Joy and Overwhelming Happiness.

About now, La Croix was getting the tummy rumblies that only cheese could satisfy. But he had forgotten to pack provisions for his journey in his haste to save the princess. He walked and walked in circles until he collapsed from exhaustion. Then he smelt something. He looked up, 97

and in front of him were three chocolate trees. Naturally, La Croix was very relieved to happen upon those trees and rushed to them, eager for some chocolate. He was about to take some chocolate off the branches, but just then, he was sent airborne with a swipe from the tree‘s branches. ‗Just what do you think your doing?‘ bellowed the chocolate trees. ‗I just wanted some of your chocolate, I‘m very hungry,‘ squeaked La Croix. ‗Well, how would you like it if I took a piece of you and ate it?‘ ‗I suppose I wouldn‘t like that one bit; I‘m sorry.‘ ‗You better be, you filthy little varmint.‘ ‗What did you call me?‘ questioned La Croix. ‗Did I stutter? I called you a varmint, you dirty piece of mammalian trash, you.‘ ‗That was uncalled for!‘ said La Croix, ‗I already said I was sorry.‘ The chocolate tree turned to his other tree brethren and said, ‗Stupid mice, they are the dirtiest creatures I‘ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.‘ The other trees started laughing. They wanted to look cool. But there was someone there who didn‘t find that particular joke very funny.‖ ―Who? Who wasn‘t laughing?‖ asked Lauren intensively. ―La Croix that‘s who! He was a mouse full of pride, and he couldn‘t just sit there and take that kind of attitude just sitting down. He quickly drew out his sword and launched at the very rude tree. ‗Let‘s see if you think this is funny!‘ shouted La Croix. Then with a swift swoosh of his sword; he sliced the tree in half, thus silencing the unruly chocolate tree. The other chocolate trees were so terrified at the sight, they uprooted and ran for the hills, looking to escape the wrath of La Croix and his majestic sword. La Croix would have normally felt bad about eating a fallen foe, but he was hungry, so he sat down to eat the chocolate tree. ‗To the victor go the spoils,‘ he resounded in pride. He reached into the branches and pulled out huge bars of chocolate and immediately began consuming them. ‗There is no sweeter taste on thine lips than victory!‘ triumphantly boasted La Croix. Even Edgar got in on the chocolaty action as he ate the chocolate tree bark that was made of chocolate wafers. Soon La Croix and Edgar‘s stomachs were content and they were on their way to save the princess from the wicked clutches of Ratberg the White.

Luckily, La Croix was able to find a forest path that led him out of the trees and the fog.

Beyond the forest was the small village of Pepper Jack and beyond that was the Great Desert. La Croix knew that he would not last long without the proper supplies, so he went to the village to stock up. There, La Croix resupplied and was given directions on the quickest way through the desert. Taking the advice from the town elders, La Croix waited to set off until nightfall.‖ ―Why did he have to wait until night time?‖ asked Lauren. ―Because at night it‘s not as hot as it is in the day time.‖ ―Oh.‖ ―Anyway, back to my story. So, as soon as it got dark, La Croix and Edgar left the village and walked into the vastness of the desert. It was a good thing that Edgar was a desert lizard because he could travel through the desert sands with great ease. Our heroes were not too deep into the desert before their lives were in danger. They were on the run from an angry flock of cactus owls. Apparently, La Croix and Edgar had come too far into their territory. Seeking refuge from the violent pecks of the cactus owls, they hid in an abandoned fortress.

La Croix was tired and thought it would be nice to rest. But he couldn‘t rest, not until the princess was safe. Upon further snooping through the fortress, he uncovered a passageway. An ancient sign by the door had ―Kangaroo Cave shortcut to The Tower of Eternal Darkness.‖ La Croix knew that it might be more dangerous, but he knew what he had to do. He led Edgar down 98

the passageway and they started their journey through Kangaroo Cave. The cave was dark and scary, and La Croix could hear lots of creepy, unrecognizable sounds. He had safely walked for a long time without any incident, and was beginning to think they wouldn‘t run into any cave kangaroos. It was then, that he heard the bone-chilling howl of cave kangaroo as it descended upon La Croix, looking for a fight. La Croix drew his sword, ready to defend himself. But the crafty cave-marsupial was too fast for him, and it slapped the sword right out of La Croix‘s hand.

He was defenseless; he saw his life flash before his eyes. Right before the kangaroo could use a deadly right hook on our poor hero, Edgar, with a mighty swoop of his tail, sent the kangaroo flying into a dark abyss conveniently located in the cave. ‗You saved my life!‘ exclaimed La Croix. The thunder-lizard wagged his tail with satisfaction; he knew that he had done a good job. ‗I‘ll make sure to make you a big sub sandwich when we get home.‘ The adventurer and his loyal steed proceeded through the cave, untouched by the cave kangaroos.

They happily greeted the bright, rising sun as they exited the cave. On the horizon was the Tower of Eternal Darkness. La Croix had finally reached his goal. He mounted Edgar and charged at the tower through fields of seemingly harmless plants. But they weren‘t harmless, they were man-eaters! The carnivorous plants snapped and snarled at La Croix and Edgar as they passed through, but his sword made short work of them; nothing would stop him from saving Princess Cheddarella. Covered in the sap of those fallen photosynthetic psychopaths, La Croix reached the front door of the tower. The door was huge and made of a rich mahogany, studded with intimidating spikes. It was common knowledge that adventurers can‘t bring their lizards into castles and towers. ‗Wait here, I‘ll be right back,‘ reassured La Croix. Edgar whimpered and whinnied as La Croix entered through the door to face the evil sorcerer.

The tower was dusty and unkempt. ‗Only someone as vile as Ratberg would keep such a messy home,‘ scoffed La Croix. With heroic speed, he ran up the stairs, avoiding the booby traps that the sorcerer had laid for him. In what seemed like no time at all, he was at Ratberg‘s door. He kicked the door in, with a spectacular fashion. ‗You‘ve fallen right into my trap,‘ muttered the sorcerer. ‗Where‘s the princess, you nasty rat, you?‘ ‗I resent that,‘ retorted the rat. ‗Soon you will meet your doom, and there will be no hope of saving the Princess!‘ Ratberg let out a sinister laugh, confident that victory was his. La Croix, full of courage, rushed at the evil enchanter, sword shining. Before La Croix could get close enough to Ratberg to land a fatal blow, the sorcerer created a force field and sent La Croix flying across to the room to crash against the wall. ‗Now,‘ said Ratberg, ‗Allow me to show you my true powers.‘ Then something horrifying happened. Ratberg began glowing, and the room began to rumble. His eyes turned blood red and he began to shake violently. La Croix was stupefied; he had never seen Ratberg use this type of magic. Ratberg hunched over and from his back sprouted two leathery wings. ‗Gasp!‘ gasped La Croix.

Ratberg grew larger and larger until finally, he was a giant bat, a rat with wings. A battle was about to go down unlike any the Kingdom of Mozzarella had ever seen.

The giant bat launched at La Croix with a speed comparable to a rocket. La Croix was unprepared for this sudden attack and had the wind knocked out of him with a vicious head-butt from his magical attacker. He spun and flopped onto the cold tile, trying to catch his breath.

Ratberg came in for another pass, but this time, La Croix was ready for him. He dodged at the 99

last second and managed to grab on to Ratberg‘s wings, and a brilliant aerial battle ensued. La Croix was able to strike Ratberg several times with his sword, but Ratberg was wise, and he knew he could not defeat La Croix as long as he had his sword. So Ratberg threw La Croix off his back and swooped down to knock the sword from La Croix‘s little mousey paws.

Unbeknownst to Ratberg, however, was the fact that La Croix was specially trained in advanced hand to hand combat. When Ratberg came in for another attack, La Croix was able to weave his way through the bat‘s attacks and punch Ratberg in the solar plexus. Ratberg fell to the ground in pain stunned from La Croix‘s well executed attack. Desperate to finish the battle quickly, Ratberg took to the air once more and prepared for a final attack. He then began to shoot magic energy beams from his mouth in an attempt to vaporize La Croix. La Croix to cover behind furniture, but with all the furniture exploding around him, he was running out of places to hide. ‗This will be your final undoing La Croix!‘ hissed Ratberg. Then he began to form an intense energy ball and charged up to attack. ‗What can I do? The blast will certainly destroy me.‘ Then Ratberg launched his attack at La Croix. The light was blinding, and La Croix fumbled for his weapon. Ratberg was laughing manically, sure that victory was finally his. La Croix used his sword and swung at the energy ball, sending it back at his attacker. Ratberg was too busy laughing that he failed to notice his impending doom. By the time he did notice however, it was too late. He could not get away in time before he was hit with his own attack.

His limp and charred body fell to the ground, lifeless. Around the neck of Ratberg‘s body was a large key. La Croix examined it and wondered what it opened. Then he heard the muffled shouts of a lady mouse somewhere in the room. He searched and searched, until finally, behind a large oversized portrait of Ratberg, there was a golden door covered in chains with a large lock.

Curious as to what was behind this door, he tried the key in the lock, and the chains fell off. He opened the door and there was the princess, waiting to be rescued.

La Croix and the Princess Cheddarella shared a heartwarming hug. ‗You rescued me!‘ exclaimed the Princess. But this was no time to celebrate because out of nowhere, Ratberg‘s body exploded in a dazzling display of lights and fire. The tower began to rumble and shake erratically. ‗We‘ve got to get out of here, princess! In his dying breath, he is trying to destroy the tower, and us with it,‘ said La Croix. Pieces of ceiling began falling down and nearly crushed our hero. La Croix and the princess dashed for the door but it was blocked by a large pile of rubble. It seemed as if all hope was lost, but La Croix had come out alive from stickier situations. For him, this was just another day on the job.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a window. He grabbed the princess and leaped through it, hoping that they would land in the moat. Luckily, for them they did land in the moat, and they scrambled to shore where Edgar was waiting for them. From a safer distance they looked back and watched the tower as it fell and crumbled into tiny pieces. It was all over; Ratberg had been defeated and the princess had been saved. ‗Thank you for saving me La Croix. You‘re my hero,‘ squeaked the princess. ‗It‘s all just part of the job.‘ La Croix lifted the princess onto Edgar‘s back, and the three of them walked off towards the horizon. ―So, what‘d you think? Was that a good story for you?‖ But Lauren had already fallen asleep. I tucked her in, turned off the lamp, turned on the little floral night-light and closed the door behind me. I felt pretty good about myself; I knew that I had sewn a tapestry of imaginary excitement above her bed. In other words, I was proud of my story. ―She wasn‘t so bad,‖ I said to myself. I turned on the Xbox again and got down to business.

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The Lego Man Matt Leibowitz Lego Man, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Built thee shape, and built for you, A ship and a racecar too; Gave thee kingdom of plastic, Your large castle, so fantastic, Gave thee a green lightsaber, In bricks built by his labor?

Lego Man, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Lego Man, I‘ll tell thee, Lego Man, I‘ll tell thee.

He is called by my name, For I call myself Matthew.

I am tall, and am a boy; I play with you, little toy.

I a boy, and toy are you, I am called by my name.

Lego Man, I built thee!

Lego Man, I built thee!

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Butterfly Sometimes in Life You get too stressed You need to break away And even though, You try your best, It doesn‘t work out that way, But up in the clouds It‘s hard to see, How anything can go wrong, The world is turning, Constantly, But you just float along, Butterfly, tell me, How does it feel?

To fly above the rest, And when you look down, You see that ground, Is more beautiful than you‘d guessed, And when you choose, To fly away, You dazzle those near and far, Because when you fly You spread your wings, And they see how beautiful you are If I could talk to the sun, I don‘t know what I‘d say, I might sing or I might dance, But luckily, butterfly, You already know, Because you‘ve been given the chance, But you wander, butterfly, From place to place, Each day from dusk to dawn, But when you leave, You touch the sky, And into the sun, You‘re gone.

Erin Crowley 2006

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