4 minute read
MISCELLANY: FOR THE ARTS
MISSION STATEMENT
In Spring of 2019, Miscellany Magazine of the Arts was reborn after three years of inactivity. The Editor-inChief of the George-Anne Reflector Magazine at the time worked to get the publication running again and hired an editor.
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With this rebirth, the staff was a bit lost for a time, unsure of the exact purpose of the publication besides being a place to post student works maybe once a month if they were lucky. However, as the submissions rolled in, we realized that Miscellany could become not just a publication but a collaboration platform. Students would have a way to share their work publically and get input from anyone.
The Miscellany staff determined that the magazine would become a creative community for Georgia Southern students. It would connect them with the creative, from art to writing, and become a way for students to express themselves. Miscellany now aims to promote the creative culture at our university and inspire students to share their work and grow as creative people.
Our hope is that through community and collaboration we can reach our full potential as artists and as a university. A lot of promise exists in this new Miscellany to grow as a publication to serve students and nurture creativity. We strive to be a safe place where everyone and anyone can share their work and become better creators.
they’re perfect for being together — cool enough to cuddle, yet warm enough to strip our bodies bare and lay there — your skin one with mine as your locks of golden sun tangle themselves in the webs of my fingers. i smile as your pale hands delicately trace the curves of my tan waist; your tiny breasts stuck to my wide chest, and your sweet, damp breath warming my neck with each soothing kiss. my cold, freshly manicured hands find warmth between your smooth legs, and i perform symphonies inside your body. the softness of your voice a crescendo, my tongue tuning your frame with all our muscles tense, aching; two bodies becoming one, orchestrating sounds of true love. a dolce movement of us, together, music taking form, releasing a grand finale of short moans and blissful panting, falling together like leaves between the sheets of a beautiful composition, and we lay there, in euphoria – out of breath. I LOVE HER MORE ON AUTUMN NIGHTS Marci Delcampo Poem
WAKE UP CALL FROM NANA Jonathan Baker Poem
I slept on a couch with board underneath and when I inhaled first morning breath it was sticky and sweet and comfortable.
Nana comes bull rushing through slamming and screaming her deaf way. Rising with aching back I shake my oversized cousin (miraculously asleep) and rouse him from the loveseat he’s packed into like a can, I drag him to the kitchen.
Nana doesn’t eat breakfast but stands by the stove and watches us all.
She’s gearing up for the day yelling at my grandfather and throwing down silverware and glasses of milk.
We sit in the same chairs for twenty years Eating Pillsbury crescent rolls like communion cakes.
Despite how hard I try, you are in everything. You are in the faces of strangers on the sidewalk and in the vines clinging to the brick wall of my apartment and in the clouds drifting above and in all the cracks of the pavement I walk on and you are even woven in the noodles of my soup. You are in my own reflection and in the shadows of my bedroom, and when I wake up in the night disoriented in a sleepy daze, I see you, and extend my hand out but instead of touching your face all my fingers do is reach for something that will never be there. I try not to think of you but you seem to slip into my subconscious, forcing your face to haunt me in everything I see and don’t you know that I can’t breathe and all you’re doing is reminding me that I’ll never be able to see or kiss or embrace you again, you’re squeezing my insides suffocating me and all I want to do is forget your face so I can just breathe again. PAREIDOLIA Hope Noelle Walker Poem LETTERS Aminatta Mbow Digital Art
THE SCIENCE OF WAR Trey Rhone Poem I learned about Human Anatomy when I was seven years old. Not because I wanted to, but because it’s hard not to notice the body strewn all around the playground. Did you know that the small intestine is about twenty feet long? Learned that one when a mortar shell hit the local recreational center. Gallbladders look like pears if you tilt your head a bit. I wish for times when I didn’t know that a human heart was roughly the size of a fist, or that the eyes and tongues swell after one passes, but that’s the price of freedom I suppose. They get pats on their patriotic backs while us kids are left to play on bloody swing sets and sandbox surrounded by the corpses soon to be cadavers.
OUT OF REACH Morgan Carr 2D Art
