NAUTICAL FLOW LITERARy and ART MAGAZINE TIMBER CREEK HIGH SCHOOL 2016 VOLUME 4
Table of
Page Title Category Author/Artist COVER Night at the Beach Art Gleydi Santana 1 Searching in the Deep Art Raven Steffey
2 Letter from the Staff FLOW Staff Members 3 When I Fight Flash Fiction Deenadeja Sterling Charted Art Jae Boell 4 Where the Sky Meets the Sea Poem Alyssa Chartier The Life on the Seas Art Ian Fausto 5 Song of the Sea Flash Fiction Taylor Rop Siren of the Storm Art Kayla Favis 6 A World of Watercolor Poem Brenna Gilliam Jellyfish Art Kurstin Rutan 7 The Dangerous Beauty Poem Caron St. Jean Almost Alien Art Olivia Yao 8 The Deep Blue Poem Lauren Culibao Dolphins Art Brianna Van Genderen 9 0122 Local Time Flash Fiction Josh Pritchett 10 Ocean Dock Art Lylliam Gonzalez 11 Writer’s Block Poem Nina Obeso 12 Vietnam’s Waters Art Lucy Nguyen 13
The Light in the Darkness
Flash Fiction
Sydney Stamford
14 Swirl in the Water Art Karlin Chung 15 Due North Flash Fiction Casey Cliett Compass and Rose Art Brenna Gilliam 16 Washed Ashore Art Ariana Morales 17 Handprints Poem Brooke Hanus Captive Art Zara Jump 18 I as Your Captain, You As My Guide Poem Maria Penaloza Rolling Water Art Jae Boell
f Contents
Page Title Category Author/Artist 19 To Love Flash Fiction Alyssa Alvarez Long Beach Cliffside Art Evan Ponder 20 Uttered Flash Fiction Ciara Watkins Here’s to Us Art Lylliam Gonzalez 21 Drifting Poem Alaina Scapicchio 22 Water Night Poem Sam Burgio Koi Fish Art Page Loveday 23 Killing the Killer Flash Fiction Diana Cappadoro 24 Beach at Dawn Art Karlin Chung 25
How to Get Over Someone
Poem
Sigmann Gilmore
26 A Naval Survivor Poem Brittany Tinder Gone Fishing Art Kaylee Arnold 27
Departure of the Winged Ship
Art
Alana Moya
28 The Blooming Flower Flash Fiction Bailey Kilroy 29 Survival Poem Roxane Perret Water’s Edge Art Grace Murphy 30 A Letter About the Ocean Creative Non-Fiction Simone Ritthisorn Home in Our Eyes Art Lylliam Gonzalez 31 The Thing About Poetry Poem Kurstin Rutan El Yunque Art Daniela Diaz 32 By the Shore Art Lourdes Miranda A Pirate’s Life for Me Poem Brittany Tucker 33 Of Boats and Bated Breath Flash Fiction Morgahn De La Cruz 34 Jellyfish and Lightbulb Art Sophia West 35 Drowning Poem Ana Ocampo 36 Sleepy Sun Art Lylliam Gonzalez 37
Love Lost at Sea
Flash Fiction
Caron St. Jean
Page Title Category Author/Artist 38
The Moon and the Mermaid
Art
Diana Cappadoro
39 Captain Poem Erin McConnell A Good Day to Sail Art Ian Fausto 40 Horizon Poem Adela Delgado The Sea Floor Art Brendan Lutz 41 Rough Days Flash Fiction Cassidy Wood 42 Orcat Natural Habitat Art Zak Umansky 43 Blue Abyss Poem Maegan Brown Cathedral Art Daniela Diaz 44 Oh See Poem Bruce Padro Girls of the Sea Poem Brianna Febus Eloise Art Leilanie Torrens
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Searching in the Deep Raven Steffey
Letter From the Staff Dear Reader, This year, the staff of FLOW Literary and Art Magazine has worked diligently to find examples of art and writing that would best exemplify the creativity of our fellow students at Timber Creek. Our magazine allows students the chance to have their work published for a wider audience. The students were given the general theme of this year’s magazine and encouraged to create any piece of art or writing that they wished to submit. We were shocked by the extreme amount of responses and how fantastic each of them were. Earlier in the year, when choosing a theme for this year’s issue, the staff strived to select one that would allow students to submit unique and creative pieces. When the “Nautical” theme was brought up by one staff member, we all were in agreement that this would be an amazing option for the magazine. This theme encouraged students to reflect on issues that they have navigated through-- to consider both the calm waters and the storms of life to help create an original piece. This magazine is full of breathtaking works that capture both the beauty and power of the ocean. Two years ago, students signed petitions in an effort to keep our writing and art classes. We hope that, while looking through this magazine, you will see why it is so important to continue to nurture the creative minds of young artists and writers. Allow yourself to feel the power and emotion that lies under each brush stroke and typed word. We hope that when you stumble across this magazine years from now, that you remember this unique school for encouraging creativity and fueling our passion to create. A special thank you to those that helped us in this process, including the teachers who encouraged their students to submit their work, and in particular Cathy Melton of the English Department for assisting us with the cost of publication. Now, with great pride, it’s our pleasure to present the 2016 Nautical edition of FLOW Literary and Art Magazine. Sincerely,
The 2016 FLOW Literary and Art Magazine Staff
Advisor: Kim Dobson Editor-In-Chief: Alaina Scapicchio Magazine Designer: Diana Cappadoro Copy Editors: Brittany Tinder, Brittany Tucker Flash Fiction Editors: Josh Pritchett, Sydney Stamford, Ciara Watkins, Breannyn Flynn Poetry Editors: Cosette Hockersmith, Sigmann Gilmore, Roxane Perret Creative Non Fiction Editors: Adela Delgado, Kate Childs Art Editors: Abby Maguire, Ana Ocampo
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When I Fight by Deenadeja sterling
I proudly stand on the shore, feeling the sand beneath my toes, and the wind in my hair. My destroyed body hasn’t touched the water in the last five years. Someone once told me that “swimming is useless, you’re just fighting to stay alive,” and I believe that that’s what I loved so much about it. I’m here because I’m lost. I’ve forgotten how to fight for what I love, for what I believe in, and most importantly, to stay alive. I turned to self-poisoning to keep my heart beating. I fought harder to die than to stay alive. But I’m here to change that; I’m here to fight. I wade in the water until everything below my knees is submerged. I can see the heavy parts of my body slowly being stripped away and dissolving into the water. I feel a heavy shadow lingering in the air. I try so hard not to let it get to me, but it’s weighing me down, like an anchor being tossed into the sea. Exhausted, but refusing to give in, I go deeper. The water is now chin deep. The salt rejuvenates my skin. Here in this moment, I feel weightless. I close my eyes and begin to dream. I am alive! I am free! I am happy! As I’m about to enter a place of pure happiness, my anchors return, and a giant wave engulfs me and grabs me out to sea. I try to fight but the waves are crashing over me, I am drowning, I am suffocating, and I’ve forgotten how to swim. I said I wanted to remember how to fight, but it’s like quicksand; the harder I fight, the deeper I sink. It chews me up and spits me out half alive, barely breathing, and washed up on the shore. Although the waters are so beautiful, they are also deadly, and I’m thankful for the struggle that helped me realize that this is what it means to fight, and to be proud of the person I’ve become. As time passes I slowly regain the strength that the water stole from me. I am able to stand on my own two feet. I am able to walk away. I am no longer tied down. Before I can even conjure up the strength to actually remove myself from the situation, a familiar shadow rests on my shoulders, and soon enough I’m dragged right back into the water, struggling between life and death. And just when I’m about to give up, it spits me back out, torn and weaker than before. This is a vicious cycle but I have no fight left to run. I continue to let myself be ravished by the waves and spat back out. I can feel my body getting weaker. This toxic relationship will not last long. I am tattered, I am torn, and I am tired. I’m praying for the day when the water consumes me and I,having no fight left, will tie the anchors to my feet, let the Charted water fill my lungs, and claim me as its own. Jae Boell
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RT
RT
Where the sky meets the Sea by alyssa chartier
The day slowly comes to rest as the sun sets. Her feet calmly glide through the breaking waves, but she pays no attention to the crashing sounds. Her ears only open to hear a short sweet hum. She turns around in excitement, widely smiling to greet the shadowy figure. Her footprints skid the water as tiny waves erupt from the sudden motions. Instantly, she throws herself towards the shadows. She laughs as the dark figure embraces her. She looks up into the once dark but now glowing eyes of the shadow. The figure slowly runs his fingers through her hair and smiles, slowly parting his lips against hers. The crashing waves once again appear to cease. Nothing can be heard. No hums or waves or whispers. The only sound that can be heard is his heartbeat against hers.
The Life on the Seas Ian Fausto
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song of the sea by taylor rop
They say when the moon is just rising, when the stars begin to wake and dance along with the purple hues of twilight, from the shore you can hear the sweet melody of the sea riding atop the crashing waves. It’s sweeter than the purest sugar, illustrating the vulnerability and child-like wonder that it embodies. Its alluring voice caresses everything it touches. It is able to take one’s thoughts and whisk them all away, replacing everything with its voice and leading you to an unseen paradise. The source of the precious melody is debated, for none have found the answer. Some call the song a siren, determined to lure brave sailors who have worked their whole lives at sea, who are rugged and listen to no one but themselves and the calling waters into their deathly embrace to prove that men are weak no matter how strong they believe they are. Others believe it comes from a good and moral place, perhaps a mermaid who sings of the home she dearly loves. They say she pours her very being into the song she sings, hoping to gain nothing in return, yet wishing nothing more than for us humans to see the beauty in nature and all she has to give and drive us to protect this fragile place of serenity. But as for me, I do not care who or what sings, if it is anything at all. As long as I can sit on the sandy shores when the moon is just rising, watch the stars begin to wake, dance with the purple hues of twilight, and listen to the sweet melody of the sea, it is more than enough for me.
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Siren of the Storm Kayla Favis
A World of Watercolor by Brenna Gilliam
​ y brush streaks across the canvas in deep shades of cerulean, M staining the fabric with the bold blue of a broken heart. Water runs down my wrists, staining them as well, and I make no move to stop it as it trickles paths of color over my skin. As it reaches my elbows, it steadily drips onto the studio floor below. ​I hold my hand steady, allowing the paint to do what it will. The slightest ocean breeze seems to stir my hair, and I can feel the stickiness of sea salt on my fingers. Jolted back into reality, I dip my brush into a vivid shade of vermillion. The sky explodes in spangles of red and gold. Water is pooling at my feet now, a steady stream of azure, and I wiggle my toes beneath the surface. I almost believe that I feel the soft grit of sand. Paint covers my canvas, beginning to form a rocky sea, a brilliant sunset. Somewhere far away from the suffocating studio that surrounds me, a place where I am free to live among the waves and swim among the stars. The briny water below reaches the cuffs of my jeans, then my knees, then my waist, and I allow it to sweep me away, into the world that flows from the tip of my brush. The world where paint and life become one. A world of watercolor. The ocean lies ahead, stretching until it kisses the horizon, blue against blue. A patchwork of stars glitters above me through the rose-tinted atmosphere, and I bob like a cork on the waves, feeling at peace. The water is not rocky, but gentle, caressing my skin and pulling me out to where the sea meets the sky. And like the sea, I can not be restrained. Like the sea, I am powerful. I am strong. I am whole.
Jellyfish
Kurstin Rutan
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Almost Alien Olivia Yao
The Dangerous Beauty by caron st. jean
Her body is vast, and yet beautiful in every way. Her features have been cherished by so many from her shores, to her mysterious depths faraway. She is as unique as a flower with a petal count of twenty. She is home to thousands, big and small that have to depend on her. No matter their size, she gives dwelling to them all. She doesn’t judge whether they swim or they crawl. Although she gives off a calm nature, her character can shift ever so quickly to become one that is quite tricky. She will shift into a being that only brings danger. When anger overcomes her, she’s quick to end one’s trip. She will either send you back, or leave you stranded with the power of her rough waves that can destroy a ship. If you fight against her, you will be reprimanded.
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Her beauty is accompanied by danger and whether we like it, we must accept her.
The Deep Blue by lauren culibao
Sat upon the sand Beneath a celestial sun I force my eyes to look ahead
I am anchored down By the shipwrecked debris Unable to move forward
An unbreakable mass Of startling sapphire The deep blue pulls me in Pulled out to see The waters left unexplored About me
There are no signs of land Yet as I come to terms with My watery, grave existence A heavenly hand Scoops me up and out And rows me to sanctuary To the safety of the shore
The salty sting in my eyes Goes ignored I’d rather not implore The “why” There lies A wreck beneath the surface Drawn to the dawn Of days long gone I’m dragged under the rolling waves Of the storm of yesterdays’ past Weighed down by the heavy gray above I find myself Enveloped By the black surges crashing around me And just as sudden As the tide rushed in Silence Engulfs me once more The quiet after a storm Or perhaps just the calm before another I float I flail I falter And the sea swallows me whole I tread water To keep my head above the waves Idling aimlessly Thrashing hopelessly
Dolphins
Brianna Van Genderen
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0122 Local Time by josh pritchett
I have to find something to do. My hands are shaking and I can’t sleep. I haven’t used a pen in days, much less written stuff in here. I’m the only one up right now except for Andrews and Lee. They have something of a “night-watch-obsession” and, while honestly they’re a little nuts, I get it. It’s probably just the thrill of staying up late. I’ve been up late a lot recently. No sounds. Just Matt’s computers whizzing and whirring quietly. Staying up and working late. One of those things you want to do, or at least I did, as a kid and then when you do it’s just kind of “meh.” I remember pulling my first all-nighter. Man. Nintendo, corn chips, blankets and stuff. I guess the “meh” is feeling like crap when you drag yourself home. But I was like 13 and stupid not to sleep, even a little. I handled it okay on weekends in high school, though. Especially when Nathan and Katherine were there somehow. Usually at their place, sometimes at mine. No Nintendo and no corn chips, but always blankets. Lots of blankets. And pillows—oh and ALWAYS a movie. ALWAYS. Sometimes two. We watched three one time. But that was Star Wars—the old ones, and it was cool because Kate (why do I call her that? God knows she hates it) hadn’t seen them yet. I remember her sitting on the edge of the couch, giddy as can be when A New Hope came on, being oddly disappointed with the ending but back on edge with The Empire Strikes Back, looking up at me with those eyes (I still can’t get over them) like, “the good guys win, right?” and slowly drifting to sleep with her head on my shoulder as Return of the Jedi wrapped up. The good guys DID win. Even if they didn’t I certainly would have. Those nights usually ended around 3 A.M., with Nathan awkwardly draped across a couch and Katherine and I on the other one. No, not us awkwardly draped—well that depends on the definition of awkwardly draped. That’s how she fell asleep tonight. But she shouldn’t even be here, or even be a part of this story. This war. It’s gruesome and bloody. It’s just bad. I mean Zaytsev had her cooped up for nearly two weeks in some warehouse just to get at Nathan and—crap, he hasn’t even told us what he’s on to—that’s a problem for tomorrow. I have my own problems for tonight, like this shaking hand. Being in this town is hard. But I’m the only one who needs to deal with that. There are other problems. Like that Zaytsev is still—NO! Just screw him for now. Katherine, why are you so beautiful when you sleep? It’s torturous. Gorgeous girl, I broke my promise. I went back. Back to my brothers. Back to serving. Back to war. Back to what I told you I wanted to stay away from. Yet you found me here with my brothers. At war. And you are okay with that? I BROKE MY PROMISE. And you’ve already forgiven me? You are outstanding. Just amazing. I swear, Katherine Connery, you are the only girl in the world I’ve ever cared for, so you better marry me and have my kids because I’d sooner be shot than rejected by you. God, please don’t let anything happen to my girl. She’s why I am here. She’s why my hand is shaking. She’s why I’m so afraid. But You put her here with me. Please don’t take her from me.
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Ocean Dock
Lylliam Gonzalez
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Writer's Block by nina obeso
I’ve typed and erased halfway sentences about twelve times, So this is a poem about writer’s block. I’m supposed to turn this in at 11:59 pm, But there is nothing that I’m feeling emotional about at 6:41 pm. I write and I write but it never feels right. Look, I made a rhyme, will that suffice? 6:42 pm and I write a line down but it doesn’t make the cut. I looked at old pieces to see if they could do this poem justice. I had a rough day at school, maybe I can write about that, Or how I’m rotting from the inside, And questioning what I’m doing with my life. Look, another rhyme, will that suffice? I could write about how my boyfriend is amazing. But he won’t call me back so is he really amazing? I could write about the “C” I got on my math test, And how that “C” stands for crying because that’s what I did, Because I’m a mess. Look, another rhyme, will that suffice? I could write about how I haven’t applied to college yet, And how my skills and my dream career won’t bring me that big paycheck. I could write about how I pick people to befriend that don’t really care about me And that’s why I’ve lost about three and kept the other two. Look at that, two more rhymes, will that suffice? I’m a firm believer that poetry can be anything. I can rant about my life and it will still have meaning. I can write about my writers block and it can still have depth, Due to the cynical underlying message. This poem is a mess and so am I. But hey, at least it rhymed.
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Vietnam’s Waters Lucy Nguyen
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The Light in the Darkness by Sydney stamford
BEST FLASH FICTION
She never meant to go out so far. The inky sky matched the dark ocean and there was no defined horizon. The sky bled into the waves. Meg crouched on the sailboat, trying to keep her center low as the wind battered her and the frail vessel. The boat was weak and frail, rocking with every wave. She couldn’t shake the image that she was riding a plank of driftwood in the middle of the black open waters. Her hands worked fast to tighten every sail as the air became charged with immense strength. The overhead clouds had washed away the stars an hour ago. As she tied the last rope, heavy raindrops plunked down. The wind sent a harsh slap her way and she jolted sideways, rocking with the boat. She still had half an hour to go until she reached shore. The only light was the high beam that led her boat, and it dipped in and out of view as it bobbed beneath the choppy water. Rain poured down with fury, nearly washing out her only light from view. She squinted through the storm to see the distant light bobbing above and beneath the waves. She watched it, low on the deck, her back taking the majority of the storm’s assault. Meg concentrated on the light as her world switched from light to total darkness. Below, above, below, above, below, then…nothing. The light never reappeared. Her heart seemed to stop. That wispy glow out in the thick rain had vanished. She was encased in darkness. Waves splashed over the side, though she couldn’t tell the difference between the rain and the ocean. Looking down, her hands were lost in the darkness. She scrambled forward, one hand gripping the side rail and the other feeling the slick floor in front of her. She reached the boat’s head and her right hand reached over, feeling nothing but smooth wood. The mounted light was gone. The waves bucked the boat up and she lurched, her hands flying off the side as she was flung into the air. Her body smashed hard into the water’s surface as the waves sent frantic hands up to drag her body down. She gave a strangled cry as she sunk below. Her hands shot up, raking the smooth side of the sailboat until she caught a hanging rope. She pulled hard, her head breaking the surface only to be pummeled by the heavy rain waiting above to greet her. Meg wrapped the rope repeatedly around her hands, clinging on to her literal lifeline. She was alone, being viciously attacked and hopelessly far from land. She was alone. This feeling of isolation was bitterly familiar. The miles of sea between her and civilization felt no different than the invisible barrier that seemed to divide her from the people in her life. Life had been wearing her down, acting as a constant tide traveling further and further up shore, consuming more of her each time. She spent her life calling out to people, shouting to be noticed and pleading to be found before the tide rose above her neck, finally engulfing her. She had been drowning long before she went out into the ocean. Clinging to the rope that dragged her, her head turned to see a small pinprick of white in the black world she was in. Through the dense rain, the foggy light poked through, inviting her to come. Hope welled up in her, as the waves continued to smack her and the
“She was encased in darkness.”
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rain continued to crush her. A lighthouse? Another boat? Her mind raced with the possibilities. Her hands stung as the rope bit into them and she began to shiver in the chilled water. With fierce rain and furious waves beating against her, Meg stared through it all, her eyes locked on that soft white light in the distance. It could be a mile out, maybe more. Her life vest embraced her like a mother, encouraging her to let go, telling her she could make it. She had never felt more alone, yet still never closer to anyone. The light’s intense pull was beckoning to her, telling her to take the leap of faith and return to her life; it was telling her to return new. Taking a deep breath, her sharp eyes locked to the distant beacon of hope, she let go.
Swirl in the Water Karlin Chung
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Due North BY casey cliett
I was due north. The wine-dark sea grappled the sides of my vessel, threatening to send me overboard. A foreboding black sky unleashed a furious downpour, however, I continued to hold tight to my compass and my now-waterlogged map. I was due north. It may have been a poor decision on my part to undertake this pilgrimage alone, but my determination was unstoppable and my motivation was personal. Some sailors travel for gold, others for a new life, others simply to explore; whatever the reason, we never stop until our goal comes to fruition. I had travelled for two months already, and even though I was impatient to reach my destination, I quite enjoyed the thrill of the journey itself. Hundreds of thousands of millions of gallons of water, millions of beings lurking just below the surface; the ocean never ceased to fascinate me. Seeing as I was alone on that journey, the frothy saltwater below me was my only companion, and I learned to find entertainment in the quirks that it exhibited, such as little patches of seaweed or larger than average waves. I was due north. Through the ravaging storm, I saw a form in the distance. Hopeful that I could find a place to rest, I pressed my boat forward with burning will. The shadow slowly came forward. Unfortunately, as I approached, I realized it was only a barren island. This sort of disappointment was awful for my morale. I contemplated giving up many times before, and stood at the hull of my vessel, ready to jump into the depths below and let my fate chart its course. This journey was, after all, the most difficult thing I’ve even undertaken, however, I knew that I must press onward; I was due north. Days and days passed without any significant occurrences, and my faith
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Compass and Rose Brenna Gilliam
Washed Ashore Ariana Morales
was lower and lower as time went on. Fortunately, I continued to approach my destination. I kept a compass rose and a map on my person at all times; I was practically glued to my navigation equipment, seeking the coordinates so hastily scribbled on my map. I was due north. I continued to pilot my worn boat along the endless landscape, until finally I found myself at the spot I had been seeking for so long. The sea was shallow and calm, the sky serene and peaceful. With great hesitation, I stepped to the hull. The roaring ocean below me threatened to devour me; I knew that to accomplish my mission, I would have to be its meal. I took a deep breath, and fell forward. The meniscus of the water sent a shock through my body, but I was soon submerged. As I descended deeper, a foreboding body came into view; I had come across the sunken vessel. I pushed myself forward, and soon entered the vacant ship to see it almost intact. I saw dark brown wood and rusted iron nails. I saw near-ancient equipment and a plethora of miscellaneous supplies. What was in the corner of my eye, however, caught my attention with a door to the ship’s living quarters. I swam through the weak door and saw what I had most feared. The crew rested, sunken, on the floor of the quarters, motionless and vapid. The wreck must have been more devastating than I could have imagined. I sifted through the lifeless seamen. I then spotted a recognizable face. Beautiful and glowing, filled with life and vitality yet void of both, it was the face I had loved for so long. I do not know what overcame me at that moment. It may have been anguish, it may have been depression, it may have been absent mindedness. Whatever the case, I thought as I retreated to my boat, I had accomplished my mission: I was due north to find my love. I was due north.
“The wreck must have been more devastating than I could have imagined.”
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Handprints by Brooke Hanus
BEST POEM
My body is not public property So please don’t feel free to leave your handprints, Blackened and filthy from your decaying mind All over my body That no doctor can help me scrub away clean. Every contrived hug Smothered with the cruel intention of a grope, Every smack Burning holes into my skin, Every word Blood trickling from my ears, Every touch Every Touch From you Blisters in red rings of horror onto my skin.
Captive
Zara Jump
And the sad thing is that I couldn’t even choke out, “NO! STOP IT, YOU PIG!!” No, because my words were paralyzed with fear On my tongue. Frozen Stomach churning and lungs aflame with utter humiliation As each word catapulted from your razor lips Shot straight through my windpipe, Tearing with it tissue and bone as they ripped through me. And you took pride in watching me self-destruct from the inside, Didn’t you?
Where the hell did you learn to “compliment” someone? Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Hug your grandmother with those hands? Smile at your sister with those lips? You think just because you made me Ashamed of the skin I call home, Made my eyes murky red with boiling tears Storming down my cheeks, Because my body curves this way and that And made me look at my breasts as if they were cancerous,
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That you won? You silly, sad boy. I have oceans circling inside of me And sly eyes that split open the chests of weak boys, Sinking my teeth into their struggling hearts. The words dancing around the fire you ignited in my skull And foaming at my lips Are dripping with venom So lethal it will leave you gasping, Writhing on the floor like the worm you are. Although the words you speak Have bored deep into my veins like a parasite, They do not define me. I repeat, They do not define me. And I am not public property.
I As Your Captain, You As My Guide by Maria Penaloza
or Charybdis herself swallow us down, Come sail away, come sail away. I beg of you fear not. With I as your Captain, and you as my guide. We’ll journey through the unknown blue, while the crowds on shore gaze at us from the horizon. Come sail away, come sail away. For our ship may be drowning, but my dear, so is the rest of the world. Come sail away, Come sail away, Walk the plank or not, the lightning has struck. and tell me, what wonders do you wish to see? Don’t try to rationalize, For on the sea there’s much to explore we are sinking. and one can never grow bored. Uncovered lands to discover, legends to be unfolded and retold. Hidden monsters and mysteries will unfurl before us as we sail the open blue.
But remember one thing, young one: though we’re wrecked and growing cold at sea, though we’ve drowned in dark churning waves, though your soul now burns at the thought of me,
And should these tides turn blacker than a heart, and these winds screech louder than a soul, fear not. Should a serpent rise up to coil ‘round our ship,
Remember it was I, as your captain, who showed you to embrace the sea. And it was you, as my guide, who reminded me what it’s like to see a light when I sailed a dark ocean.
Rolling Water Jae Boell
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To Love
by alyssa alvarez I didn’t know how to start this poem. There were too many unfinished thoughts, too many dreams and not enough reality to make them come true. When I first saw him, it was like a flame. A bright blue spark that ignited a fire in my center, filling me, and warm tingling shocks were given every time he touched me. When we kissed, I could hear music, as if the instruments were tuned to the movement of our mouths, notes dancing on the oxygen that we shared. Sometimes, I lay in my bed and I know that he is awake. The distance that separates us is far more than miles, it is galaxies, zooming across the night sky, passing every star, his beautiful light diminishing in the dark. He gets up from his bed, pacing like a tamed lion ready to pounce, he checks the time on his clock, it is 3 a.m. And he wonders how long he had been pacing, what he had initially been thinking about that got him here. But what he doesn’t know is that I have seen this sickness, I have felt its symptoms, and I have experienced its misery. It is like a light switch, stuck between off and on, not sure where to lean its weight against, with the constant pull between your brain and your heart. Now, to my lover in the sky, my flickering light of hope, I am sorry. I’m so, so sorry that you lose sleep over why you didn’t kiss me when you could’ve. I’m so sorry that I took away your dreams and filled them with myself, I’m sorry I let you love me! I’m so sorry. Now, as I lay awake, restless in the dark, I see him, kissing me, strings of a violin building, he could’ve played me like an orchestra, tuning me, fixing me, pulling on my heart strings that only played for him. Every miniscule sensation from his touch put me on cloud nine. I could’ve walked on water by how light I felt. But all of it vanished. Maybe it was one too many fights, one too many things we didn’t share. As I think back on all of my experiences in the sensuous touch of his arms, golden warmth radiating through my veins, I wonder. I wonder, if he showed up at my door again, would I let him in? Yes, I would, because when he appears, the first thing I will say is “Welcome, be at home with me in your grasp, do not let yourself feel like you are not wanted.” If he ever decides to leave, I will not tell him that the door will be forever locked when he walks away, but that it will remain open. It will always be open when he wishes to find his way back home.
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Long Beach Cliffside Evan Ponder
Uttered
by Ciara Watkins Jess scrunches up her nose, watching me with a combination of disgust and awe as I dip my fry into a mango smoothie. I quickly shove the fry in my mouth before the perfection drips and hum in approval. “You’re gross,” she says, shaking her head. I nod, repeating the process. She watches the fry travel from the bag, to the smoothie, to my lips. I grin as I grab my last one. “You’ve told me that a million times. Never once have you tried it.” I scoop up the remaining smoothie. “Ever.” I drop the yummy goodness into my mouth and wink at Jess. She scrunches up her nose, “You’re gross, Av.” I roll my eyes. “Whatever,” I say as I pull myself off the couch and throw away my trash. “You know, sometimes I feel like you don’t appreciate my awesomeness.” “Uh-huh.” Jess snorts, picking up her beeping phone. She starts scrolling through it, typing away. “Sorry, one second.” I watch her, suddenly transfixed and not moving. This happened from time to time, when I forget we’re just friends and all those feelings rush in. I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is without even trying to be, or how kind she is when no one notices. All the little things that make me love her as more than just a friends. I love her. “I’m in love with you.” Jess snaps her head up, freezing when our eyes meet. My Here’s to Us hand snaps to my mouth and I stop. I don’t know what to say to that. Lylliam Gonzalez “I didn’t… crap - I didn’t mean to say that.” Jess stares at me, eyes wide open, mouth gaping, and my stomach drops. “Did you just say… you’re in love with me? Like romantically?” My cheeks flame and I let my hair fall into a shield over my face. “Can we please pretend that didn’t happen?” “Pretend you didn’t say you loved me?” Jess raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, I do love you. You love me. We’re best friends, we’re supposed to love each other.” “You know what I mean, Avery.” “Can we please just drop it?” Jess opens her mouth, blinks, closes it, opens it again, blinks. “Uh, yeah, Avery.” Let’s just drop it.” “Okay, cool.” I sigh in relief. “Alright. Let’s watch Supernatural then.” I sit down and hold back tears as Jess pulls her legs closer to her body. I said it and I can’t take it back. Even now, two seconds later, I can already feel the difference. She has the blanket between us instead of its usual position over us, she’s avoiding eye contact like the plague, she’s holding onto her phone like it’s her life line, and she’s wedged into the corner of the couch. We’re not okay. We’re not going to be okay.
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Drifting
by Alaina Scapicchio We are drifting together in this endless expanse of blue and each time I look at you, I’m reminded that even after the waves throw me down to the floor I can choose to rise up with the bubbles escaping from my mouth to meet you again under the sun. We are drifting together in this endless expanse of grey and I’m afraid that the coming storm will tear our fingers apart, sending you out of sight forever. But you remind me that we can swim together, against the rocking sea and come out safely with hands interlocked. We are drifting together in this endless expanse of orange and there is no more fear and no more regret. Our sea is calm and we finally have the time to watch as schools of fish go bylaughing at the insanity of living on land, where things are much too safe. So we’ll go on drifting together, and one day sink to settle on the ocean floor.
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Water Night by Sam Burgio
The smell of salt is intoxicating The glitter of the sea shines and sparkles Blinding endless onlookers with A mask of beauty. With a rise and crash of the powerful waves They seemed to resemble The dreams we’ve never fulfilled. As the sun beats down with its endless heat Burning the sand below Causing the searing pain that enters at the feet Killing the adventure. Like our dreams and the love we have Sand always slips away. You can never seem to grasp it. True beauty is found in even The smallest of things Like the tiny crab hidden beneath your feet where dreams are hidden. And as the sun is replaced By the pure white moon Giving the landscape a cascade Of dark light. And then The ocean has millions of stars Of its own.
Koi Fish
Page Loveday
With Night comes rebirth and And the continuation of life. Where children lay their heads Down onto a pillow New dreams are born.
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Killing the Killer by diana cappadoro
Killing someone gives you all the time they had left. Those words have been on a continuous loop in my head for hours. I kept rechecking the contents of my gym bag. And if I wasn’t counting the knives or making sure every piece of the lock picking set was in place, I was rearranging the gloves. When the grandfather clock struck 2:30pm, I knew it was time. “Zoey, sweetie, I’ve got to go… run some errands. I’ll be back in a few hours with some more pain meds. Our stash is running low. Love you,” I quiver softly, trying not to wake her. “Drake?” A quiet voice responds. Ugh, I did it anyways. “Yes?” “Don’t be too long okay? I’m scared to be alone… I don’t want to die…,” she says in a hushed tone drifting in and out of sleep. “I promise. It will all be okay soon.” Kissing her forehead, I walked out of our room. Glancing at my watch, it reads 2:34. As time progresses, the more Zoey drifts away from reality and into the harsh grip of death. Every morning it gets harder and harder for her to wake up. She can’t eat or sit up on her own anymore. Pretty soon, she’s going to have to go to the hospital, and that is like signing your own death certificate. I mean, if anyone was to kill for years, why would they target the sick? They are too weak to fend for themselves and the hospitals are way understaffed because of all the murder. Actually, it’s a brilliant plan. No, Drake, No. I’m not going to change my plan. I’m so nervous, but I’ve got to be strong for Zoey. I grab the gym bag and the keys to a rental Camry. I can’t be too careful. After all, what I’m about to do is against the law. The government infiltrated humanity with this power centuries ago for reasons that are confidential to the public, even though almost the ENTIRE secret was leaked recently. I go into a random neighborhood, drive past a few houses, then park. The time on the dashboard reads 2:57. Walking up to the closest driveway, I couldn’t help but think what kind of lives I was going to steal. Picking locks isn’t as hard as I thought. I open the back door to the first house. Now, an hour and a half later, I have racked up over 72 years and five bodies. Plus me, which is 28 more years; so that makes 100 years to live. I can’t help but feel disgusted. It’s for a good cause. It’s for a good cause. I keep trying to justify my actions. And eventually, it works. Maybe just one more house? Oh. Now I understand what they mean when they talk about a killer’s high. The feeling you get when your victims’ lives meshing with yours was gratifying. I was debating when I realized I was already half way through the unfortunate household. So now that I have more than enough years, it’s time to head back. Before I leave the house, I take out a change of clothes from my gym bag and carefully pack up the bloody knives, outfit, and gloves. Zipping it up, I quickly change in the bathroom then walk out and head back to the terribly bright cherry-red car. Heading to Walgreens, I can’t help but feel like I have a giant neon marquee sign above the car saying “Here’s a murderer!” At a stop sign, I glance at my phone. It says 6:36. Everyone one the road seems to harshly judge me. How do they know?! This stupid car is making me so paranoid. At least I blame the car, not my murderous actions. When I get there, I grab Zoey’s prescriptions, a ‘get well soon’ and a ‘congratulations on your marriage’ card. The next stop is Jared’s to get the engagement ring and wedding bands that I finally have enough money
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to buy. Then, I go to my local flower shop to get a dozen long-stemmed pink roses-Zoey’s favorite. My final destination is home, where my princess awaits her true love kiss that breaks the spell. When I get home, I tend to Zoey. I help her eat and give her the daily dose of the newly refreshed potent elixir. An hour later, the letters for Zoey are finished and tucked away inside one of the cards. I arrange the flowers and the cards on her night stand behind all the pill bottles. I then put on my best suit and clean off my sharpest knife. I walk through the hallway with all of our families’ pictures one last time, then wander into our room. I lay down on my side of the bed.. I get so close to her that I can feel her weak breath on my neck. Grabbing the ring out of my pocket, I slip it effortlessly onto her finger. I recite my vows, then kiss her. I put my ring on and kiss her one last time. Then I proceed to put her arm over my shoulder and get comfortable. “Drake… goodnight… I love you,” She whispers. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” I pick up the knife and put in her hand. Intertwining her fingers with mine, we slit my throat. As the lasts bits of my life are fading away, I can feel them transferring into Zoey. In that moment, my only doubt fades away into the satisfaction of knowing that my Zoey is going to live, and that a piece of me will always live with her.
Beach at Dawn Karlin Chung
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How to get over someone by Sigmann Gilmore
Step one: Have your heart broken, but not just broken, demolished by someone that never loved you and never will. Think about all the things you did to ruin it. Obsess over memorabilia that brings back memories of the time you two spent together. Think about them, what they’re doing, and the possibility that they are thinking of you. Try to forget them. Gather a load of breakup songs into a playlist and listen to them on repeat. Try to make new friends because your old friends were really just acquaintances and were actually only friends to you because you were dating your ex. See your ex almost everyday, and pretend like it is not killing you inside. Pretend that everything is fine. Cry into your pillow because there is no one you can tell about how you feel, become overwhelmed with a feeling of loneliness and cry more. Realize that your favorite flavor of ice cream is triple chocolate mixed with your own tears. Write them a poem about how much you still love them, look at it the next day and realize it’s garbage, empathize with the poem because you, too, are a piece of trash. Text them about how you’ve “moved on,” and hope that you guys could still be friends. Receive a response “I’m so happy you moved on too. I’m glad we’re both happy without each other”. Text…. lie to them. “Me too.” After that, go outside one night and stare up at the stars.Think about how numerous and beautiful they are. And remember that they are also thousands of miles away and that everything amazing in this world is out of reach. Become cripplingly depressed and walk back home alone. Meet someone you see around your school or work. Bump into them from time to time, learn their name and talk to them. You get their number and you slowly get closer and closer. And enjoy the time you spend with them. One day you go on a date with them. And afterwards they want to show you something. It’s dark outside and they ask you to look up. Again you stare up at the stars that shine on the empty sky. They are the same as the ones you saw before, nothing has changed. “Aren’t they beautiful?” they ask. “Doesn’t it make you happy to see them?” You sigh. “Yes, they are beautiful,” you tell them. “But it also makes you sad; they are so far and unreachable like a distinct fantasy. The only thing you can do is gaze upon them.” The star will never understand the appreciation you give it. “But the stars have each other, and you have me.” Something in your chest expands. It’s been a few months since your heart was broken. Suddenly you think about all the days you spent alone... after all the gallons of ice cream and tears, looped playlists, and poorly-written poetry, thinking your ex was what was missing from your life. Believing you squandered something perfect, realizing that all the good times with your ex are in the past. And that the person who broke your heart doesn’t deserve your affection. They are not as important as the person in front of you. So now you move on to Step two: Fall in love.
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“But the stars have each other, and you have me.”
A Naval Survivor by Brittany Tinder
I am seas full of time A plethora of words From the very lips of the unseen Though not unheard.
I seek new islands More land to live. I see their trees are tall With so much to give.
The days await my greeting Anticipate my eyes To meet the hues of blue It paints through the skies.
I have sailed waters so rough Over lip-licking giants That tried to devour my ship In their sinister trough.
I am in the waves And in the tide Needing to swallow days To know the reasons why.
And still these waves try To knock me down As I am trying, trying, trying To do anything but drown.
Gone Fishing Kaylee Arnold
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Departure of Winged Ship Alana Moya
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The Blooming Flower by Bailey Kilroy
My grip on the flowers were tight, so tight my knuckles were white and my hands sweaty as I stumble like a bull in a china shop down the hallway. I stop halfway down the hall and take a deep breath. Today is the day, I will ask her out. I will ask the girl I love - and have serious feelings for - out. I am extremely worried, worried for myself messing up, worried for what people will say about me now, most of all the fear of being rejected. While standing close to the wall to avoid confrontation with the bullies I shake my head and ask myself can I really do this? Slowly I start to take steps out of my comfort zone; you can hear the shuffling of my feet. Soon as I inch closer to her locker I can see her blue dyed hair, I loved the way she wasn’t afraid to stick out. I approach ignoring the kids snickering behind my back and calling me terrible things. She turns around almost bumping into to me and I see them, her beautiful brown eyes looking straight into my soul. A smile overcomes her face as she sees me, this causes me to give a halfhearted smile back, but that smile reassured me. “Hey Dakota! Who are the flowers for?” She asked. I gulp audibly, “Um… they’re for you” I say stuttering the words out, “And uh, I wanted to know if maybe you’d, um, maybe like to go out on a date sometime?” My heart is pounding. Pounding so loud I can hear it as she stands in silence. The silence is long and heart wrenching; I can count the beat of my heart. Ba-dum, please say yes. Ba-dum, did I ruin our friendship? Ba-dum, please answer. Ba-dum, I screwed up. Ba-dum, I’m so sorry. As I doubt myself she speaks up and the words I hear next make me want to fly through the ceiling and not because of embarrassment but out of happiness. “Of course, I’ve sort of hoped you would ask me sometime.” She replied taking the flowers gently. “Really?” I asked. “Yes really.” She answered while taking my hand into her own, “So are you going to walk with me to class?”. “Um yeah” I say looking at her smiling face and smiling back like a fool. “Aren’t you worried though, about what people may say about you now?” I wondered aloud. “I don’t care, let them talk. We should be able to love whoever we want and I just so happen to like you.” She answered confidently. I looked away blushing and smiling, today was the best out of my hellish life and I hope it continues to be great with Avery in my life.
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Survival by Roxane Perret
Enveloped by love, She takes your hand. Her ocean blue eyes make your fears disappear, Letting go of your past, you follow. Through dark forests, Where the hungry wolves rip your dreams apart, You follow. Through the cold freezing snow, Where hopes fall like snowflakes, You follow like a shadow. Doubt fills your mind, And you’re ready to give up. Drowning seems easier than to keep going, As the water fills your lungs, she grabs your hand.
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Water’s Edge
Grace Murphy
Through mud and darkness, Where the only lights in your life are gone, You follow. Through the burning fire, Where your soul turns to ashes, You follow like a shadow. Suddenly it’s all over and your past is gone. She smiles proudly just like you, And you realize that she is you. She lost him but she found herself and somehow that was everything.
Home in Our Eyes Lylliam Gonzalez
A Letter About the Ocean by Simone Ritthisorn
BEST CREATIVE NON-FICTION
I always find myself coming back to the ocean. I can’t stand it, but I can never seem to escape it. Whether I’m there physically or not, I am constantly reminded of it in everything I do. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can almost imagine the sound of the birds flying overhead, the whistling of the wind, and the rising and falling of the waves. I can imagine the breeze on my face, the taste of salt on my lips. It’s almost as if I’m really there, but then I open my eyes to harsh lights and stale air and remember where I am. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night drowning in what seems to be an ocean of tears. It’s powerful and uncontrollable; it comes in waves and crashes over me. It reminds me of swimming in deep water, gasping for breath and then being submerged again, feeling the pressure in your chest build until you can’t take anymore. Sometimes I feel like the waters: wild and unpredictable. I’m up and down, rough and smooth, warm and freezing cold. Every day is different and my mood fluctuates as often as the rolling waves. There are days when I am reminded of the ocean on a stormy day, dark and vicious, rough and thunderously loud; then there are the days where I feel like the calm waters on a sunny day. In a way I remind myself of the ocean: constantly changing. Sometimes I find myself standing in front of the ocean, and I feel like I am a part of it. I can relax and let my thoughts drift away with the breeze. Each memory is like a grain of sand, stinging for a moment, then lost forever. Stepping into the crisp water washes away all of your pain and fears. Letting the current take you wherever you need to go is the most freeing thing of all. I can never escape the ocean; it surrounds me and follows me wherever I go. I don’t think I could ever let it go, no matter how hard I tried.
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The thing about poetry by Kurstin Rutan
here’s the thing about poetry; there is no tangible definition. there is no standard. there is no normal. metaphorically speaking, each one of us are made of adjectives. are made of words, that flow through our minds to remind us what it’s like, to be alive. so i thank God for poetry, because otherwise? my thoughts wouldn’t know where to go.
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“so i thank God for poetry”
El Yunque
Daniela Diaz
By the Shore
Lourdes Miranda
A Pirate’s Life for Me by brittany tucker
‘Twas not desire for treasure, silver, and gold Nor a wish for history to remember his name That lured him in like a moth to flame, But a promise, whispered into the wind by she His one and only love, the sea. She promised him freedom, a life without chains, For all his life he had longed to be free Never bound to one person, place, or thing. With a bottle of rum in one hand and one hand on the wheel, All that’s left for him now is to set sail and feel.
“For all his life he had longed to be free”
His ship is more than just a vessel with sails, he reflects, For a pirate needs a ship like a king needs his throne. After all, his ship is the only place he’s ever called home, A single source of stability carrying him from place to place, Long after the ebb and flow of the waves replaced his father’s embrace. He looks to the place where the sea meets the sky And casts his compass down into the waves, Undulating like a lover beneath the Sun’s rays, He knows not where he’s going nor what he will find, “But if this be the life of a pirate,” he thinks, “Then let it be mine.”
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Of Boats and Bated Breath by morgahn de la cruz
Sven froze, his fork halfway to his mouth and his eyes wide. He stared across the large dining room table at his father, who continued to saw at his steak as if the words he had just spoken had not run his son’s blood cold and ripped his world out from underneath him. “W-what?” It was amazing how horror could cause a young, broad shouldered man to sound like a timid three year-old. His voice broke in fear as he continued: “Father, y-you must be joking.” His father looked at him in confusion, a bushy eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest. “Why would I be? Our town is well known for its seafaring men and trade, as well as our world class navy. Why wouldn’t I want my only son to be a part of that?” “Father I- well- you see- um,” Sven explained brilliantly, all the while giving his mother a ‘help me’ look that she chose to ignore. Sven continued to fumble with his words until his father held up a hand. “Your hesitation...this isn’t about this ocean nonsense of yours, is it? Honestly this isn’t normal, son. Think of what the neighbors will say! A sailor’s son frightened by the sea?! It’s ludicrous!” “Father you don’t understand! I truly am terrified of the sea! Mother, tell him, please!” Both men turned to the petite blonde woman wearing a lilac dress staring desperately into her wine glass. She bit her lip and glanced at her husband before facing her son. “Sven, sweetheart, please listen to your father. Give this ocean ordeal up. Please.” Sven sighed bitterly and shook his head. He should have known. Women in Glasdale were treated like property. A wife to would have to be punished for her incompetence if she ever spoke out against her husband. His mother wasn’t eager for anything to happen to her. He glanced up to see his father nod approvingly and place his large hand on her dainty one. “Listen to your mother, boy. Tomorrow I will take you to the square to sign up and get you fitted for a uniform. This will help our family’s reputation greatly. The lone Lansing son finally getting his act together, marvelous. Isn’t that right Adrianna?” “Yes dear. It will be...wonderful.” The woman gave her husband a soft smile and a warning look to her son before grabbing her goblet again and taking a swig. “Father please! I don’t wish to-” “I don’t care what you wish, Sven Lansing! Until you are man enough to face some salt water, you don’t have any control over your life! You will join the navy and take back all of your ridiculous nonsense about the sea’s evil! End of discussion.” Sven stared at the set line of his father’s mouth and the clenched fists that lay on the table where they had been slammed during his father’s rant. He glanced at his mother’s worried expression and glassy eyes. He took a deep breath and slumped forward. His father must have taken this for a sign of defeat and began to eat again triumphantly. “No.” Now Calder Lansing froze. “What was that?” “I won’t join! You can’t make me! I’ll run off and join the villagers in their farming!” The villagers were a small farming community on the borders of the city that resented the ocean and the large port town that stole their trade. Relations with them over the last few months had been tense and anyone in town claiming to want to join them was usually shunned into doing so. Simply mentioning farming in Glasdale was sacrilege. Sven knew all of this and bit his tongue as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He watched helplessly as his father growled and stood up from the table clumsily. He tossed his plate at the wall with furious scream before wagging a thick finger at his son.
“Until you are man enough to face some salt water, you don’t have any control over your life!”
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“You inconceivable little brat! First you insult your mother and I by refusing our wishes! And now! Now you mention those filthy pigs who pluck vegetables for fun and frolic with their cousins?! Inbreds, the lot of them, and you want to associate our family name with them?!� Adrianna now rose from her chair, trying to console her husband and scold her son for starting this simultaneously. Unfortunately, she interrupted too late as she watched both men snarl at each other before storming from the room, leaving her behind to stare at the filthy floor in sorrow.
BEST ART
Jellyfish and Lightbulb Sophia West
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Drowning by Ana Ocampo
You can know what it feels like to drown without going in the water. The lack of oxygen, the feeling of asphyxiation, choking, struggling, dying. You forget how to feel, holding onto memories of sadness and joy as you float in the vast empti ness that is your soul. You feel obsolete in a world full of importance. Why should you keep fighting the tidal wave that is only doing you the favor of ending your life? Because how else could you possibly feel, knowing that the one person you centered your life around, the one person you truly trusted, the last remaining human being who could ever love you, is now a stranger who walks past you in the halls, not caring to look twice. How else could you feel knowing that you gave everything so that they would stay, and knowing they didn’t. What else could you think of yourself? Other than how imperfect you are, how your body curves in weird ways, how your complexion is anything but clear, how your eyes are the muddy brown color that no one could lose themselves in, how your smile is crooked and your teeth aren’t perfectly white and your hair is always messy and your clothes are hand‐me‐downs and your arms are weak.
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And just when you’re done fighting the wave, when you’ve let go and you’re floating in the lethal waters, expecting death at any moment and death expecting you The world smiles upon you Warm arms embrace you, wrapping tightly around you and pulling you out of the sea, out of the claws of the grim reaper, into the embrace of bliss.
Why feel anything but elation? When there is beauty in every imperfection. When every curve is it’s own story and every flaw in your complexion is insignificant. When the brown in your eyes reminds him of warm comfort and peace of mind, When your smile is the most beautiful he’s ever seen, and your teeth are meant for chewing, and your hair means you’re adventurous, and your clothes mean you’re care‐free, and he’s willing to hold what for you is far too heavy. Because drowning is not the answer. Falling in love is.
Sleepy Sun
Lylliam Gonzalez
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Love Lost at Sea by Caron St. Jean
It’s been a long day of preparing for my new voyage. I’ve been so busy that I didn’t even notice the sun setting. I must visit my love before it gets too dark. While my men continue to work, I slip away to the beach to meet her. The water looks still and calm as I walk up to the shore, but then ripples start to appear and her head breaks through the surface. I see her gorgeous smile and beautiful, long flowing hair. “My lovely Cordelia, it’s so nice seeing you again.” “It feels as though years have passed since the last time we spoke.” “I’ve come to tell you that I am leaving for another voyage, but I promise this one will be shorter than the last.” The smile on her face fades as she looks away, “Why do you have to go on so many trips? I worry that something will happen to you or the charm necklace. You know that is the only way for us to speak, and if you tak—” “If I take it off we can’t speak to each other anymore, yes I know, Cordelia. Man and mermaid were never meant to be together, but we are the exception because of this charm. I promise you nothing will happen and I will come home safely.” I hear my men start to call my name from the ship; they’ve noticed my absence, “I have to go, but we will meet here again in two days.” She gives me a satisfied look and then swims away, waving goodbye with her tail. I start to jog back to the ship where my men wait for me with many questions. I don’t answer any of them, no one can know where I go or who I meet with otherwise Cordelia will be in danger of being discovered. The next day we set sail and the weather doesn’t start off so pleasant. The sky is dark and the ominous clouds show sign of a dangerous storm. But this voyage is an important business arrangement; we have no choice but to continue. The ship starts rocking back and forth as the wind picks up speed. We all try to grab a hold of something to steady our balance, but the waves are too wild. It’s as if Poseidon is going on a rampage. Rain starts to pour out of the sky and the wind makes the waves so large that one crash against the ship pours buckets of water onto the deck. We do everything in our power to steady the ship, but it is no use. The ship is swallowed by a wave that is so enormous you can’t see anything past it. All there is to see is a tall, solid wall of rushing water. The impact of the wave breaks the ship into pieces and leaves my men scattered all over the vast ocean. I don’t have enough energy to fight, so I just float aimlessly on a piece of the ship. The last thing I remember before I pass out is the sound of my men screaming for help and the roar of the angry sea. When I wake up, I am on wet sand and there is no sign of my men or what is left of the ship. I stand up to see that I washed up on the shores of my home. My first thought is to see Cordelia because I am unaware of how much time has passed, whether it has been two days or more. I start running down the beach to the area where we usually meet; as soon as I get there I wait for her arrival. Not too long after, she appears and I feel relieved. “I’m so sorry if it has been more than two days, there was a storm that destroyed my ship and left me drifting at sea.” She looks at me with a peculiar expression. Her mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. I can’t understand what she is trying to tell me. Then it becomes clear to me. I reach for my neck to see if the charm is there only to find my neck bare. I fall to my knees and begin to sob. The sea has taken away what means the most to me.
“I promise you nothing will happen and I will come home safely.”
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The Moon and the Mermaid Diana Cappadoro
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Captain
by Erin Mcconnell I met her when I was seventeen years old. I was to be deployed in the Navy. She was beautiful and mysterious. Her eyes twinkled bright blue, And she never spoke a word. Yet she never seemed to not stop speaking. She was captivating Although she had been with many men before, But I knew I could survive. We spent every day and night together. And I could hear her in my sleep, Gently rocking me until I was sound. She could reel you in and make you hers. She’d pull you under, Drowning you in her embrace, Mysterious eyes watching you as you sank. You must be careful not to make her mad, Or else she will pull you apart, Send you into your demise. Yet I still love her. We are together forever, And she has made me hers, Me and the beautiful sea.
A Good Day to Sail Ian Fausto
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Horizon
by adela delgado Sometimes I think that beyond the waves of life, There’s something more out there. Something different. The horizon is the eyes final journey, the sun’s final shine. But what is there in the night, when the moon comes out and the tides change flight? Will the stars light upon me? My soul be awakened by a cursing sailor’s breath. But my body lay in the sand, dust to dust. The color of heaven and sea as one. How do I navigate beyond the horizon? Where’s the compass that leads towards home? Truth is, It’s unpredictable. You’ll never know what’s beyond the horizon And you’ll never know when the storm hits. Either you drown, Or you swim. But there’s something out there that I can’t explain. Whether it’s the sailor’s voice or the plain sand. Paradise exists beyond the horizon. Beyond what your eyes can see.
The Sea Floor Brendan Lutz
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Rough Days by cassidy wood
It was a casual day on the S.S. Remorant Bottleship. The sandy ground, dry ship, and fresh air were very still. The sky was as clear as could be with only a smudge or two of clouds. The town was preparing for the annual Dants your Pants off day. Every cabin was buzzing with excitement, the galley was filled with a fantastic smell, and the deck was being swabbed for the preparation of the day’s antics. Antony climbed up onto the lookout to see how things were going and to make an announcement. “Attention all! I have some terrible news. We have officially run out of custom made pants from Frants.” “Ohh no!” “I never got my pants.” “How can we be short?” yelled the crowd. “Listen, we can’t let this prevent us from having fun. Today is a day to celebrate, so now let’s get back to the preparations,” stated Antony with a smile upon his face. When all of the crumb bits were ready to feast on, the colony transferred the crumbs to the main deck. Danters and DJ’s got prepared for the best day of their lives. The colony started filing into the main deck, but just as they were all getting settled, the sky grew black and a movement shook the world. Antony and Antwanet, the colony leaders, got up onto the lookout to try to calm everyone down. “Everyone this is just a storm! Return to your cabins as soon as possible. We do not need any dead ant piles or broken antennas,” yelled Antony, but the screams around him just continued. Antwanet leaned into her husband, “I am going go down and check all of the cabins to see if anyone needs anything.”
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Orcat Natural Habitat Zak Umansky
“Sounds like a good idea. You start on the starboard side and once I get all of these ants off the main deck I’ll start on the port side. We can meet each other in the middle.” The shaking continued and then suddenly everything went still. It was still dark, but now it was so dark that not a thing could be seen. Later that night all rooms had been checked and loaded with supplies. The ants on the ship were scared, but all slept soundly through the night, as for it was the only calm night they would have for a few days. Early the next morning they were awoken by antbitious movement and an antnormous bang. The banging continued for hours but got quieter each time. The thunder rumbled one last time and then the movements began again. The colony was constantly bouncing up and down. Antony came on over the speaker, “Well, time to play some music. Now that we all can’t stop danting, we might as well celebrate our event that was destroyed. Stay in your cabins and enjoy the fun this way.” Soon enough ‘And we Danced’ by the Hooters came on over every speaker on the ship. The next few days were rough with constant shaking and nauseous ants, but eventually everything came to a halt. “Okay children, time to unload the moving truck. This is your new house.” A loud voice stunned the ants on board the Bottleship. And then the motion began one last time. “Here you go Drew. Take this into the house, but be careful. Your dad’s favorite ship in the bottle is in there.”
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Cathedral
Daniela Diaz
Blue Abyss by maegan brown
I am an exploration of the ocean. You can search deeper and deeper, yet never reach the bottom. My emotions are the waves of the ocean. The way they crash over me and then leave me stranded swimming circles in my mind. I am violent like the ocean. I will tear you apart and take you away, And like a riptide I will throw you to the blue abyss.
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I can be calm and beautiful like the ocean. If only for a second I am gentle, I will cling to your body until you are ready to leave, then sit patiently until I am stirred up again. I am the colors of the ocean. On brighter days I can be a lively shade of green, but night will swallow me up again and I will be a deep sorrowful blue. I move like the ocean. The moon tugs on me and begs me to wash over you, the wind whips me around until I crash right into you.
Oh See
Girls of the Sea
Oh sea Oh sea Come hither and wither the land away Purge of the evil And flush the world away
The human body is made up of 75% water, so we are vessels for the oceans that rush through our veins, and crash against our chests, leaving behind shipwrecks that we once called love.
by Bruce Padro
People and places and passivity and pain Animals and addiction and aggression and age Image and impotence and injustice and infidelity Nature and neutralism and nobility and nuance I’m praying for rain I’m praying for tidal waves I want to see the ground give way Oh sea Oh sea Flush the world away
Eloise
Leilanie Torrens
by Brianna Febus
Like the ocean, there is no controlling us. We can be walking tsunamis, ready to destroy anything in our path, or calm waves on a Sunday morning, beckoning you closer. Either way, we are deadly, for the girls of the sea cannot be controlled.
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Night at the Beach Gleydi Santana