Stray Shot 2013

Stray Shot 2013

STRAY SHOT 2013 Editors: Oscar Arfelt, Wyatt Clark, DJ Ellis, Michael Guo, Sam Hwang, Lenny Jin, Falon Moran, Molly Moseley, Trevor Schrier, Paige Silengo, James Smith, Brandon Solomon, Erin Sullivan Faculty Advisor: Mr. Benson

The Gunnery Washington, Connecticut

CONTENTS Cover photo by Dasha Zaporozhets My Shoes by Jessica Kang ................................................................................................................. 1 English IIH Haiku by Mr. Martin’s class ......................................................................................... 2

photo by Ria Han .............................................................................................................................. 4 O Brave New World by Michael Guo ............................................................................................. 5 English IIH Haiku by Mr. Martin’s class ......................................................................................... 7 The Monster by Ian Riley ................................................................................................................. 8 Villanelle by Natalie Ross .................................................................................................................. 9

photo by Falon Moran ...................................................................................................................... 10 Candle by Falon Moran .................................................................................................................... 11 Intense Poem by Anton Frondelius.................................................................................................. 12 A Beautiful Nightmare by Anton Frondelius ................................................................................... 13 Love can do you like a shotgun by Anton Frondelius ..................................................................... 14 The Family by Shannon O’Connor.................................................................................................. 15 ADD poems by Wyatt Clark ............................................................................................................ 17

photo by Ria Han .............................................................................................................................. 18 Translation of poem by Li Bai by Jessica Qi Xu ............................................................................. 19 Translation of poem by Hu Cui by Jessica Qi Xu ........................................................................... 20 Full Circle by Nick Weinstein .......................................................................................................... 21 Why’d you go? by Alyssa Cooke ...................................................................................................... 23

photo by Falon Moran ...................................................................................................................... 26 Sonnet by Cindy Ho .......................................................................................................................... 27 The Things I Won’t Say by Kaitlyn McNamara .............................................................................. 28 Run The Water by Kaitlyn McNamara ............................................................................................ 29

drawing by Boya Zhao ....................................................................................................................... 33 US by Molly Moseley ........................................................................................................................ 34 Winter Angel by Molly Moseley....................................................................................................... 35 Lost And Found by Molly Moseley .................................................................................................. 36 I Prefer to Try by Julia Reid ............................................................................................................. 37 Soldiers of the Forest by Anthony Bird ............................................................................................ 38 The Golden Days by Sagine Corrielus ............................................................................................ 39 The Scarlet Queen by Sagine Corrielus ........................................................................................... 41 City Lights by James Smith ............................................................................................................... 43 Bully by DJ Ellis ................................................................................................................................ 44 Sky Falls by DJ Ellis .......................................................................................................................... 45 Barefoot by Erin Sullivan .................................................................................................................. 46 Poem by Erin Sullivan ....................................................................................................................... 47

Collide by Erin Sullivan..................................................................................................................... 48 Tricky by Erin Sullivan ...................................................................................................................... 50 Reality by Erin Sullivan ..................................................................................................................... 51 Hmm? By Erin Sullivan .................................................................................................................... 52 Devouring Dog by Guo Moruo. Translated from the Chinese by Qiaojin Jin ............................... 53

photo by Falon Moran ...................................................................................................................... 56 from The Voice of an Alien by Lenny Qiaojin Jin .......................................................................... 57 Brand new by Wyatt Clark and Trevor Schrier ............................................................................... 62 Delicatessen by Trevor Schrier ......................................................................................................... 63

drawing by Diego Duran-Ballen ....................................................................................................... 64 Taco Night by Ian Riley .................................................................................................................... 65 Hasta ma単ana by Mario Benedetti. Translated from the Spanish by Tomas Diez-Canedo .......... 66 War Zone by Lindsay Theobald ...................................................................................................... 68 Everything but Nothing by Michael Yan Guo .................................................................................. 69 The Poem by Skyler Clark................................................................................................................ 70

Thanks to the many faculty who have assisted us in this endeavor, and especially to Ms. Kjellson, Mrs. Bucklin, Ms. Kelly-Aguirre, Ms. Varga, Mr. Lillie, Mr. Richards, and Mr. Martin.

For back issues of Stray Shot and English Journal (the midyear literary journal) go to the Student Work area of the website of The Gunnery.

My Shoes by Jessica Kang Ah, RED Valentino on my feet as sharp as Brad Pitt's jaw line as keen as shark's teeth I would never exchange my dear ones even if you seduce me with thousands of roses

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English IIH Haiku by Mr. Martin’s class Griffin Day, Tómas Diez-Canedo, Yeong Woo Hong, Patrick Iannone, Nate Joslin, Caroline Judd, Jenna Lee, Sydney Soracin, Olivia Sproviero

Alone Long and lonely road, Nothing but silence passing by, Sunset glows above.

Leaves, Orange, Yellow, Make their way down, falling Through the cool, crisp air.

Bright lights from the stars Filled the blank and cold spring night.

I watched them all night.

Running Dog Ears pointed, tail up She bolts over the white fence: A shock up her spine!

When the lake freezes, Their eyes look to the future Seeking the warm waves.

Stars shine at dark night And right below goes a plane And below that trees.

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Secrets were hidden, Swallowed behind hazel eyes.

How sweet they seemed.

Yellow daffodils, Poking through the thawing earth: It’s time for spring.

When the crickets creek And the wolves howl, I sleep.

I walked down the street, And under the covered bridge, Past the tall oak trees.

Fast Food Pull up in the car, Grab the bag full of fried food, They forgot my fries!

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photo by Ria Han

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O Brave New World by Michael Guo The novel Brave New World by Aldous Huxley describes a utopian society, the World State, where all people were "decanted" in science labs and conditioned in conditioning rooms rather than "born" by mothers and raised by parents. While people born and raised normally may suffer from feelings of dissatisfaction, cravings for better status, emotional attachments to something or someone, people in the World State are conditioned so that they are always satisfied, that they crave no more than what they get, and that with the aid of a drug named soma and so-called solidarity services, they don't ever feel any passion, or even emotion.

The significance of this novel is that it helps people recognize some of the things we currently take for granted (e.g. opportunities we were given at birth to rise to a different status, appreciation for beauty that we are capable of which was never taken away in the early years of our lives, pleasure in diversity we get to enjoy so freely without even the need to fight for it…). The novel also gets us thinking about our own choices when faced with such… temptations: Would you take soma, the drug as a holiday from reality; also, would you rather have your fate destined, or leave it to your own hands? Well… in order to make our own decisions, let's first look at what people do in the World State.

People in the World State are decanted into five major castes: Alphas, Betas, Deltas, Epsilons, and Gammas. The novel starts with a group of Alpha students taken on a tour by the D.H.C (Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning) of his own department. The students, as well as us the readers are introduced to first of the many "major instruments of social stability" (7): The Bokanovsky process, which is a process that can make "ninety-six human beings grow where only one grew before" (6). Then to the Social Predestination Room, where embryos are deliberately harmed either by a lack of oxygen or by the injection of alcohol, so that they can grow up and be satisfied with being in a lower caste.

The above may still somewhat make sense if one is to think that there must be some sacrifice to achieve prosperity and stability; yet what we are about to see is simply monstrous and immoral at first glance; it doesn't even matter how one chooses look at it. Readers learn that parental relationships are labeled not only uncivilized, but obscene in the World State; students blush at the mere suggestion that humans used to be "viviparous" and "born" by "mothers" (24).

Infants are electric shocked in the NEO-PAVLOVIAN CONDITIONING ROOMS so that they'll grow up with an “instinctive” hatred of books and flowers"; so that they'll be “safe from books and botany all their lives”; and so that lowercaste people don't "waste the community's time over books". The students are then introduced to the principle of sleep-teaching, or hypnopedia. The director demonstrates a typical "Elementary Class Consciousness" lesson as he makes the words whispered to the sleeping children audible to the whole crowd. The chapter ends with the D.H.C proudly proclaiming: "Till at last the child's mind is these suggestions, and the sum of the suggestions is the child's mind. And not the child's mind only. The adult's mind too---all his life long. The mind that judges and desires and decides---made up of these suggestions. But these suggestions are our suggestions!" (29).

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Just as we sit back and cooly start criticizing the philosophy (if there is any!) behind this madness, we learn that everybody in this society may actually be happy. Nonsense? Just look at Fifi Bradlaugh. Readers are introduced to this lovely lady at the beginning of one of the mandatory solidarity services to whom Bernard, one of our main characters, has to attend: "plump, blonde, not too large…" (80) is all we have. However at the end of the service, as Bernard meets Fiji once more on the roof before they fly off, we can look at the diction used by the author: "She looked at Bernard with an expression of rapture, but of rapture in which there was no trace of agitation or excitement - for to be excited is still to be unsatisfied. Hers was the calm ecstasy of achieved consummation, the peace, not of mere vacant satiety and nothingness, but of balanced life, of energies at rest and in equilibrium. A rich and living peace [...] She was full, she was made perfect, she was still more than merely herself."

What about people from the lower castes? With the help of hypnopedia, they were conditioned into accepting and appreciating who they are. And so Henry agreed when Lenina said: "I suppose Epsilons don't really mind being Epsilons."

"Of course they don't. How can they? They don't know what it’s like being anything else. We'd mind, of course. But then we've been differently conditioned. Besides, we start with a different heredity" (74).

Still laughing because you think this madness has nothing to do with us?

Well, the Resident Controller for Western Europe, Mustapha Mond has just the answer for you. When asked whose fault it is that the world end up being a place like this, seemingly without passion, without love, without moral, without religion, the Controller answers: "Call it the fault of civilization. God isn't compatible with machinery and scientific medicine and universal happiness. You must make your choice. Our civilization has chosen machinery and medicine and happiness" (234).

The fault of civilization? Mustapha Mond (/the author) is suggesting that this result, to some degree, is inevitable. Notice that he also said that it was a choice. So really the message here is: it is our job, as readers, as voters, as citizens, to strive to be informed, to be educated, to try not only to make the right choices in our own lives, but together, as the human species, to make the best choice; when faced with ever advancing technology, ever increasing number of covers/disguises for soma; to make the right choice for us all, and our offspring.

O wonder!

How many goodly creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't.

—William Shakespeare, The Tempest, V: I, 203–206.

"O brave new world," says the savage, O brave new world. This really doesn't have to be a reference to Shakespeare's use of satire. O if I can just tell you… how much I still believe there can be choices, can be diversity, can be equality… in the brave new world I see, in the brave new world this world will be.

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English IIH Haiku by Mr. Martin’s class Caitie Darosa, Colin Kanuch, Nick Moniz, Shannon O'Connor, James Sullivan, Rafe Kaplan The angry thunder roars.

The raindrops dive from the clouds.

The ground is soaked.

Pretzel stick walrus shares his paper bag lunch with you – orange peel smile.

He asked her out.

She said yes and smiled.

They had a nice time.

A large white blanket Covering the earth and trees Is a snow flurry.

Can you make a globe from only the suds of soap and a blow fish face?

On the frozen pond Lies ice and frozen life, Waiting to wake up.

What if life doesn’t End with death? Instead death just Begins solely with life.

The dark sky is calm; There is no rain or thunder.

The storm will come soon.

Juice Box Puncture tender skin…

Slurp slurp slurp stutter whistle Re-inflate with “life.”

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The Monster by Ian Riley There’s a monster under my bed and I don’t know its name.

It is only my shame which lets me accept that.

Sometimes I shake in the dark and think An earthquake must have just struck, But the tectonic plates holding me together Lie dormant.

It must be the earth shaking then; It couldn’t have been anything else.

I think that and then I remember you can’t move the world, And it’s only a question that moves me.

What’s your name?

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Villanelle by Natalie Ross We won’t break the form Though we could ask why We conform to the norm Trapped in his dorm He ties his tie and wonders why We won’t break the form Forced to write to the form It makes us lie but we sigh and comply We conform to the norm We are engulfed in this storm Of lies & we don’t know why We won’t break the form Like bees the media swarm But on their honey we rely We conform to the norm Scared, so we conform Too real is the truth, so we lie We won’t break the form We conform to the norm

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photo by Falon Moran

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Candle by Falon Moran Bright and wispy Flickering about Unsure where to go But knowing where to stand.

The wind is moving But not enough To knock it out The light stays lit.

Left to right, Blues and oranges Create the flame Blowing in the breeze.

The power of the flame Is inevitable.

It could be as small as A candle flame Or as large as a raging Sea of warm oranges and reds Rushing through a forest.

The wind picks up And finally, The candle Is blown out.

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Intense Poem by Anton Frondelius I ran the AMTRAK out of town, Man I was so scared.

Blood was dripping, sweet was pouring It feels like I left my mind, I left my mind in that apartment, That apartment with that smell, With that taste, with that cold icy temperature.

But the picture is stuck in my head, Stuck like a note glued to my tissue.

The picture is screaming at me, Covering my eyes, I can’t see!

I can’t hear, all I hear is that woman’s scream, Her begging for mercy.

But I didn’t give her mercy, I killed her, Killed her with my bare hands.

My blood, her blood once again mixed together But this time not as a living form.

My head is hurting, stabbing and screaming inside me.

I want out, it wants to break free, It wants away from my body That’s full of guilt and covered in blood, innocent blood.

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A Beautiful Nightmare by Anton Frondelius I close my eyes and fall, Fall backwards into the dry hay.

It feels like an endless journey From my modest 5 feet until I drown in the ground.

I sink deeper and deeper, The birds’ tweets are fading away, I’m fading away Away into a symbiosis with nature, As I unify with earth everything manmade disappears.

I no longer have any clothes, I swim in the sea and I run over the wet moss.

I was made for doing this, my joints, my skin and bones Were all made for this.

There’s no friction working against me as I swim, Nothing has been easier than running in the woods.

Generations of rejecting nature Have made me scared of the unknown.

It’s like the most beautiful nightmare that comes back to me every night.

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Love can do you like a shotgun by Anton Frondelius I saw my own reflection in the window As I stumbled by on the sidewalk.

Drunk and wasted, cold and sore, My soul is about to take off like a hawk.

I couldn’t feel the rain on my body, It just went through my empty skin.

My clothes don’t fit me no more, I live on air, what’s left and sloe gin.

Oh, my partner you’re as weak as I, But brother are you gonna leave me here to fade away?

That night I heard the black blood in my veins, All I can do is sit here and pray.

I have walked a million miles, But death is not my greatest fear Nor are the voices of vanished friends, But the angles that will greet me when I get there.

The night has fallen, the dark is cold.

Through me runs a pounding reminisce, I can see myself slip this skin.

Oh brother why do we always leave each other alone like this?

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The Family by Shannon O’Connor There’s a family Neighbors to the right of the house across the street from mine if I’m the one looking at it They were so cute when they moved in young enough to wear yoga pants with a sparkly band, old enough to not give the older parents shivers when their eyes rested on her proud baby bumpalso married enough too.

Her husband with broad shoulders linked to tanned and tattooed arms carrying boxes into their new start with the movers and a tiny little dog who followed at their heels He never yipped like the Chihuahua at the end of the street though Thank god We welcomed them into our house in the summer twilight when they locked themselves out and had to wait in their driveway for the fire truck to come. We’ve all been there. with the mosquitoes punishment enough, they sat on our couch and had a beer and by they, I mean she politely declined with her now basketball-sized belly in mind and he had hers. Maybe he always did.

They got a dog-my favorite dog so they became my favorite neighbors Their Great Dane puppy grew and grew and so did their little baby girl, though not as fast Thank god The social media sites were alerted again after we sent them a Christmas card, that their family was growing again, too. and on a rainy day we ran into her at the grocery store and I was nervous to feel the thin separation between me and the kicking and her toe nails matched her flip flops and her little girl rode her not so little puppy around the side yard because she was a cowgirl princess the laugh-lines around her husband’s eyes deepened and so did their pockets Thank god Their second baby girl took her first steps the other day and in the video her husband’s socks run into the background to give his daughter a destination and the encouraging voice shrill with excitement behind the camera was loud enough to wake the other baby there wasn’t even time for the for-sale sign in front of their house to be seen by the neighborhood before there was a finalized buyer and paperwork the security uniform that fit big tanned arms nicely got too tight, so did their budget and the little girls will ride their big brown dog back to Florida

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and the woman will carry her new baby belly to their old home and tan arms will carry her all the way there because family stays together like the macaroni art stuck to the fridge under the bills Thank god.

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ADD poems by Wyatt Clark The stars are shining And the world seems so sublime Goldfish are tasty.

Trees are natural Machines are illogical Velociraptor.

Nothing is sweeter Than cool water from a spring Geodes are awesome.

I look into the crowd Into the sea of faces But I see no one.

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photo by Ria Han

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Translation of poem by Li Bai (701-762) by Jessica Qi Xu

静夜思 李白 床前明月光 疑是地上霜 举头望明月 低头思故乡

The moonlight spilt through the window, reached the bed Seemed like a reflection from the frost on the ground Musing, I looked up; the luminous moon caught my eyes Gradually I looked down, and missed my hometown.

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Translation of poem by Hu Cui (崔护) by Jessica Qi Xu Tang Dynasty (8th Century) Cui not only wrote good poems, but he also drew very well. He had a cool and diffident personality. Here is a popular story about him: Cui once passed by a café and saw a beautiful woman. He rested there and had a wonderful conversation with this woman. They were both attracted to each other, but Cui had to leave.

Next year, around the same time, Cui came back and visited, but he did not see the woman. He figured out later that she had become so lovesick that she could not walk, because she missed Cui so much. So Cui found her, and miraculously she recovered. The woman’s dad was so happy that he agreed to marry his daughter to Cui ……

- Jessica Qi Xu

题都城南庄 崔护 去年今日此门中 人面桃花相映红 人面不知何处去 桃花依旧笑春风 Last year, at this very time, at this very spot, I saw her face framed by the flourishing peach blossom, Especially gorgeous Today, the peach blossom still sways in the breeze Smiling just like old days, but lonely Evoking the memories of the shy girl Where did my acquaintance go?

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Full Circle by Nick Weinstein A smile A comforting hand An outstretched heart unknowingly shredded down to a strand That was her On the outside at least forever hiding a burning habit an untamed demon, a self-destroying beast Our times were grand Staying up until the dawn We lived life and never lost Sunshine and rainbows And it was gone.

It had consumed her The glass stained brown How hadn’t I seen it?

Why didn’t I save her?

Fate had struck her down.

The light had left That sunshine went out All things I knew They no longer seemed true My mind raced with unescapable doubt Everything happens for a reason Its what you had always said If that’s what you really believe Then justify this, explain it all How could that light end up dead?

Spiraling down, deeper and deeper Where else could I ever go?

It hit, harder than you can ever imagine That final epiphany, the false comfort A voice inside told me “You should join her down below” 21

One last step, that was it This edge was no longer a metaphor Ten tiny toes teetering over the skyline No more apprehensions, no thoughts at all Ready to fall, to crash, to welcome the floor As the wind rushes past, Mindless to my circumstance It carries a voice with it Someone familiar, someone warm Something to break the trance You are not alone One step back, Two steps Look around you Look to the ground, think of the consequence Think of the others, examine the effects Remember your pain Think of that pit A moment of Kintsukuroi To repair with gold and understand The outcome is more beautiful for it For each one, every one Around us, we have a wall A wall formed of connections Forever standing strong when needed Keeping us going, keeping us tall When the world knocks us Brings you down to your knees Keep that chin up, hold that head high Look life in the eyes And let it know, this day you will seize.

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Why’d you go? by Alyssa Cooke I stand my ground, Hand on my heart I try not to cry Try not to be torn apart We sing the anthem Of “My Country Tis of Thee”.

Although I know, My father won’t be with me.

He is far away, In a place unknown.

Fighting for the home I love But I am left all alone.

I know he loves what he does, And that he feels that its right.

But I know my mother cries, When she wakes up in the middle of the night.

I walk out of class, And onto the bus.

Letting others cut in front of me Not making a fuss.

For my head is in the clouds, Up so high.

Thinking back on the day, My father said goodbye.

He hugged me close, Laid a kiss on my cheek.

Whispered in my ear how he loved me, It was all quite meek.

He walked to the car, Turned as he waved farewell.

I knew that once he was gone My life would turn into hell.

For my mother didn’t love me, Or at least that’s what I felt.

For every time we would fight, She would bring out her belt.

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At school sometimes, People would notice the bruises.

But I would just tell them I was fine, And make up excuses.

I’d go home at the end of the day And make sure my little brother was fine.

He didn’t understand was happening, And all he did was wine.

That he couldn’t see his dad, And that mommy was no fun.

Until that phone call came, And the real pain had begun.

I didn’t know who had called, Or who was on the other line.

But whoever it was couldn’t be very good, Cuz mommy started cryin.

She dropped the phone, And it smashed on the floor.

She ran around the corner, And slammed the door.

I follow after her, And knocked on the wood Wanting to know what was happening, But not knowing if I should.

For the thoughts in my head, Were running crazy.

A horrified look on her face, And she spoke the worst thing she could say to me.

I cover my mouth, With both my hands.

Knowing that that call Had just ruined my plans.

Plans to see my father again, Plans to see his smile, The same one That I haven’t seen in a while.

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Tears stream down my face, Not the happy ones at all.

I look into my mother’s eyes And I start to fall.

Fall to the ground, Fall apart.

I feel the freezing of my blood, And the cracking of my heart.

There will be no future with him, Only a past.

I’ll have to accept the fact That it moved too fast.

He won’t see me graduate, Or fall in love.

Have kids of my own, He’ll have to watch from above I know he had to fight for our country, But all I can ask is why.

Why did he have to leave me?

Why did he have to die?

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photo by Falon Moran

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Sonnet by Cindy Ho I have nothing to do today, But I realize there is going to be a big test.

Why is tomorrow Monday?

I am sitting in front of the desk.

I look out of the window, There are a lot of bees, They are flying in the shadow, Flying in the shadow of the tree.

The tree is Lime, People use it to produce my pencil, I am wasting my time, I hope the test can be canceled.

The test tomorrow will be the hardest, But it is ok because I am the smartest.

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The Things I Won’t Say by Kaitlyn McNamara She’s a dove with a broken wing A canary that just can’t sing Flying high above the rooftops in the eye of the storm The broken wing is slowing her down Increasing her inhibitions She’s going round and round in circles The dove is losing her ambitions She’s shouting the words she can’t scream Hoping her nightmare will turn into a dream She leaves to avoid the ridicule, it’s getting old But that doesn’t matter, her heart has already been sold Sold to the devil, she’s with little hope The running water is how she copes If she says the word out loud, it makes it real She can’t cope with the burden, she can’t deal They laugh and point, she can hear their words What is it about her that makes her screams unheard?

If she tells someone, she loses all control All resemblance of what she could be Her dreams of gold will turn to ashes and coal How did this happen to me?

She’ll pull over to the side of the road and speak her words She has to do this, she has to be heard Her emotions can’t play hide and seek much longer, they’re about to come out Her tears will flood her heart after the long drought She will drown in the salty water with no olive branch to carry Because the injured dove knows no peace comes with this But the dove will rise up like a phoenix from its ashes Reborn, a new mindset on the way It’s getting there that matters But she won’t get anywhere with the words she won’t say

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Run The Water by Kaitlyn McNamara Run the water, she knows it’s no good The demons tell her “once” more, she knows she should She’s tried too hard, come too far It’s the demons in her mind, they control her heart She never thought she would be that girl, how did this start?

But nobody knows, it’s just her and her mind Run the water, her conscience is blind Blind to the sanity, blind to the meaning She leaves dinner early; it’s her personal smoke screen She looks at these girls, she’s plagued by intimidation No admiration, just a combination of determination and mounting frustration She can’t stop; she has to sit on the floor Run the water, quiet down once more It’s the lyrics that she twists to fit her situation The bowl is filled with tears and frustration She goes into her room, throws her key on the floor Doesn’t stop to think, opens the bathroom door She’s on her knees, wishing she didn’t have to do this But she knows her demons won’t let her leave It’s a story of demons Of toilet bowls and tears, Stepping onto the scale and confronting her fears The demons convince her that less is more, that things will get better But Sanity tells her she shouldn’t do this, not now, not ever It would be a disappointment, a burden If anyone knew So for now, keep the secret between me and you It’s a mental demon that won’t go to hell Clean yourself up, no one can tell It’s the things they don’t say that make her think Twists her mind as the demon bends over the sink It’s the silence in the air that screams it all Why she does this, why her emotions take a fall The demon creeped in after waiting for too long

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Run the water, keep it flowing Keep it up, says the demon, keep it going She tells herself it’s worth it, The headaches and the heartaches She can stop when she wants Before she breaks Run the water, she’s addicted to that feeling That empty stomach and broken heart She tries to find some meaning, a reason But she’s going to fall apart Someone will find out, it’s her biggest fear Close the door, the coast is clear Bend down and let it all out, Grab on so you won’t fall Keep the water running, To go for gold if you want it at all But no one would ever guess That a girl like her Would fall to the feet of the demons Leaving time in a blur “That doesn’t happen here”, That’s what they say But has anyone ever experienced such a demon?

I’ll get there my own way.

She begins to eat Buries it within The demon yells at her She has to be thin She wants to scream it, she wants to shout But how do you evict a monster That you’ve never been without?

The demon speaks for her, says she’s fine But she needs to take control, this life is mine She and the demon are the only ones who know She can’t run the water too much longer Until everything overflows You have to keep going, it’s a sick motivation Urging you on, it’s a bad situation It’s a cruel habit that she can’t lose It’s now or never, she has to choose Bending down to the toilet, she gets right to it 30

Do it a little more, a little bit Her back is hurting, she falls to the ground, Her spirits collapsing and scattered around Ties her hair back and bends over the bowl This habit is eating her morals, biting her soul Holds the sink so she won’t fall Is this really worth it, worth it at all?

The mirror feeds her addiction Proving her right The reflection it shows Keeps her up at night We’re always told to finish what we start But this sad habit is tearing her apart She wants to keep going It goes against what she believes She wants to be skinny, But Sanity pleads Her thoughts send a chill down her crooked spine She’ll be okay; it’ll turn out fine Just chill out, take it slow But the demon inside her says no.

“You’re never good enough No matter how hard you try You’ll always end up on the bottom So get on your knees and cry” They read her words, wonder about the subject She can’t tell them, she has a demon to protect So close to freeing herself from this newborn addiction Come up with a lie; let them believe your fiction It’s not right to think this way, of that she is aware But who would stay and who would go, Who would give her respect and care?

It’s the things that go right and the things that go wrong That determine where her monster will belong They move together, go hand in hand Her hands are tied; she’s stuck in the sand She’s trapped, the monster is in control But was this her plan, was this her goal?

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Nothing makes sense to the point of confusion Her thoughts and her logic are complex delusions She tries to toss the responsibility Convincing herself she’s not to blame Misplaced liability is the demon’s game But after she speaks to the crowd, she knows nothing will remain the same Speculation and ignorance will run rampant with her secret Is the monster making the right choice to stop fighting and keep it?

It’s the monster that causes her to stop in place So close the door and run the water, You’ve got a demon to chase.

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by Boya Zhao

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US by Molly Moseley Let’s get lost tonight Forget your plans What would have been What should have been It all doesn’t matter Clear your mind Clear your thoughts Come with me and get lost We’ll run and dance Throughout the park And if you’re scared I’ll hold your hand in the dark Take off your shoes Take off your socks Run into the water Jump off the rocks Take a few steps While closing your eyes We have all the time that we need No need for goodbyes It’s a way to smile Without paying a cost So come with me And let’s get lost.

Congratulations to Molly, winner of the 2013 Gunnery Poetry Contest, judged by David Hinton.

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Winter Angel by Molly Moseley I am lost in the woods It all seems the same no matter how far I have walked Each tree looks the same, their branches arching towards me.

The snow and bitter wind whip my face and bring tears to my eyes.

I look up at the sky, but the snow makes it look like a white fog.

My legs give out from under me too tired to take another step.

So I am now sitting in the snow my pants now already damp The feeling in my fingers and my toes has officially left Now only pain and fear remain.

I sit there in snow praying for someone to find me, That I will feel the warmth of a kind stranger’s face, who would take pity on me.

I close my eyes and press my hands deep under my shoulders My teeth chattering so hard I fear they might break I close my eyes and think of being in bed The warmth of the sheets caressing each part of my body The sun is shining through the window panes making everything bright I open my eyes and am brought back to the bitter snow For a that brief moment I almost thought I was home I close my eyes again the sun still shining My body wrapped in soft warm sheets I turn to the other side of the bed and there you are Beautiful kind eyes that I have always loved A gentle smile on your face You place your fingers on the sides of my face Let us lay here in this bed Do not open your eyes again you say If closing my eyes means being with you Then I will stay here in this bed And close my eyes a little longer

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Lost And Found by Molly Moseley One day I will come home and my mom will be waiting for me The smell of her cooking will welcome and embrace me She will look at me with kind eyes and a gentle smile Pick me up and hold me in her arms like she used to do One day I will come home and my mom will be waiting for me I will see her through the kitchen window and run right to her Her arms embracing me as she asks me about my day I will tell all about it and how I missed her too One day I will come home and she will be there There won’t be an empty house with lonesome hallways There won’t be notes on the fridge telling me she’ll be home late One day I will come home and it will be like it used to be When she would be there waiting for me.

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I Prefer to Try by Julia Reid I prefer dogs Actually I prefer horses I prefer the smell of spring flowers I prefer coffee in the night I prefer not reading the end I prefer going to sleep when most people are waking up I prefer running in the rain I prefer seeing with my ears I prefer to be unafraid, but I fear I prefer to laugh but I do cry I prefer to whisper but I end up screaming I prefer to try even though I end up failing

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Soldiers of the Forest by Anthony Bird Ominously watching without a sound, While everything in nature wrestles around.

They stand tall, so strong and old.

It’s hard to find the one from which the woodpecker’s story is told.

Some stand strong, while others have fallen.

The sun beating down makes some of them soften.

Within them I sense the story of nature.

All the years they have spent not changing in stature.

Their enormity makes me feel smaller than normal.

But safe nonetheless amongst the soldiers of the forest.

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The Golden Days by Sagine Corrielus There were times, perhaps in the middle of the day, when she felt so strongly about the world, About life, About children starving in remote faraway places.

She’d cry.

Weep for those who needed to be wept for.

Pray for those who needed prayers.

And on clear cloudless days she’d find her mind thick with worry, and her eyes salted with tears over things she could not control.

The silver spoon thrusted into her mouth at a tender impressionable age, did little to soothe her, although it still clung to the lapels of her ironed oxford shirts, refusing to be forgotten.

So she carved it out of her - that little piece of sterling silver, that threatened to symbolize – no immobilize her.

She retched it from her body Pealed it off her skin Erased it from her memory and Indignantly gave it back to the providers who had provided it with the good grace of their long dead providers.

She didn’t need provisions – she caterwauled.

She wanted to be like them.

The one’s who suffer, as Jesus did in the olden days.

The golden days.

She ate very little – like a bird they would say.

A hatchling, letting the freshly excavated worms her mother brought her to eat, wither in the dust – to be of use to no one.

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She sat in the confines Of a tower-like place, Weeping, And Crying, And Caring.

Until she grew tired, And very very bored.

Her trip to Africa was indefinitely placed on hold, Her Kleenex’s were put into storage, Her tears dried And that silver spoon – the one her providers had provided with the good grace of the old providers – moved out of her savings (where she kept most things she grew tired of) and into her delicately upturned mouth where it belonged, until she went through another bout of wanting to save the world but never daring to try.

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The Scarlet Queen by Sagine Corrielus Like most tales, it started with blood.

Bleeding, Bled, Bloodied hands.

She merely smiled because it wasn’t her own and she had what she wanted.

Needed.

Her man – tied around her finger, like a piece of thread.

Her money – saved up somewhere the writer never tells you, in long tall stacks.

The equity of a great kingdom.

But the blood flowing like water in a river followed her – to her pretty canopy bed, in her pretty stony castle, with the not so pretty guards who watched her and her husband sleep at night, just like they had for the former king, who died – unexpectedly.

She ignored the blood at first.

But it called her name, in the dim lights of their Highlander Palace.

Lady! Lady dearest. Our queen. The Queen of the dead, the damned, the brutally murdered.

Come hold the blood you requested. The blood you called for. It’s yours now.

She was brave – at least she told her self this at night when she put the babes to sleep, at last after wrenching them from her bosom.

She would not succumb to weakness.

For if she did, what was in store for her husband?

Her husband who was nothing without her.

Nothing.

But suppose she was nothing without him.

His hand.

The one whose palm was truly scarlet and wet.

Lady! Lady dearest!

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It screamed for her.

This blood!

This merciless liquid red fire!

What did it want from her?

How dare it disturb her rest.

Sending her images at nightfall.

Scenes at daybreak.

Pictures of pain!

Pain when she closed her eyes. Pain when she opened them.

Glistening red pain!

It was as though it became a part of her soul, her being, her entity, her heart, her spirit slick with cold cold cold red.

Seeping RedPainful red.

Burning red.

Unraveling, denaturizing, unwinding, breaking her.

Until she was left staring at her hands, which became her husband’s, thick and hairy like a fully bred Scotsman, whispering to herself, so the blood that called wouldn’t hear: “Out, damned spot; Out I say.”

She said.

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City Lights by James Smith The city shines bright At night It comes alive It transforms Vibrant colors Flashing lights People come out to play A different vibe Than during the day A special feeling In the air Music heard all over Everybody’s happy The whole city is awake This city never sleeps

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Bully by DJ Ellis Every day they used to take my lunch money.

Stuff me into lockers.

And take my brownies from me.

I’d hide out in the janitor’s storage closet.

End up stuck inside, because from the outside is how you locked it.

They’d always find me and I’d beg them to stop it.

So one day I came into school and just lost it.

I hit this bully in the face with a toy dolphin.

And locked another one in a locker and filled it with water.

Passed out a few swirlys and kicked the principal’s daughter.

I finally stood up for myself, but I took it way too far.

Got suspended for two weeks.

Went home and tripped over my first step real hard.

Karma’s a bitch, the biggest bitch of all.

Now I need stitches for my knee, and I walk with a limp making me 3 inches less tall.

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Sky Falls by DJ Ellis And as the world turns, I stay planted on two feet.

Never getting dizzy, never letting anything pass me.

Live my life by something this bitter sweet.

No holdback, no retreat.

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Barefoot by Erin Sullivan My toes in the sand I crinkle my nose As the wind strokes my face.

The spray from the ocean Spritses in my eyes And stings just for a moment.

My hair is brittle With salt.

My skin is soft, from aloe.

My legs are sun kissed brown And my face is lobster red.

My eyes pop, cuz the sun Does that to them.

My finger nails are blue Cuz how summery is that?

My bathing suit is pink And white Polka dots.

Strapless, because Who wants those tan lines?

Not me.

And I paint a small heart On my hip With sun tan lotion, So I tan around it.

I can carry your heart And all my love with me, Burned into my skin.

Its summer time, And we usually forgot who we are And where we’ve been.

Which is fine by me, But come take a trip cross the Bronx And visit.

For a day Or a week, Maybe just so we can go to the beach?

You and me, With the sand between our feet, Building castles And making promises we won’t keep.

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Poem by Erin Sullivan Just a little girl, age nine at the oldest, She doesn’t know a thing about reality.

She lives in a world where she could be a princess, And fairytale endings really do exist.

The scariest thing about her precious life, Is the walk to the bathroom at night when its really dark.

She doesn’t know what it is that scares her so much About the dark. But it does… scare her.

I think back to that little girl that I used to be very often.

And now I think I know why I was so scared Of the dark, that is.

Because who knows that’s out there, you can’t see.

I don’t like to believe in things I can’t see, but It’s so hard to believe in anything… when its dark.

There could be monsters, or murderers, Or boyfriends that don’t treat you right, or Parents that stay up all night and fight, Or just plain old loneliness.

And I think back to that dark teenager I used to be, People must have been so scared of me.

I was endless and hard to see, like the dark That separated the bathroom from me.

But now I understand, That the dark, twisty places are meant to be seen.

But only by a few that won’t just have pity.

They’ll be there, and even if they don’t understand, They’ll understand that they won’t necessarily understand all the time.

And that understanding. Is more than any Advice.

I look back and I think, There will always be things I’ll be terrified of.

The dark in the hallway The dark in my soul.

But one way or another Fears must be conquered.

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The cold window against my face is a wake-up call.

Do something.

Be someone.

Change.

Learn.

Breathe.

Be happy.

I don’t know happy. It’s this place, a Utopia, that I reach for but never hold.

I know laughter.

I know fake smiles.

I know, too well, tears.

I know crying.

The steel slides underneath my fingers like a piece of silk.

It calms me to find something so beautiful in such a gloomy place.

But does it have to be dreary? What if it was enjoyable?

The passengers: laughing, smirking, chatting.

Why is this place so sad for me? Well…why is every place so sad for me?

The world rushes by in a swirl of trees and streetlights.

I can’t tell where I am or where I’m going.

It’s all a blur: voices, faces, scenery.

I just want to be somewhere solid.

Somewhere sane.

Somewhere that I cannot only live, but I can thrive.

I want Utopia.

I want something more than this half-empty train.

I need an escape, an out, a plan b.

The thing is: on this train I feel, or I want to feel.

I don’t feel sad.

I don’t feel happy.

I don’t feel scared.

I. Don’t.

Feel.

Anything.

Like being punched in the stomach, I guess that’s how it feels.

I can’t breathe or move or think.

So fast, it breaks the barrier of sane and insane.

It gives me a high.

The speed, the distance, the thought it provokes.

What if it was coming directly at me?

The feeling of it running through my body makes my heart race.

I want to run with it, chase the tracks to the end.

To the destination of so many, traveling On their own Journeys and adventures.

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Work.

Play.

It’s all the same on the train.

Colliding tracks, colliding worlds.

They’re all the same when trapped inside of that enclosed train car.

So much to think about, and you will think about it all.

Crying.

Leaning.

Against the window.

Cold tears running down my face, through the collar of my shirt.

The tears feel sticky and cool against my warm neck.

It’s weird how when you’re younger there’s always someone to wipe your tears.

Someone that is always willing to listen and understand.

I don’t want someone anymore.

I want to cry.

I want my tears.

Because at least I feel something.

Could I want to be lonely?

Do I need to be alone?

It’s funny how this train works.

People moving.

In. Out. On. Off. I’m sitting, staring, waiting.

Just waiting on my happy to start.

Love me.

Hold me.

Leave me.

The confusion of this life.

The confusion of this transportation.

Isn’t everything so alike?

I just want it to come together.

I don’t want to go searching for my love or myself.

I want to Collide.

Like trains on a track, I want to run my course With speed, with purpose.

With who I am and the cloudy vision of who I want to be.

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Tricky by Erin Sullivan Crashing, pounding on the sandy beach The waves, the tide don’t cease Not ‘til dawn, I can’t sleep.

I toss and turn hearing papa preach, The cadence of his deep voice Crashing, pounding. On the sandy beach I look at the stars, dreaming about each And it takes so long I don’t go home, Not ‘til dawn. I can’t sleep Without your hands that constantly teach Me love and laughter because all I’ve known is Crashing. Pounding on the sandy beach My words are lost, you’ve taken my speech, Right from under my feet. I won’t get up, Not ‘til dawn I can’t. Sleep Is necessary, but as I rest my head you breach My thoughts. My life without you is incomplete like I’m Crashing, pounding on the sandy beach, Not ‘til dawn, I can’t sleep.

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Reality by Erin Sullivan The way you feel when love touches your heart.

The way a dove looks against the bright blue sky.

But it’s also like being frightened in the dark, No way out but you still scream and cry.

It’s so easily described as a lovely walk in the park When in fact that picture is mostly a lie.

Love everyone and everything the lovebirds hark But to me it seems sometimes I’d rather die.

And on the rare occasion I feel sentimental I usually get discouraged and proven so wrong.

The ongoing cycle can drive a person mental — Being caught up in the lovers' throng, Waiting by the phone for that never-arriving call, For the voice of love sounding like an angel's song.

It never comes and it never will.

The hopes, ever so high, will be dropped As though off a seventy-story window sill.

Do I get up or should I just stop?

I think that maybe a break is what’s in store Because I can’t take this heartbreak anymore.

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Hmm? By Erin Sullivan You say such confusing things Your words rattle me every day, And yet my heart always sings If I could only express how much you bring To me, but you won’t let me, you always get your way, You say. Such confusing things You don’t see how much his words sting I need help, I bleed and cry, and pray, And yet my heart always sings When I see your eyes start to cling Onto my own, when I just want to die You say such confusing things: “Your hair is sweet your breath is like spring, you’re infectiously beautiful, a great friend every day” And yet my heart always sings You have no idea the joy that your life brings, Even if I’m your friend and you’re my lover of the day.

You say such confusing things And yet my heart always sings

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天狗 ----郭沫若 Devouring Dog by Guo Moruo (1892-1978). Translation from the Chinese by Lenny Qiaojin Jin 我是一条天狗呀！ 我把月来吞了， 我把日来吞了， 我把一切的星球来吞了， 我把全宇宙来吞了。 我便是我了！ Me, a devouring dog!

I devour the moon, I devour the sun, I devour all the planets, I devour the whole universe.

Therefore, I am myself. 我是月底光， 我是日底光， 我是一切星球底光， 我是X光线底光， 我是全宇宙底Energy底总量！ I am the light behind the moon, I am the light behind the sun, I am the light behind all the planets, I am the X-ray, I am the sum of the energy of the whole universe! 我飞奔， 我狂叫， 我燃烧。 53

我如烈火一样地燃烧！ 我如大海一样地狂叫！ 我如电气一样地飞跑！ 我飞跑， 我飞跑， 我飞跑， 我剥我的皮， 我食我的肉， 我吸我的血， 我啮我的心肝， 我在我神经上飞跑， 我在我脊髓上飞跑， 我在我脑筋上飞跑， I am sprinting, I am barking, I am burning.

I burn like woods in the fire!

I bark like tides in the ocean!

I sprint like lightening in the sky！ Sprint, sprint, sprint, I peel my own skin, I eat my own body, I suck my own blood, I snap my own heart,

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I sprint on my own nerves, I sprint on my own spinal marrow, I sprint on my own brains, 我便是我呀！ 我的我要爆了！ I am myself!

My myself is going to burst!

The translator, Lenny Qiaojin Jin, writes: Personally, I don't like Guo Moruo because of

his lack of a firm political stance. But, he has a firm belief of the removal of feudalism in Chinese culture. The first step taken is the revolution in poetry and Guo is a major leader in that movement. And Guo is probably the most well-rounded writer in his time. He is also known as an historian and archeaologist. Lu Xun is my only favorite Chinese writer.

Because Guo Moruo opposed Lu Xun's literature, I respect Guo, but don't like him.

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photo by Falon Moran

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from The Voice of an Alien by Lenny Qiaojin Jin Alien Poet I’m the poet In the wee hours of the early morning, most of my peers are soundly sleeping. However, this is the best time for me to compose poems with maximized inspiration. My mind springs open with random notions that are then linked together in lyrical rhymes – perhaps an innovative sonnet which is my favorite form – or lyrics that convey humor or a deep emotion. Endowing ideas with concrete images, those poems often make my friends and teachers burst into laughter and they reward me with appreciative winks - I fully cherish those moments.

Alien Anecdote A visit Another weekly visit to Old People's home! Life is simple: Mr. Yu smiles and I smile. He is a 93-year-old childless chemist who has Alzheimer's. Again, I'm feeling the coldness from his trembling hands but the warmth from his smiles. Never changed was that old Chemistry Workbook on the desk, also his lack of coherent speech to express his excitement: only smiles.

Mr. Yu loves "Story Section". Only now is he able to recall his memory and deliver a "speech" to a patient listener: me. Although I clearly know every detail about this tale which has been repeated every single time, I will not interrupt as I wish his smile to be eternal.

When he mentions children, he lowers his head depressingly. I will hold his hand and share my warmth with him for minutes. That childlike smile never fades from his face as "Story Section" ends. He waves quietly as another seven days start counting down.

Every smile of Mr. Yu gave me more appreciation of helping the elderly, more power of love and happiness.

Alien Perplexity Real Challenge Photos did capture those moments of me on the stage, but they could never reveal my hands trembling. Whenever those photos sat silently on the desk in front of me, that gutwrenching feeling would come back. ...Five days ago,

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I was stunned…speechless with my mouth open. Although could not believe my ears, I was assured by Curator Han's repeating:"This task needs 100% effort on your part. No recklessness is allowed. I trust that you can do it. Go prepare!"

Although only a volunteer translator at the Ningbo Museum of Art, I was given the task to be the principal translator at the opening ceremony for the museum’s most prestigious event in five years: “A Dialogue with Emperor Qin-EU and China Sculpture Show”, part of a joint EU and Chinese cultural exchange, and a key project of the powerful Ministry of Culture of China.

Sure, I had performed my previous translation tasks (Such as the translation of art abstract of Mr. Franck Duminil from the book Duminil by Lydia Harambourg) with confidence, which might be the reason why curator gave me a chance and a challenge to face the audience that would include high-ranking government officials and even many artists. The butterflies were dancing in my stomach.

Despite the fact that my hands were slightly trembling, I grabbed that draft in front me and immediately a sense of foreboding permeated my mind. I began to research while recalling all I knew about the subject of the speech: the origin of the Terra-Cotta Warriors, the relationship between European sculptors' inspiration and this particular topic: "Introspection into the wars and love of the peace," plus repeating the numerous artistic terms that would be spoken and translated: "Assemblage", "Subtractive", "Faux"...

Time flew as my body temperature increased and anxiety grew. Pressure became more and more overwhelming as the clock counted down. "Be ready to go," whispered the curator; this seemed to hit the weakest nerve in my body.

"You can do it!" I gave myself a second to soothe my shuddering legs, another second to wet my parched throat, and one last second to take a deep breath. Finally, I walked onto the stage.

Afraid of so much attention and countless pairs of eyes focusing on me, the only thought I had was to stare at the translation draft once again and begin to organize every word that was almost imprinted in my brain after reviewing for hours last night. However, five seconds later, I could not stop perspiring because the speech took a totally different path: the artist was improvising. She omitted the entire introduction of several previous cultural engagements, and then added comments on Europe's interest in the Qin Dynasty's history.

My eyes left this paper, head lifted up, caught spark lights and cameras, hundreds of eyes concentrating on my lips. I saw myself charging into this challenge, no longer impossibility after my days of researching. My thought went extremely rapidly: Calm down! Focus!

Ignore everything besides yourself! My brain started functioning and recollecting pieces of information I gathered and prepared. Vocabularies were flowing out. A glorious smile appeared on my face when the tides of applause came. I realized I should not only endure changes, but also embrace them. Once again, my success was witnessed by the equation: "Challenging=Do it".

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Alien Himself The Way I am During my school years, my friends and classmates persisted in stamping me with a “perfectionist” label. However, their perception does not entirely summarize me, for I belong to a group that I call Perfection Pursuer. I strive for excellence, but I am not obsessed with setbacks or occasional failures.

Perfectionists aspire to be high achievers, but they allow themselves even a single mistake to affect their attitude inordinately. These perfectionists are too rigid – I never want a fear of imperfections or self-doubt causing procrastination. I firmly believe that a pursuit of excellence is healthy, but I take genuine pleasure in working with inevitable failures; I aim to attain objectives flawlessly and extensively, but I do not ignore retrospection as a key.

My friends often perceive my persistence to reach my goal as stubbornness. But I take pride in finding as much solutions as possible in the same restraints of time and resources.

When my classmates boast that they easily solved a freefall problem in physics, I would continue to mull over the frictional components of eddies of air; when they overcome a problem of ideal gas, I would still be puzzling about the real gas with molecular interactions.

I produce my best results when I strive to do my best. I am like perfectionists in one way – we want to be better people and achieve great things. However, I accept that making mistakes and risking failure are parts of the achievement process—and part of being human.

I will never lose my passion for finding solutions that approach perfection.

Alien Anecdote A Dilemma I will never forget the ethical dilemma that confronted me three years ago. As a reward for high marks, my parents bought me a PlayStation(PSP). Using it was addictive and I was constantly occupied with its games. During a particularly boring math class, I took the risk of using my PSP. Classmates later related that the teacher stared at me for a long time while I was engrossed in my game-playing – she was giving me a chance to cease, but I was not aware of that.

Finally, my teacher stood silently in front of me. That was strange– normally a teacher would yell at me. My face reddened and I began to perspire as I meekly met her eyes. In an utterly calm and soothing voice, she offered choices to me: "If you give it to me, I will

not tell your mother. If you choose not give it to me, I would not take it, but I would question your honesty forever."

These words stunned me momentarily. Entertainment or honesty? I could opt to say "no," but that would not be the true me. Therefore, I gave my teacher the PSP and she kept it until graduation.

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Months later, after the graduation ceremony, my math teacher drew me aside: “Don’t let anything beat you!” Then she produced the PSP. I learned a valuable lesson that remains with me today: heartfelt honesty easily trumps childish entertainment.

Alien Observer An Observer in the World As an observer of the nature, I clearly know that a small leaf in front of my eye can shut down the whole mountain behind it. Physically, people's sight cannot penetrate that leaf; mentally, our minds tell us that the other side is unknown. As we take away the leaf, we may see the mountains, but we still have no sense of what lies behind the mountains, maybe a vast ocean or a rural village. It is simply direct to make the assumption that we, without any tools, cannot visualize both the impenetrable object and scenes behind it simultaneously. This situation frequently happens but is easily ignored because people are always in a hurry and they do not want to hesitate and stand quietly to perceive what a leaf can tell them. People who urge to see the hidden treasure often find another piece of leaf, physically or mentally or both.

I would always be willing to climb a mountain that is surrounded by clouds which provide a unique degree of uncertainty and derive a deep sense of longing in my heart. I would not try to penetrate clouds to see the pinnacle not only because this daydream has been proven impossible, but also because I'm not in a hurry. Slowly wandering on a small trail; quietly whispering with metrical wind; lifting my head to catch pieces of green in my eyes --- all these elements were attracting me and adjusting my paces. Pass-by people usually greeted me with the same question: what is up on the pinnacle? When they found out my indifference about the scene behind the clouds, they left as I was an odd traveler.

Finally, a boy stopped my feet, saying:" Oh, I guess heaven is behind the cloud, how about you?"

At that instant, I was pleased by his longing face, not like other faces anxiously wondering at every piece of mystery.

Instead of answering, I pointed to a leaf in front of him: "what can you see behind the leave?"

What truly shocked me is the fact that the boy did not cheat to move the leaf. He deliberated and said:" I cannot see unless I move the leaf." The answer did not show a bit of disappointment.

"It is not necessary to move it. The leaf in front of you did not shut your eyes. Look around, what else can't you find here of great nature? Instead, this leaf did open a new door, called imagination. It created a heaven for you even though there might be only several rocks behind it."

We kept talking and were surprised when we reach the pinnacle. How bright the sunshine is! The clouds flew in a golden sea. Again, people asked me: "Was it raining on the way here?" I would not answer because my eyes could not penetrate clouds. "If it is raining, it is

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a golden rain." I saw lights coming into my eyes as I opened my arms and hugged my dream. Clouds were still there but my heart was lifted far over them.

As the boy and I walked down again, we saw that tree again. The boy pointed at the leaf and excitedly smiled at me. Yes, it is not important to simultaneously perceive what is known and what is unknown. With unknown world, our imagination opens; with unknown mystery, our hearts can fly through thousands of miles to the heaven; with unknown future, we will enjoy every step on the road and strive until future itself reveals. How did Newton find gravity? How did Hawking depict the whole universe? How did Einstein interpret the speed as high as that of light? Nature put leaves on their eyes and their imagination started the greatness of science.

Clouds left as the sun set, and the boy left without finding out what was truly behind the leaf. But he was not sad because he had a heaven behind it.

I sat in my father's car, looking into the dark sky. "What is behind the dark sky?" My mother thought she made up a question that had no correct solutions.

"Another day, an energetic day with sunshine all over my world. That is what I see."

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Brand new by Wyatt Clark and Trevor Schrier

Brand new scaly shoes, They were easy to choose.

The ferocity of the beast Is transferred to me with every stride.

Standing majestically, boasting its pride.

I stand by its eggs, no need to hide, I jump on its back, expecting a ride.

But the beast is wild and does not abide.

Wyatt is too slow as the alligator lunges, Into the afterlife he surely plunges.

Poor old Wyatt turned into lunch.

Now I’m wearing Wyatt’s shoes.

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Delicatessen by Trevor Schrier Slimy, sluggish creatures, Contained in a shell, leaving behind a trail.

A small creature, moving slowly through odd places, seeing new things with unfamiliar faces.

Taken out of its shell they become creatures of disgust, sometimes found in oxidized places with rust.

Drenched with pesto, eaten with a special fork, I wish it was sold more in New York.

Full of protein, A great way to get lean, But killing an animal can be viewed as mean.

In America we call them snails, In France they are called escargót.

They hang onto rails.

If you’ve never had them you wouldn’t know.

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by Diego Duran-Ballen

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Taco Night by Ian Riley Ding Dong It’s the chicken. he crossed the milky way to get here so you should at least answer the god damn door. it’s only polite and Decent Dummy.

Don’t Direct your anger at him! how could he have known that you were watching the game?

He only likes electro-magnetic golf anyway.

That’s what he plays on Salsa Secundus! he’s not too good, since the Game is Opposable thumbs required.

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Hasta mañana by Mario Benedetti (1920-2009) Voy a cerrar los ojos en voz baja, voy a meterme a tientas en el sueño.

En este instante el odio no trabaja para la muerte que es su pobre dueño la voluntad suspende su latido y yo me siento lejos, tan pequeño que a Dios invoco, pero no le pido nada, con tal de compartir apenas este universo que hemos conseguido por las malas y a veces por las buenas. ¿Por qué el mundo soñado no es el mismo que este mundo de muerte a manos llenas?

Mi pesadilla es siempre el optimismo: Me duermo debil, sueño que soy fuerte, pero el futuro aguarda. Es un abismo.

No me lo digan cuando me despierte.

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Until Tomorrow by Mario Benedetti. Translation by Tomas Diez-Canedo

I'll close my eyes in a low voice, I'll jump blindly into a dream.

In this moment hate doesn't work for death, who is his poor owner will suspend his heartbeat and I feel far away, so small that I look to God, but I don't ask anything of him, only to barely share this universe we have gotten for the worst and sometimes for the best.

Why is the world in dreams not the same as this world full of generous death?

My nightmare is always optimism: I go to sleep weak, I dream that I'm strong, but the future holds. It is an abyss.

Don't tell me when I wake up.

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War Zone by Lindsay Theobald

I looked out my window From the safe confines of my castle. A car whizzes by, a feathery missile drops from the sky and picks at an open wound in the injured ground revealing the open sores to fester and scab.

I wanted to help in the struggle and give the underdog a hand but he was gone in an instant.

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Everything but Nothing by Michael Yan Guo The wind is howling angrily at my window.

So are lives in the wind, missing this lonely soul.

Who’s that speaking? And what on earth am I hearing?

Shut off my mind, I take that as daring.

Peace can be found in the midst of all the sounds.

Company is sometimes kept, when no one is around.

Be it you, or me, he or she.

Be it lies, or truth, a way to peace.

Where do your thoughts wonder When there is nowhere to saunter.

All I wanna be, O, all I wanna be.

All I wanna be is everything, everything all at once.

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The Poem by Skyler Clark

The End And everything in between The Beginning

Story

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Stray Shot 2013