spring.
Cover By Xochi Perez
though i’m sure this isn’t the spring anyone planned for, i’m really happy to see everything that we are all still creating. documention is really important, during both the good & the bad times, & especially the weird times. thank you to everyone that submitted their work to be part of this zine. i love the little stories people sometimes include - thank you for letting me take a glimpse into your life. i hope you take in all the images & words that have made this zine. i also hope you are able to find a spark of inspiration to continue to create & document. xox, sophie
Jo Gaffney / Salt Spring Island
Jonathan Roensch / Eugene
The Sweetest Embrace Softly tucked away at my thigh, As he peacefully slept by and by. Gracefully shut, the cocooned eye, Awakening the fluttering lashes — a butterfly. He soared at great depths, arising to the sky, Still caressing my hand as he did when he lie. My sweetest of insects — how lucky am I, To hold you in such tenderness til the very day I die.
- Melisa Rose Miller
Taran Lee Cartwright-Bastasini / San Diego
Some Weekly Fires A vitrified heart hazing our ears with a stream of ashes The steam from a half-finished cup of herb tea for fickle warmth Fingers aching to abolish every young fiber of fellow-feeling Store closing due to hunger pains everything must go like flowing water Balancing nameless change and chaos while buying buckets of pure water in Niger Delta People saying a polite psalm to the paper on cold nights as colored candles fume, fume, fume, and melt Waiting for August visitors with sugary hooks that beat the truth in busy streets A state living with the confidence of a missionary walking right through the pearly gates on life’s evening Nocturnal paeans of communion by young bones against the howls of bystanders and iron hands in neutral devotion.
- Taiwo Aloba / New York City
Kari Trail / Menlo Park
Photo By Jake Joiner / Chicago Model: Crystal Gonzalez Sylist: Nina Kallas
Photos by Jonathan Roensch / Eugene Styling & Modeling by Madi Starr Olsen & Tom Ackery
Luminism I paint my days With golden flakes That shake themselves Free from the stars. There’s crystal canopies Draped above my head, For I’ve been scraping The dirt from my Vapid thoughts & Slowly uncovering my Long encrusted Diamond daydreams. I am to be the Blinding beams found Breaking & entering Lucid storefront windows, Creating unparalleled Golden hour gleams. It takes basking in them To understand that it’s Worlds above & Lifetime’s away Where I wish to Someday hang this Canvas that drips The rich words & images I was brave enough to Drench it with. - Graziella Micklovic / New York
Benji, Melbourne
Jasmine Benedict
Rylee Glazer / Toronto
Butterfly Speak Anxious butterflies escape my tummy Take flight from my tender lips When I speak to you out loud I wouldn’t even dare to capture them They wish too much to kiss your eyelids Explore your long fingers Tickle your cheeks and paint them pink Find safety in your curls Please don’t be startled by them They only want to know you well To be embraced gently by your love In the same way as I - Lexie Stabiae / Seattle
Isadora / Santiago de Chile
Quinn-Luna Mulherin / Salt Spring Island
Carter Bliss / Sacramento
Jonathan Roensch / Eugene
Tillman James / Savannah
Veronica Wolfgang, Brooklyn
Xochi Perez / San Diego
Ann Feletto / Sacramento
Awo Jama / Los Angeles
Jo Gaffney / Salt Spring Island
The Honey Bee and the Flower Oh Honey Bee, Honey Bee, how you sweeten me. My vibrant pedals burst and I smell like herbal tea. I wait so patiently for you to accompany me each day. But after a brief, pollinating visit, you quickly flutter away. Oh, how ignorant am I to think I’m your only flower, And how I envy my competition that I wish I could tower. Oh, how I wish those flowers could wither or rot in their patch. Then our love would be inseparable and we’d be the perfect match. What lonesome grief I feel when your presence isn’t here. But I blossom and bloom astounding joy when you are near. A fickle, a tickle, I get when you pollinate my bud. But now, oh precious darling, you’ve left me a dud. My roots stand firm in my yearning for you. Though I sway in the breeze, my love is never through.
- Melisa Rose Miller / Long Beach
Nat Meier / San Francisco
Giada Caprani / Dublin
Melissa Rose Miller / Long Beach
A Stranger’s Touch He ran his fingers down her golden hair, Nervously trembling the touch, As it glided along her skin. He continued to play with her locks, Intertwining his fingers, In the hair of a stranger’s head. She began to ease with comfort, At the pleasurable touch, That stroked as soft as a whisper. Her head rotated to met his, And instead met with his lips, As they pulsated and surged in waves, Aligned so perfectly together, Just as their bodies interconnected too. - Melisa Rose Miller / Long Beach
Maya Stewart / Nashville
Melissa Rose Miller / Long Beach
Nessa Uy / Orlando
Romeo by Christina / Moscow
Audrey Gretz / Tokyo
3 year anniversary: I remember the way she hated babies. Thought they were horrid little things to the point she was terrified she would hate her own daughters’ face at birth. I remember the seaside restaurant lunches—baskets of hush puppies for me and shrimp ‘n grits for her. I remember slipping into Sunday mass at “halftime” because she had heard enough sermons in her lifetime. I remember the shelves of books I looked at with curiosity and without a spark of interest, grammar dictionaries, history novels, pages full of reality. I remember the sticky note with my name on it. A few promised plates of her delicate wedding china. I remember thinking, “there’s no need for that yet.” I remember boston cream pie and the necessity of wine with grapes before bed. I remember train car bunk beds and silky night gowns packed neatly. I remember delaying visits to sterile halls and foreign rooms where I likely felt one tenth as lost as she did. I don’t remember the end, but I remember a small hospital chapel and a lot of phone calls and 3 years to follow of that same lost feeling. - Audrey Gretz
Kelly de Geer / New York
Carlos Duran
Daniel Leka / Los Angeles
Spring Wells Came Out Mother Earth Smelling Like Roses. Simply put, Mother Earth is taking back her land. And she isn’t asking for permission this time. We’ve done too much to harm her and it’s only so much she can take. We are finally seeing the repercussions from picking on her after all these years. Tampering with things that we don’t know anything about and prodding into the unknown time and time again has always come back to bite us. And humanity as a species is remarkably peculiar because we know our fate upon birth yet we forget our own mortality as we progress in this life. We slowly become disassociated with the natural world, developing an ego that instills us with an unwavering sense of ignorance that doesn’t fade away until it’s too late. Is it too late this time? Is Mother Earth finally coming to her senses and attempting to push us out of her equation? Truth be told I wouldn’t blame her. Regardless, thank you for allowing us a look into your beauty. I aspire not to tamper with the images you’ve created but to manipulate the images of people into your vision. These are the results and I hope you like them. Humans don’t understand, humans gon’ sell a lie Humans gotta survive, we know we gon’ die Nothing can live forever, you know we gon’ try Life, is it really worth it? The algorhythm is perfect, mmh
Shonali Bose / Mumbai
Phoebe Faye / Brisbane
Cali Liu / San Diego
Carla Jamet-Lange / Bochum
Alex Mehiel / California
Alex Mehiel / California
Spring cries, me too weeds rise from my neck bone and my soul starts to bloom Eyes turn from hazel to the hues of marigolds Wounds turn to dust ...and my skin turns to gold - B. Elae, “Chrysalis” / South Bend
“On the Brink of the Third Act” These spring afternoons remind me of what I could’ve had. Living in a fantasy world that one might mistake for the one we live in now, daisies braided into our curls and high-noon sun kissing our skin, we crown sweet tea and strawberries the guests of honor at our Sunday picnics. In my dreams, we are ordered to stay-out-of-home, extend our arms through six feet of neglected space, end our evenings in piles of laughing bodies under the stars. Your head makes a home on my chest, like my heart and your brain were meant to be one. But today, I stare through the window at the new wisteria, jealous of the way they bloom, like Bender, and Ferris, and Samantha Baker. Our reality is not a John Hughes film. Our coming of age story will not be told in promposals and whispers at the lockers in-between classes. Instead, we dig out candles from the back of the cupboards, sing out of sync renditions of ‘happy birthday’ through computer screens, take deep breaths and watch as our lungs fill with fear of the future, of the present. Let paranoia tuck us into bed and kiss us tonight. Yes, during this spring, we face uncertainty, but during this spring, we bask in nothing but time, let patience seep through our bones as we wait for the falling action and the lessons learned.
And search for ways to grow.
- Jessica Vallan / Oakland
Alex Mehiel / California
Rachel Bennett / Seattle
Alex Howard / Berlin
goddess they’ll take comfort in it– one piece of paper; starting down the track second second-
human
laugh when you’re king in a room with no men but be not eager; overzealous; prideful be king - Frenchie Scott / Chicago
Live Proper You always speak of what’s proper this proper that When’s the last time you properly fell flat Or got your fingers sticky with sap from a tree? When did you last feel properly free Or let a rose in bloom bless your nose? You don’t know? I suppose that’s just how it goes When you spend your whole life trying to fit a shoe In a size not tailored for you
- Lexie Stabie / Seattle
Le Quyen Nguyen / Berlin
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Curated by Sophie Gragg
Giada Caprani / Dublin
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