Magazine. Of. Creativity. Volume 37. 2012-13. Faculty Advisors and Judges ......
Cassandra only ate chicken breast and she only ate a small portion of cornbread
...
SYZYGY
East Mississippi Community College Magazine of Creativity
2012-13
2
SYZYGY
East Mississippi Community College Magazine Of Creativity Volume 37 2012-13
Faculty Advisors and Judges Marilyn Y. Ford Derrick Conner Terry Cherry Scott Baine Lisa Spinks —With special thanks to all faculty members who helped students submit their work.
All works in this issue of Syzygy were submitted by students of East Mississippi Community College as original works. Syzygy claims no responsibility for incidences of plagiarism. The views expressed within are solely those of the artistis and not the institution.
EMCC does not discriminate on the basis of race, color, national origin, sex, disability, or age in its programs and activities.
3
Awards of Excellence Betty Killebrew Literary Award of Excellence “The Hive” by Charles T Salazar Poetry Winner “War and Piece” by Dane McCulloch Fiction Winner “Mr. Grins” by Matthew Chandler Drama Winner “A Chance Meeting” by Ben Stephens
Bill Lauderdale Art Award of Excellence “Denim Couture” by Isabelle Gerard Drawing Winner “Balloons” by J. T. Miller Painting Winner “Still Life” by Isabelle Gerard Ceramic Winner “Pond Tea Set” by Jamie Sciple Photographs Winner “Fog in the Front Yard” by Michal Leanna Williams Special Recognition to Alex Anthony 1st place, 2012, MCCCWA Drama competition 4
Table of Contents The Hive Denim Couture War Piece Balloons A Chance Meeting Pond Tea Set Mr. Grins Fog in the Front Yard Still Life Foretold Paper Bags Men of the Woods Shore Despair A Precarious League Freedom of Death Doubt Starlight Take Two Metamorphic Revival Hanging Balloons Old People Smell Guns of the Somme Monsters Are Ugly Words of Wisdom Koi Time Stargazing at Christmas The Forest Bags If I Could Fly Home Temple Piece Dreaming Again Still Life with Lemon Procrastination Haiku All We Have is Time Heavenly Poem UPC Union Jack Stating the Obvious My Desire Paper The Candle
C T Salazar Isabella Gerard Dane McCulloch J. T. Miller Benjamin Stephens Jamie Sciple Matthew Chandler Michal Leanne Williams Isabelle Gerard Deanna Burt Meekayll Boyd Benjamin Woods Jennifer Dott Dominique Brown L T Gathings Jacob Jordan Matthew Chandler Jennifer Dott Jacob Jordan C T Salazar Meekayll Boyd Kara Daniell Von Karnel Matthew Chandler Cole Golden Tyra Johnson Rose Rickman Matthew Rives Morgan Spivey Benjamin Woods Jerry Hoskins Matthew Rives Hunter Worrell Gladys Bryant Matthew Chandler Seth McFetters Kapri McCrary Kapri McCrary Cole Golden Sean Manders Kyle Summerall Benjamin Stephens Lorenzo Lucious Matthew Chandler
5
7 8 9 10 11 13 14 18 19 21 22 23 23 24 25 34 35 36 37 38 40 41 41 42 44 45 46 46 47 48 49 49 50 51 52 53 53 54 55 56 57 58 59
Awards Of Excellence
6
The Hive Charles Thomas (CT) Salazar Skin flakes away like paper mache, Within the darkness that has swallowed the day. Left there since September, Hiding there in mid-December. Lying there in her hollowed chest, rests a home for the bees. An incubator created from the deceased. Flesh gives way, revealing the colonyEach and every bee, they are happy. The gentle creatures rest upon her skin. Her body a shell, a frozen in time sin. She never felt complete, a lady barren. Her fists clenched, her eyes staring. Blood-clogged fingernails and throat slashed suggests What’s always been the obvious guess. It’s the mantra the family sang When the jury refused to let him hang. Her carcass is taxed by nature. The toll of the weather is a sadistic satyr. She is only a vessel to them, nothing more. The sky weighs heavy with clouds- the rains pour. The bees whisper their necromancy, Echoing throughout the kingdom’s hierarchy. With them she’s come alive, though not quite the same. Like an abandoned house, with staring windowpanes. With the rain her scent has become sour. As time slows, as clocks drip the hour, Obsidian cloaks the aphotic sky. She’s a protector to them when predators are nigh. The sun shines and the trees sway. The ground is littered with her decay. Their low humming is a gentle caress To a disfigured girl in her favorite Sunday dress. Bones become as fragile as glass, As the December winds pass. Now in full bloom are the apple trees. Her memory is carried away with the breeze. In a sickening way, it’s beautiful. Though her skin gray, her existence nonrenewable. The sound of bees... although the rustle of leaves smother She bares a smile. She’s finally a mother. 7
Denim Couture, pastel on paper Isabella Gerard
8
War and Piece Dane McCulloch
From a warm and tropic slumber, I awaken to the sound Of hell released around me, As flaming lead rains down. The scent of Allamanda Was masked with musty smoke. The steel and iron cracking, As Arizona broke. My bunk was at starboard, But ended up at port. With strafing of the zeroes, My direction did distort. I settled on a .50, And fire scorched the sky, Despite my hopes of living, I knew that I would die. Warm waters in the harbor Now hued a chilling red Littered with the living, But shining through the dead. The rising sun’s aircraft Cast shadows on the bay. So many at some moments The world was tinted gray. As quickly as it started, The chaos seemed to end. Surrounded by the lifeless, Both enemy and friend. Although my heart is beating, I am well aware That my soul abandoned me, And left my body there.
9
Balloons, charcoal and graphite on paper J. T. Miller
10
A Chance Meeting Benjamin Stephens The scene is a crosswalk in a nameless New York City style street. The “No Crossing” sign has just lit, and around a dozen people line up waiting as cars begin to cross. Man 1 and Man 2 are standing a few people across from each other, Man 1 slightly behind Man 2. Man 1 glances quickly at the back of Man 2, then glances again longer, tilting over slightly, shuffling up further, a look of surprise and rage growing on his face. He is almost hopping up and down.
Man 1: Hey! (Man 2 remains calm and unconcerned, not looking) Man 1: (Louder) Hey! You! (Man 2 looks around calmly at man 1, as do others) Man 1: That's right! That’s right! knew I recognized your sorry ass! Man 2: I'm... sorry? Man 1: Clive-freakin'-Ericson! Man 2: (Looks around confused) Umm... no? Who? Sorry? Man 1: (Gets next to Man 2, giving him a slight, but aggressive shove) Five hundred dollars!! That's how much that ring was worth! Don't think you're getting off by playing stupid! Man 2: (Starting to look worried and alarmed) Please sir, I'm not sure what's going on, but we can figure this out, no need to get rough. (Brushes himself off) (The crowd around has started to back away, giving them space, a few onlookers gathering) Man 1: (Holds his hand out) Five hundred. Now. In my hand! Man 2: (Reaches into his back pocket) How about I show you something else instead? (pulls out his wallet, and takes out his license to show to Man 1) I'm not who you think I am, but if I see him, I'll let him know you're looking for him. (The sign turns to “Walk” and cars pull to a stop, most of the crowd starts to cross the street, as well as Man 2) Man 1: (Places his hand on the shoulder of Man 2) Whoa, whoa, whoa, there,bub. I
11
know I've seen you before. You've been to Ralph's Pawn, right? (Man 2 Stops and turns around, the two standing slightly to the side as others pass by) Man 2: Yes, I have. Man 1: You were there on the fifth? Last month? Man 2: Yes Man 1: You were there looking for a ring? Man 2: Well, yes, yes I was. Man 1: You looked at the one with the topaz? Man 2: Yes, I did. Man 1: You kept looking at it while I went to the back? Man 2: For a moment... Man 1: You were gone when I got back? Man 2: I had to go, you see…. Man 1: You stole the bloody ring! Man 2: I did not! (The “Do Not Walk” sign has lit up again, another small crowd forms waiting to cross, some paying attention to the two arguing.) Man 1: I come back to the counter, and what do I see? Some schmuck standing around saying his brother Clive was wanting to see me but had to jet. I ask him where the ring was, and he says he doesn't know a damn thing about any ring! Your brother’s in on this as well I imagine! Man 2: (Gets an annoyed, concentrated look on his face) That explains it then. I'm sorry pal, I had no idea. And got no idea who that guy is. He came in shortly after you went to the back. He was telling the truth about one thing though, I did have to leave, so I set the ring on the counter and asked him to make sure you got it back. Looks like he pulled a fast one on you. Man 1: (Grimaces, throwing a fit) I'm gonna find this asshole, and I'm gonna kill 'em! (The “Walk” sign lights up, and Man 1 storms off) (Man 2 stays at the cross walk, watching him leave, a smile forming on his face the further away the man gets. He turns around, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out and looking at a small topaz ring.) Man 2: (To himself, chuckling) So someone showed up after I left then? Lucky me. I almost wish I could be there to see it if that idiot ever finds him. (Man 2 slips the ring on to his finger, and walks along the street, whistling casually.) 12
Pond Tea Set, ceramics Jamie Sciple
13
Mr. Grins Matthew Chandler As far back as my memory goes, I can recall having very vivid dreams. Unfortunately, I’ve also always had a thing called sleep paralysis. These two things combined to make my childhood years a living hell. Most kids fear a monster in their closet, but I grew up knowing that once I fell asleep, that monster would be choking me as I awoke. Most people know it as Old Hag Syndrome, a horrible mixture of being unable to breath and waking hallucinations. Luckily for me, these became less and less frequent as I grew up, and by age 13 I could fall asleep without fear of waking up mid heart attack. The hallucinations didn’t stop, however. When I was young, I learned to scramble for the light switch in under a second flat. After a few hundred of these hallucinations, most of them merely “people” standing in the corner of my room where the shadow was darkest, I lost my fear of them, and would simply watch as they slowly faded away as my brain woke up. There were several that I became familiar with. There was a woman with a clipboard sanding in the doorway to my room. Two men would walk from my closet out the door on other nights. There were even a few instances where I would see an animal of some sort scurry across the floor and scoot under my bed. In time, I figured out that these were not real and that my lucid dreams were simply taking advantage of my groggy mind upon waking. They were repetitive and I found it easy to explain them away once my faculties had returned. Then there was Mr. Grins. I know Mr. Grins better than any of my other shadowy friends. He’s the winter coat and beanie hat that are hung beside my bathroom door. The bathroom light shines through the door and, once my eyes had adjusted, outlined the jacket and hat in the darkness. This made Mr. Grins the most frequent and bold visitor to my room. He wasn’t a shadow or the product of sleepy eyes. The coat and hat gave him real form, and so he wouldn’t go away nearly as quickly as my other visitors. After my fear of the visitors had waned with age, the boldness of Mr. Grins didn’t take me by surprise. It was when he smiled at me for the first time that caught me off guard. Mr. Grins had a smile like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. It seemed to extend a little beyond the edges of his face. More striking than that was the fact that it glowed a bright and shining white. Unlike my other visitors, Mr. Grins didn’t care to stay a fleeting shadow. He would stand near the bathroom, letting the light blur the edges of his body, and eventually I’d see that smile open up. I inspected the beanie after that first smile and, just as I already knew, there were no reflective patches on it, nor were there any light shining from within it. I couldn’t understand why he had smiled at me at the time, but it quickly became as commonplace as my other visitors. I would awaken in the middle of the night, see Mr. Grins, and after a few moments, he’d reveal his glowing white smile to me. 14
You might know that occasional auditory hallucinations go along with sleep disorders. People can hear their name being called, or a muffled conversation happening between people that aren’t there. These were not new to me either. I had heard my name whispered quite a few times, and never gave it more credibility beyond another one of my weird sleep phenomena. This is another place where Mr. Grins stands as the exception. After a few months of seeing him smiling at me, night after night, he decided to have a few words with me. His voice was like no other I had ever heard. His very words sounded like electronic pops and hisses, like that odd area between radio stations. He explained that he didn’t enjoy being quiet, or being ignored. He said that he hated when I would fall back asleep after seeing his “pearly whites.” He wanted to “impress” me. Feeling brave and still thinking that my mind was merely acting up again, I decided to respond. “Oh yeah? Then what are you going to do?” I said smugly, sure that I was talking to a winter coat. That was the night I first saw his eyes. I saw them because he came about an inch away from my own. He had dashed across the room to me and was now staring at me. My heart nearly exploded in my chest, but I was too frightened to move. His eyes seemed to go back forever, never quite ending or reaching any vanishing point. They were pits that God could’ve fallen into and never would’ve made it back out. But he just smiled at me. That same glowing smile I had seen a hundred times was softly illuminating the sheets I was no doubt trembling under. And with that, he slid back across the room and became my winter coat again. I didn’t sleep that night. The following night, I laid awake in bed for what seemed an eternity, eyes fixed on the beanie sitting atop my coat. It must’ve been hours on end, since all I can remember is opening my eyes to find Mr. Grins smiling at me again. He explained that he never meant to scare me, but that he just wanted to prove himself to me. I managed to squeak out an “ok” before he faded away, bidding me farewell as he left. Mr. Grins quickly became a visitor that I expected to see every time I fell asleep. I would wake up to find him standing over me, smiling that same smile I would soon know by heart. He seemed to know all about my life. He’d talk to me about school and my parents as if he were a friend wanting to know more about me, but every question hinted that he knew more than he was letting on. “Why are your parents always gone? Why do you dislike your teachers? When do you think you’ll stop seeing me?” I hadn’t given him any indication of any of these things, he simply knew them already and was allowing me the chance to explain them. He became a became a comfort, a visitor that I could confide in with the assurance of no one else knowing. Mr. Grins always seemed to want to know more about my life. He would ask me questions all night, keeping me up until the sun began to poke through my window. Looking back now, he never told me anything about himself, but kept me occupied with telling him all about myself. We talked like this for months, and I became quite comfortable in his presence. That’s why, one night, it came as such a surprise when he suggested that we have a little fun. Mr. Grins asked me to open my bedroom window. My family owned a massive house built sometime in the early 1800’s. It was planted firmly in the middle of nowhere, about 30 miles into the woods near Selma, Alabama. The windows were large enough to push a horse through. As I followed his simple request, he looked over my shoulder out into our “yard.” Being so far out into the woods, my yard was bigger than 15
anyone’s I could imagine. From my second story window I could see above the trees into a valley several miles away, and at the same time had a view of a huge ridge of mountains beyond it, both completely engulfed in trees. There were no signs of humanity around that house, no lights from a city or trains echoing in the distance. On any given night, I could hear deer, coyotes, and other small furry things going about their nightly routines. There were also frogs and insects by the millions. On some nights, the crickets, cicadas, and pond frogs would all be yelling to each other at the same time. It could be deafening. This is why it struck me like a weight when I peered out into the yard with Mr. Grins and heard absolutely nothing. Not a deer, insect, or frog was making a sound. There wasn’t even any wind to make the trees sing. Everything seemed dead. “Sometimes, when you’re asleep, I imagine that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you imagine hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.” I looked back into his eyes, and then quickly back through the window. Peering down I told him, “It’s a long drop…” As calmly as his voice allowed he replied, “But that’s all part of the fun. You might as well just jump up and down where you stand if you want a short drop.” I toyed with the idea for a second, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by my eyes. “Maybe some other time, I don’t know if I have enough imagination.” I said, starting to back away from the window a little. After just a moment of silence, Mr. Grins’ smile faded and he glided back to his place on the wall. After a moment of thinking that he was gone, I heard, “I’m real enough, aren’t I?” I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Grins often woke me up at night, saying that he’d put a real trampoline under the window. A big one, but one that I couldn’t see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Grins persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump. He wasn’t so fun to talk to anymore. Only a few nights later, I woke to find that no visitors had come to see me, but also that my coat and hat were gone from the wall. After getting up to make sure they hadn’t fallen on the floor, I turned to find the window was open. I peered through it with a tight grip on the sill, to see Mr. Grins out on the lawn, standing in front of the tree line. I walked down the stairs and out the door to meet him, wondering why he was outside my room. Mr. Grins was waiting for me. “I have something I want you to see,” he said. I must have given him a weird look, because he then said, “It’s safe, I promise.” He faded into the trees, and I followed after him. He wasn’t moving fast, but it seemed like he didn’t have to deal with things like branches and sticker bushes the way I did. It was hard to keep up with him, but I was familiar with the woods, so I kept pace. After what seemed like a few miles, I looked out to see that he had led me to a ravine. It was maybe forty feet deep with sheer walls, and much too wide to jump. I don’t remember ever seeing this place during my daylight adventuring. 16
After a short time of looking around, Mr. Grins led me to a place perched high above the ravine. Mr. Grins’ voice seemed almost sad when he said, “This is a very special place. I come here when I need to be alone. The water is always cool and clean.” “Water?” I asked. I looked down over the edge again to try to find what he was talking about. “I can see rocks down there, but no water.” “That’s what makes this place so special. The water is crystal clear. Sometimes I like to swim for hours, just enjoying how pure it is. I want you to jump in with me.” “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m wearing my pajamas and I don’t want to get mud on them on the way back.” I said, trying to come up with any reason to excuse myself. “I’ll jump with you. I promise it’s safe. I’ll hold your hand through the air if you want. You can trust me.” Mr. Grins guided me to the edge, but when I turned around, there was no smile on his face, just those eyes that seemed to peer into my soul. A wave of uneasiness hit me. I didn’t want to be at that place anymore. I wanted to be in my room, under the covers and alone. I feigned being calm for a moment and stammered, “I-I’m going home.” Mr. Grins stood still. The edges of his eyes seemed to come forward to meet me, and I heard his voice scratching around what should’ve been words. He must have seen the terror in my eyes, because that big glowing smile stretched out across his face again. “Very well. Let’s go home.” I couldn’t quite place what emotion was in his voice. Over the next few days, I saw the woman with the clipboard, the two men walking out my door, and the shadowy creatures dashing across my floor, but not Mr. Grins. I’d wake to find the beanie and coat hanging there, not a shadow between them. I felt like I had disappointed him, like I hadn’t been a very good friend. He was there for me for so long, and I had shared so many things with him over our time together. One morning, I decided to try to find him again. I set off into the woods and eventually came upon the ravine Mr. Grins had led me to. I somehow expected to see him waiting there for me, but there was no one around but me. I stood on the spot where Mr. Grins had told me to jump. Looking down into the ravine confirmed my suspicions that night; there was no water, only air and the rock below it. I briefly thought that maybe I hadn’t been imagining hard enough, that maybe if I had trusted Mr. Grins, we’d still be together. Then something small and white caught my eye. I climbed down the shortest wall of the ravine I could find, making sure that I could get back out. I trotted over to where I had been looking and quickly found what I had been looking at. Growing up in the country gave me a very good idea at what I was seeing. Biking along the roads and hiking in the woods had let me find the skeletons of deer, raccoons, turtles, dogs, and even the occasional bird. What I was looking at was none of these things. A fearful glance around revealed what I never hope to see again. I was surrounded by the dusty, dirt covered bones of people. Humans. Children. 17
The police stayed for days. It was one of the few times my parents were together at the house with me. The medley of doctors and investigators that wanted to talk to me was staggering. I didn’t know what to tell them, but I decided to leave out Mr. Grins’ role in all of this. They eventually told me that some of the bones they found were many decades old. Needless to say, my parents decided it would be best to move away from that place. They emptied the house and were ready to leave in two day’s time. “Early enough?” My dad half-heartedly remarked as I climbed into his truck at 4 a.m. The movers had gone ahead of us and we were left to pack a few personal things. Resting my head on the window, I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway, and I saw Mr. Grins standing there in my bedroom window. He stayed motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road. As we pulled away, that big shining smile crossed his face one last time for me.
Fog in the Front Yard Photography
Michal Leanne Williams
18
Still Life, oil on canvas Isabelle Gerard
19
General Contributions
20
Foretold Deanna Burt
She ran so far she could not see, Could scarcely move and hardly breathe. She had raced through the flower beds, And tried her best to keep her head. Her dress now tattered and torn, By the rose bushes and their thorns. This place was sheer beauty by day, But night stole its beauty away. She found the statue that pointed the way, To the little bench, that was her hideaway. She sat and pondered how just one man, Could end it all with just one plan. He came with a slight of hand, To take their lives and rule their land. The party was supposed to be a celebration, But would now be known as the Romanov humiliation. They trusted a man they did not know, And didn’t heed what they were foretold. And now as the guards draw near, This last Romanov princess trembles with fear.
21
Paper Bags, charcoal
and graphite on paper
Meekayll Boyd
22
Men of the Woods Benjamin Woods
The thermals of summer were calmed by a breeze As we wound about a green-glazed river The current carrying us leisurely under the trees At times three canoes abreast, at another squeezing us to a sliver. None talked; the men of my clan, so conveniently named Alone with the wild whence we’re wrought The hum of the heart of the earth resounding in the vein A vein among veins; a tiny trickle of life in a myriad of troughs. And at the end we sat silently, basking on the gravel-bit bank With thorn-riddled thickets ringing our respite Salty sweat on our bronzed brows and bodies made rank By our endeavor; welcoming the cold coming of night.
Shore Jennifer Dott She is there upon the cliffs, a perfect picture of serenity. The angry waters crash the cliffs and shores. Ahead, a ship sails the merciless seas, She recognizes the sail, She’s seen him out there as each storm comes. She’s waited so long to speak to him. 23
Despair, charcoal on paper Dominique Brown
24
A Precarious League L T Gathings It was the summer of 1777, a year after America’s formal declaration of independence. Nevertheless, George Herman was furious. He was the largest land owner within two hundred miles with more slaves than anyone else in North Carolina. However, three of those slaves were gone. Apparently they’d taken off some time during the night. As far as the fifty-three year old lord was concerned, two of them were incidental. He’d have them killed upon their return as examples. It was the one by the name of James that he considered a loss. James was the most robust, muscular and handsome slave perhaps in all of North Carolina. His offspring not only proved to be as fine a worker as he, but they also fetched a dandy price on the open market. Even in his late-thirties, James still had plenty of strength in his back and several years of breeding left in him. There was no way Herman was just going let James get away. A twentyone men crew and five of the finest hunting dogs led by Arnold Gentry had been hired to bring the prize slave home. Nevertheless, there was reason for concern. It was almost noon, yet Herman’s runaway slaves had not been returned. Gentry had a reputation for bagging his quarries within three of four hours. In the case of James and the others, it had been almost five hours since Herman contracted the reputed tracker with no word one way or the other. Herman was shrewd man. Three uneducated slaves could not have gotten very far on foot without shoes, food and some kind of guidance. Someone else was involved in the escape of his slaves. There had to be. He was determined to know who it was. Everyone would be questioned. The first to be questioned were the field slaves. Next were the white men who oversaw the slaves. Then there were his children: two sons and a daughter. George II was twenty-three. Peter was eighteen rapidly nearing nineteen. Drucilla was thirteen with a keen mind. Not one of them confessed to aiding in the escape or having any knowledge of it. “Someone knows something!” the regal master of the manor raged from his study. “Diana!” Upon his beckoning a charming, bright-eyed fortyish copper-skinned black woman wearing a long dress and a bonnet entered the room with her head bowed, “Massa George?” “You and James were pretty thick. Did you notice anyone whispering to him or stealing away with him? Speak up now,” the irascible gray-headed landowner inquired. “Nah suh.” “Damn it, Diana, don’t you hold out on me now. This is serious. If I discover that you know something, I’ll have you whipped.” 25
“Massa, I works in the house, memba? James worked in the fields. Onliest time we ever said a word to one ‘nother wuz when I tooks them fresh water.” “Uh-huh, water,” he shook his finger as though an idea had found him. “When you take the water out today, I want you to listen carefully. If you hear anybody saying anything about James, John or Jude, you report to me, you understand?” “Massa, you knows likes I does that the field slaves don’t likes to me much.” “Nevertheless, if you hear anything, come and report it to me. I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” the black suited lord commanded and then left the room on a cane. “Yes suh,” Diana never lifted her head until her master had departed the room. “Oh, I’m sure I can come up with a few things to tell you alright, Master.” Diana was thirteen years old when she was captured and brought to America as a slave some twenty-five years ago. From the moment Herman first laid eyes on her, he wanted her. She was quite attractive as a house slave should be. Her teeth were perfect, her skin was fair. By market standards, he over paid for her, but he got what he wanted. Unfortunately, for him, he’d also gotten more than he bargained for. When she was captured, Diana already knew how to speak, read and write English. That was a fact that she’d never made anyone wise of. She also knew a how to speak, read and write some Latin as well. Her arrival at Herman’s home was only a few weeks after James. James was twelve at the time, another prize purchase for Herman. In accordance with the instructions of the mysterious old white woman who’d taught her in Africa, Diana was selective as to who was made privy to her abilities. There was method to the secrecy. She could ill afford to ally herself with just any slave. Though all the slaves were equally in bondage, some were more easily broken than others. If something went awry and a weak slave was uncovered, he or she would almost certainly expose all others involved. One of those select few who knew Diana’s secret was James whom she’d taught during stolen moments. The idea was that if any of the learned Africans were captured and sold as slaves, other such ones from particular properties were to form tiny groups, no more than four at a time. When the time was right a reader, preferably a male, would escape. In accordance to her master’s orders, Diana took fresh water to the field slaves in the heat of the hot July day fully aware that the master watched from the porch. Herman Manor was a grand structure, a white two story house with nineteen large rooms and a balcony above the porch. It was a house befitting of its master, stately and aristocratic. Parallel to his orders, she carefully listened for whispers and chatter to discover what they knew, not so much as to further her master’s hand but for her own reassurance. Most of the whispers were about her. Many of them, especially the women, were jealous of her station. Not only did Diana not have to work in the sun, but she also had quarters in the house. Some didn’t even bother to mask their envy, scowling as they accepted the glimmering water from the ladle in her unscarred, soft hand. They were unaware that she was a powerful weapon in an effort to liberate their people.
26
She left the fresh water with the white overseer Ramsey Farrow and then returned to the great house where the master stood on the porch with his hat in hand awaiting her report. “Well?” he huffed holding a ledger in one hand and his cane in the other. “They in the dark They-self, massa,” she embellished. “They scared though.” “Scared, scared of what? Speak up, Diana.” “They scared that James and the others gone get caught and hanged, Massa. I is too if you wanna know the truth.” “Oh, somebody is going to swing, but it won’t be James. I’m going give him a whipping he ain’t seen in all his born days, but I am not going to hang him.” Neither Diana nor George noticed the lady Cassandra eavesdropping from one of the windows with a glass of wine in her hand. Cassandra was George’s wife of seven years after his first wife died giving birth to Drucilla. The current Mrs. Herman was forty years old which made her four years younger than the mother of her husband’s children. George II and Peter drove the carriage around to the front of the great house to pick up their father. “Me and the boys have business in town, Diana,” Herman put on his hat and stepped down from the porch. “Tell the mistress that we should be back no later than sundown. If the men get back with my boys, send for me straight away.” “Yes suh,” Diana concurred watching him climb upon his carriage and ride away. As she turned to walk in, she found herself face-to-face with the brown haired mistress of the manor holding a glass of Claret, her second already. “Oh!” she jumped and then chuckled. “You sho’ scared me, Ms. Cassandra.” “Did I?” the blue-eyed Mrs. Herman sneered. “Maybe you were too preoccupied with seeing my husband off.” “Yes ‘um. Massa told me ta tells you—” “I heard for myself, thank you,” Cassandra’s icy eyes tightened. “My husband may dote on you, Diana, but have no illusion I am the mistress of this house.” “Yes ‘um,” Diana bowed to her mistress. “Very well then, I’m ready for my lunch—hop to it now nigga.” “Yes, ‘um, Ima fix it right now,” Diana said and then dashed into the house. Diana escaped quickly into the kitchen where the two elder house slaves were hard at work. Even they took exception to her because she’d given charge of the running of the Herman house though they’d been with the Herman family for over thirty years. However, Diana had cleverly managed to keep their envy from becoming out-and-out hatred by showing them the utmost respect. Whenever Diana was forced to enforce a house policy of some kind, she always made it obvious that it was out of duress. “Essie, Belle—Ms. Cassandra wants me ta fix her lunch.” “Why she told you? Ain’t that’s our job, lessen we ain’t here no ‘mo, and looks ta me lacks we here,” Essie the shorter heftier dark skinned woman with a head full of grey hair replied.
27
“I tell you why. She on the warpath again, that’s all that is,” Belle the lighter skinned of the three with salt and pepper hair commented. “She don’t likes that child right there. Massa George pays her too much a‘tention. When she gets likes that all us gotta suffa.” “I done told you once, Ima tell you a‘gin. Someth’n diffent ‘bout you. That’s why Massa George always fancied you and that’s why the white tu’nado don’t likes you none. Keep yo’ head down,” Essie directed her remarks toward Diana stirring a pot. “Yes ma’am, I thank y’all—” “Ma’am? High many times we done told you not to ma’am us?” Belle huffed. “Be having that white snappin turtle in here at our foots liken she at yours.” All three women shared a belly laugh and then abruptly returned to their duties. The elder woman had cooked fried chicken, yams, green beans and cornbread. Diana was careful to prepare the lady of the house’s plate just as she liked it. Cassandra only ate chicken breast and she only ate a small portion of cornbread in an attempt to remain trim for her husband. Once the plate was ready, Diana hummed a gospel hymn as she placed it on the table where her mistress always sat. “I’m sure there are days that you’d like to poison it or at least spit in it,” a voice startled Diana from behind. “She does check, you know.” It was Drucilla Herman. She was the brightest of Herman’s children, thirteen going on thirty he often joked. She had her mother’s blond hair that was always in tight curls and usually partially under a bonnet. As the youngest child, she envied her father’s wife and everyone knew it. “I admire her as a lady and all, but I hate the way she treat the slaves, especially you.” “Don’t you fret yo’ ‘lil head o’vr that, child,” Diana smiled at her. “You’re different, Diana.” “Diffent?” Diana chuckled. “How’s I diffent, Ms Drucilla?” “You’re smarter than the others, I can tell.” “Chile, I is jussa slave work’n in yo’ daddy’s house, that’s all. Now why you ain’t with the guvniss?” Diana shook her head. “She wearies me, Diana. I’m smarter than she is,” Drucilla replied quickly and then resumed their previous conversation. “As I was saying before, there’s something about you, your eyes, you don’t look at other people. You always seem to be studying them.” “Lord…out of the mouth of babes and sucklings…” Diana chuckled under her breath and shook her head and then turned toward the kitchen for the mistress’s water. “What did you just say?” “Um—noth’n, just someth’n I heard some women say in town one day. Go on and study now,” Diana responded hastily entering the kitchen. She knew better than that. For twenty-five years she’d been careful and cautious to keep her thoughts and her language as well as her words regulated. The only time she ever read was when everyone was asleep, which was also the only 28
time that she prayed. Even though she was sure that the quote she’d just recited was under her breath, it was still a very careless maneuver that might’ve ended in disaster had it been in the presence of Drucilla’s stepmother. Once in the kitchen she poured the mistress a glass of water from the pitcher prepared by the elder women. “Don’t know why you waste yo’ time wit that water…” Belle snickered. “Aman, know she keeps her a glass o’ spir’ts with her at all times,” Essie finished the joke. All Diana did was smile at their commentary and walked out of the kitchen. As she re-entered the dining room, she found Drucilla still standing next to the table joined by Cassandra. “Oh!” “Did I startle you again, Diana?” Cassandra smirked holding yet another glass of wine. “For some reason I seem to have that affect on you.” There was something about the look on their faces, something wrong, something evil. It was as if they were in some kind of agreement, in an unholy league with one another. Diana was unnerved but careful to not to let it show. “I is just branging yo’ water, ma’am.” “And quoting scriptures, eh?” Cassandra sneered like a viper. “Scrip’res, what scrip’res, ma’am?” “Don’t play games with me, Diana,” the mistress quipped and then took another sip from the glass. “Drucilla herself heard you quote a scripture.” “What scrip’res is that, ma’am?” Cassandra paused and then looked to Drucilla, “Uh…it’s in the Bible somewhere!” “Psalm eight,” Drucilla was quick to bail her out. “Yes! That’s what I was trying to say, Psalm eight! From the lips of a child or som…” “Ise din know it was a scrip’res, Ms. Cassandra. That just someth’n I heard a white lady say in town one day.” “Liar! I should’ve known it. All these years you’ve acted dumb like the other niggas but there was always something about you…” Cassandra paused as if a thought came to her. “You know something about James escaping, don’t you? You were probably in on it.” “Nome, I din know ‘til you did, I do swear.” “Oh, you are lying,” the mistress shook her finger. “Drucilla, go and fetch Ramsey Farrow right now.” “Oh no! Oh please not that, Ms. Cassandra! I is tell’n you the truth!” “We’ll soon see, won’t we?” Ramsey Farrow was the chief overseer for Jorge Herman and had been for the last twenty years. A veteran of the Revolutionary War, he was thirty-six year old and short with a penchant for whiskey and tobacco. Whenever a slave was to be disciplined or on rare occasion killed, the task fell to Farrow. He was a sadist who relished any opportunity to torture slaves. Ramsey dragged Diana out of the great house kicking and pleading with the other house slaves on the back porch, the field slaves and overseers gathered around 29
as well as the two women of the house following. It took a powerful blow to Diana’s face with his fist to make her manageable enough to bind her to the big tree that had been designated for whipping. Once her wrists were bound with a rope that snaked around the tree, Diana was helpless. Before today, the closet that she’d ever been to the dogwood known as the whipping tree was passing it to hang out wash. She’d witnessed several others whipped while tied to musty tree. The hot July breeze blow on her naked back as Ramsey took a fistful of her collar from behind and ripped her dress open. “Tell me what you know about James and the others, Diana!” Cassandra demanded with a look of superiority still holding her glass. “Fess up and it might just go well with you.” “I swares, Ms. Cassandra, I’se don’t know noth’n! Please don’t let Mr. Ramsey whoop me!” With a nod from the mistress, Ramsey cracked the handmade whip on the nakedness of the house slave’s back. It was the first time in the twenty-five years that Diana had been on the Herman estate that she’d ever been whipped. Her scream was bloodcurdling. Her delicate hands grabbed for bark as the toes of her bare feet grabbed grass and earth. Cassandra, on the other hand, seemed almost aroused by the scream of the one person she loathed above all. She took a sip from the goblet that she’d holding since the first morning light and tried to decide which was the most satisfying. With each crack of the whip Diana pleaded relentlessly and sobbed like a child. Even the slaves who felt contempt for her couldn’t help but pity her. Drucilla who seemed so very desperate to please her stepmother turned her face away. After six stripes Diana was frenzied. She gyrated and pulled against the rope but Ramsey’s knot was too good. Sobbing and bellowing made for incomprehensible sounds that were almost certainly pleas. Everyone from Ramsey to the younger slaves had noticed that Cassandra was no longer making inquiries of Diana. It had finally boiled down to what it was all about in the first place, hatred. She drank the last of liquor from her glass and savored the angst of her husband’s favorite slave. Ramsey pulled back for a seventh blow when a familiar voice intervened, “Enough!” All eyes, with the exception of Diana who could hear nothing beyond her own crying, fell upon the master of the manor. He was flanked by his two sons with the expression of an angry god on his face. “I demand to know what the hell is going on here this instant!” His drunken wife was first to break the silence as she began toward him, “George, my love, why have you returned so soon?” “Damned if we weren’t half way there when I discovered that I had picked up the wrong ledger,” he growled looking at the striped bared back of his choice slave. “Now tell me why Diana is tied to the whipping tree. Tell me now, Cassandra!” George! I discovered that she the one who helped your best slave escape!” “What are you talking about? Speak up, woman!” his voice finally penetrated Diana’s crying. 30
“Massa…oh massa please…don’t let ‘em whoop me no ‘mo!” “She can read, George!” Cassandra pointed backward at the helplessly bound slave. “Oh, massa, please…!” Diana sobbed writhing in pain. “Please help me… please, massa!” Herman walked passed his bride and to his house slave of twenty-five years, “What is this nonsense about you being able to read, Diana?” “Massa, I…nev’r…I can’t…!” her words blended with sobbing. “She quoted a scripture, George!” Cassandra added. “If she can’t read, how does she know scriptures?” “Scriptures?” “Massa, I swares…I nev’r…!” “And you heard this for yourself, Cassandra?” “Well, no…but your daughter…sweet Drucilla did, didn’t you?” Cassandra anxiously turned to the thirteen year old. “Please, massa…” Herman turned toward his only daughter with furrows in his brow, “Is it true, Drucilla? Did you hear Diana quoting scriptures? Be quick about it, child.” “Oh, father, how it pains me so to be the one to tell you this…” Cassandra smirked toward her husband with her blue eyes narrowed and gleaming with alcoholic justification. “I never heard Diana quoting scripture. Cassandra made all of that up, daddy. She’s the one who helped James and the others escape and then tried to blame it on poor Diana.” Cassandra’s mouth fell agape, “What? But you told me…Why you little treacherous…” “Hold your tongue before you lose it,” Herman warned his wife and then returned his attention to his daughter. “Go on, child, go on.” “Don’t you see, George, she’s lying…” was as much interruption that Cassandra could utter before her red faced husband backhanded her to the ground. “I said go on, Drucilla!” “She didn’t just help them run away, father…she made them run away.” “What…made them? Why? To what end? Come on, child.” “She had relations with James to get back at you for you and Diana. She wanted to cause you pain. So she sent away your best slave and had your second best slave devalued.” “Oh my God! George, please! She’s ly…!” Cassandra hesitated from the ground short of calling her stepdaughter a liar again. “She’s just a child…please George…” “Drucilla, I asked you this morning if you…” “I know how much you love Cassandra, father. I just didn’t want to be the one to… But when I saw what she was trying to do to you, I just…” the teenager threw her arms around her father and pretended to cry. “It true, massa!” Diana weighed in still crying. “Ise sorry but it true! Ms. Drucilla tell’n the truth ‘bout Ms. Cassandra ‘n James!” “Why you treacherous lying…!” flabbergasted Cassandra gasped still holding her cheek. 31
“One more word out of you, Cassandra and I’ll have you tied to this tree next!” “I’m sorry, father. I know you thought that she was a lady,” Drucilla lowered her head. As his daughter put on a performance worthy of Shakespeare, Herman leered down at his tearful wife, “Essie!” he called to his eldest house slave. “Yes suh?” “Help this woman to pack her things so that Mr. Ramsey here can escort her off my property!” “YES SUH!” “No! George, please…I have nowhere else to go,” Cassandra pleaded on her knees. “I could care less where you go, trollop, as long as your destination is off my property.” “George! Peter! Cut Diana loose from this tree and help her into the house,” Herman ordered with his daughter still attached to him. “Do it now, boys.” “Yes sir.” George II replied as he and his brother moved to comply. He pulled Drucilla away from his body, “Drucilla, do you think you can help Belle see after Diana’s wounds?” “Yes, father,” the child replied with her head down. “Father, I’m sorry that all of this happened.” “Don’t you fret about that,” he replied and then gave her a hug. “Just help Diana.” It was a slow process getting Diana to her quarters. Her feet dragged more than stepped with an arm over each of the Herman sons’ shoulders. Minutes that seemed like hours eventually found her face down her bed that had never been quite as inviting. The young men left the women to tend to the worse-for-wear house slave. “Ima fetch sum warm water, Ms. Drucilla,” Belle said and then exited the room. Drucilla gently wiped the tears from Diana’s face, “There, there…it’s all over now. I’m sorry you had to endure that, Diana. Still, it was worth it to get rid of Cassandra. With her gone, I’ll be the mistress of the house which was my mother’s dying gift to me. That is until George II marries, eh?” Though Diana’s wounds still stung, she was careful not to respond in any manner to the little vixen primarily responsible for her travail. Diana had always known Drucilla to be a bright child but, like Cassandra, she’d gravely underestimated her deviousness. In twenty-five years Diana been very careful yet in one brief moment, one arrogant slip of the tongue she’d played right into the hands of the thirteen year old whose shrewdness exceeded that of her father’s. “Oh, and Diana, I discovered something just now. Once my father returned, you had to know that you’d be freed from that tree. Yet you lied with me to get rid of Cassandra. You and I know that you did quote Psalm eight perfectly which means you can probably read. I can’t prove it. Then again, I couldn’t prove anything that I said out there and my father believed it all didn’t he?” 32
“Whatchu trying ta say, Ms. Drucilla?” Diana moaned. “You can stop the slave talk with me, Diana. Eavesdropping on father and Cassandra has given me ears like a cat as well as an insight into the adult mind. I heard you quote that scripture in perfect English. I’m saying that if you did help James and the others escape, you needn’t worry. When I lied on your behalf, I made myself an accomplice to whatever you’ve done. I’m in league with whatever you are up to. So, if you’ll help me keep any future step-mothers or ladies of the manor away, I’ll look the other way as long as mishaps are infrequent enough not to bring too much inconvenience upon my father.” After being whipped for the first time, Diana was understandably cautious. It was her turn to study the teenager as she’d obviously studied her. Those honeydipped words and that pleasant tone of the youngest Herman were laced with deadly venom. Pretending to be pre-occupied with the pain which was not much of a stretch, the slave who’d raised Drucilla from birth offered no reply. “Diana, I’m not a dolt like my brothers or a drunken dunce as was Cassandra. I know that slavery of the Negro won’t last forever. You’re proof of that. Someone has taught you and taught you well. Whoever it was is a much better teacher than my ninny of a governess, Mrs. Hornbook…” As the pain persisted, Diana took in every word of the teenaged mistress carefully weighing the precariousness of the contract that Drucilla had offered her. “One day every Negro will be able to read and eventually revolt or at least rise above his station. Just look at what America has just achieved. However, that will never happen in your life time or mine probably. Take comfort in that James has most likely escaped. It has never taken Arnold Gentry this long to catch a runaway. So whatever the purpose of your league with him, it will most likely succeed. You see, Diana, I am no idiot. Therefore, I ask you not to treat me as much.” The conversation ended abruptly as Belle re-entered room carrying a steaming wash basin with two dish towels protecting her hands. Drucilla stood up and made room for Belle to minister to her fellow slave. “Take good care of her, Belle,” Drucilla uttered as if distraught. “I don’t know what I’d do without Diana.”
33
Freedom at Death, ink on paper Jacob Jordan
34
Doubt Matthew Chandler
In an evening field, in quiet repose, So low and calm my body finds sleep. Under stone carved and named so familiar, And after the elegy by voices so meek. Soon in my sleep, ‘til then deferred, I met two foes held long at bay. They were no threat when I drew breath And stood alert midst my waking day. In life, my fire would make them flee, But now I lay in helpless rest. One proclaims my faults. The other, his strength. And both weigh burden upon my chest. And soon I began to doubt myself, Which opened wide a long sealed door. That ancient and keen monstrosity Was upon me, lest I brood no more. I saw myself as he wished me to, A failure in most brazen robes. And I desired to wash clean of myself, To escape this mind he freely probes. He exposed my true and deepest thoughts. At my guile, he laughed and did decry, And proved to me it’s shallow worth, And I knew the fool exposed was I. Fear then clutched me, held me close, And made sure I did see his eye. What he unveiled, I won’t convey, That nearly stirred me where I lie.
35
He showed me things that have no name, That grew before the light and dark, That do not know of time or age. Now to spare my mind, I hold remark. His horrors struck my helpless soul. He spoke in floods against my heart. With no allies near I lost my hope, And drowned amidst his blackened art. I paid for my life’s arrogance, I have reaped what I have sown. These fiends have taught me quick and well With the terrors they have shown. My humbled shell could not withstand Their coupled strike against my soul, But sermon taught, they left my grave, And rest returned and washed me whole. So under stone and dirt I lie. My soul at rest, though now deposed. I won’t forget what I have learned In this evening field, in quiet repose.
Starlight, a double acrostic Jennifer Dott
Sometimes I stare up at the starS There I'd stand deep in thoughT Alone. Like a lone wolf seeking her alfA Right before the moon rises from afaR Light seeps through the clouds. An angeL I started to smile for there is nothing as sweet as I Grey clouds over my head are gone. CryinG Happily, I wait for the moon to be higH There I will dance beneath the starlighT 36
Take Two, linocut Jacob Jordan
37
Metamorphic Revival, in 3 parts Charles Thomas (CT) Salazar I. I struggled to swallow sickness and sorrow but regurgitated it all over my composure. These emotions are bulimic and I tried to mimic a sunflower-- how it only smiles under sunlit exposure. With no true medicine, my thoughts and my skeleton wander like a vagabond and drift into an ill-fated smolder. I fell in the cracks of my heart, I was torn apart like a brittle leaf dreadfully dwelling in late October. Suffering pulsated in brief. Still I clothed myself in grief and longed for Joy to crawl closer. But happiness I found in creation; in nature’s salvation I obtained the antidote when I escaped my enclosure. II. Greet me like Spring would meet Winter-An embrace of warmth In a drafty place. I need to rest here and heal. Let the lament leave And relief find my face. An empty birdcage my heart was Rusted and without song; Falling apart at the seams. Turn the gears of this clockwork spirit, Brush the stale, stagnant cobwebs away. Delightful as honey, becomes my dreams.
38
Lost in the maelstrom my mind was. But I am now in the shadow Of the albatross’s wings. The sun kisses the horizon. Dusk takes her light with her as she leaves. The night wind and I collide as my soul sings. III. Child, break from your cocoon under the new moon. Rise! Higher than the teal waves of the sea! Let your heart riot with the fury of a typhoon. Together we are stronger than an oak tree; impenetrable are we. Dismantle what your doubt was built upon. Go, my breeze and my melody will be with thee. Your strength will stretch from the Orion to fields under the horizon. Let yourself gleam with gallantry like an armored knight. Yet be as resolute as the wind that my leaves dance on. In this resplendent light you shall wield bountiful might. In the harvest of shadow, your knowledge is nightshade-toxic. The chrysalis is complete. Be that which is bright. I am the Mother of the archaic. She that whispers the enigmatic. Your obstacles shatter like bone-- shake under their tombstone. Little one, your spirit is reborn from ash. A heart that is volcanic. A labyrinth your mind was to disown, but let my peace atone. Now stand, to show these mountains how you’ve grown.
39
Hanging Balloons, charcoal and graphite on paper Meekayll Boyd
40
Old People Smell Kara Daniell Von Karnel Everyone knows about old people smell It’s strong and pungent and you can always tell A strange casserole baking, mouthwash, or moth balls, It’s everywhere, all around, even in the walls A mixture of things today’s generation has no clue I think even bingo chips may have scent too! An ancient couch with smells from every previous year And if it’s an old man, there may be a hint of tobacco and beer No matter the elder you can always tell That distinct overpowering odor that I call the “Old People Smell ”
Guns of the Somme Matthew Chandler
I hear now the thunder gun’s choir, versed well in songs of wrath, as sixty thousand of my Tommy lads lie, threshed down as wheat on the first day of harvest. The faces, eyes, names are blurred to me as much by denial as number. The dirt of our tomb rises around me and the living I share it with now. It meets me early in preparation for what no one here could stall. Their bodies, the shells, stacked around us conserve the graves for those alive. Lungs cough red and eyes wash white with the gas that befalls us nightly. I know my heart desires to feel the strike of lead glowing warm within it. “Escape, escape, escape from this place! Know peace!” it cries to me. I would gladly follow the million others felled for these six miles of trenched death around me, if only for repose. The trocar of fear pierces my heart as the black veil of silence falls, but my pen leaves now, as does my hope; the bell rings and we charge again.
41
Monsters are Ugly, a children’s story Cole Golden Monsters are ugly. Monsters are mean. Some have 5 eyes. Some are big and green.
But she never got ugly, And she never got mean. She was the least scary monster Anyone had ever seen.
There are vampires and werewolves, Goblins, ghosts, and ghouls, But in Monster Land, The Zombie family rules.
But like every monster Ellastein was chosen for a kid; She went under the bed, And that’s where she hid.
They were like royalty, A queen and her king, But were without child Until the stork did bring
Ellastein waited ‘til dark As the girl tried to sleep, Then from under the bed Ellastein did leap.
A baby monster princess So itty-bitty. They unwrapped their baby, And she was… PRETTY?
She roared, she growled, She howled like the wind. She even made an ugly face, But the little girl grinned.
No fur, no warts, No horns on her head? How could she scare kids While they’re lying in bed?
Ellastein was sad Until the little girl said, “You look like the princess In a book that I read.”
But they named her Ellastein Hoping she could be All of the things A monster princess should be.
Then the little girl showed Ellastein all her books About a princess adored Despite her good looks.
She grew up wanting An evil laugh so bad, Maybe even dragon breath, Or an overbite just a tad.
The story said the princess And handsome prince got together, Then they found love, And it lasted forever.
42
She asked to borrow the book As the little girl yawned. The monster princess said “Goodbye.” And then she was gone. Everyone in Monster Land Was eager to hear Of Ellastein’s first night As a child’s biggest fear. “Did she cry?” “Did she scream?” “Did her mom come and Tell her it was all just a dream?” Then Ellastein showed them The princess tale; She knew in her heart The monsters would wail. But after reading the story The monsters then saw They didn’t treat their princess Like a princess at all. So the vampires and werewolves, Goblins, ghosts, and ghouls Crowned their princess With the prettiest of jewels. And they stopped spooking kids When their pajamas were on; They would even keep them company When they felt all alone. And the princess went back To see her new friend; They laughed and played The night away. The end.
43
Words of Wisdom Tyra Johnson
Slow down, dear chile, You’re movin’ too fast. Live at a steady pace. These days won’t last. You’re too smart to Live life in the street. You have great potential And many goals to meet. Slow down, dear chile, ‘Cause you ain’t grown. There’s still much to learn. You won’t find out alone. Regard the choices you make And the outcomes that proceed. You ain’t ready for adulthood, You must refrain from misdeed. Slow down, dear chile, Youth, you must embrace. It troubles me to think of the dangers you face. Imprisonment or death and All that lie between. You’re unaware of these perils. Still don’t know what I mean? Slow down, dear chile, This is my plea. Change for yourself, Don’t change for me.
44
Koi, acrylic Rose Rickman
45
Time Matthew Rives Time, it seems to slip right through my fingers. It seems to be unattainable and it runs out ever so quickly. Time, how I can really hate thee.
Stargazing at Christmas Morgan Spivey The yellow moon sits in the sky A strong tree branch traps it there A chilly night wind blows by But the tree does not care Grandpa waits, cigar in hand An antsy child at his feet The telescope is patient in its stand Grandpa sighs in defeat Grandpa points into the night “There’s the dipper and the north star.” I look at the sky with delight But I just cannot see that far I start to pout, but he pats my head Then grandma brings us gingerbread
46
The Forest Benjamin Woods I rubbed weariness from my eyes As the dawn filtered through the oaks Damp leaves clinging to my boots and thighs When I left the moss mantled hillock from whence I woke. Only an owl’s fading howl could prick my ear As the silence of a frost-covered forest smothered me And the mute hoofed and grey-flecked deer Was lost in the soft whispering of the wind streaming through the trees. Only telephone poles reminded me, taken by the climbing vine Of a distant, different place of steel and brick And the roads, homes, watertowers and iron tracks I call mine Became a hazy, haphazard fantasy; from some mind cruel and sick I decided to take back my earthly bed so moist Drawing knees to chest; ear pressed close to the ground Drifting away into finite dreams touched by terrestrial voices Never wanting to leave this quiet embrace, this paradise I had found.
47
Bags, charcoal and graphite on paper Jerry Hoskins
48
If I Could Fly Matthew Rives Humans have so many worries, They let life just pass them by. Oh, I would have so many stories, If I could sprout wings and fly. Men suffer wars and famine, They become selfish, then die. They drown out the stress by drinkin’ and jammin’ If I could just grow feathers and fly. You see couples breaking up everyday To move on to the next girl or guy. Singles go running around every which way, If I could just become birdlike and fly. Birds don’t have to deal with all this, They just start to take to the sky. I just want to feel that freedom and bliss, When I take up my wings and fly.
Home Hunter Worrell Tranquil and Peaceful Hidden through the trees Day by day On Thursday nights When the lights come on We shine and shout Because this is our home.
49
Temple Piece, ceramics Gladys Bryant
50
Dreaming Again Matthew Chandler
I had a dream that was taken from me. To dream it again, my reason to be. And while I wait, I sing the tune, So please, just leave me here to sing. Wander close beside the sea, Watch the stars, they dance for me. Why do they, and where am I? If you knew their rhythm, you could see I’m only just beyond the shore. Beneath the waves, I hear them roar, Where moonlight gleams and shines right through For lines of light to waltz on cue. And though this is shallow for me, It’s deeper than you’ll ever be. The darkness speaks to me, it seems, And my mind drifts in obscurity. Does the surf now call to you? I know it does, I told it to. Knee deep now, you feel its pull? Desire so sweet, submergence full. Waves will put you back where you belong, And the sand’s there waiting all along. You’ll stay on the land, fearful still, You’ll want to swim, I know you will. I had a dream that was taken from me. You have no place in that dream I see, And you could never learn the tune, So please, just leave me here to sing.
51
Still Life with Lemon,
oil on board
Seth McFetters
52
Procrastination Haiku All We Have is Time Kapri McCrary
Procrastination This thing could ruin my life I’ll work on it soon
Tick, tock, tick tock: All he hears is the wretched clock. During the day until the sun goes down, the young man is taunted by the haunting sound. “24 hours are not enough! Constantly going sure is tough.” Then, in his room, a specter appears. It’s the ghost who controls his fears. “Take your time,” the spirit said. “It’s all you have until you’re dead. Accept the advice of a wise ghoul: slow down kid; don’t be a fool.”
53
Heavenly Poem Cole Golden
I hit my knees today For an overdue talk with Him, Asked if He'd take His Holy soap and water to my sin. Fear swept me that His reply Would only aim to condemn. Instead, assurance poured down As my wrongs were forgiven. Then the ground shook as He gave a throat-clearing ahem That made me realize I stood Before His throne in heaven. All I caught was a glimpse Of the top of his diadem. In silence I sat waiting For the words to say when I swear I heard angels singing Some lost empyrean hymn Backed with a symphony of Harp strings and a solo violin, Led by a maestro whose name Is surely a pseudonym. I tried to muster the melody As if I had help from the wind, But I failed in my attempt To harmonize with them; There was no alphabetic symbol For the key they were in. When the final note was played To this celestial anthem, I thanked God for His Grace, love, and mercy. Amen.
54
UPC Union Jack, ink on paper Sean Manders
55
Stating the Obvious Kyle Summerall
The stars aren't the only thing that twinkle in the sky Doesn't God forgive us when we do lie Doesn't the sun rise only to watch the moon fall Don't we all answer to someone else's call All the things in life that we think are so sure All the lives we make corrupt and impure Aren't we all trying to reach some sort of promise land All looking for hope in an unknown's outreached hand Searching for someone who can take the pain away Longing for a reason to live another day Some hunt for the moment that will make their names last forever Others just struggle to hold themselves together A few seek refuge inside the realm of thought The rest try to run from life but all eventually get caught Can it really even be called a life if your living on the run Never really knowing if you'll make it to the dawn's morning sun What happens to the world when we all fall asleep Entering a world of dreams we choose to reap To only be awaken to a world where pain is the same as love None looking to themselves but hoping for help from above Will any of us ever know what hides in the dark How many of us will ever get the satisfaction of leaving our mark Being Human does nothing but make us all blind In a world with so many, isn't life the hardest thing to find?
56
My Desire Benjamin Stephens
The best gift that can ever be, A treasure that fills me with glee, Something so very precious to me: A single face, warm with a smile. A joke easily told, Witty retorts so bold, Complements take hold, Every minute, worth my while. Not for any hidden goal, Or to patronizingly console. Simply an act that makes me whole. I'll do anything to coax out a smile. Not wishing to cause ill, Never done for my own thrill, I'm owed no debt, and payed no bill. These acts are not a matter of guile. Some men prefer playful jests, Others say seriousness is best, For me one thing rises above the rest: A woman's face, turned into a smile. Laughter pouring out. Giggles bouncing about. Happiness exclaimed in a shout In my memory these moments pile. I love you, when you look at me, Face alight with resplendent glee. Smiling myself, I think could it be? And your lips curve, forming a smile.
57
Paper, charcoal on paper Lorenzo Lucious
58
The Candle Matthew Chandler
As I sit and watch the candle burn, I wonder what the wax would say. If it hates the flame that hurts it so, Or if it knows the role it plays. It cries and pools beneath the stand. Why must this wretched flame devour, Lay waste to wax’s giving heart, And dance over the tears in power? But… maybe it’s the flame that cries, And wonders why its selfish heart Consumes whomever it is with, And would rather play a gentle part. But it can’t change the fiend it is. Nor can my eyes choose but to see, A beast that loves what it destroys, This flame that hates its selfish greed. It tries so hard to love and hold, Yet burns away what it allies. Until, at last, what it must do When all alone, alone it dies.
59
