Behind Glass Eyes - Ellensburg School District · 2018. 5. 24. · Fisher Bachman-Rhodes Esperanza...

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Behind Glass Eyes

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Retrospect 2018Behind Glass Eyes

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Eye Project, by Fisher-Bachman Rhodes

Editing TeamGeneral Editor: Aubrey HigdonEditors:

Adri Kingston Ashley HigdonHayden Huffman

Advisor: Jon McClintick

Design TeamLead Designer: Bri LubinskiSupport Designers:

Fisher Bachman-RhodesEsperanza ParkinsTyson Hatfield

PrintingLyle Hancock,Ellensburg School District Print Shop

Cover Art Bri Lubinski

Contest WinnersBest Art: Mother Earth, by Bri LubinskiBest Creative Writing: The Formula for Lead and Balloons, by Aubrey Higdon

Submissions are accepted from current EHS students throughout the year. Email them to [email protected] and in-clude title of the piece and your name.

All past editions of this magazine can be viewed at our web page: https://www.esd401.org/ehs/activities/clubs/retrospect.

Questions? Comments? Email us: [email protected]

The Retrospect Literary Arts Magazine is produced in collaboration between the Creative Writing Club and the Digital Design class of Ellensburg High School.

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Table of ContentsBehind Glass Eyes, by Bri Lubinski - Digital Art ...............................................Eye Project, by Fisher-Bachman Rhodes - Digital Art ......................................Mother Earth, by Bri Lubinski - Digital Art ......................................................The Formula for Lead and Balloons, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .....................Alegra The Destroyer, by James Fujita - Short Story ..........................................Fall, by Emma Clark - Drawing .........................................................................Encompassed, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .........................................................Untitled, by Taylor Bell - Photography .............................................................Haiku, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ....................................................................Haiku, by Raven DiMaggio - Poetry ..................................................................Lightning, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ...............................................................Haiku, by Ava Anderson - Poetry ......................................................................A Sunny Day In Pacific City, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa - Photography .........Model, by Katie Engle - Drawing .......................................................................Hickory Dickory Dock, by Audrey Piacsek - Poetry ...........................................Pop Sonnet I, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ..........................................................Grace, by Breanna Smith - Drawing .................................................................Post Malone’s “Rockstar”, by Thomas Snedeker - Poetry ..................................Thomas, by Zoe Bright - Drawing .....................................................................DVA, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Drawing ..........................................................Pop Sonnet II, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ........................................................Lull Before The Storm (Part II), by Valentyna Belofsky - Poetry ......................Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography .......................................................Evening Sky, by Felice Bello - Photography ......................................................The Poet’s Tree, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ......................................................Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas - Photography ........................................Silver Falls, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa - Photography .....................................Raindrop, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ...............................................................Hey, Colby, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .............................................................Untitled, by Taylor Bell - Photography ..............................................................A Daffodil, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa - Photography ......................................Untitled, by Codie Sullivan - Photography .......................................................Untitled, by Codie Sullivan - Photography .......................................................Static Minds, Silent Sounds, by Greggory Cole - Poetry ...................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................The Riddle, by Greg Cole - Poetry ......................................................................Untitled, by Reese Braman - Digital Art.............................................................Snowfall, by James Kirkham - Short Story.........................................................Hamlet Grieving, by Nicolette Anderson - Drawing ........................................The Background Smorgasbord of the Brain, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .........Demogorgan, by Katie Engle - Drawing ............................................................Step by Step, by Greg Cole - Poetry ...................................................................Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography .......................................................Untitled, by Tyson Hatfield - Digital Art...........................................................Places Like Here, by Valentyna Belofsky - Poetry .............................................Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography .......................................................Sestina - Nature, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ....................................................Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography ........................................................Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas - Photography .......................................Sleep Paralysis, by Allison Cleman - Poetry .....................................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography .................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................Promise, by Naomi Brons - Short Story..............................................................SECOND PLACE, by Shannon Nolan - Short Story..........................................

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Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................Jessica Foley, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Photography ....................................Sincerely, Your Llorona, by Isabel Williams - Poetry .........................................Teddy Bear, by Ben Johnson - Monologue ........................................................Margaret, by Zoe Bright - Drawing ..................................................................Loss Is Something That Is Felt, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ..............................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................Katie, by Amethyst Martinez - Poetry ..............................................................Mixed Emotions, by Rose Vasquez-Cosio - Art ..................................................My Side of the Ditch, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .............................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................Seasons of Haiku, by Cooper Ricard - Poetry ...................................................As Seen By Man, by Steven Szombathy - Photography ....................................Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas - Photography .........................................Seasons, by Shannon Nolan - Poetry .................................................................Black and White, by Hayden Huffman - Poetry ...............................................Caught, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .................................................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ..................................Bitter Candy, by Shannon Nolan - Short Story..................................................High School Love, by Raven DiMaggio - Poetry ................................................Dance Dance, by Katie Engle - Drawing ...........................................................Curled Hair, by Shannon Nolan - Short Story....................................................Wax, by Katie Engle - Drawing ..........................................................................Eye of Curiosity, by Raven DiMaggio - Watercolor .............................................Still Growing, by Charlie Gimlin - Drawing ......................................................Untitled, by Taylor Bell - Photography ............................................................Ugh, Life - A Petrarchan Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson - Poetry .....................Sonnet - A Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson - Poetry ............................................Smoked Eye, by Kristin Raustein - Digital Art ....................................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Art ......................................................Cat, by Zoe Bright - Drawing ............................................................................Untitled, by Haley Rominger - Art ......................................................................No Parking, by Shannon Nolan - Drawing ........................................................Sombra, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Drawing .....................................................Eleven, by Fisher Bachman-Rhodes - Drawing ................................................Camille, by Zoe Bright - Drawing .....................................................................Untitled, by Austin Ketzenberg - Watercolor and Ink.........................................Cigarettes, by Shannon Nolan - Poetry .............................................................Alice, by Shannon Nolan - Drawing ..................................................................A Nightmare of Sorts, by Esperanza Parkins - Digital Art.................................Understanding, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ......................................................Untitled, by Haley Rominger - Drawing ............................................................Untitled by Valerie Lopez-Kirkham - Photography ........................................Abigail, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Drawing .....................................................Untitled, by Valerie Lopez-Kirhham - Photography ........................................There’s No Place Like Home, by Isabel Williams - Poetry ..................................Bike Rack, by Taylor Bell - Photography ...........................................................Black Hole, by Iden Bottcher - Glass Etching ......................................................Spider Man, by Bennett Huffman - Pixel Art ......................................................Technique Bird, by Jared Rojas-Garcia - Digital Art..........................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................Diner Bathroom, by Shannon Nolan - Poetry ...................................................Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ...................................Untitled, by Haley Rominger - Art ...................................................................Kyrre Gørvell-Dahll, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Digital Art.....................

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Best of EHS: Visual ArtAs voted by the Creative Writing Club

Mother Earth, by Bri Lubinski - Digital Art

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Best of EHS: Creative WritingAs voted by the Creative Writing Club

The Formula for Lead and Balloons, by Aubrey Higdon - PoetryIn the world there is a structure to stick to,

A schedule to follow.Society decides how many rocks go in your shoes

to keep balloons for heads from floating astray and being lost, shut away from all life.

The assembly line produces successful lives and order offers a chance that helium can’t give.

Grounded means successful,It means a chance

But it means a weight that keeps us down,Maintains the reject pile,

But you don’t get lost, shut away.

Proposed equation: heavy = happy.

Yet, when you are happy, weight falls away,Gravity subsides to your shine with subtle grace,

And every smile that joins yours brings you higher.And it lifts you away,

Though not away from this space, or these people,Not away from reality,

But away from those who do not cast a ray to meet your light, who do not dare to float.

For they are too far in the dark to exist in your world:The one that’s projected by your eyes as a reflection of you and your love.

The one that tunes out all the noise, To find the music amid the faces of the crowd

And listens, and flies with the smiles and eyes that speak beyond the public con-versation.

The melodies that blend with yours, that compliment with similarity, and change.

And you get lost, shut awayTogether with different colors of elastic.

Less order, less control,But more happiness.

There’s an error in our formula, Maybe we forgot to balance it.

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Alegra The Destroyer, by James Fujita

Alegra stood at the window of a tall sentry in his castle. The sky like an ocean of deep black, he could barely see a thing. That’s when he could hear the flapping of his carrier pigeon’s wings. It grace-fully landed on the edge of the window, offering the message to Alegra. He wasn’t expecting it. Curi-ously, he began to unroll it. The first thing he noticed was that it was all in Comic Sans, and Alegra was already boiling with rage because of this.

Dear Alegra,

I bear most unfortunate information. Bakara, Ruler of the Shadow Realm, has escaped his prison. Of course you know this means the end of the world, without your help. Alegra the Mighty Ogre, you’re the only one with the strength to battle this dark creature. His last known whereabouts are in the Plains of Badacharka. Good luck, my love.

Sincerely,

Shrek

Alegra took a deep breath, and then without hesitation marched over to his armory. He turned the hulking valve on the vault door with a struggle and forced it open with his mighty ogre strength. He flipped a light switch revealing his vast collection of bow ties, rainbow suspenders, and medieval weapons. He put on his favorite bow tie and suspenders and raised his war hammer, the polished metal glistened in the light. He rushed downstairs out of his armory and called for his horse, Jim. Together, Alegra the Ogre, destroyer of worlds, savior of the swamp, hero of the stars, war hero of the Clash of the Spirits, and Jim the horse will save the world from the dark overlord Bakara. He mounted his horse, it’s knees almost gave at the hefty weight of Alegra (because of his large bulging muscles). But the horse persevered and they rode into the dark. Eyewitness say Alegra had an expression of pure determination and might. He rode to a small village built near the plains, it was trusted to keep Bakara from escaping since there was too much risk to keep him in the King’s castle. He could see the village in the distance, standing out from the dark surroundings because it was erupting with fire and collapsing. Alegra speeds up to the wreckage, see-ing the silhouette of a humanoid figure squatting like a gargoyle on top of a tall structure looking up into the moon. He dismounted Jim and could hear a loud cackle the closer he approached the figure. He was sure it was Bakara. “Nothing else can do that much damage to this village in such a short time,” thought Alegra as he drew his hammer. The laughing stopped as the figure stood up and turned around facing Alegra. It was a slim, muscular figure with deep crimson eyes, and sharp triangular ears. They glared at each other for what seemed like ages. Bakara then made a raising motion with his hand and a wall of stone is raised from the ground around the perimeter of the village. He leaped from the building and they faced each other for the second time. “Bakara! I will banish you again, just give up now!” Shouted Alegra in an strong, assertive tone. Bakara had a long low chuckle and said, “You can try, you clumsy oaf.”

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“Very well then,” Algera said quietly. He raised his hammer in the air and bellowed “Back to the Shadow Realm!” And with his ferocious ogre power, swung his war hammer down at the ground and opened a portal to the Shadow Realm. “Wait! No! Please forgive me Alegra! I never knew you were this powerful!” Bakara pleaded as he was being dragged into the Shadow Realm. He sheathed his hammer and walking away just before he was completely engulfed by the portal. He walked facing away from the portal and not looking back to look cool. The stone walls had crumbled. He had saved the world. As he was just about to call Jim back to his side, he hears a loud low bellow of a war horn in the distance and looks over to the direction of the noise. It was Shrek, riding on top of a bull. His army approaching as well. Alegra was confused since he had already defeated Bakara, rather easily too. When Shrek was well within shouting distance, he shrek shouted in a scottish accent “Ha ha you fool, you summoned my trap card!” As his legion of skeleton people approached, all wielding large, deadly weapons. Algera was confused. Right as he was about to speak up Shrek began explaining his reason for being there. “I’m sorry my love, it was all a trap. I helped Bakara escape so you would open a portal to send him back and also throw you in. With you out of the way I can finally be the most powerful in the land.” Algera was heartbroken. His true love had betrayed his trust. “Unforgivable” he thought, as he walked closer to Shrek. “We have you surrounded …At least from this side. It’s over.” Shrek said. They both said nothing as Algera came to meet Shrek face to face. Time seemed to stop for a moment as they stood there: a war hero on one side, a traitor on the other. “Well then, come and get me.” Algera said as he locked with Shreks eyes. Shrek then yelled “ATTACK!!!” The entire army rushed directly at Alegra with no hesita-tion. Alegra then made a sweeping motion with his hand and all of the skeleton people collapsed into hundreds of pieces. He smirked and Shrek displayed an appalled expression on his face, which quickly changed to anger. He leaped from his bull and said “Alrighty then.” Alegra leaped from the ground high into the air, drew his hammer and bellowed into the mighty sky. “ Begone you pratling thot!” As he brought his hammer down onto the ground. This opened another portal below Shrek, and he was quickly consumed by the portal. He reached his arm out of the portal right before he was completely gone as a desperate last attempt to free him-self. He closed the two portals and called for Jim. Without looking back, he rode back to his castle. Alegra found it hard to do this, but he slept in until sunrise. He then stood at the window of a tall sentry in his castle and he realized that he doesn’t need Shrek to feel complete. He then looked off into the sunrise peacefully and smiled.

Alegra is love Alegra is life

Le Fin

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Encompassed, by Aubrey Higdon

In the deafness of snowThat opens your mind

Beyond yourself.

In the sound of bellsThat ride the frigid air

And flicker in your soul.

In the thick smell of pineThat speaks of season and tradition,

Family and nature.

In the perception of lightsThat sprinkle the earth

And ignite the spirit of life.

In the ubiquitous energy That flows through the atmosphere And into the heart of togetherness.

Untitled, by Taylor Bell

Fall, by Emma Clark

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Haiku, by Raven DiMaggio

Take a breath of lifeLife will dance within your lungs

Now breathe the word out.

Haiku, by Ava Anderson

Crinkle crinkle popReduce, reuse recycle

Plastic water cup

Haiku, by Aubrey Higdon

In my soul there isA hunger for something more

That will not be quenched

Lightning, by Aubrey Higdon

Deafening cracklesGray skies brought to life by sparks

A flash captures the moment

A Sunny Day In Pacific City, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa

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Pop Sonnet I, by Aubrey Higdon

Hello my shadowed friend, again we meetTo speak, for dreams that softly creep like bugsHave scattered seeds amid my drowsing seat.

Alas! The fantasy has roots now dug Inside my thoughts and it resides amid

The vacancy of voice and melody.Amid unclothed ablaze, what saw I did

Was thousands. Muted speech unheard by me,Unheard by ears of listeners. Superb,

Cancerously it grows, consumes people’sHymns left unshared as no one dared disturb

The lack of sound around the steeples.I hoped to reach you, hoped to teach you, though

Into the sound of silence words do go.

Rewrite of Simon and Garfunkel, “Sound of Silence”

Hickory Dickory Dock, by Audrey Piacsek

Open mine eyes upon the glorious mornThe blood of yonder bard flows in my veins

No cares plague me, for I’m supplied with aleNo wages fill my pocket, yet no mind;

For now the lads do crowd to hear our taleAlthough we spurn them if they look unkind!

We all become cashiered with passing timeSome rascals at my figure peer and shout

Our drunken revelry makes reason not nor rhymeWe dance till dawn or landlord boots us outOr till the constable comes ‘round his route

And does divine the source of our great noiseSo threatens with the stocks to make us mute

If he discovers us, we’ll end our joys.Don’t end this revelry; rather, increase

The ticking clock counts seconds, never cease.

Adapted from Ke$ha, “Tik Tok”

Model, by Katie Engle

Grace, by Breanna Smith

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Post Malone’s “Rockstar,” by Thomas Snedeker

While in the company of many, IIngest the substance on which I depend.If you choose to mess with me, I say bye,‘Cause upon hearing “gra-ta-ta,” you end.

The substance we inhale is in plain sight,But caring is not in our train of thought.

I think your girlfriend likes me, yes she might,Cause she sneaks in but proceeds to get caught.

My life could be described as a collageOn hedonistic impulses, transfixed.

“Oh why do you have a twelve car garage?‘Tis excessive since you only have six.”

My lifestyle boosts my mood and my egoSo yes, I feel like a rockstar fo sho.

Pop Sonnet II, by Aubrey Higdon

My friend and I’s relationship has changedBe not it hard defining why the switchFor love my brother finally arranged

And jealousy has forged a heavy glitch. Thy maiden’s eyes, how watchfully they lie

On him, how sweetly she caresses him,I know she must! And under the night sky

He holds her tight, and makes my mood so grim.With drama do I play along

But their canoodling does soil humor.I hunger to reveal where I belong.

Alas it is too late, love’s but a rumor.Oh where alas will such a woman be?For Jesse’s maiden do I greatly plea.

Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl”

DVA, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis

Thomas, by Zoe Bright

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Lull Before The Storm (Part II), by Valentyna Belofsky

At one point or another, we were all the sameWe must have known we were equal, as we fail to re-

member so oftenNowadays

Yet love never fails to link us in the strangest waysThe lines connect when the stars align

And the world is in changeAs if it really is

One great designBy the divine, in their eyes

We are no different,Indifference

To how I can seeThe stream opposite me

The vision of separation is merely illusionHow could I feel what isn’t real?

Baby, this life is so surrealAnd it’s one great design;

Geminis mysteriously appearMoon cycles, tide cycles, heart cycles

And eerie summer nights Can you see the lights?

Abide by the signsThey show that this is likely

Just the lull before another storm.Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts

The Poet’s Tree, by Aubrey HigdonI looked out from my branch and studied the scene,

one piece at a time.Society and nature.

In the silence of writing,the outside-looking-in still made so much noise.

Below, someone called my name and the tree came back into focus.

I responded politely.In curiosity, he climbed up into my tree.

I looked at him with a smile and he declared, “I want to join you in your mockery of the world.”

I looked down at the scene, then back to my paper,

the ink seeping into its fated design,and replied,

“It’s not a mockery, it’s a microscope.”

Evening Sky, by Felice Bello

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Raindrop, by Aubrey Higdon

A single drop, One of the few gracing the glass

Before the downpour. A single circle holding its own world, A small reflection of a bigger truth,

Untouched before the collision of other worlds, Before one mixes with another,

A broader view, A clearer reflection, A new composition

Complementing, changing the boundaries of the first.

The grip on the height collapses with the weight of new Minerals,

Of new life, Falling, and collecting pieces of right and wrong

And it falls, Only into a puddle of new perspective,

A new place to belong, Or to evaporate from,

Using the heat of surrounding pressure To rise, to fly back into the hope of ubiquity.

Together as one, Till possibly,

It finds itself again, Reforms,

And falls back, singular. Alone on the earth again,

But never the same.

Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas

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Hey, Colby, by Aubrey HigdonHey, Colby.

I’ve been wondering,About the white roses,

The ones that bloomed in springAnd climbed the air before our eyes.

The ones that still live in my hometownAnd your past.

Are they alive in your mind?

Hey, Colby.Do you remember,

How we thought the velvet of the petals would last forever,Even as we watched them fall?

How they yellowed then brownedAnd we tried to convince ourselves they just looked better,

More real.But death is real, isn’t it?

Hey, Colby.Did you find new roses when you left,

Or did you just leave the blossoms behind?Did you get tired of roses and watching them die?

Did you cry as the last petal fell and tell yourself it was over, It was dead?

Well, you know, Roses grow back if you’re there to see them.

Hey, Colby.Did you know they’re still around, the white roses?

They’re tangled and bentBut some of them still bloom.

Not as bright as before, not as brave,But their fragrance still dares to perfume your memories,Their presence still sends you to that young, bright spring

You can’t forget.

Hey, Colby.I’m not mad.

Not at the the cold, quarreling winds That hailed from your breath and withered the flowers,

Not the roots you ripped out in anger When you thought they were holding you down,

Not at the thorns that dug into my handFrom the stems we were holding together.

Hey, ColbyI’m just bleeding,

Like the life out my petals,And I wonder if you know.

A Daffodil, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa


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Static Minds, Silent Soundsby Greggory Cole

Nobody knowsThe strength of my will

I see what’s beneathWishing for faith

When faith isn’t realAll I need’s a chance to clear my name

I don’t want to play these waiting gamesI feel the spectres haunting me

Haunting me with past memoriesWith thoughts of better days

The memories are goneAnd I’m starting to move on

I’m hearing voices callAnd tell me not to fearEven if they’re not real

I’m talking to wallsTo nothing at all

I’m withering awayBut I’m not falling down today

change was bound to comeI wish you the best

And now a whole new life can start Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman

Untitled, by Codie Sullivan

Untitled, by Codie Sullivan

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The Riddle, by Greg Cole

born of the earth are we all condemned to hell?we’ve tried so hard but can’t save us from ourselves.

we’re born of the dust, and to the dust we will return,destined to die from the moment of our birth.

sometimes we need reminders of everything we are worth.why have we forgotten everything we are worth?

why have we forgotten everything we have learned?i’ve been tortured by this riddle and i don’t know how to start.

i’ve had six years of luck and i’ve seen six on the line.i’ve seen much of nothing and nothing’s the game.there’s been much confusion with too many hurt.

there’s been too many people in too many years that break like fever and fall like rain.with a lightning flash and a thunder voice it feels like this wound’s doing flips.

sister sweet sister, i’ve seen all your pretty things and i’ve seen your work all around. i see my life merging with these poor souls underground and it’s clear i need a plan.

there’s been too many tears in too many years that break like a fever and fall like rain, some tears of laughter and some tears of pain.

i feel like i’m dying and there’s mercy in hell.sister sweet sister, i’ve been tortured by this riddle and i don’t know how to start,

why have we forgotten everything we are worth?why have we forgotten everything that we have learned?

Untitled, by Reese Braman

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Snowfall, by James Kirkham

Snow falls on a dark night in the city. The light from a street lamp provides just enough illumination to reveal the silhouettes of two figures on the corner below. As the snow begins to fall more heavily, the cold winter breeze carries fragments of the conversation down the street and into the night. “I’m cold.” The woman. “Why are we out here?” The man: “I needed to talk to you.” The woman shifts uncomfortably, shivering in the cold despite her thick fur coat. “Couldn’t it have wait-ed until tomorrow? Or at least until we got inside?” The man looks up at the sky, fat flakes of snow landing gently on his upturned face. “Three years, four months, sixteen days.” “Hm?” “That’s how long it’s been since I first met you.” The man turns to face the woman, gazing deeply into her deep brown eyes. She holds his stare for a few moments, then turns away. “Listen, it’s actually getting really cold, and-” “I love you.” He interrupts. She turns to face him, her head cocked to the right in confusion. “What did you say?” He turns to face her, a steely determination in his eyes. “I said, I am in love with you, Amelia.”

She steps back a pace. “William… I… What am I supposed to say to something like that? I mean, I like you, but not like that, and-” Amelia is cut off as William suddenly seizes her in a deep embrace, and their lips meet. As the warmth of his lips to hers contrasts the feeling of the biting cold of the winter air on her exposed skin. Amelia closes her eyes and pulls him closer, and for a few short moments nothing in the world exists but the two of them, beneath the street lamp, under the snowfall, on that cold, wintery night. Suddenly, William breaks away and takes a deep shuddering breath. Amelia, still stunned by the event that had taken a moment but felt a lifetime, remained silent. “Amelia- I’ve felt this way for- for a long, long time. I just needed you to- to know how I felt- how I feel.” Amelia remains silent, listening to William’s words. “I don’t expect you to reciprocate, or tell me you understand; frankly; I don’t expect you to do anything. I just needed you to know.” Amelia begins to take a deep breath in, then re-leases it, clouding the air between the two of them. She opens her mouth as if to speak, the closes it again. Shak-ing her head, she says quietly but clearly, “No.” She shakes her head, turns, and walks away. Knowing there was nothing more he could do, William turned the other way and began walking down the street away from the corner. As his breath rises in

warm puffs, he shakes his head and mutters, “Oh, well.” Frankly, he had expected this out-come. What he hadn’t told her, was that he had accepted a job in another state. The next morning, he would board an air-plane and fly away, never to see her again. And so, on that winter night, the paths of their two lives diverged, never to meet again.

Hamlet Grieving, by Nicolette Anderson

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The Background Smorgasbord of the Brain, by Aubrey Higdon

Welcome to the Here, There, Were CafeOpen 24/7 days a week and counting

Serving unproduced utterance to you, yourself, and I.

We walk on gravel here (Once you cross the federally constructed roads)

And pass through walls because every thought is a door.

Don’t step in the puddles (they’re actually lakes)And keep your head above the sand

Because you can only drown if you see the water.

You can ride the train (if you can catch it) but no matter how far you go, the snap of a finger will bring you right back to the entrance of

the station, the cafe, the broken assembly line, whatever you want to call it.

You can’t escape yourself here,Not when it’s made of every thought

you can and cannot catch-To score that winning touchdown

in the game you hardly knew you were playing.

We’re in the outskirts of town, you and me,

You in mine, me in yours When you really think about it,

But don’t think about it too much,It’s crowded as it is.

Demogorgan, by Katie Engle

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Step by Step, by Greg Cole

Counting the seconds and every breath.Watching the road roll out like ribbon.Every word that they etched, burning like cinders.I remember the miles that we walked along this

road together.Heaven still feels so far away even as we keep pace.Never daring to even think of rest because our

demons keep hungryA single moment is all it takes for them to catch us.It’s getting harder to know if we are sane.The haze is still thick as we walk together along this

road of broken dreamsDrinking in hope that we come across while on the

move.Any excuse for hope is good enough, it’s almost ad-

dictive to feel its effects But it’s also fleeting.It moves quickly through us as we continue

through these lives.It never numbs the pain for long, we can still feel the

kneading glass claws of demons clinging to our clothes, pricking the skin for its lifeblood, letting it leak out of us in small drops.

I can feel them streaking down my back before soaking in and staining the colors a muted and rustic red. Cling-ing to my skin painfully once it drys.

The pain burns like fires from hellBut we dare not react to this agony, they will only dig deeper making things worse.Sometimes they lose their grip on us however.It usually takes them a while to catch back up if we keep moving, hence the reason we do so.We make our way along this path leaving traces of markings behind that tell our talein fragments and in different meanings and words.Many don’t seem to understand these markings and wordsbut that’s ok, they are also a test. Those who understand are free to walk alongside us.We walk between the lines of light and dark.Corruption and purity.We have the true power of willpower.We can create and destroy things with shear force of will, the only limits are the ones we impose on ourselves to

hide our true powers and nature from the prying eyes of this harsh yet fascinating world.

How we walk and stray from our paths decides the fate of our worlds.We have gazed into both the light and the void and walked in between the divide.Knowing the cost of all three realmsWe keep the peace between the spaces of our mind.Not all things we do are always successful.But we continue to walk this path long thought broken.Others are free to come and go as they please.However long they decide to walk with us before deciding their path is up to them.

Whatever your choice is, keep moving. We all get to where we’re going eventually.

Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts

22

Places Like Here by Valentyna Belofsky

this street on this hill in this townis burning like the tip of an oversized cigarette

one that can’t stop inhalingand i would do so much

to see what the outside world is like;to shrink myself even smaller

and fly as a micro-gondolaalong telephone wires

flying away…to somewhere far away

seeing this place from the perspective of outside looking into places like here

to be anywhere exceptplaces like here


Untitled, by Tyson Hatfield

23

I love the feeling of walking through nature,Lending my ears to the song of the birds and the hum of the trees

making music.The wind ruffles the branches as it breathesCarrying leaves towards the sky.Most fall but a single leaf floatsSlowly rejoining the green of life.

The city swells with life But not that of nature,It is pollution and ambition that floats In the air, only traffic and anger make musicAs closed-minded people reach to the sky But it is not until sleep that the mind breathes.

Deep in the forest the wolf breathes.The smell of death and LifeFill its nose as it looks toward the sky,To hunt with the pack is it’s innate nature,Together their howls fill the night with haunting music.Loudly silent they slip into the gloom as forest fog wistfully floats.

In the desert the heavy wave of heat floats.With humid difficulty a man breathes,Walking amid the music Of the rushing sands, hollow of life,The only nature Is that of the deathly desert sky.

Calculating eyes raised to the sky,A fisherman in his sturdy boat floats Surrounded by vast, unending nature.The salty air and sea breeze is the calming cure he breathes.Always above a mixture of dragging death and mysterious

life,The seagulls and waves play him music.

The northern lights sing music In the indescribable sky,Dazzling the life That dares to peer above the cold as snow floatsThrough the air, the polar bear breathes.The predator of the coldest part of nature .

Nature reaches from earth to skyUnendingly filled with untouched music that forever floats And breathes the stories of life.


Sestina - Nature, by Aubrey Higdon


24

Sleep Paralysis, by Allison Cleman Some invisible force is prying and gripping at your brain.You cannot cry or scream, because all of your power, they contain.

You can hear it whispering, you know it’s there.The shadows are rising. It’s too much to bear.

You close your eyes and shut them tight.It’s the only way that you can fight.

Everything fades away. The grip is let go.Suddenly, time feels so very slow.

You think you might move, but you’re afraid that you can’t.Afraid that if you try, the shadows will dance and chant.

So you lay still, still petrified with fright.You know you won’t sleep again for the rest of the night.

And so, the sun rises, and you walk out the door,Almost forgetting the events from the night before.

But it’s always there, deep inside of your head,That perhaps one day, you’ll never leave your bed.

Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman

You think you’re awake, but really you’re not,Until you find yourself stuck in the same spot.

Only your eyes can move. So, you take a glanceYou regret it immediately, as the shadows begin to dance.

Except, it’s not a happy dance. Not one filled with laughter or cheer.But rather an ominous one filled with malign and fear.

They begin to close in, and that’s how you knowWith your eyelids like curtains drawn, they’re about to start the show.

A new feeling washes over you, like an ocean in your head.You try to escape, but you can’t move; you’re a prisoner in your own bed.

“But this is my room!” You think, but can’t speak.You can’t even pinch yourself, your arms are too weak.

The fear washes over you like the tide moving in close.And terror pricks at your skin, like getting bitten by a ghost.

It’s not a dream, yet, you don’t feel alive.Every sense is heightened, yet equally deprived.

You feel like you’re cursed. Perhaps Ursula took your voice.She took your legs too, left you with no choice.

Your soul is screaming and it can’t get out.It’s trapped behind unmovable lips. Lips that just want to shout.

Praying does you no good as you’re pinned to your bed.For if God let this happen, then God must be dead.

The Antagonist is at your bedside, and still, you cannot budge.It’s malicious and determined, as if it has a grudge.

It’s as though that while you were sleeping, somebody cast a spell.And once you awoke, your bedroom was then in hell.

25

Promise, by Naomi Brons

A summer which felt like a hundred years ago, I went to my uncle’s house; he wanted to take us out to show the property. The truck rumbled underneath us. He showed us a lightning struck tree with an eagle nest on top of it as we were heading towards a man-built pond. “What if I jump out of this truck?” “You’ll probably get badly injured” “What if you jump out of this truck?” I ask. “I would probably be okay,” dad told me. “Why?” “Because I’m about the same size of the truck and it’s not going that fast. Still hurt though.” We got to the lake and you could see the pinks and purples in the sky. With trees that touched the sky and a river to the left. We were feeding the fish. “You know, with how much you’re feeding them those fish will be nice and fat next year, good for fishing,” Uncle Howard hinted. “Really?!” I ask. “Yeah. Maybe we could fish this pond next summer.” “Promise?” “Promise.” That was the last conversion I had with him. I was not aware of his death until the day of the funeral. I remember that morning everything felt different. Every-thing felt desaturated and heavy like a shadow who was there to stay. It was fall, and my parents not quite being themselves, barely speaking, looking down before telling us what happened. A funeral, which was for my Uncle Howard who died at 72. We went on a long and saddened journey to the funeral as the leaves fell - the reds, the oranges and the dead looking browns. We got there to the sad, imposing looking old church, a rickety old playground to the left, cover by a dark grey cloud. We went in, greeted by my grandmother. After I was able to fully comprehend what had happened, I looked at my mom and bubbled up “b-but he promised to take me fishing” She looked back at me and stated, “There are some promises people can’t keep.” Which is something I had to learn many more times after that. It was one of the hardest lessons I had to learn. Again and again. Promises are broken due to the fact that there are some things that are just out of our control, like death.


26

SECOND PLACE, by Shannon Nolan You start the race steady. You see him pass you, but it doesn’t bother you. You make sure he doesn’t get too ahead, but you know to keep your speed at a pace until the very end. You’ve been train-ing for this race, for a very long time. First lap completed. Your legs start to burn but that’s normal. You know you can win this. He’s the only one in front of you. He’s the only thing in your way. It’s been like this since kindergarten. You were the fastest kid in your class until he showed up. You guys were friends of course, back then anyway. You had shared similar interests back then: running. But this isn’t kindergarten. You both still liked to run, and you both still were friendly to each other. However, the competition in both of you is too strong to be friends anymore. He can’t spend time talking to someone he’s determined to keep at a far distance in any athletic contest. Just like you can’t make amends with the man you are prepared to destroy. It’s halfway through the third lap. How did he get so far ahead? You didn’t get any slower. You have to start going even faster to try to close the gap. It’s the fourth and final lap. How is he still so far away? Why isn’t your strategy working? Why is it always like this? In the third grade you had tried so hard to keep up with him you nearly passed out. You had gotten yelled at but at least you had almost beat him. You want to kick yourself for not trying to keep up with his pace with sooner, but you know the truth. As you sprint faster and faster, breathing heavier and heavier, you know you won’t catch up. He’s 100 meters away from the finish line. The gap is too wide. You’re pushing your limit, you’re wheezing. You have asthma and you might be having an attack, but that doesn’t matter. You come up about 30 feet behind him. He crosses the finish line. You finish 12.3 seconds after him. It’s always a matter of seconds. You should be happy about how you finished. You’ve beat your highest mile time and tied with the school record. But, he, him of course, beat that record. You are sec-ond place. You are congratulated, but you are second place. Rage and jealousy bubble inside you, but only for a moment. It’s replaced with sadness. The cool air is calming. You are still second place. You will always be second place. As long as he and you are alive on this Earth together, you will be second place. And no matter how hard you try, nothing will change that.

Untitled, by Hanna

Callender-Bohman

27

Sincerely, Your Llorona, by Isabel Williams

Finding my comfort, I destroyed myself,I learned that breaking things was the only way they

could be fueled.I am broken, for yet I can not be fixed.

Crying, screaming, finding.I am lost, Putting my pieces back together.

Crying, screaming, finding, I am loving, I am lost.

Llorona, llorona, they call me a cry baby.I weep, I woe,

For you.Each day is easier, but still no while.

Llorona, I am.

Jessica Foley, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis

I sit and cry, I miss the you I used to know.I miss the way you read to me.

The sound of your laugh is my favorite noise.You are my favorite color.

Finding my comfort, I destroyed myself.I learned that breaking things wasThe only way they could be fixed.

I am broken, for yet I can not be fixed.

I am broken and that’s okay,I am a crier and that is me.

I am not your Llorona, for I onlybelong to me

28

Teddy Bear, A Monologue, by Ben Johnson

(Begin Panhandling) No one ever gives us money on the street, Sidero. We’ve been begging all day. And I’m just as poor as I was this morning. This is so boring. I’m so tired and cold. Why isn’t life easier. It makes no sense. Nothing makes any sense these days. You’re probably right. Let’s get back to it. (Continue Panhandling) It’s no use, Sidero. Nothing’s going to change. I miss my sister. I miss my mom and my dad. I wonder when dad will be back. He’s taking an awful long time getting the milk. How long has it been, three years? Oh, four. Got it. Hopefully he’ll come back soon. Everyone is so rude to me. Sorry, us. One bear spit on me, can you believe it! I don’t understand. They mock us and yell at us. The nicest ones just pretend we don’t exist. Sometimes I think it would be better that way, Sidero. Would it be so bad if we just ended it all. I don’t think anyone would be upset with us. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice. Two months would pass and one bear would say “Hey, wasn’t there a child on this corner?”And another bear would respond, “What’s it matter?” And that will be all. 9 years has seemed like a long time. But the first day I’m gone I’ll have had no effect on this world. I guess only a few do. 9 years I’ve lived and all this pain is worth nothing. Hope is all that’s left. Hope, and you, Sidero. Well, back to work, old friend. We have a long day ahead of us.

Margaret, by Zoe Bright

29

Loss Is Something That Is Felt, by Aubrey Higdon

Loss is something that is felt,Above all the noise of physicality.

In the fall, I feel the loss of life,The browns of decay dragging away the freedom of summer.

In the cold, I feel the loss of warmth,Frost in the wind stinging the sense of security.

In the silence, I feel the loss of presence, The awakening void of awareness ringing anticipation in my

ears.

In the crowd, I feel the loss of connections,The swirling noise of separate lives twirling the tether of my

mind.

And in the empty rooms, I feel the loss of you.


30

Katie, by Amethyst Martinez

Katie was a young girl. Who always thought for others before herself.

She was there for when someone has fallen. She was there for her friend’s breakup.

She was there for her brother when her parents were yelling down the hall. She was there smiling at a young boy. She was there when he held her hand.

She was there when her parents got divorced.She was there when her mom got in a car crash.

She was there when her mom was dying from pain. She was there at her mom’s funeral holding her brother’s small hands.

She was there when her life got flipped upside down. Standing alone. No one to go to.

She decided to go on a walk alone along misty green trees. Hearing the birds singing their sad songs.

She had terrible thoughts. Should I end my life? I have nothing to look up to.

Everything was taken away from me. “Katie,” someone whispered.

Mom? She felt the breath of her mother. Saying the words “There is still more to see.”

Katie smiled with a tear falling on her cheek. She looked up and saw the sun shining high in the sky.

She soon went home and there she stood with her brother in one hand and her mother in the other.

Mixed Emotions, by Rose Vasquez-Cosio

31

My Side of the Ditch, by Aubrey Higdon

Everytime I walk down that dirt road,The one with cow fields on the left and an irrigation ditch

on the right,That dog barks at me.

It lives in the yard across the ditch, The one with two little toddlers playing in a sandbox

and no fence or foliage to block the view.

Unfortunately, that dog’s only view:Is the cows in the distance and me,

And it must not like me.

The second I come into view,That dog’s bark pierces the music in my ears

and the thoughts in my head.

Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark.It throws anger and disdain at me with every bit

of its small form,As if I don’t have the right to walk there.

I grit my teeth and try to ignore, The annoyance of having my peace spoiled,

And my solitude invaded.

Why can’t that dog just leave me alone?I haven’t done anything wrong!

I’m on my side of the ditch.

I walk faster to get out of its view, Take longer to come back.

Resenting another round of annoyance.

All I wanted to doWas walk down my walking trail and relax,

But that dog ruined it.

After that, I found a different place to walk. I enjoyed my peace, until I found another reason

to moveAnd decided to try my trail again.

As I walked along the ditch,There was no barking,

And I enjoyed the silence with a sigh of relief.

But the next day, in town,I heard a woman talking, tears in her eyes,

About her sweet little dog that died.

She went on for a long time About the friendly pup who gave her love

And protected her children.

She laughed about the little thing that would fight a bear to protect those kids,

Who always made sure they never fell in the ditch.

The woman said her dog loved everybody she met.But the little thing demanded she get to lick your hand and

introduce herself first,That way you were family, not just a stranger anymore.

That sounded like a good dog.And as I thought about my walks, about that dog

across the ditch,I felt like a bad one.

On her side of the ditch, she was probably wonderingWhy a stranger would spoil her peace without

an introduction,What she had done wrong to make them angry.

To her, there probably wasn’t a “her side” and “my side”There was just a hateful person,

disturbing her solitude and threatening her babies.

As I walked home, on nobody’s side of the ditch, I hung my head,

The one I used to wrap up a little creature in my own anger,

And I missed having an interruption to the deep silence I thought I wanted.

I guess this says a lot more about my head, than the little creature in it.


32

Seasons of Haiku, by Cooper Ricard

Flower

The flower is pureHe shows energy to me.

The flower is kind.

Snowflake

The snowflake is coolShe dances through the lil’ sky

The snowflake is prim.

Golden Leaves

Golden leaves are roughShe twirls and dips to the ground

Golden leaves are warm

Sunbeams

Sunbeams are so hotHe burns my skin with happiness

Sunbeams are so cruel

Seasons, by Shannon Nolan

Summertime brings on the heated jealousy and angers of no plans to

fulfill, and the weighted block of black coal sunken in your stomach making

you sweat.

Autumn brings on the new hope, excitement and death of all things past, with the fluttering of blood red leaves,

falling to the mercy of the ground.

Winter brings still backdrops to the cold, lonely figure in the distance that block in

brown hues of the distinct feeling of being lost. Slight jingling of bells can be heard

in the distance.

Spring brings on the rain and a new dawn from the neverending freeze that still

blankets your mind. You feel a sense of relief and refreshment as you are baptized

in the sunshine and sky.

As Seen By Man, by Steven Szombathy


33

Black and White, by Hayden Huffman

Eons many, the world has toldThe White is one eternal round;But as whited sepulchers show

Unto me, ‘tis solely earthbound.

Hypocrites have told The White stays,Yesterday, today, forever;

As contentions, famines, and plaguesAll remain, and all endeavor.

The White is tarnished, like bright snowBlotted by the thickest of mud;

The Black is honest in His ways,Betraying all truths in cold blood.

Eons many, the world has toldThe Black is mine adversary;

But the intelligence of fewPerceives what’s carefully buried.


Caught, by Aubrey Higdon

A gray machine sits purposeless, Dwelling over unturned wheels and undisturbed

silence. Suddenly,

A beacon of sound, Eyes ascend from the downward gaze of

self reflection, The closed gate swings open.

A sudden charge of robbers in white leap from black horses,

Smoothly grabbing the rails. They slip inside, no opposition.

A train held captive and steered in a new direction,

Not for the hope of taking gold, But of reaching it.

Not against the train, But with it.

34

Bitter Candy, by Shannon Nolan

It’s the big Halloween party. Even though al-most everyone shows up it feels light and not crowded. Most kids are just milling about in the living room, making jokes and eating heaps and heaps of candy. She’s sitting at the edge of it all, basking in the happi-ness of her classmates and people she knows. She her-self does not speak, but she feels fully immersed in the conversation around her. Everyone decides to watch a movie. She nods her head as if she were an important part in the decision. No one notices. Halfway through the movie the kids get rest-less. They make another decision to play truth or dare while the movie finishes. She did not not smile or nod this time. She hates truth or dare. No one notices. No one asks her “truth or dare”, but she’s just fine with that. The host of the party notices not everyone is getting asked a question, and the kids are just daring their friends in a circle. He announces that they’re playing a different game. She is eager to play anything else. He passes a bowl of candy around. He tells them to close their eyes and pick any random piece of candy out. He says that the candy you choose will determine their fate. Most roll their eyes and snigger, “What did you drug them or something?” He shakes his head no and says to not defy his fortune telling powers. The kids laugh some more and start passing the bowl around. She’s determined to pick a good piece of candy and be respected by her peers, or least slightly remembered. But, she thought, wouldn’t it be more memorable if she chose a bad piece of candy? The bowl finally makes its way to her. It’s al-most passed over her head before the host reminds them of her existence. Embarrassed, she grabs of piece of candy quickly and passes the bowl before anyone can ask what she got. Maybe she can be memorable another time. The bowl had eventually made a full circle around the room, back to the host. He smiled and told everyone to eat their candy. Confused chatter began again, but candy wrappers started to be unfolded and people started to eat. She was also confused, but happy because she picked a small hershey’s chocolate bar. She liked chocolate and could smell its sweetness as she tore off the wrapper. Then she bit into it. She nearly gagged in surprise. The candy was terribly bitter. She could see everyone else around the room laughing and grabbing more candy and more.

Their candy is sweet and just as candy should be. She tries to chew more of it; maybe it’s a trick of the mind. With each bite down it got worse and worse. Bitter turned to downright disgusting, as she felt it fill all her senses. Did she really get the one bad piece of candy, the only one that was bitter? The host stops the conver-sations with a loud clap. He examines the room. “Did everyone’s candy taste sweet?”, he asked. Everyone rolls their eyes, laughs, and say yes. She tries to nod too, but is only nauseated as she feels the bitter chocolate seep down her throat. The host’s eyes land on her. She knows she can’t hide from it. She can’t de-ceive him. It’s shows so clearly in her eyes, the panic, the uncomfortable knowingness of bitter sludge ever so slowly invading her every feeling. He flinches and glances away. The words being spoken around them have risen in sound again, so much so, that no one notices the host walking towards her. Sympathy and disappointment shrouding his gaze. She’s struggling to breathe, the candy can’t just sit on her tongue. She feels gooey liquid ooze into her head, her thoughts. She’s choking on the bitter taste of disembodied hor-ror, while no one around her notices. She doesn’t want it to be like this.

He finally stops at her feet. He sits in the empty space next to her, and doesn’t do anything. After a mo-ment, he asks her, “Was it bitter?” She nods slowly, try-ing not to notice the vulgar taste of whatever the once bitter Halloween candy had turned into. He nods as if expecting this.” You are the odd one out”, he says to her, “the only one who could feel and taste something not right within this room”. He looks at her. She’s con-fused and upset, but clearly intrigued. “People aren’t always aware of how they stand in a situation, or how something really tastes”, he whispers. “Everyone else tasted sweet, straight sugar, because the all felt happy and blended together in cloying harmony, while you, you felt the bitter reality and non-conformity to their estranged laughter. That is how I know you’re fate, you are forever destined to be bitter in a pool of sick-ly-sweet.” She is finally managing to swallow her vile chocolate, and sputters, “I think I should go.” He nods again and leads her to the door, leaving behind the warm air of laughter and comfort. She opens the door and sighs. This night hadn’t gone as she’d planned. “If it makes you feel any better,” he says, watching her turn and stare at him expectantly, “mine was bitter too.”

35

High School Love, by Raven DiMaggio

Are those eyes really to die for, that smile of his or hers?Even though their smile may not be for you,

You wish from the bottom of your heart that that just isn’t true. A laugh that triggers some wave that floods your head with warmth and a nostalgic feeling.

An accidental bump on the shoulder that sends your heart through the ceiling. That switch in your head of patience and sense flipped off,

That switch of longing and perseverance flipped on.Your tone may change, your laugh, as well your personality.

Your true self shoved in the back waiting to flip the switch of reality.Old friends may be shoved aside

For you see this new person needs to be by your side.They push and try to be there for you

They try and push to stay true Yet after your tone changed, your laugh, and personality,

Your true self flips the switch of reality.With your friends shoved away after so many times

And that person you were head over heels for walks awayWith another person, another life, and another day.

Tears push, but are held in or let looseAnger is yelled into your pillow as you tie an imaginary noose

You feel alone and heart broken like a fool.Yet just remember, this is only high school.

Dance Dance, by Katie Engle

36

Curled Hair, by Shannon Nolan You’ve finally done it. You can now become the girl you wanted to be, because you finally convinced your mother to buy you a curling iron. It’s not that big of a deal. Most girls curl their hair at 15, right? But, that’s why it’s such a big deal to you. It seems every other girl in your school has perfect curls or light, bouncy waves. They look so beautiful in their silk tops and heeled boots. Can’t you be beautiful too? The answer is yes, yes you can, because now you can curl your hair just like theirs. After your mother talks endlessly about how to use it, and not to burn your hand, and blah blah blah, she FINALLY leaves and you rush to the bathroom. You rip open the package and for a moment you just stare in awe at it’s shiny metallic finish. You can’t believe you’ve done it. You break your gaze, and hastily plug it into the outlet by the sink. You attempt to section your hair, like you’ve been told, while the iron warms. You realize that you can’t hold your hair and curl it at the same time so you just decide to hope for the best and reach for the iron. You immediately almost

burn yourself. You jump back, wait a few sec-onds, and then cau-tiously grab the handle of the iron. Trembling you wrap a section of

hair around the bar-rel of it. You count

the seconds quietly and try to keep the iron

very far away from your face. You had been warned that it could burn your hair off if not careful, and this thought jumps at you,

causing you to quickly unravel the strand

and watch it bounce back. You try do-ing it a couple more times and eventually

you’ve curled all your hair.

You stare at the mirror. You’ve curled all your hair; it’s bouncy and it’s shaped like all the other girls’. But you don’t look like the other girls. Your hair looks like theirs, but something is off with the image looking back at you. You run to your room and scramble to your phone. You search hurriedly on In-stagram. Your best friend’s account stares back and you look through her pictures. She also curls her hair, but she’s gorgeous. The curled hair didn’t do that. She was always pretty. You drop the phone and go back to the bathroom mirror. You wonder if there was true beauty there all along. You enter the bathroom and realize you left the curling iron on. You panic and suddenly all your reason for caution is gone. You grab the iron and it burns. Oh no, it burns it burns it burnsitburnsitburnsburn-ingburningburning. Oh it hurts so much. There is only so much you can do as your shaky hand unplugs the iron. You look at your hand and start to cry. It’s so red. You try to run it under cold water. It kinda works, but you still feel your hand blis-tering and burning. Defeated, you wrap the cord around the iron, very careful as to not touch the iron’s chrome metal. You put the iron away, hoping you’ll never see it again. You then find some bandages, and slowly wrap it around your hand. With your hand still trembling, you walk back to your room. You grab your phone and start to scroll through all your friends’ accounts. They’re so pretty. In every picture they look natu-rally perfect, casually gorgeous, as if they’re not trying. They look like angels, with their filtered glow, and, their curled hair. You feel blindsided by your own stupidity. You can’t believe that you thought that curling your hair would make you like them. Maybe you’ll never fit in with them. You let that thought sink in as you sink down your bed, messing up your curled hair.

Wax, by Katie Engle

37

Eye of Curiosity, by Raven DiMaggio

Still Growing, by Charlie Gimlin

38

Sonnet - A Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?You last too long and make me sweat with grief

How could someone find beauty in this wayAnd write it in a tedious motif

I don’t like writing sonnets very muchThey are so strict with form and topic too

Iambic meter is too hard as suchThe rhyming scheme is hard to undertake

The third stanza is probably the worstThe writer’s stretch it out for way too long

No substance has been needed since the firstBut this one just goes on and on and on and on and on

Although the thing that gets beneath my skinIs how there’s always couplets at the end


Ugh, Life - A Petrarchan Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson

What world is this that I live in todayA world where we collect just memories

A world where ending is a remedyOne mind we have and lose another day

It seems to me this life is all in vainWe touch, we know, we grow and then succumb

We move our pieces blindly, having doneNot but one move in one eternal game

We go on ever changing, never changingTo try to find what we will never be

To try to find some savior from our hellAnd after all this pain and suffering

I found the end and looking back I seeOne story not a soul will ever tell

Smoked Eye, by Kristin Raustein

39

Cat, by Zoe Bright

No Parking, by Shannon NolanUntitled, by Haley Rominger


40

Sombra, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis

Eleven, by Fisher Bachman-Rhodes

Camille, by Zoe Bright Untitled, by Austin Ketzenberg

41

Cigarettes, by Shannon Nolan

He took out a pack of cigarettesAnd handed one to me

He said “These are the antidote”“Take some, and you will see”

I lit one, then twoAnd I didn’t understandI couldn’t do what he did

So I held them in my hand

He said “Can you feel it?“The air move all around?”

I nodded my head yesAnd didn’t make a sound

He asked if I heard itIf I heard the buzzing tune

I wanted to tell him noThe smoke hit him too soon

He asked me if I saw itThe great burning landI desperately wanted to

But the cigarettes had gone out in my hand

He saw the fallen, blacken ashI almost wanted to run awayHe asked me for some cashTo buy me another cigarette

So I could see it and stay Alice, by Shannon Nolan

A Nightmare of Sorts, by Esperanza Parkins

42

Understanding, by Aubrey HigdonPeople come to me,

They ask me for the understanding,The relationship I have with

the literature, the poetry that runs across my skin.My soul soars to express

Emotion and passion for words woven to free the human soul.

However, their voice and their mind cut me off.They don’t want my emotion,They want my information,

The words that fill in blanks on school papers.They want answers

For a test of paper, not of life.They don’t care for my heartthat pumps words of color

For the chance of mixing mine with theirs,They care for what holes on the page my color can cover up.

They do not care to listen to me.To another “pretentious” poem to waste their timeTo feed my head, forgetting completely my heart.

I have found it is easy to use someone,But it is seemingly too hard to care about them.

How many times I’ve wanted to shout to them,To make them listen, to make them understand

Why I need to form my feelings into something malleable,Something alive,

To make them feel the ache that I feelAs they put their hand over my mouth,

Suffocating on the life pushing through my chest,Begging to burst from my mouth and paint the world a new color.

The things they don’t “need” to hearOr, as they begin to drown me out,

Dulling my color and fading my light,I want their guilt and their hurt to form before me

So that we may again be equal, eye to eye.

But I’m afraid that then the door will close,That the light of a smile will no longer pour into the darkness before me

Pleading, “Please! Ask me anything.”That the door will be shut.

No longer able to simply cross the threshold,They refrain from approaching the door.

Suddenly, they no longer have a reason to come at all,Their footsteps recede sharply, without returning.

Sooner or later,I will be forced to flip off the switch of the waiting porch light,

Sending me, and the door,into the cold, silent darkness.

I’d rather just pretend they were listening,Or that they cared. Untitled, by Haley

Rominger

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Untitled, by Valerie Lopez-Kirkham

Abigail, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis

Untitled, by Valerie Lopez-Kirhham

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There’s No Place Like Home, by Isabel Williams

As mentioned before, It is clear that I am not from here.

I’m terribly sick of this, Violent wind,

Seeing a ridge from 360°,This high desert I live in.

Where the humidity is low,But the rate of humility is lower.

The never ceasing gossip,The dirty looks,

The grudges,The bedazzled butt-jeans,

Even my unlikely friendships won’t make up for these.

I want to smell rain in My valley.That is, the Tualatin Valley.Where hicks and hipsters

both peacefully hate the Portland fussI miss my big small town,

With the 6A school. I miss the never-ending activities

Bike Rack, by Taylor Bell

I long to hear Piper and Libby Sing again.

It pains me not being there for Graduation because instead,

I have to be here.I want to see my best friend walk

Across that turf, I need to tell Czerks “thanks”

For pushing me.I left so much unfinished.

No, I don’t hate it here.Yes Ellensburg is a nice school

In a nice town.It’s not for me.

It’s not that I want to beAnywhere but here;

I’d just rather be home.

I’d rather be found back onSouth 5th unit G106

Than in this full-lonely town.

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Black Hole, by Iden Bottcher

Spider Man, by Bennett Huffman

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Technique Bird, by Jared Rojas-Garcia


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Diner Bathroom, by Shannon Nolan

Have you ever gone to a diner bathroomAnd stared at the wallsThe walls that have been painted over and over againWith black ink and words of madness

If the lights are off you simply return to your seatBecause you know you’re too nervous to go inWhere it’s cold and the light switch has yet to appearYou’ll simply wait

It’s usually silent tooNo one is talking or hummingIt’s not crowdedYou’re forced to sit and think

The stark contrast of the colorful conversation you were just havingAnd the deafening silenceIs eeryAnd you wish the noise would return

Untitled, by Haley Rominger


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Kyrre Gørvell-Dahll, by Hanna Callender-Bohman

Behind Glass Eyes - Ellensburg School District · 2018. 5. 24. · Fisher Bachman-Rhodes Esperanza...

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Transcript of Behind Glass Eyes - Ellensburg School District · 2018. 5. 24. · Fisher Bachman-Rhodes Esperanza...