The Oracle
Find Your Voice.
Bishop Canevin High School
Student Journal of Creative Writing & Art
Spring Edition: 2015-2016 school year
Space & Time
Watch Guard of the World
by Liz Strub | 2016
For as long as I could remember, I watched the earth spin. I got to see every piece of that green and blue ball. You might wonder if I got bored seeing the same thing every month, and yes I did, but at the same time, I saw how much the world changed from when it was made. For example, I was mesmerized for millennia as the continents slowly split apart, and I cried when the asteroid hit the earth and covered up all that beautiful green that I loved most with ash and made everything dark for what seeFor as long as I could remember, I watched the earth spin. When I was still young, it seemed to spin slowly, while on the surface, many things happened very quickly. The holes in the earth belched and spewed forth red liquid. The red liquid covered the entire planet and it glowed like the hot ball of fire that gave light and warmth, but not as bright nor as hot. I watched with intrigue as explosion after explosion rippled across the surface in rapid succession. I also enjoyed the asteroids that flew towards the red globe, pulverizing the surface but also becoming one with the ground while shoots of that red blood sprayed out. But sometimes, the asteroids came too close to me and made me jump from fright. Several times the rocks intended for the earth shattered my surface. That's how I became so pock-marked and unsightly.
Photograph by Megan Hirschfield | 2019
Rubble
by Alec Bosnic | 2016
As the moon sets on a foreign landscape,
I observe the drastic differences from the days before
Where was once a castle, with no means for escape,
Became a palace, with patrons abound
Followed by a city, that towered into the clouds
But that city was ruined, through the effects of war
Now all that remains is a barren wasteland
Which is purely under the dominance of my command
As the castle has collapsed, the palace has perished, and the city has crumbled
I have remained, standing amongst the brilliant rubble
Photograph by Ally Lounder | 2017
Time went forward and we, the earth and I, circled the fire-planet many, many times. After a number of rotations, I realized something: the red world below me wasn't as red or as active as it used to be; it had changed. It was a slow change and I didn't realize it at first as I was used to the fast changing scene, but change it did. I also realized that the earth was spinning faster, or it seemed that way. I had gotten used to the rotations around the fireball and so the spinning of the earth was much faster in comparison. Upon further reflection, I came to the conclusion that I was maturing and so time became relative to everything else. I looked at the change on the globe and concluded that he was also maturing, albeit slower than me as I had given up violent reactions long before he. During this time, I began to consider myself as a protecter of the earth, a sort of Watch Guard of the World as I called myself. It was a more childish thought since I had been born from the world and therefore the younger between us, but the name stuck nonetheless. So, as a watcher, I payed more attention to the changes I had begun to see.
The red, glowing blood had turned into solid brown and green, but mostly blue. The brown and green was one mass surrounded entirely by the blue. I also noticed wisps of white that covered parts of the green, brown, and blue. But unlike the rest of the world, the white changed constantly and very quickly, scurrying across the surface and oftentimes disappearing altogether. Occasionally, there was an eruption of red blood much like when the earth was young, but they were much less frequent, though from what I could see, they seemed more damaging. I also saw the white wisps form into huge, grey, swirling circles above the blue expanse and where the blue and brown met. Whenever the circles crossed onto the green and brown, it would disappear faster than when it was over just the blue, but it would leave the brown changed. Many other changes happen as well, like the forming of mountains and valleys, and of blue spots forming inside the brown. Some of these changes were fast and others slow, but they were all changes, and they made me wonder if the earth would ever mature as I had.
With a jolt, I saw that which I had not expected to happen again. A change so subtle and so slow that I had not even realized anything was changing in such a major way, and I berated myself for only focusing on the minute details rather than the larger picture as a whole. While I had been following the fickle wisps of white that winked in and out of existence, the blue had wiggled its way deeper and deeper into the expanse of brown and green, and had broken up the large mass into smaller masses which were being distributed across the planet. Once again, my view of the world had changed and caught me at unawares, and it took time for me to get used to the change, but while I was getting over my shock, more change came. A piece of the brown mass had moved to the bottom of the planet where it became completely white. Unlike the white wisps that constantly danced around, this white expanse stayed put, and while the shape of the edges changed, as a whole it stayed mostly the same. The rest of the pieces continued to arrange themselves in various configurations, never seeming to be satisfied.
That's when I noticed strange structures rising from the brown and green surfaces. Before I could put together a coherent thought about what they could be, these strange structures crumbled and where rebuilt while more arose all over the place. Then little lights appeared, making the surface glow like nothing I'd ever seen before. These extremely fast-paced changes left me bewildered and confused, and even a little afraid. There had never been so many changes in such rapid succession before, at least not since the very beginning. In a very short amount of time, small pieces came flying out from the surface, but there never went far and ended up going around the earth with me. For the first time I began to wonder about the end, and I became afraid that the world was falling apart and that which I loved most was dying. Then, one particular piece of earth came towards me, and actually touched me, but it didn't leave any kind of impression or dent at all. Instead, something even smaller came out and also touched me, once again leaving no mark. That's when a totally new sensation coursed through me: I heard a sound. This is what I heard, "This is one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
Hearing that, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I also knew that there was no such thing as a small change anymore. From then on out, everything would be fast-paced and new. This time, I welcomed the sensation, and I wondered if I had been wrong and that the changes the world went through had made him mature while I stayed the same.
Photograph by Matt Tutsock | 2016
The above photo is made up of about 120 images stacked on top of each other in order to capture the fainter stars and the Orion Nebula which is in the center of the image.
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Ode from the Sun
by Alec Bosnic | 2016
I’ve been waiting since the beginning
I’ve remained through nothing, with no sounds and substance
I’ve remained as the orbs began imprinting
Forming within the vastness, spawned among places I am now above of
But the blue sphere had something special, something I noticed from a distance
I have watched this place for many years
I’ve seen it’s dayrise, and I’ve seen it’s nightfall
I’ve observed its people adventure to new frontiers
I’ve seen their good, I’ve seen their love
But I’ve also seen their fall.
The people who once gave me such great hope
Have fallen short, ruining the reflection of my light for the sake of gain
I should not be sad, I should not mope
But what was once a beautiful world now contains nary a forest nor dove
Oh people of Earth, why have you caused my friend such pain?
In the Stars
by Randy Hatcher | 2017
The moon hangs quietly high above the world, casting its beautiful grace over the lands. Just as I sit quietly above the dark streets, admiring it all. The city down below is at a standstill, no cars, no people. Just I viewing the abandoned city. But above in the sky is where life resides, within the stars. They attain the life that I lack, as I have been bereft of all feeling. The stars bleed beauty. Some big and some small, but all are beautiful. Baffled by how astounding these stars are, I just stare up above and lose my self. Within these stars is where I lost my head, just as I have lost you up there. In each one, I can see parts of you. Your chestnut hair, lustrous eyes and vibrant smile. It's as if from the stars I can feel you, feel you sitting by me one more time. The Space above is quiet, totally silent. Since you have left, my heart has gone silent as well. The feeling which I so craved for enters my being when I gaze up at the bounteous stars. I wish to be up there swimming between the stars, through the planets, and over the moon. From up there, I could experience true peace with my heart at ease. From up there, I could observe everything down here. The people. The animals. The cars. People in love, people out of love. I could finally see the beauty I can't seem to find anymore. But when I look up to the stars, I can see some of that beauty. When I looked into your eyes, I saw a field filled with stars, stars so beautiful that I felt I was not worthy. Maybe that's why as I look up to the star speckled sky, I can feel you with me once again.
Photograph by Randy Hatcher | 2017
Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017
The Beauty of the Earth
Photograph by Bella Gilardi | 2017
Winter
by Sydney Putnam | 2017
Frost covers the ground and my breath
And wind whips through my hair.
The night sky darkens as
Everything becomes black and white and red:
The sky and the ground and the tips of my ears.
Flurries float through the air in slow motion,
The small flakes dusting my shoulders,
Melting on contact.
They stick together and build,
Crystals christening the ground
Until the earth is covered,
Veiling the imperfections, the faults, and the flaws
With an immaculate blanket of white.
The only disturbance is a single trail of footprints.
The only sound snow
Crunching under my weight,
Between my arms and legs.
A lone angel, proclaiming a fresh start, a new beginning.
The world is silent and still.
Maybe the universe is finally at peace.
The Crisp Air Sings
by Kai Huang | 2017
The crisp air sings
soft songs on gentle winds
of the symphony of spring
and life beginning anew
In the fields, wild flowers bloom
and bees buzz their work hymn
signalling the end of winter's cold tomb
The students hum their gospel
of restless hearts and legs
waiting on the ending bell
for the school day to be through.
Photograph by Bella Gilardi | 2017
When the Snow Came Down
by Ana Petrak | 2017
When the snow came down, it blanketed the ground and cast the world into silence
When the rain came down, it poured and flowed over the ground and it sounded
as if the Heavens had opened
When the hail came, it was big, it smashed and it broke, it was loud and it was messy
When the winds came, it was as if everything was as light as air, it ravaged and it raged
All of these were chaos
And there was peace
But when the sun shone down throwing its rays across the earth,
bathing everything in its light and creating a glow,
When the birds sat high in the trees, singing their songs,
serenading the creatures and nature,
When the sky was blue and the grass was green and there wasn’t a cloud in sight,
Then everything was peaceful
And it was chaos
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Sydney Bonds | 2017
Red Raven
by Julian Bonds | 2017
Red raven running through the trees
Failing to fly though it tries so hard
Tripping and tumbling but staying upright
Fleeing from the darkness it left behind
Brilliant scarlet bird at the branch’s edge
Falls majestic and gracefully spins
Hits the ground softly
And sleeps in the wind
Swept back into the darkness.
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Simple as Spring
by Bella Gilardi | 2017
Brightness shines through a wall of grey
As we come out of winter hiding.
Spring is a time of change and deciding
What we want to be, and looking ourselves over
To examine the damage done by winter.
We hang our coats and put away our boots
While we watch the flowers bloom.
The smell of pollen fills the air,
The leaves become green again.
And all the while this is happening,
We do not notice.
Spring is like the 3rd piece of pie
No one notices it's coming and passing.
We eagerly wait for summer
And hurry spring on its way.
But it's a shame, really,
To ignore the beauty
In something so simple,
Simple as spring.
Artwork by Emma Govachini | 2017
The Signs of Spring
by Alex Hirst | 2017
Spring is here, Smell the air.
Cut the tall green grass,
Sit out on the lawn chair.
Drink a lemonade, Or an ice tea.
Sit out and get a tan,
Or under a shady canopy.
Pretty Flowers
by Alex Hirst | 2017
Red and blue,
Green and yellow.
Give one to a girl,
Like a kind fellow.
Water and sunlight,
Tender, loving care.
Give them to people,
Their beauty you must share.
April Showers
by Alex Hirst | 2017
Soft and mild,
Wet and cool.
They're very quiet,
Like a private pool.
So dance in the rain,
Go out and get wet.
But wear a rain coat,
Or a cold you might get.
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Santina Cillo | 2017
Photograph by Rachel Hildebrand | 2016
Oh, But There Is A Change in my Climate
by Rachel Hildebrand | 2016
Climate change, what a frustrating topic.
From the presidential debates to the conservationists in DC.
But, to climate change there is so so much more.
My climate is changing, I'm graduating high school.
My climate is changing, the polar bear homes are disappearing.
My climate is changing, I'm moving away.
My climate is changing, the oceans are getting dirty.
My climate is changing, my brother is getting married.
My climate is changing, sharks are endangered.
My climate is changing, my parents are buying a new house
My climate is changing, the air is not pure.
My climate is changing, I’m actually an adult
My climate is changing, it’s getting so hot.
My climate is changing, for the better, and the worse.
Artwork by Sydney Hnat | 2017
Heaven & Hell
Pygmalion
by Lauren Kanavy | 2016
Rough marble under my hands,
Chisel cold, heavy,
Her face under my fingertips,
Waiting to be chipped out,
Carved out.
Endless hours lay in debris on the floor,
Dust settles in the windows,
I can almost see it now-
Angle of the nose,
Her pliant lip,
Eyes waiting to be closed.
"Perfection doesn't exist," they tell me.
But I was also told that
If you cannot find something
You must create it.
Photograph by Megan Hirschfield | 2019
The True Meaning of Easter
by Alex Hirst | 2017
Eggs and candy,
And the bunny, too.
Put out your basket,
That's yellow, pink, and blue.
That all is nice,
And very cute, too.
The reason is Christ, though,
Who died for me and you.
The Easter Bunny
by Alex Hirst | 2017
He hops through the cities,
And back streets, too.
To deliver much candy,
To me and to you.
Visits each home,
Delivers to every child.
He's a kind little bunny,
Meek, humble, and mild.
Under Winter Moon
by Patrick McCracken | 2016
A sky so dark, grey, and somber
Fills hearts with yearning desires.
Desires to love, to learn, to embark
On journeys with countless routes, and unforeseen ends. I tell you!
Such a sky perpetuating pulses of pounding power,
Intimidates many, the weak of heart.
Thou alone may not interpret the vastness of this blank unknown,
Until thou embraces the illumination of this night,
With open arms and open mind. I tell you!
The mesmerizing light beacons upon creation
Sending messages of hope, prosperity, and justice for all.
Such light touches souls allowing humanity to see purpose through darkness,
And through such darkness, reveals the Christ. I tell you!
I am this awe astounding light, therefore the Christ
Imploring this creation, let thy be thou guide of night.
Brightness imbues my spirit of thy hope in thou,
To be much more than temperate stones of night.
Forever and always, reject the night, embrace thy light. I beg you!
Photograph by Megan Hart | 2016
Photograph by Alyssa Deasy | 2017
Photograph by Tressa Swanson | 2017
My Roommate the Devil
by Trevor Hipkiss | 2016
"Heya Lucy."
"Don't ever call me that again or I'll send your soul to the burning depths of the seven hells mortal insect."
We stared at each other from across the small college dorm. The devil stood about 6ft tall and had jet black hair that he tied back in an absentminded ponytail. His face was best described as sharp. Sharp features, angular, clean shaven face, and a hooked nose that made him seem brooding if not mischievous. His piercing eyes bore into mine, black, soulless, and unwavering. He currently wore a baggy state university hoodie with baggy sweatpants and was reclined lazily in a wheel adorned office chair. His slit pupils of his dark eyes locked onto mine as I entered our shared living space. I held his gaze as long as I could feeling the shadows of the room growing cold. The moment grew overly intense but gathering my remaining resolution I stared him down stone faced. He broke first, barking out a poorly stifled laugh. I couldn't help myself either, his laugh had this weird infectiousness to it that made me laugh more than his attempts at humor did.
Once he had caught his breath he wiped away a single tear from his now white and shimmering eyes that hit the old red shag carpet with a sizzle. I set my bag down next to the door and shut it behind me. He turned back to the computer that he spent almost all day on and continued with whatever he was doing. I flopped down on the hard college bed and began scrolling through my various social media apps. It's interesting having satan following you on Twitter. His username is pretty bland and average (and no I'm not giving his away.) and he posts useless nothing's like the rest of us humans. I began scrolling through my timeline when he cleared his throat noisily. Out of my peripheral vision I saw him shifting around in his wheelie chair.
I sighed, and prepared for his questioning. "So... How was class?" He asked, trying to sound uninterested.
"Well we learned about photosynthetic reactions in plants and I got assigned some serious homework from Professor Sanders." I replied not glancing up from my smartphone.
Artwork by Paris Morinville | 2017
Artwork by Paris Morinville | 2017
"Fascinating," He said, still trying his best to seem uncaring, "And these reactions...do uh, what exactly do they do?" He shifted around on his office chair and leaned heavily on the back rest. The chair squeaked pathetically in disapproval.
I let the phone fall from my hands and land dully on my chest. I studied him quizzically for a moment. He had this way with him where you could never be sure if he was genuine or false. I guess that makes sense coming from the one known as The Prince of Lies, The Deceiver, etc. He looked intrigued if not held in a state of childlike curiosity. I gritted my teeth, he's definitely messing with me but there was no way I'd know for sure. "It's about how plants grow with the sun. Surely you're familiar with the concept." I said making sure to layer on the sarcasm.
He dramatically placed a hand over his heart, his mouth forming into a wounded 'O' shape. "Of course I am familiar with the concept, it's just a matter of these modern, overdramatized names that your experts give," he replied, a deep and theatrical undertone ringing through his normally lax tone, "I'm severely hurt by your sarcasm Joseph."
I rolled my eyes as he slumped backwards into his chair with a dramatic and exaggerated gasp, combustion took his form. The hoodie and sweatpants crumpled as the form that once supported them became a pile of dark ash. I picked up my phone and unlocked the screen again. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the shadows of the room writhe and swirl before engulfing the pile of sweats and ash. The darkness swirled and within a few seconds the same sharp features and 6ft form stepped into the light that was barely creeping in from our window.
I blew a stray ash out of my face and continued through my timeline. He slumped back down onto his chair which squealed once more as it took his weight. He turned back to his monitor and began typing slowly but deliberately, as in one key at a time. An odd nasally voice with a thick Arabic accent then rang out, "It is to be my belief that plants will grow when exposed to great amounts of sunlight. They also require good soil and water in order to bring about good harvests."
I sat up from the bed and looked over at the desk he sat at. He glanced over his shoulder at me and stopped his slow tapping. "Guess who."
"Hell Luc, I don't know. Is it uh...Greek? Like a philosopher?"
He chuckled before responding, "Ottan the Great Harvester. He was a Sumerian leader a while back." He said this with a edge in his voice that came across as if this was common knowledge. He turned back to his keyboard.
"Ah, Ottan, of course I know Ottan." I lied with a quick smile.
"I know when you're lying Joe." He responded, not needing to even look up from his screen. "Your scientists are only confirming things humanity already knew. I'd honestly wager they over complicate things just to give themselves a sense of self importance."
I didn't respond verbally but damn. That's harsh. Well I guess not as harsh considering the source but I did agree with him to some extent. The names of these molecules were sometimes outrageous. I stood up and walked over to his desk. It had at one time been my desk but since his desk had 'mysteriously combusted' during the first week of our first semester, (don't ask) I had given him mine since I barely used it anyway. He had just now finished spelling out the word 'Google' on the search bar. He looked up at me expectantly.
"So...I was doing some browsing today," he said, overpronunciating browsing with an emphasis on the 'ow' sound, "and I learned that humans think the nearest planet that could sustain life would take over 80 years to reach by ship."
He beamed up at me proudly like a young child who had just been taught how to tie his shoes. I grinned down at him, not trying to suppress his enthusiasm. You see the Internet's development had been a rather recent event in the devil's immortal life and he's still struggling to catch up on the surplus of information that his laptop seemed to spew day after day. I patted him on the shoulder, "That's neat man."
"Yeah, it would be neat if it wasn't wrong."
I rolled my eyes again, a habit I'd picked up since being assigned this roommate. "And what makes you say that?"
"I was there earlier today, I'm not sure what a light year is for you but I'm gonna say eighty human years isn't worth going to see a ocean planet filled with pond scum." He said matter-of-factly.
"Well I'm glad you let me know, I'll make sure to put this information to good use." I replied, using all of my willpower to not sound sarcastic. It didn't work.
He sighed. "I went there for my own personal curiosity anyway, you humans seem to think the universe revolves around earth. It's interesting to get out to say the least." He finished carefully typing out the word 'reddit' into the search bar. He flexed his thin fingers dexterously.
I didn't question how or why he traveled through space to supposedly get to this planet. I'm sure I wouldn't really understand it anyway. My stomach growled fiercely as I came to the realization that I hadn't eaten since 11 this morning. It was 6pm. That made my empty stomach feel even emptier. "Wanna go get something to eat?" I asked.
He looked back to his computer screen longingly, as if typing out the words in his search bar was a long work of art not yet ready to be scrapped and abandoned. He frowned and looked up at me. Alright you can't blame me for this but the devil has a really good sad puppy dog face. I mean he's had thousands of years to practice and also he's the freaking devil. His eyes seemed to well up as if he was to cry and his sharp features seemed to unnaturally soften. The very definition of innocent pity. In the back of my mind I felt myself rolling my eyes.
Then in the tiniest of voices he whispered, "no...but can you bring me something back..?"
"Of course I can," I responded before I could stop myself. I mentally face palmed.
"And you'll be paying right?" he continued, small confidence building in his voice.
My features hardened as I snapped myself out of this trance. "Hmmm, how about you give me $10 and I'll give you change." I suggested.
Forgive my pettiness but as a college student I was pretty strapped for money. No, I'm not cheap, I'm just wary enough to not spend money based on a suggestion from the Prince of Lies. His innocent features faded and he smirked noticeably before producing a dirty green bill from a sleek black wallet. The leather looked like it was covered in small dark scales that sparkled slightly. It didn't seem to come from a cow. I didn't question it. He held it up to me and I snagged the crumpled note.
"You good for pizza?"
Literal fire danced in his eyes, "I'm always up for pizza. So long as it's Hawaiian."
---------
Say what you want about Satan, he has good taste in pizza toppings. We demolished the medium size pie, each taking four pieces. I busied myself the rest of the night doing my assignments on my school issued laptop. I can honestly say that as an English major, my calculus was killing me. Lucifer spent another four hours on the laptop "browsing" reddit threads. Every twenty or so minutes he'd make an over-exaggerated 'ooh' or 'aaaaah' to try and prompt me into asking what he found. I stayed strong and blocked him out. I was only seconds away from mentally finishing my last equation when I heard the laptop shut from the desk across from my bunk. I jotted down the answer (or what I hoped to be the answer) glanced at the clock. The fluorescent red digits read 11:27. Time flies when you're having fun.
He climbed up onto his bunk above me and I saw the wooden ribs of the top bunk strain as he laid down. I mirrored this and also began to lay down for the night. Instinctually, I laced my fingers together and whispered a quick prayer. As I opened my eyes I saw a pale, sharp featured face mostly obscured by the side of the top bunk. His eyes glowered down at me and it would of been terrifying if his loose ponytail hadn't have come undone. Hair cascaded around his head in black sheets.
I took my glasses off and ran a hand through the bangs beginning to hang in my face. I sat trying to ignore his glare. He eventually receded back to his bunk. I began turning out the lights and started to cover up when I heard small voice.
"Joe?"
"Yeah."
"...how do you feel about death?"
Now when the devil asks you how you feel about death two things happen. One, you wake up from your nightmare. Two, if one fails to have any affect you immediately think about every gruesome way to die ever. I was immediately greeted by an uncomfortable cold chill.
"...why exactly do you ask?" I questioned, trying not to let fear slip into my tone.
If he detected my fear, his voice didn't show it. "Just curious."
"Hey man, if this is about my bedtime prayers I'll stop saying them out loud. I honestly only do them because you know... You're you." I blurted out.
"Nah Joe I don't really-- wait...that's pretty damn rude man. I don't say my Latin incantations because you'd be instantly driven to insanity. I assumed this was a two way street." He said softly and he actually sounded hurt. But then again he always does.
I flinched at the thought of being driven to insanity by simply hearing incantations. I could picture it now: 'Awkward English major at State university declared insane. Won't stop referring to his friend Satan. Exorcists baffled'. Then again, I did share bunk beds with Lucifer himself. Maybe I was half insane already.
"Sorry Luc, it just sort of started..I barely think about it."
Seconds pass in silence. I held my breath, I've never seen him mad but I sure as hell (no pun intended) didn't want to.
"You, you think?" He finally said. I could scarcely hear the sounds of soft snorting. He was cracking himself up.
I sighed deeply and the laughter became genuine. "Apparently not..." I muttered under my breath.
"You still never answered my question Joe."
I laid there for a few seconds. Wow, I guess I never actually thought about it. I was raised a Roman Catholic so I believed in some form of heaven. There's supposed to be an afterlife so I guess death wasn't so bad. Honestly I wasn't that close with my faith before meeting Satan. Ironic, I know. A few minutes passed as I thought of how to phrase an answer to the question.
"There's a heaven right? So that must mean death isn't completely the end. I really feel like it's a part of life like anything else. Unavoidable." I finished, feeling proud of my insight. I waited for his response.
Seconds passed and nothing. A full minute passed. Still nothing. I furrowed my brow and stepped out of my bunk which creaked as I left the warm covers. I took two steps up the ladder to his bunk and glanced toward his bed. He was out cold, snoring slightly and wrapped up in a comforter cocoon. Only his long haired head was visible. I sighed once more and slid back into my bed. Honestly, I think I expect too much of the devil. Goodnight Lucy.
Introspection
The Fountain of Youth
by Lauren Kanavy | 2016
I have been searching
For years, ages,
Past men have slashed through jungles
Scoured through forests
Drank quick silver as the Water
I search a razor blade,
A fine line separating wrong and right
Searching
For a way to stop each year
That settles a burden on
Crinkling hands, sinking skin
Drawing down, closer
To the ground, the past men below me
While I search outward for the answer
To a terminal disease
In which the only cure is
Taking in those weathered hands,
That sloping skin,
As my own
Photograph by Bella Gilardi | 2017
The Mind
by Alec Bosnic | 2016
We are born to wander the world
But our realities become fictional
We dream until our minds are twirled
And begin to believe in the impossible
We spend our lives in search of fiction
Claiming that we are eternally seeking the truth
It is far too late before we see our souls are barren
It is then we begin to reminisce on our youth
And as we turn back, we look and see
Pasts so bright, yet a future so dim
We were made to wander the world
But instead we waste our lives, trapped in our minds
Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017
Artwork by Paris Morinville | 2017
Bugs Everywhere
A Trifecta of Poems about those Disgusting Creatures
by Lauren Kanavy | 2016
Cobwebs
I see them above the windows,
In the dark space before the ceiling
Cobwebs float back and forth, old,
Their edges grabbing, reaching for
The scant bits of sunlight, scattered.
Side eye catches the light, or a leg,
I turn my head to the space, squint.
But the cobwebs float alone.
They drift in the misplaced cave, dry
Where stray dusters can't sweep away
A home. Perhaps they knew I couldn't
reach, wouldn't reach their spinning webs,
A permissible existence by my hand.
I left them there, saved them there,
But later, when I reached and I looked,
All I saw were cobwebs
Stink Bug in the Bathtub
The stink bug in the bathtub explores the basin
The crackle of its legs on porcelain
Does it know I'm watching
Can it sense me
I suppose not because it's been three days
Since it arrived in the bath tub
And it hasn't left
Does it know it will die in this bathtub?
I let it stay, untouched
But why doesn't it leave?
Why explore this barren terrain
Where there is no where to go
No where to hide
Why doesn't it leave
One twist and the faucet will drag it away
Down down down to darkness
It needs to leave
There's nothing to find, nothing to gain
Yet I stay
Lady Bug on my Ceiling
The lady bug on my ceiling hasn't moved in years
Stuck in one spot, yellow turning brown
Shiny, spotted, shell so fragile
I could lift a finger to crush
The remnants of a civilization that has
Been stuck in one spot since I've been in this house
On this ceiling I've stared at for countless nights
Unable to rest, unmoving
Sometimes I wonder if it's empty
If there is substance under its shell
Underneath, fragile, delicate
It won't move as I reach out my hand
Fragile, still, silent, empty
I take my hand back, lay down again
Eyes fixed on the ceiling, unmoving
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Dakota Smith | 2017
Photograph by Allie Porter | 2017
Coals
A Response to "Eating Poetry" by Mark Strand
by Kyle Rush | 2016
A bed of coals, red blanketed
fire cleansing the burning material
I placed a book on the fire
It caught without hesitation
I placed poetry on the fire
It burned in stanzas and syllables
I placed a holy book on the fire
It burned with the passion of its followers
I placed a book of music on the fire
It burned in red chords and yellow overtures
I placed 10 timeless classics on the fire
They burned just as fast
The history of human expression
Black type turned into black smoke
Our greatest accomplishments, created in years
Burned in seconds
The most enduring ideas of man
Are given the most fragile format
I placed another book on the fire
Portrait of a Monochromatic World
A Response to 1984 by George Orwell
by Alec Bosnic | 2016
I stumbled violently down the streets, my balance completely stripped from me. I seemed to suddenly become more aware, as if the violent punch I had received had somehow opened my eyes to the reality of the world. It was no longer gray, the colors that had previously escaped my observation were now obvious, no, overwhelming. The sky shined with a brilliant blue, the sun an amazing yellow. The houses that lined the streets a mixture of red, white, and blue. I had never noticed until this moment, this moment that seemed as if it were the climax of my life, which unfortunately meant my story would soon be over.
The posters lined themselves above the proles for blocks. The dark, piercing eyes of Big Brother never left me alone, they constantly followed me, stalking me like my own shadow. I continued to grasp for help, the smooth concrete walls never obliging me, always causing my bloodied wrists to slide along. The members of the Inner Party had done this to me, leaving me a brutalized shell of myself to wander the cold, lifeless streets. It may seem like leaving a man such as myself to wander the streets covered in the lively shade of my own blood may be a danger to people like them, but it didn’t matter. I would only be remembered for the following day, if that, and then it would be as if this never happened. All the moronic proles would be more concerned with the latest “black market” sales, not worrying themselves with matters of intelligence. The members of the Party, inner and outer, will have failed to recall my name, if they even knew to begin with. The formerlygray banners of Hate Week, now appearing in a dark shade of burgundy, inspired the emotion in me. I hated them for what they did to me, after all I had done for them. They were ungrateful, idiotic, and worthless, too engaged in their own false realities to recognize the bigger picture, the one that was being painted around us every day, covering up one person, and then another, and then another until we were all painted over and were just a piece of the background. I hated them for this, I will always hate them. Inside though, I knew it was my own doing.
Artwork by Lauren Kanavy | 2016
I had managed to work my way into the Inner Party, knowing fully well the ideology of the new masters of the world was flawed at every level, but I didn’t care. Not only did I not care, but I appreciated it. In fact, I was thankful for it because it gave me the opportunities I’d found myself always craving. I didn’t foolheartedly believe their government was right, that it liberated the people of Oceania from the oppression we previously faced. I felt it, in my bones, that whatever came before this was better, DOUBLEGOOD, as it would now be called. But I didn’t care. I wanted to have a say, I needed to have a say. I wanted the reality of the world to be one that I helped create, no matter how grim this reality appeared to be. I wanted to be the puppeteer, all of Oceania merely moving because of my strings.
But I wanted too much. It suddenly wasn’t enough for me to be a key member of the Inner Party, I had to be superior to the rest of them. What’s worse, is that I felt I had to know. I felt I had the right to know what the days prior were like, if the Revolution really made things better for the people of Oceania, if the capitalists really enslaved the proles, if the airplane really existed prior to the Party, if people really worshiped something being that they had never seen, and never would see. The curiosity from the rumors circulated amongst the Inner Party burned inside me, like the afterflames from a bomb that the Eurasian, or maybe East Asian, army launched on London. I thought I could break the rules. I believed that learning the truth, a word no longer uttered in my world, would make me better than the rest of them. I was trusted, vetted through and through, it would be impossible that I would come under suspicion, or at least, that’s what I told myself. When I was sent on a mission with the objective of recovering a book, a book that was rumored to be the gateway to the past, something which the Party could obviously not have in circulation, I saw my chance. I was commanded to not examine the contents of whatever I found, but the temptation was too much, I had to know.
The book itself was a set of records kept by a former member of the party who had somehow managed to record everything the Party had done, all their lies exposed on the rough surface of paper. This did not interest me, I knew their lies, I saw through them. What interested me were the records of the days before the Revolution, something which the mysterious man, whom the rest of Oceania was programmed to hate, had somehow managed to procure and jot down. It was almost too good to be true. The Party had been searching for the last several years for this fabled figure. Upon receiving intelligence that the man was in London, hiding amongst the proles. I didn’t understand why he was attempting to hide in Oceania. No one can hide from the Party, no one, especially inside its own borders. They located him living in one of the slums outside of what used to be called London, and I made my way.
The journey was tedious, everything shaded with the same monochromatic tone it always was. I couldn’t contain myself though, a grin spread across my face at the thought of procuring what belonged to me, what I had the right to know. It was not long before I stood in front of the run down building, seemingly ready to collapse at any moment. I stealthily glided over the stairs, climbing closer and closer to my destiny. I climbed up the almost abandoned structure, until I reached flat D42. I coolly pushed open the door, not making a sound. The man was there, his back to me, it was too easy. I pulled out my partyissued pistol and quickly ended his life, his gray blood emptying onto the dusty old surface. My quest for knowledge was almost complete. The secrets of the universe would now be mine, and only mine. I examined the room searching for my birthright, and found it hiding among a collection of other books, I only noticed the one adjacent to what seemed to be my objective. It was an old, withered book, titled “Julius Caesar.” It seemed significant, but in my haste I didn’t have the time nor the desire to examine things that were irrelevant to my current situation. I picked up the gray, battered covers of the book and studied them. The covers were indeed disturbed and damaged from ages of existence. The paper, however, looked as if it were brand new. I didn’t think much of this, my heart trying desperately to escape my chest with every beat, removing the neutral coolness that had become so common for me in my current society. I flattened the book, and opened the first page. My heart stopped. Written in an unrecognizable font, spread across the page, were the words “We Know.”
No, this couldn’t be happening. I quickly skipped through the rest of the pages, hoping that something of significance would appear before me, saving me from this brutal state of ignorance. No such salvation came. All that appeared were the words “We Know” on every page, tormenting me at every turn. I threw the book out the window into the crowded streets below. It was too good to be true. As I turned I was struck in the head and was sent flying from the window myself.
So here I was, limping away from my fate. I didn’t know how they knew about my hidden agenda, but they did. That’s all that mattered. Maybe I talked in my sleep, the telescreen turning my short rest into a much longer one. I don’t know. I tumbled down outside the
Ministry of Love, a building that I now recognized as having a solid greyblack color scheme. It was ironic that my beginning was gray and my end would be too. The cool cement pressed against my bloody head, relieving the searing pain from the blow I had received. I laid there still, unable to continue pointlessly limping along. I laid there for what seemed like hours, but all that mattered was that the next day, I was gone.
Lost and Misunderstood
by Tressa Swanson | 2017
I feel so lost and misunderstood. I want to find myself. I want to be secure and okay with who I am as a person. I want to be spiritually, physically, and mentally accepting of myself. I'm sick of being in a never ending guessing game of who I am. I want to know myself. I want to define myself as my own person. I'm sick of feeling like I'm just a face in a crowd. I want to find my self worth. I want to be an independent individual. I want so badly to break free of the restrictions that friendships and relationships put on me. I want so much more out of life than what I have immediate access to. I'm dying to be myself, but I just haven't figured out exactly who I am yet.
Photograph by Megan Hart | 2016
I Am Proud
by Joe Leckenby | 2017
I am proud of myself
because I am true to myself
be proud, of the accomplishments
of Greeks who came before you as well
for we probably wouldn't have
a lot of the great blessings we have today.
Photograph by Santina Cillo | 2017
This I Believe
by John Weldon | 2016
Why did Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, and many other basketball players have extraordinarily successful careers? How did Bill Gates acquire so much wealth? How did Franklin D. Roosevelt guide the United States out of the Great Depression and lead America in the early stages of World War II?
The background of three questions come from different periods of time, but all pertain to a similar topic: success. All of these iconic figureheads became successful because of all their unique accomplishments. Bryant and Jordan won eleven NBA championships combined; Bill Gates invented Microsoft, and Roosevelt had one of the most outstanding presidential records of alltime. These achievements and milestones are a result of intense dedication, hard work, and obsession. Without these three elements, many of these glorified résumé’s wouldn't be a reality. I can relate to this idea, because I have recently become successful in my basketball career. Our basketball team, the Bishop Canevin Crusaders, won the second sectiontitle in school history, and had a great season. Even more personally, I have had many college’s scout and pursue me along the ride. Why am I successful? Because of the thousands of hours I’ve spent in the gym perfecting my craft.
Because of the many blood, sweat, and tears I've shed. Because of all the adversity I have faced. Because of all of the hard work and dedication I invest in the game of basketball.
This is why I am successful.
Photograph by Donovan Leckie | 2017
Carpe Diem
by John Weldon | 2016
I will begin my journey
with intense focus and preparation.
My childhood days are over,
and my path on adulthood has begun.
Unorganization and no motivation
will no longer be acceptable.
I’ve been waiting for a chance
to shine bright and live right.
The future is never certain,
but I will make the best of my opportunities.
Nothing will stop me from success,
and I will seize the day.
Photograph by Joey Kretz | 2017
Love & Heartache
Just Like Us
by Ana Petrak | 2017
Just like me to let my heart take the lead
Just like me to dive in so deep
Just like me to want too much
Just like me to think we had such luck
Just like me to believe we were free
Just like me to think we could be
Just two people who were merely teens
Just two people trying to live their dreams
You were crazy; you were young and wild
I was quiet, a sheltered child
Then you came in and changed my world
No longer a sweet, little, innocent girl
We sparked when we met
It’s hard to forget
But the fun that we had just wasn’t enough
When the times got hard and the going got rough
And now here we are, reunited at last
Hoping that maybe we can remake the past
I don’t know what will happen, what will go down
But I do know I’m happier when you are around
So for now, stay close, please don’t leave
And perhaps, in love, I will again believe
Artwork by Emma Govachini | 2017
Photograph by Megan Hirschfield | 2019
Waves
by Randy Hatcher | 2017
By the beach is where you first took me. We were just two kids, falling in love, searching for something in life. The night reigned over the day, allowing kids in love to come out and play. We walked the shore, as waves washed up slightly by our feet. The moonlight glistened over the ocean. Everything was silent besides the tranquil sounds of the living water. It's as if it was breathing, slowly, softly. Walking up the rocky hill, we could see it all. We gazed over to the pier, neon lights, people laughing, rides running. It was so alive, alive more than even I. You and I, we gained life from each other just as the shore gained life from the waves. Your heart beat synced with mine, just as our footsteps matched as we moved along the shore. The waves washed up on the rocks, covering them with its cool water. Like the waves, your love was also washing over me, slowly but surely falling in love. Across the ocean nothing could be seen, just miles and miles of dark ocean water. Beneath the waves, is where I wished to reside. Diving in, letting the water envelope me in a world of peace. Coral of all colors covered the ocean floor, schools of fish twirled around the formations. Almost nothing matched the beauty of the miraculous creatures that dwelled. However, there was one thing that compared. You. Within your heart I could hear the ocean waves. Your touch felt as though the waves were washing over me, bathing me in its grace. I wanted to swim within the crevasses and holes in your heart and soul, and discover who you were, just as you wanted your love to wash over my heart. And within the waves of your love is where I will be found.
Sonnet 42 (Renewal)
by Kyle Rush | 2016
The waning moon hides me from your new light.
Deliver me with snow blind eyes unto
This winter sea of new heavenly white
For this, I wish, my dear I could undo.
Spring came and promised me a place to save
A hole in my eternal heart for you.
If only my heart could make me behave
In arrows straight and everlasting true.
But in the summer heat burning like Hell
The flowers put my heart and mind at rest.
And Autumn's leaves have stilled my ringing bell
For in you is where I can find my best.
For this whole year we only grew and grew,
Until next year when we will start anew
Photograph by Rachel Hildebrand | 2016
Acrostic Poem
by Brendan Milowicki | 2017
Bread and butter set on a table
Evening stars in the sky
Apples grown fresh from a tree
Unique people and places
Trees starting to grow green leaves in the summer
Interesting facts about people and places
Freedom to be what you want to be
Using your thoughts and feelings to create art
Loving someone unconditionally
Photograph by Eva Zenk | 2017
Scars of Our Love
by Deanna Bird | 2016
My dear
Do you recall the days we were once in love?
We were young and foolish.
I thought it was real
I thought it would last
'Til death do us apart, remember?
I guess you meant 'til someone better came along
Our first anniversary
You planned a romantic picnic
In that little park by our apartment
Do you remember that young oak you carved our names into?
Well, I passed that oak today
And could you imagine
All the memories I locked away
They came flooding back
But that tree that so long ago resembled our love
It was just a stump today
And that stump that was dying and old
It still had the scars of our failed love
I saw it
The heart with our names
After all those years
Grown over a bit
But still there and still visible
You know that oak that once represented our love
Young, strong, forever?
Well that stump, it represents me now
Scars and all
You thought I would be fine
You carved your love into my heart
And my heart, my dear, it never healed
Those scars of our past love,
They're still there
Just like that stump
Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017
Photograph by Sara Szymanski | 2017
Valentine Lament,
or Roses and Schmaltz
by Mr. George Schlicht | Religion Department
Roses are red,
But Violet's aren't blue.
Rhyme must serve romance,
But the color's askew.
For the illness called love,
There's simply no pill.
One writes that which works.
Tho sincerity's nil. Sentiment
Poetic license,
Or license to shill?
(Submitted to Oracle
Reject if you will)
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Strangers
by Deanna Bird | 2016
In a world full of strangers,
I found you.
But now that our love is over,
My heart breaks.
Because the man I once loved,
Now loves another.
The most heartbreaking part
Is seeing you become a stranger right in front of my own eyes.
That mouth that once kissed mine,
Now smiles for her.
That laugh that once warmed my heart,
Now giggles at her.
Those fingers that once laced with mine,
Now hold onto hers.
Those words that were once told to me,
Now fill her with joy.
That boy that once consumed my every thought,
Is now hers.
So I guess in a world full of strangers,
I shouldn't have expected to end up anything more than just that.
Artwork by Sydney Hnat | 2017
Artwork by Paris Morinville | 2017
I Wanna Fall in Love
by Rachel Hildebrand | 2016
I wanna fall in love
Not with a boy, or a girl.
Not with shoes or a car or a house
I wanna fall in love with a place, a destination
I want my heart to skip a beat when the crisp air brushes my skin
I wanna jump out of bed when my alarm beeps at 5 am.
I wanna explore and get to know it everyday
Spend all my time there.
So wonderful, so amazing, so beautiful
I wanna fall in love.
Photograph by Ally Lounder | 2017
Friends & Family
To My Mother
by Charles Di | 2017
I can give you warm gloves but cannot eradicate the callosity on your hand.
I can give you the best shampoo but cannot take off your white hair.
I can give you a bright smile but cannot bring your painful inside.
I can give you a bottle of green tea but cannot resume your spirit.
I can give you a cup of hot water but cannot warm your heart.
I can give you a kiss but cannot clear up your wrinkles.
I can give you enough money but cannot buy your youth.
I can give you care but cannot make you happy.
I can show filial obedience to you very much but cannot make you live longer.
I can respect your expectations but cannot listen to all you said.
I can love you all my life but cannot prevent you from becoming elder.
Photograph by Anna Gestiehr | 2017
Artwork by Emma Govachini | 2017
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Kaylah Alford | 2017
A Man's True Friend
by Patrick McCracken | 2016
A dog can be trained to sit and to speak,
Though your willing trust does not make you weak.
Man’s unconditional love is all you desire,
To satisfy your soul of fire.
Where thou crafted by immortal hands,
Or were you always of this land?
And when your heart began to beat,
Was your essence truly complete?
You walk with grace and never cower,
Unto to my soul thou do empower.
You are a beautiful gift for all to see
My heart is closed and thou hold the key.
With your presence comes love and hope
To a man whose feelings never evoke.
Thou bring me peace and true purpose,
With every single ounce of trust.
If love, truly, is always desire,
Your heart need not be filled with fire.
Thou spirit is with me until the end,
To you, my dearest friend.
Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017
First Championship
by Julian Bonds | 2017
Baseball was my first love. It was the first sport I played, starting on the old concrete diamond next to Westwood Elementary School. Those days, I wore a big white tshirt like the other forty kids there, and the adults called us “the little Pirates” as we hit off tees and ran around the chalkformed bases. Fast forward to the summer of 2011, my final year with baseball. I didn’t know it then, but I should’ve. The combination of summer leagues, AAU basketball, and a full baseball season where too much for me and my parents.
Yet, the strain of too much activity was far from my mind in that final year. Instead, I was worried about finally winning the Southwest Pennsylvania Baseball League championship. The previous two years, we lost in the championship game, watching the opposing team create a “dogpile” on the pitcher's mound. This year, however, was different. A few of my talented friends joined my Westwood team from Elliot, our biggest rival, making a talented team into a very talented team. We finished a strong season in fifth place in our conference and went into the championship game having beaten the best team in the league, Carnegie, by a large margin in the semifinals.
The championship game was played at Beechview Field, the lower one with a tall chainlink fence in left field. The pony league field sat just beyond the right field fence, empty on this day. I was dressed the same as always in my red uniform, black pants, muddy red cleats, and hat with a cursive white “W” in the center. My hat was initialed on the tag, though I had frequent nightmares about losing it. I arrived with Walter and my dad, the coach. The grass was fully green, the peak of its summer color for the peak of my baseball career.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about the game. I know someone hit a homerun, but I don’t remember who. I remember one ball that the right fielder threw in to me at second base. But I don’t remember the specifics.
I'm sure I anxiously shuffled my feet back and forth on the gravelly dirt, “tending to the garden” as my old coach used to say. I'm sure I went to the plate, using my old, longtrained batting stance: bat on the plate, right foot in front of left on the front corner of the pentagon, swinging the right foot back to be shoulderwidth apart, swaying my hips back and forth so they would be loaded when the pitch came, swinging my bat out in front of me three times just for comfort. I'm sure my dad was pumping his fists, cheering, and yelling “Oh yeah!” just like he does today. Funny, after so many years away from baseball, I don’t remember the games that I adored. I recall those little things I did time and again, dreamed about the following night, then saw again the following day.
We won the championship, 97, but we didn’t pile on the mound. We cheered a little and I gave Tyler, our first baseman, a “glovefive,” but there was no celebration. It was almost relief at the time, but, looking back, there was probably sadness. Whether conscious and not, that game was the last time I would play with those kids, only a few of which I would see at school in the fall. I might see some of the other kids around the neighborhood, but our relationships would never be as strong as they were that summer. I hope I never forget my first championship, but more importantly, I hope I never forget those who affected my life during that wonderful summer.
Mother
by Leo Cao | 2017
Her Way
Rules and restriction around me
“Go to study; go to bed; go to school”
Why is she so strict with me?
I don’t understand.
People always told me
One day I will understand,
That is her way to love me.
“I know
I always give you rules and restrictions.
Get back home on time; do not forget to eat breakfast and to clean the room.
But I want you to know
These are basic things you need to learn for rest of your life.
“I believe one day
You will understand
That is my way to love you.”
Now I understand
All the things she required me to do.
That was her special way to love me.
Photograph by Jesse Stechly | 2017
Christmas Poem
by John Weldon | 2016
It is dark and cold outside.
The streets are screaming in silence,
only the whistling snow speaks.
All of the festivities are inside,
as people can’t contain their excitement.
Children dance and sing in the family rooms,
while the adults chat amongst the warm fire.
The smell of cinamon and sugar consume the air
along with soft and gentle Christmas songs.
This sweet vibe brings everyone joy,
even the grumpiest grouches of all.
They too even form smiles during the season,
just like the Grinch who stole Christmas.
Christmas is a time of joy
which everyone can be a part of.
Photograph by Bella Gilardi | 2017
Photograph by Tressa Swanson | 2017
Photograph by Jesse Stechly | 2017
A Mother's Heartbreak
by Deanna Bird | 2016
Love
Is between two people
Love
Is between a husband and a wife
Love
Is within a marriage
But this love
Is conditional
This love can fade
This love can end
Yet
Unconditional Love
is forever
Unconditional love
never fades
Unconditional love
never fails
Unconditional love
Between a mother and her child
Unconditional love
From the moment she holds her baby in her arms
Unconditional Love
As she glances into the eyes of her daughter for the first time
Unconditional Love
As she carries her home to begin their life together
Unconditional Love
As she watches her take her first steps
Unconditional Love
As she holds her hand crossing the street
Unconditional Love
As she teaches her to tie her shoe
Unconditional Love
As she sings her favorite song to her in the car
Unconditional Love
As she sacrifices her pride and freedom for her daughter
Unconditional love
As she fights back tears when her daughter gets sick
Unconditional love
As she spends thousands of dollars on treatment
Unconditional love
As she would do it all again
Heartbreak
As she watches her daughter receive rounds of chemo
Heartbreak
As she sees her daughter wince in pain
Heartbreak
As she watches her daughter breathe her last breath
Heartbreak
As she thinks back on her daughter's short life
Heartbreak
As she recalls the last time she read her a bedtime story
Heartbreak
As she remembers her daughter's favorite flavor of ice cream
Heartbreak
As she prepares for the funeral
Heartbreak
As she buries her young daughter
Heartbreak
As she watches other girls with their mothers
Heartbreak
As she realizes she will never again see her daughter's beautiful smile
Heartbreak
As she realizes her daughter, her life, is gone
The heartbreak of a mother who lost her baby
The heartbreak of a mother whose grief will never fade
The heartbreak of a mother whose entire life was ripped away
The heartbreak of a mother who outlived her child
The heartbreak of a mother who knows no matter how great her love,
she can never bring her child back
This unconditional love between a mother and her child
This unconditional love that can never be broken
This unconditional love that cannot diminish
This unconditional love that is cause for such heartbreak
This unconditional love that means she would experience this heartbreak
again and again,
if it meant she could hold her baby one last time
The Bicycle Accident
by John Weldon | 2016
The wait was over, and I finally got the chance to ride my bicycle without training wheels. The cool summer breeze was refreshing to say the least, and my peace of mind was heavenly. My dad took my bike into the garage, disassembled the training wheels, and quickly tuned it up. The anticipation was unbearable, as I stood outside waiting for him to finish his work. After a couple minutes, he came outside with the finished product. My excitement suddenly started to develop into an adrenaline rush, and my hands became clammy. I was nervous.
My dad set the bike down on the concrete, picked me up, and placed me on the seat. His hands were clenched on my shirt, because I had not yet adjusted to my weight on the bicycle. And then, my dad told me to pedal. I did as he asked, and at the same time, he gave me a boost forward. I made it a couple of yards, and then toppled. I was a bloody mess.
My knee was bloodied from top to bottom, and no one was pleased. I heard my dad swear. This was the only dialogue I can remember from that day, and it sure was memorable. My dad picked me up from the redstained concrete, and carried me through the basement and up the flight of stairs. On his way up, he took his brand new sunglasses and threw them against the wall, shattering them. It seemed like a cheesy thriller movie, and all of the events occurring were chaotic.
When we got upstairs, he bandaged me and made sure all of my wounds weren't infected. I had my full trust in him, even as a child, because I knew about all of the hard work he put in at the hospital. I will never forget that fateful day.
Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017
Tom's Marvo-lous Riddles
The Diner's Dilemma
Based off of the Missing Dollar Paradox
by Tom Wildenhain | 2016
On a day like any other,
At a common restaurant,
Three hungry diners shared a meal,
Shortly after their quick jaunt.
And when they had received their bill,
Thirty was the total price,
His fair share each man did fulfill;
Ten dollars was paid thrice.
But when the youthful waiter
Gave his manager the check to count
He found the price charged greater:
Twenty-five was the correct amount.
So with five dollars for the guests
The waiter did for the table leave
But ignoring his superior’s requests
Two of the five dollars he did thieve.
Each man received one dollar
And therefore each paid nine.
Thrice nine is twenty-seven
With waiter’s two: twenty-nine.
Thirty dollars at the start.
Twenty-nine at the finish.
To where did the payment depart?
Who caused it to diminish?
Photograph by Allie Porter | 2017
Photograph by Alexis Zarnick | 2019
The Noble's Estate
Based off of the Wise Arab Paradox
by Tom Wildenhain | 2016
There was a wealthy nobleman
Who with three sons in a palace dwelled.
His life was blessed with much fortune,
But with its end a great feud propelled.
For though his will clearly instructed
A half, a third, a ninth, to each child by age,
This division could not be conducted
On his seventeen horses; a quarrel did rage.
But one wise man, to end the debate,
Gave his sole steed, (though having no blame).
Now eighteen horses made up the estate,
And each son took his rightful claim.
The oldest, owed half, delightedly received nine,
The second son left with his share of six,
Two horses to himself the youngest did assign,
And no one felt there had been any tricks
But when summed together: nine, six, and two,
Totaling seventeen, a horse remained.
Each son got his portion (as far as he knew)
And still his own horse the wise man regained.
Thus was divided the indivisible;
Seventeen was cut into halves, ninths, and thirds.
This task’s completion is quite inexplicable.
Is the trick hidden in numbers or words?
Photograph by Allie Porter | 2017
Another Perspective
iPod
by Megan Hirschfield | 2019
I miss the old days. I was used all the time, daily in fact. Now I just sit here in silence under her bed. I've been waiting for the day she finds me and uses me again. Somedays she'll look under here and I get so excited, but then she just grabs something else. You know what? That's cool. I never liked her anyways. She always dropped me, threw me, pressed my buttons really hard. I felt so abused. Also, the songs she put on me were terrible. I don't even want to talk about them. Now, I do wish she'd find me because I want to be sold to someone who'll actually use me. Maybe even put some decent songs on me.
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017
The Raccoon
by Jimmy Walsh | 2017
As I shuffle through the dead leaves, it's dark and quiet. But as I look out and loove for food, there I find it. My food, my dinner, my life. I see a blue rock but I know the rock is hollow with so much food. But there is always a beast with no fur. I hate the beast. It's loud, smells, and is just plain mean. So as I sneak past some trees, a mini sun comes on and I run away. As I notice that it can't harm me, I start to sneak up again. This time I'm in the box. As I eat everything I can eat, I try to climb back up and out but the rock is too smooth for me. As I wait for the longest time, I notice the real sun coming up and I try to get out. I fail again, and then I hear it. The beast. A roar of a monters I have only seen and heard twice. The beasts made a monster that eats food from the hollow rock...
The Tale of the TV
by Joe Leckenby | 2017
My boss' boss goes over to the basket with my boss inside he tells me exactly what to do well that and Mr. Prevention the fire warden we almost all of us are controlled by him he who is my boss' boss he takes my boss who in turn yells: "You heard the man get to work!" Then there is light and sound my boss screams orders at me directed by his own boss all I hear is get louder get softer up one down one. 002, 252, 902, 190 I quickly rush about. My boss screams at me "Something is wrong reset" I quickly go black and then it is light sometimes I become very hot but I have to keep working. My boss' boss goes to bed and most of the time my boss says good night and everything goes black until the next night.
Artwork by Emma Govachini | 2017
Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017
Photograph by Rachel Hildebrand | 2016
Photograph by Eva Zenk | 2017
The Fire Dragon
by Megan Hart | 2016
He came in my cave and stole my chalice
Instinctively I acted out with malice.
With every breath I brought devastation
And old Beowulf came to me on behalf of his nation.
The withered warrior was wrinkled and grey
He looked as if he was prepared to pass away.
He drew his sword ready for a fight
He tried and tried with all his men’s might
But then I got him in my poison jaw
I left him to think about the fatal flaw
I went for Wiglaf who was watching from behind
Unexpected was the pain that seemed undefined.
I fell to the crimson covered cave floor
Beowulf battled and settled the score.
Photograph by Joey Kretz | 2017
Photograph by Allie Porter | 2017
Photograph by Patrick Bane | 2017
Black Boots
by Sydney Putnam | 2017
My favorite pair of shoes are my trusty black boots. They are plain black pleather, with no embellishments except a decorative strap across the ankle. They have a thick, black, rubber sole and a black zipper running up the side. The inside is lined with a blackandwhite plaid fabric. Both of the toes are scuffed, and the zipper is starting to fall apart a little, but to me they are the most beautiful pair of shoes I own. I got them four years ago for Christmas and have been wearing them ever since. They have been with me through everything, from new friends to parties to New York and Washington DC, and I know that they will be with me on whatever adventure I take next.
Ode to a Grecian Germ
by Mr. George Schlicht | Religion Department
Figures under glaze now
Once alive
Laughing, loving, dancing, drinking
Their names long lost
Given immortality
At the hands of unknown artisans
In the apex of their vigor
I have claimed them all to their fate
Death in greater numbers
than any army of man could conceive
Implacable genocidal foes
Locked forever in a deadly dueling
That neither can win Or lose
Equally matched
Reason and genius verses mindless replication
The highest intelligence
Brought to humility by the lowest
God's Creation in vivid irony
The Sleeping Squid
by Jimmy Walsh | 2017
As I look from my cloud in squid heaven, I see these strange fish-type things stabbing at my body. As the shiny sticks cut me open -- Oh my dear Lord and Savior Squid God -- what is that? Why are they --- ooowww! Stop touching my beak please! I eat from there. My favorite tentacle! Aaahhh! I'm going back down. I flop and move into a water pool area, and I swim away. But I know I cannot swim far because my tentacles. I sink, and it gets darker and darker...
As my wife swims to me, she asks "Are you okay?" I reply, "No, I had a dream that I was a squid." She comforts me, saying "Honesy, you have had this dream five times this week. Remember, you are a fine octopus."
Artwork by Jacob West | 2017
Photograph by Nick DeLisio | 2017
The Steel City
 Photograph by Megan Hart | 2016 |  Photograph by Kellan Gustine | 2017 |  Photograph by Alyssa Smith | 2017 |
|---|---|---|
 Photograph by Madison Byerly | 2017 |  Artwork by Mario Davis | 2017 "DRIPP means Do Right Inspire Plenty People. My friends and I came up with the saying because we know our city lacks originality, so we thought if we can start a new positive trend, then maybe, just maybe, our city can change." -Mario Davis ft. Aaron Owens, Blake Carpenter, Jerico, and Loren Wicks |  Artwork by Mario Davis | 2017 |
 Photograph by Josh Maust | 2017 |  Photograph by Kaylah Alford | 2017 |  Photograph by Anna Gestiehr | 2017 |
 Photograph by Ally Lounder | 2017 |  Photograph by Kellan Gustine | 2017 |  Photograph by Randy Hatcher | 2017 |
 Photograph by Joey Kretz | 2017 |  Photograph by Santina Cillo | 2017 |