CANVAS MILFORD HIGH SCHOOL VOLUME 2 - SPRING 2015
CANVAS - SPRING 2015 Untitled Sydnee Smith
TABLE OF CONTENTS SERENITY - PAGE 1 BOLD - PAGE 2-3 ETERNITY - PAGE 4-5 LONESOME - PAGE 6-7 EVOLUTION - PAGES 8-9 FOCUS - PAGES 10-11
A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS
Thanks to all of the teachers and students that helped make the second annual literary magazine turn out so well. The school newspaper, The Reflector, hopes to make a more robust edition next year. This magazine highlights the vast amount of artistic talent in all mediums that Milford students have. A multitude of poignant photographs and paintings are presented in these pages and are covered with the thoughts of your peers. We hope you enjoy reading the literary magazine as much as we did making it. Here’s to a great year!
CANVAS STAFF: Kara Buck Abagail Chumley Jensen Mills Katelyn Snider Hannah White Mr. Joe Claus Mrs. Jennifer Goff
COVER ART: The Beginning Noah Frye
SERENITY - 1
Blue Skies Leah Blevins Clear blue skies The sound of rushing tidal waves rolling onto the sea shell engraved shore as if it wishes to tell a secret before anyone else As you look off into the water you realize how small you actually are, and God’s distance beyond your glance is endless, a never ending peaceful slight Wishing you could capture a mental picture of the beauty before you, you feel the damp sand between your toes Slowly starting to walk forward, closing your eyes, you breathe in the salty atmosphere You take one last step The white wave reaching out just before your feet touches you The cold water wraps around your ankles, pulling you in, captivating you Your open your eyes slowly, your hair brushes back from your face, blowing behind you You are one with the Earth—you are infinite
CANVAS - SPRING 2015
Untitled Linneah Deighton
BOLD - 3
Nerve Grant Newton - The Story So Far Hard shove, feel the heavy weight It’s the same love that I push away It be the same thing I always debate Why you left me here for another These days I tend to see red ‘Cause all the women swimming in my head Are not the same ones laying in my bed But I do my best to ignore it But you still come up You still come up It’s all in my head, there’s not much I can do You set your pace, I keep mine too Each time I chase, I feel dark blue Confuse your face for someone new I guess I owe you for most everything Like the way I feel and the curse you bring You got a lot of nerve to wanna hear me sing After you tossed us into the gutter
Mad now like I was before ‘Cause somebody’s always asking who I do it for But I don’t wanna do it for you anymore I do my best to ignore it But you still come up You still come up It’s all in my head, there’s not much I can do You set your pace, I keep mine too Each time I chase, I feel dark blue Confuse your face for someone new Yeah I should let you go Away from the grey that we both know And I can’t pass through Indio Without feeling indigo Yeah I should let this go But it gets so hectic on my own You can’t be proud if I’m alone It’s all in my head, there’s not much I can do You set your pace, I keep mine too Each time I chase, I feel dark blue
Lipz Lillian Turner
CANVAS - SPRING 2015
City on a Hill Kenzi Gooley The following piece is a prologue from a novel I have been working on and drafting since the eighth grade. I’ve always loved reading and writing, but in the last few years, I have fallen in love with the stories of several young, female authors which have inspired me to write my own story. This excerpt flashes forward to the climax of my book, The City on a Hill. In the passage, the protagonist must make a decision between her past and her future. My intent was to foreshadow some of the major themes in the novel such as: conflicting personalities, love versus structure, and curiosity versus certainty.
T
here is nothing in this world more frightening than a clock. It is unnatural and incessant, ever ticking at the passing of each second, ever reminding people of how insignificant their lives are in the infinity of time. It knows only one way. It presses onward, never stopping, never looking back. They say that time is the healer of all things, but in reality, it’s everything’s unbecoming. A clock is nothing like a heartbeat. They both may drum to a similar rhythm, but a heart is vulnerable, it is subject to change. Hearts rejoice in the drama of life by fluttering from flirtation to jumping in fright; while time is just a measurement that cares for nothing but consistency. The hands of a clock spin round and round at the same beat even as a heart breaks, even as a heart stops. But, in that moment, she needed time to have mercy on the situation. Her heart had paused long ago in honor of the severity of the upcoming decision. She craved for one eternal second to just think and breathe. And against all odds, it was granted to her. She sunk into herself and in that moment, saw everything that had happened in the last few months. The memories rushed around her until she was drowning in a flood of color and emotion. She let out a small gasp, and forced herself to focus on only what was applicable to the right here, right now of the situation. She tried to stay concentrated, but she couldn’t stop herself from sinking into a plethora of unanswerable questions. She had always been curious, and three letter questions were her favorite indulgence. If her mind was left to wander alone it would quickly be teeming with the who’s, how’s, and why’s of life. Who created the world; how is their life; why does heartbreak hurt more than a knife to the chest? Uncommonly determined people devote their lives to answering these simple questions in their most tangible forms. They take things apart and reassemble them, dissecting each piece and observing it until they are satisfied that they finally understand. Charity Burress was the same way. She remembers the fun she had in taking apart toys and putting them back together. She often enjoyed that even more than actually playing with them. She would bombard her parents with questions so much that they actually had to put a limit on the number she could ask each day. Her mom would always sigh and tell her that, unfortunately, that was her eleventh question, so she could not answer. Charity was infuriated. She didn’t understand why if her mother had all the answers, she wouldn’t share them. As she grew older, she learned to answer things for heralded, but still seldom does a day pass that she doesn’t reach her ten question max. But right now, there was only one thing at the forefront of her mind, why? Why was this happening to her, why was she at such a horrible crossroads? It was easy to retrace her steps and see exactly how she reached the end of a hallway that branched off in two different directions, two different lives. It all started with the funeral and from there, all the cogs and bolts of her journey fell easily into place. Her second was over. Her heart resumed its uneven thudding and a bead of sweat rolled down her brow mixing with the tiny tears leaking from her eye. She was stumped by the simplest question imaginable, right or left? To the right was Adrian and all of the past that made Charity who she was, and to the left was the rest of the world and all that she could be. Past or future, love or sacrifice, left or right? In the end, it really wasn’t much of a decision.
ETERNITY - 5
Lion Abby Chumley
CANVAS - SPRING 2015
Numb Graham Craycraft Odd how numbness still has feeling You stay out in the cold and are apt to remain there Unable to help anyone You help not even yourself You feel the sharp bites of frozen birds nipping at your heels and nose You sit and inhale carcinogenic fire You feel the smoke slip past your throat and rush into your lungs; a warm poison Burn it down the the end of another life The singeing of your fingers is a burning remembrance of life entirely Ringing in your ears makes you spin and stare You look down upon your belly emotionless at the bleeding wound caused by small flying piece of metal Dropping to the ground you rise in utter panic Is this the next life or the one you’ve been in all along? As dream and reality mix, you become unable to see the difference In your ‘dream’ you were unable to realize it was a dream What constitutes this as reality?
Untitled Erin Beurket
LONESOME - 7
Will Fight for Work Amanda Dominique
Chance Kara Buck My baby is born but born into a world of what? Narcissistic people absorbed in technology Young minds being morphed like clay Children turning into puppets on string Move to the left Run to the right Conform to society, but be yourself Don’t let other push you around, but follow my rules My laws My orders My footsteps
Babies deserve a fighting chance Pick at pro-choice or pro-life Their fragile bodies contain functioning minds Minds that can become world leaders Rule this country into a better tomorrow Life is a desolate wasteland One false move and thousands are murdered I can’t allow myself to have my baby grow like that He needs to be able to express Heaven is a free resort for thoughts for the loving for all the babies God will love and protect my baby My baby can rule from heaven
CANVAS - SPRING 2015
Evolution of Fashion Cara Snell Schizo Emma Ridsdale
W
e all need a little consistency. How are we supposed to have a sense of normalcy without it? I know that I wouldn’t know what was what without my little bits of routine spectres, ghosts that keep coming back to creep about like clockwork. My reappearing figures are strange men in ethereal white robes. They remind me of bedsheet ghosts wandering around a slightly blurry world. However, not all things are hazed and out of focus. Things close to my face are crisp and clear, and so are my friends. They are always easy to see, even when the rest of the world is distorted. Let’s see, I’ll introduce them to you. There’s 400 the cat. He walks on his back legs and has ratty, matted fur. He grins wide even when he isn’t happy. His claws are as sharp as knives. Then there’s 48 Hours, who may be a fox. I can’t tell. She likes to lay with me and cuddle. She cries when 400 scratches us and looks sad when I talk to any of my friends. I don’t know why. Each week, they talk with me and make me feel a little happy. Even when 400 is mean, I still like talking to him. Maybe it’s because the bedsheet ghosts never speak to me, only about me. I can hear them clearer than I see them. They say mean things about me that upset me. I try to tell them off, but they do not listen. The only times they ask is if they want me to answer questions about my friends. They always ask the same things. What are their names? What do they look like? Can I still see them? The answers are always the same. Then when they finish asking, they poke me with something sharp and painful. 400 gets angry and claws at them, but he can never touch them. They don’t even react to him. 48 Hours cries sadly. They start to fade when I feel that poke. After only moments, I can’t see them anymore. Then, it’s only me and the bedsheet ghosts, as they drift about me in that haze and talk about me. They do not let me respond. They begin to look more like people after this. The bedsheets become coats. They are still faded into the blur. I lose all energy now, becoming sleepy and my body heavy. They place little circles of glass on my face that sharpen my view, banishing the haze. They’ll take them off in a little while; they always do. They say I could attack someone with the pointy parts of the metal frames. I try to tell them that I do not care and only want to speak with my friends. I do not want to talk with you, I say to them. They ignore me. I am left feeling dazed and misplaced. I miss my friends when they are gone; these bedsheet ghosts that look like men are no company. All I can do is wait for the heaviness to fade, my private friends to return, and the white-coated men to retreat back into the haze.
EVOLUTION - 9
Phases of the Moon Eric Harris
Dynasty Discordia Lauren Moeller
CANVAS - SPRING 2015
FOCUS - 11
Jackie Robinson Aaron Terry