Ink â€˜N Art
Volume 1: Issue 1
Ink â€˜N Art: The Editorial Staff
Staff: Mary Rogers Brooke Hare Paige Lammes Geralyn Halmond Byrar Kader
Faculty Advisor: Mrs. Jaccarino Special Thanks to Mrs. Warth, Art Club Advisor and Mrs. Murgillo, Technology Instructor
Table Of Contents The Road to Ink n’ Art…………………………………………….1 “Trapped”………………………………………………………….3 “Predator with Blue Eyes”………………………………………...4 Featured Senior Artist: Heather Radford…………………………..5 “Love Game”………………………………………………………7 “Little Things”……………………………………………………..8 “Life As I Knew It”………………………………………………..9 “Thung”……………………………………………………………13 Walk This Way: A Collection of Shoe Art…………………………14 “The Last Dragon”…………………………………………………15 “Yellow”……………………………………………………………21 “Relapsed”………………………………………………………….22
Painting by Jessica Thomas
Cover Art by, Morgan Bauch
The Road To Ink ‘N Art
Two student literary publications figure into Brockport High School’s most recent past. They are entitled The Quill and ARTicles. The Quill was originally published during the 1970s and showcased the creative writing and art of BHS students. Original poetry, short stories, essays and art were submit‐ ted on an ongoing basis, and the student collection was showcased annually each spring. The Quill gave student writers an opportunity to share their passions and emo‐ tions in a manner not available anywhere else. Students anticipated the release date of The Quill, eager to read their original, published work as well as the contributions submitted by their peers. ARTicles, an annual publication of art and literature was a product of the 1980s. According to Paula Zagata, Literary editor in 1988, ARTicles was a “Collaborative effort in‐ tended to showcase the creative and artistic talents of our students.” Teachers of art and English all encouraged stu‐ dents to submit their work to this publication.
The Road To Ink ‘N Art
The Quill was reinstituted in the early 2000s by a group of students interested in taking advantage of the internet age; they recreated The Quill in an online version, where student work was published online, on an ongoing basis. In 2006 the yearly print publication was revived as a col‐ laborative effort between the student editors of The Quill, desktop publishing classes and various art classes. This most recent, 2011/2012 edition of The Quill has undergone yet another transformation! In the spirit of a stronger part‐ nership between art and literature The Quill was renamed Ink ‘N Art. We are taking advantage of 21st century tech‐ nologies and using this newest online publishing venue. We are pleased to continue this fine tradition of showcas‐ ing the talents of Brockport High School students. We hope you enjoy this first edition of Ink ‘N Art.
Ink n’ Art 2
Trapped Brooke Hare Photo by Mary Rogers
like a mouse carrying an ocean, expected not to drown.
a pen without ink, trying to spit a portion of thought, expected to massage my forced paper companion.
the shadow of a bird with no wings, expected to hug the air to the creamy clouds and back.
anchored here, my chains cutting off my circulation, from my heart to my actions, boiling glue attaches my feet to a dark barren floor. My heart slips through my body, burning like a volcano swallowing its lava connecting to the dead floor, as it stapled a splinter through my heart forgetting how to beat its own rhythm. Here, my heart lay being stampeded by elephants without trunks, and dragons without a taste of fire.
I am a rock, whispering the spine shivering secrets expected to permanently nap, muted wisdom being tossed around like the very joke that tickles the hyenas throat.
I am a petrifying tsunami, forced to live in a salt-less puddle never living up to my full potential, expected to degrade myself for other's unearned satisfaction.
I am 3
t r a p p e d.
â€œThe Predator with Blue Eyesâ€? By Justine Kenney One never knows the power of a predator One never sees the soul in the eyes One looks past the blueness of the sky But would one truly know, always see, and never look past the predator with blue eyes? A predator with blue eyes has a soul A soul the color of water A predator with blue eyes has power Power to kill and create A predator with blue eyes always turns to the sky The sky that holds the Sun The Sun that creates the world The world that holds and cares for the predator One never knows the will of a creature One never sees the spirit in the body One looks past the whiteness of the snow But would one truly know, always see, and never look past a creature with a body of white? A creature with a white body has a spirit A spirit no one can contain A creature with a white body has the will The will to survive and protect A creature with a white body has the purity of snow The snow that covers the ground The ground that grows life Life that feeds the creature What would happen if these two were combined? The predator with blue eyes and the creature with a white body? What would be? What could be? What should be? One will never know, never see, and look past the should, would and the could One will only guess What was the predator, the creature, the blue eyes, the white body? One should have seen it One could have known it One would have never looked past it The predator with blue eyes
Featured Senior Artist: Heather Radford
Interview With An Artist
How did you get started? “I have always liked to draw and create things ever since I was little. I can’t remember never not liking to create things”. Favorite medium (paint, charcoal, ink, pastels, etc.) to work with? “I would have to say ink and pencil drawings”. Favorite place to work in? When are you most creative? “In the (AP) art room with friends and I am most creative late at night”. Plans after Graduation? Are you planning to study art? “I plan on going to a four year University also I will continue studying art”. Who inspires you to do art? “My older sisters help me get new ideas and encourage me also my boyfriend gives me a lot of support”. Are you working on a piece now? “Multiple. Right now I’m working on the first piece of my concentration which is of a zoomed in picture of a onion for the texture it has”. What advice can you give to people who are interested in art? “You need to stick with is and don’t be discouraged and don’t let other people discourage you. Try to notice the world around you and find what you think is beautiful and interesting”.
Love Game By Paige Lammes
I thought you were the one for me, It isn't he that made me leave, it was your dwelling of your passion for me, You keep me contained, It felt like my heart was being hanged, feeling as if I was in the house of pain, your words were so vain, hearing them made me go insane. Instead you pounded your insignificant thoughts in my brain, for I was trapped pleasuring your voice of vain, For I was dumb to trust such a loveless thing, I soon came to find love is shame, shame that has to ruin a great game, playing it has been such realistic proclaim, for you and I? We will never be the same.
Painting by Justine Kenney
â€œLittle Thingsâ€? By Ryan Gorman Nearness a hug a long hug a what if? a why not? a when and where? locked arms locked eyes locked hearts locked minds holding your hand holding my breath me holding you holding my gaze holding your waist soft kisses butterfly kisses eskimo kisses hershey kisses a date a visit a call X's O's one feeling
Art Work by Phuong Quang
“Life As I Knew It” By Brooke Hare Bloody memories flood my brain Of bloody men squealing in pain Their voices’, painted in glass Roaring with the voice of a mouse
The bombs yawn as they drop to the Earth’s ground. The guns spit out their phlegm. A close voice was talking in my direction and I thought I heard it clearly. “What the heck is wrong with you?” I looked up and there was a handsome man looking down at me. I just smiled, and got back to my literature. “You’re going to get yourself killed by just lying here!” “What makes you think that you have a better chance of surviving by running around aimlessly, shooting your gun at someone’s brother?” He stared at me for maybe two seconds, but two seconds seem like an eternity on these grounds. But in that moment, when our eyes met up, I could almost taste the loss and confusion steaming from him. After he fled away, the scene reminded me of its existence once again. The cannons were so loud. I though one might have scraped the very hairs of my ear. I tried to focus and write a poem, but it wasn’t me who needed a paper and pencil. 9
Artwork by Jennah Albone
I scattered onto my feet and ran by every body. I quickly glanced at each body to see if there was still hope for anyone. I jumped to my knees in obedience of a nearby explosion. Under me was a body, the color of coal. I felt my breakfast travel to my mouth. Thud! I hit the ground. Everywhere, guys were running into each other, so it wasn’t just me. I could sense someone was looking at me. I raised my head and my helmet lightly brushed along the side of a soldier’s helmet. That soldier was hysterically crying. I crawled next to him and cradled him like a baby. His screams are forever planted in my eardrum. He pointed at his left leg, rather where it was supposed to be. Jelly-like tubes oozed out of the opening. I pulled out the pen and paper and asked him what his name is. He was able to calm himself down -enough to say, “Jesse Martin,” with pride. I wrote it down on the piece of paper. I placed the pen in his hand and my leg supported the paper like a table. He wrote… Kathryn Taylor, I will keep my promise of Aug. 5, 1942. I remember him kissing it and rubbing the ring on his ring finger…and then he was gone. Just like that, gone. With his death something inside of me was born. I needed to get as many people’s last words written, and deliver them to the ones who deserve to see them. I sprang up and began to run, looking for anyone. My legs felt like spaghetti and with each step I took, I tried not to collapse because my legs were so shaky. Cries for help were everywhere around me, yet I couldn’t find anyone! I closed my eyes and in that instant I felt a sharp pain blast through me. It felt like a spark igniting within me, and leaving a burning hole. Was it a bullet? Or was my mind just playing tricks on me? Either way, I didn’t want to check and see what had occurred by my ankle. I just kept walking. Like a butterfly migrating thousands of miles away, I found Adam Smith. I was very excited when I saw he was unharmed, physically. But he was completely drunk. But what he told me is something I know I’ll never forget. Every time I think about Smith’s words, chills climb through my spine. 10
“War’s a fun game.” he stated with a smile bigger than his double chin. “Ya Japs want me? Well too bad! I got myself!” With that said he turned his riffle and planted a bullet in his beer belly. I wrote down his name, just to document our encounter. Then I continued my search. “Anyone alive out there?” Of course there were a lot of people that were alive, but this call was in search for the wounded. I headed in a different direction. “Clunk!” I held my breath because I knew what that was. A bullet was put to rest by the contact of my helmet. Everything began to spin from the impact; I was more emotionally disturbed, rather than physically. I took a deep breath, and kept walking. I thought I was losing it when I saw a body lying on its back, waving an arm from side to side. I sprinted towards that being and asked for his name. In a calm manner he said, “Darren…Darren Foyer.” As I had done before, I handed the paper and pen to this honorable man. He had the most to say. To my dear Alaina, I hope all is well at home. I’m doing great. I heard the war will be coming to an end. I can’t wait to see you again. Love, Darren. “How come you lied?” I asked. “Sometimes it’s better to lie. I don’t want her to remember me in my last moment, dying. She deserves to remember me as the hopeful guy I am.” “I understand what you’re saying. So with all do respect, why don’t you try to make it through this and stand up?” “Boy, I have common sense. Look and see what’s under my head.” I did as I was told and then I understood. As I studied the paper, more questions were constructed in my mind. Just like Jesse, Adam, Darren and all of the others, I suppose it was my turn. Then I heard the sigh of a bomb, but where was it coming from? It was getting louder and louder. Then it struck. The impact had me soaring through the foggy air. After being non-pitifully reintroduced to the ground, I had a flashback. 11
“Honey, I know you’re ill which is why a new life would be perfect for you right now.” “But mom, what if the kids don’t like me in school because I’m… different?” “What’s not to love? Just be yourself and I’m sure everyone will absolutely love you. Now, do you have your lunch?” “Yeah.” I walked to school and from the moment people laid eyes on me, I was a joke and the laughing stock of the classroom. One day a girl asked if she could pet my head, and I let her. She yelled, “Ew!” As I grew older, kids would call me a cross dresser. Apparently bald people are stereotyped as boys because boys don’t wear dresses. But I am a girl! I loved to play with dolls, and play dress up. When my mom found out how the kids were treating me, she told them how I have cancer. She said that I’m the same as them, just without hair. That brought the end of being called a cross dresser. Next I was the kid who was waiting around for this illness to take my life, and that’s not the truth at all. So, I joined the army and enlisted as my brother. Registration wasn’t strict at all, and I was accepted. Mother thinks I’m attending a boarding school. Just then I snapped out of it and grabbed my pen and paper, and wrote. When I looked up, I saw a blurry image. It was the handsome man from earlier. He looked at me and hugged me in his arms. I tapped the piece of paper on his back and he just knew what he had to do. He glanced at the page and something in particular grabbed his attention: I told you, I wouldn’t let the cancer take me. Are you happy that I died in the manliest uniform there could possibly be? – Cross Dresser Side by side, brother to brother, we march home. I have finally realized the responsibility I gained. Crunched in my hand is a piece of paper. On it, 282 farewell addresses. 12
â€œThung â€? By Ryan Gorman The Earth had completed another turn around the Sun, whirling slowly and silently as it always whirled. The east had experienced a record-breaking crop of yellow rice and yellow children, larger stockpiles of atomic weapons were accumulating in certain strategic centers, and the sages of the University of Chicago were uttering words of profound wisdom, when Thung reached down and picked up the Earth between his thumb and forefinger. Thung had been sleeping. When he finally awoke and blinked his six opulent eyes at the blinding light (for the light of our stars when in their totality is no thing of dimness) he had become uncomfortably aware of an empty feeling near the pit of his stomach. How long he had been sleeping even he did not know exactly, for in the mind of Thung time is a term of no significance. Although the ways of Thung scarcely conceivable by our thought; still-stating the matter roughly and in the language we know- the ways of Thung are this: When Thung is not asleep, he hungers. After blinking his opulent eyes (in a specific consecutive order which had long been his habit) and streching forth a long arm to sweep aside the closer suns, Thung squinted into the deep. The riper planets were near the center and usualy could be recognized by surface texture; but frequently Thung had to thump them with his middle finger. It was some time until he found a piece that suited him. He picked it up with his right hand and shook off most of the adhering salty moisture. Other fingers scaled away thin flakes of bluish ice that had caked on opposite sides. Finally, he dried the ball completely by rubbing it on his chest. He bit into it. It was soft and juicy, neither unpleasantly hot nor freezing to the tongue; and Thung, who always ate the entire planet, core and all, lay back contentedly, chewing slowly and permitting his thoughts to dwell idly on trivial matters, when he felt himself picked up suddenly by the back of the neck. He was jerked upward and backward by an arm of tremendous bulk (and arm covered with greyish hair and exuding a foul odor). Then he was lowered even more rapidly. He looked down in time to see an enormous mouth-red and gaping and watering around the edges-then the blackness closed over him with a slurp like a clap of thunder. For there are other gods than Thung.
Art work by Justine Kenney
Nick King May Dempsey
Katie Clemens Chelsea Cond
“The Last Dragon” Short story by Camille Dishong Photograph by Mary Rogers
The ancient dragon swung his heavy head across the damp rock of the cave floor, toward the roaring wall of water across the entrance. He slowly pushed his nose forward until it disrupted the flow and sent a spray of icy water back across his face and shoulders, with a few stray rivulets running down the sides of his head to tickle the sensitive pearl beneath his chin. The dragon continued to push forward through the forceful curtain of water until he could clamber down the rocks to the pool below, knowing the water would hide his claw marks from the humans who came to visit the falls during the day. Dropping heavily into the water below his cave, the last dragon emerged finally into the world after another long day of waiting, just like every other he had lived though in the last thousand years. He did not sleep, and the time spent alone, without rest, weighed like stones in his heart. Each day passing just the same, beating on his weary soul like waves on an old and crumbling stone. He was the last dragon in the world, and had been for as long could remember; or very nearly so, at least. He did possess a vague memory of another, the rich breathing and heavy motions of another being like he. And in his earliest memories he could recall the corpse of this same dragon, in a dark cave much like the one he inhabited now, lacking only the endless roar of water that pounded through his skull, and endeavored to drown out his dark and lonely thoughts. He was the end of his race, and he had lived a thousand long years with no hope and nothing to live for. A thousand long, long, years filled only with waiting for nothing, and always the roar of the falls. The dragon prepared to dip beneath the surface of the water on one night, which had yet to be different from all the others, and seek out the rivers fish to eat, when suddenly the skittering sound the loose stones of the gorge made reached the dragon’s keen ears. The dragons head snapped up in alarm and he tasted the air. It was far to late for the usual human visiting, and that sound had carried none of the sharp grace of a deer. His curved golden claws spread and chipped at the stone beneath his feet as tensed to face a new threat. This unknown thing, that was not a deer at all. And, indeed, it was not a deer that loped into sight with a ridiculous innocence, but an emaciated dog with only three legs. The dragon growled uncertainly at the ridiculous creature that loped eagerly up to his side with reckless abandon, stubby tail wagging in a happy display of friendliness. It was an ugly thing, with one foreleg missing, its ears torn nearly off and its stubby, chewed up, tail. Its entire body was marked by scars, missing patches of fur, and sharply visible ribs. Yet its perfect pink tongue lolled out and its tail wagged at the strange new creature it had found. It barked in a quiet, hopeful sort of way and cocked its head. The dragon knew the language of dogs, though never had anything of real worth to say. This dog struck him as particularly daft, and when it barked, undeterred by the dragons growls, it contained not one single word. The old dragon sighed and turned away, knowing the dog would pose no threat. He needed to find food, and it took many of the rivers small fish to fill his belly. The dragon returned to his hunting, and briefly forgot the strange intruder into his home. He’d caught a larger fish then usual was usual in these waters, and snapped up most of the meat before the dog came bounding over curiously. The flesh soured on the dragons tongue as his gaze rested on the dogs starved form. “Eat, dog,” he growled in annoyance, flicking the remainder of his meal at the dog.
Dog snapped up the mean fast enough that the dragon was shocked he didn’t make himself sick. Strangely, instead of bolting once he’d eaten, as any other stray would have, the dog lingered and looked up at the dragon. “Large One is my friend,” the dog reported smugly, so naming the dragon in his mind. “You’re a strange one, Dog,” the dragon laughed, earning only a blank stare in return. The dragon realized with a start that he could sense dawn in the air. He had to return to his cave. He turned and scrambled across the stone gorge toward the falls, only to be brought up short yet again by the dog, as it dutifully started to follow. “Leave, go home.” He commanded. The dog simply stared at him, finally replying only with “Large One is my friend.” “Large one” was nonplussed. Never in his long life had he been faced with a situation such as this one. Never before had he encountered an animal like this starving, three legged, stray. With a sigh, as he realized he had no real choice, he lifted the dog, who squeaked in surprise, in his jaws, like a lion does its cub and started the climb back to his cave, strait up the falls. The three legged dog, though remarkably calm throughout the climb up the cliff face, did not at all care for passing through the waterfall. It made a great deal out of shuddering and yowling at its supposed suffering and seemed quite shocked, after checking itself over thoroughly once the dragon set him down, to find himself in no worse condition then beforehand. If anything, the dog was slightly better off, as the waterfall had provided something close to a much needed bath for the dirty stray. The dog, now safely in his new friend’s den, hopped over into a corner and flopped to the ground with an exaggeratedly weary sigh. “What am I going to do with you?” the dragon wondered aloud, amused. Dog raised his head and looked back at the dragon, but offered no answer to the question posed, for it was beyond his simple mind. He only knew that the large strange creature was speaking to him, and did not seem angry. His bitten off tail gave a couple halfhearted wags before he settled back down and went to sleep in typical dog fashion: instantly. The old dragon did not sleep, and so instead watched as dog rolled over onto his back and snuffled in his sleep. The animal’s lone forepaw would twitch occasionally in dreams of chasing and joy. The sight gave the old dragon peace as waited for another day, no quite unlike all the others, to pass as it must. Many hours later, Dog awoke, stumping cheerily around the cave, nervously avoiding the wall of water at the entrance. He cam often to check on his strange friend, where he rested in the back of the cave. Thrusting his wet black nose up into the dragons face and licking his snout every so often, to ensure his friends continued well being. At night the dragon and his dog would emerge from their cave behind the waterfall, once all the oblivious humans had left for their warm houses and happy lives. The dragon would hunt, and his Dog would hobble about on his three legs to keep watch for danger, ready to bark bravely should anything move or smell in a frightening manner, before fleeing back to his friends side. Only once his duty was done, of course. The dragon always made sure that Dog had something to eat, be it fish or the odd deer, and so had something to do besides going on living for the sake of living. Slowly, under his gentle care, Dogs fur grew in thick, though rough, over the bald spots, and his ribs were at last softened by flesh. And the stubborn Dog which had refused to leave from that first night, brought light and solace into a dieing old dragons life. Whenever dawn drew near they would return to the hidden cave, Dog never grew used
to passing through the watery wall over its entrance, and they would pass the day together, Dog sleeping or playing with his Large One, unaware of the amusement his antics brought. And yet, the dog would bring more change to the life of the last dragon than the joy and comfort of having someone to share the different days and nights with. For he was like all other animals, hot blooded and passing, a changing and brief creature brought about by man. Which was something the dragon could never be. One night in fall, the old dragon and Dog were at the waterfalls basin as usual, enjoying each other’s company before “Large One” turned his attention to hunting for their next meal. The dragon slid into the water and splashed Dog with his tail, enjoying his companions startled expression as it startled expression as it stared about in confusion for the source of the strange wetness. At the top of the falls, a pair of humans were out later than they should have been. A young woman was returning to her apartment after escorting a more then slightly tipsy friend home, and had decided to take a shortcut through the park, and a man with far less honorable intentions was shadowing her steps. It was near the top of the falls that he made his move, lunging out of the trees and trying to grab her, knife in hand. He was the girls ex boyfriend, and had been stalking her for several months. He was angry that she had decided to begin a relationship with a new man and had decided to kill her rather than allow anyone else to have her. However, the girl managed to evade his grasp, and darted into the in panic. She saw the falls and was beginning to break before bolting over the edge, but her combined fears, the adrenalin racing through her brain, did not allow her to see the rotting log in her path. By some luck the girl received nothing worse then a broken arm, a mild concussion, and some cuts and bruises in her tumble down the rocks. However the nasty blow to her head, which gave her the concussion, was enough to knock the girl mostly unconscious and she would have drowned quickly were it not for the presence of Dog. Dog, though he had been abused and abandoned his entire life, then lived several long moths in the company of an aging dragon, was first and foremost a dog. A creature designed and bred to be mans best friend. The dragon, though capable of the compassion needed to save a starving stray dog, was just as capable of impassively watching an innocent girl drown, so as to preserve himself. However, no thoughts of what it would mean to save the girl occurred to the simple and foolish mind of Dog. He launched himself into the water, ignoring for once his hatred of it, and using every iota of his three legged doggy strength, hauled the girl to shore. The dragon watched from where he hidden himself in the deepest bit of water, near the base of the falls, as Dog whined and barked, and licked the human girls face in an effort to revive her. “So, Dog, this is how it ends .I finally know what to do with you.” The old dragon mused sadly to himself. Taking advantage of the girls’ unconscious state the old dragon hauled himself heavily out of the water, and gently nosed his beloved companion. There was a sorrow rich in his being the ignorant Dog did not understand. Anxious, Dog licked his friends nose, not knowing it would be the last time. The dragon turned his head to the limp girl and exhaled a hot breath over her body, to counteract the frigid water. “Take better care of him than those who had him before you, girl,” the dragon said, in the language of her kind. Hoping his words would carry over from her dreams into her heart. Then the last dragon turned away his three legged companion of the last two years, a
time unmarked in the dogs mind, and returned to his cave, alone. The next day, the girl awoke with a dog standing over her. It was clearly a stray, yet her groggy memories of it pulling her out of the water after she’d fallen lingered in her mind. She remembered everything before the fall clearly, but her tumble down the rocks, being pulled from the water by something warm and furry, and then falling into darkness were slightly hazier. The girls name was Emily, and she lived alone in a small apartment in town. She was a mediocre student in the local college, and had there met the boy who would latter attempt to end her life. She had never before had to deal with a problem such as he posed in her life, and had, wrongly she now knew, chosen to ignore it and hope it went away. The various pains in her body loudly protested that poor decision as she attempted to rise and take stock of the situation. “Are you alright?” a nervous woman asked as she appeared over her. “We’ve called an ambulance. Just hang on a little longer, it’ll be okay.” The dog backed off warily at the middle aged woman’s approach. He whined softly in his throat as he hopped to compensate for a missing leg in his retreat. The woman frowned at it, “And I’ll call the pound to take care of that stray too, honey. He’s probably diseased or dangerous. Scat! Shoo!” She added to the dog, flapping her hands at it expectantly. “N-no!” Emily stuttered, suddenly panicked. “He- he’s my dog. I just rescued him from a shelter. He…..” She trailed off, unsure as to just why she was lying. Only certain that she was supposed to take care of this dog, who had, after all, rescued her. “You’re kidding honey?” the woman frowned. “This dog? No. You hit your head. You must be confused.” “No,” Emily insisted, growing more confident. “He’s my dog. And he’s coming home with me. The dragon left his waterfall the next night. He could not bear to stay there alone without Dog now. In addition, another matter pressed the parts of his mind shadowed by instinct. He could feel his death approaching, as all animals can, and did not wish his death to taint the cave, where he had shared happiness with the abused stray. As if pulled on by some unseen force, the dragon arrived at the sea. Pushing himself steadily out into deeper waters, well away from the shore, to avoid the humans, who doubtless came there by day as they had his waterfall. And then, as dawn again lit the ocean afire with its rays, all alone in the world, the last dragon died. The dead body of the worlds last dragon sank slowly and deliberately to the bottom of the ocean, coming to rest on a soft bed of sand The old dragon, who had befriended a stray dog at the end of a thousand years of loneliness, did not ever see how the pearl under his chin, which he could not have known was in fact an egg, crack gently open and release a hatchling dragon into the world. He never saw the rebirth of the race of dragons in the form of a small hatchling, with an undeveloped pear beneath her proud head. And the hatchling last-dragon-in-the-world opened its eyes to the world, where its first sight was the dead body of a fellow dragon. A newborn, ready to begin a life alone with no hope or future, the burden of being all alone in the world. The last dragon.
Yellow Red And Green That is what I see falling from that tree. That tree I see Beautiful If you can see what I see Its colors so bold Its colors so soft Its leaves show what it has seen Yellow is for the sunlight that hits it Red is for the pain and love Green is for the growth and greed Poem by Geralyn Halmond
Painting by Meghan Englert
The lucid pale solemn sky was my thought, Surrounding me with its eloquent pleasures, As the sand stood for what was my journey, A journey that would take miles to resolute, A journey of my vile life, An endured journey, That rarely gets excursionists.
“Relapsed” Poem by Paige Lammes
This place; the beach; my life, Deserted to an extent of distrust, romance, Storms swept through, Had now left an insignificant sky, A sky that now has to engage the assiduous persistent journey, that lies ahead. The sky; the storm; the beach; the sand, Was now a meager complication to the ocean? So full of potent that would be insuperable to the beach, Encompassing those who are imperceptible to its weather and journey, Exiling its voracious waves to clash the sand, Accrediting strange creatures to come intact to the sand, Endorsing the ocean’s virtue, Disburdening any abdominal and applicable creatures at stake, Until the last ounce of good weather is abscond. The beach was now relapsed, Only to start off a new journey, A new storm, wave, sand, and a new part of the ocean, To extinguish to its final fight, 22 Photograph by Mary Rogers Allowing the sky to be peaceful,
An art and literary magazine created in collaboration between Brockport High School's artists and authors.