Table of Contents "Winter Home" by Mohala Kaliebe....3
Poetry for Peace
"Dexter, NY" by Margaret Velto….4 "Wish" by Anna Cheng….5
"Upstanders: A Poem" by Meirav Solomon….21
"Freedom's Call" by Margaret Velto….6
"A Plastic Bag" by Hutch Whitman….23
"Dream Walker: First Page" by Sasha Kostenko….7
"Untitled 1" by Harrison Zhang….24
"The Circle" by Sasha Kostenko….8
"Rainbow" by Jonathan Segal…..27
"Aloe Girl" by Anna Cheng….9
"Untitled" by Will Taber….28
"Prescribed Happiness" by Anonymous....10
"Untitled 2" by Harrison Zhang….29
"Still Life" by Anna Cheng….13
"Welcome to America" by Margaret Velto, Michelle Schwartz, Hutch Whitman, Harrison Zhang….30
"dearest red" by Anonymous….14 "Untitled 1 & 2" by Reese Ferguson....15
"The North" by Dominic Fekete….25
"Van Gogh's Flowers" by Charlie East….16
“Ode” By Jonathan Segal, Chandler Cree….32
"Flower" by Jonathan Segal….16
“Untitled 3” Harrison Zhang….33
"Full of Colors" by Madison Swyers….17
“As Wake Grows Forevermore” Dominic Fekete….34
"Winter Home" by Madison Swyers….18
Winter Home Mohala Kaliebe
Dexter, NY Margaret Velto A sheath of glossy white blankets the grassy plain; unbroken, unbothered, crystalline and shiny.
A whisper of frosty breath billows and twirls like smoke. The lake water stands silently still, no wind to make it stir.
Cloudless skies turn dusty blue as the sun begins to slip beneath the horizon across the lake. Winter's day becomes night.
Wish Anna Cheng
Freedom's Call Margaret Velto Like the birds, I wish to fly, for I always see them flying free. Wind rushing through my hair, I'd cry with unobstructed, joyous glee.
I wish to reach the stars at night above the salted water. Selene1 embracing me in light. I'll become the moon's sweet daughter.
I wish to be carried by gusts that blow to see the lands beyond, to see leaves change or falling snow, the sweet summer rain or sun at dawn.
But here I stay, chained to stone, dreaming of places I wish to roam.
Selene is the goddess of the moon
Dream Walker: First Page Sasha Kostenko
The Circle Sasha Kostenko Seven hearts around a flame
Swirl around the fire still
Wondering who shall take the blame
Deaf to those we once found dear
Wilted, blistered, bleeding red
Seven hearts who cannot hear
All just thoughts inside our head Some cruel fate we must fulfill Minutes, hours, feel alike
Stripped of semblance of free will
Lost their meaning in the night
Even from our mothers' wombs
Circling stars and circling moon
Nursing knowledge of our doom
Circling, circling through the room With good consciences we maim Is this us now? Is this right?
Kindred spirits without shame
Struck down by this common plight
Work in tandem to suspend
As we find over the years
Just the one who calls us friend
Time cannot amend our fears Circling, spinning overhead Words that break and looks that kill
Seven hearts, but one is dead
Aloe Girl Anna Cheng
Prescribed Happiness Anonymous They used to say that tragedy plus time equals comedy. My generation is the one that changed that. We took time out of the equation and started drawing amusement own tragedies, rewriting them as comedies. The defensive maneuver took over, and we started to laugh. There weren’t many options other than that. None as pleasant. So, we laughed. We laughed at small misfortunes, the impending doom of the future, bad grades, the sometimes hopelessness of it all. We laughed together, which only numbed the pain more effectively. Maybe we did too good a job. Maybe we didn’t do enough. We just didn’t want to be alone in our own heads. I’m alone right now. I lay in my bed, face up, a thin sheet tangled by my feet, unnecessary in a room maintained at the perfect temperature. My pajamas are soft, but a bit tight for my comfort. Nothing like the worn, oversized tee I usually wear. The pillow itself reeks of lavender and chamomile. Despite all these creature comforts, I’m not drowsy in the slightest. Although it must be more than a month now, I cannot sleep past the band around my arm. Every evening it waits for me to put it on. The snap of a clasp and a short pinch later and they’re in my blood, using it as a pathway to my brain. Invaded, I can hardly call this comfortable. I stare at the ceiling, unfocused on any particular thought. I try to keep my mind moving, as stagnant ones can be dangerous. I can’t always help it though. My mind drifts to my family. The day my parents called me down to the kitchen table. How they explained I was going to go away for a little while. I remember asking where, for how long. Why, even. I still don’t know all the answers. They just told me it would be best. Gradually, the thought muddies, possessed by some mist of artificial happiness. I glance down at the band and wonder vaguely what it is they’re pumping into my veins. Maybe it’s dopamine, or some kind of brain happy drug. My train of thought dissipates. This feeling, too, I recognize. Must be past my bedtime. My eyelids slide shut, suddenly weighted by the needle in my arm. I awake to the usual: artificial sunshine fills the room, revealing the lack of the arm band and the day’s jumpsuit. Today is green, like that of the fakest turf, the kind they use when they don’t want kids to rip up the field with their cleats. I sigh, rolling out of bed and into the bathroom. Totally impersonal, there’s nothing here to cause me harm. I move through the routine. Shower. Comb. Brush. I get dressed, covered in the scent of citrus. I wait by the door, face neutral. I never know when they are watching, so it’s best to keep things as steady as possible. 10
Eventually the ding of an elevator signifies breakfast time. I force a smile on my face until the sound returns, allowing me passage out into the hall. There, in the sickening yellow corridor, the others are being freed from their rooms, smiles sliding off their lips the moment they pass the doorway. We head to the cafeteria in a sea of green. There I line up for breakfast. Oatmeal today, topped with fruit. Nothing like my sugarcoated cereal at home, but better than the burnt cardboard they call whole wheat toast. I grab one of the prepared trays and head to my usual table. I sit, waiting for my friends. Friends, of course, is a strong term. We hardly talk, but they’re nice enough. Milton joins me first. “Morning, Em.” “Morning.” Ceremonious greeting over, we begin to eat. The others trickle in. Abby then Joselin. They too take their seats, exchanging nods and empty smiles. Eventually, Wyatt makes his way into the cafeteria. “What’s up with him?” Joselin asks, narrowing her eyes. We glance over at him. His stride is rigid, as his jaw. His whole face seems to be set in a stony scowl. He snatches his tray and sulks over. We exchange weary glances as he sits. “You alright, Wyatt?” Abby asks, her face still impossibly plain. “Peachy.” He all but growls. “What’s the matter, couldn’t get your smile up this morning?” Milton snorts. Wyatt only glares in reply, washing away any sign of amusement from our faces. “Take it easy, man.” I warn. I don’t like this. He’s way too animated, his emotions way too negative. “Don’t tell me—” his words are cut short by another elevator chime. A small cup for each of us rises from the table. We already know what’s inside. The others take their cup willingly, swallowing the contents without a fuss. I continue to watch Wyatt. His eyes are fixated on the cup, as if he were trying to set it alight with his mind. “C’mon, just take the—” “No.” An eerie silence seems to wash over the mess hall. Heads turn to watch. “Wyatt.” My voice is shakier than I intend. “I said no.” He stands abruptly, shaking the table. Our pills tumble from their overturned cups. 11
The silence turns deafening as we all watch. His chest begins to rise and fall faster. I try one last time. “Wyatt—” “I’m sick of this!” His voice echoes in the vast space. “I’m sick of acting this damn role!” He turns, facing his audience. “We aren’t robots for them to program! We’re kids, we’re humans! We’re meant to feel—” he trails, taking a step backwards. “We…we’re meant…” he falls to a knee, then collapses to the floor. “Wyatt!” I get up, tripping over myself to reach his side. Suddenly, my head feels although it’s made of cotton. I have to catch myself to stop from hitting the ground. I look around in a dulled panic at the other teens, their bodies going as limp as mine. My eyes strain and I slump to the floor. I wake up to the artificial sunlight and new jumpsuit. Today is orange, like a plastic tangerine. I put my legs over the side of the bed and hesitate. Slowly, I place my head in my hands, straining for thought. Maybe I’m not so alone after all.
Still Life Anna Cheng
dearest red Anonymous bright lights blinding your precious eyes
loud pyrotechnics exploding into your beloved ears
everything goes silent as the sky glows that special deep color you love
ashes practically crashing down onto your irreplaceable small body
while you are merely just watching everybody's favorite firework show -- wishes
Untitled 2 Reese Ferguson 15
Van Gogh's Flowers Charlie East
Flower Jonathan Segal I saw a blue flower in my yard It was new with the spring They were scattered everywhere Like sprinkles on a leprechaunâ€™s cake My dog, chasing a ball, stepped on the flower But it didnâ€™t mind It was happy, and so was he
Full of Colors Madison Swyers
Winter Home Madison Swyers Away again to Winter Home, Across the barren earth, Here is frozen â€“ silver and lustrous â€“ The birds no longer sing with mirth,
The north wind screams, The panes shudder, Snow falls heavy upon the land, Creating crystalized wonder, Winter is at hand.
Paris Koa Kaliebe
POETRY FOR PEACE
UPSTANDERS: A Poem Meirav Solomon we are in a big mess now
who in their hearts are Americans
with trump in the white house
we still need to express our sexuality
Obama’s left us stranded
we need to eliminate the popularity of people who you think can get the jobs done
on a plane that can’t be landed America needs to know there’s hope America needs to be woke from a deep slumber that’s clouded its judgement from all the corrupt people in its government but can we even call it a democracy when Puerto Rico is stranded like a ship at sea or when people can freely shoot up their family when even people my age can still be raped or sexually harassed by senators who we are supposed to look up to and people can say that we are finally one country and that our job is done but only we the people know that there is a long way we need to grow democrats versus republicans is not the way we need to show everyone that we are not ok and that the America
I’m sorry but Donald Trump isn’t the one he might show you power he might show you a future but the only thing he can do is sleep with women who don’t see a future he is a bully and America the victim we need to fight back otherwise we’ll be in a whole another mess one that only burns up in fire the desire for power more important than the life of a human one race one religion one love one human race one country
we know we love we celebrate
is more than just some racist sexist white guys with a lot of hate
America will be destroyed
we still need equal pay we still need to exercise our rights freely we still need to support dreamers dreamers who dream who live in America 21
our country is not a business we are not pawns to be played nor are we items to be sold
we are proud Americans, proud humans who listen to the radio every day and every night waiting for justice to be served but radio silence echoes back radio silence from people we are supposed to look up to people who are supposed to stand up for us radio silence from those whose voices have been taken from them I stand here for all those whose voices have been extinguished to say the raw and emotional things everyone has been wanting to say for months but hasnâ€™t because of
the America we live in now the mess we live in now is not JUST OK I stand here, I speak out here, I rise here to say that the only way out of this mess of a country mess of a population mess of a society is to stand up, because we are Americans we are humans and most importantly we are upstanders
A Plastic Bag Hutch Whitman Rolling with the current of the ocean, The sea turtle comes up to take a breath. He dives beneath the waves and commotion, and sees something intriguing in the depths. Deeper he delves to investigate, and he recognizes the pink glow. The urge to eat jellyfish is innate, Itâ€™s a delicacy heâ€™s come to know. He allows his massive beak to come down, And he swallows the plump jelly whole. Underneath the waves the sea turtle drowns, The plastic bag causes him to choke. The turtle sinks to the sea floor and erodes, but the bag remains, and will continue to flow.
Untitled 1 Harrison Zhang As soda cans and trash lay on the ground I’m disappointed at what I have found Is this what has become of nature’s beauty? Preserving and protecting should be our duty We’re not the only ones that call this home Yet we destroy the animals that freely roam Bags and bottles, rubbish of every kind The greatest threat to nature is mankind The trash we make will never go away Soon our kids will have nowhere clean to play Now that we have littered from coast to coast, We are famous cause we litter the most If we learn to clean up all our trash, Mankind and nature will soon never clash
The North Dominic Fekete The tension between north and south brews on throughout the East Asian coast. Once a single nation, they remain separate, A supposed destiny of unity defied. One supported by stripes and stars, The other created from communist red.
Sixty-eight years, the peninsula went red, The chances of hope retreating to the south. Three years' warring lit the battlefield like stars, As the South pushed upwards from the coast. The promise of a clear-cut result was defied As the peninsula was still two pieces separate.
Decades of development punctuate the separate And more sinister path taken by the red. The path to mobilization has since defied The world's orders, for fear things shall go south. One nation watches carefully from their coast As the north gains the power of stars.
The north's weapons fly under the stars To test their tools to cause atoms to separate. Their range extending far, far beyond the coast. The world preparing for the possible warring red,
The arming creating a slowly more vulnerable south. The unstable peace soon to be defied.
The hot-headed ruler decided the north has defied For too long the ban against the power of stars, Yet his tongue seems to drive things further south As the hermit king replies, continuing to separate The wills of the world from the wills of the red, Tempting either side to strike the other's coast.
Today, the conflict remains cold, each coast Eyeing down the other, the peace not yet defied, Yet the conflict grows ever so red. The threat of mass destruction raining like shooting stars Is all that keeps both sides separate, The flagrant north separate from the backed south.
But will either side strike the coast? If so, who will be the one whose peace is defied? Regardless, let us hope we never reach code: red.
Rainbow Jonathan Segal Green trees over head The color of innocence Pearl beam of childâ€™s smile
Black cloud over head The color of darkest night Ruby of turned hood
White stars over head The color of captured awe Jade spark of fixed eye
Pink dawn over head The color of day reborn Walking down the road
Untitled Will Taber Oh dearest iphone seven, Your wondrous screen, so blinding! Fills my nights with cellular fights and steals sleep from my finding.
I fill my time with twitter sending tweet, after tweet, after tweet. parading my life among everyone's strife leaving the jealous peasants bitter
I send snapchats by the hundred, selfies and portraits alike Manage to delight if I open them right but they delete, leaving me in wonder
Photos fill my Instagram My DM’s sit placid and empty My timeline is bland, I don’t understand Why I should even give a damn.
This is the plague of our generation The media is now our deity For friends turn to friends less, trying to see who’s the best By counting followers with indignation
Untitled 2 Harrison Zhang The murmur of the bayonet The whisper of the sea The night so dark hides a threat A foreign enemy
They rush across the riverbank Their flesh, targets large The rhythmic spitting of guns and tanks Makes a massacre of their charge
The screaming for more ammo Traverses the hills of the slain The mangled bodies of friend and foe Lie across the plain
Haunting is deathâ€™s sweet smell Disappearing is the soldierâ€™s pride For those that fell, there is no hell Not for the brave who died
Welcome to America Margaret Velto, Michelle Schwartz, Hutch Whitman, Harrison Zhang Welcome to America:
under claims of "mental disability",
land of the free and home of the brave –
as if the mentally ill
that is, unless you're a slave
don't have enough to deal with already.
to the breadth of iniquities and inequalities lying within.
We build skyscrapers high into the clouds we make,
ISIS in the Middle East,
full of carbon and pollutants
child brides in Africa,
that rain down on the land.
no power in the Caribbean,
It’s a poison that we
bombs in North Korea;
are force feeding Nature,
we talk about problems
but what's wrong with this,
in other places,
just a little natural genocide?
but we never stop to think that
If it's cheaper to pollute,
maybe we have problems too.
then we'll smile wide.
Women are sexually assaulted
Racism roars down the streets –
then told that they deserved it
the same ones we march on
because they wore this
trying to find peace.
and drank too much of that
Color means nothing,
and trusted the wolf in sheep skin.
we all say in our minds, but it’s the subconscious that lies.
Sixty deaths in a mass shooting should equal a terrorist attack,
It’s the same hate that’s caused wars
but the shooter was white,
about gender and religion,
so it's brushed away
the color of your pigment. The same fight that's caused
protests and sit-ins
on the shoulders of those we say arenâ€™t trying hard enough to stand taller.
A culture built on freedom, yet some do nothing
So welcome to America:
to fight for the freedom of others
land of the free and home of the brave.
whose rights have been taken.
We hope you enjoy your stay.
A culture built on oppression: we push people down and stand
Ode: an ode to the beauty of North Carolina's nature Jonathan Segal and Chandler Cree Shotgun Cello, Carton of Butterfly, Milk on an Empty Chess-Set
A tune catches the ear Magical, majestic
Hidden from sight
A myriad of emotions
Azure of sky Green of earth Drowned out by city lights
Chik Chik Boom Life erupts from every corner of sight The trees alive
The beauty of the greens The flutter of wings Humming, buzzing
A deer lays motionless Not dead Asleep
For bullets can't hurt nature
Apart from Nights true light
Wild, vivacious, raw, true Life free of bounds
As the sun meanders Over the rolling hills Shadows emerge Dancing, dashing, dying
Flow and ebb Evergreen Timid, but true Growing by the second
Dusk Curling, creeping, crowning at noon The set rests there Full of players But empty of love White of bone, vs black of earth
Free from bound, leash, chain and Time
Untitled 3 Harrison Zhang Rifles lower as eyes are wiped of tears For those left alive, there is no life Haunting, are the people’s cheers
The commander’s orders they did adhere Their breasts ripped by guns and knives Rifles lower as eyes are wiped of tears
Shrill were the cries of the volunteer And widowed are their wives Haunting, are the people’s cheers
The religious sharpen bibles to spears The poet, letters to knives Rifles lower as eyes are wiped of tears
The lucky return battered and torn by fear The price to pay to resolve their country’s strife Rifles lower as eyes are wiped of tears Haunting, are the people’s cheers
As Wake Grows Forevermore Dominic Fekete As Wake grows forevermore, Sixty-four a day flood in, Buildings rise upwards and outwards, With no foundation to guide it.
Sixty-four a day flood in Drowning in its own expanse With no foundation to guide it Through the ambitions of growth.
Drowning in its own expanse, Buildings rise upwards and outwards Through the ambitions of growth As Wake grows forevermore.
Trimester 2 edition of the CA Literary Magazine, with special addition of SGLI's Poetry for Peace project T2 Editors: Mohala Kaliebe, Lucy...
Published on Mar 23, 2018
Trimester 2 edition of the CA Literary Magazine, with special addition of SGLI's Poetry for Peace project T2 Editors: Mohala Kaliebe, Lucy...