Chrysalis: 1989

ferrum college

chrysalis 1989

Chrysalis THE LITERARY & GRAPHIC ARTS MAGAZINE OF FERR UM COLLEGE

Chrysalis Staff Wendy Robinson Art Coordinator

Denise Dale Editor-in-Chief

Elizabeth Schmick Literary Coordinator

Beth Anne Molines Brian Schonfeld

Ricardo Curry Leslie Dering Dan Gribbin Sponsor

Art CONTRIBUTOR

Photography PAGE

CONTRIBUTOR

PAGE

Janine Martin cover, 37, 38 Mark Dowsett 4,26 Leslie Dering 5, 21,27, 34 David Sharp 7 Beth Anne Molines 12, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20 Tim Farrell 24 Stephen Mileto 28 Denise Kahn 35 Will Heiburg 36 inside back cover Debra Parcell

Rosalie Cooper Delisa Tate Adnan Dokhgan Mark Sejd Steve Braun

29 2 logo page, 30, 41, 42 32,43 40

mixed media by mark dowsett

1989

page 4

watercolor by leslie dering page 5

ch rysalis

bradley carr

Gone for the Day Put off the inevitable for another day.

Shut yourself in its meaningful box while inventories focus on woven webs.

A last minute rush for things undone, drawers slamming, papers flying, lens closing.

Vl'hat about the case of interior frames?

File it under G, gone for the day.

Slide it under F, forget it for now.

Place it under V, for those videos. . . .

Skyscrapers?

No more toils and troubles? No, murmured the zombie under a purple umbrella.

1989

page 6

eddie clyburn

Trays Another day passes by in my small world.

No one takes the time to notice I'm still here working hard.

They all come up and drop their trays hard upon my back Turn and walk away without any thought of what I do for them.

Every one of you takes me for granted, thinking I have nothing better to do.

Do you actually believe I prefer to slave here all day in your mess?

I could do without your abuse.

How easy do you think it is to haul heavy trays on my back all day?

It isn't the work I detest. I was built for such service.

But even us machines need a little warmth and attention.

No one ever pays any attention to me. Then when they over­ load my back and I come to a painful halt, they scorn and verbally attack me.

No, I do not need this abuse.

Not once did one of you ever mention what a good job I was doing.

You all wait for me to break, and then notice what I'm not doing.

Just once, notice while I'm doing a good job, and say, "Thanks."

1989

page 8

nicole ciocco Je te vois seulement Quand je regarde tes yeux, je vois ton tlme, Je vois toute la douleur queje t'ai causee, Ton coeur bat plus lentement, Ta peau s'est plissee un peu, Je te sens dans mon sang, Mais tu es aussijeune comme moi.

Quand je regarde tes yeux, je me vois Le mime visage Les mimes levres, La mime douleur dans mon coeur, Mais tu m 'aimes encore.

Quandje regarde tes yeux, je vois ton enfance, Tes cheveux blonds souffiant dans le vent mais ii n 'y a pas de sourire a ton visage. . . jusqu 'it maintenant.

Je suis ton sang, ta peau, ta corde de sauvetage.

I Only See You When I look into your eyes, I see your soul, I see all the pain I have caused you, Your heart beats slower, Your skin is a little wrinkled, I feel you in my blood, But you are just as young as I. When I look into your eyes, I see myself.

The same face, The same lips, The same pain in my heart, But you still love me.

photo by elizabeth devlin

1989

When I look into your eyes, I see your childhood, Your blond hair blowing in the wind, but there is not a smile on your face until now.

I am your blood, your skin, your lifeline.

page 10

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1989

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page 12

print by beth anne molines

page 13

ch rysalis

william albrecht

What the Old Man Said to Me "Boy the snow was ten feet high and all up the hill."

Momentarily my mind's eye envisions the impossible, where you will imminently scale Everest, the highest of the high.

No coat to ward off the frigid cold, or line to catch an unintentional fall.

The bravest of the brave.

Reluctantly I reach you at the top, where we stand upon icy tundra.

The barrenest of the barren.

Retrospect reveals not an air of boastfulness, but a cold passive stare.

I can only wonder to myself, Are you the loneliest of the lonely?

1989

page 14

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drawing by beth anne molines

Dreams Dreams are breezes Blowing softly into your ears Waiting for that magical moment to become the piano tune of your sleep.

-tabetha mundy page 15

chrysalis

drawing by beth anne molines

1989

page 16

rickie parcel/es

Snowbirds Life was such a joy 'ti!

Snow began to fall.

Slowly first, then more came down­ Soon it covered them all.

Frost bit hard, snow stayed on­ They thrived upon its fluff.

Cold air rushed throughout their bones­ They never got enough.

It controlled their lives until the day Too much snow fell down.

Snow in which they loved to play Holds them underground.

page 17

chrysalis

1989

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watercolor by beth anne molines

collage by leslie dering page 21

ch ry salis

holly dunkum Failure Hot tears stream down my cheek, following latent paths.

My soul splits, revealing an abyss of guilt and questioning.

I grip the knife of defeat and drive it into the heart of uncertainty.

Nothing The sky is gray and black.

The air I breathe is thick and I struggle to see.

I can feel the smoke twist and twine about my throat.

I am smoke, just as a dream in the dark.

I am blown by a breeze.

I am consumed by my brother-night.

1989

page 22

aaron bow/es Time Changes I remember when My bigger brother Ben and I Would listen to Grandfather's stories.

When he worked so diligently He could hardly Hold his arms up, Grandmother would watch over us 'Ti! Dad came home.

After his head would quit Ringing Dad would Unwind And tell me I'd be important one day.

My family has passed on.

Now I live in An electronic age.

I wake my master When he sets me.

Even if I do my job, He still curses me­ But remains on time.

photo by mark sejd page 23

chrysalis

cathy jones

,, • •

Free Ride Heat of the engine warms my body, From the chilling water underneath.

Strange bare feet climb on my back.

Her hands cling tightly on my metal bars We're off. Belly smacking the hard ocean.

Pass what I've passed before a thousand times.

drawing by tim Jarrell

Oh, it would be so much different To be Ron's sailboat. Gliding gently To places never seen before.

Is it fate, my life so boring?

A used piece of machinery Used only to fulfill their desires.

1989

page 24

brian schonfeld Pictyou're The painter stands on the spotless counter top, Immune to the world around her.

Looking the canvas face in the eyes, Pausing a moment, She reflects.

This is not yet right.

Another splash of paint, Dabbed with palette knife, Changing, Recreating.

The face stares back, Defiant and unblinking.

The painter turns away, Stared down by the fire in her own emerald eyes.

Collapsing, She buries her head in her knees.

How can she face herself?

No one knows her better, No one scares her more.

Look into the canvas mirror.

Tell me, Who do you see?

Page 25

chrysalis

mixed media by mark dowsett

1989

page 26

page 27

ch rysalis

drawing by stephen mileto

1989

page28

photo by adnan dokhgan photo opposite by rosalie cooper

1989

page JO

ricardo o. curry II

Photograph Me The segments of nature come.

Portraits mature like flowers.

Photographs of you are the champion brights.

Of you forever I seek your divine beauty Which possesses and soothes.

Unclear of Jove Deserving something specific Plain nature Jives in the land which enables.

Photographs of you as fine as thy ardor.

Oh what beauty!

Enter and play with my soul.

Photograph me.

Do it with aspiration On what you intend With unique melody.

Photograph yourself I do wish to see.

Do it solemnly.

Quest for the beauty.

page 31

ch ry salis

photo by mark sejd

1989

page 32

liz robinson Scrambled The chamber door opens sucking the cold air out.

We wonder whose number is up this morning. land my neighbor are gently plucked from our cells.

My round body is cradled in the enemy's claw. lam knocked against the edge of a platform.

My armor cracks, then is torn from me. lam d r 0

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d onto a bed of fire and tortured until lam crisp and brown.

page 33

chry salis

woven watercolor by leslie dering

1989

page 34

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Wooden Shoes A life traveled long, Trod in wooden shoes, Leaves no happy song For a Dutchman with the blues.

-eddie clybum painting by denise kahn

. page 35

1989

liz robinson

Soldier A pawn on the board moved by an unseen hand sacrificed to save the bigger pieces.

1989

drawing by will heiburg page 36

Beauty and the Beast Beauty fastidious coquettish inviting seducing ravishing fragrance reverie skeptic stench contaminating questioning suffering pessimistic practical Beast -amy hsu

page 37

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Hunger

. stomach, the Inside Tiger �my scape 'ts ca ge Growling an ; �narling it Se arches for I·ts next meal.

. kie parcelles -rzc

drawing by Ja . nine martin ch rysalis

page38

hrian schonfeld The End So, this is the end.

I'd wondered how we'd wind it up.

The impending inevitability of what we hoped would never come has arrived.

It's time to move on down the road.

Every well must some day run dry, And even Macbeth's idiot must run out of things to say.

For our stage is but rented and an hour costs more than we can afford.

So, this is the end.

Our time's cut short again.

When the sound and fury die down and the lights fade out, The stage is left with naught but shadows and echoes of performances past.

photo by steve braun page 39

chrysalis

photo by adnan dokhgan

page 41

chrysalis

photo by adnan dokhgan

1989

page 42

photo by mark sejd page 43

chrysalis

The Staff of

Chrysalis sincerely thanks

Joan Bowman Alan Weltzien John Hardt Bev Thornton Jane Stogner Denna Austin for their contributions of time and effort.

Thanks also to The Iron Blade and to Jim Flanagan of Copenhaver Publishers, Inc.