Chrysalis: 1995-1996

CHRYSALIS the literary art magazine of ferrum college 1995-1996

MIilennium

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PoeTRy

22

Karen McDonald Magnolia Bend

Crista M. Buck Destiny

4

13

Cindy Rhinehart Left Solitary With the Night

Eric L. Baker

18

Pen

6

Faulkner

16

Eager Words

20

Cohen

17

Invitation.To Ecstasy

24

Tithe

23

Andy J. Greer An Officer's Prayer

Tyrone Allen

Jeff Baker 8

Mike Emberson Dali

10

Ballad of Don Juan

14

cover, 7, 11. 12, 15, 21, 25

Emmanuel Baker

9

Karen McDonald

19

Maurice Preston

5

Destiny Drifting in a whirlpool, Floating through my thoughts, Glancing at the waters­ Comfortable but lost.

My vessel's groWing nearer To unfamiliar shores.

Vast oceans I must conquer, The fear, I feel, and awe.

A happiness inside me, There are calmer waters here, Tinged with mournful ripples, For friends, like logs, may veer.

The pace is growing quicker, My time is running short.

My little days are over, The world awaits-without.

My life I've spent preparing, Wondering what I'll do.

My time is swift arriving, The prospect seems so new.

-crtsta m. buck

Page4

CHRYSALIS

1996

Page5

Pen . I'm making love

worn out With sweat

With pen. on a bed of pulp we undulate

a ruddy hue ¡that drips from me and into you for when you read this

up and down we make love too then side to side

my.words caress your ego's flesh

my movements leaving scar-like scrawls

and in the vastness of your swollen womb

across the whitest skin

surrender their last breath ..

those pristine wrinkles

-:-ertc l, baker

Pagel

An Officer's Prayer Let me go out into the streets, Be in the chaos anddismay, Let me carry forth the .light And drive hurt and.violence away.

Let me talk. to one and all, The older and the young, And help ease their fears And help them all along.

Let me go out there bravely And do the job I must do.

Let me help those in. need, And .see this mission through,

Let me do just one good thing Each. day I'm on this job And maybe teach someone It's simply wrong to strike and rob.

Let me have the power To change us in our ways.

Let me be resourceful and productive And .make the best of my days.

Let me see the world around me And know that I can try.

Grant me the strength and courage To keep. going by and by.

Let me go out there,• Knowmg I must be armed And¡ give me the will To take action and prevent harm.

Letme never need To use those violent means, Which I have been provided As a last line of defense.

And let me have the. knowledge To know my mortal limits.

It's my job to uphold the law, And, if necessary, to defend it.

Page8

-,..andy j. greer

Page9

Dali Nadadadalogus The joys of intellectual intercourse Fell from your wine-tinged tongue Like the violin's somber tone or Lyrics Orpheus sung To dreamy maenads on a river bank, Who tore him to pieces, from arm to shank, Silencing his versed lung.

Yet, somehow your crooked smile stabbed the beast, Thrust at the bovine's heart As if a Spanish matador Playing the chivalrous part In a spectacle of starry-eyed glory, Ended by hacking off the bull's ivory And creating a new art.

-mike emberson

Page 10 Page 11

Magnolia Bend Standing on the silty shore Solitary feet imbued with crust-like firmament Clinging tightly the worn soul Small the child of empty thoughts Residing within her majesty Continuous aptitude of tumultuous sounds The rise and swell of breath inhaled Startled by the careless yearning Of waters churning round Magnolia Bend The chorus of almighty Whose cyclic harvest remains Silent

As the very rocks Upon whose heavy hearts dost rest The ageless countenance Of wisdom Interred With deepest sympathy Whispers echo through the countless Chambers of purest green and colloquial silver Minions of creatures forth-brought With the shapeless forms Of shadows Touching the crescent moon With tender eye the colors do run in purest wash of artistic sincerity.

-karen mcdonald

Page 12 CHRYSALIS

1996

Page 13

The Ballad of Don Juan Back in the of' days of Spain, say some five centuries ago, the libertine Don Juan was said to have preyed on the young maidens in his native province of Seville. He supposedly had a reputation for wickedness and for an insatiable yearning to love women, all women-one was not enough. But let's not perpetrate his tale as an abominable legend without understanding the facts. Juan did not love women; he worshipped them. He sought to know them inside and out in the same way a mystic torments himself for a vision of God. Many a man has asked the age-old question, "What is love?" I dare say he was probably the only one who could have succeeded in knowing-Don Juan, that is.

Only he had the will to accomplish such a feat. Some add that only a god or a devil would have had the might or wit needed to complete such a great quest. Many declare the latter of Juan. Why not judge for yourself? His courtly song rests here, the ballad which he sung in his mating ritual in a long reign of debauchery. Listen . . .

Most men praise thee only for thy perfections girl, But I must attest that I love thy faults as well­ From thy sparkling eyes and tresses of raven curl To thy short temper and rosy lips' poutish swell When thy demands art not met or thy sin is found, An_d although others will find fault in thy life's tale By romantic piety my soul to thine is bound.

Let my hands and lips show thee thy heaven; I, thy priest, to worship the God within, Divine Love molded of soft, golden flesh Where doth both Beauty and Truth sublime mesh.

Foolish men call'd saints dare stamp thy fruits vice!

Art thou holier than the Virgin's image, Thy blood sweeter than the Eucharist's vintage?

What mortal for love would not sacrifice His life, even consign his soul to hell To not taste thy flaming lips' tender kiss, To not feel upon his thy bosom's swell, To not know thy pounding heart's secret bliss?

Yes, even if salvation is a loss, My soul damned forever to dungeoned hell, On thy neck I shall kiss that silver cross And pray that our love will not part or fail!

-mike emberson Page 14

Page 15

Faulkner

Someone's speaking about Faulkner's prose howu seems suspicious they say and I think about the lust for teeth or being buried in a burnished box the scent of fire when it fondles death or flows between two siblings' lips

spawning madness Within a sister's hips

Cohen

yes

browsing through your tome

so freely stoked

someone's speaking about Faulkner's prose

for inspiration

and stroked

each page worn with countless thumbings

by passion

its themes of darkness and decay while I count clouds outside the Window

your syntax stretches across my mind

wondering what HE would say.

woeful words entering

-ertc l. baker

Page 16

CHRYSALIS

1996

your phallic pen has pierced my soul leaving me limp in all its rage.

-ertc l. baker

Page 17

Left Solitary with the Night Sitting in the grass under the maple tree, one late spring evening, I felt the soft breeze, the embrace of God, Shifting the hair on my arms, the curls around my face fallen from my braid.

I felt the fingers of Nature raining on my body as the maple seeds tapped me and said, I'm here. I'm here.

The sun silently, slowly said farewell as it drifted across the sky and melted into the mountains.

The molded mountains threw chilled shadows through the valley.

I drew invigorating breaths tasting and smelling the sweet sign of summer, freshly cut grass, That familiar comforting aroma that makes my cells pulse, my ears ring, my eyes water.

Page 18

That signal of summer, that sign of God. The sun kept moving and my heart cried out, Come back to my soul, I'm not done with you.

I thought if I enveloped myself in the day it would wait for me.

It wouldn't end until I was ready, but the sky changed from rose to crimson to violet to blue, And I was alone.

Grandfather loved Nature, but it didn't wait for .him.

He too was twenty, healthy, young.

He loved and cherished, was angry, ec­ static, anxious, calm, bold, shy, honest, jealous, generous, trusting, skeptical,, exhausted, courageous, Human. Human. Human.

CHRYSALIS

on of t the next generati us j is ay d h ac E ing for tiJile. ring everun g wish As I sat that sp ack, eb the sun to com ther to return. my grandfa anted to go.

I knew neither w I' m not done with you. e.

Come back to m u.

Not done with yo und my gled the curls aro an t s ze e re b e h T ht face. eek rose as the nig The hair on my n grew colder. the grass.

My legs itched from d ... ere My heart rememb ed and ... er My heart rememb 1 was hum an e night .

Left solitary with th -elndy rhlnehart page 19 1996

I

E a g e r W o r ds

Limitless whispers. Of whom do they speak?

Is it me?

(Not that it matters, but I must know to make sure.)

Every breath of th e ea Vibrations to my ear. rth carries the soft It is close, but I s till cannot hear.

A touch of confide nce. It could not po be me. ssibly Could it?

Closer my moveme nts , once again I m know. ust

The stage is set to listen. It sounds so clear to me.

Here now I stand , where the sounds once came.

They are coming in clearer, now. Then silence reigns.

Strong is my character, but why have they stopped?

As I walk away, the whispers start again to mount.

It might have been me. But does it really matter?

Am I not the bigger person?

-tyrone allen

Page20 CHRYSALIS

1996

Page21

Millennium

An age Will end, a Thus, the phoe ni nother Will begin; x Sa Whose stars are di ils off into the night, To a morning she m and moon, death-stricken, d from darknes s' plight.

Cast from the b rig Are the fancies t ht bird's keen eye, pointed chi h n Burnt as the su at once Pr:lmmed her flight, lp Stripped of reig hur in her fiery- den, n beanng omnip ot They pass - as hes to ashes, du ent might, st to dustr The heat forges fo Through the m as rm of red, gold, and White; s of flames an as Bursts int o the sky from the m cenc!Jng thrust ou Then to pale ho rizon, she, in a g ntainous height: ust, Makes llke the Wi nd through the ashes and dust!

Tithe Sunday I awoke

an abandonment sublime

to worship

still standing in the ashes

whispering psalms in the ears of your altar fingers dancing down the spine offering up such sacrifice

-mike emberson

having burnt my flesh awake lying stretched beside your body in its holy humbled state.

-eric 1. baker

Page22

CHRYSALIS

1996

Page23

Invitation to Ecstasy I couldn't tell you all I wanted because action should speak instead. The poetry of motion should spark the fire to set your desires ablaze. Rose petal dreams of pas­ sions run unleashed in my mind, I can't wait. Progress of pleasures makes me anxious for you. Lower your guard, let me in. Perfected parallels of passions will help me lead you into ecstasy. Tease me not because I feel your desire for me to make you feel as beautiful as what I see.

Deny me not, my sweet, for satisfaction is not the work of a day but of a lifetime.

Mental visions of a moment in nature filled with pure bliss. So here I stand, waiting for a sign that you will indeed submit to my love. A touch of confidence that you may, but uncertainty of your

intentions drives me wild with infatuation.

Give me a chance to make a union be­ tween us two for a lifetime. One night for the start down a road that will seemingly never end. Satisfaction is what I promise as paralysis of pleasures captivates the limbs of your being as the ride gets longer and longer and better and better. My sweet, let's take a walk through the eternal flames of passion that you may not know but are soon to realize. I'll quench your desire for passion, for love and romance.

All I have I will give to make this a special walk for you. Realize the temptations and feel free to let go, for I will catch you if you fall, then put my heart in your hands. For I show no shame in pleasure, and I know what I want. And it's you my sweet.

-tyrone allen page25

Page24

CHRYSALIS STA F EDITOR-IN-CHI STAFF:

ADVISOR· THANKS TO:

EF·

F ERIC L. BAKER ERIC L. BAK ER CRISTA M. BUC K MIKE EMBERSO N CINDY RHIN EHA RT JILL LONG

DAN GRIBBIN RACHEL K. DEN H AM TINA HANLON JOHN S. HARDT FREDA NICHOL S JANE PETERS LANA WHITED

Eric Baker 1973 - 1996 A week after the layout for this issue of Chrysalis was completed, our Editor-in-Chief, Eric Baker, was killed in a tragic automobile accident. Eric's poetry ls itself testimony to his wit, his intelligence, and his humane attitude toward others. Members of the Chrysalis staff were privileged to know the man as well as the poet, and we know that we have lost a true friend. On behalf of this year's student body, the Chrysalis staff dedicates this 1995-1996 issue to Eric Baker, whose spirit encompassed the noblest expression of Art and Humanity.