Rhyme & Reason, Spring 2022

R&R RR& &RR & R&R RR& &RR & R&R RR& &RR & R&R RHYME & REASON

r&r staff. andonia alexander-smith grace roche colin welden abigail wells

11th 9th 10th 11th

mrs. batchelor

advisor

We made it! Summer break! This has been an amazing semester of creativity at HIES. Thank you to all our artists for their hard work, as well as to our teachers and faculty for all of their support.

This semester, the staff wanted to showcase the pervasive nature of creativity, both in our community at HIES and in the Atlanta community overall. So, in this spring edition, we’ve scattered fragments of images of public art from the Atlanta Beltline within the layouts.

Hope you enjoy! Happy Summer.

abigail wells editor in chief.

table of staff page

3

table of contents

4

nature of annE

6

untitled

8

gender roles in hamilton

9

tears

12

untitled

13

last september

14

continuum

15

stargazer

16

alphabet soup

17

leapf

18

what goes around, comes around

19

train station

21

freeform

22

i though you were dying

24

untitled

26

broken vows

27

oh to see you again

28

ship of theseus

30

mask

31

when will it stop

32

obey

33

a wish

34

geode

35

fleeing shadows

36

contents 38

salt

39

man in the corner

40

glow 2

42

forget

43

assimilate

44

untitled

45

untitled

46

no whip, half caf latte

48

make believe

49

between two boulders

50

untitled

52

untitled

53

because i knew you

54

gaps

55

untitled

56

if you could see what i could see

59

the big, bad bully

60

floral facade

61

the joy of poetry

62

junior year: art in the margins

65

night

66

untitled

67

untitled

68

elemental evolution

69

daisies

70

cold winter’s day

nature o lily

When you think about it closely, even moun

Is it the girl who is Or the wind that t Jealousy consumes me wh The love you put out m But that perfect winged l Seeing you without it m You know, I’ve never seen the oceans w Maybe that was just the story I told m Sitting in your crowded room But when you turn on that light you Shrouded in darkne Is it real or do I only think You dance through your night, b Who was it truly that h Perhaps we are both t Completing each other You’re nature, Neither one Because we’ve bee But I think I see you slow

of annE. bell

ntains bend to waves. But which one are you?

s lively and joyous? tries and escapes? hen I look upon your face. makes me want to race. liner was the best façademakes me feel rather odd. weep or the way the mountains stumble, myself as I hear the pain you humble. m makes me feel rather plain. u hate, I see the moon begin to wane. ess your secrets hide.

I am seeing your true side? but what happens in your days? helped the other raise? the stone and the sea r like a chaotic destiny.

I’m the winde will bend en broken before, wly start to open the door.

untitled.

andonia alexander-smith

gender roles in hamilton. anonymous

In the introduction to Thomas C. Foster’s book Twenty-Five Books that Shaped America, he discusses “the idea of change as something that helps develop the national character, that defines but also in some way directs who, and possibly more importantly, what we are... which is to say, the myth of America.”

The myth of America he describes as “everything we think about ourselves, our history, our capabilities, our values, our interests, our most basic principles” (Foster xiv). One of the main topics of this myth is gender roles, specifically for women. In Lin Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton: An American Musical, Miranda challenges the “myth of America” described by Foster, especially in the ways he portrays women, putting them “back in the narrative” (Hamilton). Miranda challenges Thomas C. Foster’s “myth of America” by breaking gender norms and stereotypes for women by showing their major impact in the story of Hamilton. Lin Manuel Miranda tells Eliza Schuyler’s narrative in the play Hamilton to publicize her story and the impacts she had on fulfilling Hamilton’s legacy and making progressive and political change.

Miranda broke certain gender stereotypes, one being the assumption that women were unintelligent. The Schuyler sisters were born into a rich family and therefore were some of the few women that got an education during this time. In the song, The Schuyler Sisters, the sisters introduce themselves to the audience as smart, funny, and ambitious young women. In this song, Angelica says the iconic line, “And when I meet Thomas Jefferson. I’ma compel him to include women in the sequel. Work!” (Hamilton).

This line shows that the sisters are willing to work to advocate for women’s rights and equality. This line is one of the most famous in the entire play, as Hamilton fans appreciate all it stands for. Angelica was especially smart and would write many letters to Hamilton throughout the play discussing life and politics. These sisters,

throughout the musical, show the role of women in the Revolutionary war and the founding of America.

Eliza, Hamilton’s wife, is the main representation of women and their roles in this play. Her most iconic quote, “Let me be part of the narrative” (Hamilton), is repeated several times throughout the play. This quote is Eliza saying she wants to be part of the story, and for her part in it to be heard throughout history, just like Hamilton’s is. Her story needs to be shared and Miranda’s play was the first time this really happened. The common place of women in this time was behind their husband; they did not have many rights and their roles were in the home. Hamilton does a great job of showing all the amazing impacts women still were able to have on the foundation of America even with their limited rights and opportunities. In the first half of the play, Eliza marries Hamilton after her sister Angelica realizes that she herself cannot because she must marry rich to continue the family line.

Back in this period, women, especially the eldest daughter, were supposed to marry rich, as they could not provide for themselves with these limitations on their rights and education.

The iconic song, Burn, is Eliza’s reaction to her husband cheating. Eliza, the most supportive wife ever, who always trusted and loved Hamilton through it all, got cheated on multiple times.

Hamilton only admitted it when rumors started circulating that he was mismanaging government money when really he was paying off the woman he was cheating with’s husband. “How you brought this girl into our bed, in clearing your name you have ruined our lives” (Hamilton). Obviously, Eliza was heartbroken.

Back in this time, divorces were not really something women could do, and now Hamilton had told the entire country about his affair. There was no end to the sadness and embarrassment she felt when all she had done was supported Hamilton. During the song, Burn, she burns all the love letters Hamilton ever sent to her. Throughout the play she repeatedly says “Helpless” (Hamilton). First, she used this term to describe how she was helplessly in love with Hamilton, but this changes to how she is now helpless because Hamilton has hurt her so badly, and she does not know what to do; she is trapped. This is part of being a “good housewife” and staying loyal and loving to Hamilton, but Eliza

Eliza has full right to be angry with him.

After Hamilton’s death, Eliza continues his legacy. Eliza in the song Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story, is telling about how she continued Hamilton’s mission while creating her own narrative. “I interview every soldier who fought by your side… I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings… I raise funds in D.C. for the Washington Monument… I speak out against slavery” (Hamilton). All of these were things Hamilton would have done if he had more time alive, but Eliza does them, to tell his story and continue his legacy. A woman promoting all this political change was a rare thing in this period. Her favorite thing she did was that she “established the first private orphanage in New York City” (Hamilton) because Hamilton was an orphan and she wanted to help people like him. She did so much work to continue Hamilton’s legacy and do what’s right. “I put myself back in the narrative” (Hamilton). She has changed from asking if she can be in the beginning to just doing it herself, putting herself back in, Miranda makes sure this legacy of hers is heard.

The narrative of Eliza Schuyler told by Miranda in the play Hamilton publicizes her story and shows the impacts she had on continuing Hamilton’s legacy and making progressive and political change.

Eliza looking up at the end of the play is a dramatic and heartfelt ending to Hamilton. There has never been a precise or direct interpretation of what this means, but the common idea is that it is Miranda showing Eliza the play, the audience, and that her narrative is being heard by all these people. She gasps in shock and overwhelming happiness, her story is being told, finally.

WORKS CITED Miranda, Lin Manuel. Hamilton: An American Musical. Atlantic Records, 2015, MP3.

tears. anonymous

I cried and cried and cried Until my tears formed rivers from my eyes The rivers became an ocean filled by my pain And still I watched for the waves to bring you home again

untitled. anonymous

I saw your heart shatter and blamed it on my broken eyes I saw the tears on your face and blamed the rain I saw your pain and never asked why I saw everything and it passed me by You were always fractured, and I was never whole I only ever had half a hand to hold yours I only ever had half a heart to give you And I could never keep you tethered here Because I was always drifting away

last september. miracle okeke

I saw you today, But you’re not as I remember.

Your eyes no longer sparkle, You’ve changed since last September.

You were so full of life, Yet now you’re so cold.

Your personality has tarnished, When you once had a heart of gold.

You fell out of my life, Just like leaves in the fall.

We were so very close, Now you’re not here at all.

You saw me today too, I’m the same as you remember.

My eyes still sparkle, I’ve not changed since last September.

abigail jablon

continuum.

stargazer.

Hey there stargazer, How does it feel to walk the world Your feelings on your sleeves All out for everyone to see?

Do you feel free?

Hey there soul-searcher, What have you found upon your road?

Did you answer all your questions That only the universe knows?

What is the truth?

Hey there worldwalker, Have you explored all there is?

What have you learned in all your travels?

What all the worlds have in store?

Could there be more?

Hey there lightweaver How do the stars fare tonight, Glowing bright in all the heavens, Making pretty pictures in the sky.

Isn’t it wonderful? andonia alexander-smith

alphabet soup.

My brain has become Alphabet soup My memories Have rolled into noodles Their colors muddled and mixed My knowledge Has melted into broth Thoughts floating like soggy carrots The letters are scrambled Swirled just like my words My tongue is tied And the bowl burns my fingers As my brains spill out As I tip the bowl of Alphabet soup grace roche

steve marine poetry contest, honorable mentions

george poulos

https://open.spotify.com/album/3xCPdNSfHkVuIqSM0R6AFw?si=d1p2O7lWTWOk5nVL4HPsnQ&nd=1

what goes around, comes around. gracie cavallo

Have you ever cried so hard?

That the tears rolled down your cheek, They made you feel so small and meek.

Have you ever cried so hard?

That you couldn’t open your eyes, All you felt were the lies.

Have you ever cried so hard?

That your heart felt like it was broken, And that something new had awoken.

Have you ever wanted to get revenge on that ONE person?

The empowerment you gained from the pain, Giving you strength from the pain you gained.

But no, You wiped your tears, Dusted yourself off, Moved forward, And watched, As the world burned behind you.

Because you remember the phrase: What goes around, Comes around.

train st

ahmari w

My skin is a death sentence Rushing through a train station to beat rush hour Packed like flowers crushed in hands of a monotonous pool But as I hear the cruel noises of chatter The conversations fuel my fear Their eyes scatter burning holes in my flesh Numbing my body, deteriorating my bones My skin is a death sentence Causing white women to clutch their purses and pearls Since underneath my feminine touch and Alexander McQueen’s I’m a thief in disbelief

not receiving any grief I don’t clutch my purse and pearls when fields of pale homogeny dominate My meek voice shields your hatred and harm My Southern charm playing as my firearm fighting to disarm your overbearing racist alarm My skin is a death sentence Marked and labeled from birth as an inmate My fate is innate without a blank slate In the third grade I was a criminal Subliminal tests sealing my destiny Every arrest to trap us in a cycle

tation.

whitehead

Private prisons using stats Developing habitats for monsters in third grade Before we even know what crimes are, we’re thugs Replacing hugs with drugs, faith with an eighth, drums with guns, shows with hoes, easter bunny with money Momma’s love no longer matters When her child lays on a platter Full of crooks, heinous looks, faces shook In the form of a yearbook trying to unhook their role of a rook Still waiting on my 40 acres and a mule But all I’m left with is

this tool My skin is a death sentence Constantly running backwards for safety Trying to catch my train Some liquid seeping through my shirt, what’s this burning sensation?

Their eyes still stabbing, their eyes still stabbing, their eyes still stabbing Tatting their coat of arms on my body Disoriented through the murky puddles of the train station Puddles of insecurities, puddles of gasoline, puddles of – Blood? Am I bleeding?

freefo

nathanael

orm.

l adegoke

i tho

ought you were dying. nina-rose smith

At first At first it was just coughing And more coughing And lying-in bed for hours, passed out And coughing and coughing and coughing I thought you would be all right at first

When we were on the phone When we were on the phone, I tried to keep it short and sweet But it wrecked me to see how physically and mentally weak my strong mother had become Even though I knew it hurt you so much more than it hurt me But you weren’t It hurt me a lot to see you when we were But you weren’t and the next thing I on the phone know it’s my dad saying “Watch your brothers, I have to take Because I thought you were dying mom to the hospital” It looked like you were dying when we I thought you would take some pills, be were on the phone. back in a couple hours, but you weren’t.

You came back And I thought you were dying You came back but you weren’t perfect, I thought you might die when you went you weren’t even close to the hospital You couldn’t walk, and you could barely breathe, but at least you came back When you were in the hospital When you were in the hospital, I didn’t And yet I still thought you were dying talk to you for days I thought maybe you should still be at But you were the only thing on my the hospital when you came back. mind I posted on Instagram, but you were the But you got better only thing on my mind But you got better and, yes, it took forI did all my homework, went to all my ever zooms but you were the only thing on And, yes, it wasn’t linear, but you got my mind better Because I thought you were dying And that’s the only thing that matters I thought you were dying when you Because I can’t stand the thought of you were in the hospital. dying.

anonymous

untitled.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore an scares Who is this girl wearing my clot Who is this boy who answers to my na Who is this person who sleeps in my bed at n as I lay next to them wondering when everyth chan

This loss of identity has taken hold o It’s hooked itself into my And buried itself into my h The rot is taking over my chest and squeezing th from my lu

I don’t know who I am and who is I don’t know what to do anym But just for now, until I have the time to figure thi

I’ll keep wearing this mask of a stranger who star me from the other side of my mi

nd it s me thes? ame? night hing nged? ~ of me y ribs heart he air ungs ~ who more is all out res at irror

I cheated on you with the girl from the bar I let her stay in the house that we vowed to share I made promises with her that I would never make with you I know you were probably planning for our anniversary Or imaging a future between us You were probably under the impression that I loved you When you were only a drunken bet Forgive me Because she was so much better than you And I don’t regret it Even if she was your best friend

broken vows. lindsay ponder

oh, to see you again. colin welden

Dearest, There’s a darkness in my heart.

They said I have a week.

Oh, to see you again.

On the first day I looked for you in the fields. I wandered through fields of flowers we put in our hair as we laughed, thinking our youth would last forever. I remembered when I hid in these fields after words ran away with me, convincing me of the worst lies. You came to me then and showed me what was still good. I loved you then, you know.

On the second day I looked for you in the mountains. I trudged up hills we raced up in our youth, making promises we couldn’t keep. I remembered when we sat atop these mountains and learned of the cruelest truths of the world. We had each other then, knowing that it might be all we had. You loved me then, you said.

On the third day I looked for you in the city. It was full of lies then as it is now, lies told to keep other people out. Lies that we told for each other became lies that we told for ourselves. We loved each other then, I hope.

On the fourth day I looked for you by the lakes, where you went alone and asked that I not follow. I didn’t recognize my reflection. These lakes, where I realized the gravity of all that I had done. I lost myself then, you thought.

On the fifth day I looked for you in the forest. The darkness took hold here. I whispered my lies for you here, too. You would not have believed me had I not had so much practice. I lost you then, I know.

On the sixth day I looked for you on the beaches, where harsh wind brought harsher truths. This is the place where we left our hearts in pieces, where we left each other for the last time. We lost hope then, I think.

On the seventh day I looked for you in the darkness, for it is all I know. My legs are weak, and I am short of breath, and I have searched the world for you. I cannot go on.

I hope you know how I wanted to see you again, to know that I had not given you my darkness. To tell you that I am sorry. To tell you that I love you still.

Oh, to see you again.

In

I nev It I

So So Sometimes

And h

m

grace roche

ship of theseus

my heart is a ship which floats each moment a wave crashing

the sails are made of my thoug and the winds of feelings make breeze

hurricanes of breakdowns chu heart but just like theseus, i can rebu

steve marine poetry contest, honorable mention

never say the right thing I never have the words ver make the right move t’s always been my curse I pass by like it’s normal I never drop my mask no one sees the real me o no one knows my past s they think I’m brilliant I trip and land on gold But mostly I stay silent hope my mask will hold

mask. colin welden

s.

s on a sea of thoughts g against the side

ghts, each thread an idea e them dance in the

urn the sea, and crash my

uild my ship

i want you to act like a fox. who cares if that’s not wh only you deem it untru you get no choice.

who asked abou i have made a one that i h it is my d

if i d the l

It came out of nowhere; their effort to impair Firmly grounded democracy; thrown into the air Their goal to achieve; is the town of Kyiv Bombing on the way; they take Kharkiv There is no exemption; they come from the Kremlin The ultimate decider; the one and only Putin Still Russia pushes; behind the symbol Z The heart of Ukraine; in pres Zelensky They came now; hailing from Moscow Where will they go; maybe to Krakow… oh wow

when will it stop. george wray

hat you say you are? ue.

ut your free will? an image of you, have grown used to. decision.

deem you below me, en that is what you are recognized as. less than, negative, below average, you can’t refute me. why are you so opposed? i am only accounting for your story, through my lens of course. since, i am obviously all-knowing. you think i am too rash? is this unfair? unjust? unreasonable? who cares? it worked anyway. these are only my words, because yours have been removed from the narrative.

obey.

jezel carmon

a wish.

miracle okeke

If I could have a wish come true A dream that’d come to pass I’d ask to spend a day with you And pray that it would last I’d run to you and hold you close We’d laugh and smile again I’d listen so intently As you tell me how you’ve been When time is up I’d hold you close Not wanting to let go You’d smile and tell me, “see you soon” That truly your time had come to let go While it’s very hard to wait One day the time will come When heaven calls my name I’ll join you there forevermore My wish may go ungranted But it will always be true I’d trade any of my tomorrows For one yesterday with you

geode.

andonia alexander-smith

nathanael adegoke

There was salt in my shoes Salt in my toothpaste Salt in my coffee It falls out of my mouth when I smile And flows through my veins There is salt on my hands And I don’t know how not to be angry anymore

salt.

colin welden

Man in the corner who knows my name Who learned my fears, who caused my pain Man in the corner, who made me afraid It doesn’t matter if nobody knows If I keep my mouth shut, if my scars don’t show Man in the corner who didn’t take “no”.

Man in the corner, leave me be I told the world, and now they see Man in the corner You don’t scare me

man in the corner. anonymous

glow

nathanael

w 2.

l adegoke

forget. victor smith

Forget A dangerous word Like that meeting in the afternoon but it is already the evening Forget A threatening word Like that chore that your mother gave while you were reading Forget A merciful word Like an old scrape on your leg that only exists in the back of your mind Forget An almighty word Like the nightmare that years have buried Forget A forgotten word Like Christmas in the start of summer out of mind but loved once again when winter sings

jezel carmon

assimilate.

arriving here has left you exposed. i will pull every piece that has built you, until you are fully deconstructed. a freeform entity waiting to be molded to my desire… refusal will only make this more excruciating for you. you will be made to acknowledge what isn’t accepted, your lack of choice will be made apparent, and you will give into the consequences of your last decision. you are now falling into what you witness, realizing i encompass your every being. i bend and weave through your shining truths, to successfully implement my fabrication of you. i thank you for your submission. you are just palatable enough now. and it wasn’t so difficult, it only took everything.

steve marine poetry contest, third place winner

nathanael adegoke

untitled.

untitled.

nathanael adegoke

On November 8th, I wake up to darkness and my alarm ringing at the volume of a live concert. Over a week ago, I applied for a job at a random coffee shop down the street, and today is my first day. I get to the job at 7:00 on the dot. The café is supposed to open in thirty minutes, at 7:20, a tall woman with dark hair walks in and mumbles something about the name of the café. I ask if I can help her, and she orders a no whip half caf latte. I come to learn that rain or shine, this is her daily routine.

On November 8th, I wake up at 6:30 on the dot, like I do any day, just like my mother would do. I go on a jog through the park and run past the empty playground where I spent my after-school hours as a kid. While the playground was renovated a couple years ago, the rustic old slide is still the same. At 7:15 I near Café Alexandra, or as it’s now called, Cookie Café. Every day, I’m still in shock that the investors changed the name the day after my mother died. It’s not like they only sell cookies. Ten minutes before opening, I enter, and while the new guy looks apprehensive, I order my usual, no whip half caf latte.

It’s early February and though I’ve been able to keep the café job, getting up with the temperature below freezing is driving me crazy. Yet every day, I’m at work at 7:00, and at 7:20, Ms. No-Whip-Half-Caf-Latte demands her perfect drink. And today, I’ve had enough.

On February 4th I pull myself out of bed. It’s past 6:30, but I give myself a little mercy because today is February 4th, the anniversary of my mother’s death.

As I head towards the café, all I can think about is my mother smiling over the counter as she makes me my first “Latte Alexandra”, as she once called it. Eventually I found that I can get a Latte Alexandra anywhere by asking for a no whip half caf latte, but none taste like the ones at the café. The memory brings me into a lighter mood as I order my usual drink.

I tell her that the Cookie Café no longer sells lattes, especially ones of that complexity.

He tells me that they can’t make my drink. They can’t make my mom’s drink on the anniversary of her death.

Her face drops and she looks like she’s seen a ghost. I cover a laugh with a cough and grab a cookie for myself.

I leave the café with tears forming in my eyes. I never go back.

I never saw Ms. No-Whip-Half-Caf-Latte again. I guess my joke scared her away for good.

no whip half-caf latte anonymous

make believe.

miracle okeke

We were doomed from the beginning, Blinded from the start, But nothing can be done To fool a happy heart.

With each smile and giggle, Every embrace and every kiss, We were shooting for a happy ending, But sadly we missed.

Cinderella lost her slipper And it was never found.

Prince Charming came too late, Now no one’s sleeping sound.

The fairy-tale warmth has left us As winter’s setting in.

The storybook reads the end, But where should we begin?

Now your heart strives to be broken, And you long for lonely nights This time our ship is sinking We’re going down without a fight.

between two boulders. andonia alexander-smith Between two boulders The wind whistling through the crack Pulling my hair into a tango with the breeze I long for the sea So close yet so far away This place is dry and barren Dusty with sand that once lined a vast ocean And stood strong beneath the feet Of the many who sat here before me The river that flowed last long ago Molded these small mountains with fingers most gentle Fingers that poked the rock Prodding it into shape before it dried and hardened And then setting it out on display In the midst of an outcropping of trees And decorated with cloth of clear blue sky And ribbon of wind Now it is home to the winds and the words That wind their way between the hollow peaks And leave echoes in my eyes and my ears.

untitle anonymous

ed.

untitled.

claire cummings

because i knew you. colin welden

I never really liked you We always disagreed We gave you countless warnings You never seemed to heed I know that you were sad I know you felt alone But it isn’t my fault You destroyed what you love You were a walking disaster A human hurricane You set your life on fire And prayed that it would rain I guess that last night You got too far in your head Because when I woke up this morning I found out you were dead I want to say I’ll miss you But I know that isn’t true Nevertheless, it hurts me Because I knew you

gaps.

colin welden

No one has words for the moments in between No one cares about right now when everything will start in a few hours It just ended a few minutes ago It just happened It hasn’t happened yet How many moments do we lose Because they fall through the cracks And we only care about what was and what will be What about now?

nathanael adegoke

untitled.

if you could see I think to something that happened earlier this year And through my years I must give respect to the ones who have shaped me But I remember having a conversation with one of my teachers about intersectionality He looked so unexcited And in his attempt to not seem racist, sexist, homophobic, or anything else He responded in this fallacy I don’t see color or gender or sexuality And I looked at him in his false neutrality and frowned Told him that’s too bad because you’re missing out on Properties composed in an object that object sensations that stimulate the eye Or how light will strike droplets And curve into an arc that gives us a spectrum of art Or how if you angle light just right you can project shades that flush into the world And be printed on a sticker on a little girl’s diary as she curls within herself Or maybe how the sun hits melanin and leaves a honeydew mist on space Or with that same melanin and piece of sun was melted

what i can see.

jayla jackson

And blended to make the shades of my face Or in space, the cosmos don’t allow sound but the purple waves we see speak volumes Or how the creator was able to make mood When we see each other under the light of the moon To make darkness so bright And a brightness so dark To illuminate a world like no other That’s just a fraction of what you miss out on When you don’t see color You’re missing out on how The most biologically fascinating thing happens in the existence of a woman Or how love could be so soft in the rough hands of a man Or how empathy has been tatted into estrogen and can be the best medicine For when you feel small Or how masculinity will wink its eye as it glides through a room And meet its foe called femininity and so much can bloom from those two Or how existence can take no title and still be vital to the world And the formless makes everything so much more fluid The smile of a woman that’s a tease

The trust in a man’s eyes despite Eve You miss out on a dad’s hug that’s strong A mom’s glare that’s tender That’s just a fraction of what you miss out on When you don’t see gender You’re missing out on just how much love can be Of how there are layers to life more than what we have chosen to see You’re missing out on the liberation that hits a face that has chosen to be free The journey of how people had to fight and bear sadness to identify as a word that means happy You’re missing out on affection so great it breaks barriers of tradition Or adds an addition to positions for those who feel something they can’t explain Or how people created paint from pain and made a 6-color pallet A ballad that rings louder than any hate It’s what two in love could create And this all happens simultaneously and beautifully And that’s just a fraction of what you miss out on When you don’t see sexuality I need you to see me, I need you to see us, all of us and all of us How dare you not Because if you could see what I could see in this world of intersectionality You’ll be a whole lot more excited

steve marine poetry contest, second place winner

gracie cavallo

the big bad bully.

The big bad bully huffed and puffed, And blew the building down.

The big bad bully huffed and puffed, And shot the people down.

The big bad bully huffed and puffed, And broke the people down.

The big bad bully huffed and puffed, And burned the world around.

And as the world burned, And as it turned, Smoke started to rise.

And when the smoke started to rise, Rise high into the sky, A new hero arose.

For the power of good hit back with more.

More power, More heart, More soul, More hope.

And didn’t beat the bully down, But saved him.

With the touch of kindness, His heart poured open, And turned the world around.

There’s a rot in my bones And moss in my joints Roses bloom in my lungs And seeds sprout from my pores Sap spills from my eyes The only tears my botanical heart will shed

There once was a girl who hated poetry But her teacher loved it on the contrary No matter how hard she tried The lines would not rhyme So when she wrote it was involuntary

the joy of poetry. megan o’connor

the flora facade. grace roche

junior year: art in the mar abigail wells

11.16.21 – write this poem (find the time): working title: anticipation.

The plane hangs in the void above ground, wheels out and braced. Anticipating that– BANG. Touchdown.

The teacher pushes back from their desk, tests in hand with a cheery, weary, “before you go…” and the class freezes, anticipates that– OH. Passed.

Continue: a race (the starting line’s collective breath) 12.9.21 – write this poem (after exams): working title: Christmas sugar’s harsh regime Peppermint is like pineapple: burning sweet and cutting sticky on my gums, my teeth, like medieval torture in this Sugar Inquisition. Check the structure of an ode.

1.22.22 – write this poem (over long weekend?): working title: my to-do list.

rgins Blue swirls over pink grid lines on paper. My cares, my hurdles reduced to insignificance: breaking ink on a militant, gridded background. Continue: the belittling nature of a todo list.

2.17.22 – write this poem (edit later): working title: On Mushu’s wings.

A boy flies down in the playground mud outside the Humanities window, his tissue, blue, dragon wings flapping against the rain. This friendly dragon soars until his construction paper and tape wings cannot support him. Continue: when childhood assumptions fail.

3.12.22 – write this poem (idea from a run – full outline in VoiceMemos): working title: Wonderland: All Grown Up Little Alice falls into Wonderland, and kind strangers – even a cat! – grin from the trees. But if Alice were older, would the smiling cat’s teeth sharpen, point

into glistening threats? Would she hear whispered fairyhorrors from the Wonderland trees? Continue: dangers only older ears can hear.

4.1.22 – write this poem (poetry contest soon): working title: SAT An analogue clock is tick crooked over the sunti-tick slashed doorway of this tock Latin classroom. The imtick pertinent, imtick patient TICK of that tick-tock clock. Fifteen minutes left. Continue: never ending pages testing your endurance for monotony.

4.8.22 – poetry: due. working title: in the margins What is a poem? Blurred snapshots of fleeting, unfinished thoughts ignored in daily chaos? What is a poem, but this?

steve marine poetry contest, first place winner

night. gracie cavallo

The darkness surrounds us, It consumes us.

The shadows creep and crawl, With nothing but black at night fall.

In that darkness, An evil grows.

Danger close to follow, With us too tired to fight it, It consumes us.

Streetlights too weak to light the path, With nothing but black at night fall.

Insomnia keeps us from our rest, Our weary eyes open, While thoughts race in our heads, It consumes us.

No calm to soothe the night, With nothing but black at night fall.

untitled. claire cummings

untitled. nathanael adegoke

steve marine poetry contest, honorable mention

elemental evolution.

Liquid crystalline windows blur the view Of ever amorphous reality Suddenly shapeless, near catastrophe; Desensitizing to pain flooding through.

Shock after shock, gravest fears become true; A world, nearly grasped, crumbling helplessly, Scrambling for some sense of stability, Cracks slowly across the fault lines we drew.

Will burning pressure form brilliant diamond?

Or first consume its fuel in roaring flames?

Deep-set expectations time has tensioned Bend and render dreams deferred more strained.

But we could, if we survive time’s ticking on, Emerge from ash with rare and precious gains. abigail jablon

daisies.

My life is like A field of daisies With grasses Up to my knees My feet buried In an immense sea Of yellow petals

What I bring To an unaccepting And tortured world The petals are me Longing to dance In the breeze But afraid to let go For fear Of where the breeze will take them Or how far they’ll go

The flowers Ripple like waves Blown by An eager west wind Seeds carried far By its earnest brother My world is like From the east A field of daisies An endless expanse The seeds are me With fragile My being Petals of yellow My thoughts And soft shades My memories Of blue and gray andonia alexander-smith

cold winter’s day. lily bell

Everybody’s sad cause their childhood is over Well, me, mine has already been gone so long.

Between broken bottle dreams and panickily locking doors Notions of innocence within me just feel wrong.

I’d sit at your chair, any love felt bizarre, And you’d play me like the strings on your engraved guitar. useless as trying to explore every inch of space.

4’oclock your head starts spinning.

Did the blame let you feel like you were winning?

What did I do wrong to make you lose your mind?

It felt enough.

Was I enough?

What the hell could have been enough? but you will always be my cold winter’s day Everybody’s thinking about their future’s now They’re thinking about the one they like and how The uncertainty makes them feel excited But for me, question marks feel so uninvited.

Throw away those guns in your closet Cause you already broke me, my isolation set.

But I still remember sitting around the counter And you were crying, thinking about life without her.

It felt enough.

Was I enough?

What the hell could have been enough?

I wanted you to be my flowers in May but you will always be my cold winter’s day Now my room is empty, the lights have been turned off Now that I’m gone, which vice will you grab to make the world go soft It’s up to you What you choose to do Turning back off the fireplace Cause now the sun fills my space Look there, spring is coming To you, I won’t be succumbing Cause I am enough You were just too much Without you it can be enough I wanted you to be my flowers in May But it’s time for me to part from your cold winter’s day