letter from the editor letter to the editor what i surmise from your empty eyes until it’s over cigarettes survive air virgin lips run ode to grandma just a poem surf at the end of the dock i’m sorry entropy earth to be loved is to be hated asteroid how to tie your shoes if only firelit girl i was made for this think the greatest lies stubborn beautifully arranged history heat rises
media it’s not my fault grief collateral what to think dystopia eclipse konton to my love hardwire train station hand self saviors do you want to know? i am a girl in africa that’s why i need you it was not eyes will you go out with me? frozen eyes et tu, brute? blame fragments x-ray heartless hell masquerade lily in a pond super real black hole photo i can’t find the words
a summer night’s kiss fragile romanticisms evangelica enough the diner cast your line colors industrial expanse wonder living is hard enough rached’s better days finding me paulus fracture the end lotus punishment deep conversations shattered run little glass box letters you will never read worthy who? when? where? why? what?
LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
Dear Readers,
There are no words for how incredible these past four years of R&R have been. When I was in freshman year, I could never have imagined that we would publish a magazine over 50 pages, much less 100. I love seeing all of your art and creativity, and I’m so glad to help share it with the world.
Thank you so much to all the writers and artists that submitted work for this edition and the incredible staff that helped put this magazine together. Your passion and talent are evident, and I know I leave this publication in capable hands. Watching you grow in artistic talent and design skill over the past four years has been a joy, and I can’t wait to see what you do next.
Finally, to my assistant editor-in-chief, part time therapist, and amazing friend: it’s tough, but so worth it. I hope you have a spectacular senior year and make a magazine even better than this one. Thanks for the memories.
We are thrilled to present the 23rd edition of Rhyme & Reason Creative Works Magazine. Enjoy!
Colin Welden Editor-in-Chief
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
This edition could not have been done without our incredible editor: Colin Welden! From the whole Rhyme and Reason staff we want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for being the best editor ever. You knew just how to be the perfect mix of friendly but stern, serious but silly, pushing us to pull our weight but also reminding us that we could ask for help. This magazine will not be the same without you next year, and I’ve got some big shoes to fill, but for now we want to celebrate you. All these years of Rhyme and Reason with you on staff have been incredible and have changed the magazine for the better. From chaotic late-night texts to fun meetings that created hilarious inside jokes, thank you for all that you have done for Rhyme and Reason. Thank you for creating this space for everyone to be creative in their own, to grow and strengthen those creatives, and then to help the magazine flourish with those new creative touches. We hope you know just how much you touched all the people in this club, and the everlasting imprint you have left on us. We can’t wait to see what great things you fo off in college and we hope that we can make you proud with the next few Rhyme and Reason editions we put out. Thank you again from the bottom of our hearts, we hope this last edition was as special as you deserve.
- Grace Roche, Associate Editor
THE TEAM
Colin Welden, Editor-in-Chief
Grace Roche, Associate Editor
Ollie Courts, Associate Editor
Cate Wassenaar, Associate Editor
Nathanael Adegoke
Jonathan Barr
Catherine Busch
Margaret Reynolds
Lewis Smith
Rhyme & Reason
Spring 2024 Edition XXIII
what i surmise from your empty eyes
Is you don’t love me back
But what is love
What does she want
And why don’t I get that Its not your fault You’re just a friend And please don’t think its you I’m just obsessed My lonely heart Imagination’s delu— sional-Or is it that?
Was that a glance I saw? A longing stare?
An open heart? No, it’s him for you, I don’t get that kind of love. Its not what I’m built for, Im friendly and approachable, Not wine and dine decor. And that’s all great and fine— Its good—
Please trust me when I say I’m okay
I’m okay
I’m OKAY
Things are better this way.
until it’s over || colin welden
Breathe. You have to breathe. I know it hurts.
I’ve asked so much of you, I know, but Could you open your eyes? For me? Please hang on. Please don’t let go. You can hold my hand –As tightly as you need –Until it’s over.
Someone’s coming.
Someone’s going to help us. You just have to breathe. Please hold on, love. Please open your eyes. Please hold my hand. Please don’t let go. Please don’t say goodbye. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.
Deep in the heart of Paris, there’s an apartment with a balcony just wide enough for two people. Tonight, it only holds one. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and looks up at the stars, as if they can give him the answers. He’s out there every night. The people on the sidewalk, five stories below, often wonder just what’s going through his mind. Always the same thing. He’s thinking about her. He’s thinking about the wave of her hair, the way it only fell past her shoulders when it was wet. The exorbitant amount of time it took her to fix it properly in the morning, while he was up and ready to go as soon as he had his briefcase and a cup of coffee. He never left without her, though. She left without him.
He’s thinking about the bright red lipstick she only pulled out for special occasions, that made her look like those girls on magazine covers that don’t seem quite real. She was real though. Her smile, her warmth, the happiness she brought him, were very real. The cold she left behind in the apartment is very real.
He’s thinking about the way she would spin around in a new dress to watch the skirt flare out around her. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she would ask. “It is,” he would agree, grinning. But he wasn’t looking at the dress. He was looking at her. Those dresses still hang in the closet, all lined up in an order only she understood. He hasn’t touched them. He knows she didn’t leave him. She’s just gone, somewhere far away. Somewhere so far up above the clouds that he can’t reach it yet. He will soon, though, if he doesn’t slow down with the cigarettes. She hated it when he smoked, but she’s not around to tell him off now.
cigarettes || colin welden
He’s thinking about a night out. She put on her bright red lipstick and her favorite dress and took him to the club. It wasn’t a birthday or anniversary, or any remarkable day. She said that’s what made it special. He’s thinking of his fingers on her waist, always confident but shaking a little more with each drink he downed.
He’s thinking about the car, that he didn’t want to leave at the club, even though they’d both had so much to drink they couldn’t see straight.
He’s thinking about a promise. It’s okay, honey. I’ll keep my eyes on the road. It’s just five minutes. I’ll take care of you. I promise.
He’s thinking about tires screeching as he realizes too late that he’s passed a red light, that a car is coming from the right. He’s thinking about crumpled metal and police klaxon and blood, blood, so much blood.
He’s thinking of the bottles of wine and champagne and vodka and bourbon that he threw out the window, vowing that he would never touch it again if she would just come back.
Come back, he pleads with the stars. Come back to me. His cigarette has burned down to the filter, and he stubs it out on the rail. Checking his watch, he sees that it’s long past midnight. He should go to bed. He has work tomorrow. Just one more minute.
I want to survive But sometimes I don’t I feel guilty because I have choice
Some people don’t I’m lucky, I guess To have life I just keep all the pain In my heart Nobody can tell I’m losing my faith Only god sees that I don’t want anyone to worry I’ll survive
I can’t breathe It feels like there is this weight in my chest
I gasp trying to pull oxygen into my body
I cant do it, someone help me please I look to find 10 objects I try to count
“1. 2. 3. 4. 5.” I’m wrapped in a crushing embrace, by none other than my air
I inhale slowly and just breathe,
Air.
virgin lips
how these virgin lips have yet to be tainted though last night they were touched by yours so I suppose virgin no longer so they must be tainted as well how naïve I am to have let you do this but I think I enjoyed it because you are doing it again tainting my lips with yours
ode to grandma || graham forgey
In the quiet corners of my mind, Where memories whisper in the wind, There’s a figure gentle, wise, and kind,
My Grandma Gaga, one of a kind.
Her eyes holding stories of the past,
Like a ship in a storm holding its mast, Tales of love that forever last, Though dementia comes fast, Her spirit remained steadfast.
In her presence, warmth, and reside, A haven where my worries could subside,
Her laughter, a soothing melody, sweet and wide, Filled my heart with joy, never to hide.
Through the haze of times theft, Her essence, a beacon, truly left,
Lessons of resilience, love, and depth
Though words may falter, memories glow, In every whispered “hello” and “hello”, Her love an eternal river flows, My love for you forever grows.
just a poem
How long should poems be?
I’ve seen them last pages and pages
I’m not sure how long they are supposed to be I suppose they could be endless
Just going round and round and round
I suppose life is like a poem It fluctuates, always changing
It has themes
It has rhythms Beauty Pain Joy
How long should this poem be? It feels like a funnel
Trying to end
But it wont Not yet At least
Smaller
Small But Then
Bigger again
Just like life
Poetry is a display of emotion
Thoughts we can’t say that we wish we could Thoughts that are eating at us
Thoughts that you just want to scream I want to scream
But I cant, this is a poem
This is a poem that ends Here.
surf || cate wassenaar
The water swells around my feet as I wade into deeper water
The sun is just peaking over the horizon I paddle out to the surf break
The energy flowing in the waves fills me
I watch and listen, the sea below teeming with life I hear it then, the gentle nudge in my heart I move to meet the wave and you I face the shoreline and begin the race
My arms strike the water, harder with each stroke I feel the nudge again, this time I hear “get up” I shift my feet forward in a dance like motion
Pushing up on my board and finding the balance
Then suddenly, I’m flying
The wind blows my hair and the sun now risen, kisses my skin
The echo of the wave and the sand always under my feet It will always be there as will you.
amar por siempre, Pura Vida
at the end of the dock
Standing at the end of the dock
Looking out at the horizon
It looks like the future It looks like Big Empty Space
i’m sorry
Hey, you there?
I’m sorry for all I said.
I’m sorry for they way I made you feel.
I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.
I’m sorry I can’t help you the way I should.
I’m sorry for causing you pain.
I’m sorry for everything.
But I’m not sorry for loving you.
entropy
In the depths of my soul, regret resides, For loving you, my heart did collide.
Oh, how I wish I could turn back time, Undo the affection, erase love’s chime.
But alas, I’m left with a bittersweet ache, A reminder of love’s fickle mistake.
Regret now lingers, a constant refrain, Teaching me lessons I’ll never regain.
The universe is expanding at a rate more human mind can comprehend
Atoms clashing in seemingly random combinations creating heat, creating light, creating
Lighting up the void one photon
Trying and failing to illuminate the great, sible dark
And in that magnificent universe, infinitesimally Is Earth. Where I am.
Striking, trying, striking, failing
Until all the red has rubbed off the
Wishing my void had any light
more rapid than the comprehend combinations and creating new photon at a time great, incompreheninfinitesimally small failing the match head light at all
to be loved is to be hated
To be loved is to be hated.
But I swear that when you poured out love on me to extinguish the fire you set, It stopped raining soon enough. They say that if you love someone, let them go. But when I look down to my wrist, loved hated. loved you
Shouted words, cracking sharp against my skin.
To be used, wrung out, and used. again, again, and again.
At least, that is what my father has taught me.
That everything he did, Was because he loved me.
That his love for me knew no depths,
I can still see the little bruises left by your grip.
Did you know fire needs oxygen to burn?
If you bottle it up, seal it, stealit, it will die. Knowing this,
You still scooped my little orange flame into a cup, Screwed the lid on tight. And watched as I sputtered, my spark going out,
All the while whispering that it is because you love me. Is this what it is to be loved?
Or is this what it is to be hated?
how to tie your shoes
How to tie your shoes:
First, start with a simple knot.
Make a loop with one lace that resembles the ear of a bunny.
Ignore the fact that your parents never taught you this.
Dad only meant to help when he scolded you for being too stupid to tie your shoes.
Wrap the second lace around the ear,
And form another loop with the wrapped lace.
If you learn to tie your shoes,
Maybe one day you will be good enough for them.
And maybe one day you will finally feel like they love you.
Then, poke the loop through the space between the wrap and the ear.
And pull tight.
Next time when Dad yells and yells and yells, He will find one less flaw.
For extra security, tie a knot with both loops. And maybe, One day, You will be good enough.
be normal I can try I see him He doesn’t look bad I imagine his hand and mine
And how his face would look really really close to mine, lips less than an inch apart I get nauseous thinking about it I wish I was allowed to think of her like that too I wonder in the back of my head if this is really how my life is meant to be.
if only
if only
firelit girl
Gosh she’s pretty.
Firelit hair fluttering gently in the breeze, Mimicking my own heart.
Freckles dot, spot, speckle, spray her face.
Each one a star in such a beautiful constellation.
I wonder what miraculous ocean, What waves that roll, crash, thunder, rush are trapped.
Deep in her eyes. When she looks at me, my muddied mess, Does her heart dance along to my own?
Does the Firelit Girl feel the same?
I was made for this:
My threads are coarse and frayed but strong I was made for push and pull and tug and yank and twist
My buttons do not shine But they will not fall off I was made for rain and snow and mud
Food stains all my clothes I smell dirty and rotten Like living. I was made for play and scream and outside and joy.
I was made for life.
was made for this || colin welden
I was not made for this:
For dark closet
For store in box
For vintage commodity For sit still and smile For accent piece For “fragile – do not touch”. I was not made between glass walls. I was not made to last forever. Playtime is over. Go on inside.
Please let go. I’ll be okay.
think. || ollie courts
I don’t think I know how to be a person. Everyone else seems to know exactly what to do, But I don’t. No one ever taught me how.
I have had to teach myself how to do everything. When I was born, I didn’t know anything, I taught myself.
Walking, Talking, Feeling.
What if I never wanted to die I just didn’t know how to die, live?
Someone told me the point of being a person is to impact other people positively.
But if I am not good at being a person, how can I follow the steps? Am I overthinking it? Is that what I’m supposed to do? think. Think. I don’t know. I
don’t know how to be a person. I don’t know the answer. But I’ll keep trying. THINK.
beautifully arranged || ollie courts
I wish I was a word.
A sliver of a composition, winding across pages.
I wish I could be beautifully arranged, A piece of a puzzle.
I wish I could simply change positions with another and form plot twists and cliffhangers and cliches.
I wish I could paint stories inside your head, full of amazement life.
I wish I could be used to describe things such as flowers, art, people, emotion.
I wish I was associated with something so wonderous.
To be a thread in a tapestry, flaws and imperfections included.
I imagine being used to explain the poeticism of used books, with bent and broken spines and doggy-eared pages.
I wish I was beautifully arranged like you.
I wish I was a word. Or perhaps a poem.
courts
amazement and included. books,
History, A list for me, things to me-mor-ize, mystery, a kiss to me, I don’t re-cog-nize-these feelings-tell me why am I repeating all my ugly lies
history || margaret reynolds
heat rises || ollie courts
They say heat rises, That warmth prefers to lounge above the world.
The sun is content to sit and watch the tiny specks of life below. I guess that explains why the world is so cold.
Expressions, eyes, hearts, heads, people, parents. Each frozen. So, I will climb, climb, climb, climb.
Up and up and up and up,
To where I can soak in the golden sunshine.
To where I too, can see the specks of life the way the sun does.
To where I can see the puffs of air before me.
I will climb, climb, climb, climb. Up and up and up and up.
Until I too, can be free the way the sun is. Until I too, can feel the warmth.
I stayed. I did everything I could. I tried my best. I’m sorry. It’s not my fault. it’s not my fault || colin welden
grief
Nobody warned me I’ll grieve this place I’ll grieve this time
I’ll grieve these passing moments That once seemed infinite Yet now are numbered Missing something Before it’s gone
Or maybe it’s gone already Because it’s not the same
collateral || colin welden
I got out while I could I saw it coming and ran
Each disaster in the making I spotted from a mile away I got out while I could One of the lucky few
Those who looked too late
Who tripped on the way out
Who stayed Hoping it would get better Collateral
what to think
I still trust you I hope that’s right But something happened And now you’re gone
And I don’t know What to think
I had a front row seat
To watch it all fall apart
They’re saying all sorts of things
But it’s not true Right? Sorry I don’t know
What to think
I sit, staring into the sun.
Watching. Waiting.
As the moon’s shape obscures the corner of the sun.
All around me, the world dims.
The world slows. Not the moon though, It continues on its path.
Steadfast. Shadowed.
I look through the frames of the glasses they handed out.
Everything is black.
Everything but the sun and the moon.
Bright orange thrills against the inky void.
The moon covers more of the sun now.
The world has quieted.
Shadows on the ground begin to swirl.
Twisting. Turning.
I look up.
How can something that I see on a regular basis, Something so (in)significant, Be so blinding, so breathtaking?
eclipse || ollie courts
I take off my glasses. It’s safe now; Peaceful now. Calm. Clear. The world around me stops. But not the sun. And not the moon. I look up.
Up, Up, Up, into the heart of the sky.
To the heart of the world I know. A brilliant flare of flame, Pushing. Pulsing.
Against the shadow of the moon. And then, in the blink of an eye. It’s over.
And the sun and moon continue their paths. As if they never even met.
to my love || margaret reynolds
What is that din, That ghastly sound, The noise that makes the world spin round?
You chitter chatter in my ear, It’s so unpleasant, For me to hear. I liked you sure, At first I did, Then you talked so long that kid— Grew up,
He’s twenty now,
You talked so long, I don’t know how It’s like you’re praying, saying a vow.
And even ten years after now, When we both do sag, I will love you anyhow, you old decrepit hag
train station || colin welden
We’re on the platform I can’t be late
The conductor walks between us, handing out tickets only to the luckiest few One is pressed into my hand but not those next to me I have friends on the train I rush into the car, not thinking until the doors close of the ones I left behind
I stayed. I did everything
I
could. I tried my best. I’m sorry. It’s not my fault.
hand || margaret steve marine poetry contest
If I died would you bury my body?
Would you burn it in the sand?
Make glass out of my ashes, Or just cremate my hand. Would you leave me in the mountains, Let the wolves feast on my ears?
So Would If Or
margaret reynolds contest honorable mention
Would you drop me in the river, So it would wash away my tears?
Would you drag me to the desert red, And cover me with sand? If I died would you bury my body?
Or would you just cremate my hand?
self saviors
I stand before you, reading letters left unsent Hello.
How are you?
I miss you. I saw something that you like. Do you still like it? I’m looking into the old dark mirror, the gold circle behind your head looks tarnished and the sad behind your eyes I cannot read Are you still the same person I used to know? I cannot read your mind anymore. I do not know.
I swing my fist back and I bring it to the mirror. I stop short and know I cannot hurt you. It is not in my bones. I bring my hand back the mirror cracks. Ididnotmeantodoit.
The surface s h a t t e r s. I never meant to hurt you. A hole gaps in the middle of the mirror. I never wanted to hurt you.
You step back into the light. Your skin looks wrong. In your hands is a brain. Your brain.
You eye me from the hole, wide and childish
I know what you want. I reach behind me for the package. I hold up a small clear bag
Your eye follows it
I hold it up to my mouth and bite – sharp teeth rip the plastic
(Dark red spills on a white tile floor)
Your eyes widen in anticipation
The damp stain grows on the front of my shirt
You heart was rotted
Of course, I’ll give you mine.
I pull the wet mass from the bag and drag my hand through the hole. The broken shards cut into my skin. You pull the heart from my hand with sharp claws I wince.
As I pull my hand back from the crack I see your smile
You know what comes next I watch as you swallow my heart whole. It is all yours now. I shudder at what you do next
Your pointer finger dips into your eye socket. Pinky in your mouth. A thumb braces behind your ear. I watch as you pull.
Blood drips from your nose. All of this for me?
Your skin shifts and pulls and you take a step back into the darkness.
My heart flutters as you hide your mess
All of this for me?
You step back into the light. Your skin looks wrong. In your hands is a brain.
Your brain.
My brain. You smile. I smile. It is all the same.
As you push the brain through the gap, the mirror shards move for you.
Oh, how nice that must be.
Taking it from your hands, it feels so light, it feels so right
You eye me like before and I do not want to do what you wish for me
I hesitantly bring it to my mouth
I bite it as you did my heart
I see you smile at me
A bright and glowing golden smile. I feel sick.
Is this what the heart was like?
You smile at me again.
I do not smile back.
There is no use, after all we have the same face.
We meet again the next day
Reflections shining brighter in the mirror
The hole has disappeared, the cracks gone
Our mind and heart mended I have saved you
You have saved me
I will save you a million times more Hand in savior’s hand
I stare at you
You stare at me
You lift a hand to the surface of the mirror I follow suit
Our hands touch through the glass
Visions of fingers laced hand in savior’s hand.
poems from the home of hope in guinea learn more at myvision4refugees.org
I love living with a family like your children. do you want to know?
Do you want to know who I am?
I am an orphan.
But:
I am a human like your children.
I am a child like your children.
I am beloved by God like your children.
I am smart like your children.
I have blood in my body like your children.
I have a dream like your children.
I have abilities like your children.
I have the same rights as your children, according to the United Nations.
I like good food like your children.
I like good clothes like your children.
I like a good education like your children.
But do you want to know how some people think about me, where I live? They think that: I am a sexual object. They think that: I am a sacrifice in a ritual, done for money. They think that: I am a slave who must work without rest every time. They think that: I am a curse on society. They think that: I am less important than their children. They think that: I don’t have the same rights as their children. They think that, My life is done before it starts.
Do you want to know why they told you this about me?
Because I lost my father and mother.
Because I was born during the war somewhere. Because I was born in a pandemic somewhere. Because I was born among the wizard’s people. Because I didn’t have the same luck as them. Because I was born during a crisis. Because I was born into a family in poverty.
i am a girl || cece marc kpoghomou
I am a girl
I love myself like I am. I believe in myself like I am. Even if my society reduces my value because of my sex.
Even if my society thinks that I am a loser in life.
Even if my society refuses to listen to me. Even if my abilities are ignored by my own people.
Even if my leaders advise me to have little dreams, not big, because I am a girl. Because for them, being a girl means: Be weak. Be ignorant. Be limited. Be sad. Be lazy. Be guilty. Be crazy. Be angry. But I know that I am a girl who they do not know yet.
Because: I am a proud girl.
I am a smart girl.
I will be a leader in my country. I am a blessing for my people. I’m able to do what most men cannot.
I am stronger than Black Panther, Spiderman, Aquaman. I have more abilities than most men.
I have a dream, like Martin Luther King. My dream is to make our world peaceful. Yes. Because I know who I am.
I am a girl who they do not know yet.
Learn more about the home of hope at myvision4refugees.org
in africa || cece marc kpoghomou
I want to know why?
Why only girls go to market in Africa?
Why only girls cook in Africa?
Why it’s normal for girls to be illiterate but not for boys in Africa?
Why sometimes, girls don’t have a choice about marriage in Africa?
Why only girls must be quiet no matter what, even if they are hurt in Africa?
Why our people call us the weak sex in Africa?
Why they give advice about the future to boys but not girls in Africa?
Why life is easier for men than it is for women in Africa?
Why there are more male presidents than female presidents in the world?
Why, even if we have the same job, the same qualifications, men are paid more than women in the world?
I want to know why. Answer me.
Learn more about the home of hope at myvision4refugees.org
You!
Kind person You!
Man of God You!
A believer in humanity You!
The volunteer for the gentle reason You!
Man of a big heart
Yes, I need your help
Because I want to study, like their children
Because I want to realize my dream for our world
Because I want to be an ambassador for orphans
Because I want to help someone else,, another orphan in the future
Because I know what sickness is, poverty, pain
Because I lived like this, like them, last time
Because I want to contribute to build a peaceful, loving, and equal world
Because I want to contribute in order to fight war, sickness, and poverty in the world
Because I have a big heart like you
Because I want to represent you, somewhere for the same reason
Thank you very much
myvision4refugees.org
Learn more about the home of hope at myvision4refugees.org
it was not
Oh yes, you get me!
It was not my dream, It was not my choice, It was not my wish, It was not my prayer,
But it was, because this is what life is. So, glory to God for everything.
The bear that sits upstairs
Whose owner is long dead
Now only has one eye
That’s hanging by a thread
The other button drifts
Unknown betwixt the void
The first can only dangle
And wish that it could join
will you go out with me? || mose murray
frozen eyes
murray frozen eyes and no smile
I know its easy to revile
Me
But please believe that it’s not you Its something that I’m working through I don’t have words to express Though I know I’ve caused distress I’m so sorry
Yes it’s true
I just can’t be friends with you
“et tu, brute?” || ollie courts
I can only imagine how Julius felt.
Standing before people he considered friends, turned foes.
Looking for some sort of sign,
Some glimmer of remorse in the eyes of an old friend.
But nothing can be seen from Brutus’s downturned head. He won’t meet his gaze. Julius believed, solidly, sure-footedly, steadfastly, that if no one else was by his side, Brutus would watch his back, Not stab it.
stab
In the face of Ambition, Anarchy holds a glittering knife.
And decrees that no one man shall rule over Rome.
Brutus felt more justified killing Julius, Then himself.
Julius and Brutus, such close friends, would never turn on the other.
And yet, here, Brutus stands.
“Et tu, Brute?”
“Then fall, Caesar.”
And yet, here, Julius falls .
blame || nate adegoke
hell
Isn’t hell beautiful?
The smoke rising over the world
The collapsed buildings
The bodies littering the streets
The children starving I don’t mind the smell
The cries I got used to I don’t mind it here it’s just another hell…
masquerade || margaret reynolds
Gentle whispers ‘cross my skin, Secrets spilled They draw me in (And)
Every time I think I win, It sucks me back That dirty sin. I thought I left you All behind, But now the masks have dropped, It’s you A different font But in Iwantitalltostop
other buds sprout up. similar in essence, unique in character. the winds push them toward the lily. by chance or by necessity, they meet.
lily in a pond || jezel carmon as she floats the sun beams, warming the ripples around her. the swaying waters bring tranquil thought and a peace enhanced only through company. the lily is surrounded by flora galore. the energy radiates around the a beautiful, cohesive symphony. they create an environment.
carmon thought it’s real, exciting, enchanting. the lily never wants to leave. but she knows eventually nature matures, changes, and migrates. she’ll miss them, but the ambience is preserved in memory. and the love lies in the pond, where the lily will return, soon. galore. pond. symphony. environment. they’re comfortable, familiar, and together. the lily blends into the flora, watching the atmosphere come together.
i can’t find the words I can’t find the words. There simply aren’t enough. I can’t take this and squeeze it, compress it, force it down into letters on a page. They have no language for this. No matter what I say, ce n’est jamais assez, nunca es suficiente, этого никогда не бывает
достаточно.
I can try, I can reach, I can rifle through the drawers in my brain and search and never find.
I can’t find the words because they don’t exist.
a summer night’s kiss || emma frank
The salty breeze that clings to my hair. –
The seagulls with such a sneering stair. –
Sounds of a dolphin clan somewhere. –
The fish silently unaware. –
A rare calmness. –
Seagulls fishing for something more. –
Crisp warm felt down to the core. –
The sand flooded with shells. –
I sit there and dwell. –
The sun has now fell. –
That is all I can tell. –
Of a summer night’s kiss.
Dark hair like fresh, black coffee.
Blue eyes, so I hear, though only ever photographed in black and white.
The long nose that made me like mine more. Your hair blew behind you, Your skates sprayed ice at my shins. We were skating hand-in-hand, Only I was skating alone.
You wanted me to be an athlete so badly.
In attempts to get me to play soccer
You described the fluorescent jerseys that stick to your skin, The united cheers that fade to a hum
As the wind races in your ears.
fragile romanticisms || carolina wood
steve marine poetry contest second place
steve marine poetry contest second place fragile romanticisms || carolina wood
You showed me your old earrings, Ridiculous ceramic radishes on hooks.
You wore a blue button-down while we played.
There is a framed photo of us on my bookshelf.
You gave me that frame, The one with the bunnies on it?
Such vibrant memories.
Except it was my father who coerced me into sports,
My mother who showed me your old earrings
That she found in the pocket of a wise, old suitcase.
I think that my blue-shirted playmate was a childhood babysitter, And my other grandmother bought me the bunny frame.
Absentminded musings. Misshapen memories.
Were you the person in my head, or someone else entirely?
enough || cate wassenaar
Do you ever feel like you’ve had enough? when you want to stand at the edge of a cliff just look out, throw something, scream anything to let go it feels like you’re stuck in a dream and you want out but you can’t get out no matter how hard you try you’ve had enough
the diner
“Scary, isn’t it?”
I look up from the newspaper, irritated before I even see the waiter standing in front of me, clearly expecting a response. I’m not sure why he’s talking to me. Surely, no one comes to these joints to talk. I came for a coffee and some peace and quiet, for once.
He’s still standing there like I’m going to answer. I settle him with a heavy glare. “What?”
He points to my paper. “All those murders recently. People are saying they’re all connected. Can you imagine? A serial killer in a small town like this?”
I turn the newspaper around and am startled by a bold headline: “15 Dead Since March: the Cold Cases Sweeping Tuerville”. I hadn’t bothered to read the headline, more interested in the politics page. “No, I can’t.”
“I’m not scared. It’s only been those high-society folks lately. I hardly think a fella like that’d be interested in me, you know?” He smiles, but it’s a bit strained. “But I guess you never know… they’re saying not to walk home alone.”
“You probably shouldn’t, then,” I agree.
“I’ve got no one to walk with me. I usually catch the bus with Frankie – our fry cook, he’s a swell guy – but he’s sick, and the bus line’s been down since the storm.”
He shouldn’t have said that. He’s looking at me now with those big eyes as if he’s hoping I’ll walk him home like he’s a preschooler. “What a shame.”
“Yeah. I hope Frankie’s alright…”
He’s not alright, but I don’t say that. I imagine he’ll find out the next time he takes out the trash.
The waiter – Johnny, I read from his name tag – shuffles awkwardly as I don’t say anything, eventually turning away to fetch me a refill for my coffee. I pause for a moment, almost feeling guilty. Johnny’s young, handsome, and friendly. He’s got a bright future ahead of him, for sure. The police might not even find him; he’s not rich enough. He’s not important enough. He doesn’t matter enough. My fingers curl around the newspaper and I take a deep breath to settle myself. They’ll notice soon enough. They’re all in danger. Closing hour arrives, and I make a show of folding up my newspaper and straightening my jacket as Johnny takes out his apron. I step out of the diner and wait in a darkened alley as he locks up the shop and lights a cigarette like he knows. Like he’s savoring his safety, this final moment sheltered by the dim glow of the diner sign, surrounded by moths in the endless pursuit of getting closer, closer. He puts on his hat. Straightens his jacket. Starts walking home.
cast
your
line || bobby skrynecki
Lockers slam, lights buzz, I feel a slight nudge. Tests and grades, the weight of the unpaid. I feel less and less under this stress, and soon these halls will be a contest.
I trip and I fall, In front of them all
A laugh a giggle No sympathy at all. Run from your problems.
In this never-ending hall. Yet soon this laughter loses its hold And releases a story, yet to be told. Too many years spent in this mess.
The friends I made are much more, How could I be present when the past has been stress, These lessons I’ve learned must be worth something, I’m sure.
I will regret not taking the leap because of the fall, This life is just a fraction of it all. So, sail away and cast your line.
Away from the harbor, which felt so kind.
Catch the wind in your sail as nothing here will matter, Twenty years from now this will all just be chatter. Dream, discover, live for fun, Highschool is a stage with a light so bright, Yet soon the curtain shall fall, And you’ll be ten feet tall.
colors || ollie courts colors || ollie courts
When I was a kid, I thought the world to be black and white. That there were good people, And bad people.
When I was a kid, I thought the world to be black and white. That there were good people, And bad people.
I never thought about why bad people do bad things.
I never thought about why bad people do bad things.
Or if maybe good people had to do bad things, because there was no other choice.
Or if maybe good people had to do bad things, because there was no other choice.
As I grew up, Colors emerged from inside my closet, under my bed, in the corners of my room.
As I grew up, Colors emerged from inside my closet, under my bed, in the corners of my room.
Red swirled around my face, slashing and sharp and loud. Angry.
Red swirled around my face, slashing and sharp and loud. Angry.
Orange danced around the kids laughing at me, accusing and mocking. Embarrassment.
Orange danced around the kids laughing at me, accusing and mocking. Embarrassment.
Yellow picks at my fingers and hides me in corners, away from the world. Cowardice.
Yellow picks at my fingers and hides me in corners, away from the world. Cowardice.
Green dug into my ribs, searching for my weaknesses, poking and prodding. Envy.
Green dug into my ribs, searching for my weaknesses, poking and prodding. Envy.
Blue followed me home from school, stinking and solemn. Sad.
Blue followed me home from school, stinking and solemn. Sad.
Purple sunk into me and whispered in my ears that I was worthless and weak. Fear.
Purple sunk into me and whispered in my ears that I was worthless and weak. Fear.
As I grew, got taller, I learned and learned. That Red could flicker in hearts as love.
As I grew, got taller, I learned and learned. That Red could flicker in hearts as love.
Orange could warm your body and chase away cold.
Orange could warm your body and chase away cold.
I learned Yellow could be bright and bouncy and joyful.
I learned Yellow could be bright and bouncy and joyful.
Green can be soft and welcoming and kind.
Green can be soft and welcoming and kind.
Blue is calm and peaceful too, cool and smooth as water.
Blue is calm and peaceful too, cool and smooth as water.
Purple can give hugs and advice, a truer friend than ever before.
Purple can give hugs and advice, a truer friend than ever before.
With a whole new world at my fingertips, new colors I have seen before, but never in this light.
With a whole new world at my fingertips, new colors I have seen before, but never in this light.
Never in this shade.
Never in this shade.
I know now,
I know now, That the world is not just black and white.
That the world is not just black and white.
wonder || margaret reynolds
Do you ever wonder, What I look like in the night, The moon up above my head, Your forehead next to mine,
Do you ever ask yourself, if we were meant to be, If I had to think how many times, I think it would be three
living is hard enough || cate wassenaar
Are they coming?
It sounds close
I can’t let them find me
God, please don’t let them find me
The door bangs open
I cover my head with my hands
And I whisper a prayer
This is it
This is the end
The stall door bangs open
I hear nothing and blood rushes my head
“Look up child”
I raise my head slowly, my body shaking
“You are safe now”
Am I, am I really?
Not when something like this could happen again
Anywhere, any day, anytime
Don’t lie to me
Living is hard enough now
But they are right, I am safe
I’m not looking down the barrel of a gun
But I am looking at a grave
rached’s better days || julia russell
Nurse Rached sat watching her patients, McMurphy making a joke of her machine moves,
And how she thought she led the whole world. She was disappointed while she thought of her life.
Back in the past, Back when everything was simple. Now she was just upset. At herself, At her patients, At everything.
Because she just felt so helpless. More than her painful, poor patients.
She wanted back to the days of being an ordinary nurse.
When she could lead without question, And when she felt as brave as McMurphy, Instead of feeling stuck in her ward.
I wanted you to love me back And I realized I couldn’t even myself I looked in the mirror hating Hating how I looked and I wanted to be secluded and left alone
I didn’t want to talk
But then I got lonely
The sun stopped shining And I lost myself So, I rewrote my story I want to talk
Loneliness is overrated The sun came around the clouds I’m finding myself I’mfindingme. I wanted a real form of love, not
Loving how I look and try, no matter what I want friends and a community for so long even love who I was and acted clouds you
finding me || cate wassenaar
I grew to love myself I look in the mirror now and smile
Painstakingly I laid the foundation
Meticulously I placed the bricks
Agonizingly I sealed the walls
Snugly I secured the roof
Fearfully I closed the door and threw away the key
My fortress stands against the wind
Battered but unbent by the torrential rain
Strained but not shattered by the raging storm Hurricanes and heartbreaks pass me by and I am safe
Safe from the wind and rain and storms and hurricanes and heartbreak
Safe from fire and avalanches and war and pain
fracture || colin welden
steve marine poetry contest first place
Safe from the outside but not the inside
Not safe from the inside
Not safe from the pressure that builds builds builds
Tears the paint from the walls
Smashes the furniture to pieces
Shatters the windows open and all the outside comes in and I f r a c t u r e
The force that turns coal to diamonds
Has reduced me to nothing but dust
the
My soul sits empty wooden pew and heat of the sun Space feels hollow as en crosses and stained swallow my being leaving what was
I know where I am; this is I reach out to feel the dust Waiting.
There is no hesitation
A sensation I never knew I had My mouth moves in songs whispering foreign tongues to a God Suddenly wind
And an angel choir descends God with glorious melodies; voices and even if I wanted to tell you, there
Thick fingers wrap around I see the world as it I see nothing God are I vanish.
julie luttrell julie luttrell julie luttrell
empty on a lone and cramps in the sun staring at me. as silence and woodstained glass windows leaving just a little of once there. is where I have always been. dust of a book lying before me Waiting. hesitation in grabbing it. had overcomes me like a habit whispering breathless affections in I only vaguely understand. wind rushes past me before me on an altar exalting both incomprehensible and beautiful there is just no right way to articulate. around my soul and tug it is for the first time nothing you here? vanish.
steve marine poetry contest third place
deep conversations
I was never one for deep conversations. I have tried, But the words twist and trip up my tongue, And the syllables spoil, and the sounds are left in shambles.
Amazing, awe-inspiring, your abundant alliterations. To me, you are comparable to Plato.
While I, stumble through a sentence that springs from your lips like flowers and diamonds, But spews from mine like toads.
I try to rise and fly up, but my wax wings melt under the sun’s stern gaze, and I plummet to the icy depths as I watch you frolic and play in the updrafts.
I do have deep thoughts, but putting pen to paper it seems my mind resembles the sheet.
Blank.
No matter the ink I use, blood, sweat, tears, I can never seem to have something worthwhile to say. It seems I am always second place. Maybe if I could find a way to voice my thoughts, replace my larynx, re-string my vocal cords, I could be one for deep conversations.
if I ran, would you catch me? you say there’s no delay to the way I sashay down the halls where I fall yet still I crawl, moving on until the dawn when the young babies yawn— when they wake and the mom’s make because their posterity is at stake
run || jezel carmon run || jezel carmon
when I move, I try to improve. I hold my truth, never uncouth. I need to persist because through the mist, there’s something that makes my soul ring when I create, I inculcate a sense of satisfaction with the traction I gained from what I’ve retained, and my will for the thrill.
I won’t stop if there’s no end. because traveling was worth the reward. I’ve finally come to the realization that I’m not running away, I’m running toward.
I live inside a glass box
I watch and breathe and think
little glass box
As I see the world around me move
I see the people outside the box talking and laughing and running and playing
I want so badly to experience this vibrant world around me
I want to be free from this little glass box
I build myself a key
Of grit and imagination and determination I stop before I let myself out
What if this is a mistake?
What if the outside doesn’t like me?
What if I’m too awkward and clunky and scared?
I take a breath and twist the key
And the whole world seems to stop around me. I pause before I step out but that pause turns to seconds and those seconds turn to minutes and those minutes turn to hours.
And why am I crying?
The hand of an angel pulls me out.
I know she has to be an angel because she’s beautiful and she’s sweet and she’s saving me. Her hand pulls me out of the box and we sprint. I wish I could pay attention to the new world I waited my whole life to see.
But I can only focus on her course hand in mine. Her long braids sway against her white dress and I wish I could get another glance at her face.
I run with her and I feel free
She lets go of my hand
And the gentle noise of people around me turns to yelling.
It’s too crowded and too loud and I have nowhere to run or hide.
I search for my angel’s rich brown skin and her short white dress to be met with nothing.
|| julie luttrell
My feet are glued to the floor as the world around me yells and pushes at me. The colors I’ve longed to see all my life blind me and I feel something foreign in the corner of my eye. The pitter patter of my heart crescendos into violent banging of drums as I realize I’m frozen and I can’t move. Suddenly I see my angel And the lead that holds down my feet feels irrelevante as I stumble toward her. I push past the screams in my head and the bright lights around me and reach for her to notice me. I need to be saved I want to go back to my box I want to go back to my box Please get me back to my box She turns around and stares I blink back She turns away
I look in disbelief as my angel abandons me The lights and the sounds and the people are too overwhelming
My tears march to the ground in a violent symphony chanting plop plop plop
The symphony and the screams and the drums in my body in my soul leave me I run for the first time by myself. I can’t help but look back as I take a last glimpse of my angel standing there. I find my glass box and I shut the door tight. The world around me dims into a peaceful melody. The screaming in my head won’t stop I swallow my keys once made of my hopes and dreams and my imagination. When I blink an image of long braids and rough hands flow gently in my memory I open my eyes and I cry.
letters you will never read || colin welden
steve marine poetry contest honorable mention
I am sitting alone tonight, thinking of letters you will never read
Of music you will never hear
Of hills you will never stand on, where you will never scream at the sky
Where you will never understand that the sky doesn’t care
Its vast, uncaring emptiness
Has no stake in mortal affairs
It was the Earth that cared
Too much
About what you read and what you wore and how you did your hair
How you spoke and how you walked and how you were when you were born
It was the Earth that took from you
That took your laugh, your smile, your stories
That took you
And left
Empty chair at the table
Empty bedroom, door locked
Empty passenger seat in my car
And so, so much silence.
Some politicians on the TV debate about you the idea of you
And I think I will scream
How dare they go up and talk about
How dare they assume they know
How dare they use
My sister
I am sitting alone tonight, thinking of the woman you will never become
Of bloodred wax, dripped carefully onto a pristine envelope
Pressed, sealed into oblivion
And added to the pile
worthy || ollie courts
Valhalla is still a busting hall, filled with warriors who have succumbed to their final foe.
I see a mother, her red dress swaying in the wind; she blows a kiss to her husband and newborn child as she walks through the gates. Childbirth is a great foe, but she is strong.
I hear stories of battles with themselves, see sickly frames and shaved heads and I praise their brave battles with cancer. They are worthy.
A child walks through the gates alone, his pale skin is peppered with blue, and I see his flinch when I shout of his worth, and I lower my voice to a whisper as I proclaim him a worthy warrior of neglect. I watch thousands flood through my gates; all brave warriors lost in the great battle against racism. They are worthy.
I see a teenage girl; her ribs stick out as she explains the battle against anorexia. Truly, she is a great warrior.
A young person walks into my hall and regales us with their tale of equality and justice, and they smile as they see the glitter of the Bifröst in the distance. They are worthy.
I watch a young girl’s hands shake as they explain the battle of depression, and I smile at her because she is stronger than she knows. An elderly man’s cane clicks on my tiled floor, and I salute his fight against old age. They are worthy. And so are you. You are stronger than you know. Keep going. Keep fighting. You are worthy.
When no when the
who?
Who are you looking for?
You came here with purpose in your eyes but they darken with each person you see each person that isn’t that person your person.
What did you do to your person what did you do to make them leave was it something you said? something you did? something you didn’t do?
I don’t know you, stranger. But I know enough. I know who you’re looking for. You won’t find them here.
When did it all fall apart?
when was the first crack the first fracture when did the fissure begin?
How deep does it go?
How long has it lurked, insidious, burrowing deeper beneath the surface lying in wait parasite feeding on every mistake irreparable damage driving deeper, deeper until it s h a t t e r s
When was the first mistake?
When will it be forgiven? Will it be forgiven at all… when?
where?
Where does it come from?
That fire inside
What is it made of?
That fire that drives
Where every insult
Every errant word
Every indignity
That I ever heard
Lights a spark within
And stokes the burn
Where is the stone
That sharpens my blade
Where is the flint
That made me this way
Or is it not a place
Perhaps it’s a name
Perhaps it’s a person
Who feeds all my shame
Who prodded my ember
On into a blaze
That person who hurt me
I hope they’re afraid
why?
Why are we waiting? Why do we speed toward the end rush toward the cliff’s edge breeze past it all in a blur and stop –just before the finish line? Why do we flirt with eternity why do we tempt fate and laugh in the face of destiny why do we look down? Why do we dangle our feet over the abyss toss coins into the void why do we stare into oblivion and never jump?
What is this?
What have I done?
What did I write?
What did it make you feel?
What did you see? Words? Lines? Poetry?
Did you see meaningless shapes and pat yourself on the for experiencing
Will you send me a text and congratulate Will you tell me about your favorite
Will you ask which ones I wrote?
Will you click out of this tab and
Will you read any of this at all,
Will you skip to the end and see I hope you read
If this is the last time my words I hope you see them I hope you feel I hope I
What is this to you? maybe it’s nothing but I like to imagine that it’s even
What have I left here?
Have I left anything at all?
colin welden
Art?
shapes on the screen back experiencing art congratulate me on a job well done? favorite poem? wrote? and close the browser and never open it again? or just enjoy the pretty pictures? see this and decide it wasn’t worth it?
words are on your screen them have made something even the smallest something
