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ROOTS

by Brett Van Vort I find it especially relaxing to look at the trees. I stare at them in the fall, I stare at them in the spring. But my favorite is in the winter, When they dance in the crisp night wind. I hear the sound of the wind rise, Like a call from the trees to look. I see their leaves glimmer in the breeze, And sway softly against the blue sky. Yet my favorite is in the winter. When they are bare and exposed. Covered is sparkling frost Frozen in a humbling pose. I feel secure walking on a path lined with trees. It reminds me of the street I grew up on. There was an Old Tree I used to sit under, In a field across from my house. I would lay under it for hours Staring at the veins that protruded into the sky. There was so much meaning in those moments. With my fast changing lifeI felt that moment would last forever. Despite the ongoing strife. Yet here I am, Hundreds of miles away from my Old Tree, Surrounded by so many Yet none mean as much to me.

Issue #1 presented by: Kelsey Talbutt, Susa Breese, Aaron Ayala, Brett VanVort, Emma Levensohn, Macy Weymar, Jennifer Wilkey, and Evan Coleman. Cover Art By: Susa Breese


THE DOORKNOB by Evan Coleman

Once upon a time there was a man with a small doorknob growing from his head. Wherever he walked he felt eyes longing to turn the handle, saw friends pretend not to notice, saw the mailman refuse to acknowledge the doorknob’s presence as it protruded from his forehead, slightly to the right and up, its soiled brass base permeated through his pale skin. He had played out the countless scenes in his mind the knocks of knuckles asking is there anyone home? The endless puns involving keys and locks and vacancies, and even a dream in which men the size of Lilliputters from Gulliver’s Travels had posted for sale signs from his hair, and inhabited his facial orifices.But one day he locked eyes with a one-toothed girl. She gazed back from her small wheeler.The two smiled, then laughed.And the baby girl walked over to him. She pulled on his face, stretching out his many wrinkles, and as she did the man realized that there was no doorknob, that there had never been a doorknob.


FAMILY POEM

By: Diana Weymar

by Willow Beavis

My grandfather taught me blue Like the ocean and the sky The beauty of fresh air and salt spray His hands were calloused from the ropes My grandfather taught me white The color of billowing sails And the clouds beyond the shore The sea his realm My grandfather, the source of many of my joyful memories, Lost all of his in time And slowly drifted away Like a boat from the dock, the sails not yet caught by the wind.


ENDLESSLY by Gavin Scott

Cold, tired and hopeless I wandered on.. . Its been a while now the creeping dark shadows twisting, turning. Trying to give me the answer. But they are speechless, silent voices scream to me. Yet I cannot hear their secrets, Cold windy pavement goes on relentlessly. Evidence of civilization, shouting in the distance. Slowly reaching inside cold blackness of skin and bones allowing a small flame to thrive. hope. It illuminates the blackness closer, closer, closer.


MOMMY PLEASE Anonymous

Mommy what are you doing. Put your cup down, please The other parents are looking Don’t you care? Maddie and her mom are leaving Doesn’t that matter? Mommy where is my cake Its supposed to be My special day Mommy stop can’t you see its hurting me Watch me blow out my candles Watch me for once Put down your cup now Now, oh please mommy Stop falling, stop laughing Just watch me It’s my day Mommy love me please For once just look and smile. Tell me what ‘s really wrong. Stop numbing yourself with that drink that kills That drink that is tearing you apart I love you no matter what Just stop


By: Lawson Lin

BE THE LEAF by Abbie Ward

Orange leaves cascade Encasing the ones around Consuming spirits


by Kristine Bailey I have run over your skateboard that was on the driveway and which you were probably planning to ride with friends forgive me but if you had brought it in like mom asked 5 times it would not now be so crushed and so broken

By: Jennifer Wilkey


FIRST SNOW by Macy Weymar

The first snow of the year was on a Saturday. We all eagerly pulled on our snow pants, hats, mittens, snow jackets, the works. As we ran outside, the seven-year-old in all of us began to show. We flopped down on our backs and made snow angels, not caring that cold melting snow crept down our necks. The snow danced down, covering the back yard in a perfect white blanket. Snowflakes decorated our eyelashes and wild hair. The dog was unsure at first what to make of the white fluff. It was her first snow, and she was unsure what to think. Then, she slowly and gingerly walked into the inches of snow. Realizing this weird white stuff held no threat to her, the previously ruffled hair on the back of her neck smoothed down again. Snowflakes caught on her fuzzy puppy fur and she jumped around. She left little paw prints in the snow like a trail of breadcrumbs. All cautiousness was gone. She chased the small snowballs we threw, only to pounce on a small heap of broken snow. She tried biting snowflakes and catching them in her mouth, and the shock was clearly visible on her face when they melted into cool water in her mouth. She didn't know the name for this weird stuff that was falling from the sky, but she knew she loved it. She pranced around us as we made mini snowmen and plowed through them like Godzilla. We blew visible breaths like a dragon breathing fire, and our freedom had no limit. We played until our mittens were soaked, our noses were red, and hair soaked. Reluctantly, we went back in, wishing we could spend all day outside, in the bliss of the first snow.


By: Jennifer Wilkey

ODE TO BOREAS

by Aaron Ayala O Boreas, Boreas, god of cold Northern gusts, Leather wings, rotten grin; your rule is unjust. Your invasion has started, your annex begun, With first fall of snow, your first thread is spun. Smear the sky black with charcoal, turn the earth pallid white, Let tyrannical rage feed you newfound delight. Drive man deep underground, constrain your seat in throne, Freeze earth and hell over; make them both your new home. Just remember one simple, little thing please, When your kingdom is melting, and you're brought to you'reknees; Wise men say all is fleeting; yes, this does include you, All the things that I tell you I promise are true. Memento mori repaid by your grace alone, Man shall be Nero, set ablaze your rime Rome. But for now tinker freely, take great joy in our dread, And sleep sweetly tonight, with no price on your head.


ARIZONA HEAT

by Kristine Bailey Ground burning my feet Flames rising from the cacti The desert in me

By: Diana Weymar


BURNING BONFIRE

by Brandon Nelson Sitting by the sea In the soft sand Listening to your favorite band You feel so free At the burning bonfire Talking to your friends Stalked in the peaceful night By the bugs that surround the fire In a display of peaceful flight At the burning bonfire It radiates warmth on you From the cool sea breeze that pinches you Off into the dark beyond Where the light can’t reach At the burning bonfire The fire draws in the soul Of the past and blues Though the pop and crackle Reassures of what makes you Oh the burning bonfire


THE MATCHSTICK by Brett Van Vort

There was the soft scent of cinnamonAs she placed her oatmeal raisin cookies in the oven. Her eyes soaked with love, Every beat of her heart towards her broken son. Her heart ignited in the sun. Her soul flickered in the rain. She was as patient as a candle, Holding the weight of the world as a flame. In my dark cave, You showed me it was in fact a tunnel. You strung lights that shined like beacons. And I found my way out. In my next loneliness I will remember the sweet aroma of cinnamon. As I know your everlasting love for me, your kin. When it was dark I only knew sin. Like a candle that never goes out. I finally feel your light within

By: Jennifer Wilkey


DO I KNOW MYSELF by Aaron Ayala

Sometimes, you feel so alone in the universe. Without Hellos or hugs, without pats on the back, you start to question your own worth. Maybe, when the pressure starts building, When the walls start mounting and it seems bleakest and blandest, That's when you must look inward. Look to your own accomplishments and dreams and visions, know that they are no one else's. Your own living breathing existence, Deeper you may delve, scared you may get, But be calm, please, don't fear yourself. Get to know these cave walls, etch your name, play with light puppets and dance in its grandeur. All you have is yourself, your spirit and being. Love your part of the universe. Love being enormous and grand, one followed by however many zeros of atoms and leptons and quarks and tiny bacteria beings, all a part of you, Love being minuscule and humbled, a creature in a country on a planet in a solar system, so on so forth, This is love for life, to be able to zoom in and out and be happy s seeing any angle or position. Do not fear the lone expedition of these realms so unfamiliar. Only ask, Do I know myself well enough to be good company on the way?


PRIMARY COLORS

By: Susa Breese

by Susa Breese My sister taught me red Her childish excitement abounded through my grey heart I had given up on the colors I knew, Rejected the tradition of a painted face. My sister taught me blue Her calm when listening to the words in a story She colored in the blank spaces in the coloring book. My sister taught me yellow With a hug and a smile, I forgot the years without. The primary colors I failed to understand She taught me to keep painting.


WHERE ONCE THE GREAT OAK STOOD by Jesse Sataloff When one’s autumn begets to winter, ‘fore the leaves begin to fall, when the fire leaves to ashes with no ember there to tell of the roots once inhabiting or the burning once occurred. When this, dear friend, O poor, poor friend, when this perchance befalls, curse not the wretched twisted winds, of winters endless blight. Nor cast into the hapless masses, of dreary dark, and weary ashes, an everlasting spite. For though you tremble midst Winters gale, and though for warmth your body wails, this very spot to myriad past, gave warmth of life, and once shelter cast.

Hyde Literary Magazine 2014 Issue 1  

Created by Hyde School students at the Bath, Maine campus

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