Table of Contents 55 Word Stories Story Starters Long Sentences Poem Art Short Stories Acknowledgements
- Writers Block
About Writers Block There was a school called Island Pacific Academy, and there held its students. However, inside these students is a love of art and literature, and creativity that’s meant to be shared with the world!
Thus Writers Block was born! Writers Block is created to hold the talents of these students and help get their works out there! These students have the talent, all they need now is the chance to release it. It is for that purpose, that Writers Block was forged!
55 Word Story Contest
HonoRable Mentions
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I’ve got a good feeling about today. She’s finally going to tell me that she loves me. I just know it. Then, I can finally tell her how much I love her. No? Not Today? She thought about it, I know she did. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, definitely tomorrow. I’ve got a good feeling about tomorrow.
Winner The Waiting Game Sean Murakami
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- Anonym Countdown
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– Toni
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Story Starters: Hi there faithful readers! It seems we ran into a problem. You see... we went through the trouble of starting some cool stories but at the peak of the moment we seem to have gotten....
WRITERS BLOCK!
Since we’re assuming you’re a lover of story telling yourself. we’re gonna ask YOU to finish them. Yes, you can take these story starters and make them into your own stories. Then you can send us the finished stories and if we like it, your storeis will be displayed in THE NEXT EDITION OF WRITERS BLOCK! Contact us at writersblockipa@ gmail.com and your story will be loved by the world! Happy Writing! 1. Dillon Webb found his foot stuck in the mud, and once he mustered the strength to pull himself out, was quite dismayed by the dirty footprints left behind with each step forward. 2. Every stormy night, the pitter patter of the rain always put me to sleep. It always gave me ease as a child, security, and it seemed to keep with me. However, there was an exception; that one day in 1945. 3. The eyes of Ms. Williams see all. 4. Everything became clear when the bell rang and my eyes opened wide. – Mark York 5. A good story clicks like clockwork, as each gear works off the other and creates a beautiful machine. But life is not beautiful and our gears aren’t clockwork. Clockwork is perfection… but perfection can be boring. 6. I am the one who is always present, but never remembered
Long Sentences: Several students of Island Pacific Academy were challenged to create sentences as long as we can while being mostly gramitcally correct. Some students took the challenge and submitted it to Writers Block, where they are being displayed today. This is a good excercise to practice your writing adn grammar skills and we reccomend it to any aspiring writers! But for now, enjoy these wonderful long sentences! 393 - Caitlin Kucic To be given an “impossible” task is to be challenged, but guided, in a way that you are so determined to reach this goal in hopes you do it “correctly”(according to authority) and/or poetically, if that’s what you are into but if not, maybe you will be witty and smart so you can intrigue your listeners the way that The Fault in our Stars intrigued teenagers- and maybe even adults, who knows- all over the world with an unpredictable relationship that most teenagers- and maybe even adults, who knows- dream of, which brings me to the point of “mainstream”, where our generation, this age group, all like the same music, hairstyles, clothes, TV shows, Movies, and books, while we are engulfed in this ocean of social networks and restless nights because we didn’t get enough likes on a picture we thought was better than Picasso, and because we are afraid to be ourselves; I like to think that I am original, and that I have a mind of my own that isn’t entirely influenced by the people that do get a lot of likes and are more popular, a mind that isn’t trapped in the depths of emotional hell along with the people that have nothing better to do than worry about what other people think, while they go along doing exactly what they wish other people didn’t do- judge people- because they are hypocrites that claim themselves individuals when they rely on their friends or their “friend friends” as if their so called “friends” will always be there for them, but let me tell you, when someone says they will always be there for you, I promise they are lying, not because they have some secret plan to destroy you (which it seems like it sometimes) but because they don’t realize the commitment they are making is a commitment that has only the potential of letting someone down, letting go of their hands as they fall into that black hole not realizing that they both have the same thing coming at them, the same fate because of that one promise that they made in the second grade, overlapping their pinkies together, when they don’t realize that they will one day grow up and be exposed to a world beyond a classroom and bigger than that playground you originally made the promise at.
Untitled – Ezri Yuen The speeding and unclear thoughts familiar with the process of a recurring memory flash in my mind as I pass the fountain, filled with the wishes and dreams of desperate souls who could only find solace and comfort and hope in a place so public and vulnerable as a park, including me, thinking one of those are mine; I was once one of those many tortured souls who wanted so fiercely for something to be true that they wished on everything mythical to man -a shooting star, a wishing well, a penny with its head faced up, 11:11, and a dollar spent that had been found on the floor- and it worked for a little while, for I had been happy with my state, my everlasting glory of victory and prevail over what I thought to be impassable, but only to be followed closely by the sadness of falsified hope, of sleepless nights dreading the dream where you are lost in a loveless, meaningless oblivion, held captive there by only your own fear of loneliness, and a fountain, a pool of the desperate and confused who’s experiences and fears mirror your’s in almost every facet, a place where being lost was what made you fit in, yet slowly eat away all feeling and emotion, surrounded only by the eternal nothingness of no’s. Untitled – Dolores Black The thing about words and language is that you can use and manipulate them to suit your own purposes, and in English we have so many ways of showing or describing our meanings through metaphors, similes, onomatopoeia, and/or gestures: we have been taught to use these words and we’ve adapted new uses and meanings, slang for each state/country/group, and our language is so complex that what used to be known grammatical rules are being broken almost more often then they’re used- we’re taking what used to be a slang term and recognizing it as its own word- and we’re growing larger and larger each day, hour, minute, second, and that’s what’s beautiful about a long sentence: you can combine these tactics and words to get your point across while the reader follows along, because what if I don’t want you to pause and stop reading, what if I want you to continue along this path that I’ve made for you, hardly leaving enough time for you to catch a breath, so you can’t find a way to stop and finally take a break from all of these words until you see this.
Long Sentence – Toni Oyama I think that even if your face wasn’t engraved into my mind like an award winning pumpkin carving, or your voice wasn’t the one I heard whenever I read a book that I borrowed from the library, savoring every syllable of the imaginary voice in my head, or if your 46 freckles were somehow erased, I would still know who you are, even if we just happened to pass each other on the street--I would still know that you like to drown your coffee in cream and sugar, that you hate the color yellow because you think it’s ‘too happy,’ and that you once got mistaken for being a prince of some far away country you hadn’t even heard of--because the Universe probably wrote our lives together, or there is some greater being out there toying with our lives, playing the Sims with our reality, and stopping it isn’t as simple as quitting the game; what we do is we wait for our paths to intertwine (if it ever happens), and beg the greater being to cut our strings loose to see if we were really meant for each other, to see if you would still know that I have jumped out of the window in my room to sneak out to a party in high school, that I can recite all 50 states in alphabetical order, or the fact that I have never once eaten tomatoes, and if we both still know this about each other when we are freed, then the power was not in the strings at all, the power was within us. The Experience – By Mark York If you were to ask the average critic of what running themes they find in bad entertainment or storylines, most analysts would mention things such as convoluted storylines, horrible morals, as well as unlikable characters and though I also associated those flaws with the worst of entertainment I began to realize that the main purpose of any art form is to stir a reaction into it’s audience – something even the worst of art accomplish – therefore I must conclude that the highest level of disappointment entertainment can reach is to completely bore the audience, staying in a realm we are all too comfortable with and fading from our memories moments after it’s initial ‘experience’.
Egypt Civil War – Marc Delucchi
Poems...
We are all trapped here in a country led by a leader who is giving us heck And I and others are tired of him wringing our friends necks So me and many others fought As our leader bought more weapons and fighters The only thing we had on our side were the American writers And as the protests continued the killing started and many reporters parted and we were on our own We had to fight for what we wanted to have for Egypt But our dictator would not die without a trail of bodies behind him And then the size of the calamity grew Then another bomb blew My brother died and his 6 children cried Along with his wife Who was now left alone to support them all, and I kept fighting The press returned and was writing Now we have killed the beast and we have power But power makes great men grow sour And now we are back fighting But the writers were no longer writing about us because the men in Syria were creating a bigger fuss But we are still dying as Syrians are But all American writers care about is there own show’s ratings bar to help them drive a fancier car We are all trapped here in a country led by a leader who is making our country a wreck, And I and others are tired of him wringing our friends necks. So me and many others fought, As our leader bought weapons and fighters While all we had on our side were the American writers, And as the protests continued the killing started and many reporters parted and we were on our own. We had to fight for what we wanted to have in Egypt, But our dictator would not die without a trail of bodies behind him. Then another bomb blew, My brother died and his six children cried Along with his wife Who was alone to support them for the rest of her life. I kept fighting, The press returned and started writing.
As we killed the beast the one of many in the Middle East who had power, But power makes great men go sour. Now we are back fighting, But the writers were no longer writing about us because the men in Syria were making a bigger fuss. But we still die as Syrians are, But all reporters care about is there ratings bar to help them drive a fancier car Keep Calm and Love - Ezri Yuen Keep calm and love You need love and adoration for others, They will keep you calm in your trouble times, And have an adoration for you no matter what you say And in a time of trouble, you go to them As if your heart moves your body and not your mind That one person you never came to notice you loved But they always had a special place in your heart Far are some, most are near You may not notice what they are to you Until you almost lost them You can never hate them or regret them You always them and they always you That is the logic to love Accept their love and be happy if you find that one person You might find two who split your heart As Woosley Scott said, “ Most people are lucky to have even one love in their life, you have found two.” Don’t even let one love go if you have two There might be a time you can love them both. Untitled – Marc Delucchi Everyone dies in pain Everyone cries the same For different reasons It goes with the seasons Spring and Summer We are told to love one another We fight with brothers Kill em in vein Make there mommas go insane
Ye Olde Poem - Kenna Button I stand here; unmoving, yet moving the world. Fiery and Fierce, Yet cool and collected. Fighting the silent fight. Refusing to give in to the oppressors, and yet refusing to throw a punch: For to react is to admit the success of your enemies. To react is to show that the omnipresent enemies, pounding their flaming fists into your bones and into your mind, hurt you. That’s what they want after all. They want to know that they erupted a rage in your mind, and created a fire inside your soul. But you must not give in. That fire and that rage needs to fuel your strength. The physical fight is one of reaction. Never a punch is thrown without anticipation of retaliation. So hold back your hate, and use that hatefire to steady yourself, and to fight the fight of greatest strength: the one of no reaction. So stand strong brave soldiers, and fight the silent fight. Battle Faced Man – Marc Delucchi I am a battle faced man Hit in the face with a can of mace And as I run in the race I get scared The sniper fires I have to cut the wires To the POW fence I run now for all my life Hoping I can see my wife Named Suzane But when I write She never responded Making me wonder if we had truly bonded Or we would be another war caused devoured That’s what happened to my friend He wrote about the show Mr. Ed But then he found she was now with a man named Fred I just hope I don’t end up dead
Nothing For The Both of Us – Marc Delucchi I like pie I like it with a bottle of rye And then maybe my wife wont sigh But instead she buys A lot of stuff for herself Nothing for the both of us In fact I don’t even like to ride the bus But I didn’t care Poem For Today- Marc Delucchi I’m honest I’ve run out of ideas But this is a poem about nothing Nothing becoming something As menand women try everyday And they teachers say they cant But they don’t want to here a rant And they make it Why a Man Cries – Marc Delucchi Why does a man cry When he is still caused a wussy And many other names Is it as a man tames a tiger Or as a women talks about a liger In the calm or the storm Does it make them feel warm I hope so Because they named there son Bo And they make fun of a ho But they still cry Because at night when they go to sleep The memories seem to creep They come back for more A attack upon the mentally poor Because they have been beaten
Untitled – Marc Delucchi Keep calm and run As the calm winds blow We all would run through snow with you Then the loud noise came And we were thrown into a pool of red Missing a head Not for the blood, but for the city that couldn’t handle it all Because twelve years ago in a rival town They heard a even louder sound That changed it all Not because people ran As Bush did to Iraq But that a plane crashed into the sand Along what now was a marching band At what was a run Made by one man’s son But this time no troops came marching to be free Instead, it was about we How can we help them recover Why don’t we return them to their mother And now we pray That we will never here a even louder sound From a man up North Unititled – Marc Delucchi Blacks Whites Everyone says we are all one race The human race But usually that means we work together Through the weather of winter and summer But are we all sure Blacks were owned by whites Blacks were beaten by whites Blacks were beaten by lighter blacks But wait lets change that Lets realized where we screwed up
Humans owned humans Brother owned brother If I Should Have a Daughter – Toni Oyama If I should have a daughter I want to be her home away from home, her dear diary, her get out of jail card. I want her to be brave like her father and strong hopefully like her mother. But that doesn’t mean that she can’t let her guard down or cry and be fragile. She’ll grow up with fairy tales and talking stories before bed and even though they’ll end up with a happily ever after, she’ll learn that life isn’t a wish granting factory. But she will still close her eyes and whisper a secret to the falling stars. We are all made of stardust but I believe that she will be made from an entire galaxy. She’ll shine so radiantly and proud on stage, with friends, her nose in a book. She will be so full of life, I don’t want anyone to ruin that about her. Stardust or not, we are all human trying to stay afloat. So when she’s too upset with herself to get out of bed, I’ll call her school and tell them she’s feeling under the weather. The weight of the world has caught up to her and it’s a heavy burden to bear but Atlas would be proud of her. And when she points to my white lines I won’t tell her white lies only the honest truth that yes it hurt and some days it still does. Reality will sink in to her. The world may seem a little darker, a little bigger. I can’t protect her from everything. So when she gets older I’ll keep the freezer stocked with ice cream because heart breaker or heart broken, neither side is easy to live with and there are some feelings only comfort food and tears can befriend. No matter how long it takes her, she’ll put herself back together without the help of the King’s horses and King’s men. I hope that her imagination never runs dry. That playing pretend never gets old. And chalk drawings will always stain her hands and knees. I hope that she always has a special place in her heart for her favorite stuffed animals and crayon drawings. And that she won’t run away from the rain but smile and dance to her own beat instead. I hope that even though she has to grow older, she won’t grow up because Peter Pan needs a Lost Girl like her. If I should have a daughter, there will be a happily ever after.
Rise to a New Beginning – Ezri Yuen In the morning I open my eyes, Looking at the rising sun, Its orange-yellow color making my eyes squint, Though that is my favorite part of waking up,! The moment you look directly into the sun and the highlights of your life flash before your eyes,! Friend you made, Friends you lost, People’s feeling you thought were true but were as fake as porcelain dolls, At first you cry at the sad things that happen, But then the moment ends and this is a new day, A day forgetting what has happened in the past and looking to the future, You will never get this day back, You might as well rise to a new beginning Let go of all the things that made you cry, The ones that hurt you on the inside and out,! The bad grade you got in class, The time your parents yelled at you, You let those things go, To make this day better than any other, And rise to a new beginning. Untitled – Marc Delucchi Oh they all move left and right But they will not start a fight Others may retaliate with violence But they dont bother to keep the silence Against the giants
Sentimental Crap If I only do one thing right in my life I want it to be loving you because that’s what I do best. Maybe it’s foolish and young of me to say but the thing is, I’m young and foolish. See I know you get upset at little things that mean nothing to you and I know how to distract you long enough for you to forget about it. Some days I think I know you better than you do. Like how you crease your eyebrows together and stick your tongue out whenever you concentrate really hard. And that you still get nervous talking to me, deny it all you want but I’ll tell you a secret: you still give me butterflies and I think they’re here to stay. You give me life, you add color to my monotonous world, and you are every cliche known to writers. But you’re mine to love, to hold, to care for. I bet you could tell me that water was my air and I’d drown loving you. I hate the ocean but you are a tsunami tide, wrap your arms around me and let’s pause this moment. I want us to last. People say we shouldn’t be together. For I am the queen of spilled drinks and broken plates and you are the king of warm hearts and second chances. Maybe royalty doesn’t run in our veins but kept promises do. See this is a promise from me to you. I make mistakes by the hour and I’m never really sure of anything anymore. I chew gum that taste like strawberries and wear way too many bracelets. My hair doesn’t fall in the right places and sometimes I go out in public in pajamas. But not once have you ever told me to change my clothes or be different. I never have to worry when I’m with you. So I know that you’re not into sentimental crap like this but I wrote it for you anyway. Because I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes before but I’m certain you’re not one of them.
Embarrassing Moment – By Marc Delucchi All our team is on the bus getting pumped With the sound of music The bus ride is slow As the bus rides along these cars that sit so low But hey, I am ready to go Because I am a member of a team a team that is being powered by steam We have arrived to take them down But we have arrived in their town We walk in the gym looking around As the ball makes that perfect sound As Punahou plays HBA We stand in the hallway getting ready to be prepared As Dustin fly’s his legs through the air 4 minutes left until our show As we here the dribbles and the screams In the quietest gym I have ever seen We are ready to go behind the team, the team of many other teens And as I walk up the stairs there is a stutter step And a crash Boom As I look around Everyone stares Mana chuckles And there coach cares But he doesn’t have to wear The feeling of embarrassment That I am surrounded by As I sit Finally it is our turn to play But sadly we aren’t going to stay We get killed by HBA Then we turn around The bus ride is slow As the cars ride next to us so low But this bus is no longer loud It is silent in pain The pain felt playing a great game
True Friends – Ezri Yuen The one person in the world that won’t judge The one you see that texts you and you get excited Those kinds of people are hard to come by nowadays People are sneaky Constantly judging each other But a true friend will never judge you Will never make you cry And will be there for you until the end Because they are true You may have hard times Where you wish you never trusted them That only that one time they hurt you But you will never hate them No matter how much you try to hate them There will be the part of you that will always love them You will hear their name and turn your head When they talk to you, you can’t help but smile Because deep inside you know they are your true friend They accept you for all your flaws And you accept them for who they are Even when you drive others away When the world has given up on you, they won’t They will be by your side to help you When you think all hope is lost and you wish to disappear into the shadows They will do unthinkable things to convince you not to That you mean everything to them And that you are their true friend, So when you meet someone who accepts you for you, Someone who will always help you in your dark times, Don’t let them go, Keep them by your side, Because if you let them go, Chances are you will never meet another friend like that, A true friend.
This Time Around – Ezri Yuen My eyes hold fear The fear of not having anyone there to hug me in a sad time They hold memories both sad and happy Times I was alone and no one could hear my cry Times where no joke could make me smile Where all that ran through my head were memories of times I was broken But they also hold happy memories Memories where nothing couldn’t make me stop laughing That I cried because of the laughter Not the sadness that followed I warned myself not to get to close this time That I would just fall harder to the ground But I told myself it would be different this time around But it is all the same I realized it early and cut it off now I will only fall from a 4 story building now Instead of the 30 story building that would kill me the third time I survived the two times before with life scars The next time my mind and body will not handle it It will crumble like a sand castle in my hands This time around I should have been used to it by now Being set aside like a broken toy Waiting to be chosen to be company but waiting forever There is someone better that is company Who you prefer to be around Why did you say all those things only to break their meaning? Did I do something wrong for you to be like this? If I did then I do not know I wish Earth boys came with a manual Everything would be so much easier to know who they are like the characters of a book But I will not fall to my death this time Not this time.
Stolen Words – Marc Delucchi For different reasons We admired the seasons But the reason I loved them was You were nearly as perfect as could ever be But they could not see You died That is what you had done You had a son Then as you died Your tongue grew and brother cried As you were to leave us all dissatisfied And left us still curious about the process Because a women collapsed working on a machine That made you seem so little And then you lifted toward the light You found it A chance That you senority would help them see That there was more And as your vessels grew You almost flew As we all tried to join you But he demanded the impossible Because everyone fought They all showed up for you And that is what was true But it’s a lopsided zone Between paid a lot and paid a little And this is not no riddle He cried Then as you took your final breathe There was a light lifting toward the sun But he could not live with that scar That you had given him Then he died His tongue grew And his vessels were smaller He felt as if the wind would stop blowing But in fact his tearful was only slowing But he died to ...... His heart blew
Adversity - Marc Delucchi Adversity what does that word even mean Does anyone know? I think the last man to feel it Was the first black man who walked in a university Where all races could be And people would see That black and white sat as one They were all somebodies sons But their fathers disagreed They still thought no black man should be free As King and X fought for what they called we Then the riders came They came in peace But their buses were burned Their parents turned in fear Then they were met by more beatings There weren’t any peacekeeping meetings They went through hell And all the racists thought well NOW YOU KNOW But it wasn’t for show No It was about more It was about freedom It was about the American dream That their ancestors were forced to join It wasn’t there choice to be here But now they were They felt the pain That made so many of them go insane As crack sales rose The cops looked for a fire hose To spray to tell them no But they didn’t let up They kept going Crosses were burned on their porch Bricks thrown through windows Guns fired But they kept going More died
The wife’s cried As their children didn’t understand That there parents stood for two different brands of America And as a man walked out on his porch He was shot He no longer had the dream He was dead But the wife he wed And the children who were fed continued A movement for peace A movement for America and a dream And then came the lights beam They all saw freedom They all saw life They all saw safety for their children and their wife And they fought harder There was no time to barter, it was all or nothing And then as Jim Crowe was shot and took his last breathe And with it freedom was given Then Russia fell Sure, there is still hell But well It aint as bad So you can sit there and talk about adversity you felt But until you’re the first black man to have walked into a university Or riders met by fighters When you are peace, met by violence And you don’t keep the silence You won’t know anything about adversity Because even Don Mclean was able to sing When the man’s wife lost their wedding ring And now there was a smaller hell And a black man was president Now the gays fight For their equal rights And they can see it in their sights But until you’re the one to walk through hell And come out saying its swell You won’t know adversity Until you’re the first black man to walk into a University Until you are gay and you’re not afraid to say you are Until you don’t give a damn about what’s culturally par
No matter how far away you are You fight For the rights Of all people Because not everyone can Some are stuck in the sand Others can’t even join a band But you and me can take a stand And that’s what you need to do To feel adversity Unless of course you’re the first black man to walk into a university
Te Comencé a Querer - Tito El Bambino (Note: This following poem is in Spanish) Te comencé a querer desde el momento que te conocí Nosotros eramos soló niños pero me volví loca queriendo tenerte. Te comencé a querer porque tu cambiaste mi manera de pensar para lo mejor Todos mis sueños, mis opiniónes Toda mi vida. Nunca pense que alguien pudiera hacer eso por mi Te comencé a querer sin saber si tu me querias Sin duda, no estas en mis dueños Eres mi realidad. Todo Cambió – Camila (Note: The following poem is in Spanish) Todo cambió cuando te vi Mi mundo en blanco y negro se convertió en color Yo nunca pensé que el amor era tan fàcil
hasta que te conocí Tu te mereces alguien mejor que yo Pero tu dices que esto es lo que tu quieras El universo dice que nos pertenecemos uno al otro. Yo me perdí en tu amor que no puedo amarte más hasta que te digo que puedo darte todo pero soló si tu puedes hacer lo mismo por mi Tuya soy y te necesito mío No es fácil decir ‘te amo’ y estoy sorprendida que tu estes aqui todavía Pero esto es amor. Y todo cambió cuando te vi, ¿Me viste tu a mi? Darkness – Marc Delucchi I look to my left and to my right I am quite ready for a fight But I do not see light All I see is darkness, darker then anything I have seen before There is no ray of light that gives me a ray of hope But I keep walking Hoping one day the light will no longer be stalking me but rather be beside me Then I see, I see the light along a wall that is painted white And I run as fast as I can Praying I will soon see my wife Praying that this will not be the end of my life Praying that I will see my son
If I Should Have a Daughter – Dolores Black If you were my daughter, I’d want you to sing your little heart out. Hopefully better than I can: maybe you’ll get it from your father. And if your singing ability is equivalent to mine, or that of a toad- honestly there’s not much difference- I’d still listen. I’d listen to anything you do, anything you say, that is, unless it’s sass (I’m not quite used to being on the receiving end). But I’ll always encourage you to do your best, be what you want, wherever you’re at. I will be your biggest supporter, but don’t tell your dad that. And I won’t put you down, in more ways than one. I’ll cradle you in my arms when you’re a baby or when you have babies, because no matter how old you get, you’ll still be mine. Baby, I may not know you yet but that makes me all the more excited for the day, when I hold you for the first time, possibly tired and sweaty but I’ll look you in your beautiful eyes, and maybe give you a raspberry right on your perfect little stomach. You’re worth it. And if you grow up and your stomach isn’t really little anymore, and you shrink away from whatever it is you see in the mirror, I’ll tell you again. I’ll sit you in front of that mirror and tell you exactly what I see; beauty. I know beauty is subjective and I know not everyone can feel beautiful all the time, but I will make sure that you see yourself for what you are and not what someone else makes you out to be. And if someone tells you otherwise, they’ll have to take it up with me. No one hurts my baby. I’ll do anything for family. And I may be small but my love for you is bountiful, boundless, and if I have to yell at someone, or use my fists, I will. You know I will because I’ll tell you, over and over, so you’ll feel it in your heart. That doesn’t mean I’ll fight all your battles, because you should know that too, but know that you don’t have to. Even if the rest of the world’s against you, I’m forever in your corner. And if that’s not enough, I hope you’re always on your own side too. I know sometimes it’s hard, to love yourself and be okay with who you are but I hope you never feel that same pain. Although you probably will, I’m just saying. If that’s the case, I want it to only happen once so that just like a vaccination you can overcome what ails you, form immunity, and forever you’ll know the truth: you will be okay. You won’t need the doctor, just a companion. And I want to be that for you. So take my hand baby and I swear it’ll be okay. Maybe not all the time, but I’m willing to bet at least 87.95%. Love always, me.
If only you loved me the way I love you - Anonymous e could’ve been the furious couple that I imagined us to be. I pictured the first day we talked about our feelings for each other. We sat there across from each other, eye to eye, nose to nose, mouth to mouth, one on one. Your hair fell perfectly down your face like how they describe in books and how they depict in movies. We sat there for three hours like this, talking about stray topics that would soon fade into our everlasting memories. I thought we would be together forever or at least for what little time we may have on this heartbreaking earth. The next three hours turned into the best three months of my life. We became best friends, you were someone I could talk to without regret, and you were someone who was there for me when I needed it the most. I thought we would last the longest of all of our friends but boy was I wrong. You had lost feelings for me, just like that the tables turned and you were in control of the game.. You’re the one I have been love-struck over for months on end. You’re the one I’ve been chasing down for weeks and weeks with no stop You’re the definition of perfect. You are my everything and always will be. But as time progresses I must learn to move on and find someone else. If I can’t get over you I guess I’ll just have to walk this life alone. Ill spare you my feelings and what I have to say. But it was the night of christmas when I saw your beautiful face again, what was I supposed to do, tell you how I feel and make a fool out of myself? It was in that moment that I told myself to ignore you and never talk to you again. But that just made it worse. It made my emotions grow stronger. By not talking to you all I could do was think “what if?” What if I had talked to you on that night or even before? What if she still does have feelings for me? What if I just took it the wrong way? What if I don’t want to be friends anymore? What if she wants to get back together? After briefly talking to you I finally let my feelings out, it was quite explosive, it’s like I was a firework in the sky not caring what I did just how I did it, I wanted a big bang and that’s what I got. In one night it was screwed up again. You dropped a bomb on me like the U.S dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND I can’t believe this, you have a boyfriend. Why didn’t I try harder? Or why didn’t I confess my love for you sooner.
But by now it’s too late you like him and I can tell that. I’m explosive for you but at the same time aggravated that it’s not me. It’s not me sharing my everyday life with you, it’s not me helping you through your toughest times. I wish it could’ve been different, but I bet it couldn’t have been. If only you loved me the way I love you.
Kate Uesugi
Tara Norton Kate Uesugi
Tara Norton Joelle Pang
Tara Norton Joelle Pang
Jack Button
Maddie Yamamura
Morgan Stephens
Morgan Stephens Morgan Stephens
All By: Chantal Robles
Kate Uesugi
Tara Norton
Celina Li
Jessie Yanavok
Jediah Conachan
Keri Kawatachi
Tatiana Guzman
Erica Machida Kaelyn Estenson
Kaelyn Estenson
Erica Machida
Short Stories
Asparagus Trail Essay (Marc Delucchi): I believe that the best way to interpret the poem “Asparagus Trail” by Bonniejean Cartwright (under the pseudonym Radcliffe Schlemmer) is by looking back at the history of the author to tell what this poem means to her. In this poem–as in any form of art–there are always multiple ways to interpret it. If someone were to read this poem without any background knowledge on the author, they may believe this is about humans destroying nature. In a way it is. It is quite easy to see connections between Bonniejean’s life and the poem all the way from the first stanza of the poem to the end. Bonniejean lived under a house where her father suppressed her and her mother’s artistic talents. As she was able to “escape” from the house that suppressed her dreams her mother was not. This poem is about the tragic day on which Bonniejean Cartwright’s mother died in what was reported to be a drowning. However, for the rest of her life she would believe her mother killed herself at Wetassee Creek. Bonneijean Cartwright was a liberal feminist in a similar way to her mother Hilda Cartwright. This poem is written with that mindset. In each of the 5 stanza’s of the poem you can make a direct connection to what she believes happened on the day her mother died. In the first stanza of most of Bonniejean Cartwright’s poems she begins by setting the scene letting the reader dive into the world that her poem will take place in. To give them a idea of where they’ll be. She does this again here by starting her poem out with, “Morning mist rises on/The Asparagus Trail/Rolling waters along/Wetassee Creek,” (1-5). Just like in a movie when a scene starts with a panoramic view of where the scene will take place. She believed her mother killed herself because she knew her mother to be to strong of a swimmer to drown in a place with as calm waters as Wetassee Creek. In the fourth line of the poem she says, “rolling waters.” Rather then saying rapid
waters or fiery waters she says, “rolling waters.” Why? It is to show the reader Wetassee Creek is not a place where people die everyday, it is not a place where people brag about living through it. Wetassee Creeek is a place with calm waters, where grandfathers teach there grandson’s to fish, or where families take a vacation. Not a place where someone accidentally drowns– especially as skilled a swimmer as Hilda Cartwright was. Her poem’s second stanza speaks of the decision. The decision Hilda is making, to kill herself, to leave her entire family behind because she cannot be suppressed any longer. A certain word can change a piece’s entire emotion. In that stanza the character, “Lingers toward the/loggers road,” (8). Lingers is a word that does not emphasize a feeling of eagerness, lingers speaks to slowness in a action a feeling of consideration. When someone would be percolating the thought of suicide they would linger towards where they planned to end there life not run, but slowly make there way to the end. In the 3rd stanza Bonniejean describes what is bringing our main character (who we know to be her mother) to kill herself, “Near the trail, Copper City grew,” (12). Copper city is referring to Hilda’s husband (Bonniejean’s father) who grew his wealth through the mass production of gaskets used in auto-mobiles who opened a plant in the area where they lived in Utah. This damaged a beautiful natural site. It was also against the will of Hilda and Bonniejean. Bonniejean writes for Hilda and herself when she says, “On dreams of golden veins,” (13). Both her and her mother loved the idea of expressing themselves through art while it was suppressed by Hilda’s husband. And if any doubt remains that Bonniejean is speaking of her father destroying her mothers dreams as well as nature she continues and ends the stanza with the lines, “Where the claws of men/ Scraped and ravaged Mother Earth.” Mother Earth is a common term used to describe nature’s beauty. I think this is the perfect irony of
Bonniejean’s own mother and the earth, both things that her father (a man) destroyed. The final two stanza’s are the shortest as well as the most meaningful. They show where the asparagus trail is and how there is a clash between nature and man, a fight Hilda felt she caught not fight any longer. Leading to the conclusion when Hilda commits suicide. In the 4th stanza it all comes together, all that is clashing in Hilda’s mind, you are told, “Asparagus Trail meets/ The loggers’ road, the/ Miners’ Town, the county/ Highway, the interstate/ and beyond.” (1721). All of the things listed are man made. Ways human beings have destroyed what was once nature. Loggers’ cut down trees and forests, Miners’ destroy mountains, and the highway destroys the land a grassland or a marsh, something that Hilda and Bonniejean love, a piece of nature. To end her poem Bonniejean gives Hilda a metaphorical uprising to the heavens. As, “Asparagus Trail moves up and down/ Descent and climb, past/ Trees and mines,” (21-23). The descent and climb implies that after Hilda descends to the bottom of Wetassee Creek and dies she climbs up to the heavens, above the trees of the forest, and the mines in the mountains. Bonniejean wrote this poem in the year 1967 a busy time for her. She was a strong believer in the environmental awareness movements, which were beginning to gain momentum. Just 1 year after her mother’s death she found a way to combine all of her emotions in one piece. A poem about her mother’s journey and her attempts to protect nature that failed. Bonniejean believed her mother could not handle consistently seeing the destruction of nature and ended her life. Bonniejean told a story. The story of her life’s history and past. Some people would argue that people would not know the writer’s history so it is not truly the best interpretation. But, that follows the saying ignorance is bliss. In fact we know a lot of things about the author. We
must use all the information we have to help us understand the story she is trying to tell, the history of this piece helps us determine why or why not Bonniejean’s argument is valid. If you look at this poem from strictly a natural point of view you lose the emotion that comes with seeing your mother kill yourself. While if you look at it strictly through a story of the mother you lose the beautiful natural images that Bonniejean incorporates in her pieces so well. Finally, when you combine the two you can find the emotion that goes with a close family member’s death as well as agreeing with what they fought for and doing your best to continue that fight.
Chomper Memoir (Mark York): My name is Mark York, as of the time of writing this memoir I am a 14 year old freshman in Hawaii who’s a part of a family of four. My family is built up by my mom, my dad, myself, and my precious dog Chomper. Chomper isn’t a perfect dog, not even close. He’s greedy, stubborn, a little lazy, and at times he’s too smart for our convenience. To put it bluntly he’s a troublemaker; but strangely all of those flaws combine to make him the perfect dog for me. A model dog wouldn’t create any interesting stories and taking care of a sly dog such as Chomper started a new chapter in my life that may not have even have happened if I haven’t taken a simple detour. Your future isn’t set in stone, which is exemplified by the story on how I got my dog Chomper. When I was 9 years old I was an extremely shy kid. I was tall for my age but still smaller than 5 feet, and I did have a round figure. As you can imagine a shy personality matched with not a non-ideal physical condition resulted in a lack of self-confidence through social circumstances. I did not think highly of myself and I really didn’t’ feel ready to care for another living being. But despite that I have been a dog lover for as long as I can remember. Every time I saw a dog of any kind I stopped what I was doing to admire it. I’ve always loved dogs and despite my fear of taking care of one I still visited plenty of pet stores just to simply admire them. I was merely an observer of the fascinating relationship between man and dog afraid to step out of my seat and take part in that beauty. That all changed one day during the Christmas season; we were on the way to eat at restaurant when my mom and dad asked me if I wanted to stop by a pet store. I hesitated because I was quite hungry but I ultimately agreed, expecting to just look at those dogs like I
always did. I remembered a sudden pinch of humidity as soon as I stepped out of my car as I felt the wet ground from under my feet. It was winter but the different climate of Hawaii made it feel more like a rainy Autumn Day. The Pet Store was far from the best condition; it was obviously aged and it’s clear their focus wasn’t about making it look pretty. If you have ever seen the inside of an old shed you would imagine the atmosphere that pet store shed. You could hear many different sounds, when-ether it’s the barking or the whining of many different dogs. You could hear deep low barks that shook the ground to little whelps that sounded more like whelps of pain then a legitimate bark. If you’ve owned a dog, or any other pet for that matter, you would know how a store full of many different dogs would smell like. You can say that the different stuff in the dog’s fur adds experience and boy that store was experience burned out of a candle. At the sides of the room there were little cubbies where the dogs would be released to play with potential customers. They were fairly squeezed in for human standards but a dog would most likely see the cubby as a human would see an average living room. Inside those cubbies is where the aforementioned ‘experience’ is at its peak; but spending a few seconds with the source you start to get used to it. In that cubby you had to watch your step, for wherever there’s a puppy there’s a mess waiting to happen. You will see droppings, urine, and even shedding littered across the pen, however it is watched over and it isn’t so much that you can’t enjoy time with the dogs without marching out of the cubby in disgust of your new shoe stain. I had a criterion in mind for my dream dog. Unfortunately I was born a little ill fated; a dog lover cursed with the dreadful
allergies of fur. My mom said that if I was to get a dog with fur then I’d have to get a shot every month, but in hindsight she may have said those things to simply discourage me from getting a dog that sheds all over the house. Also, I did not want a larger dog for several different reasons. I wanted my dog to stay cute for a long while, smaller dogs are generally easier to take care of, and I did not want to concern myself with droppings potentially larger than I am. I saw many different dogs on my visit, specifically 3 different species’. The first dog I saw was a poodle. On the outside this was the typical stereotypical poodle you would see in a fashion advertisement with its cloud like white fur and it’s bare face and legs. Oh but if you look on the inside you would see that it behaves more like a wolverine than a typical show dog. Its claws were like daggers as it climbed on its hind legs and clawed at my leg as if this was a boxing match I was definitely losing. Fortunately it didn’t leave any marks and since I’m a natural dog lover I found a good time despite the pain. In the end I didn’t get the poodle despite my mom’s urgings – she’s a huge poodle lover - but perhaps one day someone will come in who can handle the craziness his poodle brings to the table. Next came a beagle pup; fairly small and surprisingly gentle. It was slim with brown spots all around it’s body. This beagle had large promise of not causing too much trouble; however due to my earlier mentioned allergies of fur I could not get the beagle. My genetics are cruel and unusual forces of misery sometimes. However, the third pen, the ultimate pen, the pen that changed my life, didn’t have just one but two shih-tzus both 9 weeks old. They were almost identical in appearance with maybe one being slightly fatter than the other. They resembled brown fluff balls with splotches of gold on their paw and spots of white occasionally on
their body. They were both really friendly; each one played with us intently and I immediately fell in love with them. Somehow there was a specific charm between them, a bond I haven’t felt about a dog before, and something about them encouraged me to buy one of them. The shih-tzu breed itself is a perfect match for my needs in a dog. A shih-tzu has hair instead of fur so I don’t have to worry about allergies, A Shih-tzu doesn’t shed and they stay relatively small, so I don’t have to worry about handling a dog almost the size of myself. With those factors in mind added in with the lovely personality of that dog it seemed as though this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. That feeling was mutual among my family because I didn’t have to say a word; we went away for a quick lunch to discuss the names. However, the hard part was to come, I had to choose only one of them. That decision was made harder by the fact that the two dogs appeared to be similar in personality but different in charm. To me it was the equivalent of choosing which twin I wanted to keep; however, I eventually observed that one dog played directly with me while the other one just ran around in circles on it’s own. I loved both dogs but I was especially attracted to the one that jumped around and played with me. The only part left was to decide on a final name for the newest member of my family. That name is one I will always associate with that dog, so choosing between them was complicated. However, a half a sandwich and twelve French fries later I have discovered the ‘Holy Grail’ of names. This name will immortalize my dog forever and is a name fit for a God. My dog will be known as Edward.
Seconds passed and we discussed an alternative name…. and eventually someone suggested ‘Chomper’. There wasn’t much reason for the name other than his constant nibbles during playtime but it just seemed to fit and we couldn’t imagine him with any other name since. Chomper was going to be my dog, my little brother. ‘My Dog Chomper’…. Seems to have a ring to it doesn’t it? Anyway, we came back to the store and bought Chomper. Boy he was an expensive dog, his price tag matched up to about a thousand dollars; but in the end he was worth every penny. We took him home and immediately placed him in the backyard, but at first he was extremely shy. He hid under tables, he feared the grass in the backyard, and he couldn’t even climb the stairs. But I didn’t care, Chomper was a part of my family and I couldn’t imagine how I lived without him. A few days later Chomper was doing his own thing in the yard and I was building something out of things I found in the yard when my dad came up to me. My dad asked me if I’ve seen Chomper and I panicked; he seemed to be gone. We looked around and noticed a gap underneath the fences and deduced that he slipped through the fence and ran away. The bad thing about having a small dog is that they can escape easily. Once they do, they’re practically dead if you have no way of tracking them. Thinking he was gone, thinking that this wonderful dog I’ve met was out of my life for good; I walked towards the house. I shouldn’t have been too surprised, I spent my entire life without a pet and it didn’t seem possible for it to change just like that. That day the sky could’ve turned orange and I wouldn’t have been as surprised as seeing Chomper lying on my living room floor. It seemed too surreal to be true but I still couldn’t believe that he was gone;
he seemed like a missing part of my life. Thinking I would never see him again, I begun to cry harder than I ever cried before in my life. But then someone came out from behind a small space between some stuff in the corner of the yard. It was Chomper; he was still there, the same dog I got from the store was at nipping at my feet almost like fate pulled a fast one on me. “Eh, here’s ya dog”, fate said, “Merry Christmas”. That very same dog grew along with me, and as Chomper matured, so did I. He learned new tricks, he gained enough courage to climb up the stairs in time, and he grew bigger -and much fatter. He’s still a relatively small dog when compared to a boxer or a golden retriever, but his size when he was 2 years old was bigger than most shih-tzus when they were 12 years old. In contrast to his shy self before who was even afraid to grace the grass, now he owns our couch and treats the kitchen as his own. I matured as well but everyday when I come home from school and see Chomper I get to play with him like I always did when I was younger. Chomper did grow a personality, growing to be a little stubborn, greedy, and a little tricky. That stuff may set some people off from a dog, but those exact things are what I look forward to seeing when I come home. In a way, Chomper was one of the things responsible for building up my confidence. I felt as if I wasn’t ready for a dog and I was hesitant about getting one, but it turned out that not only was I ready for a dog, but I really needed one. Fate can be funny at times, and sometimes the thing you’re running from is the thing you’ve always needed. I guess the moral of this story is to be open minded about your future. Your interests and views can always change. In the
end go with what makes you happy, not what you plan to happen. Your life can and will change in time.
Untitled Short Story (Marc Delucchi):
His father closed the door and the tears formed a case around his eyes. None refused to flow down his face, years of holding in tears had made it impossible for any to leave his eyes. Years of angst, fear, sadness, and sorrow would always build into these always anti-climactic moments which he would like to think defined him. He wanted to believe that he held some greater purpose, a unique story, but he began to realize his lack of authenticity, he was as vanilla as his skin tone in many ways. He threw 16 and a half years of denial aside because of the words of one. One girl had ignorantly changed his path. His father was the 2nd person to say that he had noticed something different about him over the last couple days. That caught him off guard. Somehow he had seen no shift of his exterior, but he had no view of his exterior. He did know that he would now sit in deep thought of her. What it could be. Being an only child had given him the imaginative capabilities to simulate a basketball game or a movie as if he were in these spectacular moments, but now that imagination turned sour, seeing images of her beauty only brought on more pain from thought. The 5 foot 11, 175 pound Luke Johnson now stood beside his bed in mystified thought. He always feared being an atheist in part in fear of the devil but mainly because it gave him no purpose, he had the ability to sit and have no ideas about what life held for him. In moments like these he rediscovered his greatest fears and they would define his actions for the following few days before he would eventually recede to his normal personal activity as if nothing had changed. What did this mean? Did this define him? But the more he thought, the more jabs his self-loathing mind landed until its strong right hook knocked him down. ~~~
He awoke to raindrops bouncing against his face; he had forgotten to close the window again. He slowly rolled over placing his feet on the ground where he paused for a few moments before he rose for the day. He followed his normal routine and stepped out onto his front porch just as the suns light reached over the horizon. It met with the street lights-which would remain on for 10 more minutes- and the light of man and the light of god clashed creating a spectacle which was too strong for his eyes at first. After looking away for a few moments, his pupils adjusted and he began to walk. Today he reached the bus stop early. He was the only person who got picked up on this stop so he had a few minutes to think about life. Although he always had–and always would–believe in God, he had always felt a pure separation between his current life and the next. His mother had always told him that God gave the world a purpose and humanity’s job was to join together for that purpose. When the ignorant child that he was asked why God hadn’t told the world what the purpose was, his mother calmly smiled back at him and said, “I am not, and never will be, the good lord. What I am is someone who is thankful that He gave me a chance to live on this great earth of ours.” As he looked back on those childhood memories he wondered how his mother was able to maintain such grace in the face of such demons. She always maintained faith and composure even when she faced what would be her final surgery. He remembered sitting in the hospital alongside his father for hours before the surgeon returned and called my father inside and–as he led his father back through the doorway–the surgeon’s eyes had met his own and had his answer. The surgeon’s eyes showed too much sorrow to hold news that he enjoyed to tell. His father began to cry in the other room and he continued to for two weeks, but the young James Rosen wept for months. In the months that followed his faith carried
him through. The bus arrived, James stood and sat in the 3rd row as he always did-there were only 5 on the whole bus. Eventually, the bus contained all 7 of its passengers and entered the freeway which would lead them to school. ~~~ Luke got to school with a few minutes before his first class began. When he entered he took a sigh of relief to see that the girl that had been on his mind was late-as she often was-allowing him to attempt to take his mind of the hard topic. He sat beside his longtime friend Makana. Makana had a smaller frame than Luke, probably closer to 5 foot 7, and 135 pounds. For a few minutes they talked about the basketball game they had afterschool. Class started. About 4 minutes into class, the door opened and all 36 eyes in the classroom turned to watch Angelie enter. She was managing to balance about 5 different things as she staggered towards an open desk. Their teacher continued to lecture, but the words held less meaning to Luke. He let his eyes wander the room, always ending on her. As time passed, he was so engulfed in thought that he looked up and his final class ended. The immediacy shocked him and he stared off into the distance for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. In a concussed like state, he rose and staggered outside when he realized that he had a basketball game later that day. ~~~ James sprinted out of class to the locker rooms where he quickly changed. There was still 3 hours before their game started but he wanted to shoot around for a bit. He stopped onto the hardwood and practiced some hook shots and layups, 50 of each was his usual but he only did 25 today. He figured he would be able to manhandle
whoever the Center was for the other team. He always was in Division-3. At 6-3, 250 the 2nd biggest guy on any team was maybe 6-1 but they were often too lean and lanky to guard the dual sports athlete (not surprisingly he started at Offensive Line on the football team). He walked back into the locker room and saw a couple of the other guys getting ready. He participated in the usual banter of girls, school, and sports. Still, like on all game days he, never let thoughts of the game get too far away. He was going to try and get at least 20 points tonight, even his teammate Gabe pointed out that he had seemed, “ready to put up 40.” ~~~ Normally, Luke loved a game. Normally he would have been standing in the hallway practicing his shooting form, or envisioning nailing the game winning free-throws. When Luke realized that today’s game would determine the Division-3 champions rather than get excited, he sat down alone at a table in solitude for a few minutes. He had to get her out of his head. Mainly, for his own health and in part for the team, but when he pulled out his Mac laptop and played some G-mod Call of Duty without his mind shifting from his previous thoughts, he knew he would have to find a way to cope. His bus wasn’t going to arrive for another 15 minutes so he walked to 7-11 where he grabbed a Gatorade and an iced tea. When he got back to school he drank the tea and put the Gatorade in his bag. His school didn’t have a gym so he couldn’t shoot around and his coach had ordered him not to play on the rims in the parking lot so he was left to sit alone in thought. ~~~ There was some noise outside and James peered out the window and
saw the other team walk out of their bus. He tried to look for their best player–he remembered he was number 7. He wasn’t close to intimidated by the guy who was no more than 6 feet and held no muscle tone. His only concern was that this guy would be a bit to agile for him to guard, but he wasn’t too concerned. James called his teammates to follow him out of the locker room into the gymnasium to size up the other team. They all formed a perfect V formation behind him and each gave their sternest look to their opponents. They returned similar stares until they filtered into the visitor’s locker room on the opposite side of the court. Both teams now sat in their own locker rooms in complete silence. All players were fully dressed and were listening to their favorite warm-up music with their choice of either ear buds or headphones. Neither coach would speak until they stepped onto the court. They both understood at this point in the season every player knew what they had to do, that’s why both of these teams had not lost a game. Eventually, some parents trickled into the gym and the buzzer was sounded, giving each team a warning that the game would begin in 30 minutes. Both teams exited their locker rooms in perfect lines with the same stares. As the teams were warming up, the Captains were called to midcourt where Luke and James met for the first time and shook hands. The referees went through the rules quickly. In the next minute, he and James were squaring off at center court for the opening tip, and the ball was tossed into the air…
Petal’s Story (Joelle Pang):
There the boy sat, staring into the calm pool. He could see his own reflection perfectly, from the silvery black gradients on his long hair to the light blue of his eyes. He dipped a finger into the pool, and the image distorted outwards in slow ripples. “Petal…” He murmured, closing his eyes. “My name is Petal. I will support my brother when he becomes king.” Nodding in certainty, Petal abruptly stood and began running along the pathway leading out of the garden. ~~~ The teenager stood tall, next to his twin brother. They were nearly identical, exact copies of each other save for color of their eyesPetal’s were a very light blue, while his older twin’s were a stormy grey. “Ouch!” The younger of the two started as the woman taking their measurements accidentally poked him with a pin. Petal’s brother laughed. It was an unburdened, clear sound, and infectious- soon Petal couldn’t hold back a chuckle, saying, “I wouldn’t laugh like that, brother, you’re next, you know.” Petal’s brother only grinned and shook his head, saying nothing. ~~~ The time of his brother’s coronation came far sooner than expected. Their father, the king, had taken ill and passed within a month. Measurements taken for festival clothing swiftly changed their colors, and together they mourned their father’s death. Looking at the sky burdened with heavy, gray stormclouds, the once-joyful twins had cried in that secret place with the pool they had played in, such a long time ago. They cried for their kind father, and they cried for the end of childhood. After that day, Petal’s brother cried no more. ~~~ He was king. Petal’s brother worked tirelessly to attain peace and security for his unstable country, and Petal himself chose to support his brother in whatever ways possible. It was for this cause that Petal
ended up a soldier, a general, a killer. Whatever way one called it, soldiering meant bloodshed. At first it pained the young man to emerge from battles, victorious but covered in the warm and sticky red blood of his brother’s enemies, but he gradually grew used to it. And so time passed, his days falling into a steady routine of sleeping and waking, attacking and defending. And all the while, Petal’s brother began to cough. ~~~ Everyone had known except for him. By his brother’s command, Petal had been kept in the dark about his brother’s condition, even until it was too late to hide it. Confined to bedrest, the king had ordered Petal on a journey to a faraway land, to act as an ambassador to another country. He returned a month later to utter chaos. No king but entropy ruled the land in his brother’s absence, yet Petal still clung to the last threads of hope that his brother would sit up and smile at him like always. ~~~ It was recognized throughout the country as stability slowly returned that Petal would be the next king, and that he was a man worthy of the throne. But still Petal refused to accept that his brother would soon die, and refused to take control of the kingdom while he desperately convinced himself there was still hope. Before long, the king’s cabinet decided to take matters into their own hands to urge Petal to take the crown. Silently in grey hours of the morning, they ended the king’s life. When it was a proper time of the day, they called for Petal. The man came eagerly, expecting that his brother’s condition had taken a turn for the better. Instead, he found only a veiled anticipation, a room full of courtiers with fake grief painted on their faces. “He passed in the night, Petal.” They told him. “We’re so sorry.” The lies were only thinly masked, and Petal wanted more than anything to cry, to screem, to
turn to his brother and see him laugh and tell him everything would work out. He wanted more than anything to kill. Lose himself in his grief and kill everyone in the room, who mocked him and his brother with their lies and their selfish eyes. But he didn’t, and steeled himself for a long, weary, future that should not have been his. Then a woman approached him, a woman he hadn’t seen in many years. Their mother had not had the best relationship with her sons in the past, and he turned on her, ready to snap. But he stopped upon seeing his own grief mirrored in her grey eyes, the same color as his brother’s had been. She said to him, “I’m so sorry. I should have been here for you… for you both.” Turning away, Petal found that he could not at the moment find it in himself to forgive her. It would take time, but it would be what his gentle brother would have wanted. Then the man shook himself and opened his ice blue eyes, creased by lines that hadn’t been there before. “My name is Petal,” he whispered, gazing at the room of onlookers. “And I am the king.”
The Poet I Am (Marc Delucchi):
A poet can create emotions in a poem. There poetry can bring sadness, happiness, and it can make people angry. With my poems, I want to make people feel a strong opinion; a poem has to have a message whether political or just an issue in the world today. I want my poem to ring in a person’s mind whenever they here a reference to the topic. To assist in what I am trying to portray, I try to add musical, imagistic, and literal meaning to my poem. All poets have goals with their poetry. Mine is not to make people happy, but to make them aware of an issue we have today, and by using the different forms of musical, imagistic, and literal meanings, they enhance what I am trying to do. The musical beat emphasizes areas of my poems. For example, in my poem The Muslim Falsehood, I have many lines that are connected and I read them faster to show a connection. Repeatedly, these lines are filled with assonance and consonance. At one point I refer to the issues with drug use and say, “then they buy more drugs/ and give the b*stards who selling it brand new rugs.” One example of me using a consonance for these lines is again in my poem The Muslim Falsehood, “Soak up their religion for all its worth/ and ignore the fact that a mother is giving birth.” These lines if read in a fast tone has a much stronger affect. My reasoning behind reading these lines so fast is I often have a refrain I read slowly. For summing up my message. Similar, to in my Word Accumulation poem, I often referred back to the line, “heard an even louder sound,” when I was writing about a bigger bomb. You see this again in my poem The True Story about Adversity I would refer back to the line, “Unless you were the first black man who walked into a University.” Often these refrains are read slowly. This creates a contrast. I rhyme in my poems fast to draw people in and as I read on they start finding the message, then there is a slowly
read refrain that the listener understands in full. Listeners have the puzzle pieces and the result, but they have to put it together. It is in a way similar to highlighting an article. You skim quickly and highlight words here and there. Then there is an important line that you highlight all of it. That is the way I emphasize the message in my poems through the musical sound. Frequently, I start my poems creating an image to give the reader an idea of where I am going. After that, I will quickly take a quick turn into a darker image, and that line will become my refrain I repeat throughout the poem. As I do in my Word Accumulation poem I start out by writing, “Keep calm and run… through snow with you,” then all of a sudden, “Then the loud noise came/ and we were thrown into a pool of red/ missing a head.” Immediately the image you think of went from a calm run in the snow to an explosion with blood soaking into the snow and limbs flying around. Why did I do this? Because I wrote this on the day of the Boston Marathon, bombing and I wanted to tribute this poem to them. However, this is not the only poem where I have had an image shift. In my Stolen Words poem I start with, “We admired the seasons/but the reason I loved them was/ you were nearly as perfect as could ever be/ but people couldn’t see/ you died.” In those lines the reader immediately thinks of their favorite season in there fondest memories, because a reader wants to make a connection to the poem. By building, the bridge as I just did the reader finds a connection, and then suddenly unexpectedly the character dies. Now the reader must know, how and why. I built a bridge only to tear it apart and give the reader all the pieces so they can try to put it together again. Furthermore, I then try to recreate a different image at the end of each of my poems. When I am writing a poem, I do this because I want to show that things change, that because if it is the way something starts it will never be the same at the ending. We change with every
day and I try to show that in the end of my Word Accumulation poem that I talked about its beginning earlier where it went from running to an explosion. It ends with me creating an image of fear, because now that this event has happened people are scared of another bombing. So I say, “and now we pray/that we will never hear an even louder sound/ from a man up north,” (when I say a man up north I am writing about the North Korean leader Kim-Jyeong-Eun). Throughout many of my poems, you can grab a literal meaning within the images and the music. In my Word Accumulation poem, I literally write about real bombings. Since I was writing about the Boston bombing, I then refer to 9/11 by saying, “Twelve years ago in a rival town/they heard an even louder sound,” because New York is the rival to Boston and twelve years ago was the year of 9/11. Then later on, I write about how, “People ran/ as Bush did to Iraq.” In that line I reconnected to what really happened. 9/11 caused President George W. Bush to order troops to Iraq. The reason I bring in a literal meaning to my poem is because as I said before I want the reader to connect to my story and message. If I am able to bring in real world scenarios that they know about, that is one more reason for them to be interested in my poems message and intended meaning. On other instances I don’t connect to a specific event; I connect to the broader idea of many events; for example in The Muslim Falsehood I say, “they still killing each other/ they willing there brothers,” I wrote this a few days before the public learned that two brothers had set the bombs at the Boston marathon. Though I connected past attacks where brothers worked together. Earlier, in that poem I refer to, “Osama in Pakistan.” These are connections. The connections that make the reader want to read on in the poem. As I said earlier, my goal as a poet is not to rhyme for fun, but rather to portray a message that all people can understand and motivate a person to think and consider change; literal meaning in my poems helps
me reach my goal. All writing is about perception. What your reader perceives your writing to mean is what they will get from it. Frequently I try to create images. These images in the readers mind help them feel the writing come alive; then I try to write sentences that have a literal meaning, something that really happened, an occurrence that most people will know about and have a strong emotion towards. Finally, I add a musical beat to my poems. A beat puts these things together. Lines of least importance are said fast with many assonance and consonance that have a connected meaning. All of a sudden, many unimportant lines are connected to create a larger idea. Afterword’s at the end of each verse there is a refrain repeated throughout the poem to send the reader a message. Each writer does this. Every writer has a way of connecting the audience. This is how I connect my readers to the message and story of my poems.
Untitled (Cara Pangelinan):
Night had fallen. The streets were empty, filled with only the staggering sounds of footsteps and the boy to whom they belonged to. The cobblestone ground was wet from the continuous drops of falling rain; the only light to illuminate the path came from the intermittent streetlights. Old brick houses surrounded the young man. All were quiet–they almost seemed to be empty. Almost. In this particular city, no one was ever out so late. The boy knew that. He also knew of the rumors; the ones that spoke of a mysterious door only found in the darkest hour of night. It was made distinguishable with a blood red X painted over white. It is not the rumored door that was so renown, though, it was the mysterious being who lived behind it. Some praise the hidden entity, claiming it to be a powerful sorceress come to save this wretched world. More often than not, however, you will hear the folk whisper in the dark corners of the town. Voices filled with fear would claim to have seen the man in shadows, warning of the danger that surrounds it, believing it to be the devil himself. Ignorant children would dare one another to seek out the door. Most would be too scared, however the few especially foolish ones would search for hours on end for something that would never appear... No one knew the truth, the only real certainty of this mystery was that the being would only appear when you truly needed it. Those who don’t believe in these rumors have not lived in the city long enough. Just when people would start forgetting of the rumors,
mysterious happenings would remind the townsfolk once again of the supernatural oddities to explain the unknown. Despite knowing all this, the boy continued down the street, searching for something to help; desperation fueled his motives and expelled all fear. He was searching for the door. The being had been watching the boy for many days now, waiting for him to seek out the door. It knew of the boy’s troubles–a sick mother on the brink of death. It was only a matter of time until the boy would come–just like all the others. It was time for the being to reveal itself. The boy was resting on a nearby veranda, tired from his fruitless search all through the night. He stood to return to a home that would be as quiet as the streets. He couldn’t sleep in the silence; just days before his mother coughed weakly and moaned all throughout the night. Her now silent pain scared him more than anything else. Just as he started chastising himself for even believing in the stupid rumors, he sat up only to realize that the very porch he was previously sitting on was the one that contained a white door marked by a red X. The boy stared in disbelief. Just moments before he could recall the door looking identical to all the others down the street. A bare white door with nothing on it but a handle locked shut for the night. He hesitated for only a moment before advancing towards it. Some-
how he knew that the door would be unlocked. As the door creaked open, the boy immediately regretted his actions. With a shudder, he realized that what stood before him was not human–it was not even a monster. The being that lives behind the door could only be described as a thing. It took no particular visible form; any possible physical characteristics were hidden underneath a shabby dark cloak. A seemingly empty gap took the place of where a person’s head would be. Somehow–despite the thing’s lack of any sensual facilities–the boy knew that this fearsome being could sense his presence perfectly well. Shocked, he looked away. The creature noticed the boy’s uneasy reaction and let out a low, throaty chuckle. “Is this appearance more favorable?” The boy looked up to see that the being had altered its appearance. In the hood of the cloak–where there was nothing at all just moments before–a man’s face had appeared. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the visage. In fact, the second the boy looked away, he would instantly forget the face until he looked back. The boy managed a nod before the thing spoke again in that alluring voice. “Now,” it drew out the word, eyeing the boy like a predator seeking out its prey. “What did you come here for?”
“P-please,” the boy stammered. “My... My mother. She’s dying. I don’t know where else to go.” His eyes scattered around the room, but it was bare. He forced himself to look into the eyes of the thing standing before him. “Can you save her?” “Of course I can,” it slowly advanced upon the boy, towering over him. “The question is, what can you do for me?” It took the boy a moment to respond because it was then that the boy realized just how bright the white walls that surrounded the two were. There was no lighting at all within the room–no windows to let in light, no lighting fixtures of any kind, there wasn’t even a burning candle–he shouldn’t have been able to see anything at all, but he did. It was then that the boy realized that the thing standing before him had no shadow. It was as if all the darkness that should have been present in the room was centered around the thing. “I have some money! Or I can work...” He trailed off. A quick glance to the young child and anyone could tell that he was not the most fortunate person in the world. His clothes were tattered and filled with holes, hanging off him like a coat rack. What little skin that showed on him exposed his feeble bones. His shoes were nonexistent, showing the many cuts on the boy’s feet. “Those mundane things have no meaning for me. What I want,” The thing was now standing directly in front of the boy, staring down at him. “Is a game.” “A game?” The boy was suddenly suspicious, both curious and fearful of what the thing before him truly was.
“All you have to do,” It drew out the words again, enjoying the boy’s silent impatience–like a lion playing with its prey. “Is answer a question–you get one chance to answer correctly. And of course we’ll both wager something.” “Wager?” “If you win, I’ll revive your mother. If you lose, I want the thing that’s most precious to you.” “Alright, I agree,” The boy stated without hesitation. After all, what could he possibly lose? “Let’s play.” The thing smiled. The boy did not like this smile, it was more of a smirk really. It made it seem as if the thing has already won. The thing stared directly into the young man’s eyes, as he said, “The moment you are born is the moment I start to die. I am alive within many, but I cannot die with them. What am I?” ~~~ The boy had been staring at the blank walls for so long that he couldn’t recall the time. Finally, he snapped. “This isn’t fair! Your stupid puzzle doesn’t even make any sense!” he cried in frustration. “Fair? Who said anything about playing fair?” The thing snapped back, with a sharp edge in his tone. “Hurry up boy, are you going to answer or give up?”
The boy suddenly recalled the eerie rumors about the being behind the door. Voices filled with fear would claim to have seen the man in shadows, warning of the danger that surrounds it, believing it to be the devil himself. The boy glanced back to the thing in the room with newfound horror. “Death.” He said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “What was that, boy?” “Death.” He repeated. The way he said the word was as if he were addressing the thing in robes itself. “Is that your answer?” The boy gave a slight nod. “Well I’m sorry to say,” the thing looked right at the boy with that taunting smile of his, “that you’re wrong. Couldn’t be farther from the answer, actually.” Somehow the boy wasn’t shocked, but he was angry. He held no hatred for the thing, he was frustrated at himself for not being able to help his mother. His final chance–gone in the time that he wasted in the room behind the door marked by a red X. “Alright, fine! What do you want? My soul?” The boy turned around, heading for the door to hide his tears of frustration. “Well go ahead and take it! A deal’s a deal.”
The thing made a sound similar to that of clicking one’s tongue. “Now, if you were to willingly give up your precious thing,” It was drawing out its words again. “Well, that wouldn’t be very fun, now would it?” The boy could no longer see the thing, but he just knew that it was smiling. Not a taunting smile, but one of actual joy. “I asked for something you couldn’t bear to give up and that just happens to be something you had no right to bet.” A feeling of uneasiness overcame the boy. The boy continued to stand in the room for just a moment before he quickly fled, a horrid thought trailing behind him. It was at that moment that a hooded figure–similar to that of the thing–appeared where the boy was standing only moments before– seemingly appearing out of no where. “Have you done the job?” The thing asked. The hooded figure said nothing, solemnly leveling its gaze to the speaker. In response the thing smiled knowingly. “I do pity you, my dear old friend. I get to revel in all the fun while you’re blamed for the mess that follows.” “If that really is true, then you would stop these little games of yours.” The thing let out a hearty laugh before its gravelly voice replied, “We both know that I can’t do that.”
~~~ The next day, new rumors had spouted across the city. They speak of a young boy and his mother, both found dead within one night. The mother was sick, but the boy seemed to have taken his own life. A hooded bystander with an unremarkable face claimed to have seen the boy enter a house with a door that had a red X on it the night before. The bystander was remembered just long enough for the people to recall his message. New rumors were spread for many years to come, inviting new faces to the door marked with an X. It was not death that claimed two lives in the city that night; it is life itself who plays all the games. After all, death may come, but it is life that ends.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all of the wonderful artists of IPA! Thank you to all of the writers’ block members who put this magazine together. They are -Mark York (President) Courtney Spencer-Tolentino (Vice President) Cara Pangelinan (Secretary) Euna Robinson Kylee Fellows Abraham Sanchez Aidan Seymour Shania Bravo Brycen Kawakami-Tabios Dolores Black Ella Axelrod Elise Pangelinan Ezri Yuen Giovanni Delugo Jessica Sato Marc Delucchi Toni Oyama Miryam Wiggli Maddie Yamamura Zac Tocher Joelle Pang