Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art — Vol. 69

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IVY LEAVES

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A

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and

Literary

Magazine

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Digitized by the Internet Archive in

2011 with funding from

Lyrasis IVIembers

and Sloan Foundation

http://www.archive.org/details/ivyleaves1993davi

I

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R emem ber Anonymous

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remember my daddy very vaguely. They are memories of a tall, dark man who was always laughing.

I

I

remember

the fragrant tobacco scent that clung to him, and

even today fourteen years I

think of him.

remember

I

whenever

later,

pass a tobacco shop

I

snow on

riding through the

shoulders, perched high above an icy wonderland.

dressing

up

pretty?"

sitting in his big,

would

I

I

was an ordinary

It

preschool and

my

my

milk for a snack

my

safe,

laugh and give

me

day, bright first

grade.

when we asked.

got to the

car,

almost

Mama

as

We

got home.

bedroom and we stood on daddy had been and had been

in a

killed.

not be coming back. following week.

was

in

had played on

my

chocolate

unaware that

were waiting for different.

and swung

his arms,

But

was crying. "What

Mama

is

we

it?"

tell us.

took us back into

the bed as she explained that

my my

wreck on the way home from Rock Hill She told us he was in heaven and would After that

remember

I

I

big a teaser as daddy.

"What's wrong?" They wouldn't

When we

first

both laughing, delighted because we loved

He was

our Uncle Terry.

I

afternoon nap, drank

Uncle Terry ran up, scooped us into

We were

a big

my

to build

became aware of our day being

first

me

and sunny.

secure world was falling apart.

us around.

"Yeah, you look

say,

ordinary, everyday things,

all

our ride when we

My

and

look

I

the day he died.

brother was in

the see-saws, taken

"Do

easy chair.

his teaching

remember

I

grin

Then he would

remember

snowman. And

brown

He would

ask.

pretty, pretty ugly!"

bear hug.

remember

I

church and going into the living room where

for

he would be

his

remember touching Daddy's

man

warm and

vibrant

that gray

and dismal

I

don't

remember

a lot of the

the food and the people.

all

pale, cold body,

knew.

day,

I

And

where

it

I

nothing

remember

I

like the

the funeral,

poured rain

as if

God

himself were crying.

My daddy's

death affected

my

life

in

many

ways; like a

railroad track that branches off, different direction.

I

my

moved

never

Ufe switched onto a totally into the

sunny yellow and

white room with the canopied bed and flowered wallpaper

moved

the

new

my

granddaddy's house on Lake Secession.

Instead

parsonage.

daddy preach

again.

I

Instead

I

at

into a tiny trailer next to I

my

never heard

experienced a

series

of new

But those were

preachers at Bells United Methodist Church. surface changes.

The

big changes were inside.

I

clung to

and big brother, scared that they would leave became much shyer and close to

bye.

was a

I

someone

who would

safe, perfect paradise, it

life

I've

I

become too

for granted.

it

learned that you have to

and you have

too.

My life

but within two minutes on a dark,

was shattered. That quickly

Today

mother

leave without saying good-

was taught too early not to take

foggy night

love,

else

introverted, scared to

my me

was gone. risk,

you have

to allow people to get close to you.

to

You

have to take that chance on getting hurt. But you also have to tell

people

how you

feel,

and you have

short, precious time that

tomorrow

isn't

promised.

to

make

the most of the

you have with them, because

David Moo r e

Aw^AwCft

Amanda Huan gnes

The

roses

The

clouds part,

And

the sun glistens

On

bloom,

the silvery lake.

The dew drops on

the

Flowers sparkle in

The

light.

The day moves on and.

The winds die down.

The clouds turn rosy red, As the sun begins

The

to set.

night creeps up slowly,

So slowly

it

covers the day

In a blanket of darkness.

The

stars

twinkle and reflect

Off the gently flowing stream.

The moon

it

shines with a magnificent

Gleam,

And

burns

down on

Showing the

The

the

hills

grass the way.

^^

A c

1

llie

j\leinOry Ol

crickets chirp, the frogs croak

All in the

memory

fi

"|-x

of a day.

<ci

W^

J_/

<Bl

^

Anonymous

9K

Uld beginnings ^g

J

ane

I

^

Hagen I

have not tried

Although

I

my hand at poetry for some time,

have days

when words just naturally seem

to

rhyme.

my younger, more idealistic days of youth, often put my pen to paper to try to discover "truth."

In I

As years

rolled past, the search

seemed

less

urgent,

My life became decisions revolving around some new detergent!

Kids, a job, a

Became

^Tke

my "truth" called responsibility!

Tkief

limolny ^nawn

home and "relationship compatibility,"

r

Âť

oore

Sharp and constantly roaming the corridors of my frame.

when asked to do so, sitting, lying down or raising

Refusing to cease even

Whether walking or It pays its unwanted visits.

No apothecary or powder can abort it.

Only it knows its origin and when it shall Yet it is my Alpha and Omega.

When will my smiles become true?

When will I

I

laugh as

must reclaim

Please stop,

I

cease.

once did?

my stolen youth.

you damnable

thief,

before

I

stop you.

up.

A

Dying Molker

vk Uioice

s

Love w^

or

limolny ^nawn

oore

i

Driving through the angry

Whose Cause

signs of protest

self-hate.

Who am Who am (They

I

to

Choose?

I

to

make such

act as if

Yet this

I

won't allow

it

best

my mistake

all

the

little

That's

why I

And

will shortly see

No

its

mother has to bring

my baby suffering.

have dignity in death

"Jesus loves

I

a decision?

asked for this situation.)

suffer like

can't let

will

I

must be the

I

It

mob

have

made

children of the world," they sing. this decision

my child

matter what these signs

say.

in

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;out of

Heaven

love,

God's

love.

I

bought

on I

a

two

my smile at a dollar store for

wear the

one

first

sale day.

Monday, Wednesday,

and save the second (At night I

sold

I

take

it

my dreams

for the other days.

off and put at

Friday,

it

away.)

an auction;

the highest bidder got a deal.

Only she so I

it

was

traded

doesn't I

know

who made

I

thought our

but

it

the

my diamonds

he got pleasure and gifts

I

they won't

come

true,

steal.

for dust;

got pain.

were equal,

wasn't a fair exchange.

v

ÂĽT

^K

\J

11^^K

lltltlGCl

Marissa Lee vrlover

Karla rousek

Jeffrey

S.

Walk er

Rl uby

The painting on my

on

Early work of Mother's friend Really

Ike Wall

^^^^^^^^^"

JO o ouckner

kitchen wall

not Ruby, nor beautiful except to me,

is

But brings grateful memories, when she graced

Our home with smooth moves

An

1

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

tall

and easy

ordered house, her daily ^ dance.

Feasts of odors tease

Meat

loaf,

from the kitchen:

corn bread and greens,

Ginger cake with lemon topping.

She made sauce from apples off our Peelings and cores

became

juice

and

tree

jelly

"Waste not, want not," her assurance.

Greater than these pleasures I

treasure Ruby's calm confidence

With much

love and a keen switch

She taught our

first

Her example and advice She had reared

I

son to obey.

took to heart

my

a son,

mother, only me.

Ruby, a child when her mother dies

Had no But ironed

for

And

schooling past third grade.

"Step-grandmother"

each wrinkle earned a whipping.

Married young, she bore four babies

Then was widowed

at

twenty-three.

Alone, she cared for her children.

Three lived

to

make her proud.

She worked, depending on herself

And

He

gave her

her Lord to provide. joy,

strength and direction.

Her son earned

his college degree.

The painting spoke wisdom "Waste no time

Work

life

still,

me,

in self pity

out with prayer and praise."

Now my But

to

she's

teacher,

where

Ruby, now,

is

my

she's

friend,

is

gone,

needed.

on our

son's wall.

No Marker iSlieri

Vjreen

I sit

on

a straight-back chair, in the

middle oft he wide open,

surrounded by flowers.

There I

are

no people around me, and

yet there are quite a few.

have no concept of time, seconds melt into minutes and minutes drag on to hours.

The

sky above

The

stones surrounding

is

a

solemn one with a strange

me

tell

of love and

sort

loss;

of hue.

they read of

lifetimes past.

The

fresh dirt

Time seems so

I sit

beside

now

has no marker.

to pass so slowly now, but before, time escaped us

fast.

The world

in

my eyes

Uncovered earth

has

lies at

become much

my feet,

darker.

evidencing the bottomless

chasm ahead.

Endless darkness lurks behind every vision

To

this solitary place

sorrow has been

my eyes

my guide

and

perceive.

my reverent

heart has lead.

Time

will

continue tomorrow, and

I

must make myself believe.

Behind

me

there

is

a disturbance of silence as feet are heard

shuffling through the clearing.

An

uneasy feeling overcomes

me and

Their hands strain to hold up

take a breath of cool

air.

my grief and my sorrow with

the

I

weight they are bearing.

At the

The

beautifully colored flowers

shuffling feet walk past

I

angrily stare.

me and

place

my grief and

sorrow

in a timeless hollow.

Through

my eyes shift to

the tears

They lower my enough and

see

my pain.

grief and sorrow into a grave that is

is

not wide

too shallow.

My hopes of the future were dreamed in vain.

The

grave

is

too small to hold

my happiness, my memories,

my many tears. my feet will

The

loose earth at

The

attractive casket carries

and laughter of many There

is still

no marker.

not

with

years.

it

fill

the emptiness.

into eternity

my smiles

and

The mobile

spins slowly overhead

just barely out

of reach.

Intricate parts

moving between each other bright reds pale pinks all

and

and

greens,

yellows,

interacting

without touching never connecting with each other.

People walk by just barely

me

out of reach.

Lonely souls

moving between each other fiery

tempers and jealous hearts,

sweet smiles and sunny dispositions, all

interacting

without touching never connecting with each other.

vkilnl- of

Mary

JNell

ri #^ÂŤ r

ll

â&#x20AC;˘

lysinger

Jerrrey

S.

Walker

!

1

Dav

i

J

Moo r e

I

don't

want

to be in class

listening to a boring teacher

drumming boring

repetitions into

my

brain by rote.

No.

I'd

rather be sitting in

a big oak tree

wondering how the sky got to be so blue.

I

don't

want

to be in class

doing complicated

Chemistry equations.

No.

I'd

rather be walking

down

an old country road

wondering how the

dirt got

to be so red.

I

don't

want

to be in class

studying odd-looking maps

of the solar system.

No.

I'd

rather be lying

on

a beach at night staring at the stars

and

wondering abut

m theuniverse

my place

^k

^ Vt

\iT

1

Wonderinq nonttering

Mary

JMell

^^ pt

lysinger

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

Jack-U-Lanlern ^B Margarel

Hayes JK

r>.

You're just

an old orange piece of

pumpkin

thrown out on the side of the road.

Once you a

deUght

sat in the farmer's field

to his eye.

He walked among

your neighbors

with eager hands and curious eye,

Watched you grow and shape your rounded form to be agreeable for another's eyes.

A

part of himself he yielded

when he

let

The

of his hands,

A

toil

you

go,

and

part of his heart

Now

soul.

they have thrown you out.

Crushed

in

two

large

broken pieces,

Squandered

Making food

mice and worms,

for

Adding substance

to leaves'

dark undergrowth.

Soon you Coins

A

will be

only a memory,

in the farmer's

hand,

fond delight of candle-shining

eyes

and mouth

who shaped you

to a childish heart so.

Becoming nourishment

to the

unseen heart of nature beating there

on

that quiet

hill.

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

Sunday Morning V^Laura InorpeVK Surrounded by down

An

quilts

and

pillows, soft,

invitation rains against the roof.

Between wake and Place,

sleep,

my imagination

Some unknown

suspended

takes

me

Balanced in a

driving

Upon

I

Finding strange

in the engine's

hum,

I

the gentle purring of my cat.

Inree Haiku V^Laura InorpepK Baritone bullfrogs

Commence The

the dusk concerto;

crickets applaud.

Wispy white To

places

seed, fly

unknown

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;become

A dandelion.

Sea-glazed child, the surf.

Sparkling, dances at your feet,

Summer

swing

look past raindrops falling

a dark horizon.

Comfort

To

as

down

road of the mind. Chanting

A rhyme, my voice echoes the endless Of wipers,

dream

sings in

your

heart.

awake

Raging

fire as far as

the eye can see.

A block of ice quickly melting with Yet

it's

dark

—

what we seek

Listen.

my sorrow, beat.

I

in these

Desire.

and you

and happiness

it's

dark

—

It's

real

and

now we

climaxes,

It's

feel this

the love, the lust It

unforgiving flames.

my chest

dread,

will find

in

I

it

—

yes,

it is

too

real.

both together, but it's all

in

one dull

and then

plateaus,

stir

with desperate

tried, the desire

The

one

hard to find your way.

it's

Warm water slowly freezing back to You

feel

I'm here and I'm waiting to proceed.

know,

So

okay since we can

that's

Touch

each wave.

beat

is

gone.

is

lost.

ice.

intensity.

no longer

On

beat.

fire,

there.

floating away.

-_->^

^H

J_y

G

S 1

f G

Craig v^rillendon

Jeffrey

S.

Wall er

Karla fousek

The end of life Seemingly so

is

as the

beginning.

different, they are starkly alike.

We await death as we await birth.

Not knowing

We brace ourselves, The

moment.

the hour, the

anticipate, prepare.

darkest funeral attire

is

gathered,

Just as the brightest layette.

We try to The

ease, to

comfort

pains of death as

we do

the pangs of birth.

In bidding farewell, as in welcoming.

The

family circles round,

Enclosing each

member

in

its

embrace.

^ft

XI Xj ITI

i

O T cl C G

Margarel Woolen

* IVY LEAVES STAFF * Lii e r a r y David R.

Peebles, Editor

Kim Emanuelson Marissa Glover

Sharon Keaton Tracey Kulesh Alison L. Lov^ery Melissa Perry

John Skardon

rroduction Shannon

Betsinger,

Tyler Butler

Wendy Church Karla Fousek Lisa

Hadden

Amanda Hughes David Moore Rion Pinckney Jeffrey S.

Walker

AJ Visors Anita Albert

Wayne Cox Doug Davison Susan Wooten Dr.

Cover Design and Design Concept

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