1
993-1 994 Anderson College
Art & Literary Magazine
Digitized by the Internet Archive in
Lyrasis
2011 with funding from
Members and Sloan Foundation
http://www.archive.org/details/ivyleaves1994unse
Table of Contents Craig Crittendon
2.
Stain
3.
Smelling
4.
the beloved
Bill
DuBose
the lost eden
Bill
DuBose
My
Craig Crittendon
City
Rambo
5.
Drawing
6.
Drawing
7.
Photo
ÂŁ>.
Drawing
9.
two am.
vigil
10.
His Eye
is
11.
Midnight Chat
12.
Pas de Deux
Andi Jacoby
Forgetful Poet
Sandy
Darren
Jeff Walker
Shannon Betsinger Barry Watts Andi Jacoby
on the Sparrow
Timothy Shawn Voore
13.
Marriage Tree
14.
Come
15.
A Moonless Sea
inside
Janet Hagen
my
TV.
16. Faradlee
Miller
Teri
Smith
Teri
Smith
Mary
Nell
Tysinger
Mary
Nell
Tysinger
Hadden
17.
Drawing
Lisa
15.
Photo
Allison
19.
Drawing
John Schlude
20. Fainting
Lisa Crone
21.
In
this
room
Merry Lee Wentzky
Anna M. Whalen
22. Obituary
23. Hartwell, 24.
Mode
Oh 30643
A Heart Whose
Spirit
Anna M. Whalen Knows Mine
Anonymous
Stain A
city
kills
her mixture with scorpions
formed on flesh canvas. Tense muscles grinding from forced sweat and blood. Now scarred forever, Alone, and ready to attack each other, they sting themselves to death. Fearlessness holds the needled pictures. Ink burns the cornere as life's cancer eats out the conscience of the city, her people with their anguish on their back, stinging themselves to death.
The cries of people not afraid to die, drilling to record the faster ways they live. Othere nonexistent- they crawl on their back, hiding the truths from those who wouldn't understand. Instead, they sting themselves. Quietly,
chaos
the Ink-bled scorpions stir
Into the backs of their victims.
Alone to face the mocking bites of others, they curl up, cornered and ready to fight, then die from their own sting.
-Craig Crlttendon
Smelling The stench of
My
City
fish rises
up from the street behind an old and withered
woman
who unashamedly stares at a white-faced stranger in a cab rattling past young, desperate vendors, who risk jumping off the curb for the sale of a cigarette.
Mind-choking
smog has captured
this cold and unfamiliar place
and hides the desolate
lives
of the city's keepers.
Houses of cardboard, weather beaten and nearly torn down stand across a white palace of greed
and grandeur, where no one looks out a window that holds
the reflection of children on a
dump
digging, frantically,
Into the bowels of a city
unrecognized and orphaned.
-Craig Crlttendon
the beloved today layed away all those secrets that iVe been keeping from myself about you i
inside
my time
whispering
box
i
flashcard pictures of you
the breeze to the birds that rest in your fold the shores that lie beneath your feet
in
while walking on
at each frame
i
develop you as a black with a white
waiting until can see. your red shoes i
.
.
DuDoee
-I3ill
the lost eden passioned fruit and god fleshed roses
crowned out and over at the gate of the cemetary within these ruins lies
and truths are remembered
of chidren dancing with elves
and women covering themselves at every calloused touch the black seeds
lie
Impressed
between vines of envy and undergrowth of mans disco with lucy
as one memory lapses another the tombs became closures of those that had fallen with their hearts layed open formally of the man,
carved up
in
woman, and
child
stone -3ill
DuDoee
Darren
Ram bo
Jeff Walker
6
Shannon Detalnqer 7
Barry Watte
&
two a.m. two
It's I
a.m.,
vigil
lie
I
awake
-
listening
hear the drone of a jet from somewhere
coming home. I
hear the rattle and hiss of Bus
#44
haunting Main Street. I
hear persistant voices on the radio
"Oh
my God, the
,
And
I
-
senator's been shot!"
scream to the yellow sunflower on
my
wall,
"Why Bobby?" Another nightly I
vigil,
hear the worde of
searching for meaning
love
-
and hope leap from
The Prophet. I
hear Richard Nixon on
my
&
black
white TV
speak of Peace with Honor. Persistent voices rattle and hiss
in
my
-
brain
They gave a war and thousands came.
And touch the I
around
silver
my
peace sign
neck
"Why the
-
children?"
The witching hour long past; comfortably settled I
hear the long ago sounds of Main Street in
I
-
my dreams.
hear the tortured cries of men yet,
My
I
fallen
in
Vietnam
don't awaken.
sleepless voices no longer so persistent
For Bobby
-
-
or John, or Martin or Malcolm
-
-
Are no longer here to dream the dreams
that never were.
And
there's no one left to ask
The Prophet,
"Why not?"
-Andi Jacoby
His Eye
is
on the Sparrow
One winter morning
I
stole a brief
hectic schedule to glance out
my
moment from a
kitchen window.
Growing a few feet from the house was a young tree, barren of its leaves, awaiting the rebirth of springtime.
Verched on separate branches were a flashy, male cardinal
and a subdued, brown sparrow. The vivid contrast between the two struck me, so stood and cautiously observed I
them through the wlndowpane. Although they were of the same species, how
unlike
each other they appeared. The cardinal had a jaunty, con-
as he sat perched on the higher of the two dull attire, was much conspicuous resting on the lower branch. 3oth birds
fident air
branches. The sparrow, with his
seemed
and keenly aware of their Immediate sur-
alert
As took a step
roundings.
started.
I
Iri
less
closer to the glass, they both
an Instant, the cardinal flew
off while
the lowly
sparrow remained.
As the was
small sparrow sat serenely on the branch,
my full
able to focus
him, he no longer
appeared
uniquely beautiful!
saw many hues
attention upon
I
plain
and
I
simple.
could see his coat
I
As examined He was
it.
was
multicolored.
of brown blended together as
if
He had a glossy, and several cream-colored streaks adorning his
exquisite strokes of an artist's brush. black beak
velvet-looking breast.
monotone brown counterpart.
In
He no longer appeared a
As stood I
my
drab,
contrast to the flaming red of his only feet from him, he sat confi-
dent and bold on the small leafless branch. he knew of
I
was
presence, but he remained within
positive
my view,
unafraid.
Standing
In
the stillness of that winter morning,
mesmerized by the beauty of this tiny he
I
from the
bird,
I
wondered
was remaining on the branch to teach me a lesson
10
if
•
about
life?
My mind
numerous times
recalled a Bible story
the passages
-
in
had heard
I
Luke demonstrating
how preciously God values each one of
us.
I
remembered
Luke's example of the sparrows, not the cardinal's
Suddenly those familiar
biblical
.
words took on deeper
meaning. Turning from the window, to rush headlong into the flurry of
tion
is
often
I
everyday
life,
I
recognized how easily in life
my
atten-
and wondered how
had missed a magnificent opportunity by
my
keep
my
drawn to the cardinals
failing
to
eye on the eparrow.
-Janet Hagen
Midnight Chat 5am
gives her a goodnight kiss,
Then he leaves for the plant.
Years and yeare have paeeed,
Same
eleven o'clock tradition.
She had raised the
children,
PTA, doctore, huge, kisses.
He had worked, always
third.
Too tired for church on Sunday,
No time to converge Frovlder, yes,
As
—
only work, eat, sleep.
she needed more.
her husband's taillights faded,
Her gentleman's headlights appeared.
She unlatched the door and turned
off
the news.
-Timothy Shawn Poora
11
Pas de Deux With grace, she
wee
en polnte
lovely ballerina,
She would
poised to dance.
acroee the stage
float, then, lightly,
balletic
-
movements, motion
And on she would
in
pas de deux
glide,
embraced by her
-
poetry.
-
prince.
There wae a time for this:
With the prince of poets as her guide
-
the blue-blooded ballerina
wae known to dance
her worde
acroee the waiting page.
Now the poet
looks through a window
not his world.
his world he sees; yet, All
-
things opposite of what they appear
ae day becomes night And diamonds turn into coal through the There
is
icy
-
-
window pane.
a time for this:
When princes must peer out
-
to glance unexpected reflections
and shatter tinsel-town glass so ballerinas might dance.
-Andi Jacoby
Forgetful Poet Poems roll around In my head, Sometimes when I'm lying in bed. And oh what a fright, When get up to write, forget what my head has just said! I
I
-Sandy 12
Miller
Marriage Tree E3ride of
steel, scratching, biting
at the window, Outside, laughing diamond
darkens to an oval glacier Careless, sympathetic, but
disturbing nonetheless.
.
.
.
Method to madness, seething in
the churchyard,
Inside a union
moves
shades of earthly pale Dancing, spinning, and
insane
Sound
all
the same.
.
.
.
of thunder, screaming
for
almost an
eternity,
Reside a candle flame flickeringŠ of paradise Filling,
flooding, joining our skin. -T<sri
13
.
.
.
Smith
Come That It
inside
where we
is
may
my tv
be
live
live.
via satellite
Or previously recorded. You are happy to be on
tv.
Smell your brain burning with the currents
:
The pungent stench of your mind wasting. It's
hot
but the gang's
inside,
Changing the channel Changing your mind
So you submit,
is
is
all
here
not that hard,
harder,
sink lower,
drown
You are so apathetic
You are bought and eo\d
Just
listen.
You have seen Vanna White Soft, delicate
hands reaching out
As another contestant buys a vowel; Perhaps there
is
a star shining
From somewhere, as though behind the terminal But you will be here
Home
is
your
big screen,
your tv guide
Inside the inner walls. -"fisri
14
Smith
— ——
A
Moonless Sea
No
horizon.
I
curl
No
my toes
in
the cold sand.
light is reflected
As water I
All is quiet.
curl
from the sea
my feet.
laps softly at
my toes
in
the cold sand,
then step out towarde the black calm.
Water laps
softly at
my
knees
Liquid ice slowly encasing me.
Stepping out towarde the black calm I
stare at white crests
Liquid ice slowly I
I
slip
I
encases me
light reflected
slip into
No
towarde me.
further Into the darkness.
stare at white crests
No
rolling
rolling
towarde me,
from the sea.
the darkness
horizon,
all is
quiet.
-Mary
15
Nail
Tysinger
Paradise I
am
in
my room
peering
down on the laughing man frolicking
diamonds.
icy
in
A wiseman emerges as
snowflakes
are fused together by the strong, gentle hands that belong to daddy.
He looks to
and points
up, smiles,
as though
his creation
it
were a sculpture by Michealangelo. I
wave back, secure and happy
in
my
tiny piece of paradise.
Now am
staring Into solemn eyes
I
being told the laughing will
man
laugh no more. The voice grows
fainter'as
it
tells of
angels, heaven,
The house
a car crash,
and death. of food, of people.
is full,
Tears run together into a flood,
as strangers invade and destroy
my I
tiny piece of paradise.
am jolted
by the
back to the present
same
me to the
icy
wind that blew
past.
drift slowly
with the tears on I
Snowflakes
down, mingling
my face.
stare at the children
falling
backwards, arms outstretched, creating "angels"
trapped up secure
in
in
their
in
their
the snow.
own worlds,
own pieces of paradise.
-Mary Dedicated to Rev. Joseph
E.
16
Nell
Tysinger
Tysinger
Jr.
Lisa \Aadden
17
Allison
Mode 10
v< â&#x20AC;¢<,*., ?-;,
John Schlude 19
Uea Crone 20
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
this room, a child should be flowering, But in my forgotten room, In
am
I
I
cowering.
hear the shuffling slippers (if
only
I
could be gone!)
Daddy is coming, as he doee every dawn. The stench of lysol, swirling around him in noxious fog, The scratch of his stubble when he nuzzles me like a dog, this
All
I
I
know.
try to hide under quilts
and covers
my
For
askew,
all
premiere of sex
this is a hellish debut (He tickles me this is how it starts)
â&#x20AC;&#x201D;
I'M ONLY FOUR! What makes this worse
happened before. screaming for mother
it's
I'm
until It I
am numb
I
seems know
This
I
pointless,
she'll
never come,
know.
Whenever try to recall that room, I
There
I
I
is a void; a dank cavern; a doom. can see no vision nor Image nor life.
feel
a piercing pain
ae keen as any
When
I
knife
search for the
cannot find. The house cannot even be recaptured to mind. childhood
This room,
I
I
may
never know.
-Merry lee Wentzky 21
Obituary Watching talk ehowe while the
Mom As
her
matted blonde
hair slips to grey.
The pale Princess phone never
Mom
bird starves,
reads another self-help book
rings.
reads another self-help book
Then embalms her body with caffeine.
The pale Princess phone never
rings.
The beige sink clogs with coffee qrounde.
She embalms her body with
nicotine,
Scanning yesterday's classifieds.
The beige sink clogs with coffee qrounde.
Mom
sits
in
a one-bedroom
trailer,
Scanning yesterday's classifieds.
Watching talk ehowe while the
Mom As
sits
her
in
a one-bedroom
matted blonde
bird starves,
trailer.
hair slips to grey.
-Anna M. Whalen
22
Hartwell, Returning home, "
The sign says,
I
I
drive
read the message
Hartwell has
Camaroe thunder, I
GA 30643 clear.
Have you looked?"
Pepot Street.
cruising
toward the lake to
it.
look.
hear the former football god now works
At Newton Mills, the local sewing plant. "A damn good job for here," the natives chant Then drag and choke on Camel cigarettes.
A
crumbling boat ramp, Suicide called,
It's
attracted
Submerged
like
rural
Pier,
youths
like
me.
redneck gators, we watched
The nightly blue and purple boats that slipped
Away from
white debris and litterâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; us.
Lake waters beckoned us to swim To far off islands muddy, green, and thick.
Escaping momentarily, we laughed.
We knew no We
life
learned to
existed outside county
smoke at
Kelly's pool hall while
Our parente hummed and "It's
They
such a still
lovely place
say, "Hartwell
lines.
blithely
walked to church.
to raise our
has
it.
kids."
Have you looked?"
-Anna M. Whalen
23
A
Whose
Heart
From the moment
my
life
I
saw
changed
Knows Mine
Spirit
him,
its
course-
without effort, or pain or struggle.
From the moment our eyes met, we had known each other
And though we
forever.
didn't understand,
we accepted.
From the moment we touched we were lovers
.
.
.
Our ears heard the goodbyes but our spirits refused
From that day to
this,
the message; and our spirits remain
faithfully interwined
They speak to each other-
and
Hie place
There
if
on a breeze,
his-
In
my
summer sun
heart stands ready,
ever his spirit needs a resting place.
it will
find love,
support.
And
spirit
the snow, on rays of
in
if
my
my
.
.
and comfort,
and hope. grow weary on a
spirit should
journey to the sun, I
know
it,
too,
in
has a resting place
.
.
.
a heart whose spirit knows mine.
-Anonymous
24
Art Staff Jennifer Cox
Renate Gunnels Allison
Mode
Barry Watts
Editorial Staff
Shannon Betsinger Lisa
Edmonds
Andi Jacoby
Mary
Nell
Tysinger
Merry Lee Wentzky
Advisors Wayne Cox Susan Wooten