Mindprints

Mindprints

The Literary and Arts Magazine Jackson Preparatory School Junior High Volume IX 2017

mindprints@jacksonprep.org 3100 Lakeland Drive Flowood, MS 39232 601-939-8611

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Editor’s Note

Writing, photography, and artwork can give insight into the innermost thoughts and opinions of people and can show the different ideas that they have. Diversity plays a major role in the IX edition of Mindprints. We aim to include the many aspects of teenage life and the inspiration behind the works that these students have created. This addition of Mindprints is a very important issue for us because this issue is . . . US.

Editorial Policy

All selections submitted are from students who attend Jackson Preparatory School Junior High. The following selections for this magazine are chosen based on artistic merit, creativity, and style by the staff of Mindprints, the junior high literary and arts magazine.

The views represented in Mindprints are those of the individual students and do not necessarily reflect those of the staff, the advisor, or the Jackson Preparatory School Board of Trustees. Student members of the Mindprints staff conduct the design, layout, and proofreading of the magazine, and the works published are solely those of Jackson Prep students. Each student work in this volume is labelled with the artist’s name, grade level, and genre of work.

Colophon Mindprints is published by Jackson Preparatory School Junior High. Printed by Dallas Printing of Jackson, Mississippi, in 2017, this volume is designed on a Mac with Adobe InDesign CC and Photoshop CS6. Mindprints is printed on partially recycled paper with soy-based ink that has no animal byproducts.

Cover Photo US • Sarah Gregg • 9 • Contour Drawing 2

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Mindprints Staff 2017 Editor

Mary Noble Howard Assistant Editor

Abigail Metcalf Graphic Design Editor Turner Isonhood Art & Photography Editor Michelle Dashbach Writing & Editing Staff Hannah Grace Biggs

Camp Carter Hawthorne Cleveland

Olivia Wann Faculty Advisor Mrs. Kimberly Reedy

Selection of Mindprints Staff

Jackson Preparatory students, grades eight and nine, who are interested in joining the Mindprints staff for the 2017-2018 school year should complete and submit their application packet to mindprints@jacksonprep.net by May 15th. Applications are available online at jacksonprep.org/forms.

Submission of Student Work

Jackson Preparatory students, grades seven through nine for the current year’s publication of Mindprints, are encouraged to submit works of art, creative writing, and photography to mindprints@jacksonprep.net by March 1st of the current school year. All submissions will be reviewed and selected by the staff.

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Poetry and Prose

Artist Inspirations • Concrete Poem • Couplet • Dramatic Monologue Editorial • Five-minute Short Story • Haiku • Short Story • Free Verse Mixed Meter • Prose Poem • Short Story • Sonnet

Father Time Deadly Touch Caged Dreams I am a Rose The King and His Boy Her Crown No one sees my Heart Fly Away Class Reports Watermarks Trump Takes Steps to Strengthen American Immigration Policy Perspective Time’s Up Mesmerized Bystander War Never Changes it may come down to choices The Broken One Blades Life Independent Riley A Well of Thoughts

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9 10 12 13 15 16 - 20 21 22 24 26 28 30 - 32

JC Polk Caroline Dreher Hawthorne Cleveland Camp Carter Olivia Wann Abigail Metcalf Brennan Joy Hight Hannah Grace Biggs Katie Hubacek Olivia Wann Brittany Wilson Hannah Grace Biggs

33 37 39 40 43 44 46 48 50 52 55 56

Turner Isonhood Maggie Muenzenmay Anna Grace Morgan George Pittman Foster O’Quinn Rachel Regan Olivia Wann Trinity Scalia Andrew Banks Marilee Cleveland Havens Smith Camp Carter

Building Castles Yellow Tulips The Happy Sunflower The Good Old Days A Peculiar Place Life is like art Life Bones Strategically Planned Unicorn Trapped Calm Before the Storm Lost Brothers Verum Bellum Falling Superstition The Scend “Smile” The Unique Miracle Country House The Soldiers’ Road As Days Pass By I Won’t Forget Hope Golden Dreams Disadvantages Children Suffer Due to the Educational System Paint Artist Inspirations

59 60 63 64 68 70 72 75 77 79 80 83 85 87 88 - 89 91 92 - 93 94 96 - 98 101 102 105 106 109 111 112 - 113

JC Polk Brady Winscott Will Davis Anna Voynik Chloe Tew Ruth Emmerich Victoria Chough Kathryn Weir Caroline Dreher Sara Simmons Ainsley Sinclair David Crews Austin Lambing Spencer Byrd Anna Belson Hannah Grace Biggs Spencer Williams Mary Noble Howard Marshun Thomas Preston Speed Joe Bryant Leigh Hardin Mary Noble Howard Abigail Metcalf Harlee Heard Mary Noble Howard

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Michelle Daschbach Various Mindprints IX 2017

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Art and Photography

Batik • Ceramic • Charcoal • Contour Drawing • Digital Art • Mixed Media Pastel • Photograph • Sculpture • Sketch • Watercolor

Do You See Me? Wallflower Rose My Hand Is Your Hand Blue Fly By Eight Glistening Good Night Moon Breaking in the Wind Stitching It Together City Lights Self-Portrait The Wall Drifting Thoughts Glares Thorns Valley Below Textures Monochromatic Bird Brain Dinner for One The Sunflower Reality?

Put a Sock in It Don’t Cry over Spilt Milk 6

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8 11 14 17 23 24 - 25 27 29 33 34 - 35 36 38 41 42 45 47 49 50 - 51 53 54 57 61 62 65 66 66

Carlie Gleason Gayle Grantham Mont Mitchell Maddie Grace Puckett Ethan Williams Mary Noble Howard Sarah Scott Gideon Hali Hollman Sarah Gregg Michelle Daschbach Meredith Chrislip Gayle Grantham Mary Petty Hardin Abigail Metcalf Gayle Grantham Michelle Daschbach Tatum Henry Alice Ann Hollingsworth Alex Roberson Maddie Grace Puckett Cassidy ZumMallen Hannah Grace Biggs Abby Huff Michelle Daschbach Kathryn Weir Mary Noble Howard

Head Screwed On Full Moon Socially Inept Never-Ending Shoeless Thursday Nights and Football Lights Flying Hair Hair Raising Director’s Chair Queenstown Remember Columns Summit Ahuriri Valley Narnia Replica of Girl with a Pearl Earring Three Amigos Black Gold Extreme Perspective Side by Side Mud Running Shoe Leftover Fragments Downtown

67 68 -69 71 73 74 76 - 77 78 78 81 82 - 83 84 86 88 - 89 90 92 - 93 95 96 99 100 103 104 107 108 - 109 110 114 - 115

Neha Adari Anna Reagan Mask Anderson Nixon Hannah Grace Biggs Cassidy ZumMallen Maddie Grace Puckett Elizabeth Clarke Aubrey Taylor Michelle Daschbach Mary Noble Howard Hannah Grace Biggs Michelle Daschbach Hannah Grace Biggs Mary Noble Howard Hannah Grace Biggs Alex Roberson Michelle Daschbach Michelle Daschbach Anna Reagan Mask Mary Pettey Hardin Mary Noble Howard Josh Oden Mary Noble Howard Hannah Grace Biggs Maddie Grace Puckett

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Do You See Me? Carlie Gleason • 8 • Sketch

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Father Time JC Polk • 9 • Dramatic Monologue Have you, my child, ever heard a baby’s first cry or have you watched a young soldier die I have Have you watched a young girl weep of a broken heart or a man in a cell plead for a new start I have Have you watched civilization grow Have you watched the world age Have you watched man struggle knowing their lives were a mere turn of the page I have I do not feel their pain I do not know their suffering But I understand all the same to watch these things and do nothing drives me near insane I want to intervene I want to be of aid I want to be seen But I cannot Their problems are not mine Not my burdens to bear For I move in my own space A shade of then and there

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Deadly Touch Caroline Dreher • 9 • Free Verse The sword is like a flower: both can harm you with a touch.

They enthrall you with their glamour, but they pierce you when you clutch.

They are deadly in beauty, but they can overcome your fearIs this danger really worth it, for the thrill of drawing near?

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Wallflower Gayle Grantham • 9 • Photograph

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Caged Hawthorne Cleveland • 8 • Free Verse I feel Rope, burning marks into my skin I see Darkness, so pitch black I go blind I am Suffocating yet the need for air is no longer there

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Dreams Camp Carter • 8 • Couplets I go there often but almost never remember The time I spent in peaceful slumber Dreaming of things, people, adventures, and fun How I hate to leave them when my resting is done

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Rose Mont Mitchell • 7 • Ceramic

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I Am a Rose Olivia Wann • 9 • Concrete Poem

I am a rose I am beautiful,

but I have thorns If you make me laugh,

you’ll see my beauty

If you make me cry, you’ll see my thorns

From far away, I look innocent

From close up, I have many flaws

Once I bloomed with beauty bright One day, I’ll wither away and die I leave many memories behind And many more when I bloom again

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The King and His Boy Abigail Metcalf • 9 • Short Story

T

he King and His Boy. It’s been so long since I have read that book. I dust off the cover and open it up as nostalgia washes over me. “Written by Tommy Palmer and Roger Jones” reads the first page. ​Tommy. It’s been so long since anyone has called me that.

I just go by Tom now. It sounds more professional. As I flip through the pages of the special book, the memories of that summer come flooding ba​ck. ​That summer. It was the summer of ‘79. My mother was working and my father was—well—wasn’t around. That Friday afternoon made me believe in global warming, and I had absolutely nothing to do—at least that’s what seven-year-old me thought. I had started off the day playing outside, but then the Dobson boys, the neighborhood bullies, came around and scared me, so I stay for inside for a while after that.

The Dobson boys are triplets, and my mother says they share a brain. She also says that even though they have three brains put together, mine’s still bigger. When I decide that it is safe to venture out again, I am hit by the heat. I hop on my bike and ride to my favorite spot in the whole universe, a forest-like area in the center of my neighborhood. I like to go there and pretend that I am some boy from medieval times who is training to be a knight. The only problem is that there is a fearsome dragon lurking in these woods. Well, he’s not really a dragon—he’s a big dog with shaggy black hair. I still think he can breathe fire though. Anyway, my task is to avoid getting eaten by the dragon—I mean—dog. After an hour or so, I hear my belly start to growl. My mom will be home soon, and we are having spaghetti. As I am on my way, I hear three familiar voices. The Dobson boys. My heart starts beating a little bit faster as I anticipate what’s coming.

“Hey! Weirdo!” one yells.

“Are you deaf?” another shouts.

“Just stupid,” says the third.

I try to ignore them, but they cut me off. Grimacing and trying to give them a Go Away look, I get off my bike an​d stand tall, forcing my knees not to buckle. ​Not now. I point my imaginary sword in their direction. Then, something incredible happens. It works! Their faces turn ghostly white, and they ride away swiftly. But soon I realize that they weren’t 16

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running from me. They were running from something behind me—something with a very big shadow. I slowly turn around to see the dragon himself in front of me, except in this light, he didn’t seem so mean. Actually, he seemed kind of nice. The dog saunters over to me and starts licking my hand. I smile and pet him.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Then, I hurry home. ~:~ Bang!

Quick, sound the alarm! I think. ​The castle is under attack! Nevermind. It was just my mom leaving. She must have slammed the door too hard on her way out. Well, I might as well eat breakfast since I’m up. I attempt to pour myself a glass of milk and grab a hand full of marshmallows. I stuff them in my mouth and run out the door to my next adventure.

I think I will try to find the dragon again today. He could be my sidekick as we battle the forces of evil—uh, I mean the Dobson boys. Luckily, Dragon finds me. He runs around me in circles until I become dizzy, then darts away like an arrow heading for its target.

“HEY! Come back here, Dragon!” I yell as I chase after him. My legs start to feel like heavy weights as we run farther and farther from home. Suddenly, he disappears into someone’s yard. Then, I realize that it is Old Man Roger’s yard. The Dobson boys say he eats children. When I told my mom, she said they were being virulent, but I don’t know what that word means, so it wasn’t much help. I’m only seven and a half after all! Anyways, even if the Dobson boys are just lying, I don’t want to take any chances. I turn on my heel to leave when Dragon starts barking at me.

My Hand Is Your Hand

Maddie Grace Puckett • 9 • Photograph

“SHH!” I say to him, but he just won’t listen! To my horror, Old Man Roger steps Mindprints IX 2017

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out of the door with his combed white hair and looks at me queerly.

“What are doing, young man?”

“DRAGON! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! YOU WOKE THE SLEEPING BEAST!” I shout. The old man just chuckles and sighs,​​oblivious to the insult.

“His name’s not Dragon. It’s Arthur,” he says. I stop dead in my tracks.

“You mean ​like​King Arthur?” I asked amazed at the brilliant name. The man’s face lights up.

“Precisely! Most people don’t understand why I gave Arthur his name. You are the first to guess that I named him in honor of the legend.” The house seems to grow as I get closer, but not in a foreboding way. It is as if it has transformed into a castle. I keep expecting to see a knight or a king. Then, my tummy grumbles, interrupting my thoughts. I guess I’m always hungry.

“What’s your name, young squire?” the old man asks. He seems to have transformed like the house. I wonder if he could be a king.

“I’m Tommy Palmer, and I am seven and a half!” I say as I puff out my chest. Real knights stand tall when addressing the king. I learned that from my stories.

“Well, Tommy, my name is Roger Jones, but you can call me Mr. Roger,” he says with a gleam in his bright blue eyes. “Say, would you and Arthur like to come inside for some breakfast?” I can feel my face light up.

“That would be wonderful!” As I step inside, the smell of bacon fills my nostrils. I take a seat at his round table while he loads my plate with eggs, bacon, and toast. I eat it as quickly as I can without looking like a pig. My mom says pigs don’t eat at the table, and if I act like one, then I can’t either.

“Thanks, Mr Roger. I ate some marshmallows this morning, but they don’t fill me up.” He nods as if he understands.

“I saw your mother leave for work this morning. Is your father at your house?” Mr. Roger asks.

“I don’t have a father, but it’s okay. My mom says the only father I need is the one up above. Hey, did you really write this book?”

“I did. I used to be an author.”

“Well, what are you now?”

“Retired.”

“But why? I heard that the older you are the better you write. My mom says that it has to do with your experiments—I mean experience.”

“Well, let’s just say that life can be full of duplicity.”

“What does duplimythy mean?”

“It’s duplicity, and it means deceit.”

“Well, I still don’t think that is a good reason to stop writing. I wish I could write a story. Not one of those stories about your favorite color or food, but a real story with kings 18

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and dragons and knights. I told you earlier I was training to be a knight, but that’s not true.

I made it up. I’m just a boy,” I tell him defeatedly. He looks at me with warm eyes.

“Even King Arthur started out as just a boy.”

“Can the king have a pet dragon?” ~:~

After church on Sunday, I rush my mom home. I want to eat lunch so I can go to Mr. Roger and Arthur’s house.

“Where are you off to that has you in such a rush, little mister?” she asks with a grin.

“I have to go to Mr. Roger’s house! He knows everything about kings and knights!”

“Roger Jones?” she says surprised. “I forgot he lives in our neighborhood. I used to love to read his books when I was little.”

“Well, he doesn’t write them now because he is refired—I mean retired. He says that life is full of duplicity.”

“Well, maybe you can teach him that it’s not all bad,” she says and pinches my cheeks. She does that a lot. I think it must be to make sure my cheeks are strong. I step outside, and Arthur comes running up to me. I follow him to Mr. Roger’s house. Then, I run up and knock on the door, and he opens it almost immediately.

“I have decided to write another story, but only if you will agree to help me,” he says as he smiles down at me. I look at him like a kid looks at Santa.

“Really? What will it be about?” I ask enthusiastically.

“Well, if it’s all right with you, I was thinking about writing a story about a boy who meets a king and—”

“Can the king have a pet dragon?”

“Yes.”

“Then, let’s start writing!” We go inside and sit down at his round table. Then, we discuss the characters, their personalities, and the goal. I had no idea how much work went into writing a story, so I’m just glad that Mr. Roger is here to help me. He tells me about “story language” which is the fancy way you say words so your story will sound better. It was very informational. Apparently, you don’t say the k​ ind dragon—you say the ​ friendly dragon. You don’t say the ​good knights—you say the chivalrous knights. And you NEVER say the n​ice king because nice is a boring word. You can say the benevolent king instead. So once all the discussions were done, we finally wrote. . . and wrote and wrote.

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Once there was a boy. He was not a prince or a knight or a lord. He was just a boy, but he knew that he would one day be so much more. The young lords in the kingdom looked down on him. They could not see his true worth behind the dirt on his diffident face, but the boy never faltered. He knew life was a journey, and it required courage and compassion. One day as he was walking through the forest, he saw a dragon. At first he was frightened because the dragon was menacing, but as he saw the eyes of the beast, he realized it was only an amiable creature. Then, the boy saw the real problem. There was a thorn in the dragon’s foot, so the chivalrous boy relieved the dragon of his pain. The next day the boy went into the forest to meet his new friend, the dragon.

Only this time a great king accompanied the creature.

“My dear boy, you have helped my dragon, and for that I shall reward you. Please come stay at my palace and learn the ways of a prince.” So the boy did. The king and his boy grew to be great friends, and the boy could finally see what he was meant to be.

I reread what Mr. Roger and I have written. I can’t believe we have been writing for TWO WHOLE days, and I think it is very good so far. Mr. Roger says we will write the ending tomorrow, but just as I am about to drift into dreams of dragons, I hear Arthur barking outside my window. He seems desperate. I wonder what could be the matter. I dash outside to try and calm him down, but he just won’t stop barking. My mom runs outside frantically. She forgets to hang the phone up, and the cord yanks her back. I would have laughed except she isn’t smiling. I think she is crying. She drops the phone and puts Arthur and me in her car.

“Come here, my boy,” he says. I do. “I want you to know that I lied when I said that life is full of duplicity. It’s not. I just. . . thought you should know that.” I can tell it is getting harder for him to speak, so I just listen. “Please, finish the story. Finish y​ our story.”

“But I can’t. Not without ​you.”

“This story is yours. You are the hero, and you have been all along. Finish the story. Finish it for me.” His eyes close, and a peace crosses his face. My tears roll off my cheeks, and I can taste the salt when they reach my mouth. I hold Arthur, and my mom holds me. I know what I have to do.

The king and his boy learn together and laugh together. Their experiences will last a lifetime, but the king gets older, and he becomes ill. As he lays on his deathbed, he calls his boy over.

“My son, please take this kingdom. Rule it with the kindness that I taught you. You are the hero. Rule it for me.” Tears roll down the boy’s face, but he knows what he has to do, and he rules the kingdom with grace. He rules it for his king.

Years later, this book still holds the memories that shaped my life. I wouldn’t be half the man I am today if it wasn’t for Mr. Roger. He saw what was within me and brought it to life. When no one else believed in me, he did. Even though he was only mine for a few days, I cherish those moments because he was my king, and I was his boy.

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Her Crown Brennan Joy Hight • 9 • Sonnet The crown had jewels and gold around the rim A sight to see from all the world in fall From Queens to Greece, they could not hide their grim And sad with faults, they all tried not to bawl Across the land, a girl with joy and hope Surrounds the trees and birds who make her fly Throughout the clouds she sees the dreams that mope With love, she frees their fears of which they cry Sweet songs from deep within her heart and mind She flew with dreams that had a brand new start They told of crowns and jewels of lands to find And friends who fought so they could have a part Of tales that tell of friends who had no chance And turned into angels who loved to dance

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No one sees my Heart Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Free Verse I can’t let them I must protect it from the outsiders I can’t show them I must hide it the one thing I love I can’t reveal it I must pretend like everything’s ok I can’t cry I must laugh because I have no right to be sad I can’t be who I want I must fit a mold you think you rule my life I can’t but I can and I’ll show you your rules don’t fit me and one day you’ll see my heart

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Blue Ethan Williams • 7 • Mixed Media

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Fly Away

Katie Hubacek • 9 • Haikus Growing Up This cannot be helped.

We all need to leave sometime.

Fly away small bird.

Spite I’ll jump off this cliff, Because my mom said not to.

I do it in spite.

Regret I tried to help you.

I think I made it worse, ‘Cuz you just left me.

Stubborn Love To taunt me, perhaps?

You came running to my side.

Please, just leave me here.

Fly By Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Photograph 24 Mindprints IX 2017

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Class Reports Olivia Wann • 9 • Free Verse I look up at the clock Still five more minutes I look at the class for comfort I only find more discomfort I try to get my words out When I open my mouth, nothing comes out I breathe heavily I clench my fists Still five more minutes

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Eight Sara Scott Gideon • 9 • Mixed Media

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Watermarks Brittany Wilson • 9 • Free Verse Personality, like water, is beautiful.

Free-flowing silk and versatility within reach.

Pure and free, warm and inviting, Deep, and full of volume, With submerging waves.

Fluid filtering everything— Overlapping feelings of character, Dripping life into souls.

Waves toppling objectively.

Swim upstream against rippling waves, Whirl in a pool sweeping away in essence.

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Glistening Hali Hollman • 7 • Photograph

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Trump Takes Steps to Strengthen American Immigration Policy Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Editorial

O

n January 27, 2017, recently elected President Donald J. Trump signed an executive order that sparked national controversy. The order, which blocks travel from seven majority Muslim countries, has been the subject of countless newscasts, articles, and debates.

Some call the order unconstitutional, while others insist that it is well within the powers of the president and in our nation’s best interests. With terrorism on the rise, many Americans believe that the government should be taking greater strides to protect its citizens and agree that the Obama administration was decidedly lax on United States’ refugee policies.

detrimental effects of mass refugee immigration. Taking into account the events of recent months, Donald Trump’s executive order should be viewed as a step in the right direction for American immigration policy.

In a speech made on Saturday, February 20, Donald Trump cited Sweden as an example of the destructive effects caused by the mass entrance of refugees. Sweden has been “having problems like they never thought possible,” Trump stated, referring to the large numbers of Middle Eastern refugees admitted to the country in the past year.

Riots in an immigrant-rich suburb of Stockholm the following Monday squelched the counterclaims “Many Americans believe of several Swedish politicians who that the government should argued that Trump’s statements were Jimmie Akesson and Mattias be taking greater strides false.

Karlsson, two leaders of the Sweden to protect its citizens.” Democrats, further confirmed Trump’s claims. “Mr. Trump did not exaggerIn addition, several European coun- ate Sweden’s current problems. If anytries have spoken out about the thing, he understated them,” the two 30 Mindprints IX 2017

wrote in a Wall Street Journal op-ed.

They went on to say that “riots and social unrest have become a part of everyday life” and “[emergency] personnel are regularly attacked.” The op-ed continued, “despite very strict firearms laws, gun violence is five times as common in Sweden than the capitals of our three Nordic neighbors combined.” The situation in Sweden is a stark foreshadowing of what the United States could experience if the government does not regain control of refugee immigration. Akesson and Karlsson ended the op-ed with a warning: “For the sake of the American people . . . we can only hope that the leaders in Washington will not make the same mistakes that our socialist and liberal politicians did.”

Via Donald Trump’s executive order, the travel of all non-legal citizens from Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen is banned for 120 days. These countries alone account for approximately 40% of the United States’ refugee intake, as reported by

The Atlantic in 2015. This drastic reduction of refugee flow across American borders will allow for stronger vetting procedures to be developed and practiced, ensuring that officials know exactly who they are admitting into the country; this not only helps ensure the safety of American citizens but also the safety of those visiting the country. One major concern regarding the ban is the effect it would have on green card holders. However, a statement from John Kelly, the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, confirms their status in the order: “In applying the provisions of the president’s executive order, I hereby deem the entry of lawful permanent

“Sometimes those in power are called upon to make difficult decisions for the greater good of the nation.” residents to be in the nation’s interest.” The ban only applies to those Mindprints IX 2017

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who are not currently legal citizens of the United States. Green Card holders and all other legal citizens are still allowed to freely enter and leave the country. President Trump also cites a 1952 immigration law, the McCarran-Walter Act, which gives the president the power to suspend entry “of all aliens or any class of aliens” into the US when it is deemed “detrimental to the interests of the United States.” According to the powers granted to the president, Donald Trump’s executive action is entirely legal and well within the authority of his office.

Many are concerned that those who have recently been approved to enter the United States have been blocked by the order, wasting years of work and effort that were spent completing the process.

However, those critics fail to recognize the limited status of the ban; it will only last for 120 days, and those authorized will be allowed to enter once again. The president cannot ensure the safety of American citizens and simultaneously make everyone happy. Sometimes those in power are called upon to make difficult decisions for the greater good of the nation. President Trump is taking steps to put American citizens first, a prospect greatly favored by many.

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In conclusion, a historical precedent has already been set regarding President Trump’s executive order. The order provides a way for officials to slow immigration while they work to develop stronger vetting procedures. Many Americans favor the action, as they believe the United States government should be taking greater steps to protect its citizens.

Once the ban is lifted, stronger vetting procedures will be in place, better ensuring the safety of American citizens.

Bibliography Calamur, Krishnadev. “What Trump’s Executive Order on Immigration Does and Doesn’t Do.” The Atlantic. 30 Jan. 2017 Web. 20 Feb. 2017.

Exec. Order No. 13769, 3 C.F.R. (2017).

Print.

United States of America. U.S. Department of State. Bureau of Counterterrorism and Countering Violent Extremism. U.S. Department of State. The Office of Website Management, 2 June 2016. Web. 20 Feb. 2017. www.state.gov/j/ct/rls/crt/2015/257526. htm.

“Sweden Democrats: Trump Was Right.”

Fox News Politics. 23 February 2017,

www.foxnews.com/politics/2017/02/23/ sweden-democrats-trump-was-right.html.

Accessed 22 March 2017.

Zurcher, Anthony. “Is Trump’s Immigration Order Legal?” Editorial. BBC News. 6 Feb. 2017. Web. 20 Feb. 2017.www.bbc.com/

Perspective Turner Isonhood • 9 • Free Verse I was innocent You said I was guilty I’d done nothing You Punished me I wanted life You gave me death You messed up I took the fall You said it was your body I knew it was mine You thought you had no choice I knew it wasn’t yours to make

Good Night Moon Sarah Gregg • 9 • Photograph Mindprints IX 2017 33

Breaking in the Wind Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Photograph 34 Mindprints IX 2017

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Time’s Up Maggie Muenzenmay • 9 • Dramatic Monologue It strikes when you least expect it during the day in the middle of the night, when out with friends.

It strikes when you can’t take one more hit.

I’m sick of it.

Time is a thief, and I won’t let it steal from me.

Stitching It Together Meredith Chrislip • 9 • Photograph

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Mesmerized

Anna Grace Morgan • 9 • Mixed Meter A concert is like a fire; It consumes you from the start Lighting up the sky Like a burning in your heart.

It’s all so wild and crazy— Never to be tamed, But as time goes, both fade away, And new burning music fans dimming flames.

City Lights Gayle Grantham • 9 • Photograph

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Bystander George Pittman • 7 • Mixed Meter When we’re threatened We all hide When we’re not We come outside When we see our friend In pain We act like it Is just a game

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Self-Portrait Mary Pettey Hardin • 9 • Watercolor

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War Never Changes Foster O’Quinn • 7 • Couplets Swords clashing are a symbol of war, It never forgives and always takes more.

War is a never-ending slaughter, Some soldiers never come back to their sons and to their daughters.

Soldiers kill other soldiers with total blindness, Like an endless void with total darkness.

The Grim Reaper takes lives of all ages; War never changes.

The Wall Abigail Metcalf • 9 • Photograph

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it may come down to choices Rachel Regan • 7 • Mixed Meter the consequences of our lives, whether he lives or dies, it all comes down to choices. he is feeling depressed, however we cannot rest, we must raise our voices, for it all comes down to choices. we are glad we did not banish, because we held him from the damage, for we stopped him with our choices. since we raised our voices, that put inside our head, that not all good is dead, to not only be wise, but also not to quickly decide, because it may come down to choices.

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Drifting Thoughts Gayle Grantham • 9 • Photograph

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The Broken One Olivia Wann • 9 • Free Verse She looks away For no one to see her innocent tears She tries to be lost in the crowd She wants no one to know her identity She is a straggler falling far behind She hopes to one day fit in, but maybe not She feels unwanted, so she tries to be As years pass, I find that the broken one was only me

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Glares Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Photograph

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Blades

Trinity Scalia • 7 • Couplets Blades are a symbol of Power Although sharp, they are as delicate as a flower.

The metal glints hard as steel As you hold it in your hand you feel The story behind the fierce metal knife; It feels as if it can ruin your life.

Its wicked blade clatters to the floor, It’s not going to hurt anyone anymore.

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Thorns Tatum Henry • 8 • Batik

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Life Andrew Banks • 8 • Free Verse Life An adventure book With each turn of the page, The plot progresses, And the protagonist may meet A traitorous former friend upon the field of battle Or perhaps An unexpected ally to assist in vanquishing A common foe.

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Valley Below-Alice Ann Hollingsworth

Valley Below Alice Ann Hollingsworth • 9 • Photograph Mindprints IX 2017 51

Independent Marilee Cleveland • 7 • Mixed Meter Family will pray everyday and in bed I lay wondering if blessings will come into play They say I have to work hard and that’s what I will do if I want to be Independent one day

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Textures Alex Roberson • 8 • Sketch

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Monochromatic Maddie Grace Puckett • 9 • Photograph

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Riley Havens Smith • 7 • Prose Poem

R

iley. A name that means all alone. At least that's what I think. I have lived my entire life locked in a hotel room. I don't remember anything except this hotel room. I have one clue to get out. A riddle that states there is someone else in this room. I've never found them. Twelve years I've been searching. Every detail of this room is memorized.

From the silky curtains to the luxurious bed, I know it all. I search through the room each day. It’s clockwork. First, under the bed, then the chair, tap all the walls looking for secret compartments. I look all day. Also, the meals magically appear at the right times. Oh, wait. I just woke up. It has all been a dream.

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A Well of Thoughts Camp Carter • 8 • Free Verse People are like wells Some are shallow, some deep Some are bitter, some sweet So if you open yourself to others, You will be favored by many and although you may lose something You will be filled again with more.

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Bird Brain Cassidy ZumMallen • 9 • Sculpture

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We are an inspired youth. We tease an idea until it becomes art. We are different, yet those differences create strength.

Together, we are . . .

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Building Castles JC Polk • 9 • Sonnet What does freedom mean in the world today Does it mean to be free of heavy chains Or quit everything and run away To be relieved of all troubles and pains Is it only to be free of evil A flower sheltered from a thunderstorm The eyes who stay behind the windowsill An actor who trains but never performs I think freedom is a child’s decision To build a castle or draw a cartoon Make a new world from a childhood vision Leaving the old behind like a cocoon Work to help our climbing world reach its prime Change it, one tiny vision at a time

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Yellow Tulips Brady Winscott • 8 • Five-minute Short Story stand beside the hospital bed, trying to control my emotions. The pot of flowers was still sitting on the table, the bow marking the perfect gift. I pray, begging for this to be a dream. Looking at my mom, I sob, “ Pinch me! Wake me up from this nightmare! This cannot be happening! It can’t!” I kneel by the bed, and try to find my grandmother’s pulse, her cold eyes still looking for a hint of life. I then move to her chest, searching blindly for a heartbeat. After minutes, seeming like hours, I finally give up hope. She’s gone. I think to myself. She’s not coming back. The memories rush at me like a freight train: picking flowers in the yard, running shoeless on the sand. My heart sinks even lower.

I look back at the flowers—the yellow tulips I purchased on the way here. Yellow was always her favorite color, and she always adored the smell of tulips. The red bow, shining through all this darkness, attempted to lift my spirits, but there was nothing it could do. Tears flowing down my face like a never ending stream, I start off, trying to imagine life without Grandma. I do not even make it to the door when I break down again, falling into my mother’s loving embrace. Mother silently motions me to the bedside table, where a Bible is lying still. I notice a bookmark sticking out of the top, and I rapidly flip through the pages. Romans 12:2, it reads, “ ​Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” Tears form in my eyes again. Romans 12:2 is my favorite verse. We read it together on the back porch watching the sunset some 15 years ago. I will cherish these special moments in my heart for the rest of my life.

Grandma still lives; she lives in my heart.

I

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Dinner for One Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Photograph

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The Happy Sunflower Will Davis • 8 • Free Verse

There was a flower

one like no other.

He had yellow petals

and a brown middle.

A special flower

this one was,

for he was a sunflower.

The beautiful flower

had no friends,

for they had all passed

from thirst and age.

He was the only flower left

in the vase.

One sad day

A petal fell off And then another And another And another.

For he knew

that he would soon pass.

Only three petals left on the sunflower.

But, shortly another petal fell

until there was one petal left.

The flower had faith in his survival until the last petal fell.

And he began to droop, And the flower hanged by a thread, until the thread gave loose.

The once beautiful flower, The bright sunflower fell to the ground, and it was all over.

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The Good Old Days​ Anna Voynik • 7 • Free Verse Sometimes I remember the good old days With my grandma having a pretend tea party.

We would use water instead of tea with the nicest cups and kettle.

Both dressed up with long, fake pearl necklaces.

The room smelled old like an old photograph, lined with wallpaper and flowers.

I still can’t imagine anything better than that.

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Reality?

Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Photograph

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Put a Sock in It Kathryn Weir • 9 • Ceramic

Don’t Cry over Spilt Milk Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Ceramic 66 Mindprints IX 2017

Head Screwed On Neha Adari • 9 • Sculpture

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A Peculiar Place Chloe Tew • 8 • Couplets The night sky is a peculiar place with constellations and stars that are easy to trace.

I can gaze up above with ease and wonder, with each star as powerful as thunder.

The earth is its own art; But we are slowly tearing its canvas apart.

Its colors have grown boring and dull; Its beautiful face decaying to a skull.

Full Moon Anna Reagan Mask • 9 • Photograph 68 Mindprints IX 2017

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Life is like art Ruth Emmerich • 8 • Free Verse Life is like art Every piece is unique Sometimes it’s messy, but a beautiful mess.

Some people don’t appreciate the odd, yet exquisite pieces.

Yet, every piece is perfectly created by the most beautiful artist of all.

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Socially Inept Anderson Nixon • 9 • Digital Art

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Life Victoria Chough • 8 • Free Verse A seemingly endless hallway.

The walls are naked and bare.

You can’t remember the beginning, but you’re too far away to see the end.

You know the exit is somewhere, but it seems lightyears away.

You walk and waltz until your feet go numb, and you’re used to the walking, until you fall.

You get hurt but you recover, and you keep walking.

As you walk, the hallway changes color and music you could never stop listening to plays.

You dance your way through until the music dims, and the walls undress themselves.

You repeat this cycle until you see the exit door.

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Never-ending Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Photograph

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Bones Kathryn Weir • 9 • Mixed Meter My love for you could never possibly cease Until I rest my eyes in cold, dark death.

Your touch is soft, feels like a sheep’s fleece The softness that feels like you have no breath.

Your kiss so soft melts my heart away My darkness and madness are so quickly forgotten Your embrace makes me happy when skies are gray.

You melt my heart; you’re my only begotten.

One day the Lord will take you into his home.

My darkness returns and brings my madness back with it.

I stand there weeping over your lifeless bones I will not move on and I want to quit.

I bring myself up for I know that I must be strong It hurts to live without true love for so long.

Shoeless Cassidy ZumMallen • 9 • Charcoal

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Thursday Nights and Football Lights Sarah Gregg • 9 • Photograph 76 Mindprints IX 2017

Strategically Planned Caroline Dreher • 9 • Free Verse A chalkboard is like America…

The past can be forgotten.

Marks erased in seconds.

Newer thoughts begottenAs grand as “We the people,” As lame as one more pop quiz.

How do we get a more perfect union When we don’t know what it is?

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Flying Hair Elizabeth Clarke • 8 • Contour Drawing

Hair Raising Aubrey Taylor • 8 • Contour Drawing 78 Mindprints IX 2017

Unicorn Sara Simmons • 9 • Sonnet I know the compulsion is not healthy And I know this desire is not the best And yet, I find it to be so stealthy I guess, maybe, I am just too obsessed.

As I sit here thinking about today The awful disbelief everyone has So “What,” I think, “would a unicorn say?”

And, yet, people still think I am the spaz.

And when I am thinking about that pet Imagining, it fills me with such joy Oh, yes, my decision is locked and set We will search for one. This is not a ploy.

Oh, and please trust me, promise you will see I will bring back one so you will agree.

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Trapped Ainsley Sinclair • 9 • Sonnet Should I give trust to you who hurt my heart or hide myself from whom I fear the most?

You made my life look like a piece of art but soon you took me like you were a host I fell so hard when you threw your last punch and left me when I fell for your mistake Then you had the nerve to ask for lunch but I realized how much I had at stake So you just thought you could walk right back in and play my heart like it was a guitar These thoughts then made my head begin to spin It made me feel like I was in a jar but if you were to truly let me leave I would not ever be able to breathe

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Director’s Chair Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Charcoal Sketch

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Queenstown Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Photograph 82 Mindprints IX 2017

Calm Before the Storm David Crews • 9 • Sonnet The man, so very lost, went to the sea.

And as he wept so long to God above He soon recalled his life and bride to be He sat and knew there was nothing to save He stared so long at the shore so windswept He thought about the days with her in waves And soon his fate he began to accept He knew there was no more time to delay He knew that this was his only escape The bliss of death was tearing him away He knew his life with her would not take shape He knew he could not fight the urge to weep He thought of her and took, at last, the leap.

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Lost Brothers Austin Lambing • 9 • Mixed Meter There is no way to tell what’s bad or good.

In war there are so many lost brothers.

How many people need to die for good When no one knows what good is to others.

A creature can try to defend its home But is seen as an abhorrent disgrace.

To set upon a creature with such loathe Might show many faults of the human race.

A victor can paint losers anyway he wants to because that’s the way it goes.

The losers do not have a right to say What they think about or what can be heard or closed.

What this should make you think and uncover Is not to judge a book by its cover.

Remember Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Photograph

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Verum Bellum Spencer Byrd • 9 • Mixed Meter The chess game of battle is bathed in glory; True war, however, is riddled with pain, All patriots have their own individual story; Even the most accomplished soldiers feel combat’s drain.

War doesn’t only affect the physical somatic But also the mental and spiritual realm; War takes its toll on warriors and can prove traumatic; War’s results can damage even the strongest elm.

However, conflict, also, forges courage and valor; The Sword brings forth our best and brightest; These gallant souls protect and defend our tower; We count and rely on these when stakes are highest.

Combat affects all facets of parties that partake; War is vital to the framework of concord, sovereignty, and liberty.

Columns Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Photograph

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Falling Anna Belson • 9 • Sonnet

To be in love is to fall from a cliff

My heart was bruised my pride was scraped away

This pain endured because of one small tiff

Due to this pain I felt I could not stay

The goddess of love, she kept me in love

For I did not have the strength to let go

My torn heart kept me watching from above

Until I saw I was truly below

Summit Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Photograph 88 Mindprints IX 2017

I cried as I watched him so enlightened I was drowning in my own flood of tears And I watched the world as I stood frightened Moving from him became my biggest fear

I knew this love of ours would never last

So it will stay in my heart in the past

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Ahuriri Valley Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Photograph

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Superstition

Hannah Grace • 9 • Free Verse Currents swirling beneath the glassy surface hide a dark secret dangers lurking in the shadows of fear creatures spying biding their time monsters waiting their black figures prowling shapes shifting twisting among the weeds the ever-present shadow remains hidden for now

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The Scend

Spencer Williams • 9 • Sonnet Death is like a swift, sharp gust of the wind Claiming all unbeknownst to its danger It waits at every foggy street and bend It is not biased and feels no anger Its victims live, it steals and appends Though death isn’t much an arranger,

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Narnia Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Photograph

The given time may mark a distant end So it is best to spend each moment As if the brisk winds may suddenly scend Whether you spend your time as an angler Or if you would rather talk with close friends Spend every moment like it’s the

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“Smile” Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Free Verse people will wonder what this poem is about, she won’t tell them they will rack their brains and ask herbut still silence holds her heart she sits everyday in that world— only she understands and she feels broken and torn, but still she smiles. she has heard to smile through the pain she does as she has heard—no one questions you would have no idea that she cries and whines about going to that awful place— more familiar than home it is dark and gloomy and everyone drags in its halls you may think- ‘oh it is a building’ but it is much more than that it is psychological warfare hitting HER in every direction some of the outsiders argue “It makes you stronger” but she sits here and thinks “how much longer?”

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Replica of Girl with a Pearl Earring Alex Roberson • 8 • Pastel Mindprints IX 2017 95

The Unique Miracle

Marshun Thomas • 9 • Short Story

The dust hung in the stagnant summer air like cigarette smoke. Row after row of dirt stretched for acres, spotted here and there with the occasional sprout. The barn loomed in the distance, weather beaten and badly in need of paint. It was one of the hottest seasons in years. Plowing was difficult under these conditions, but it had to be done, and Milburn needed young Stanley to learn how to work during the bad times.

“It is so dry, Papa. I can barely breathe out here.”

“I know, Stanley.”

A man of few words, Milburn

learned these lessons from his own

father, from whom he inherited the land they now struggled to farm.

“I think we should call it a day

and go inside to take a break.”

Stanley skipped off ahead of

his father, eager to find out what Three Amigos Michelle Dashchbach • 9 • Photograph was creating the aromas that floated from the kitchen window. A morose Milburn followed with his own concerns about feeding the family.

Stanley ran to wash up as Milburn headed to the kitchen. He was greeted by his lovely wife, Margaret, holding a pot of stew that was more water and seasoning than meat and vegetables.

“Margaret, I always thought you were a magician.”

“I use a couple of my Granny’s kitchen tricks but I am no Houdini. How is the crop looking this season?”

“Well…pretty mediocre this year, but we’re plowing hard and praying for a miracle.”

Stanley returned, hands freshly washed, but by himself.

“Did your sister wash up?”

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“No, Mama, she is playing with her dolls,” he said as he turned to leave.

"Hazel!" he called as he bounced down the hall. "Hazel!" he repeated even louder, turning into her room.

“OK, OK, I heard you!” said Hazel, barely looking up from playing with her dolls. She washed up and joined Stanley at the table that their parents had already set.

They blessed the food and began to eat.

“Mama, you made a tasty meal tonight,” said Stanley.

“Thank you, I try to make the best of what we have.”

“Well, you did a good job,” Stanley said between slurps of hot stew. Hazel agreed and they chatted as they finished their meal.

“When y’all finish eating, please don't forget to put your scraps in this bowl for Biscuit,” said Margaret.

"We won't, Ma."

When dinner was over, Stanley cleaned the table and went outside to the old barn where Biscuit slept to feed him the only scraps they had left over: a few bones, a piece of bread, and some broth.

Stanley knew that it was not enough to fill Biscuit's belly, but the lovable old dog was very appreciative to have that. Biscuit had been around a long time, and he knew that he could find something else to eat later, if he looked hard enough. He licked at Stanley's hand, and Stanley bent down to give him a warm hug before heading back into the house.

But, this time something was wrong.

On nights like these, Biscuit would quietly make his way out of the barn, and wander off to look for something else to eat. He sniffed all the way down the road, and after a while, he stumbled across a few raccoons rambling in a neighbor's trash. He barked and scared them off, and now it was his turn to see what they had been eating.

He rambled through what was left, trying to compensate for his own lack of fodder. He discovered a few tasty treats which he ate quickly, and now he could go to bed. Biscuit made his way back to his barn and found a comfortable place to rest. But, this time something was wrong.

Milburn and Stanley awoke the next day and prepared to get back to work. As they approached the barn, Stanley noticed that Biscuit was not up jumping and barking at his heels, ready for the day’s chores.

“Papa, Biscuit doesn’t look so good. He’s not moving. Do you think he is all right?” said Stanley with a concerned face.

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he’s better not by the evening, I will see if we can take him to the vet.”

Milburn and Stanley worked all day. After lunch, Milburn checked on Biscuit, and the dog looked worse than before. “What’s gotten into you, boy?” Milburn asked, rubbing the old dog’s head. He finished the work day full of worry. Biscuit had been with the family since Stanley was a baby, and he was the kid’s best friend. And with money being so tight and the crops already looking bad this year, the family did not need anymore bad news. The end of the day came, and Milburn knew he and Margaret had to discuss what they were going to do to get the dog help. The vet was expensive, and their farming was never very lucrative: the crops were even worse this year. But they decided to take Biscuit into town.

With money being so tight and the crops al ready looking bad this year, the family did not need anymore bad news.

Milburn laid Biscuit on the vet’s table and waited for him to do the exam. When it was done, the veterinarian told Milburn the results. “Well, it’s not any kind of illness. It seems that old Biscuit has eaten something bad.” He explained that a younger dog could recover on its own, but since Biscuit was old, he would probably need medicine to get over this one. Without this medicine, whatever was making Biscuit sick would continue and worsen.

“I can sell you the medicine, or you could let him rest. But I would caution against it.”

Milburn nodded, knowing they couldn’t afford the medicine. “My wife knows some home remedies. We’ll give them a try.” Milburn explained this to Margaret, and she prepared different remedies for the dog, but nothing worked.

Milburn looked into the dog’s opaque eyes and knew Biscuit wasn’t going to make it. Milburn gave the news to Stanley that Biscuit was not doing too good and saw the worry on his young face. “What’s wrong with Biscuit, Stanley?” asked Hazel. Stanley prattled off an answer that made his sister cry. They said a prayer for him as a family and went to sleep. But when they woke up, Biscuit did not.

The family decided to bury the dog in the backyard so they could remember him. A very sad Milburn dug the grave for the dog, and as he approached the depth it was supposed to be, the ground softened into black liquid—Black Gold—bubbling up through the ground.

Milburn looked into the dirt and began to cry.

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Black Gold Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Photograph

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Country House Preston Speed • 8 • Free Verse Still Still Still. . .

Sat the dilapidated country home The infinite sunless gray sky went on and on Far into the distance over the rolling hills No one drove by that home Much less walked up its long Windy path to the oak door Inside sat a man. . . an old lonely man The man sat in the rocking chair Creaking back and forth at a slow pace He peered out the window to crosses stabbed into the ground One for his wife. . . one for his son “Why did they have to go?” said the man quietly The man had nothing left. . . no family no spirit Nothing left except the gray old country house The vines grew up the cracked-filled side The yard resembled more a jungle than a lawn The man still calm and quiet just like the house

Extreme Perspective Anna Reagan Mask • 9 • Photograph

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The Soldier’s Road Joe Bryant • 9 • Mixed Meter Not time, nor distant travel Shall surpass this unwavering campaign; but you shall triumph superlative with courts pounding gavel wearing a hero’s uniform with blood stain.

When victorious from war you return, and in the streets civilians dance and sing, now flags wave high in your honor with torches that burn.

Your country’s anthem forever will ring.

Medals displayed, yet tarnished by soot, that all men see a bold reminder Freedom isn’t free.

Even when tempted by sirens and loot.

So with nobility of purpose to defend the code, onward in battle you go, never down the same road.

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Side by Side Mary Pettey Hardin • 9 • Sketch

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As Days Pass By Leigh Hardin • 9 • Sonnet The sun will shine even in the rain.

The cold cannot keep away the warm light.

Children play with each other by train.

As they play in the wind with their kite, Reality seems to float away too.

The fun turns into pain and sorrow when The bright things in life suddenly turn blue.

What is left in the small world for you then?

The story must go on until the end.

The gift of life turns into a dreaded curse.

Days turn into weeks without a close friend.

When you think, could it even get much worse?

Before you know, the day has lastly come.

The pain is gone and you’re leaves of autumn.

Mud Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Photograph

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I Won’t Forget Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Sonnet Although my head won’t listen to my heart My head can hear the rhythm of its beat I know my head and heart are far apart But there are new things lying at my feet You tried so hard to keep me bundled tight Did you forget that I am wild and free?

You acted strong and tried to be my knight You knew one day that I would have to flee Sometimes I wish that I had never dreamt I wish that I forgot how much you care But would that keep me from our times well spent?

I just needed a big deep breath of air Although I went and left you far behind I won’t forget that you were by my side

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Running Shoe Josh Oden • 8 • Ceramic

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Hope Abigail Metcalf • 9 • Free Verse Creaking, rocking Sails blowing in the wind One candle Burning As the storm begins Tossing, turning All hands on deck Sailors Crying We’ve got nothing left Pushing, fighting Heart beats keeping time Just people Trying To keep courage in their mind Flickering, flashing Never thwarted by the wind One flame Surviving Should the storm come again

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Golden Dreams Harlee Heard • 7 • Couplets  Gold is a symbol of love  Beautiful and graceful like a dove  Days are like a dream come true Dreaming as the wild wind blew Another kind day  Just to find another say  Standing by the bright, clear-blue streams One will see so many golden dreams

Fragments Hannah Grace Biggs • 9 • Photograph

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Disadvantages Children Suffer Due to the Educational System Mary Noble Howard • 9 • Editorial

T

eenagers excited about learning.

Children understanding and embracing the way they learn best. Young people who know they can be whatever they want in life if they have the tools they need to succeed. So many positive things can come from unconventional learning practices. Many people can see the outcomes, but they need help to carry them out for the rising generation. Diverse educational practices will provide healthier benefits for high school students. Every person has the power to change what they feel needs to be different in this world, and that starts with arming the rising generation with an education that best fits each person.

“Every person has the power to change what they feel needs to be different in this world, and that starts with arming the rising generation with an education that best fits each person.”

The educational system is making carbon copies of the “perfect student.” School systems are focusing on taking in students, wiping their brains, and replacing what 112

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they know with only what is required. They are making carbon copies of their idea of a “perfect student.” When in reality, they are taking away a child’s desire to learn and a child’s confidence in themselves to succeed. The educational system wishes for students to have good SAT and ACT scores and nothing more. According to an editorial by a teacher in the Denver Post, “standardized tests are killing our students’ creativity, desire to learn. The children … have encountered it every year since third grade, and every year it has taken parts of their souls.”

Students are taught school culture as early as they can remember. "School culture is the set of norms, values and beliefs, rituals and ceremonies, symbols and stories that make up the 'persona' of the school," says Dr. Kent D. Peterson, a professor in the Department of Educational Administration at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Students are taught to sit in a desk, nod, and agree with their instructor.

“The cycle of sitting still, memorizing, testing, and getting a job have existed for a long time now and few dared to challenge it,” wrote Line Dalile. Although students are taught this, students need to realize that it is not a “sin” to question why things are the way they are and if they could change for the better. If students are supposed to leave high school and be individual

people with bright minds, who know how to think for themselves, they should be able to be treated like human beings while they go through their learning processes as children and young adults.

There are many aspects that add to why children are losing enthusiasm for school and learning. Students feel like they do not have a voice in the educational system. Yes, the system that we have today works for many people, but does it only work because too many are scared to question something that has worked for so long? If students do not question the conventional way of teaching and learning styles, they will not be prepared for this changing world.

Who will stop this unfair disadvantage to our generation?

When is enough, enough?

Students need to be taught that asking questions and doing things obscurely are not always bad . They also need to hear that they have the power to change this world. They cannot do this if they wait for instructions and are not taught the skills to think abstractly. Teenagers will never know how to conquer life’s problems if adults in the educational systems do not allow teenagers to think for themselves and solve

problems in new ways.

We can teach the new generation all the skills it needs for success, but the education system that we are placing children in is not creating the best environment for children and teenagers to grow.

The educational system is making carbon copies of the “perfect student,” and students are losing their true selves in the process.

Schools are forgetting that we are human beings not robots. Who will stop this unfair disadvantage to our generation? When is enough, enough?

Bibliography Wilson, Leslie Owen, Ed.D. “Characteristics of Highly Creative People.” The Second Principle. Church WordPress Theme, 2017. Web. 5 Feb. 2017.

Sinha, Kirin. “Kinesthetic Learning: Moving Toward a New Model for Education.” Edutopia. After- School- Learning, 24 July 2014. Web. 5 Feb. 2017.

Roe, Elizabeth. “Why Is Creativity Important in Everyday Life?” Topeka & Shawnee County Public Library. Topeka and Shawnee County Public Library, 17 Dec. 2012. Web. 5 Feb. 2017.

Dalile, Line. “How Schools Are Killing Creativity.” The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 10 Apr. 2012. Web. 5 Feb. 2017. <http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ Luzer, Daniel. “What Kills Creativity?” Pacific Standard.

Pacific Standard, 04 Nov. 2013. Web. 5 Feb. 2017.

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Paint Michelle Daschbach • 9 • Sonnet I want to paint the world in my own way The earth, a large scale slate for me to paint Just seems so old and needs a brand new ray Our universe is just so full of taint I take my brush and paint the surface clean The world can be a brand new work of art I want to create what my mind can dream To pull the strings of ev’ry soul’s own heart Piece by piece the world can be re-done What art can bring no others can deny The world can be united all as one To fling a brush and let the colors fly But to express my own way of thinking The world can be a place for us now dreaming 114 Mindprints IX 2017

Maddie Grace Puckett

Downtown Maddie Grace Puckett • 9 • Photograph Mindprints IX 2017 115

Artist Inspirations Hannah Grace Biggs Remember , page 84 We were driving through Oklahoma, and all the flags were at half-mast. I thought taking the photo in black and white would give it more meaning. This photo was taken right after the military base shooting several years ago.

Camp Carter “Dreams,” page 13 I have a lot of really weird dreams, but I never seem to remember much of them. Dreams are fascinating to me, and they are intriguing and mysterious. Dreams are an amalgamation of our thoughts and feelings.

Victoria Chough “Life,” page 72 My inspiration for writing this poem is my curiosity about life. All that we know about is birth and death, but what’s in between remains a mystery until you experience it. I wanted to write about life’s little structure, and how there are joyful and dreadful times.

Hawthorne Cleveland “Caged,” page 12 “Caged” was written after I had a nightmare that would not get out of my head.

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Marilee Cleveland “Independent,” page 52 My parents tell me to be the best I can be, and one day I will be more independent. I’ve been through a lot of surgeries, and one day I hope to be more independent.

Michelle Daschbach Breaking in the Wind, pages 34-35 I like to take my camera with me everywhere because you never know when there will be a photo opportunity. I was at the Ruins of Windsor, and I thought the tree was really beautiful. It was also drizzling outside, and my camera lens got wet. Sometimes you have to take risks to get the perfect picture.

Will Davis “The Happy Sunflower,” page 63 I was inspired by a painting of a drooping sunflower in the art gallery at school.

Carlie Gleason Do You See Me? page 8 I have always enjoyed drawing facial features, especially eyes, because I think they are the prettiest part of the face.

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Hali Hollman Glistening, page 29 I saw the lake with the sun reflecting, and it was so beautiful.

Michelle and Olivia had been encouraging me to enter my picture to Mindprints, so I sent it in. I go down to this lake all the time, and I have multiple pictures of the lake.

Mary Noble Howard “Disadvantages Children Face Due to the Educational System,” pages 112-113 I have always felt strongly about education, and I feel strongly about making the educational system an environment that makes children want to learn. I want people to read my editorial and develop new thoughts about the way children and teenagers are taught.

Katie Hubacek “Fly Away,” page 24 My inspiration was constantly being surrounded by teenage angst.

The only thing people need to know is that it is from the mindset of a teenager.

Turner Isonhood “Perspective,” page 33 Abortion is a strong issue that I’ve always been appalled by. This poem is about an aborted baby giving its perspective about its mother’s choice.

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Maggie Muenzenmay “Time’s Up,” page 37 I realized that people (myself included) need to seize the moment because when you don’t, you might miss out on something great.

Everyone knows how it feels when you’ve missed an opportunity and the moment is gone. This poem is simply about trying not to let those moments slip away anymore.

Anderson Nixon Socially Inept, page 71 I was inspired by punk and new-wave fashion. My artwork represents the destruction of humanity.

Foster O’Quinn “War Never Changes,” page 43 My grandfathers were both in the war, so I thought of them. No matter what, war is always the same.

George Pittman “Bystander,” page 40 My English teacher, Mrs. Smith, told us to write a meaningful poem about people fitting in. There is a story behind the poem. Bullies pick on kids, and the rest of the people ignore it and wait until it’s over.

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JC Polk “Father Time,” page 9 I was leaving the funeral of my great-grandmother whom I had little connection with. A disturbing question came to me: How long until I attend a funeral of someone whom I will miss? This question stunned me, provoking a secondary thought: there is someone who knows remorse with every death. The character of Father Time fits this mold perfectly, and I began to piece together what would become the poem “Father Time.”

Rachel Regan “it may come down to choices,” page 44 My inspiration for this poem was a person that was in a play with me. He was depressed and wrote a note saying he was going to take his life, so my friends and I had to make the choice to build him up instead of judging him. I want the reader to know that we need to make sure that our choices are for the benefit of something because choices always have a consequence.

Alex Roberson Replica of Girl with a Pearl Earring, page 95 I was inspired by the painting’s history and simplicity of color. Although the parts are simple, the colors and shadows are rich, and every stroke of the brush has a purpose. Often called the “Mona Lisa of the North,” this painting is considered to be one of Vermeer’s greatest works.

Trinity Scalia “Blades,” page 48 I really enjoyed the symbolism behind knives in The Outsiders.

I really wanted to write about it. It talks about violence in gangs.

Reading the book helps you understand what’s going on.

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Havens Smith “Riley,” page 55 I recently read a story about a man stuck in a maze, and it really fascinated me. I wanted the story to have the basis of someone being trapped and escaping.

Preston Speed “Country House,” page 101 My inspiration was a painting I saw in the Prep art gallery. As a class, we went to the gallery, and a painting of a house caught my eye. My imagination took me from there.

Chloe Tew “A Peculiar Place,” page 68 It was roughly 2 am, and I was looking out my bedroom window. I simply have just always been fascinated by the night sky.

Marshun Thomas “The Unique Miracle,” pages 96-98 My own pet was my inspiration, and I just went from there. My dog has been sick before, so I just built upon that.

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American Scholastic Press Association Annual Magazine Competition First Place 2016

Mississippi Scholastic Press Association Excellence in Journalism Awards Finalist—Best Literary Magazine—Publication of the Year 2016 Finalist—Design—Magazine 2016 Finalist—Theme—Magazine 2016

National Council of Teachers of English Program to Recognize Excellence in Student Literary Magazines Recommended for Highest Award 2016

Southern Interscholastic Press Association Evaluation of Student Publications Superior 2016

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