Founded in 2021, The Dazed Starling: Unbound is the online literary journal of the Department of Modern Languages & Literature at California Baptist University. The Dazed Starling: Advent is its annual winter edition. Address correspondence to:
Dr. Erika J. Travis, Editor-in-Chief The Dazed Starling CBU, Modern Languages & Literature 8432 Magnolia Avenue Riverside, CA 92504 (etravis@calbaptist.edu)
The Department of Modern Languages & Literature offers a Master of Arts degree in English; Bachelor of Arts degrees and minors in English, Liberal Arts, Spanish, and World Languages; and a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and minor in creative writing. To learn more about the programs and professors in the Department of Modern Languages & Literature, explore www.calbaptist.edu.
The Editor-in-Chief would like to thank Dr. Chuck Sands, Provost of CBU; Dr. Lisa Hernández, Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences; and all of those who offered their encouragement, guidance, and friendship during this publication process. The Dazed Starling is currently published with funds generously provided by CBU’s Department of Modern Languages & Literature.
In mangers, in snowfall, in love and in laughter, Advent is a season to remember. In the image of the Holy Family huddled around the newborn king, we see the echo of a thousand other families, a thousand words of love, and a thousand hopes for the future.
This Christmas, it has been my honor to walk through just a couple such images created by our very own CBU family. It is my hope that this issue not only does their work justice but also gives each and every reader a window into that long-ago winter’s night when heaven met earth, and love, with all its flaws and failings, became infinite.
Merry Christmas,
-Aliya Beaupain
Managing
Editor
DS: Advent 2025
Faith
“What Child Is This?”
Performed by Vienna Aguas, Annalise Wachowiak, and Aliya Beaupain
Procession of the Muse
Michael Vass
See see the Spirit of sweet song descend, Fine oil poured over the poet’s head, Now, oozing along, whetting his chapped lips.
Hear heaven’s heroic meter resume, As the Spirit sinks—sinks into his heart, Confirming the seal placed so long ago.
Behold the poet, mortal though he is, Overwhelmed, enchanted, even possessed, He joins the eternal one’s procession.
Small Town Winter
Aliya Beaupain
The Wind in the Wood
Aliya Beaupain
There was a wind some time ago That tousled treetops fleeced with snow. It wended forth and down below, Into that frosted night.
It ran along a riven stream
All split with ice and frothing steam, And ran past fires that there gleam Beneath that frosted night.
Small folk were there, within that wood Who creeping from their campfires stood To whisper tales and tidings good Into that frosted night
I heard their tales, and learned them well, And though the windy way is fell Their stories I will ever tell Beneath that frosted night.
Hope
“O Come O Come Emmanuel”
Performed by Vienna Aguas, Annalise Wachowiak and Aliya Beaupain
I Can’t Wait to Grow Old
Kaylee Houghton
I never understood the shame behind crows feet, aches, wrinkles, gray hair, and old age, skin under my eyes sagging with defined light, constellations–a full written page.
The creases etched along my skin are now reminders of many intricate tales spun through my life; when someone asks, this is how God draws scars of Testimony on one.
The unforeseen future that is now passed; ethereal tales of gray hair frames joy and smile lines. My eyes never look downcast. A life worth living, nothing could destroy.
An echo of exhilaration; awed souvenirs blessed by the most mighty God.
Beneath the Snow
Jenelle Hekman
Snow drifts softly upon the eaves, and whispers thread among the trees, a hush across the night.
It does not call, nor seek acclaim, but wanders through the soft white flame of the lanterns’ gentle light.
It glimmers where the shadows fall, in folded hands, in voices small, in warmth that fills the air.
Each step on the glimmering snow leaves echoes only hearts can know, a trace of something fair.
By hearth and doorway, silence bends, memory drifts on quiet winds, recalling what is told.
A manger rests in softened glow, and wonder wraps the world below, as hope, though still, unfolds.
Hope
Vienna Aguas
It’s not the absence of darkness. It’s the twinkling starlight that illuminates a midnight ink sky. It’s the whisper in your heart amidst the heavy silence that says you’re never alone. It's the cool breeze you feel when your muscles are cramping and your lungs burning that says you’re almost there. It’s in the lilting lyrics we sing and the melodies scream when we feel like there’s nothing left. It's in the confidence stamped on our souls that there will be light at the end of the tunnel. We cannot deny its existence. It’s in every breath we take in spite of the ache. It’s in the tears we cry and the blood we shed. It’s not the promise of a painless life. It’s the promise that despite the pain and grief we can choose life.
Hope: Solitude
Charity Latchman
It is in the snowfall, gently and silently falling.
It is the bustling of the streets; happy faces are enthralling.
It is the adorned ornaments, a perfectly crafted art.
It is in the giving of presents, bestowed from the heart.
It is in the cadences of the music, stirring like a homily.
It is the brightness of a candle, flickering and balmily.
It is in the quietness, where the world outside is still.
It is in a solitary room, where the peace has no trill.
It is in our dreams, where every thought comes to life.
Alone in these dreams, hope is true, incandescent, and without rife.
PEACE
Silver Woods
Tabitha Beaupain
“The First Noel”
Performed by Vienna Aguas Annalise Wachowiak, and Aliya Beaupain
What Friend is Time Today?
Michael Vass
What friend is Time to me today
When all he does is seek delay?
Seconds do drip, and drip, and drip; Crimson curtains that line my crypt.
What friend is Time to me today
When all he does will soon decay?
He plots his plots and plans his plans; Who can escape his wrinkled hands?
What friend is Time to me today
When all he does is speed away?
He ticks beware, and tocks despair
A summer storm too brief to bear.
What friend is Time to me today
When all he does is let me stay.
Kernels in a Kettle
Harley Schechter
I close my eyes at the pumpkin patch and think:
If I stand here, like I did twenty-four years ago, in this very spot, I’d be four years old again. My mom, younger than I am now, would be at the picnic tables to the left of me, sorting bracelet beads. My dad would be at the barn booth behind me, popping kettle corn for Christmas money. I can hear the ghost of twentyeight-year-old him calling me to go pass out samples. I am twenty-eight years old. Aromas of salty toasted sugar flow over me, mixing with the smell of damp woodchips. Comforting. The murmur of generations pumping air into giant plastic slides still fills my ears. What breaks me from this reverie are two tiny voices calling ‘Mama’. My neck bends down. My eyes open. My gaze is met with their rosy cheeks looking up at me. I grip their hands tight—as tight as their tiny hands grip tiny pumpkin stems, and life continues to stir like kernels in a kettle.
A Christmas Card for December
Charity Latchman
Holly berries and green ivy the crown of winter. This plant blossoms in the very heart, when the season enters and the holidays start.
Father Time winks merrily as family and friends, near and far, come together in love and communion. All of their time is wrapped up in joy, not a moment to misspend, nor a second to delay this reunion.
First snow is crisp and steady. A white Christmas brings wonder and grandeur. Children dash out the door, ready, to make their snowmen in the weather’s icy blur.
Hands in supplication, hands conjoint in another’s palm. This is all in December’s creation: to bring every heart into a winter’s calm.
Make merry and sleep the winter nights in heavenly peace, for, every year, memories are made new. The church candles flicker in holy brilliance; it is a season of winter’s dreams that come true.
Joy
“Oh Come All Ye Faithful”
Performed by Vienna Aguas, Annalise Wachowiak, and Aliya Beaupain
A Winter’s Night
Aliya Beaupain
Rick-tick-tapping, nightlark lapping, drinking frost by candlelight
Rick-tick-tapping, bright frost cracking, spangled in the firelight.
Rick-tick-tapping, fire snapping, weaving years to warm the night,
Rick-tick-tapping, time unclasping, larks and laughing wreathed in white.
The Wishing Tree
Aliya Beaupain
Breakfast
Harley Schechter
You’ll grow beauty from ashes:
The ash will crumble to dust, be turned and cultivated into the dirt, endure the frosted winter, bloom in early spring, and in summer you will eat your happiness for breakfast.
With Thanks
The Dazed Starling editorial team would like to extend a special thanks those whose served on our selection team and as vocalists for our hymn recordings. Their creative insights, performance, and willingness to support this publication were essential to this edition.
