Marian Burn Literary Arts Magazine Fall 2011

Fall 2011

Marian

Burn

Table of Contents

[ Jessica Mizaur ‘13 ] Lost in Reverie 01 - 02 A Snapshot of New York [ Lori Nevole ‘14 ] 01 - 02 [ Sarah Ervin ‘12 ] The GIrl With Pajama 03 - 04 Pants on her Head [ Jenna Walter ‘12 ] Out All Night 03 - 04 [ Sydney Wolf ‘14 ] Beauty 05 - 06 [ Anastasia Zuerlein ‘14 ] 05 - 06 Trapped Reflection [ Alexandra Naidenovich ‘13 ] 07 - 08 What They Say [ Molly Zabawa ‘14 ] Eyes of the Soul 07 - 08 [ Tamarrah Wernsman ‘14 ] 09 - 10 How I Feel [ Mackenzie Duce ‘14 ] Funeral 09 - 10 [ Samantha Gardner ‘14 ] Different 11 - 12 [ Emily Fisher ‘13 ] Poker Face 11 - 12 [ Alexandra Naidenovich ‘13 ] 13 - 14 The Solider [ Lindsay Moran ‘14 ] Home Sweet Home?

13 - 14 [ Shannon Smith ‘14 ] Undefined Solitary 13 - 14 [ MaryLouise Woltemath ‘12 ] 15 - 16 Free Spirit [ Mikayla Brohman ‘12 ] Girls Night at Home 15 - 16 [ Mikayla Brohman ‘12 ] Whatchamacallit 15 - 16 [ Anna Forbes ‘13 ] On a Roll 17 - 18 [ Jordan Kuiper ‘14 ] Dedication 17 - 18 [ Charlotte Elsasser ‘15 ] Fall 19 - 20 [ Haley Snyder ‘13 ] Serenity 19 - 20 [ Shannon Smith ‘14 ] Garden of Bliss 21 - 22 [ Emma Finken ‘14 ] To My Sister 21 - 22 [ Macy Potts ‘12 ] Front Cover Cobble Stone [ Emma Tuttle ‘14 ] Facing Page Icy Delight [ Emma Finken ‘14 ] Staff Page Doodlepaloza Fruit For the Heart [ Claire Wieger ‘12 ] Back Cover

“T he only people for me are the mad ones, [ photography: emma tuttle ]

the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...

burn

” - Jack Kerouac

lost in

reverie [ painting: lori nevole ]

“You disappear so completely into your head sometimes,” he said.

“I wish I could follow you.”

Well boy, a word of fair warning: Forget everything you think you know;

It won’t serve you much purpose here.

This is where the most curious of creatures go to hide.

A tribute to both cynics and believers.

The home of all lovely, pretty things and lofty, far-fetched dreams.

A makeshift puzzle of non-sense, passion, sorrow, and euphoria.

A place to revel in madness, whimsicality, and discord.

A place to be free.

I have not lost my mind.

No, on the contrary,

my mind has lost me

and I cannot be found.

02 [ writing: jessica mizaur ]

Trains of thought can venture anywhere,

deep in this peculiar little world of my own.

I have no choice but to go with them.

01

My eyes met his, coy and sweet.

“You can join me if you’d like.”

“a snapshot of new york”

the girl Okay, so maybe that’s only the second thing an average person thinks of at first remark; but for me, these colors take me back in time.

They transport me past all the frivolous years of puberty, all of the wasted energy in grade school trying to “belong,” and landing in the safe-haven known as “authenticity.”

Here I found what it truly meant to be myself.

Being completely true and honest to who I am, and caring what others thought was never my forte.

“out all night”

03

With this new world came a light that shown brighter than the pervious.

It opened my eyes to new ideas, people, and ways of expressing myself.

They found all of my secret ambitions, grabbed the entertainer inside and threw me up on stage to do what I love most - make people laugh.

By resetting the dial back to the present, I realize that to be a successful, passionate, and genuinely kind person, I don’t have to wear pastel pajama pants of my head.

I did discover, however, that I couldn’t have done it without them.

[ writing: sarah ervin ]

They aided me when fighting the bullies with kindness and a genuinely tender heart; allowing me to unearth the secret world of fortitude and aplomb.

04

Yes, people may have glared or exchanged humorous remarks about the pastel explosion consuming my head - formally known as pajama pants.

The pants acted as my superhero mask.

[ sculpture: jenna walter ]

Purple, violet, and fuchsia.

These hues should bring one thing to mind; a three year-old girl with lollipop-stained pajama pants on her head.

with pajama pants on her head

beauty

For me it is seeing the beauty of nature. The way the sun reflects on the calm water of a lake. Listening to the birds’ chip, and the wind blowing through the grass. That sound calms my heart.

05

It’s days like today, right now, the lake, which make me believe. But you must return to the world around you.

Back to reality where those feelings return. But I know I will go to heaven one day and will be surrounded by beauty forever.

“trapped reflection”

[ photography: anastasia zuerlein ]

It’s taken me fourteen years to discover the beauty that was at my doorstep. No one can tell you what beauty is in your eyes. You get to enjoy the discovery of finding it on your own.

06

Everything you look at you see beauty. I look into the sky and don’t just see the fluffy clouds; I see my limit. I feel on top of the world. No one can get you here. It’s a place you must find on your own.

It has a purpose. It is all in the plan. His plan that cannot be changed no matter how hard we try.

Seeing the beauty of the world, relaxing, taking in a deep breath, and realizing, like everything else in this world, I am unique but the same.

God loves me as much as he loves a thief. We all sin, but we are all beautiful.

Unique and the same.

[ writing: sydney wolf ]

It’s days like today, right now, the lake, which make me believe. It’s the moment you feel no pain, sorrow, or regret. It’s a piece of heaven.

Listening to the calming classical works of great composers adds the effect we leave out. Now I don’t just see a Magnolia tree, I see utter beauty. It’s unique to everything else, but the same as everything.

In a bright room with sunlight streaming through the windows, stands a girl.

The girl has dark hair and pale skin; her dark eyes glisten as she gazes in the mirror by her wardrobe.

A silent tear runs down her cheek.

In her mind, thoughts race.

Words whispered are replayed and replayed.

But she will dry them, like she always does and force a smile on her face as she runs to greet them at the door.

07

“eyes of the soul”

[ pencil drawing: molly zabawa ]

She turns away from the reflecting glass, tears still linger on her cheeks.

08

She wonders if what they say is true. She tries to see what they do. Her heart is slowly breaking because of the whispers and the looks that she gets. But as long as she searches she just cannot see what they mutter under their breaths or speak into each other’s ears.

She cannot find the faults that they see in her.

07

[ writing: alexandra naidenovich ]

what they say

How I Feel...

“funeral”

[ writing: tamarrah wernsman ]

09

I’m CONFUSED with life in general.

10

CONFUSED as in why bad things happen to good people with what people want and expect of me with why I think I need to be perfect with why being gay is frowned upon by society CONFUSED with why there is so much violence and hatred in our world with the fact that children in Africa are dying of hunger

while Americans are dying of obesity with racism and discrimination with the war that our country is fighting CONFUSED with why abuse occurs why people think I’m too young to understand some things with who my true friends are with who I want to be in life

[ colored pencil drawing: mackenzie duce ]

I’m CONFUSED! Not like math equation CONFUSED Not a tounge twister CONFUSED Just WHY CONFUSED

“undefined solitary”

[photography:toni ptacek

It feels as if my entire body is on fire while simultaneously being stung by hundreds of bees.

My vision blurs and I feel my eyelids fall. I feel the darkness closing in. I prepare to take my last breath,

but I think of you.

Your smile expels the impending darkness. Your laugh drowns out the sound of exploding grenades and roaring machine guns. I hear you say you love me, as I boarded the train so many months ago.

Your voice gives me strength.

My head begins to clear as I remember the promise I made when I left you behind, and I stand up.

I take a deep breath, grab my gun, and with my memory of you,

I charge forward.

home sweet home?

This is the house where I live.

This is the house where early memories were made and bright futures were hoped for.

This is the house where we were once whole, but now split in two.

This is the house where your absence is a constant reminder to us.

And you can’t hear our laughter, And you can’t see our smiling faces, And you can’t feel the emptiness in each of our hearts.

[ writing: alexandra naidenovich, lindsay moran ]

[writing: annie steenson, lisa satpathy

The pain is so intense.

14

[

13

esoteric

The sounds of war are all around me; the gray mist covers the battlefield where I run from a bunker. The cold wind bites at my face as I run, the smell of gunpowder and bloodshed fills my nostrils. Bullets whip past me, missing me against all odds, until I feel sharp pain in my side.

I sink to the ground, my gun slips from my gloved hands; I clutch my side and dare myself to look.

I see the red liquid spreading across my green uniform. I can feel my warm blood spilling out of the wound in my side. I feel as though I’m about to collapse.

[ photography: shannon smith ]

[

13

the soldier

16 [ artwork: mikayla brohman ]

15

[ writing: marylouise woltemath ]

If you hold out your hand I’ll shake it.

When I want to cry, I’ll smile, and fake it, But don’t worry about me because I always pull through.

Give me a chance and I’ll prove it to you.

When I walk down the road, I’m really dancing in the street, And when I’m dancing in the street, you can bet it’s in bare feet.

My masterpiece shows that I don’t color inside the lines, And actually the ones that don’t think alike are the greatest of minds.

I read books, but only the ends.

I don’t follow those magazine fashion trends.

I don’t make plans, but I have it all planned out.

I follow my own path called the alternate route.

I don’t care about what people say, I’m going to care about what I care about anyway.

I might not always know what you mean, but I’ll always hear it.

I’m not scared of the dark but at times I fear it.

People call me a lot of thigs, but in the end, I’m a Free Spirit.

“whatchamacallit”

free spirit

“girls night at home”

dedication [ writing: jordan kuiper ]

18

Beauty arrives, your tears subside.

Love concludes your decision to continue.

Rejoice complete, your heart is no longer bleeding.

Magazines are in the trash, old thoughts along with them.

Graves rise while your sheepishness collapses.

You’re lively - you’ve defeated triumph and disaster at the same time.

I sit and watch your glow grow and start illustrating the unfamiliar you.

The colors in my picture fuse together, masking your unwanted scars.

The fumes from my paint remind me of all the unethical fumes you’ve been forced to inhale.

My brush represents the softness you never were given.

The frame stands as a whole piece, of which you are trying to become.

Each piece to my painted puzzle forms a part of you.

You are so delicate, I must piece it slowly.

It may take awhile to finish, but you must be patient.

My dream is to get this picture done without any mistakes.

Every day I put my all into its completion.

I’m getting really nervous as it comes closer to an end.

I fear something will happen, I fear something will get messed up!

I just never want to start from the beginning again.

[ colored pencil: anna forbes ]

“on a roll”

It’s just cold enough for contentment.

No more wishing For hot summer days and beach balls.

These feelings are only a month away, But its seems like I’ll be missing Hushed silences, comfort, and Contentment for awhile.

[ photograph: haley snyder ]

All of your problems dissolve As comfort enfolds you Into a crisp, cool kiss.

20

[ writing: charlotte elsasser ]

Brittle leaves float delicately off tree limbs.

A hush gathers in the air.

You can almost hear it when they hit the ground.

Fa l l

“Serenity”

“garden of bliss” [ photo illustration: shannon smith ]

22

To my fellow Artic adventurer: Can you recall the temporary hiding place we built By stacking shovels full of snow?

The refuge that protected us from backyard polar bears?

To my accomplice in crime: Do you remember how, when Christmas came, We’d sneak stray candy canes Into our waiting pillowcases?

to my sister To my fellow actress: Call to mind the shows we’d give for free, About orphans and princesses, And the rounds of applause we’d receive.

[ writing: emma finken ]

To my sister: Do you remember those lazy, summer days?

When we’d transform into cowgirls, Riding our horses on the swing set?

21

To my true friend: Who I can tell all my secrets to, Who I’ve shared both laughs and tears with.

Thank you for all those memories and more.

doodlepalooza

[ colored pencil drawing: emma finken ]

[ fruit for the heart: claire wieger ]

Editorial Policy Marian proudly presents Burn, a creative writing magazine which features written work, photography, and artwork

done by current students. The editors reserve the right to make minor grammatical or spelling corrections and modify submitted pieces to fit design concepts. Pieces are judged blindly by the staff and are selected based on creative talent and on the uniqueness of the individual submission.

Burn is published twice a year by the students at Marian, Nebraska’s only Class A, Catholic, North Central Accredited college preparatory school for girls. Burn is a member of the National Scholastic Press Association. It is our goal to encourage young artists and writers to express themselves creativitely.

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