2014 Iliad Literary-Art Magazine

ILIAD literary-art magazine

Dedicated with love to Harry Cooper, Ellen Harris, Lawrence Harris and Lenore Katz.

“From their earliest years children live on familiar terms with disruptive emotions, fear and anxiety are an intrinsic part of their everyday lives, they continually cope with frustrations as best as they can. It is through fantasy that children achieve CATHARSIS.” - Maurice Sendak

Clarke Central High School 350 S. Milledge

(706) 357-5200

table of contents

ABREACTION

8 > ‘Lucy’ > Porter McLeod

10 > ‘Kita’ > Lela Jenkins

10 > ‘Regress’ > Ethan Crane

11 > ‘Fractal’, pt 1. > Mary Merritt

11 > ‘Geometric’ > Gregg Guichard

12 > ‘Vietato’ > Nicholas Byrne

13 > ‘Stop!’ > Jocelynn Burton

15 > ‘Individual’ > Bob Han

16 > ‘Earthbound’ > Porter McLeod

17 > ‘Myrtle’ > Chad Rhym

18 > ‘Magnetic’ > Perrin Aycock

19 > ‘Candle Light’ > Hana Chaney

20 > ‘To: Henry Scott’ > Matthew Ward

21 > ‘Ode to the Weston Institute’ > Henry Scott

22 > ‘Remember?’ > Hanna Harper

23 > ‘Bite’ > Maria Velasquez

25 > ‘Transformation’ > Anna Grossman

26 > ‘Distanced’ > Porter McLeod

27 > ‘Estranged’ > Gregg Guichard

28 > ‘Really’ > Sara Goodie

29 > ‘Prowl’ > Cassie Tye

KENOSIS

32 > ‘Numb’ > Louise Platter

32 > ‘Hollow’ > Maria Velasquez

33 > ‘With God All Things are Possible’ > Jocelynn Burton

34 > ‘Eavesdropping’ > Esther Conaway

35 > ‘Naomi’ > Porter McLeod

36 > ‘Fractal’, pts. 2 + 3 > Mary Merritt

36 > ‘Lilith’ > Mary Merritt

37 > ‘Untitled’ > Skylar Lehmann

38 > ‘Alex Gilbert’ > Gregg Guichard

39 > ‘The Book of Derrick’ > Aaron Holmes

40 > ‘Sailor’ > Tiernan O’Neill

40 > ‘Who?’ > Jocelynn Burton

41 > ‘Mod’ > Marina Byrne

43 > ‘Uncertain’ > Ella Sams

44 > ‘Fannie Lou’ > Gabe Harper

46 > ‘Pluto’s Rising’ > Tiger Villaveces

47 > ‘Broken’ > Anonymous

47 > ‘The Alone’ > Gregg Guichard

48 > ‘ > Audrey Nelson

49 > ‘Tianmen’ > Susanna Conine-Nakano

49 > ‘Empty’ > Jonitta Julius

50 > ‘Exit’ > Audrey Hinkle

52 > ‘Concentric’ > Emily Watson

53 > ‘Self’ > Sara Goodie

54 > ‘Perched’ > Hannah Rollins

55 > ‘The American Dream’ > Ivey Brackett

55 > ‘Instar’ > Ethan Crane

KAIROSIS

58 > ‘Sk8’ > Tiernan O’Neill

59 > ‘Untitled’ > Rad Brosius

60 > ‘Wisdom, Mandible’ > Audrey Nelson

61 > ‘Fractal’, pts. 4 + 5 + 6 > Mary Merritt

62 > ‘My Angel’ > Tierra Hayes

63 > ‘New Generations, Old Traditions’ > Susanna Conine-Nakano

64 > ‘Will Ride... I Will Stand’ > Brittney Butler

65 > ‘Franklin, NC’ > Porter McLeod

66 > ‘Finding Home’ > Gansiry Thioub

67 > ‘That Look’ > Yung Kipreos

68 > ‘Forest Vengeance’ > Luke Slaboda

68 > ‘Inspired’ > Patra Kennedy

69 > ‘The Grass’ > Makayla Richards

70 > ‘A Running List of Things That Remind Me of You’ > Brittney Butler

71 > ‘Loop’ > Jack Byrne

72 > ‘Stairs’ > Rad Brosius

73 > ‘Strata’ > Nicholas Byrne

74 > ‘Ode To...’ > Javonte Barrow

75 > ‘Beggar Woman’ > Matthew Ward

76 > ‘Capital Coast’ > Tiernan O’Neill

77 > ‘Endless Travels’ > Ana Sherer

78 > ‘Casso’ > Tiger Villaveces

79 > ‘Life as brothers’ > Jaymel Isreal

80 > ‘Bloom’ > Mary Merritt

82 > ‘Matched’ > Louise Platter

83 > ‘Plethora’ > Nicholas Byrne

OIKOS

4 > Theme letter

5 > Letter from the editor

84 > Editorial board

86 > Friends of the iliad

87 > Index

88 > Colophon

Gregg Guichard, senior

Dance of Pain

Catharsis

Theme Letter for the 2014 iliad

Every student and teacher at Clarke Central High School creates their own fantasy. These dreams are unique and, expressed through art, display an intimate part of each person. Creation shows how we deal with problems and emotions, and through creation, every member of the CCHS community can reach catharsis.

Catharsis - from the Greek kathairein, “to cleanse” - refers to the means by which artists use creation to purge themselves of the deep-set emotions that linger in their minds. As high schoolers, we are fraught with anxiety, anger, fear, pity, happiness and excitement which weighs on our minds. With art, we can cleanse ourselves, be it by words, a camera or a paintbrush.

According to Aristotle’s original metaphor for poetry, catharsis has four purgation of emotion.

Abreaction: reliving a memory, and stirring up the emotion again so that it is vivid in one’s mind. The feelings intended to be expelled by reliving generally are hurtful, such as anger or sadness. Reproducing the heat felt when angry or the emptiness felt when sad hurts just as the experience did, but by reliving it intensely, all that is pent up can be let out.

Kenosis: emptiness of the self. Feelings which haunt, hurt or torment can be eliminated simply through emptying the mind. Kenosis is resignation to,seen potential.

Kairosis is revealed and satisfaction is achieved. The moment when all obstacles are overcome and the mind is at peace. When we face a crisis and must solve it by looking into ourselves for the solution, we use the intricacies of who we are to reach the end of the journey.

Closure process it. It is the need for a stable answer to a situation, and in this magazine, each piece can be considered closure for the artist. By their expression, their pain or anger, they have released those emotions and reached some sense of relief.

We wanted to showcase these pieces because, through art, we can dealed beautifully in the work of Clarke Central’s creators.

- Maria Velasquez, Art Director, senior

Letter from the editor

As teenagers, we all feel on an immense scale. Pain; anger; frustration; love; lust; fear. As high schoolers, we are full of raw emotion. But, often, we unhealthily keep it bottled in.

There is something not so accepted about freely talking of emotions. But in order to reach closure and to feel at peace, we have to let them out. It is my goal as the 2013 Editor-in-Chief of the iliad to provide a safe place, free of boundaries and judgment, for the students and faculty of Clarke Central High School to do just that: let it all out.

When considering the concept of catharsis, the iliad whole to apply the four stages - abreaction, kenosis, kairosis and closurestages as the sections of the magazine, we decided collectively that each its own.

It is my hope that each page of this magazine tells part of a story. It does not have to be deep; the emotion behind each piece does not have to be tragic or traumatizing. Every day we spend alive is a tale in itself, full of emotion seeking release. Before going to sleep each night, we seek - generally unconsciously - our own catharsis.

There are stories told in the iliad. Their conclusions may be indeterminate, The emotion shine through.

That said, the stories in this book are not mine. I cannot claim to know the feeling behind each piece; I cannot know for sure what or who or where inspired every poem, story, painting or photograph. But I am privileged to have been given even a glimpse.

What I do know for sure is this: there are stories told in the iliad. Their

Bravely, the minds of Clarke Central behind each piece reached some form of release when they wrote the last word, clicked the shutter button or put down the brush for the last time.

- Ethan Crane, Editor-in-Chief, junior

the act of re-living; bringing back a memory in order to expel it from the mind

Porter McLeod, senior

Regress

I. When I leave you, accomplished and ambitious, I smile, my demeanor tawny once more, Reminiscent of youth but innocence all gone. II. I see your smile and love each bit, But strong am I and I am not in love, For you will never make me fall.

III. I give myself - vulnerable, seething, joyous - to

I am ardent, and with your scathing tongue I put, Pen to skin so that all I feel pour out in ink. IV rapids,

V. Step, step, step on me like a weed in the spring, For even the dandelion seems beautiful, I accept that I may grow to be no more.

Conductor of two foes feeding on my mind.

VI. Find me radiant and golden in the grass, Although there may be more we are alone, I feel the scorning eyes of hawks upon my chest.

Kita

Lela Jenkins, sophomore

Ethan Crane, junior

Fractal, pt. 1

He keeps looking at me. Sneaking sideways glances. I uncross my legs, stretching them out so that he can get a better view. I have nothing to hide. My eyes catch on a rip in the netted tights that run up my legs. I pull my coat down slightly in an attempt to cover it. Across the room I catch my from the cold night air. My hair is a tangled mess, laying limp against my face, falling onto my shoulders. My makeup, plastered to my face, is painted on in a way that gives my face the empty perfection of a china doll. I like that.

It is rare that anyone sees my real face... I even forget sometimes that I have one after all. I pull back my hair, revealing a long scar that even my mask can not hide, reminding me of a far away childhood buried deep within. It scars me much more severely than the mark lets on. I see his eyes widen, and this time I turn towards him and smirk, raising my eyebrows in a suggestive way that I have come to master. The man blushes and turns away from me,

closer around me, concealing my revealing blouse. In this place, women like me are common.

I glance around the station, a collection of faces stare past me, occasionally catching my glance and shifting uncomfortably. Was I really the lowest? The rugged guy in the corner sat sneering at me like a perv. In fact, most of the guys in here would

them. They think they know me. How absurd. They know nothing.

I didnt choose this life. Quit looking at me. This is never what I wanted. Quit looking at me.

I could scream. But I don’t. I keep that cool smirk on my face, and close my eyes, letting them roll back into my head, swimming in tears.

In this state, surrounded by the blackness of my solitude, I am safe.

(cont. pg 36)

Geometric

Gregg Guichard, senior

Mary Merritt, sophomore

Vietato

Nicholas Byrne, junior

Stop!

Stop !

Silence don’t wanna hear any thing

Alone in my room staring at the ceiling

The voices I hear inside my head

I love you I love you not

I care for you well I care not

My eyes weaken my tears roll on the side of my face

I’m asleep

I see you alone

Smiling at yourself

I wonder what goes through your head

Who makes you happy who makes you sad

Be the one who you can always hold

On to well at least help you

Give you a peace of mind

Hold on your walking towards me

My hands get sweaty

My heart beats faster

I’m scared what are you about to say

Breath Breath

Takes a deep breath

I’m awake again

Gasping for air

Whew

That was close

I escaped the mystery of love

Jocelynn Burton, senior

Seong Hyun Han, sophomore

Individual

In this world there are 7 billion people. In this society, each person has their own wants, perspectives, and backgrounds. Out of those people, some will pursue riches and glory, and on the other hand, some will just want their day to end safely. In this great vast world, we should then ask ourselves what kind of life we are living and if we are living a wise one. From this process, I have reconsidered all of my past experiences in life, and pondered the things that I valued the most and the characteristics that I deem the most important to me as I continue on with my life.

One of things that are most important to me are my friends. After attending school in Moscow, Idaho from fourth grade to seventh grade, I realized the impact and importance of friends. In my case, I was able to make great friends when I started playing ice hockey. At that time, most of the honors students played ice hockey. Therefore, I was able to make friends that were highly intelligent. Through healthy competitions with my friends, I was able to get higher grades in student body president as well.

was very depressed and lonely, but my friends were able to help my self-identity.

I was shocked when I returned to South Korea. In Korea, a lot of students were smarter and brighter than me. This made me realize

States I was a person that had everyone’s respect and achieved academic excellence, but this caused me to become conceited.

After realizing this fact, I thought

didn’t respect the people that weren’t smart or couldn’t play sports as well as I could. Therefore, from this realization I truly thought that I need to change and try to become more humble.

Another thing that I also deem important is to understand. From a young age, I had the opportunity to live in South Korea and the

enabled me to not only be bilingual, but also allowed me to meet people of various cultures, and adopt some of their traits. Notent types of people, and even had to live an economically hard life. Due to theses experiences, I am now able to understand and empathize various types of people. From this ability to understand, I can feel how another person feels and thinks in certain situations. So in those situations I am able to help them if they need it.

As we live on with our lives, we are going to meet many people and we, ourselves, will

Therefore, from these experiences I think that we should try to help and understand others that are or were in the same situations that we were once in. Also, we should learn from our past experiences, as was the case for humility and me. By doing so, we will be able to become closer with the people around us, and not only that, be able to have a wider perspective and mind when it comes to other people.

Bob Han, sophomore

Earthbound

We treat her as if She were a grain of sand.

Poisoning her growth

Paving her roots

Her blood does not drip anymore.

She is worthy of life

But is growing old

Her wrinkles deepening.

Her beauty is elegant, Her scent still strong.

She has taken me to her highs Presented me with her body: passively youthful.

It is hard to watch her go Kaleidoscopic pain

Porter McLeod, senior

Myrtle

Chad Rhym, junior

Candle Light

This is my story.

A story that begins at night. By a candle light.

I shouldn’t remember it. That night. That night I

I will always remember that night. That night is played over and over in my dreams until I feel like I’m going mad, that a darker demon inside of me wants to come out and show the world who I really am.

And what happened.

I want to tell someone, but who is there to tell?

It’s just me here, alone, living in my uncle’s house after my mother and father both died.

On the night I was born.

By a candle light.

That created a rage.

That created a monster.

That created me.

I often go to that place, sneaking away from my uncle in the middle of the night, when the moon is

Perrin Aycock, junior

high and stars come out to say hello.

“Hello, little one. Back again for a visit?”

This is a place that no little girl should go. But I am not a little girl.

I haven’t been a little girl since that night. And I born.

And this place whispers stories of the past, past sit on the grass that is no longer here since it was burned away by the newest story. My story.

And the owl will hoot and the mouse will squeak and the wind will howl and I will listen.

and seeing princesses rescued by princes in the middle of the night. By candle light.

And the mouse will tell of days when it stole pieces of bread from the wicked baker to feed his family. By candle light.

And the wind will tell tales of the great battles it has seen, the ships it has navigated and the life it has brung. And it tells of days when it blew out the candle light.

“Why didn’t you blow out my candle light?” I would ask him. And by shaking the leaves and the limbs of scorched trees it would reply,

“Because, little one, I was not present at your candle light. But I wouldn’t have been able to blow it out, for your candle light was so happy when you were born that it just had to grow.”

And I would look at the ruins of burned up wooden pieces that held a tiny, burned family chair positioned in the middle of the ruins , that no one would sit in.

I will sit on the grass that is no longer here since it was burned away by the newest story. My story.

A swing that no little girl would swing in.

A crib that would never be used.

And a telephone that would make no more calls.

And I would stand there, in the tiny ruins, and I would lay down, and I would close my eyes, and I would cry.

By candle light.

Hana Chaney, BHL 8th grade

To: Henry Scott

Athens Ga. 30607

After what seemed like days of moronic monotonous paperwork in reviewing your applications, only due to the dismay of our admission policy, which is a thorough examining of each students application (even in the unfortunate case, as was yours, when there is not much there), we have made our decision. A decision I feel that was made credentials was upsetting, but upon digging deeper into your resume we found a blatant ignorance in the realm of academics and a desolate void where one’s education inspires judgement and philosophy. I won’t lie to you, I was rather sick for days after reading your applications, I was unable to eat, sleep, even to attend our annual lakeside polo match. I pondered suicide for a while - just the knowledge that somewhere out there, vile like you walk the earth is enought to question life itself. We were also alarmed by your obviously

sire, are repulsive. And so it is with a resounding “NO” that I reply to your schooling bid.

Sir Beverly Wickle Weston 18th Generation.

Admissions President of The Weston Institute.

Matthew Ward, senior

Weston Institute

Ode to The Weston Institute

I counted down the days ‘til I got the letter; The very thought of it brought a shiver down my spine. However, I see I should have known better: Now I see you will never, ever be mine. The thought of you got me high, But here you left me low. I feel lost, I have been let me go. I can only cry, I can never glow.

Now I see I will live life in woe.

I never once thought that I’d feel so wronged... Or maybe it was I who stepped foot out of bounds? An institute only for those above and beyond, At Weston you must last more than ten rounds. With ceilings so high, And lakes sprawling clear, To be rejected was my greatest fear. Why did I apply? I was too cavalier!

For the rest of my life I’ll just be a cashier Weston, Weston, all glory to thee:

Let the school and its spirit bleed through all the land! Its name and its logo evoke power and prestige: Through time, war and famine it will always withstand! Knowledge and honor Be upon every man!

Let he do as he please, do as he can!

But I’m just a goner, I don’t have a plan, I might as well just pray in Bhutan!

Henry Scott, senior

Remember?

I love the cold I have always loved the cold Remember?

The backyard was our slide With our sleds And the snow was our blanket Remember?

Do you remember Our long driveway And our windows in every room Do you?

I’m starting to forget

My room has one window It looks out onto a wall And we don’t have a backyard Why isn’t there snow?

I hate the heat I have always hated the heat Remember?

Why were things so much better then?

Why did I love our long driveway? Why do windows matter?

Because that was my childhood And we left it behind

Do you remember my childhood? I’m starting to forget

Hanna Harper, junior

Bite

Maria Velasquez, senior

Coffee Table

Iit and think about the beauty, the brutal beauty.

thing to bust up a cinder block with three hits; I’ve trick.

would sit on it when I was a child and she would pet me, and she would sing to me. It’s the only furniture I have other than this wicker chair I’m sitting in.

Life hasn’t been good to me. I live in this shack on the edge of town. During the day I collect newspaper and sticks; I paste the newspaper on the walls and burn the wood to stay warm. I can never warm up, my heart is cold. I had a house in town when I lived with my grandmother. They took her away from me when she died, two months later they took the house away. I bummed around town and held a few jobs. But a paycheck doesn’t make the pain go away, and the drink wouldn’t make the time pass.

Goddamn time. Goddamned me.

I am young -- 25 -- and old. I am done. I have my whole life in front of me, and that’s the problem. I can’t think of many solutions and I’ve thought; oh I’ve thought!

Today is the end of my life.

I am at this point the oldest and wisest I have ever been, and I don’t see myself getting much more old or wise. I am not scared. Look at it, it beckons

table. It’s clean too. I greased it twice yesterday, once today. I polish it because I want to see the face of death, completely unveiled. I am not lazy. I had to walk into town to get the grease, and had to scavenge for the money to buy it. That’s a days work by the time you walk back to the outskirts. I have load-

I am young – 25 – and old. I am done. I have my whole life in front of me, and that’s the problem.

I am friendly and get along well with anyone. I am a rather skilled conversationalist who can carry on about anything, usually nothing. Always nothing. It’s never worth the time to say it usually. I just say it to say it, I just breathe to breathe. I can’t think of many solutions, only one really. The idea used to scare me. I would push it out of my head and carry on carrying on.

Carry on carrying on.

It takes a lot to bear it all, to carry the load. It’s wearing, physically. Mentally I am broken, I am slipping. Now I cling to the idea. It is my life preserver. Save me because I am sinking and I can’t breathe anymore. When I do I just breathe to breathe. No, I am not scared of the darkness, the emptiness, the aloneness. I already am those, I can’t fool myself. Who would care if I were to cease to exist. I am alone. And if I had companionship I would still be alone. I am alone inside, I am empty inside. No if it were to end then it would be a blessing. I would be set free, I would hurt no more, no longer be lonely.

death. I will prolong this moment. Never have I felt so alive. Not since grandma at least. I remember her. She told me stories of the Greek gods and their adventures. I felt alive then. I would wrestle with Hercules, consult Athena, and desolate the Trojans. I was alive then. Those heros knew how to live. Oh they did alright, so much so their lives were captured by the stars; they live in the heavens. It’s a beautiful night; you can see every star on the outskirts of town. I can see Hercules, he’s got me pinned me here on earth. If I were in the stars I’d lick him. I am not in the stars, I am not a Greek hero. There isn’t much for me to show other than this gun and that

rot if I die.

Who would look after it?

My grandma did so much looking after, at least after someone else, then they could look after the

the stars. And I could wrestle Hercules, and I could sing to Grandma. Grandma isn’t in the stars. She is more worthy than any mythical hero, she is more worthy. I twist death’s hand towards the sky. I stand. I will live. I will live for her, for this table; for me. I

shoots out stars that form in the likeness of Grandma’s face. She is wrestling Hercules and winning.

Tears run down my face, its the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and I will look upon it every night for as long as I live. Tomorrow I will pawn this gun and buy another wicker chair to share.

Baylor Ward, senior

Transformation

Anna Grossman, junior

Distanced

Porter McLeod, senior

Estranged

I guess you caught me wearing my blind eye

So I never really stood a chance

Then again, I was always good at make-believing

That everything was at its best

Ignoring all the signs that said we wouldn’t last

Because you gave me something I never had

So you gave me the best of you

So you could have the upper hand

So you struck a match

But I guess we’re both young and stupid

To think we could thrive with just these hands

Writing our names on the pavement

Ignoring that chalk on cement won’t last

My bare hands holding onto your heart

Keeping you to promises you never made

Pushing my hopes and dreams upon you

Running my own self into the ground

All you wanted was a thrill, a risk

In the end I just want closure

But how can you mend something you’ll never know you broke?

took

Gregg Guichard, senior

Lover’s Eyes

waves ignite a travelers dreams a shadow living in the dark One last stem of hope falters to the ground His thoughts suppress his own heart Light exposes his insecurities Fire rises from under his uneven breath Every moment meant more He wanted to be seen He wanted to be fearless He wanted to be more He was the unopened door and could no longer be ignored swift movement secured his outer body wind clashes him slowly his mind blurred by the shadows of his past this moment was his until the dark shifted towards the light senior

Really

Distractions from abstractions jerked me back to living day and I couldn’t handle it.

I’m sorry you were there for it.

See, life gets messier by the hour and I’m not the best at coping. I was angry. But not at you.

I know that you are innocent. Please don’t think I want that to change. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry… really.

I’m sorry for not thinking and blaming my problems on you. And I am so, so sorry that I watched you wilt and smiled.

Sara Goodie, freshman

Prowl

Cassie Tye, senior

kenosis

the act of self-emptying; absence of emotions in order to become more receptive

Numb

i am high speed, full speed, speed, speed speed. my mind is never quiet, not for a moment. but an eternity is a far cry from a moment.

Louise Platter, junior

Hollow

Maria Velasquez, senior

Feeling alone

With no one to hold

Blood boiling and running wildly within

Clustered, jammed, pain, hurt Give up, there’s no one here. Don’t trust anyone; everyone is against you.

Excuses, lies, broken promises Is what they all have told you.

No commitment

Struggling Darkness

Emptiness

Breaks down to your knees. Let’s pray. Dear god is how you start. I been to Hell and back is what you say.

Love

Happiness Comfort Is what you need. I trust you is what you tell him.

And your life gets better. One thing to remember. With God all things are possible!

Jocelynn Burton, senior

With God All Things Are Possible

Great Catfish Hole

I get in my boat with a rod, bow and quiver

I get to the spot at which I stop Rods ready and bows on top.

to shoot it I could only wish.

Brought to the top by my liver scent. My rod bends down, and my line screams Happy to get a free meal it seems. As I saw what I had hooked, It didn’t take a second chance, a second look. I grabbed my bow as I lifted my pole,

It had razor sharp teeth: a true meat eater. As I saw the dinosaur come to the top, Knowing he wasn’t hooked, I took my shot. As the arrow soared towards the heart,

As it penetrated deep within,

All my line and an arrow in the heart part

As I grabbed my bow and holstered him in,

To be so beautiful, but so ugly to see, A true master of deception he must be. Five feet long and as wide as a dog This is a true catch, some would call a hog.

He had one more trick, one more hope. Straight out of the water, he twisted and jumped. Ripped my arrow out with a thump. And then he was gone had disappeared with my pole

And to this day I see the great gar Swimming with a hole in his back from afar. One day I will meet the beast once more

Blake Mustard, senior

Did you hear about that guy who broke his hand? His hand went straight through the glass I just ran.

They senior prank was freeze tag They dressed up in black and played freeze tag I just ran.

He was running and he tried to open the door But it was a pull not a push His hand went straight through the glass

Then they sprayed silly string all over the lockers They sprayed it in Dr. Hooker’s face I just ran.

He had glass all over him He had to go to the nurse I just ran.

Then they sprayed Dr. Hooker He was mad I just ran.

Esther Conaway, sophomore

Naomi

Porter McLeod, senior

Fractal, pts. 2 + 3

My wife is going to kill me. I haven’t had the chance to call her yet. I should’ve been home an hour ago. Cops suck. I’m not sure what I am even doing here. I know I was speeding but I wasn’t the only one. Plus I was late. Don’t they usually just give you a ticket?

This place is horrible. The room is full of criminals and I do not deserve to be here. I wish I was in the comfort of my own home. The chairs feel dirty, and I begin to imagine the others who have touched this same seat. I shift in my chair. I wonder when they are going to let us make a call.... My cell phone is dead.

I glance around the room and notice the woman sitting to my right. I don’t have to wonder why she

like a Halloween mask. Still, she is kind of hot. But women like her are traps. Waiting to lure in loyal them in hell. At least that is what the minister at our church always drones on about most Sundays as I struggle to keep my eyes open... and my mind away from sin.

I don’t think I ever let myself have fun. I’m not sure that I do now, either.

She stretches out to reveal a shapely pair of legs.

I try and think about work, about the big stack of hell I get of of here… But my eyes yet again wander to the woman and then she pulls back her long black hair to reveal a deep scar that stretches across her jaw line, connecting her chin to her earlobe in one swooping line. I must gasp, because she turns towards me and grins. I look away, quickly. I wonder if her pimp gave her the scar. My eyes scan the room. Maybe the guy in black is her pimp. He’s a big guy, but I think pimps wear jewelry or something. The twitchy guy looks about 18 and is

18 I was married and expecting a child. I wish I had landed myself in some trouble back then. I don’t think I ever let myself have fun. I’m not sure that I do now, either, but it’s not like being a married man with 4 kids and a full-time job is supposed to be fun.

I bet she has fun.

Lilith

Mary Merritt, sophomore

Sitting here reminds me of the last time I was sitback. I only ever got busted once before this, when I was a kid. Back then I was just a delivery boy though. My eyes burn, red from anger and the handful of other substances that always seem to accompany a Friday night. My hands itch to rub my

budge. I have been sitting here for some time now. What are they waiting for? Or is this just punishment for being a part of the biggest drug cartel in the Midwest?

I guess it could be worse. I could be dead, especially after what went down at the last deal. But now I am alive, and I am safe. The word seems foreign seeing as in my 32 years I had probably never known any sense of security. But at least while I am in here, the guys that want me out there can’t get me. I hope.

didn’t see this coming. This is practically expectedsage in my neighborhood, and if you aren’t locked up for good by twenty then you are doing pretty well by most people’s standards. It’s not like I don’t

be the guy who now sits across from me. The man wears a suit and thick glasses, and keeps looking at the clock because he probably has somewhere to be, with someone who misses him.

But I’m not stupid.

Joiningagangisalmostariteofpassageinmy neighborhood,andifyouaren’tlockedupforgood bytwentythenyouaredoingprettywellformost people’sstandards.

The people in here are depressing.

The tension is tangible and tastes bitter in my mouth, mixing with the stomach bile that keeps coming up every time I swallow. It’s hot in here, I wish someone would turn the heat down, but I do my ears.

I’m not sure why I am nervous, it’s not like I

That guy is in here for a reason, just like the rest of us, and he keeps eyeing the girl next to him. Hysterical. Despite the reality of my current situation, I want so desperately right now to be in my own bed, even though it’s never clean, and smells like piss. What - a grown man looking at felony charges and I want to

sleep in my dirty bed. I am so weak.

In rebellion, I make eye contact with the girl with the legs and I raise my eyebrows, running my tongue over my dry, cracked lips. She looks away, in disgust.

Victory.

(cont pg. 61)

Mary Merritt, sophomore

Untitled

Skylar Lehmann, freshman

Alex Gilbert

Gregg Guichard, senior

The Book of Derrick

name was Derrick, and that man was upright and owned an Xbox and respected the sabbath, and was in pretty serious college debt. And it was so, that after a long day of feasting, Derrick slept on the couch, and the LORD looked upon him.

1:2 And the LORD said unto Derrick, Dude, behold, you’re parked behind me, can you move your car? I have to get to work. And Derrick, awakening from his slumber, said Hast thou not parked right up next to the house? It wouldn’t be such a big deal every damn morning if you parked in the street. 1:3 And the LORD said in reply, Once you have a job, you can talk to me about a big deal.

2:1 Now there was a day when God returned to the LORD said unto him, Talk about a rough day. They ask me to make the sun rise and the conduct the sea, and yet I’m still supposed to talk to Patrick from accounting about his behavior in the break room? Like, I feel like that should be someone else’s responsibility? 2:3 And Derrick answered the LORD, to kill a cockroach. So that was pretty rough.

2:4 And Derrick presented some bologna before the LORD, but the LORD said, No thanks, for he escheweth bologna. So Derrick replied, OK, well I got some kosher pickles today, they’re in the fridge. 2:5 And the LORD looked upon them, and saw that they were good.

3:1 Again there was a day when the LORD, upon his return to the apartment, found Derrick. But on this day Derrick was in the company of his girlfriend, If there’s nothing to hide, why won’t you let me seepletely unrealistic. Right, God? 3:2 But the LORD, who was busily sorting through CDs, had fallen temporarily deaf.

tired of your lack of commitment. For she had seen that he was unwilling to permanently cohabit with her, and thought instead that he meant to leave her. 3:4 Then Derrick answered and said, How long will

ye vex my soul, and break me in pieces with words? 3:5 And, after she left, the LORD said unto Derrick, I’m sorry man, but that really wasn’t going anywhere. And Derrick said, Thanks I know.

4:1 Moreover Derrick answered God and said, What recently. And the LORD sighed, and spoke these

that I’ve still got eternity left, but somehow I feel a lot older than when I created the Earth 6,000 years ago. 4:2 Then Derrick felt bad for asking, and he said unto the LORD, No way dude, you’ve totally still got it. 4:3 And the LORD dismayed and responded, I just don’t know. I used to be able to talk to people here and there, just to cast abroad the rage of my wrath. 4:4 But I’m getting shyer I think. And there are just so many more people to manage nowadays... It’s like the ends of the earth are expanding or something.

4:5 And the LORD said unto Derrick, No one has hardly calls any more, except on his birthday. And even when I’m really mad, nothing seems to kindle my wrath like it used to. 4:6 Heck, I can’t remember the last time I yelled at someone from a whirlwind or slaughtered the children of a heathen city.

5:1 Then Derrick knew what to say, and he said unto

whatever, but somehow it just makes sense. I think I’m becoming a more spiritual person. 5:3 And the LORD went to roll his eyes, but instead he sheweth no annoyance, nor made no noise thereof.

5:4 And so it was that the LORD turned on the TV and, seeing that his favorite episode of Seinfeld was on, in which great iniquity was wrought upon George, he commanded Derrick to empty the dishwasher. 5:5 And Derrick said unto the King over the children of pride, No way dude, I did that last night. It’s your turn.

Aaron Holmes, junior

Sailor

an entire ocean resides in my lungs the tide goes out with the swing of your hips the turn of your cheek going underneath

such is the life of a sailor brief and arduous romance shouldn’t be so pedantic a kiss shouldn’t be so calculated love shouldn’t be so wearing but what we do is not love and exhale ambrosiac murmurings just to satisfy my vanity

Tiernan O’Neill, sophomore

Who

Who are you ?

Are you from here ? Do you speak ? Do you live and love like me ?

I see deep inside your soul

But you’re much like a mystery Waiting to be revealed Who are you ?

I don’t know you but it seems as If you know me

I’m in disbelief I wonder if you’re at peace I only see you every now and Then

Maybe I will see you tomorrow Who knows ?

Jocelynn Burton, senior

Marina Byrne, junior

Admission denied

Icould feel the cold silence of the room after I had exposed the truth of my undocumented status. He stared straight at me, shaking his head. “No... you can’t be one of them.”

I vacantly stared at him, but I couldn’t say a single word. My eyes roamed the room, towards my teacher’s face, but she too looked at me with disgust.

Every day I wake up knowing I am undocumented. I don’t share the same privileges as my peers. My parents cameter life, but they have to overcome the restrictions in our daily lives.

No drivers license. No social security number. No federal assistance.

I hold no attachment to my birthplace. It is a foreign land. But I have never felt between both cultures as I constantly try

everything at this moment,”or “Deferred Action only grants you a limited status.”

No matter how much I try, nothing seems to be enough.

Often I spend nights crying because I don’t want my parents to know I am hurt. I refuse to tell them about my rejections from schools or anything that involves my near future. It is my responsibility to handle these things on my own.

fully trust them. They expect too much out of me or have a direction for me

for myself.

It angers me that I am not strong enough to withstand all situations; I yearn for a clearer direction. How could I justify what I am feeling when I don’t believe in myself?

I feel like I don’t deserve to achieve anything and if I do it is simply because people feel sorry for me.

As a senior, I am aware of the laws that keep me from going to college. I am ineligible to receive in-state tuition, HOPE or Georgia, Georgia Tech, Georgia State, the Medical College of Georgia and Georgia -

cause I know that I can’t change the laws in place or my undocumented status. I am cut down and in an unstable path. school is not necessarily an option andent requirements for me to attend. College is in my future, but I am naive to think that I can go. Applying to the appropriate school was the easy step, paying for tuition is the hard step.

Everything I have worked for in high school is pushed aside. I am sick and “I’m sorry, you just don’t qualify for

I’d rather strip all my emotions away because that means I no longer have to face reality. The reality is that I am rejected by society and looked upon as someone who isn’t worth an education. I feel like I don’t deserve to achieve anything and if I do it is simply because people feel sorry for me.

Eventually I sought refuge in Betina

someone who knows nothing about me because she doesn’t have to question the walls I have previously put up.

support. I know it is ok to tell someone how I feel. She shares with me the opportunities I have and continues to work with me even after I want to give up.

Throughout the course of this semester, I realize that the college, university or technical school I plan to attend doesn’t

In spite of my circumstance, I am determined to not let restrictive laws prevent me from going to college or to dictate the life I want to have. I will go anywhere or do anything to pursue my dreams.

senior

Ella Sams, sophomore

Fannie Lou

Gabe Harper, senior

Pluto’s Rising

Tiger Villaveces, freshman

Broken

I didn’t know how you FELT about anything.

LIKE how I felt about you was DESTROYING everything, and SOMETHING better never came. BEAUTIFUL, how you never noticed. but I did.

Anonymous

The Alone

Oh, Call’um Call on him

In the middle of the night

A loosing soul

A dimming light

A bowed head to shaken hands

Call’um

Times are stolen

It’s been written in the pages

And you’re begging for another song

Reminded by the silence Hum me another song

Gregg Guichard, senior

There has been an abundance of attention called to the prevalence of sexual assault and rape in society lately, especially that which occurs on and around college campuses across the nation. The White House has released a public service announcement about sexual assault featuring Vice President

Carell, Daniel Craig, Seth Meyers, Benicio Del Toro and Dule Hill, and President Obama has spoken about the seriousness of this problem facing our country, especially our college students. The attention that the White House and the media are giving it raises awareness, but they are not addressing the entirety of the problem and instead focusing on the stereotypical face of the sexual assault victim while ignoring the male victims and using language that lessen the irreprehensible actions of the perpetrators.

In the public service announcement that the White House

is that this “is happening to our sisters, our daughters, our wives, and our friends”. This is factual. Sexual crime is happening at an alarming rate to women, but this public service announcement is not only ignoring and isolating male victims of sex crimes, but initially it oppresses women by referring to them as property of these men, that these men should be concerned because this is happening to their women. It is a step forward that people are talking about these issues, but by demeaning and isolating the victims of these crimes while supposedly

trying to help them, not much progress is being made.

Not only are victims being oppressed in these articles by being described as property or being completely alienated, but these journalists are using language that lessens the seriousness of the crimes that these perpetrators are committing. The Washington Postible rape, sodomy or fondling, as well as sexual assault with an

The use of the term “forcible sex” in the place of “rape” or “sexual assault” lessens the seriousness of the crime because the word “sex” has a much more consensual connotation than the word “rape”. Reading these articles that are written in an attempt to bring this epidemic of crime into the spotlight, victims are slapped in the face with the word “forcible sex”. The act of referring to any form of sexual crime as “forcible sex” or any kind of “sex” implies some degree of consent or pleasure which is an appalling idea for victims and those who are

The lack of regard for victims that is present in the media coverage of these crimes is harmful both to victims and to society in general. Victims may be lead to feel isolated or guilty due to what happened to them, and people who read these articles may follow these examples and adopt this harmful language that perpetuates negative stereotypes about victims and lessens the

committing.

Audrey Nelson, senior

Empty

Do you always feel like you belong?

Always doing what you believe?

Or are you doing everything that’s being told even if you dont believe

Do you feel like you’re being used?

Having no say on what to do

Feeling yourself doubting every move

What to do, what to do

No matter what you don’t object

Coming and going feel the same

Their doing this for you

But is it really for you?

No. Things must go this way for your later generations

Do you really have a say?

No I must obey

Jonitta Julius, junior

tianmen

Susanna Conine-Nakano, junior

Audrey Hinkle, sophomore

Concentric

Emily Watson, sophomore

My entirity something that a light falls near one faint spot, dubbed blind.

Sara Goodie, freshman Self

Perched

Hannah Rollins, sophomore

Instar

i got to know you best with my lips in the afternoon evening sloppy night we were an intricate study prepped for a pop quiz

i took what you taught me and hurt my best friend i listened to the poetry they made just about me and felt my face suddenly warm with joy and shame

i felt the point of impact mature into a lump deep in my throat leave me, and with it looming all around i felt my own likeness turn to blissful regret

Ethan Crane, junior

The American Dream

We lay our heads down to rest And dream of conformity. The same white picket fence, The same car, The same doting wife, The same cubicle and paystub. But we lay our heads down

And wonder when our dreams came true.

When did my life

Become someone else’s dream?

Ivey Brackett, senior

dwindling effect of an experience as it passes away

kairosis

Tiernan O’Neill, sophomore

Untitled

Support art, appear inspirational.

Cherish health and grow tradition And compose proudest achievements. Provide work a leather reality devoted valiantly to image.

Wise population respected, years wondering, changes needed. Quiet.

Rad Brosius, senior

Wisdom

Mandible

Audrey Nelson, senior

Fractal, pts. 4 + 5 + 6

Iwish this night would end.

think I will shoot myself. They must be kidding me. We are arresting speeders now? I kind of feel bad for the guy. He looks like he could be my boss’s boss, and he’s stuck in this hellhole with bunch of

I’m a decent guy.

I look around the room. The prostitute is sitting there with her eyes closed. I yell at her to wake her up. Disgusting. Across from the woman sits a big dude, he’s in here for drugs according to his papers.

Time. The seconds tick by on the small hand of the clock above the door. It rings in my ears. Each beat pulsates through my body. I must keep in time with the beat.

Keep my head down. I have to. I count the freckles that speckle my hands even though I know that there are 56 on my right hand and 77 on the left.

I dont know why I went but when I heard that she was going I knew that I had to also. Everyone was drinking so I picked up a cup and swallowed. I can feel the heat of the people around me but I don’t look up. I can feel their body heat, why is everyone breathing so loudly?

side of town.

Next to the Mexican there is a little guy who can’t be more than 17. I look down at his papers. It says that he is 18. He was arrested for underage drinking. The boy is hunched over, his hands are covering his ears and he is slowly rocking back and forth. Freak.

I begin to call their names. When I get to the boy, he

leg, and hangs his head, avoiding eye contact. Is he drunk? I roll my eyes in annoyance.

her car window and called the police.

I waited on the porch and while everyone scattered in every direction, I smiled to myself because I had won, and they hadn’t. Also I smiled because the drink they gave me made me feel warm and funny so I laughed.

They asked me if I had been drinking and I said yes because I had. They asked me how old I am and I say that I am 18 because I am.

Someone adjusts their coat, and a car drives by. The rain begins to fall harder and the sound distracts me from the beat so I close my eyes and listen and I think really hard.

by guys. They were all infatuated by her because she was beautiful and she glowed in the poorly lit house. I called her name but she just looked away and kept talking. Naturally I was upset so I smashed

By the time the man gets to me, I am shaking hard and tapping my hand to the beat. The clock grows more distant in the background and I tap my hand more vigorously. The cop opens the cell door and motions for me to walk in, but when I don’t he reaches for my arms and in one -

ging into his wind-pipe, while the last few breaths of air escape his body. His eyes were panicking but they now go slack and his body relaxes beneath me. I grab a key that hangs from the man’s belt and

When the police arrived I was still sitting there, smiling. They asked me if I had been drinking and I said yes because I had. They asked me how old I am and I say that I am 18 because I am. They asked if it was my house but I say no because it didn’t belong to me. The men rolled their eyes. I was coming with them, they said.

calmly exit into the lobby. The receptionist asks me where I am going sir but I don’t know the answer so I stay quiet. But as I pass by the clock that hangs over the doorway time stops for a moment and I hear the loud tick of the little hand and I realize that it is not the clock this time that is pounding through my chest, it is my heart, beating steady, and at that moment my hands stop trembling, and I roll my head back and I laugh.

Mary Merritt, sophomore

MY ANGEL

THE DOOR WAS RED.

I knew she would never forgive me for my actions, but she didn’t understand. I was young, unable to feel responsible for anything, for myself even. I blamed everyone else for my problems, including her. How she ever put up with all I put her through... God, I have no clue.

THREE YEARS IS A LONG TIME.

I’ve learned a lot about myself, but I question my actions every day.Why did I do it? How did I do it? Why did I wait so long to

BEHIND THE DOOR LIES THE TRUTH.

I raise my hand to knock and the memopark, graduation, they’re all here reminding me. The day she told me and the day I left both feel empty. One angry call. It was the last time I heard her voice.

SHE WASN’T HARD TO FIND AGAIN.

I turn to sit on the steps my head hung between my knees. The weight of what I had done falling on my shoulders. Knocking would change lives forever and I was not sure if I was ready for that. But here I am on her porch halfway there.

I MISS HER.

I wonder what her life is like. I want to help her if she needs it. She probably doesn’t though. She was a charmer, her eyes would they didn’t make me stay.

I LEFT HER ALONE.

She has long black hair and the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. She’s short and smart and beautiful. Beautiful. And her smile.

WAS IT WORTH IT?

One day we were just lying outside in the crisp summer grass, the sun shining above us. Side by side we stared up at the clouds exchanging our future plans. She wanted to

be a nurse. I wanted to be a writer.

DREAMS WERE BROKEN.

She didn’t ask me to stay. A single tear fell from her eye. It was as if she weren’t surprised. The one time she actually needed me and I wouldn’t be there for her.

SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE FOR ME.

I found that no other person could turn my eye. They were always compared to her and no one could live up to her standard of perfect.

MY THOUGHTS ARE JUMBLED.

The porch light is on. She’s home. I peer into her window, my breath fogs up the glass. There she sat, next to a Christmas tree, reading a book to the small child.

PERFECT.

It was a girl. The smallest, prettiest child I had ever seen. She had perfect hands and toes and a smile. She had her mother’s smile.

I WAS IN LOVE.

She looked up adoringly at her mother and that is when I saw them. My eyes. I turned and got in my car and vowed to never come back. At least not until I could behind before she had a name, before she was born.

My angel.

Tierra Hayes, sophomore

New Generations, Old Traditions

Susanna Conine-Nakano, junior

Will Ride... I Will Stand

no! worst case scenario screeching halt...scream ...aftermath

all my limbs, free of injury -- invincibility-but you’re not you. anonymous save you...save you...killed the roses I will stand another cold shower tall order wild ride choose to lose.

Brittney Butler, junior

Porter McLeod, senior

Finding Home

My parents would say, “Never forget where you come from Gansiry!” But where did I come from? I

other kids in elementary school; to them I was not normal. The truth is, my name is Gansiry Mireya Thioub. My father is from Senegal, and my mother is Costa Rican. I was a girl who did not want to accept the fact that her skin was chocolate and her hair had a curly pattern. I was a girl who was insecure because I knew kids judged me as an aggressive person as soon as they saw me. It was not until I grew a little older (age 10) that I realized that people did not like who I was because of where I am from. Kids would chant, “Kunta Kinte! Tar Baby!” I needed assurance that I could be proud of my heritage.

In the second grade, my family decided to take a trip to Senegal. I was not excited. In fact, I was scared. I was scared because of the way Africa had been portrayed in the media. The only time I had ever seen Africa on television was on a Save the Children commercial. If an African was on a television show, he was playing the role of an illiterate immigrant that was taken as a joke because of his “funny” accent. Kids would ask me if Africans wore clothes and if we lived in huts. Huts! These negative images had been engraved in my mind until I arrived to Senegal.

Where are the starving kids and mothers? What happened to the war and violence? Where are the naked people?” I believed every stereotype that I was in-

I believed every stereotype that I was introduced to, but when I all my worries and assumptions were left behind.

plane all my worries and assumptions were left behind. We walked out of the airport, and what I saw was all the assurance that I needed. I saw people who looked like me, beautiful people of all shapes and sizes. I remember their skin being so dark and chocolate. But, here, it was not portrayed as a negative thing. At that point I thought, “I want to stay.” All I needed was to see people like me that other people appreciated. I was beginning to be ashamed of myself. It was vital to receive the knowledge that there was beauty in where I was from and why I am here. My trip to Senegaldence boost. People would compliment me on my dark complexion and distinctive features. I informed kids about what Africa is really like. I would tell them about culture, rich history, and the pride Africans take even in the midst of global adversity. I knew that I wanted to help other people’s voices be heard who are struggling with who they truthfully are. I was fearless. Once my questions were answered, no one could hold me back from what I wanted to do.

Gansiry Thioub, senior

“Where are the huts? The jungle?

Yung Kipreos, junior

Inspired

Take a leap take a chance

Show the world your freedom dance

Stand tall stand out

Give them something to talk about

If you’re mad or scared or just a little down

Get up , take charge and put on your crown

Patra Kennedy, senior

Forest Vengeance

Luke Slaboda, sophomore

The Grass

Raindrops softly kiss my skin

The grass suppressed by my body

I laid in awe

I laid in wonder

I laid asleep in a light slumber

Nightmares soon would intrude my shallow nap

Stress would inch into my soul

The Heartbreak would start pounding at my chest

I awoke in pain and loss

I’d remember how I made it to the grass

It was a long night of shattered dreams

Short moments of my breath whisked away

I Watched my heart bleed out of love

Now waiting for someone to pump blood into my bruised organ

All that had surely happened

But the grass?

How did i make it to the grass?

I fall into dormancy

I dream of him

The him that surely must have abandoned me here

The him that surely must have pulverized my heart and left it for dead

I jolted into a conscious state

My eyes opened

I was in the grass

Is this grass to hold me till i remember its mystery

A slave to nature as one would feel

Like a slave to my own heart, being beaten again

Maybe this grass holds no mystery

Maybe my mind is the one trapping me

Could it be that my depression has kept me as prisoner

How would I break free?

How can I open my eyes?

These new emotions suddenly take my brain by storm

I feel more than depressed

I feel more than the illusion

And I opened my eyes

Makayla Richards, junior

A Running List...

OF THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF YOU

1. Soccer games

2. Softballs and purple sharpies

3. Awkward

4. Dancing like a fool

5. Every single dance I’ve ever been to

6. Suits and ties

7. Little cars - Volvos

8. Early morning bus rides

9. Falling asleep on the way home

10. Kendrick Lamar concerts

11. Videos of things I couldn’t be there for

12. Breaking Bad

13. Stealing scarves

15. Terrible choices

16. The number seven

17. Dumpsters

18. Cold weather

19. My favorite, now least favorite, sweater

20. The chipped tooth in the front of my mouth

Brittney Butler, junior

Jack Byrne, CMS 8th grade

One.

One. Two. Down the stairs. Something bounces. It falls slowly down. Ever springing forward. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. Syllables with a new tempo. The sound of a poem going down. The words wash over, still bouncing on down. And as it speeds up, it’s almost done. It comes to an end, but not yet. Still a ways to go, it falls. One could see it slowing. Coming to an end. Almost there now. Slowing down.

Two. One. Stop.

Rad Brosious, senior

Ode To

Ode to thee

Ode to the STRENGTH we carry on backs

The power and courage to lift up those who falter or lacks The abilities to take the hits pound for pound to and keep going We keep moving even if we leave a few tears showing We run straight through it all in a nimble fashion Ready to show the world and express our passions Ode to thee

Ode to the KNOWLEDGE we have crowned upon our headssionate reds able to interact brilliantly

Letting out boisterous sounds of inspiration

Reaching out to those let go and have dropped their limitations

Ode to thee

Ode to the LOVE AND PASSION we carry strapped to our hearts

Showing it to very few and unlocking it to even less

Being able to bear the pain that travels with it would be the only test If you are willing to let it rest in your heart

The pain is worth it to express this art Ode to thee

Ode to the CREATIVITY that crashes through within our veins A true power that never wanes

To soar through the skies crashing through obstacles like a wall being broken on both sides

Flowing from you like a river of paints

Let blast wildey because this is you

Let it burn violently so everytime, you raise from the ashes something new Ode to thee

YOU and ME

Javonte Barrow, senior

Beggar Woman

Matt Ward, senior

Capital Coast

Tiernan O’Neill, sophomore

Endless Travels

In a ship made of travels over endless water

I sailed in pursuit of the lonely daughter

Of pensive thoughts and drowning dreams

Swaddled in ideas that made her slip at the seams

The girl who approached the black water with fear

With a lantern growing dimmer as she came ever near

My task was great and my intentions small

But a pendulum of light swaying like a clock

Led me to the girl running across the dock

Her feet bare and splintered like a childs

In seeing timely waters were impatiently beguiled

The broken passage of time she felt she couldn’t mend

She jumped away from dreams, imagining giving up

For no light shone and the air was thick with thoughts

She saw the Lethe and meant to swallow the draught

But I care for the children by this sea

Ones who’ve forgotten they’re made to be

And sun shining on a garden overgrown

For my task is to teach them to taste again

Cotton candy clouds and bubbly champagne

So I sailed her out past the edge of the sea

To liberate her mind and set her dreams free

From the edge of the horizon that always glows gold

I gave her the stardust that of happiness foretold

And with her wanderlust sated, she took my hand

On moonlit waters one stares out to sea

Pondering over their endless query

The sailor we are looking for

Pulls up in a rowboat by the shore

Holds an outstretched hand with the peace of a dove

Ana Sherer- Estevez, junior

Casso

Tiger Villaveces, freshman

ELife as brothers

veryone who has older siblings knows how life can be with them. Some days you are the best of friends and others you are enemies. Some siblings never get along; others never argue.

Not too long ago my brother Brion, who is two years older than me, and I were just little kids and all we would along only when things were going his way or we were doing things that he wanted to do.

When it came down to making choices, there was always a problem. We would eat. He would choose McDonalds when I wanted Burger King.

“Momma, I want that,” Brion used to say.

speak up when it came to decisions and choices and I was always the one to wait and see what he wanted.

“I want that, too,” I would say.

That is how some of our childish arguments would start. Brion used to hate it when I would copy him. Most younger siblings would copy their older siblings because they are the oldest and are viewed as wiser, or even as a role model.

After a semester in college he dropped out. Although he didn’t fail his classes wasn’t for him.

“College really did not work for me. I wasn’t even that motivated and dedicated to the work,” Brion said.

He used to text and call me to tell me about how college was and what to expect when it is time for me to go. Around that time, I began to see him as an example of a person to look up to.

than me when I graduated high school because you took it more seriously,” he said to me awhile ago. “I wish I did the school than the one I’m at. Make sure you stay focused.”

When he told me these things, it wasn’t like an adult preaching to me or my parents lecturing me.

Brion was a little skinny kid that got in trouble and had an attitude, but by model thtat I needed.

It was more important coming from my older sibling that had already been through the thing that I was heading towards, college. I remember when he came home from school one day and he told me something that really stuck.

Our appearances and attitudes changed as we got older. We were at the peak of our growth and, as my parents predicted, I had grown bigger than my brother. Brion’s change, however, was much greater. He mentally matured so much that it changed my views of him completely.

When we were younger, Brion was a little, skinny kid that got in trouble and always had an attitude, but by the age of that I needed. He graduated from high

“I’m about to get out of Athens. Don’t do what I did, don’t get stuck here and do nothing, like a lot of these Athens dudes,” Brion said.

This is a piece of advice that I took very seriously and planned on sticking with it.

He did as he said and signed up for the Army. He shipped out to North Carolina and is now out of Athens. I look up to my brother a lot because he has changed in ways that many people who knew him didn’t think was possible, and now he is

Jaymel Isreal, senior

Bloom

Mary Merritt, sophomore

Matched

I did near everything I could, you know that I was there every night, there by your side

I kept the monsters away; I let you hold my hand like a talisman Something wasn’t right

But still it had me beat

that I was the best you could have

But the smell of rust in the air—the only better friend than me

I could smell it, you could too

That glint in your eyes told me all I needed to know

I was matched, stride for stride, by that silver glimmer

Forgive me for letting that be okay

Louise Platter, junior

Plethora

Nicholas Byrne, junior

oikos

(home, family, stock, self)

slate. The product of of Clarke Central’s creators.”

- Maria Velasquez, Theme letter, page 4

Editorial board

Ethan Crane, Editor-in-Chief

Grossman, Managing Editor

Director

Anna

Maria Velasquez, Art

David A. Ragsdale, Adviser

“There is something not so accepted about freely talking of emotions. But in order to reach closure and to feel at peace, we have to let them out.”

- Ethan Crane, Letter from the editor, page 5

The 2014 Clarke Central High School iliad literary-art magazine left to right; back row: Tiernan O’Neill, Ethan Crane, Maria Velasquez; front row: Anna Grossman, Emma Clarke, Grace Polaneczky.

friends of the iliad diamond $300+

Bertis and Katherine Downs

Bob Carson

CCHS Athletic Department

gold $50

Michael Conroy

Carolyn and Phillip Holmes

Wilbur Mull

Dr. Peter Smagorinsky

Kerry Settlemyer

bronze $10

Angela Myeress-Aristizabal

Louise Platter

Sir Beverly Wickle Weston, XVIII

special thanks to:

Lorien Campbell

Bob Carson and family

West Corley

Lexi Deagan

Hannah Dunn-Grandpré

Emily Grimes

Gregg Guichard

Dr. Robbie P. Hooker

platinum $100

Rachel Allen

Burney-Harris-Lyons Middle School

Peter and Lorinda Crane

Dr. Merrily Dunn

Meg Granum

Tad MacMillan

Karen Smith

Team Reign LLC

silver $25

Ian Altman

Stephen Hinson

Stephen Kowalewski

Gillian Miller

Steven Novak

Barbara Scott

Lenore Katz

Dr. Phil Lanoue

Ginger Lehmann

Tad MacMillan

Pete McCommons

Meghan McNeeley

Marion Montgomery

Lauren Pruitt

Melanie Sigler

Dr. Peter Smagorinsky

and any of our friends we’ve left out.

Anonymous

Broken 47

Aycock, Perrin

Magnetic 18

Barrow, Javonte

Ode To... 74

Brackett, Ivey

The American Dream 55

Brosius, Rad

Untitled 59

Stairs 72

Burton, Jocelynn

Stop! 13

With God All Things are Possible 33

Who 40

Butler, Brittney

Will Ride... I Will Stand 64

A Running List... 70

Byrne, Jack

Loop 71

Byrne, Marina

Mod 41

Byrne, Nicholas

Vietato 12

Strata 73

Plethora 83

Chaney, Hana

Candle Light 19

Conaway, Esther

Eavesdropping 34

Conine-Nakano, Susanna

Tianmen 49

New Generations, Old Traditions 63

Crane, Ethan

Regress 10

Instar 55

Lover’s Eyes 28

Admission denied 42

Goodie, Sara

Really 28

Self 53

Grossman, Anna

Transformation 25

Guichard, Gregg

Geometric 11

Estranged 27

Alex Gilbert 38

The Alone 47

Han, Bob

Individual 15

Harper, Gabe

Fannie Lou 44

Harper, Hanna

Remember? 22

Hinkle, Audrey

Exit 50

Holmes, Aaron

The Book of Derrick 39

Hayes, Tierra

My Angel 62

Isreal, Jaymel

Life as brothers 79

Jenkins, Lela

Kita 10

Julius, Jonitta

Empty 49

Kennedy, Patra

Inspired 68

Kipreos, Yung

That Look 67

Lehmann, Skylar

Untitled 37

McLeod, Porter

Lucy 8

Earthbound 16

Estranged 26

Naomi 35

Franklin, NC 65

Merritt, Mary

Fractal 11, 36, 61

Lilith 36

Bloom 80

Mustard, Blake

Nelson, Audrey - 48

Mandible, Wisdom 60

O’Neill, Tiernan

Sailor 40

Sk8 58

Capital Coast 76

Platter, Louise

Numb 32

Matched 82

Rhym, Chad

Myrtle 17

Richards, Makayla

The Grass 69

Rollins, Hannah

Perched 54

Sams, Ella

Uncertain 43

Sherer-Estevez, Ana

Endless Travels 77

Slaboda, Luke

Forest Vengeance 68

Scott, Henry

Ode to the Weston Institute 21

Thioub, Gansiry

Finding Home 66

Tye, Cassie

Prowl 29

Velasquez, Maria

Bite 23

Hollow 32

Villaveces, Tiger

Pluto’s Rising 46

Casso 78

Ward, Baylor

Ward, Matthew

To: Henry Scott 20

Beggar Woman 75

Watson, Emily

Concentric 52

COLOPHON

iliad headlines were printed in Orator Standard. All copy was printed in Palatino. All bylines were printed in Georgia. (blank) was used on the outer and inner covers and section dividers. Piedmont Impressions, a subsidiary of Greater Georgia Printers, of Athens, Ga., printed 300 copies of this book on 80 lb. gloss text. The cover was printed on 100 lb. Athens Gloss Cover and features “Dance of Pain” by Gregg Guichard and was designed by Maria Velasquez. “Dance of Pain” is also featured in the table of contents on page 2.

The Abreaction and Kairosis section dividers were taken by Susanna Conine-Nakano. The Kenosis section divider was taken by Porter McLeod. The inside cover was designed McLeod.

The 2013 iliad, interactions, earned a Superior rating in the General Excellence competition

The 2013 iliad earned an All-Southern rating and the Scroggins Award, top honors, from the Southern Interscholastic Press Association.

The 2013 iliad earned a Gold Medalist rating and the Gold Crown Award - one of 66 winners out of 1,236 entrants - from the Columbia Scholastic Press Assocation. The 2013 iliad earned a First Class rating from the National Scholastic Press Association with three marks of distinction.

The iliad accepts short stories, editorials, articles, poetry, essays, art, photography, original School in Athens, Ga. All submitted works are evaluated by the iliad adviser, David A. Ragsdale, has approved all work for publication.

The iliad actively recruits rising ninth grade students while still at our two feeder middle schools, Clarke Middle School and Burney-Harris-Lyons Middle School, by allowing them to submit pieces.

The goals of the iliad are 1) to encourage creative writing among students and faculty; 2) academic year; 4) involve interested students in the selection and publication of literary and artistic works.

It is iliad policy to not publish explicit language where it may appear in submitted work. Submissions containing profanity will be edited appropriately with the creator’s consent before publication.

contributed for this issue of the iliaddence and support in this endeavor.