The Motmot Issue 2 Volume 2

Page 1

The Mot mot

CRIA’s Online Creative Magazine Volume 2, Issue 2

Table of Contents

1. Waterloo by James Castle

2. The Gorilla by Antonio Chinchilla

3. The Predator by Charles Grubba (Image by Sienna Balecki)

4. A Summer’s Rest by Elena F. (Images by Elena F.)

5. The Wallet by Felipe San Roman

6. The Beauty of the Night by Isabella Voeltz (Image by Sienna Balecki)

7. Girl by Mikaela Odell

8. Either Wings or Fins by Kayleigh Blair Olszewski

9. Deep River by Rihanna Ruzicka (Image by Sienna Balecki)

10. Mixed Media Landscape by Valentina Calvo

11. Pug by Sean Brady (Image by Ren Owens)

12. Snowfall by Anonymous

The Motmot Team

13.Mixed Media Self Portrait by Melissa Rebourg

14.The Girl Down the Street by Anonymous

15.Woman in Armour by Santiago Cubillos

16.Don’t Look by Santiago Cubillos

17. Untitled Art by Melda Kinali

18. Untitled Art by Melda Kinali

Sky Cultraro Co Editor Rebeca Urbina

Creative Consultant

Sienna Balecki Co Editor

Image Consultant

Ren Owens Co Editor

Creative Consultant

Zachary Sell

Lucie Gouttenoire

Crabtree Faculty Dunsel
Chris
anonymous
*all nameless content was specifically requested to be

Waterloo James Castle

A once virgin field now stained red with rose

Steel against steel the hallowed dance flows

Pawns of a game they don’t know they play

The pigs safe and aloft always get their way

Fetishized martyr the tale a false muse

Dreams don’t matter once they light the fuse

Blood like roses against sky blue

This will be my Waterloo

Photo by Sienna balecki

The Gorilla

Antonio Chinchilla

Peaceful in nature

A mystical creature He can run walk and swing

The predator

I want to soar

Through the skies like a hawk

Without thought

Of any disturbance

To fly to the distant blazing fire

Which is our sun, a hot furnace

To travel wherever I desire And hunt

The required

To lay atop a mighty peak

And watch down as the shadows

Play hide and seek

As the leaves break

And the branches snap

The hawk soars down and stabs

Photo by Sienna balecki

“A SUMMER’S REST”

The Wallet

A lot of people care about their wallet

Most because it has money

But for me there is more

It is a precious belonging

Not for its monetary worth

But for it's sentimental worth

My wallet is like my safety box

Where all my precious things are

It has what allows me to dive

It has all my money

It has the document that proves who I am

It knows many secrets and keeps them inside

But most importantly

It came from my Grandpa

The Beauty of The Night by

The moon

Rises in the east

Walks his way over the sky

All alone

Followed by a few quiet stars

No people to watch

Only silence

Jealous of his brother

The sun

Who is loved by the people

Who has company from the humans

And he: He waits all alone

Until the humans wake up

Until he leaves through the west

Until his brother starts to shine again

But, still he tries his best brightens up the sky in a beautiful gray

Gives company to the few: that are awake and believe in him

Every full moon: The people ignore him

Every new moon: They miss him

The moon doesn’t know what he should do

Should he be there now in full shape

Should he be half there to find the middle peace

Should he be gone so the people notice him once

Questions he asks every day

But there will never be an answer.

Photo by Sienna Balecki

GIRL

Either wings or fins?

To swim anywhere

To see all

To hear the waves

Learn the ways of life under the sea

The feelings of swimming free

Never to have anxiety

Costa Rica, California, Croatia

Greece or the Bahamas

Free to swim anywhere anytime

To never be alone

To care for the young like they are gold to a pirate.

To swim in a pod

Deep River

Man knows more of the profound darkness

And its specks of light

Than their own abyss of blue

And its eternal night.

I, however, will never soar

Above the clouds. I stay in my home of starkness, Hear my fellows’ tunes too

I am the traveler of the ocean, The explorer of the blue. I pioneer the depth In only one breath With just one glimpse of me, I enchant those at sea. Towards the bottom, when I go deeper, I’ve seen all kinds of

My movement is unceasing

Never decreasing

Always constant. The hellish sounds

Of the metal vessel

Inching toward the bottom. The cherished calls

Of the other deep divers

In my life, will I discover The sound of the core of our earth

Or see what’s beyond the bottom?

I’ve been beyond the horizon

I live in the land of Poseidon

Your very own ocean, Is the one I arise in.

Photo by Sienna Balecki

MIXED MEDIA LANDSCAPE VALENTINA CALVO

Pug

Pug

A pug, slow as a slug. Fat as a pig, furry like a wig. Not skinny like a twig, breathes like a drilling rig. Super cute, but I wish I could put it on mute. Has tiny paws and a lot of flaws.

Photo by Ren Owens

Snowfall

I exhale, and it seems my words leave with that breath, and I see them disappear in the air. I put my hands in my pockets to avoid the biting cold. Now I get what people mean when they say that, it feels like it's gnawing my fingers and making them numb. I’m pretty sure I can't feel my face anymore. The snowfall is so dense that I lost everyone, I didn’t even hear them call my name once…that’s ok. I sit down in the snow, I’m getting tired of trying to find my way when it’s clear they don’t want me to come back. I don’t remember laying down, but now I stare at the small specks of white gently falling down to their end. That's how I feel. A constant fall. And I wait for my end. It will come soon enough. I sigh and close my eyes, let this be the last time I do.

Mixe d Medi a SelfPort rait

The Girl Down the Street

Entering the summer, the sky is bright

Frolicking in the grass, perfect weather

The girl down the street couldn’t ask for anything better

As autumn creeps in, the heat fades from sight

But she pickes apples, so everything is right

Everyone is bundled up, they’ll don a sweater

The girl down the street waits for a love letter

Now autumn leaves and winter is at its height

Outside in the snow, the wind made it tremendously cold

Some are ecstatic, but it makes some blue

The girl down the street is now a bit more bold

Slowly spring starts, the sight of flowers is new

The harshness of the snow will no longer make you fold

Now

it’s warm, the girl down the street has much to do

Woman in Armour by Santiago Cubillos

Don’t Look by

Those were the first words that popped into my head when I woke up two and a half weeks ago. I knew where it was too, the x-y-z coordinates plotted in my head. The windows were closed in my small ten-byten foot bedroom. I always closed my windows when I went to sleep, and I thanked myself for it because I know I would’ve seen it from my apartment on the eleventh floor.

As I’m walking to work I can feel it at seven o’ clock, blotting out the blue of the sky. I’m sure it’s staring at me, I think as I swipe my card to buy myself a coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar and one of honey. The barista hands it to me and smiles. She knows. They all know, everyone in the shop, standing in line, talking to their friends, hastily leaving to make it to their nine-to-fives. Don’t look.

But a lot of them looked. How could they not? I almost did, three days ago when I spilled my papers on the floor of my office. I bent down to pick them up, and my head turned as if by reflex. I snapped back to my papers, but I swear, I swear it knows, I didn’t even see what it was but it knows, I know it knows, I knew it when I woke up at six fifty-three, seven minutes before my alarm rang, I knew it as I walked to the coffee shop, I know it now as I’m in the elevator with three other people, all staring down at their phones because they refuse, even in these four walls, to look.

But I’m being paranoid.

My heels click on the linoleum as I walk to my cubicle. My heels are one and a half inches tall. My cubicle is about ten feet from the exit. My boss is here, asking me, “Can ya come in tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday but we’re not meeting our quotas ‘cuz of, uh, bein’ understaffed and all.”

“Understaffed?”

“Well, it’s, well, I don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk about it in the workplace yet, due to the, um, extenuating circumstances of the situation, but yeah, we’re pretty understaffed, and the boss knows ya to be pretty hardworking.”

“I don’t know, I kind of need my weekends.”

“Listen, please, the boss doesn’t know what to do ‘round here, and frankly, neither do I, but we can’t let this affect our productivity. We all need to work together, as a team.”

“We all just need to pull a little extra weight around here.”

“Yeah yeah, exactly. Thanks for understandin’ Liz, I knew I could count on ya.”

“You always can.”

It’s six fifty-three when I clock out. I ride the elevator down by myself this time. People usually leave by five, probably to get back home to their families. Kids. I wonder how they’re stopping their kids from looking? I would blindfold them. I laughed to myself at the idea. The door opens with a ding. Six fifty-five.

The walk home feels longer than usual. I don’t like going this way because it’s right above my head. I need to bend my neck down the entire time. It reminds me of something, but I can’t remember it right now. Remembering…I can’t remember much actually. What was it like three weeks ago? Who was I when I wasn’t being watched?

I stop in my tracks. I am being watched, aren’t I? I have no proof of it. I’m not a criminal. I'm not a celebrity. I’m not something important. Six fifty-eight.

I'm at the door of my apartment building. I feel it at eight o’ clock,

seventy-two degrees in the sky if the ground was the x-axis. Was I always thinking about numbers? My hands shake as I put the keys in the lock. Six fiftynine.

I think I wanted children at one point.

Fifty seconds.

I think I wanted, at one point.

Thirty-five seconds.

I’m going to wake up tomorrow at six fifty-three and do this again.

Twenty-one seconds.

I’m going to go buy my coffee.

Fourteen seconds.

I’m going to ride the elevator.

Eleven seconds.

I’m going to work overtime, pull a little extra weight.

Seven seconds.

I’m going to clock out.

Five seconds.

I’m going to go back to my bed.

Four seconds.

I’m going to go to sleep.

Three seconds.

And I’m going to do this again.

Two seconds.

I take my keys out of the door. I turn around and walk into the center of the empty street, my arms gently swinging by my side. My hands have stopped shaking. The moon is illuminating the streets, gently, making the shadows soft. I used to keep my drapes open as I slept, and let the moon lull me to sleep. It’s seven o’ clock. I take a deep, deep breath.

And I look.

Kinali

Turn static files into dynamic content formats.

Create a flipbook
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.