RedShiftCreative Magazine Volume IV Issue I -- Fall 2009

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Letter From the Editor

All work printed in this magazine is copyright of the respective artist.The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily those held by the Executive Board, members of RedShift, or Stevens Institute of Technology.RedShift is named after a poem by Ted Barrigan, who spent part of his illustrious career teaching at Stevens Institute of Technology.

Contents

RedShift is currently accepting submissions for the next issue.Please send any submissions to RedShift@stevens.comYour submission must be your original work, and you must be a member of the Stevens Institute of Technology community.

Candle Wax & Wane.................. 4 Ryan WernerThe Day Before Yesterday.......... 4 Cecilia OstermanFrank Sinatra............................. 5 David J. D’AgostinoKnowledge................................. 6 Jackson KellyAlmond Bread for Malthus........ 7 Chris MerckLight Show................................. 8 Eric PalmerA Bug’s Life............................... 8 JoeMangiaficoAnimal Instinct.......................... 9 Barbara KierszSolving Puzzles Inside Out....... 10 Natalia Bilchuk Nursing Fawn........................... 11 Dylan AbelSynaesthetic.............................. 12 Ryan WernerHarmony................................... 12 Eric Palmer8 AM 8 Apr 08.......................... 13 Chris MerckIslands...................................... 13 Keith RobyHidden Beauty.......................... 14 Matthew DiemerPiccolo Italia............................ 15 JoeMangiaficoFit............................................. 16 Tariq MirzaDocked For The Night.............. 16 Cecilia OstermanTemptation................................ 17 Barbara KierszLet’s Take a Ride....................... 17 Barbara KierszThe Great Chain....................... 18 Melissa Wiegand

For Tio...................................... 19 Regina PynnSalvation................................... 19 Dylan AbelIDK AIM Speak......................... 20 Stefanie MoretPrepackaged............................. 20 Stefanie MoretI Caught Fire............................ 20 Cecilia OstermanFruit Fornication...................... 20 Cecilia OstermanWhy Men Shave Their Beards... 21 James VarbanovStevens Sunset........................... 21 Cecilia OstermanJ. Walker.................................... 22 Frank RiccobonoGerard....................................... 22 Nirmal RajanMoonrise................................... 22 Eric D. PalmerPuff Clouds............................... 23 Cecilia Osterman Test Anxiety............................... 24 AnonymousIn a Trucker’s Wheel................. 25 Matthew DiemerThanksgiving............................. 26 M.G. PrasadConfusion.................................. 26 Natalia BilchukRecollecting the Illusion........... 27 Keith RobyAnklets & Earrings................... 28 AnonymousPainter in the Sky...................... 29 Melissa WiegandBatman...................................... 29 Nirmal Rajan Untitled..................................... 29 Natalia Bilchuk

Flower....................................... 30 Barbara KierszUntitled..................................... 30 Matthew DiemerThe Door in My Mind............... 31 Jackson KellyWooden Sun.............................. 31 Sheeraz HyderFire in the Sky............................ 32 Matthew DiemerTrees.......................................... 32 David J D’AgostinoRise and Shine........................... 33 Carl MarcelusPublic Beach............................. 33 Dylan AbelMediocre Soldier....................... 34 Daniel CentrelliJumbled Boxes.......................... 34 Melissa WiegandWater Dome.............................. 34 Sheeraz Hyder

Fall 2009 Production StaffEditor in Chief -- Kyle YandellPublisher -- Carl MarcellusSecretary -- Melissa WiegandTreasurer -- Matthew Diemer

Editing StaffKatelyn Sapio Sheeraz HyderRyan Werner Carl MarcellusMelissa Wiegand Kyle YandellBarbara Kiersz Keith Roby Matthew Diemer

Layout StaffKeith Roby Katelyn SapioMatthew Diemer Kyle YandellRyan Werner Sheeraz Hyder

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Feverish.SimplyFeverish.Thefirstsightofpaperandquillinafortnightandtherewassomuchtobesaid.Lineafter frenzied line of coils and curls were spreading downward across the page barely visible in the glow of the candle on the crate of spare horseshoes under the paper. It was more realistic to think of any horseshoes as spares at this point as the last of the horses had died days ago during the retreat. Dozens more must have perished dur-ing the last battle. What a disastrous engagement it had been. The force of twenty thousand men had seemed like the most impressive show of might imaginable on those nostalgic early days fresh in the ranks when the bayo-nets were sharp and the boots had soles. Of course the enemy had far surpassed those puny limits of imagina-tion and more than decimated the thousands who dared oppose them. Only two thousand odd men remained and those numbers were quickly dwindling in the merciless winter cold beyond the protection of the cottage walls.Writing a frantic letter to the missus back home was the only a distant hope; odds were slim that any letters would ever make it out of here. But at least it provided an outlet for the building frustration and a distraction from the grim situation. It would be far more satisfying to hold her tight rather than a rusty old musket at night. Whiletheothersoldiers’wiveswouldreceivegrandiosepicturesofagentlemanlybattlefield,shewouldgetthetruth,somethingsherightlydeserved.Fromanyvantagepoint,thechoiceswerelimitedtowritingorfightingand speaking out in such a desperate state of affairs would almost certainly entail a swift conclusion courtesy of a musket ball albeit under the assumption that they could be spared. Hearsay in the village camp supported the conjecturethattheenemyhadbrokenofftheirpursuit.Theywereconfidentintheirvictoryandapparentlysawno need to chase doomed men into their graves. While prudent on their part, many in camp were hoping for that warrior’s death rather than the irresistible embrace of winter. The enemy could have dealt a deathblow with rela-tiveease,too;themenwereinnoconditiontocontinuetheirflight.Themenweredyingandsowasthelight.The candle had been burned down to the base and the remainder of its duration was hard to know precisely. The spreadinglinesacrossthepagesbecameevermoreerraticasthecandlecontinuedtoburn,itsflameslowlydanc-ingintodarkness.Aletterneededtobefinishedandanescapeneededtobemade,buttimewasquicklyrunningout.

The Day Before Yesterday--Cecilia Osterman

Frank Sinatra--David J D’Agostino

Candle Wax and Wane--Ryan Werner

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I awake with a start, my body covered in cold sweat. I feel a chill make its way down my spine. Where am I? The room is dark, a small glow emanating from a doorway in front of me. I continue to look around, recognizing nothing. “Good morning.” The strange voice is cool, calm, collected. I look around for the source, but still see noth-ing. The strange white glow pulsates slightly at the sound of the voice, which again speaks. “Do you know where you are?” I try to answer, but my voice makes no sound. The light grows stronger. I stand up, my knees weak. I move to step forward, but my legs are too weak, I cannot move them. I am rooted to the spot, immobilized and muted. “You are too weak now to come forward. You cannot yet see me, nor know what it means to see me. It is not yet your time. Do you know why I have brought you here?” Another question, another attempt to speak, another failure.Silencefillstheroom.Theglasslikesoundofthevoicecomesagainfromtheotherroom.“No,ofcourseyou don’t. None ever know why I bring them here.” The light grows stronger, beginning to illuminate the barren room. I wait once more for the beautiful sound of speech. “Butyoucannotknow.”Thelightflashesredastheraspyvoicespeaks.“No,youcannotknowhowitworks.” More red light bathes the room in an eerie glow. Pain emanates through my chest. I let out a small scream, butmyvoiceisoncemorestifled. “But you are here because I have brought you here. And I have brought you here to tell you how it works.” The voice is smooth as glass again, the light turns white again, the pain in my chest stops; I can breathe again. “Yes, yesyoumustknow.Thereisnootherchoice.”Witheachwordthelightgrows,andIfindmyselfsteppingforward.“Yes, come closer, my child.” I proceed, approaching the shining doorway, I’m almost there, I step forward again, coming ever closer, I am almost there… “No! You cannot know! I cannot tell you!” The blast of red light throws me backwards. I hit the back wall withathud,thepainspreadingthroughoutmybody,andIfalltothefloorinacrumpledheap.Iletlooseascream,and this time my voice can be heard, my blood curdling shout echoing off of the red walls. “The integrity of your universe must be protected! I must return you!” The pain grows, the light grows. I hear whispering. My mind is racing, my thoughts echoing back to me, my own mentality interrogating me, asking me questions, the answers to which I know now. The pain grows. The light grows. The whispering becomes louder. My thoughts, my emotions, my very soul is splayed across the walls, plain for any to see. The whispering becomes clearer, I can make out words, my numb mind slowly grasping their meaning. “Who are we? What are we? How are we controlled?” The same thoughts race through my mind, echoing backtomeinfinitely.Thisstrangeplace,isthisreal?WhereamI?WhoamI?WhatamI?Arewereal,doweliveaswethinkwelive?Areweincontrolofourownactions?Areweevenreal,orarewefigmentsofourownimagi-nations. Am I the only one? Are all other people in my ‘reality’ merely imaginations of my mind, created to keep meoccupied,tofillmylife?Icannotseelifefromtheirperspectives,Iwillneverknowiftheyexist,ifIexist,ifany of us exist. Are we players in a larger game? What are we? The pain grows. “No, I must send you back; you cannot know the answers to these questions, none can know the answers to these questions. I must return you to life.” The red light grows, enveloping everything the entire room. I cannot see anything. A dark room. Moonlight illuminates the far wall, creating an eerie glow. I recognize this place; my room comes sharply into focus. And yet I am standing, not in my bed where I should be. I walk across the room toward my bed. I will return to sleep, if I can ever sleep again. The echoes of the plethora of questions still weigh heavily upon my mind. What are we? Thereisadarkfigurelyinginmybed,facingawayfromme.Myeyeshaveadjustedtothedimlight;Icanmake out the curves of the body on the bed. I grasp the limp shoulder, rolling the stranger over to discover his iden-tity. I look down into my own face, the eyes of which are not shut in sleep, but open in an expression of pure agony. The pain in my chest returns, the moonlight grows to reveal the dagger sticking out of my corpse, blood dripping slowlydownmylimparmontothefloor.

I stumble backwards, trying to escape the terrible sight of my own cadaver. The world shatters, my vision goesblack,thenred,thenwhite;Icannolongerfeelthefloorbeneathme,Icannolongerhearthedrippingofblood.The pain grows. “Thisiswhy.”ThestrangeglassvoicefillsthenothingnessinwhichIfindmyself.“Youmustknowhowtheuniverse works. I must share with you the secrets of its operation, simple in its elegance, sublime in its complexity. Your questions will be answered, but you must leave behind your earthly being.” The pain grows. The abyss around me bears down on me, the nothingness, the emptiness, the light itself, it’s all too much. The pain grows, I can no lon-ger endure it. I scream once more, but this time my voice reaches my own ears distorted, becoming the cry of a bird, the roar or a lion, the song of a whale. And yet I can understand it, all of these sounds beg again that same question. What are we? I must know, I cannot now survive without knowing the answer to this question. I can never discover it onmyown;thereisonlyonewaythatIcanfindout.Thepaingrows.Inodmyhead. “Good, good. We will begin at once.” The voice is again cool and collected, smooth and glasslike, beautiful and pleasant. The pain stops. My world goes black.

Almond Bread For Malthus--Chris Merck

Knowledge--Jackson Kelly

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Thomas’sobsbecameuncontrollable.RickwastryingtoenjoyhistimewithLisa,butitseemedasthoughThomaswas out to sabotage him.“Shut up, you stupid dog!” Rick yelled.LisalookedatRickdisappointingly;shelovedanimalsmorethanshelovedpeople.Oh,crap!NowLisadoesn’tlikeme anymore; thanks a lot, Thomas.“I’msorryLisa,Thomasistiredandwantstogohome,”Ricksaidwithregretonhisvoice.“Thomas,Iamsorryforyelling at you, but you have to learn to control your cries,” this Rick said with a baby-talking voice. At least that will makemelookbetterinfrontofLisa.StupidDog!“That’sOK,”Lisasaid,“We’llseeeachotheranothertime.”Thesunwassettingontheocean,likeafirebeingputoutbywater.Thatdayhadbeenamazing.First,breakfastatLolo’s.Then,joggingalongthebeach.Finally,theperfectchocolateandvanillaice-cream.Lisawassatisfiedwiththedate too. “Iknowit’sthefirstofficialdatewehave,”Rickconfessed,“butIhadagreattime,andItrulythinkweweremeantfor each other.”“Metoo,”LisasaidbeforekissingRick.“SeeyouonSaturday.”Saturdaywasthreedaysaway,andRickwasn’tsurehecouldholdhisurgetoseeLisaagainuntilthen.Oh,well.Hewouldhavetowait.I’mgoingtokillyouThomas.Everyonceinawhile,Rickthoughtthat;afterall,itwasn’tthefirsttime Thomas lost Rick an opportunity to suppress his id.Saturday came sooner than expected, but those three days gave Rick a time to get his apartment ready for the ritual. He wassoeagertogoonthedateandseeLisaagainthathelefthisapartmentthreehoursearlierthanheshouldhave.HedrovepassedLisa’shouseacoupleoftimesbeforeringingthedoorbell.“I’msosorryI’mnotreadyyet,”Lisaapologized.“It’sjustthatIwasplanningforyoutocomeatseven,likewesaid,and it is six thirty. Give me 10 more minutes and we can head out.”“I’mtheonewhoissorry.Iwasjustsoeagertoseeyouagain.”Lisasmiledandblushedatthesoundofthosewords.AstheyleftLisa’shome10minuteslater,Rick’sexcitementkeptgrowingstronger.Lisawasexcitedtoo.Ihavefinallyfound the one! Attherestaurant,Rickfeltlonely.Hewassurroundedbypeople,butnoonereallyknewhim.AsLisasmiledathim,helookedoverandsawLolostaringathim,givinghimanapprehensiveandjudgmentallook.LoloknewaboutRick’sdoings. He helped Rick to get his victims only because he knew how sick Rick was (and because they were brothers).“IapologizeforbringingyoutoLolo’sagain,”Ricksaid.“Thisismyfavoriterestaurantinthearea.Plus,it’stheplacewhere I had the best date of my life with the best woman in the world.” He reached out and gently grabbed her hands.“Thank you. I think you are wonderful.”“You know, I don’t usually do this so soon, but I feel like there is a lot of chemistry between us. Instead of taking you home right now, do you want to come over to my apartment?”“Iwouldreallylikethat,”Lisasmiled.“Check please!” Rick said eagerly.TheylefttherestaurantanddrovetoRick’shouse.ThomaswasnowatLolo’s;Rickneededthispartofhisritualtobequiet, he wanted to enjoy every second of it without any interruptions.“I am sorry about the plastic hanging from everywhere; I am redecorating,” Rick said as they walked into the living room. He was a good liar. “That’sfine.Icanhelpyouifyouwant;mysisterisaninteriordesigner.”RicktookoffLisa’scoat.Shesatdownonthecouchwhilehewenttoputthecoataway.Butthatwasnotallhewasdoing.HeretrievedtheboxwithListonknivesfromtheclosetandgrabbedhisfavoriteone;hecalleditCindy.HewalkedsilentlyoverbehindthecouchandstretchedhisleftarmtograbLisa’shead.Ashedid,heputhishandoverher mouth, tilted her head to the left and kissed her neck. He put the knife in his back pocket. Not yet; I want to enjoy this, he thought.“I like it rough,” he whispered in her ear and took his hand off her mouth.“Me too.”He walked around the couch and sat down next to her. They started kissing; he was pretending to be passionate, but he reallydidnotfeelanythingforLisa,onlyadesiretokillher.Myfavoritepart,Lisathought.Andastheykeptkissing,

Light Show--Eric D Palmer

A Bug’s Life--Joe Mangiafico

Animal Instinct--Barbera M. Kiersz

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Eyes taped shut so I couldn’t see, blinded by all that surrounded me.Thoughts in pieces ran through my head, couldn’t distinguish the good from the bad... BROKEN. I simply fell apart, THEY took it but never returned my heart... Everyone had a piece but me, no room for them to see. That I was right here.

Lost,tryingtorediscovermyself...Two sides, two paths, wanted them both but had to choose. A hard road lead me here, where I now stand... Time left me here to stand, to think, to ponder…

Now as I wonder where I am.. The WHEREs, the WHOs, in my back THENs. Questioning the WHYs, asking them where I went wrong... Now that I’m here, It’s over. That time had gone, and I am done.

It took so long to win this battle. I was still young, it fought within me... The one that started when I was lonely… When I was lost... Iletitgooninsideme...SosorryfriendifIabandonedyou...Leftyoutoyourthoughts...Iwasstillbusytryingtofiguremineout...stilltryingtogetoutfromthatwhichclosedmein.Whichwouldn’tletmeout...

AndsoIroamedaboutlookingforawindow...IYELLEDandnooneheardme...Was no one able to see? A girl that was just looking for someone to help her through this.In the end, I learned. I could withstand the wrath of time, and youth’s confusion. I’m the girl who found those doors, and the path which she now knows she must follow…

Lifeismorethansimplegamesandfun...Itisnotallaboutyou,orme,orthem…It is about us...All of us. We are the WHOs. We’re in the NOW. This is WHERE. We are the reasons to the WHYs, we hold the TOMORROWS... So child, don’t burden yourself in dreams, or rather thoughts of the back WHENs...Or the HAVE BEENs...LookforwardtotheWILLBEsandthefuturescenes.Fortheyarecoming...This world, in which blood is spilled from every hand... IS OURS NOW... Don’t ask me why. Don’t wonder how. Leavethepastbehind,andseewhatCOULDbe...WhatwecanDO.WhatSHOULDbe...

Because I knew a girl who lost her self in a deep sea of worries... they surrounded her, made her lose hope. She had to learn to let go. And when she did, she found the window... She discovered all those years, SHE held herself back from enjoying the present, and looking forward to tomorrows.

Nursing Fawn--Dylan Abel

Solving Puzzles Inside Out--Natalia Bilchuk

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In a Fremen sietch deep undergroundGiant stone pillars do me surround.A voice in my head, a voice of the sands:“Drive yon girl out,” Shai-Hulud commands.

IdigandIdig,Ifightthecollapse.The in-way soon shall be buried perhaps.Girl in a gem, sandcastle’s doom,By secret magic I’m back in the room.

Scream and a knock, rat at the door,I let her in lest she further implore.She’s only ten, but I’m only nine?Why are we young, who fucked with time?

From Mark’s wing we watch a beast on all-fours,One with a face even God abhors.It staggers, it conjures, it’s speaking in tongues,Ringèd by stone in circles it runs.

A leech on his back, the beast is lame,By clairvoyant magic our minds entrain.And so with ritual-jade and racing heartFor the deep-space desert do I depart.

Tunnel to hall, door upon door,In spaceship-house past stars I soar.Stilgar, Kid-Moe, and others I meet.Wejourneyalonehavingnofleet.

Threegunnèdcrucifix,enemycraftWithout warning lasers our aft.Lasermeetshead,therobotisbroken,Replaced with a screen says “Insert a Token.”

Small-moon’s beam ‘round us threads,TwodarkfighterswithMan-O-Warheads,Three black bats, reality-split,Fromagreatheighttheforestfloorwehit.

The bats as plastic are now revealed.‘Twixtusandthemath-dogsthereliesafield,One never reached though it be not far,‘Cause this world dies ‘fore the Death-Star.

When color becomes sound

With vision and scent mixed

Do taste and touch get turned ‘round

With reality all ‘twixt?

ArefieldsElysian

With doubts Cartesian?

Or maybe you lose touch

When you doubt it as much?

With sensory lines blurred

Can you live undeterred?

If one walks in the shoes

Of one who touches hues

Does one gain perspective

Or is that elective?

Harmony--Eric D Palmer

8am 8 Apr 08--Chris Merck

Synaesthetic--Ryan Werner

Islands--Keith Roby

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Hello Hidden BeautyOh how I love you soPlease don’t cryIt will be alrightCome Letmetakeyouawaywithmetonight

Don’t listen to themThey don’t understand youThey think you are uglyThey can only see you on the surfaceThey are shallow and can not seeSee the beauty that I see

Please don’t cryThose menThose Engineers Those Scientists that you seeThey think they know you,But they don’tI know they hurt youTo use youAnd abuse you like thatThey only see you as a toolBut there are people out there that know betterPeople like meI can see past your practical usefulnessAnd see all that you are worthHidden Beauty Please stay with me tonight

Hidden BeautyPlease look up and smileHidden BeautyYou have a lot reasonsReasons to be proudThe search for any truthCan start with youPerceived or Absolute truthI know I can count on you to show me the wayAlthough the only knowledge I know I knowComes from youYour ideas and Your beauty

Please don’t cryThere is moreMore to sayAbout how special you are

Where was I?Oh, wait, that’s right

You are more believable than scienceYes, science requires more faith thanThan it takes to believe in youThewayyourideasflowisprofoundThe way you invent words is breathtakingYou have a language all to your ownAnd that language is a part of you

Hidden BeautyPlease let me look into your eyes

Hidden BeautyYou have changed my life for the betterHidden BeautyYou made me question my theories of beautyAnd of ArtHidden BeautyYou helped me to understand the worldAnd helped me realize that there is moreMore to being human than I once thoughtHidden BeautyYou exist in a world of your ownA world that only belongs to youHidden BeautyPlease take me to your world

I love studying your depthYour intricaciesYour curves and your beautyOh your hidden beautyMy heart intersection with feeling for youIs not an empty setAnd all its elements have centersCentered around youHidden BeautyPlease take me away with you tonight

Piccola Italia--Joe Mangiafico

Hidden Beauty--Matthew Diemer

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Let’s take a ride--Barbera Kiersz

The day was coming to an end as the sunlight started to fade It was hard for me to accept this as I gave into my habit to procrastinate The calories of the past day were starting to buildUnfortunately I had no other means to have them rid

I slowly came to acceptance as I knew what was in storeI leisurely laced up my running shoes I stepped outside watching the night accrueAndIponderedhowanyonecouldfindjoyinthischore

As I started to move I could feel the cool breeze rushing past my faceEverything became a blur as I picked up the paceI quickly forgot about all the responsibilities of the dayAs at the time I enjoyed keeping them at bay

I slowed my speed down to a walkI realized why I didn’t mind the run as I came around the blockThe whole experience left me refreshedAnd yearning for the next day before I could even open my mouth and talk

Now I could ease back into my old ways and dietSit back and relax on my lounge seat For the rest of the day was carefreeAnd that’s how I felt it should be

I took a sip from the cupWhich I was not supposed to;The forbidden liquidThat accelerates the senses.

Its strong tasteFilled my mouth,Contrasted by the richness of milkAnd the sweetness of sugar.

As I extend my arm,The cup leaves my lipsAnd I smell the delicious aromaThat had been tempting me for so long.

Ifinallygavein,I couldn’t resistThat silky textureWith a caramel tint.

Docked for The Night--Cecilia Osterman

Temptation--Barbera Kiersz

Fit--Tariq Mirza

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“And with the strike of the final chord, the climax, the city was obliterated in a single explosion, the children... the children were uncontrollable, driven to convulsions by the ecstasy of death. Yes, it was true, The Farmer had finally brought them salvation.”

Afternewsofadeath,donotletthebereaveddrive.Theroadbecomeslikeatimelapseinafilm:somethingtobecutaway,fillerbetweenthegut-punchandacatharsis.Theyspeedtowardsthecatharsis. In an hour, I would learn where the body was. In an hour and two minutes, I would argue. In an hour and two minutes and seventeen seconds, I would sob. Until then, I pushed the acceleration pedal like a morphine drip. This is who we are, dark and frozen in the stillness, cracked with disbelief as a lake in the snowtime. Any other death, I hear grandfather groan. I could live with any other death. And I slip through the gaps where I once sat securely, where I skated as a child and drown now as something older.

The Great Chain--Melissa Wiegand

Salvation--Dylan Abel

For Tio--Regina Pynn

Neon Palm Tree--Matthew Diemer

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I grew a beard, as per her prescription.I watched as the doctor carried out a baby boy that was not mine.My beard itched. I listened as the nurse told me that my baby died by noose. Iruffledmybeard.I shivered as the nurse told me that Catherine was gushing torrents of blood.My beard itched like hell. I returned to Catherine’s death bed, only to hold her as she died. My beard was scathing. As the rain continued to pour, My beard reminded me of the barnacles that callous a whale’s hide.

idk aim speaku say bblbut l8er nvr comesu say brbbut bak isn't ru say g2gandifinallyb-leaveu

Stevens Sunset--Cecilia Osterman

I Caught Fire--Cecilia Osterman

Why Men Shave Their Beards--James Varbanov

IDK Aim Speak--Stefanie Moret

Everything in our livesis handpicked and given to us all nice and prepackaged.What we then do with themis one of our own choices.Some choose to leave them in their original plastic or box.Where they then gather dustatop one of God’s shelves.But some people chooseto reach onto those shelvesand break the seal on their prepackaged lifeAnd sometimes that’s the truly fun partof anyone’s life

Prepackaged--Stefanie Moret

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I am carrying a burden,A heavy burden I have chosen.With my heavy burden, hindered by it, I walk slowly,While friends without this burden, thus unladen, they walk quickly.They fail to notice as I fall behind.I start to wonder if I mind.I am left then, with my burden, weight alone for company,As I see them, far before me, wondering if they see me.I say nothing so not to offend.I know we’ll meet at journey’s end.Thenstopping,theydofindmegone,And pause awhile as I walk on.They are sorry when they see me,Apologizing, every one.Then they praise me for my burden, they dropped theirs they know not when.Funny, they, though speaking sorry, are far ahead when we walk again.

Puff Clouds--Cecilia Osterman

Moonrise--Eric D Palmer

Gerard--Nirmal Rajan

J. Walker--Frank Riccobono

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Waiting is the worst… You all know the feeling.Sitting in a hot room in uncomfortable seats,Pretending to pay attention to notes scrawled on the board.But you’re really only thinking about the exam you’re about to get back.

“Anything higher than an 80 is an A…” announces the professor.Not a good sign.Everyone who thought they did well is now experiencingThat all-too-familiar feeling of self-doubt“Did I check my answers?”“Did I remember to add the constant after integrating?”

And then the long process of returning the exams begins.The professor slowly reads each last name,Often botching the pronunciation.Afterrecitingeachnamehebrieflyscanstheroom,Lookingformovement.If nobody comes forward,He places the exam on the table in front of him and moves on.

There is no method to test distribution.No alphabetical order, no seating chart to follow.You never know when the professor will stumble through your name.Suddenly he does…

You come forward, trying not to look too eager or apprehensive.He hands you the exam without even making eye contact.Denying the chance to offer you praise… or sympathy.

I’m going down the interstate,Truck one, Truck two,I pass another truck.I have been on this road for hours.But what is that?Time seems to stop.

What is that,In that shiny hubcap?Is that me,In a trucker’s wheel?

In a trucker’s wheel,I see me.Is that really me?Do I like who I am,In a trucker’s wheel.

In a trucker’s wheel I see pain,I see tears,I see all the sorrow’s that life has burdened me with,I see the scars,In a trucker’s wheel.

Now I see confusion,Now I see mistakes.Now I see the side of me I wish to hide,In a trucker’s wheel.

But After all that,I see triumph,I see success,I see love,And I see happiness,I see all of me,In a trucker’s wheel

In A Trucker’s Wheel--Matthew Diemer

Test Anxiety--Anonymous

Fruit Fornication--Cecilia Osterman

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Oh! God, how can I ever thank You enough?As I look deeply into the details of life.

You manifest as family and friends.And they nourish the upbringing of child.

As a young mind seeks its food of knowledge,And there You manifest as Gurus and Sages.

As I ponder about the existence around me,You manifest as the unseen forces in Nature.

No matter where and when I see,Things and beings are all connected.In plants, animals, humans and divinities,And inside and outside of me, You pervade.

Oh! God, always give Your memory to me,As I desire to lead my life by thanking Thee.

Confusion--Natalia Bilchuk

Thanksgiving--M.G. Prasad Recollecting The Illusion

--Keith Roby

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Batman--Nirmal Rajan

An anklet lostWalk up the menacing stairs, then back downRetrace the stepsClass to car, car to classTwice, three times.Ask, callToday, yesterday, day before.Uninterested looks –Why care so muchFor a three-dollar anklet?

An earring lostCan’t wear the other one now.Remember the store you bought them atThe lady in the storeA chic little storeYou discovered something that daySlight pride, excitementCrept into you on the bus ride home.

A conversation,A memory,A pathway,A poignant, familiar walkRemember every crack, every stone on that roadI had short, black hair then.An overwhelmingly dreadful feeling –This was the best time of my lifeAnd now it’s over.I can never get it back.

You are always so collected, apathetic,Inhuman almost at timesYou don’t react much to thingsWhy so much excess baggage?For a pathway,A road bump,A Chinese restaurant?

I found a home.It took me nineteen yearsBut now I understand the things I used to hate –The nostalgic stories,The closeness to strangers who come from the same place.

They say you are impulsive, brave, crazyYou do things others wouldn’t –Get up and leave then, go back.

I am not impulsive,Brave or crazy.I keep a list in my head of what I can do,What I like, adrenaline.I don’t care so much if I hurt myselfBut I’m older now and I’ve learned of things you can’t undo,Things you can’t take back,Things you do that change your lifeAnd those you love.

I am scared to make the wrong decisionAnd not be able to rewind back to now.

Flood me, drug meWith courage.Make something terrible happenChange my lifeTake away my choice.This life –This degree, this GPA, these scholarshipsThese friends, this boyfriend –Take it and give it awayTo someone who wants itMore than me.

… But make it ok for meOnce the dust settlesI try so hardPlease don’t let my dreamsLingerinmypast.

The stars in the sky are more beautifulThan anything else I can imagine.Pin pricks of white in a great sea of black,In wondrous patterns, forming art abstract.

As I gaze up into the sky each night, “What of the artist,” wonder I with fright,“Who into this masterpiece put his soul?Has he gone to paint an empty black hole?”

Perhaps he is watching me even now,Ashismarv’lousworkfloatsabovemybrow.Knowing each and every answer I seekAnd contemplating why I seem so bleak.

Now, all of a sudden, something has changed.For right before me, stars have rearranged.

Anklets and Earrings--Anonymous Painter in the Sky

--Melissa Wiegand

Untitled--Natalia Bilchuk

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Flower--Barbera Kiersz

I stare at the door, the locked passage I see,But it tells me nothing, says nothing to me.I cannot ignore it, can stand it no more;I move forward slowly, and open the door.Oncethroughthelockeddoor,behinditIfindA black and white realm, where nothing survives;Where freedom is naught and machines roam the land;Where one in the bush is worth two in the hand.Here nothing survives, there’s no hint of greenThe black and the white are all that can be seen.Theskyfillswithcolors,withblacksandwithgrays.A horrible storm in front of me lays.It’s blocking my path, it blocks all of my thought,It takes away everything for which I’ve fought.Red on the horizon, a slight spot of life,The only resistance to all of this strife.Yet bigger it grows, its freedom’s developedBefore by the black and the white it’s enveloped.Thistragictaleofthesmalllife-filledspeckWreaks havoc within me, my mind is a wreck-Butithappensagain,acolorfulflare.The occurrence of life perhaps isn’t rare,And yet, once again, the color, it dies,Surrounded once more by the hate and the lies.

To be free in this place, you will stand not a chance;Our lives and our deaths locked in beautiful dance.But death overcomes, takes over the plains.Storms continue on, in this land it still rains.The rusted machines, they rule in this place,Their gears run like clockwork; they’re keeping their pace,Unable to live or to love or romance,Quelling out life when they’re given the chance.All this I can see, but I see nothing more.AllthisIfindlockedbehindthatsteeldoor.The mysterious door, nested deep in my mindIn the midst of my thoughts does this shattered land hide.It’s a hidden place, which is tucked deep awayFrom my life, from my loves, from the light of the day.The light that this place cannot ever seeLightsupalltheworld,butitcan’tbrightenme.I discover myself, I’m eternally dark.Stuck within my head, this land makes its mark;It’s scarring my life; have I gone insane?This traumatized place, oh, it will remainTo rot and infect, controlling my mind;The most lonely of lands, where none can survive.The machines, they continue their darkest of deeds;The lives that they crush supply all of their needs.The storm, it continues, and with it, the rainThey’ve become a tribute to all of my pain.

The Door In My Mind--Jackson Kelly

Untitled--Matthew Diemer

Wooden Sun--Sheeraz Hyder

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Public Beach--Dylan Abel

I woke up todayTo the start of what’s everydayAnd after another morning routineIfindamirrortoseeIf my kicks match my beltWhich co-ordinates With the graphic of my tee

While in a land not so far awayA kid who’s barely a teenSuffers through a much different routineWhere he heads off to workAsasadderreflectionofhisformerselfAnd for some change spendSaving together the stitches of my kicks

And when it comes down to itI probably should donate to more charity… but hey, even a fat kid has got to eatAnd viciously it seems as ifI have been caught up in some shallow social scenarioThat insists on incessant spending on this pursuit of happinessAnd it seems that the way to show The expressions of our soul Is in the stitches of layers surrounding our soles

So it seems as if time hasFinally caught up with this generationAnd us kids who were raised onThe teachings of Saturday morning cartoonsAre now the movers and the shakersOf the twitters and the bloggersJust trying to keep it too hot for TVAnd this is probably why The revolution won’t be televisedButIbetyoucouldfinditonYouTube

Trees--David J D’Agostino

Rise and Shine--Carl Marcelus

Fire in the Sky--Matthew Diemer

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right nowthe television is no longer companyit brings no pleasure or no real painand it’s funny how sad i feel for myself

i let it hit like a melancholy alarmand it drips off my transparent mind like rain off a clear umbrellaand in ugly tears it fades into the web of myselfand for the moment i try not to take life seriouslyand laugh at my stupid contradictionsgod i love to hate myself

and even now in my sick bed i feel greater than youthat is with a waning nod to your existencethough i still feel so sad for myselfand this false triumphant demiseor perhaps your lasting test

ifindi’myourmediocresoldierwho’s better than the rest

Here I am at 8:08 p.m. indefinable ample rhythmic frameThe air is biting, February, fierce arabesques on the way to tree in winter streetscapeI drink some American poison liquid air which bubbles and smoke to have character and to leanIn. The streets look for Allen, Frank, or me, Allen is a movie, Frank disappearing in the air, it'sHeavy with that lightness, heavy on me, I heave through it, them, asThe Calvados is being sipped on Long island now twenty years almost ago, and the man smokingIs looking at the smilingly attentive woman, & telling.Who would have thought that I'd be here, nothing wrapped up, nothing buried, everythingLove, children, hundreds of them, money, marriage- ethics, a politics of grace,Up in the air, swirling, burning even or still, now more than ever before?Not that practically a boy, serious in corduroy car coat eyes penetrating the winter twilight at 6th& Bowery in 1961. Not that pretty girl, nineteen, who was going to have to go, careening into middle-age so,

To burn, & to burn more fiercely than even she could imagine so to go. Not that painter who from very first meetingI would never & never will leave alone until we both vanish into the thin air we signed up for & so demandedTo breathe & who will never leave me, not for sex, nor politics nor even for stupid permanent estrangement which isOnly our human lot & means nothing. No, not him.There’s a song, “California Dreaming”, but no, I won’t do thatI am 43. When will I die? I will never die, I will liveTo be 110, & I will never go away, & you will never escape from me who am always & only a ghost, despite this frame, SpiritWho lives only to nag.I’m only pronouns, & I am all of them, & I didn’t ask for this You didI came into your life to change it & it did so & now nothing will ever changeThat, and that’s that.Alone & crowded, unhappy fate, nevertheless I slip softly into the airThe world’s furious song flows through my costume.

Inthepast,ithasbeenanunofficialtraditiontoincludeaselectlinefrom the poem to accompany the cover artwork. For this issue, however, we’d like to pay homage to our namesake and provide a glimpse into the work and life of a truly remarkable individual.

Below,thereaderwillfindinitsentiritythepoembyTedBerriganentitled “Red Shift,” after which RedShift Creative Magazine is named. Ted Berrigan taught courses at Stevens Institute of Tech-nology during the mid-1970s, during which time his encouraging, enthusiasticteachingstyleandgentledemeanorleftasignificantimpression on numerous students and fellow faculty members.

Throughout his carreer, Ted Berrigan also taught courses and work-shops at such schools as Yale University, Naropa Institute, the Uni-versity of Michigan, the City University of New York, Northeastern Illinois University, and the University of Essex in England, amongst others.

Jumbled Boxes--Melissa Wiegand

Mediocre Soldier--Daniel Centrelli

Water Dome--Sheeraz Hyder