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SNUExpressions

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Hannah Amos 5Art 6

Marion Brödys 9Poetry 10

Celeste Forrest-Blissett 11Photography 12Literature 13Poetry 15

Lindsey Fudge 19Poetry 20

Cassie Halbert 23Poetry 24

Jacob Hicks 29Poetry 30

Summer Howard 33Literature 34

Briana Looby 39Art 40Poetry 43

Jade McCall 47Art 48Photography 51

Morgan Mosshart 55Photography 56

George H. Price 59Poetry 60

Catherine Roby 61Poetry 62Photography 63Art 64

Christina Roby 65Photography 66Literature 68Poetry 76

Caleb Siems 79Photography 80Literature 82Poetry 89

Jana Seymour 93Poetry 94

Cole Trotter 97Photography 98

Diane Wade 99Photography 100Poetry 103

Sam Wing 105Poetry 121

Laura Womack 109Poetry 110

Contents

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Dedicated to those who contributed.

May the talent that is immortalized in these

pages be a light in times of struggle.

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5

The Art of

Hannah Amos

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Lydia the Fawn

It’s also a Gun

Art

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Th e Sun Caught in Her Raven Hair

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The Poetry of

Marion Brödys

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Poetry

DreamsThere is a moment, Early, when I open my eyes and the sun is ready to rise,When sadness and joy equally get a hold of me.

The confusion, written on my face, the empty look again,I wanted to tell her what it feels like,Exactly that instant when my mind comes back to reality,

When the alarm has more authority over me than heartfelt desiresAll I want is to stay in paradise with you.Then I’m trying to put the pain into words

Trying to describe what this hole actually feels like.I needed to say out loud how your death rips me apartOnly ever seeing an unfair world that is shattered

A world in that He let you die.Dictionaries do not hold words strong enoughNo vocabulary, in all these languages

Describes a pain so deep.The silent tears rolling down my cheeksReplace the word I was searching for.

The empty stares towards the sky best show what it feels likeTo think about death dailyTo think about your life

Replaying all the memories – and knowing there won’t be more.The pain is abundant, just like the love,When you enter my mind; and never leave.

Author’s note: One line for each year you were with us, and one paragraph for each month, we have been suffering without you.

Dearly loved and painfully missed. “Es tut so weh.”

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The Photography, Literature & Poetry of

Celeste Forrest-Blissett

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Photography

Fuschia

Spring is Here

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LiteratureAn Original SNU Sodexo Story

Once upon a time, there lived a family at a magi-cal world called Southern Nazarene University. Th e family was very wealthy and happy because the father was a king, and their mother was a retired Warrior Princess (until she became a queen of course, then she became offi cially known as the Retired Warrior Queen). Th e King was named Robert of Cranston and the Queen was named Karalyn. Th ey had three amazingly gift ed, bright, and lovely children. Each had their own amazing, bright, and lovely ability. Th e oldest of the three was a witty, tall princess named Jenae. She had gor-geous, perfect hair that always seemed to stay in place, even when she went goat wrangling on the weekends. Th e second was another princess named Malorie, who had gorgeous eyes and a great sense of style. Princess Malorie was well versed in the magical arts of fashion and had the power to pull off any outfi t. Next, was a cunning, handsome and a bit cocky prince by the name of Joseph. Prince Joseph had the powerful ability to rescue anyone out of any situation. Prince Joseph even rescued the Star-Princess, Celeste, from hungry witches aft er she fell from the sky. Celeste was later adopted by King Robert and Queen Karalyn, and she became known across the land for her overwhelming cuteness. One day, the royal children were hunting cats and building fi res in a nearby forest, when they suddenly came upon a ferocious, hideous troll. Th e troll tried to grab them and eat them, as trolls do, but the royal children would have none of that, as they were far too clever to get eaten in the beginning of a story. “I’ll stop you!” exclaimed Princess Jenae, and

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using her perfect-hair abilities, she braided the troll’s leg hair at lightning speed. The clumsy troll took a step towards them and tripped over his own hair. “And I shall punish you!” cried Princess Malorie, and using her abilities in fashion magic, she set the troll’s clothes on fire because she knew the material was flammable. The daft Troll screamed in agony. “And I shall finish this!” Declared Princess Celeste, and she smiled at the troll. The smile was so bright and over-whelmingly cute that the troll could bear it no longer and fell over, dead. However, in the process of falling, the troll landed on Celeste. “OH NO!!!” Malorie and Jenae ran up to Celeste’s limp body and cried. They thought Celeste was seriously dead. “I’ll save her!” Prince Joseph announced. Using his amazing rescuing-people abilities, he kissed Celeste and the princess woke up! After that, the four skipped happily home to their castle and ate a feast of candy.

THE END

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Poetry

My StormYou are my stormYou have swept me away, I am carried by your tideYou have taken me, breathless, over the crashing wavesinto the eyeof the very heart, the very most center, of the place you call me yoursTh is is the only storm I care to be lost in.

To My Dear Friend, the Swallow Bird

To my dear friend, the swallow bird: Do not let the mass of the ocean overwhelm you, or let its forceful tide overcome youLook pass the strength of the waves. Seek farther than the crashing shores.Do not stop at the sight of the coming storm. Look beyond the shipwrecks, father than the day breaking on the horizon.See the light beyond the light of tomorrow. And take wing.Fly because nothing is holding you back.

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The Narrow Road

I wish to walk the narrow roaddown the path of jagged stoneEven if I trip and fall,and wounds so deep force me to crawl,I’ll push myself, for each step I take;and no bitter course will forsakethe passion I feel, strong insideto cross a road; narrow or wide.So I shall walk the narrow roaddown a path that can be sad and coldIf my heart feels heavy, or if I cry,I’ll lift my spirit, my head held high,because my Maker, with open armsis here to protect me from harm.His light aglow, His hands out-reachedto hold my hands and guide my feet.I’ll take each step, whether easy or hard,if my heart be singing, broken, or scarred even ahead, I feel His eyes of care.I feel him, strong, by me: still there.Because He is, and I am not alone,and He and I, together,walk the narrow road.

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A Kite StoryHe held on to herHis kite, swaying in the wind.Hanging on his every word.he runs faster,she chases aft er.Tightly, pulling, snuggling her closer to himself.To let her go,he would mean to climb a treeto untangle from snarled branchesto free the knots and kinks,but to set her free,would mean to watch her set higherand adorehow freely she soars.Carried by his heart beatspulsing in the winddrift ing on sighs and songsOh how jealous of the skythat embraced her so quickly,but once the winds diedShe fellback into his arms.

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The Poetry of

Lindsey Fudge

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Burned

Like the flame of a candle being snuffed, you scorch my frail fingers. Leaving a trail of soot and the stench of burning flesh. You are a heat my body has never known. You are a light my eyes have never seen. You are a pain my mind thought never to endure. But you are a flame being extinguished. And I am

the fingers, pinching your wick until you are gone. Even then, I still feel you here. My body, cold. Darkness envelopes the

places you once illuminated. But the pain lingers still. You’ve made your mark.

Ignited

Like the flame of a match, you ignite my dormant heart. Kindling the dried up pieces of me and creating something lovely. You are the warmth my body has never known. You are the brilliance my eyes have never seen. You are the joy

my heart has never thought to appreciate. You are a blaze. I am the tinder, welcoming your fiery embrace. Even now, I

admire your splendor. My body stirred. Light surrounds the places once enveloped with gloom. And the passion contin-

ues. You’re making your mark.

Worry

Worry stains her face. Each tear a casualty, her heart’s wan-dering threatening an end. The look in her eyes screams “not again”. But the smile on her lips keeps it all in. For her words won’t escape her. Her lines so easily rehearsed are forgotten.

He won’t even know. He doesn’t have to know.

Poetry

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Darling

But darling there’s too many songs to sing, miles to drive, stars to admire, mountains to climb, people to love, trees to sit under, cups of coff ee to sip, kisses to be had, dreams to

chase, praises to be shouted, books to read, movies to watch, poems to swoon, swing sets to be swung, hands to be held, hugs to embrace, photos to take, memories to make, pies

to eat, cats to pet, prayers to send, letters to write, meals to cook, pools to swim, high fi ves to be clapped, tears to wipe, water to drink, canvases to paint, ice cream cones to enjoy, couches to sit, adventures to fi nd, heights to reach. So don’t

sleep yet. No darling, not yet.

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The Poetry of

Cassie Halbert

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The Glass Box

I have spent my whole life in a glass box.The outside is painted to look like mebut the inside is a trap of whispers and lies.

The inside is much older than the outside,worn by the inner winds and storms from which I cannot hide.I am in a glass box.

I have spent most of my time painting the glass from the inside,for everyone to see.My thoughts deceive me…“Maybe if they say I am good enough, I can be free.If I look the part, and act the part, eventually I can become the painting on the outside. Then it won’t feel like a box at all.”

The painting I have spent so much time on is who I’d rather be.I have started over countless times; I don’t know the real me.

I have been handed the supplies to make my walls complete.My carefully designed structure that is destruction on the inside.

The paint chips away, as people get closer, but as long as I have my paint and brushes, I can touch up any blemishes.

How do I escape this prison?

Poetry

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I have erased the painting for a few to see inbut they don’t seem to understand.

Th e inside is the complicated part.People accept my outer work of artbut the inside is messy and sometimes dark.

Th e people on the outside seem very strange to me,they point, and mime, and talkbut I can’t hear them, and they can’t hear me.

All they can do is stare in disbelief.I don’t understand who they want me to be.

“Hit the glass!”It seems that’s what they want me to do.I pound with all my might but it’s never enough to break through.

Th ey seem to think that I am weak.If they were on the inside they would never think such things.

But that’s okay…

I like my glass box.It keeps others away, and in it I am safely lost.Lost in fear, manipulation and doubt.Sometimes, I’m not really sure that I want out.

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In my box I can paint whatever I like.I can make others think that I’m alright.That’s all that matters, their comfort, not mine.I can stay in this box for the rest of my life.

. . . . .

But my arms are tired, and my paint is drying up.Will what’s behind my art be enough?

I can no longer wipe away the paint because my rags are dirty…stained.They can only smear things now, and make them murky.

The outside of my box was a masterpiecebut is now a clouded mess.There is no understanding, because my box doesn’t look like the rest.Mine is too pretty, painted with a smile.

My paintbrush is getting heavier and my arms burn like fire.How long will this be required?

Some nights I dream that my paintbrush is a hammer.That there might actually be a way out.

The impact knocks me off my feet.I am surrounded by shards of glass.At first I feel relief;it doesn’t last.

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I am covered in cuts.Th e blood explains the sting.I have lost everything.

I shudder in the cold air, it’s not warm out here.My eyes well up, down falls the fear.Not tears of joy or tears of relief.Tears of what may be.

My eyes jolt open as I search for my box.Th e walls are still here.I am safe.Safety is my favorite lie.

I hold the paintbrush in my hand and begin to stare.I say, “we’re never going anywhere.”

“Th e lies are too pretty and the box is so safe.Shattering it to pieces must be a mistake.”

In my box I staywaiting for a daya day that may never come.

Th e day I shatter my glass box.

~Cassandra Gale~06/25/15

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The Poetry of

Jacob Hicks

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It’s Worth It

Why sacrifice what you most desire?What is worth giving up something or someone you love so

dearly?

This world blesses us with so much,But we must also give so much in return.

Wouldn’t you rather see your child grow up to be a success, Than see yourself having everything but your son or

daughter?

Wouldn’t you rather give up your possessions to those in need,

Than die greedy?

Happiness comes at a cost,But every ounce of offering equals a good future.

Never Letting Go

It’s hard facing this world without breaking apart, But you keep me intact.

I’m so sad by all this madness of responsibility and positivity, But you always remind why it’s important.

I could never survive this world without you,So I’m never letting you go.

Just tell me what you crave,And I’ll happily fulfill your needs.

Poetry

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Th e Lonely Man

He walks alone every night, calm, but suff ering within.Th e people around him love him, but they don’t know him.

Th ey don’t know his hobbies,His habitats, his likes, his dislikes,

And everything in between.

He disguises himself to avoid rejection, For this is the only life he knows.

But there is one individual whom he reveals all his secrets to.

He can’t be seen, only heard.

So he walks a mile to the nearest church to visit his friend,And once he makes it to the fi rst row of seats,

He sits, and talks to the Lord,Unafraid of being himself.

No longer suff ering in this moment.

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The Literature of

Summer Howard

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LiteratureThere’s No Such Thing as Winning

“We’re in position.” His voice coming through the comms unit caused my stomach to turn violently. I played with the napkin in my lap, surveying the crowd for my target. Or—given the way things had gone the past few weeks—more ac-curately, my tail. Thankfully, my poker face remained intact. “I don’t know about this,” I responded. “What if they figure out we’re trying to find Lexa and Blaise’s location?” “They would have pulled back by now if they did,” he said reassuringly. “Just keep your cool and act like you’re still talking on Bluetooth; it’ll be fine.” “Would they? Pull back, I mean. We could start a war, Alex,” I whispered. “We’re trying to prevent one, Aria,” he replied calmly, though I detected a slight hesitation. He knew the stakes too, and he disliked them as much as I did. “Incoming target at 4 o’clock,” Luke said suddenly. “Showtime.” “What I don’t understand, quite frankly, is how anyone has that much taste in something so cheap,” I started, putting on my best impression of a rich snob with a disgust-ed look that reflected my urge to vomit. A shadow fell across my table. I glanced upward into her face—the face that I’d stared at for weeks while we had spied on her as she devel-oped a plan to kidnap the heads of the country under the chaos of a mass shooting. The timeline had moved up for this event when her team had discovered some of Luke’s hacker friends placing viruses in their computers and traced it back to their IP address. So Luke, Alex, and I had to organize a mission where we would stall them long enough to find out

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their location, foil the plan, and take down the leader. Which was how I ended up staring into the cold, gray eyes of the blonde mastermind. I smiled, giving a signal with my fi nger that I’d be done in just a moment. “Well, Trisha, I have to let you go. I’m having a late lunch with a friend, and she just arrived.” “Call back soon, honey,” Alex mimicked a shrill voice to ease the tension and help me with my character. I rolled my eyes, laughing lightly as I pressed a button on my comms-disguised-as-Bluetooth to “end” the call. Instead, what it was doing was scanning the location tracker on her phone and sending it to Luke’s computer—a tracker that had been downloaded and remained unfound in Lexa and Blaise’s hacking spree on the group’s technology, but unfor-tunately had been deactivated when the group had wiped the viruses. Th e only way to activate it again meant close-range contact with the enemy. “Sorry. Friends can be just a pain sometimes,” I heard myself say, getting up and extending my hand. My eyes immediately locked on the messenger bag over her left shoulder. “My name is Rose March. But you knew that already.” She gave me a grin that was sweet and cunning at the same time, as if she knew something. I swallowed. “My name is Luna West,” she replied. “You said your need to meet me was urgent.” “I did,” I replied, gesturing for us to sit down. “I know you are a busy woman, so I’ll keep it simple.” I leaned in. “I know your secret.”A smirk instantly appeared on your lips. “You do, do you?” “Keep stalling,” Alex urged as Luke told me that he almost had a location on Lexa and Blaise. “Your real name is Mara Anderson,” I said calmly,

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leaning in slightly. “You work with an underground organization called HUSH that seeks to manipulate all the world powers to do your bidding, in order to control all the money from any war or criminal activities.” “And your real name is Aria Decker. Former CIA agent, gone rogue, now working in the circles my organiza-tion calls friends,” she fired back, just as collected and look-ing bored. I sat back in my chair, my lips forming a thin line before I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. Alex breathed a sigh of relief—if she was telling me about the fake files we had set up, then she hadn’t seen through me. Yet. “So, we both know about each other’s double lives. That makes us even,” I replied. “Oh, but does it, my dear?” Mara asked, cocking her head to one side and looking me directly in the eye for the first time, just as Luke whisper-shouted, “I got it! Yes!” through the comms. But I wasn’t paying attention. Mara had reached for her messenger bag. I knew I didn’t have time to pull out my gun before she managed to draw hers from the bag, so I did the next best thing. I tackled her. The gun went off before I even knew what was happening, causing the air to fill with screams as we toppled tables and broke dishes and chairs. I managed to throw a punch or two, but she had the upper hand, and if I didn’t do something soon, we’d all be dead. I dove for the messen-ger bag. Mara shrieked, managing to twist my arm into an unnatural position. A blinding pain hit me, but I allowed the pain to motivate me to twist my body back toward her and land a drop kick squarely in her side. She released the gun, toppling to the concrete herself. I shoved the gun away from her, pulling out my own and aiming it squarely at her chest.

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She cackled hauntingly, blood dripping down her face fromthe fi ght. “You win,” she whispered. “Or not.” Th e sound of an explosion met my ears. Th ere’s no such thing as winning in my world.

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The Art & Poetry of

Briana Looby

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Th e Journey

Jeweled Glory

Art

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Mad World

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Finding Her Way

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Fall Memories

Th ings are changing,September brings leaves of gold and red.

Leaves fl oat from the trees, dancing in the sky as they fall to the ground.

A whistle of a breeze sweeps by, playing a song as it soars through the air.

Wiggling my toes, feeling the fur in my UGGS,Longing for a cup of rich dark cinnamon coff ee to kiss my lips.

Th e time for scarves, jackets, and hats has arrived.State fair…sweet smells of cotton candy, corn dogs…fi lling

my nose.October brings hauntings, and pumpkins galore.

Jack-o-lanterns line house porches, with scary, goofy smiles across their faces.

Hearing the chatter of children, in talks of candy-fi lled dreams.Ghosts, goblins, and ghouls run through the streets, looking for yummy treats to eat, haunted houses and spooky sounds,

Scary movies and late-night frights.November brings fantasizing of food that will loosen my belt

Pumpkin muffi ns, turkey, and pie.A Th anksgiving feast with all the trimmings.

Family and friends gathering around with warmth and love,Foggy mornings and misty aft ernoons, bun warmers and

space heaters. Holding hands and cuddling tight,Toasting s’mores and burning fi res,

Crunching leaves and wearing hoodies,Football games—Let your fan out, Go Bears!

In home movies under deep blankets,Fall is a mixture of mystery and awe.

Poetry

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Heartfelt Summer

June is a time to celebrate,No books…no school…no papers to write.

It’s time for the pool the heat rises high—cannonball!Grab your sunglasses...coconut suntan oil or sunscreen,

Freckles on my shoulders and the bridge of my nose.Boat rides... lake adventures…skiing on the tube

Burgers…hot dogs…cookout with friends.June 23rd is a full day of birthday surprises,

Presents and roses come my way.Fireflies and June bugs in the night,

Jean shorts, tank tops, and hair in ponytails.Dreaming of beach vacations and sand between my toes.

July brings the BOOM!Red, White, and Blue,

Fireworks glistening from up above.Four-wheeler riding across the plains.

Boat dock fishing—let’s throw out a line.Watermelon feast—take it outside.

Park outings and kids’ laughterSprinklers and trampolines,

Lazy mornings and late night voyages.Ice-cold drinks, gulping them down.August is the closing of summer fun,

Oh…no…its back in session…school has begun.

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Winter Chill

Winter is a time of seeing your breath.Drinking hot chocolate full of marshmallows.

Late night cuddles by a fi replace so warm,Making snow ice cream and building snowmen.

Festive decorations of mistletoe splendor,Santa Claus with cheery-eyed smiles on every street corner.

Kids with eyes full of wonder and passionate giggles.Family and friends passing out presents,

White wonderland and the smell of the chimney.Holiday music and bright Christmas lights in every color,

Stockings hung on the fi replace with thought.Ice skaters bundled in scarves and their mittens,Late night readings by the Christmas tree, aft er

children are in bed.Watching Christmas Story on repeat a thousand times,

Cookies, eggnog, and so many pies.Scraping off ice and licking icicles,

Looking…shopping…and buying dreams,Kisses…hugs…please…with a grateful thank you.

Jack Frost working hard around the clock.Christmas elves, on the shelves, lurking around every door

with their dirty little tricks.Reindeer eating carrots up on rooft ops,Magical moments shared by everyone.

Stories of Jesus have begun.Th e brightest star shines in the north.

Father time will be coming.New resolutions will be made.

Winter is the enchanting moment of pure bliss.

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A New Beginning

Jack Frost has gone on vacation and the stale winter air is gone.The bees will be buzzing.

The hummingbirds will be humming.The blooms will be opening.

The first spring flower poking out to say hello.Tweeting birds waking in the rise of the sunshine.

Flowers surround us,It’s a new beginning in the world of nature.

The Fluffy Easter bunny has hopped in to pay us a visit;Chocolate eggs, caramels, and Peeps.

Lush grass that has that fresh fragrance so sweet. Tie-dyed eggs with stickers and glitter,

Kids waiting for Easter baskets with joy and surprise.Chasing after eggs hidden so deep,

How many will they find? One does not know.May will bring showers, it’s time to take cover.

Listen to the rain shower outside, while cozying up with a book.

Grab a hot tea and a big bold umbrella for outside adventures.Storms and tornados swirling about,

In skies of gray lightning-strikes, enormous in size.Raincoats and rain puddles, splish, and splash.

Pollen is here, and allergies on the rise.Spring has sprung to its full potential.

Running through fields of green is high on my list;Horseback riding and picking flowers.

Dewdrops on flowers, and trees covered in mist.Showing my children the world blossoming in front of their

eyes,Bright hues, spring jackets, and sandals so fine.

Yellows…blues…purple…and pinks; All colors everywhere.

Spring’s new beginning is a huge affair.

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The Art & Photography of

Jade McCall

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Art

Mickey Mouse

Daisies in Bloom

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Marie

May I Have Th is Dance

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Anna

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Photography

Lucy and Oliver

Th e Grand Tetons

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Union Falls

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Jackson Lake and the Grand Tetons

Bentley

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The Photography of

Morgan Mosshart

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Photography

I Miss Th at

Wildfl ower Grandma

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Wild at Heart

Viewfi nder

58

Cycle

59

The Poetry of

George H. Price

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Poetry

A Sooner from Norman

It was the fourteenth of January. In my usual tradition of waking in the morning with ambition, I was strolling down the road and kicking the gravel, as my troubles were starting

to unravel. I have been on this road one hundred times or more, but a

beauty like her I had never seen before. As I got to know her, I knew that to go out with her I had to ask her father, because

she would never date without permission. No matter if he were a teacher or physician.

When I met the man I had no regret. He said I could date his daughter if I would do one request. Help his cousin who

was farming in the west. So for that summer, I was piling and plowing and calling her

when I found the time allowing. Then I travel back to the man knowing that I can now date his daughter.

The man said to me I would never date his daughter, she was engaged to a man from Stillwater. Soon she will be a married woman; never would he let her marry any Sooner that came

from Norman. - George Hollis Price

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The Poetry, Photography, & Art of

Catherine Roby

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Poetry

Success Down I look at shoes worn through,

Holes and dirt are what I see,No beauty left in such as these.But they see different than me,

Where I see dirt and holes and wear,They see the work which got me there.

Cute they say, success they see.My jaded shoes,

I see as me,Tired and ragged as can be.

Worthless, overworked, and torn,I see me walking, moving on.

But they see, what You see, the things I’ve gone through.In each hole perseverance, each tear a good job.

My shoes have been tattered and life tears at me,But God has a purpose, though hard it may be.

Not pretty, but usable, all that He needs.So now I walk,In tennis shoes so tired,

I know it’s not the holes that define them,But what they’re made of.

What holds them together, through rain, snow, and sleetThat’s what they’re judged on, what makes them succeed.

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Photography

Success

An Austrian Perspective

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A Vibrant Shade

Art

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The Photography, Literature,& Poetry

of

CHristina Roby

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Photography

Harmony of Elements

Th e Places We Trod

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Fire Trees

Icy Touch

Sleeping Tiger

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LiteratureThe Illusion

He felt his way through the crowds. There had to be over a thousand people pushing in on him, but Jonny wasn’t scared of crowds. He wasn’t scared of anything. Well most-ly… But he never thought about that. Jonny had long lost his mother in the throng of humanity. She kept pestering him about everything; his shirt being tucked in, his hair getting messed up. He was 10 years old for goodness sake! It was time for him to break free from her. Jonny spotted the magician he had wanted to see. His mother didn’t approve of magicians. She thought they were the devil in disguise. Please, the man looked harmless. Al-though come to think of it, his eyes were strange. They drew Jonny in with a fiery gaze. “Step right up, one and all!” the magician shouted in a majestic voice, keeping his eyes on Jonny the whole time. Jonny eagerly pushed forward through the crowd until he stood right in front of the man. The magician knelt in front of Jonny, smiling. “Want to help me with an illusion?” he asked, holding a hand out to Jonny. Jonny smiled, nodded, and took the hand offered. Af-ter being pulled up onto the podium Jonny glanced around at the sea of people. “Come see this young man disappear!” the magician yelled to the hoard of humans. His bright cloak sparkled in the sunlight as he danced around Jonny. The blanket fell from nowhere, covering Jonny just as he spot-ted his mother crying out for him. Her voice faded and in a heartbeat the blanket fell from his body revealing darkness.Jonny’s heart raced. What happened? He scanned the dark-ness but there was nothing to see. He reached his fingers gently out in front of him. He felt nothing, nothing at all.

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“Hello?” he whispered nervously, nothing, nothing at all. Jonny shivered. “Hello?” he heard an echo of at voice that didn’t belong to him. A harsh voice from behind whispered his name. Jonny spun, but again saw nothing. “Yes?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Welcome home Jonny…” Jonny sat up shaking and gasping from the nightmare. His heart pounded in his ears until the headache blocked it out. Why was he having these nightmares? Why now? He wasn’t 10, he never had a mother, and what was all this magician stuff ? Jonny clutched his throbbing head. It screamed out for relief. Or maybe it was him screaming, because the birds near by fl ew into the sky startled. Th e forest was a brighter green than when he had fall-en asleep, but since he could still see the ceiling through the leaves it must have been around 4 pm. Th e Room was so small that it wasn’t easy to get lost anyway. Jonny won-dered what made the trees glow at night but shoved the thought away with the rest of his useless questions. Rival was always telling him that his mind wandered too much. Th e Room provided everything he could ever want: Why question it? Jonny stood breathing in the medicinal air. His headache calmed at once. Why did he get headaches? Surely he breathed when sleeping as well… Another question to ponder. Rival was waiting for him at the other side of Th e Room. “Having good dreams?” He asked Jonny. He was calmly leaning against the wall. “No, actually. I was 10 again and-” “You’re 21. You should be dreaming about girls not night-mares of your past.” Rival interrupted. Girls huh? Jonny shook his head. Th ere was only one girl in Th e Room and she had been annoying him all their lives. “Don’t you think you should like Lena by now? I mean she’s beautiful and you have a lot in common.” Rival pointed out. Jonny winced at her name.

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Rival may have raised Jonny but he didn’t understand much. “Lena and I will never be together like that.” Jonny replied. “It’s in your destiny Jonny. No man can be happy alone.” “I have you, don’t I?” Rival smiled. “I won’t be here much longer. He is coming soon to check up on you.” Jonny nodded. “You always talk about ‘him’. Who is this man you always talk about?” Jonny asked. Rival looked up from his crossed arms. “The Magician.” He whispered crackly. A shiver flew through Jonny’s spine. His nightmare flashed in his mind. Rival laughed and disappeared. Jonny’s headache returned. He fell to his knees in pain. Rival, why? Who is Rival anyway? I’m going crazy. Jonny’s thoughts were betrayed through tears. “Welcome home Jonny…” The voice mocked him. Jonny had been stuck in this massive room for years now playing this game with the Magician. Every time the Magician got close to convincing him that he wasn’t alone in this room, Jonny had managed to snap out of it. “Nice try! Rival was a nice touch. I never would’ve fallen for it so long if you had tried showing me Lena again.” Jonny yelled in anger. The goal had always been the same: Convince Jonny that he needed Lena (whoever that was) and that living in this place was normal. The Magician’s laughter echoed through The Room. Rival wasn’t real. The dream was real. Jonny repeated this truth in his mind over and over again. 21 years old? Jonny looked at his hands. Had he really been here for 11 years? “Who is this Lena girl anyway?” Jonny’s mind began to become tired again. No! Don’t let him created a new reality in your head. Must fight this… Lena could hear the boy’s yelling from across The Room. The chains cut into her wrists as she tried to pull against them. Please, come! Don’t let him keep you away! Lena

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thought desperately. “Jonny!” She screamed crying. “Shh-hh…” Th e Magician appeared beside her. “Save your pretty voice Lena. Jonny can’t hear you.” He whispered in her ear. Lena hung her head as she wept. “Why are you doing this? Why did you make him forget?” She asked through her sobs. Th e Magician smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t make him forget. He’s making himself forget. If he had just stuck with the plan you would be free by now.” He replied scanning her face. “He loves me. He will remember, no matter how much you torture him with my name.” Lena dared to look the Magician in the eye. He smiled at her. “Nothing makes a better legacy than a tragic love story.” He leaned closer. “He’s not coming Lena. You have become another fi gment of his imagination like ‘Rival’.” He whispered happily. “You can’t make me disappear, Magician.” Lena glared defi antly. “We will see.” Jonny hit the wall with all his might. Nothing. Not even a sound. Th at same darkness that surrounded him 11 years ago engulfed him. Lena. Who is Lena? Why does the Magician want me to be with her? Or was that my mind’s creation? Jonny frowned in the dark. He couldn’t trust anything. Was the Magician even real? Yes. He’s real. Jonny saw the trees glow in the darkness. Th ey lit up the Magician’s face in front of him. “Why do you resist the reality I off er you? You could be so happy.” He said gesturing around him. Jonny glared at him. “Happy in a fake life? I don’t think so. I’m done helping you with your ‘illusions’.” Jonny sneered. Th e Magician laughed. “You want to leave? By all means…” He gestured to a door that hadn’t been there before. “Go for it Jonny. Leave.” Jonny stared at the door. Lena. Jonny shook his head. “Who’s Lena?” He asked stepping back. “Lena?

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She’s another illusion. One of my finest.” Jonny felt a chill in his spine. Was he telling the truth? Was Lena real or anoth-er illusion? “Prove it to me. Show me her.” Jonny dared the Magician. He laughed.Lena suddenly was kneeling before Jonny. His eyes searched her face confused. Lena reached for him. “Jon-ny!” He jumped back in fear. Remember me Jonny. Remem-ber. Hot tears burned her cheek. “It’s me. Your Lena.” She whispered. “You see? I really outdid myself with her, I think.” The Magician snickered behind her. She looked frantically from one eye to the other on Jonny’s pained face. “She…” Jonny clutched his head in pain. “Yes, remember me Jonny!” She felt a boot slam against the back of her head. “Shut up stupid girl. You aren’t real.” The Magician sneered. Jonny fell in front of her to his knees, still holding his head. “None of you are real!” Jonny screeched. The blanket fell from his body and crumpled onto the floor. The crowd cheered. Jonny looked around. His mother was cheering. The Magician bowed to the crowd. Jonny’s reality shattered. The illusion was over.

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Th e Hottest Woman in the World

She felt like every girl must feel like this at some point. A burning desire to just once have someone look at her like she was the hottest woman in the world. She checked out herself in the mirror again. Are these shorts too short? She thought they were cute, but since she was not attracted to women she couldn’t tell if they were too cute. Sighing she traded the shorts for her jeans. Too tight? She turned to the mirror again. Th e jeans hugged her fi gure but they looked modest. Maybe? She briefl y thought of asking her father but shook the thought away with a shudder. I don’t want to go through that lecture again. He just made it more confusing. How am I sup-posed to know if a guy is “stumbling?” She decided to risk the jeans. Th e shirt was a button-up, which meant she needed an undershirt. She cursed her curves. Other girls look so cute in these kinds of shirts. She contemplated covering the remain-ing skin with a scarf but it was 100 degrees outside. Survey-ing her outfi t one fi nal time she sighed. Just once I want to look in style without looking promiscuous. Shaking her head she grabbed her bag and headed out to catch the bus. Th e bus was full of looks and whispers. “Did you see her shirt?” “Slut.” “Oh my gosh her jeans look painted on.” “She really needs to put that chest away.” Away where?? Tears fell down her face. She reached for her hoodie. It might be hot but it was better than letting them see her cry. “Did you hear about her crush?” “Like Heath would ever like her!” “He’d be afraid of catching something.” Maybe they don’t know I can hear them. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or not. Is that what people think of me? I’ve never even kissed a boy! She hugged herself and leaned against the bus window. She put her headphones in her ears and tried to drown out the whispers.

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Lunch was more of the same this time from the boys. “Did you see her in biology?” “I know man!” “She’s pretty hot.” She let a slight smile reach her mouth. Maybe today is the day! They seem to be looking at me. Do they really think I’m hot? “I’d hit that.” “Yeah but who else has?” She felt her heart sink. Maybe the scarf would have been a good idea. This wasn’t exactly what she had wanted. Yeah, she wanted to be desired but this? Her heart felt sick. Is it possible for a heart to throw up? She took her tray and turned away and retreated into her music again. I don’t understand. The other girls are wearing almost the same thing! The tears threatened to come again. Glancing up, her eyes met Heath’s. No! Don’t see me now! She quickly looked down. Every time she talked to him she felt like a freak. Now she looked like one too wearing a hood-ie in 100-degree weather. His footsteps were coming her way. She zipped up her hoodie further. It might be hot but the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was immodest. She felt a tap on her shoulder. Please don’t be Heath. Remov-ing an earphone she looked up. Crap. “Hey can I sit here?” She nodded slowly afraid to say anything. I feel so dirty right now with the way those guys are looking at us. I probably smell dirty too with this sweaty hoodie. She concentrated on her food. “Aren’t you hot?” She dropped her spoon onto her lap. No. I feel wonderful in this heat. “Uh… Yeah actually.” She nervously grabbed the spoon cursing in her head for looking like a freak again. “Why the hoodie?” Heath smiled at her. Man. Why did I respond honestly? How the heck do I explain this? “I uh, felt uncomfortable.” Why am I telling him this? Heath looked at her intensely. Her heart skipped a beat. Looking down she made sure nothing was showing. What is he looking at? “Uncomfortable?” He finally asked. She felt the boys across to yard staring. “I just feel like being more covered, ok?” Great. The one guy I want to notice me is now noticing how insane I am. Just my luck. Heath smiled.

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“You have nothing that needs covering up.” His words rang in her ear. “What?” She stared at him trying to decide how to feel. Heath nodded towards the guys across the yard. “It’s those guys who need to change. Th e only thing you are ‘showing’ is your beautiful sense of style.” She felt stunned. How did Heath know about those guys? Did he hear them? Wait! Did he say beautiful? Her face felt hot. Must be this stu-pid hoodie… “Th ank you.” She smiled. Heath laughed a little. “Wanna ditch that hoodie before you get heat stroke?” She looked at the guys across the yard. Should she…? “Yeah. I guess I should.” She shrugged off the hoodie and tied it around her waist. She cringed waiting for Heath to start looking her over like the others. He was looking at his slice of pizza. “Th is thing looks like it needs prayer, am I right?” She raised an eyebrow. “Sure?” Heath looked back at her. “By the way…” “Yeah?” “I hear you’re really good at writing. Th ink you could teach me a few tips? I’m really bad with words.” She laughed. Does he really not care what I am wearing right now? She studied his face. He was genuine. “I think you are amazing with words.” She replied. He stared at her with a small smile. “Not like you are.” Th is is it! It hit her like a ton of bricks. She felt a strange sensation throughout her skin. Th e look he was giving her! She felt a smile spread on her face. I feel like the hottest woman in the world.

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Together

The more she looks the more she despairs. All she can see is sadness to heal, pain to cure, fatigue to

carry.She gives and gives her soul

To replenish the vessels of confusion.She drops to the ground, completely exhausted.

Still the vessels draw from her last breaths.The Living shakes his head.

Her eyes close as she continues to give what’s left of her.The Living holds his hand out.

She just shakes her head. “I won’t disappoint you!” she whispers.

The Living kneels next to her shrinking form. “This isn’t your job.

How can the empty fill the dry?”The Living takes her hand and she flinches,

Waiting for the last of her to be drawn out into him.Suddenly her form is aglow.

Herself is flooding back into her. The Living whispers “I don’t take.

I only give. Your life will only grow when you come to me.”Tears leave her face.

“I want to give.” She answers.

The Living smiles. “Good. Just keep my hand in yours.

We have to do it together.” Her fingers feel his strength flowing into her.

She smiles at his shining face. “Together.”

Poetry

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Knowing

I live in despair, Knowing, just knowing,Something was going on that I couldn’t control.Despair and agony coursed through me, Knowing, just knowing,It was all over. My hopes burned. My excitement crushed and mocked.It was no use. It would never be better. It would always continue in a circle.Never ending. Always knowing, just knowing, And being helpless against it.

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The Photography, Literature,& Poetry

of

Caleb Siems

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Photography

Benjamin Franklin’s Garden Red Leaves on a Sunday

Higher than a Soaring Kite

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Encased

Edmond, OK

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LiteratureI Remember the Birds

I remember the birds.They always sat outside my window and watched me. Grand-ma said that they must have thought I was interesting. I thought that I would have prefered it if they watched Tabitha instead.It wasn’t that I didn’t think they were pretty. They were very handsome with their dark feathers and eyes that looked like the beads on grandma’s dress. I just thought they looked like they were waiting for me to climb out the window and join them on their perch. Whenever they yelled, it was as if they were impatient with me. Maybe the reason I didn’t like them was because they re-minded me of Grandma. She always wore the same colors as the birds, like the ink on the letters she was always sending off. Grandma didn’t like me, but she pretended. She told me how glad she was to have me and Tabitha with her and would smile with everything but her eyes. She always looked like Tabitha’s old doll that had a cracked face when she smiled.Tabitha once said that Grandma didn’t like either of us. Even though Tabitha was eight and I was ten and could look out for ourselvesTabitha had told me in a whisper how one night she had walked by Grandma’s room and had seen Grandma sitting in front of a mirror, combing out her long white hair. Tabitha said that she was muttering “miserable little monsters” under breath every time she came to a knot in her spiderweb tresses. Tabitha also said that Grandma reminded her of a spider, long and skinny, with cobwebs for hair. But Grandma didn’t always wear dark colors.

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Every now and then she would put on a brooch with two rubies that glistened like an ember.Sometimes when Grandma screamed at us her eyes looked like they were the same color as that shiny red brooch. Daddy had told us when he sent me and Tabitha away that Grandma was old and had been through a lot, which was why she screamed at us. But she didn’t seem old. She never did. Her face was like momma’s, smooth and pale. Except momma’s cheeks were pink and you could see her eyebrows.Th e last time momma came to visit, Grandma had screamed at her too. Said that momma’s cheeks were pink and asked if her husband had been slapping her too. Grandma said it was a tradition for women in her family to marry “slappers.”Momma had cried. Tabitha had cried. Tabitha said that she didn’t want to marry a slapper.Momma and Daddy stopped coming aft er a while. Th ey sent letters, but soon those stopped too. Th ey said they were trying to earn enough money to take care of us. Grandma smiled her cracked smile when we read her one of their letters. She said Daddy was probably slapping momma and didn’t want me to get in the way.“Men like him only feel bad when they slap one of their own kind.” I wondered if she was right.Momma wrote Grandma a letter saying Daddy had run off . Grandma laughed when she heard that. Th en Tabitha screamed at her and ran away to cry in her room. It was just me and Grandma. Grandma had looked down at me with red eyes. Like the rubies in her brooch had come alive and crawled onto her face like bugs. Her face was still pale. Maybe she didn’t have enough blood in her body to make her face pink, even aft er someone slapped her.

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I told her that Momma said she was never going to return and wanted Grandma to take care of me and Tabitha. Grand-ma screamed at me for a long time. She said that momma didn’t want to deal with reality and had left me and Tabitha here to rot along with her.I thought for sure Momma was lying about not coming to get us, but I was wrong. She always liked to say that she kept her word, and she didn’t disappoint.That’s when I started talking to the birds. I asked them to fly away, to spread their dark wings and go find momma and Daddy. I gave them a message: I told them that me and Tabitha missed them and that Grandma was not very nice. I decided not to tell the birds to say that Tabitha had stopped coughing. I wanted to surprise momma and Daddy when they came and got us. She said it was the cobwebs, but two weeks before momma wrote to us she suddenly stopped. Tabitha asked Grandma if she could share a room with me. Grandma smiled. She said no.The next night Tabitha snuck into my room and hugged me under the covers. She was shaking like Daddy did whenever Grandma got angry.Grandma found out somehow and started locking me and Tabitha up every night. Then, whenever one of us made her mad, she started locking both of us up for the rest of the day.No matter how hard we tried to be good, we always ended up being locked up before ten in the morning.Tabitha found a small hole between our rooms, which were right next to each other, so we could talk. She said that she had seen a man wandering around the grounds outside the house, next to the woods. Maybe he thought it was abandoned. Or maybe he was wait-ing for something.I asked Grandma about him. She didn’t smile.

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She said he was waiting for her. He wanted to slap her again. Punish her for what she had done. Tabitha said through the keyhole that momma once told her Grandma used to see things, which was why Grandpa slapped her. He had told her to stop acting like a scared spider and stop pretending she saw people that weren’t there.Grandma started to look old. Her brooch got lost and she screamed at me for taking it and burying it in the graveyard.One night she forgot to lock my door and I snuck down-stairs to fi nd food. Th ere was nothing in the kitchen except some old bread and moldy cheese. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten but now that I thought about it I really wasn’t that hungry.I started going back to my room when I saw a light from Grandma’s room. I looked in and saw her in a white night-gown sitting at her mirror, combing her hair by the light of a lamp. As I watched, she came to a knot in her hair and pulled at it. Finally it gave way and a little dark speck fell out of her hair to the fl oor. She picked it up and held it close to the light.It was a spider.“Miserable little monsters,” she muttered as she tossed it aside.I went back to bed. Tabitha wouldn’t come to the hole in the wall so I curled up under my covers and shivered. I was always cold now.A few days later a woman came to the door and Grandma spoke to her while I watched from the stairs. She asked if Grandma was interested in selling the house and Grandma told her “over my dead body,” and that she had to take care of her grandchildren who were “her responsibility.” Th e woman tried to argue with her, so Grandma told her to go some-where.

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I don’t remember where she told her to go, but the woman seemed mad. She told her that she would see Grandma there, then walked away. I wondered where they were going.After the woman left, Grandma walked up the stairs. As she passed me, I wondered if she was going to faint, like the girls in the movies momma always liked to watch. She looked really old and skinny. She looked like the sheets on my bed.I went back to my room. The birds were silent, just watching my window. At the time I could not guess what they were waiting for. That night, Grandma forgot to lock me and Tabitha in our rooms.When the big old clock in the hall rang one in the morn-ing, Grandma started screaming. It had started raining and thundering, so at first we didn’t hear her. Once we did, Me and Tabitha both left our rooms and ran to see what was the matter.Grandma was standing by the mirror, the lamp lying on the floor and casting strange shadows on the walls. She was screaming and pointing at a bundle of white sheets next to the mirror, her long white her flowing as if by wind.The door downstairs opened. A man came into the room. Grandma was screaming at him to “go away.” He just looked at her. It was the man who had been wandering around the grounds.“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” He said. He had a low voice and very pink cheeks.Grandma started crying. She said that she hated seeing things. Hated that she couldn’t stop bad things from hap-pening. She said that she hated him. At least that was what I could understand. She was crying quite a lot and I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying.“You know why I came” he said as he walked towards her.Grandma backed against the wall. She looked like a insect that was about to be stepped on.

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“To punish me for what I did to them” She snarled. Her eyes were wide with fright.Th e man nodded.“It’s time to go,” he said, and picked Grandma up like a baby. She screamed and fought against him as he walked down the stairs. Me and Tabitha followed him. Neither of us knew what was happening, and couldn’t bring ourselves to try and stop him.We watched from the stairs as the man kicked open the front door, Grandma screaming and clawing at him in his arms. Th e man stopped and turned just outside the door and looked up at us, his dark mustache tangled with Grandma’s pale, fl ying hairs.A fl ash of lightening illuminated their faces for an instant as they stood in the doorway, and it was as if their skin had dis-appeared and you could only see pale bone and empty sock-ets and grinning teeth. Th en they were both gone, Grandma’s screams echoing through the hall and melding with the rain pounding on the roof.Tabitha and I both returned to Grandma’s bedroom. Neither of us knew what to do. With one mind, we both approached the bundle of sheets Grandma had been pointing to. As the lightening fl ashed, we gazed upon the mass before us. Her face was hollow and the same shade of white as her hair and her dress. Her eyes were open, like her gaping mouth, and stared ahead. No wonder we mistook her for a sheet. She seemed like she was entirely one shade of white. Only her open, lifeless eyes were black. Black as the birds outside my window. Laying next to her was a torn piece of paper, dated a month prior. A letter. Tabitha and I leaned over and read. “Dearest Fredrick, I am sorry for what I have done today. I was angry. I did not mean to hurt him that way. I will make it up, though. I will take care of both of them. I wish I had not acted the way I did,

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but I will care for him just as I cared for you before you left.Funny how I hurt him like I hurt you. I am glad that the girl is like me. I cannot tell her now. She can touch him, so the secret can stay safe. I only hope that one day she-”The rest of the letter was lost. Tabitha looked up at me. She seemed frightened of me. The next day she packed up her bags and left the house and me without a word. She cried a lot and I wanted to cry too. But I couldn’t.I could not understand why. It would be some time before I did.I would realize eventually, sitting in my room, watching the seasons pass as I waited for Tabitha to return. I would realize and then forget, then remember again. It is a cycle I still go through constantly. Knowing and then not knowing.But I always remember the birds. I just forget the name sometimes. The empty branches are still visible through the pieces of wood that some strange men came and nailed over all the windows. I wish I could leave with them, but I can’t.The birds are gone now, perhaps because they got what they wanted from us.What were they called?Ravens. They were called ravens.

No, no that’s not it.

Ah, now I remember.

They are called Vultures.

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Poetry

I bought a case of thumb-tacksUpon a Winter’s dayI had a message to send to them,Since words I could not say

“You cannot be as you are right now”Th ose teachers had said to meTo which I’d replied, with steadfast claim,“I’m afraid I disagree”

(“Be respectful of your elders,”As all the elders say,Yet why should I respect them

When they throw such barbs my way?)

Brief suspension from the college,

A lowering of my grades,Were given to my humble self,A credit to my shame

So now I go to classes all,Revenge upon my mind,A thumbtack placed on all their seatsShall work to my design

Th is petty act will not do much,But mayhap it will showTh at I am using my God-given rightsWhen naked to class I go

Aft er all this is America,And freedom SHOULD prevail,So do not say that I am wrong,While sending me to jail

To Class I Go

Disclaimer: this humorous poem is not based on an actual experience and is merely meant for entertainment. Th e author bears no ill-will against any of his professors and certainly would never be guilty of the actions of the college student depicted in this poem, nor would he approve if someone actually behaved in this manner.

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I.I entered the roomLike a wind born of doomYet none could see or hear meThey do not yet knowI have entered to showA beloved the path to their Tomb

A woman of ageWith a smile on her faceHears her family sing gentlyA hymn I have heard,The song of a bird,Fluttering like wings un-braced

II.A child of youthLies there as proofOf how cruel the world can beHis mother daresTo tell him he faresMuch better, but I know the truth

I never can knowJust where they go(To heaven or down below)

I merely guideAs I stand by their sideAnd ferry them to and fro

III.I am an angel,But if I were able,I would give my job awayTo see so much deathTo hear their last breathIs enough to turn me un-faithful

For when I enter the roomLike a wind born of doomThey sense me and somehow guessTheir time has now comeTo leave all they’ve doneAnd walk with the angel of death

The Unwelcome Guide

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DeagolTh is poem was written as a creative project for the “Tolkien and Friends” class in the fall semester of 2015. Th is project tasked the students with creating an original piece of art that was motivated by a story or an idea from the world of Middle Earth or the life of J.R.R. Tolkien himself. Taken from the opening scene of Return of the King and inspired by the works of poets Samuel Coleridge and William Wordsworth, as well as the dramatic monologues of Robert Browning, this folk-like poem depicts the day that Smeagol (or “Bestie” as he is described by Deagol, the poem’s narrator) acquires the ring of power.

Th e Sun were not too brigh’ tha’ dayTh e water were not too lo’So with m’ bestie BestieTo the rive’side I go

Th e fi shies bite not quicklyTh e Boat will move too slowSo we rest withou’ a-rowin’On the rive’side we fl ow

Th e Bestie likes his speakin’Th e words he li’ to blowSo m’ head begins to pound and acheOn the rive’side we fl ow

Th e rod in m’ hand grows heavyTh e speakin’ will not slowSo with a tug on m’ fi shin’ lineOn the rive’side I crow

“I gotta big one!” I scream and shout

I turn to Bestie and cry on out“Go grab th’ nets” I yell to ‘imBefore a sharp tug pulls me inInto the rive’side I go

Th e water is cold for little ol’ meTh e fi sh is not too slowSo I let the line jus’ slip awayAs I under the rive’side fl ow

A glimpse! A fl ash!What do I see?A lil’ fl eck of gold?Th ere in bottom of the Bank,To the shiny thing I go!Th e hand grabs onto glim’rin’ goldTh e mud begins to fl owSo in my hand the lov’ly thingFrom the rive’side I stole

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The sun is still a-shinin’ brigh’The Bestie starts to crowSo I clamber out to meet wi’ himFrom rive’side he rows

The Bestie wants the shinyThe “present” he says I oweSo wi’ some hands abou’ m’ neckBack to the rive’ I go

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The Poetry of

Jana Seymour

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Poetry

Forrest Gump at the Gardens

It’s like walking away from Disney World.There are a lot of people,Shuffling and chuckling,Leaving at once.There are lights,High above the night.They’re reflections in their eyes.And the music,A euphoric, cinematic swell.You want to linger to soak up all theWonder that remains to be explored.

12:33 PM 7/7/2015

A cat nestles her soft face into yours and you laugh.Rain spills from the cloudy sky and you dance.When you feel this way you want to do everything.You don’t feel lonely.You don’t feel anythingExcept the energy of clean lifeClapping your hands,Tapping your feet.Run.

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Pictures on the iPhone 6

I’m looking at a memoryHoping for the image to consume me,Concentrating as I do when I feel ordinary. Wind howls Waves crashSun smiles Birds soar Th e scene from the cliff s is brightly illuminatedIn front of me. Only today it’s not working.I’m still here andI’m only looking at my hands.

5:35 PM 12/11/2015La vie en roseTh e sun sets in Bethany, mixingSoft , delicate colors over the waterDo the ducks wonder why the surfaceBeneath them has turned pink?Do the birds lose sight of their destinationWhen they take in the beauty of the world about them?

Here you are, life before youIn all its beautyAnd you dash at each chanceTo soak up another drop of it.You keep those drops in a journalAnd one dayTh ey’ll be useful

And here you are, life before you.You are happy.

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3/2/2016What if we reached the lightsAt the end of the black road stretched out,The white dots behind the black lines,What if we foundWhen we reached the dazzling dots,We were the last inhabitants of this world.What if we slept and in the morning we foundWe were it, we were all, and we felt nothing.

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The PHotography of

Cole Trotter

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Who You Love Shapes Who You Become

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The PHotography & Poetry of

Diane Wade

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Eve

Eaten Th rough

Photography

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Arched

Lights

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Tessia

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Poetry

Coff eeSteam rises in ribbonsTh e milky cream slowly changes From black, to brown, to tanFine sugar crystals fl oat to the bottomTh e warmth of the morning begins in my hands

OwlSoft ly the yellow glow fi lls the dark roomTh e owl watches from under the shadeUnmoving eyesUnruffl ed feathersPerched atop the desk A clickTh e owl blinks out into the darkness

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105

The Poetry of

Sam Wing

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Time

Underneath the weeping willow tree. Two girls giggle and whisper quietly.Now they’re ten and playing grown-up again. Making friendship anklets and writing with fuzzy pens. Thirteen came and things didn’t appear the same. A father was lost and time swept like rain. Now they’re seventeen and nothing was what it seemed. They’re losing a fight to keep things right. Nineteen now and living in dorms, while they confess their Sins to each other behind closed doors. Time is coming quick and life is becoming less kind. The reality of it all begins to unwind.

September

Leaves make a promise. But they always seem to fall. Until the next season, when the trees grow so tall. Their colors will wear. And veins run thin. All that they held will never be kept again...

Poetry

107

Limerence

You are a mountainand I’m a fl imsy oceanwho cannot love you

... Th eir words hurt like stones that dented her heart. Each letter punctured and left their mark. One by one knocked her layers down thinUntil she was nothing but bones and skinHer feet, though they walked, couldn’t get too farTh e seed they planted kept her from the starsHer body ached. Lonely and starved. Th ose crooks took all but left her scars. Th e wounds they shoveled into her veins Filled her heart with growing painsAnd grew no more did this girl become Her parts totaled to a minimal sum So small in fact nothing she was. her head hung low and they thought just because.

*sigh*

I can’t stop thinkingit’s 2:48 am

but I am craving a hug

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109

The Poetry of

LauraWomack

110

Poetry

Once

Once I was a little girl without a care in the world.I didn’t have a voice, I didn’t have a choice. Pushed into the background by the world. Caught up in my anxieties. Fear and doubt, they tried to drag me down.I tried to drown them out. Dragged into an unrelenting sea caught up in animosity.Once I was a little girl and my mamma told me to be the kindest girl that I could be.

Once I was all grown up, my friends and family, they told me you know you’ve got someone to care for you.Come sit down at the table, you don’t have to feel lonelyWe’ve got to love each other.Love your brother, love your sister, love your mother.It’s a crazy world and it’s getting crazierRushing, rushing, rushing all around trying to keep up with the standards.Once I was all grown up, I was told you’ve gotta love your neighbor as yourself.

Once I heard it said your heart has got to be the prettiest thing about you.Oh lord won’t you help this broken sinner.I’ve been crying for so long, hiding this lost and aching heart.I’ve been doing wrong for so long and I wanna make it right.So pour down your mercy on me, pour down your grace, pour down your love, ‘cause I wanna see your face.

111

Lord I need you to polish me, dust off this dirty soul.Once I heard it said you need to love mercy, you need to seek justice, you need to walk humbly.

Once I found out life is a restless game when trying not to lose it.I wanna make a change, make this world a better place.I don’t want to see anyone crying cause they don’t fi t in with what society says matters.Soon I’ll be a little older and God will show me that He was by my side through every heartbeat. Soon we’ll be a little older and what will our lives hold.Will I be satisfi ed by all that surrounds me?Age is just a number.It’s never too late to love, to reach or to care for one another.Life is a mystery waiting to be discovered.