Coughing on the smokestack pipes She bleeds and sputters out orange, red, yellow fringed with purple As she falls to sleep after her day of injury, she blackens and the silvery pinpoints shine through her holed sheet Centered is a big gray mass She wakens and coughs up her colors again, this time they fade to blue On and on Undulating, just a dying background to the little actors’ meaningless lives
Category Archives: 2021-2022
“Manic” – Ella Gardner ’23
As I speak manically The words spew forth My mother laughs hysterically And her eyes roll north This poem is superfluous Why can’t it be over But I think it is beauteous It rhymes moreover This is a feast A verbal explosion Don’t encourage the beast Or your mind will have erosion I am officially a poet And did not before know it
“Misendeavor & Redemption” – Alex Chow ’24
With endless despair in gaping wide An incorrect judgment has mistook Seeing guilt that obscures my tide As I reel for a chance to look For this endless pit thoust only guide And maybe I can find a right As I cannot undo what I tried By a reservoir to misdoings by night From darkened pitch of sweeping black I may see what though this dye Some off flung ledge leaning to back A smoky sight hard to make eye I try to imagine what I may not see As I cannot fathom what is to be
“Little Dude” – Zora Burroughs ’24
There is a little dude who lives at home. He stays asleep sixteen hours a day. Sometimes he ventures outside to roam, There he rolls around and finds birds to chase. Eats the same food that he’s had for ten years. But every evening he eats it like cake. Maybe life is boring, maybe it's weird, Might be amazing, so much more to say. After all, I am not a cat, only A person who imagines his own days. There is one thing for sure I know fully: You make days brighter, in every way, If we could both speak, I’d say in a rush, Thank you little dude, I love you so much.
“Eerie Eve” – Anna Brown ’24
The chilly autumn air bites at stale dust old oak door, the world forgotten and lost crisp gusts of icy wind meet marble must inside calm fights against odd outside frost stories once told of a bright knowledge spring long since faded to a dim winter lone clocktower ticks on, rusty bell chimes ring the last of cold monuments etched in stone all that’s left are ghosts, books with worn down spines skewed and scattered pages tattered and torn silence sings loud, no one to hear the signs echo in the walls, siren song forlorn mice skitter about, a bird calls in fright stained glass palace lost the last of its light
“Untitled” – Trinity Brock ’24
To love and lose someone is a disease. The heartbreak can leave your stomach churning Puts hatred in old lovers hearts with ease Overcomes passion that was once burning. The hurt’s vision clouds with love’s flame’s exhaust, Destroying their soul with a virulent flu. Uproots others lives and create lines crossed Leaves chaos and division in its rue. Love provides an everlasting heartache. When betrayed, can make the broken fearful, Once found, it is forgotten it can break Numbing hearts and power to be cheerful. This bewildering invisible pain. Love can turn the most clear headed insane.
“Stars in the Sky” – Anonymous
I stare at the sky on this quiet night The stars gleam at me, rendering me blind How great they are, shining so very bright “Insignificant” seeps into my mind A single speck, an ant, that’s all I am In this infinite plane of life we adore But we’re unloved in turn; the cruel world’s scam No man, no god, knows what we are made for Yet the stars still shine, light guiding us on What for? To find love and open our hearts That is our purpose, that fate’s stars have drawn The universe binds them, never to part Grounded by gravity, tethered by love The stars in a way are just like us
“Untitled” – Braden Crow ’22
Lightning crackled on a distant hill, illuminating my room with a flash. My shadow hit the wall for the briefest moment, my hunched-over posture suggesting some grotesque creature, some mangled and malformed monstrosity like the mutant flies I had examined in biology that afternoon. So this is what i’ve been reduced to, I thought with a smile. I turned my attention back to the book in front of me. “Dark Arts & Reality Manipulation”, read the tome’s dusty cover. I had found it in the linen closet. When I reached back to grab a towel, my fingers instead found a small knob, and within the tiny hutch it opened lay the text. I flipped to the chapter titled “manifesting your desires”. So this was what all those TikTok chicks were trying to do, huh? I read the instructions quickly and set up my room accordingly: 6 candles, a pentagram drawn between them (I substituted red crayon for blood). I spoke the words aloud as I scanned them, a Latin incantation: “Lorem Ipsum dolor, labore et dolore aliqua.” The rumble I felt in my body confirmed to me that they had taken effect: the vibration in my pocket meant I had received the foreseen email. As I clicked through, my hands shaking, I wondered what my future would hold, whether I had denied or accepted it by invoking black magic. I opened the final page, my eyes closed. I would soon find out the truth of my destiny. 3…2…1…
“DEFERRED???”
“Eyes” – Audrey Jiang ’25
The very first thing people would notice about her were her eyes. They would always comment on it sooner or later, but the former more so.
“They’re so pretty!”
“I love the color.”
“I could get lost within your eyes.”
They would always say to the girl. And she would always just smile in response. Oh, just to continue smiling, as if nothing were wrong with the world.
They were right after all. She possessed a very lovely pair of eyes. Both deep blue in color, with hints of turquoise and specks of gold. Looking into them was like staring into an ocean, a sea filled full with emotions.
Bright and lively when the young girl was excited. Violent waves that crashed into the edges, masking the sad, echoing cries of the water hidden underneath.
But it was always about her eyes. They said nothing about the rest of the girl. They ignored the rest. They said nothing about the rest of her appearance, her long, brown locks, the freckles that dotted her cheeks. They said nothing about her achievements, about the medals she’d won through swimming, the offers she’d received through competitions after securing first place. Nothing.
She could not see what she had become, despite standing before a mirror.
Blood and dried tears were splattered across her face.
Empty and soulless sockets had replaced them.
Her smile was crooked. The knife clattered to the ground. Her palm opened.
Her two eyes rolled onto the floor.
“Portfolio” – Carson Curley ’23
What makes me popular? Being a monster?
Every morning I see a monster in the mirror. I inspect myself, hair messy, smelly. Memories replay of me getting made fun of. Janet, the girl at my school that everyone loves, perfection to say the least. She called me a monster, so that means I have to be one right? As I walked to school, I constantly thought about what Janet will say today. “Oh look it’s fat-ass Lucy, with her long thick hair” “She can’t do anything but look like a monster.” I think to myself, maybe what Janet said is true. As I walked I opened Snapchat, just to be met with once again my reflection, it haunts me everytime, same with Janet. I go through my stories, I open Janet’s story of her kissing her boyfriend, I can’t even believe someone could like her, she may be perfect but she’s mean. I take a deep breath, take a snap, and start texting. I type the exact words, ‘Oh by the way, Janet cheated on her boyfriend with Ryan.’ Soon after I posted that the coming days were Janet’s downfall. She fell apart, literally. One day during school she did not see a sign that said ‘floor is wet’ and slipped and broke her neck. I laughed. Janet Combs used to be the most perfect girl in school, but now she is simply a mess. The next day I go home, I stare at myself, and think I look like Janet. A week later, I am Janet, I am no-more fat-ass Lucy. Start hanging with her friends, dating her ex, and no one mentions Janet. I see Jane roll into school with long thick hair. I laugh.
Bones
The graveyard was empty. Wind blew through the trees leaving leaves falling on the stones of the dead. One night a year the graveyard would shake, rumbling the trees making all the leaves fall. Suzzy sat next to one of the stones. She was dressed in the normal fall attire, flannel, and jeans. She did not think much of it till she got up and felt the ground shake. Thinking the worst thoughts possible Suzzy started running but was suddenly tripped by a bone on the ground. Here lies Suzzy’s grandma’s bones, the sign said. One after another the bones popped up from the ground forming a skeleton. Suzzy was shocked by the inanimate bones laying on the ground. A girl stood in the graveyard, watching the skeleton rise, it was Suzzy’s grandma after all so she would not hurt her. Well she did, and that night Suzzy was murdered, but the thing is Suzzy’s body was never found. Just some flannel and a pair of jeans.
The Butcher (v1)
Organs are transported daily, some stolen, some found in the lost in found, they are like money to people. Trent, a 22 year old male, had his kidney removed the other day. He thought his kidney would go to the medical waste bin, but nope, straight to the dumpster. It stunk in the dumpster, many organs laid in their drying up from the lack of blood. A day after, the kidney was dropped in the dumpster, all the organs were gone. Trent decided one day to walk into a butcher, the butcher stunk of raw meat but there was no question. Trent purchased one pound of what he thought was ham. He got home, and put it in the oven, but he had a weird feeling about this piece of meat. It was a bit too raw for his liking. Trent did not give a second thought and devoured it, after he thought to himself, how yummy it was.
One dare they said, just knock on the door, and it will all be over. I knocked, no answer, I knocked again, confused if this is what I was supposed to do. No answer, weird. I turned around to see a man with a bag, and everything was dark. I woke up in a bathtub, hearing the creaking noises of the floorboards in the hallway. The bathroom was bland, with one sink and the tub, where I sat. My hands were tied to the shower curtain hanger, preventing me from escaping. I started to think, was it worth the dare, hell no, I just got kidnapped. My friends are probably wondering where I am but they probably don’t care either. Just one dare, can turn into this, me sitting in a bathtub confused. The man with the bag walked in. He asked, “How are you doing?” I stared at him wondering why the hell someone would ask me a question like that after I was just captured. However, I’ve seen this man before, his face reminds me of someone. “Have I met you before” “Oh, yeah we go to school together” Here I am thinking who the hell kidnaps their classmate, well this weirdo definitely does. “Why am I here?” “Oh, I don’t know, you knocked on my door after all so–” “What the actual hell, it was one dare jeez” He stared at me, his eyes locking with mine. He proceeded to walk away, leaving me with so many questions. I yanked on the tie that was holding me, soon I got the hanger to drop off the pole. I now could walk around attached to a shower curtain. I walked out of the bathroom, hearing the creaking floorboards throughout the house. The hallway was long and dark, the whole house actually had every window covered up from what I could see. The lights off of course, because what makes a house more ominous. One foot after the other, the floor creaked. I soon decided to run because why not. As I ran the shower curtain dragged behind me, soon tripping me. I fell to the ground face first, almost like a cartoon character. Bam, head to the ground, nose bleeding, shower curtain tied, I laid there on the ground. One dare got me here, ironic because dares are simply funny, but here I am with a dripping nose of blood. I looked up to see the boy standing there. He kneeled down to help me up. He said, “What are you doing…?” Not knowing what to say, I slapped in the face and bolted for the door. In the process, I untied my hands sending the shower curtain flying to the ground. Grabbing for the door knob, I heard a gun glock. I turned around to see a shotgun staring me dead in the eye. The boy then said, “What are you doing?” I was horrified, so I followed him into the kitchen. The kitchen was as boring as the bathroom, lacking decor. There was one island, cabinets empty, and a sink. I stood there shaking because the gun was held right to my head. Backing up into the corner of the cabinets, I grabbed the handle of the cabinet and slammed the cabinet door into his face, firing off his shotgun. One bullet went into my stomach making me start to bleed. Covered in blood I ran out of the house, passing the door that I knocked on. As I ran out of the house of terror, I noticed my friends looking for where I went. I dashed towards them, while I heard yelling from inside the house. Another shot went off as I was running, it hit my leg. Once again falling to the floor slamming my head into the payment I laid there, questioning my whole life, as any normal teenager would do in this situation. The pavement was cold, and I could feel the pile of blood start to form around me. I soon saw my friends come up to me and lift me up, one already calling the police. The boy came running, and then I blacked out from the blood loss.