Writing 24-25

Untitled

By Jay Duncan

Inside the elevator, you lurk.

Your evil condemning all those who would step inside.

The men who think themselves heroes, so smart and so strong

are foiled by your traps, one after another they flood in and meet the same fate

You're an evil creature despised by all;

People cringe away upon hearing your sound fill their ears, you just laugh.

And as they leave the elevator, your evil travels with them, your infectious rot setting in, 

infecting, spreading, the building taken in an epidemic of your sin.

Somebody enters the elevator, oblivious to your malevolent presence.

You crawl down from the ceiling, taking another victim with a grin of evil pleasure.

They leave the elevator whistling.

Your evil is spreading.

You are… the earworm.

Inedible Rice

By Blue Orenstein

Once we all heard about the king’s gold touch, it was all we could talk about. Servants were grabbing little gold items wherever they found them; Midas’s abandoned plate, a flower he had touched, anything. We got angrier, as we competed to have more gold than each other. I doubt Midas didn’t know we were following him at every moment. I remember he once went down to the kitchen, thrust his hands into a barrel of rice, then upended the entire thing. Some people spent hours picking through the grains to find the golden ones. 

Everyone started throwing things at him. Butlers and sweepers and sloppers and everyone in between would toss things at his face or hands, hoping for it to turn to gold. It stopped being subtle. There was nowhere in the palace Midas could be alone, and we all took advantage of it. He took to locking himself in one of the servant’s bathrooms, a new one every day. They began to be clad in gold.

Then, his daughter was turned to gold. And everything was different. In his grief and rage, the king ran through the castle, laying his hands on everything and everyone. Dozens were gilded, frozen in various poses of terror. His bellows preceded him, and we learned to run when we heard them. I saw him for a moment–the windows were transformed, so the light was low. Yet I saw him. He was thin, so frail I thought for a moment that he was a walking corpse. His skin was flecked with yellow. His eyes were sunken. He screamed, and I screamed too, either at him or with him. I left the castle that day, and have never touched a piece of gold since.

A Child Weeps

By Ella Cameron

Sorrowful eyes reflect stars gleaming from high above

but they are glazed, the sparkling sky left unseen.

A childhood friend has come to rest

in a bed of moss and clover.

So unusual to slumber quite so far away

from her wire-framed bed

with pink heart comforters

and her hand-mended teddy bear

And her.

Always with her.

Where once above came joy and bounding spirits,

now lies a pit deep as a garden shovel can reach into earth.

A beautifully tragic moment, lost to time,

Soon grass will cover that same bed. 

Mascara streams down a ruddy face

And with long eyelashes coated in morning dew

A girl holds her childhood dog

Lost now in a world diseased by dreams

One of many,

Love her too. 

The Rise & Fall of the Lowells

By Sebastian Silver

Father’s cooking on the grill

Mother’s baking in the kitchen

Brother and Grandad are talking about the newspaper 

Sister and Auntie are knitting in Sunroom

At night the family goes out into the bay

On their boat that’s named after Grandma 

They look at the sunset, they smile

It’s a memory for the ages

Brother wants to go into politics, he wants to change the world

Sister wants to be a author, she was always a rebel

Mother and Father will retire to their mountain home

Auntie will continue to travel the world, with all it rubies and pearls

Grandpa will die peacefully, surrounded by family 

The children will go to away to college 

Tuition paid in full, they never had to worry about money anyway

Mother and Father smile, there children turned out alright

Brother is a corporate lawyer, he never made it into politics 

Sister’s book didn’t sell, she’ll be revered in thirty years

Mother and Father had to sell the mountain home

Auntie’s plane crashed in the Pacific Ocean

The family reunites for Auntie’s funeral

They’re illusion to each other

No more do they live the life of luxury

Kickball 

By Ella Cameron

You’d feel almost as though you were outside

playing with the rest of them

with ankles deep in freshly fallen snow,

and with cold, red fingers tucked into hand-made mittens,

And with a crowd of snowmen watching from the sidelines

as the wind twirls the hair that falls from below your wool hat-- 

In spite of your position:

Scrunched on the window ledge,

Just so happening to be-- and quite stubbornly so--

on the other side of that frosted window pane

with your forehead pressed against cool glass, 

if not for the warm air you breathed 

onto its softly blurring surface 

or for the now dull and distant sound

Of children laughing 

and birds chirping 

and sun-melted snow dripping

and you, crying,

And that stupid red ball

see it bouncing.

Untitled

By Maya Faulstich

I wanted to fly, but

3 am, Shadow

threw knives into my scalp

lunged at me

handcuffed me: prisoner

Panic

For awhile, Shadow lived inside me

Or did I live inside him?

Now, I feel him peeling away like flakes of paint 

I cannot hold him any longer

He does me no good

I want good in my life

So I release

Little by little

Unshackle my chains

Drop my weights

Empty my hands

I am free

Hold me now,

And I won’t chain you down

I’m no longer tied to both deadlifts and balloons

Letting go 

Means starting new

Flowers in my flesh

Bulbs in my bones

what lies ahead

By Bakota Bolese

I fear the future

more than I resent the past.

Slipping beyond my reach,

falling between the cracks.

It taunts me in my present

while I try to get a peek.

It haunts me in my nightmares

on nights I cannot sleep.

I fear it’s a labyrinth 

I do not understand,

I cannot quite decode,

I simply cannot plan.

The future is an abyss-

so hazy and vague.

I just want to know,

I cry and I beg.

It’s the lack of perception.

I don’t know what’s there.

Who will I be?

Will anyone care?

Will I amount to a purpose

greater than my own.

Or will all my roots rot?

Is that what is foreshown?

Do I have decades to decide?

Will my joys be uncried?

I fear my present 

is a less-than-alive 

Not knowing what’s next-

Or on the other side. 

Winter's Utopia

By Mathieu Charrette

I shall find thee without the sun’s great heat

The one who keeps me down as I’m asleep

For when I ignore you, it seems I cheat

Alas slowly you come, ebb, flow, and seep

Here, thou pierce the walls of my dear own

Pushing the creatures under the sky

They search for the sweet escape from wind blown

Only baffled they watch: through you, I fly

To drape the land with a blanket of white

Your thought strikes the hearts of the north

Huddled around fire they try to fight

Against something unreal that can’t come forth

The simple principles, you refuse to obey.

Here you stand, to drive others away.

Bad Hope

By Mathieu Charrette

Hope became a snake that writhed.

Instead of pulling him up,

The snake threw him down to his knees.

His hope had carried him through years

but with enough wrong,

he imbued his hope

With Venom.

The snake slithered into the depths of his stomach

Feeding off his want and desire.

Growing longer, thicker, heavier

Weighing him down. Weakening him.

As he fell, the snake took control

Coiling around him, the snake squeezed

the life out of him

then left.

Liberation

By Mathieu Charrette

I wish to speak the language of the birds,

To sing and chirp with avians.

I want to hear the thoughts,

Of those who see all from above.

I wish to fly like the birds,

liberate myself from the constraints of the earth

I want to soar like an airplane,

Climbing above the clouds.

I wish to be free of want,

To be one with the flocks.

I want to perch high and mighty,

As I watch over the world.

To speak, to fly, to sit

with remorse, none.

Incident

By Aubrey Favreau

It was the first day of school

And I left my phone in math.

First period really!

Starting the day off strong.

Nice first impression.

My next class already started

The next math class had too

So I sprinted back upstairs.

I let out a breath of relief,

My math teacher still stood

Chatting with her friend,

So her class had not started yet.

I’m all good,

Awkward encounters avoided.

Wrong.

I walk in and

The entire class is already there.

No

One

Is

Talking.

They’re all staring straight forward

Like mindless zombies

Or scared kids on the first day of school.

I have to walk across 

the front of the room

To the opposite side.

I have to grab my phone

Then walk all the way back

And out the door.

I walk as fast as I can.

Along the way

My eye catches some others.

And 

Oh no.

Those are people I know.

But not people I’m friends with

No those are people I barely know

who probably barely know me

But the know me enough

To remember who it was

Who forgot her phone on the first day of school.

The Cottage

By Aubrey Favreau

During my childhood I heard stories of the cottage,

Of the weekends my dad spent there as a kid,

Watched videos filmed at the cottage,

Epic films of my uncle’s teenage tubing antics,

And saw pictures taken at the cottage,

Of my grandparents rocking on the porch.

Growing up I played at the cottage 

With my dad’s old toys.

I slammed the keys of the mini piano

That was so out of tune but beautiful to me

As I’m sure he did.

Our musical souls

separated 

only by the years between us.

Growing up I splashed at the cottage

In the murky waters 

Of the pond that we called a lake

Because it seemed so big

To little kids like us

And those green waters 

Were crystal clear

To our youthful, optimistic eyes.

Growing up I screamed at the cottage,

Screeches of joy

When my dad flung me around

In the double tube he once shared 

with his brothers

Using the boating skills he learned

From his dad.

Growing up I laughed at the cottage

When my aunts told jokes about our

Crazy,

Lovely

Family,

When my uncles teased each other

About silly things

And I saw a glimpse of their youth,

And when my grandmother messed up

Her signature fruit salad

By putting in cherry tomatoes

Because her brain was getting foggy

Growing up I loved at the cottage

When I looked at my cousin’s kids

Playing with that old piano

Still as out of tune

As it was two generations ago

But still just as beautiful

And when I hugged my grandmother goodbye

And she kissed my cheek

And told me that she loved me

Growing up I cried at the cottage

As I looked at the for-sale sign

Looming at the top of the winding driveway

That I never had a chance to navigate as a driver.

When I was told that the mortgage  

Was now being used 

to pay for my mémère’s healthcare

Because her brain was failing

And her body was going with it.

When I looked at the two walls

Standing alone in the rubble

Of the cottage that I once

Played,

Splashed,

Screamed, 

Laughed,

And loved at.

During my adolescence I tell stories of the cottage,

Of the grand adventures I had on that lake.

I watch videos filmed at the cottage,

Epic films of my sister and I flying out of our double tube.

And I see pictures taken at the cottage,

Of me in my grandmother's lap

Rocking with her on the porch.

The Acrobat Flips Through The Air

By Aubrey Favreau

The anticipation of all is thick in the air 

As she warms up for her high jump event.

She stretches and runs not a moment to spare,

And breathes deep and long, not minding the scent.

The scent of teams hard at work,

Sweat dripping as they sprint, jog, and jump.

She knows the doubt that will lurk

If she doesn’t just concentrate on the thump.

The thump of her shoulder blades hitting the mat

As she practices her form before they begin.

She lines up when she hears the ref start to chat

About the rules she must follow if she wants the win.

The win of the day that gets her a varsity letter

Is the goal that drives her during the wait.

She watches each attempt knowing to be better

It is crucial that she stay in the state.

The state of calm and regulated emotions

That she must maintain so as not to lose her nerve.

She moves through precise and practiced motions

Before beginning the build up of the curve.

The curve of bounds that builds her power

Like a wind up before a home-run hit.

She runs towards the pole that will tower

Over her, looming, before the commit.

The commit of the acrobat arching her back

As she flips over the target height.

She lands delicately, her body going slack,

And when the bar says still she feels the delight.

The delight of a champion soaking up her victory

As the crowd erupts and cheers her name.

She grins brightly, feeling like she made history

And pumps her arms above her head relishing in the fame.

Constellations Prime

By Sebastian Silver

Thousands of lights shined in our suburban sky, each a tale we could never transcribe

We counted them together, one after another, star after star we gave them

Names after greek gods and heroes, the sames ones 

Whose stories filled our heads, and who we read in our wooden frame beds

We would debate the events and trials of the day, your opinions would always sting

The stories of our times we wrote, would reshape the opinions of people,

Who looked to us as if we were nobility

Stories would abound from our imagination, like raindrops hitting ground

Our stories of fallen Lords and Kings made better by your words that would ring

We would paint murals of vibrant colors in our tales of tragic heroes, 

Like the stars that we found in the night sky

You told us you were leaving, that you would be living your dream

You were so excited, and you were Ivy League guaranteed 

But saddened truth crept over that suddenly drowned all my glee

That you would be leaving and it would just be me, 

Our thousands of stars had lost their benevolent queen

But as I looked at the stars

I realized that even if you left, I could still remember the rest

Of our times together, where we laughed and cried 

Where we told each other our deepest secrets we tried hard to hide

Where you told me about your love and I told you about mine

And looked up and named the constellations in the sky

Glittering Lights

By Ella Cameron

The shade of large, sturdy oaks born in the countryside, branches leaning over winding gravel roads, have been quickly overtaken by the cover of highway crossing highway. The acorns which would litter the ground have been replaced by crumpled cigarette butts. Far removed from its reaches, still the city stands, looming, commanding attention. Skyscrapers make a mountain range out of the horizon. I cannot deny its tainted allure. Where once stars shone, solitary lights glitter from the windows of an empty city.