Editor: Julie Fulbright

Front cover photography by: Tiffany Hogg

Graphic Design and Production: Tony Bartolo and Brenda Ellis

Printer: Caldwell Dockins, Cleveland, Tenn.

Copyright: 2003

Cleveland State Community College

All Rights Reserved

Cleveland State Community College is accredited by the Commission on Colleges of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, 1866 Southern Lane, Decatur, Ga. 30033-4097, telephone number (404) 679-4501. Cleveland State Community College is an Affirmative Action/ Equal Employment Opportunity (AA/EEO) institution committed to the education of a non-racially identifiable staff and student body. The college does not permit discrimination on the basis of race, color, religious views, veteran status, political affiliation, gender, age, national origin, orientation or disability against employees, students and guests in any college sponsored or hosted educational program or activity including, but not limited to, the following: recruitment; admissions; academic and other educational program activities; housing; facilities; access to course offerings; counseling; financial assistance; employment assistance; health and insurance benefits and services; rules for marital and parental status; student services; and athletics.

CSCC HS-1568-4/17/03 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Phillip Roman – Love Is a Question ...... 5 Crystal’Ann Stanich – Education Wondering ...... 6 Cliff Howard – My Shoulder...... 7 Leaning Wall ...... 9 Christina Spetz – Grant Me ...... 11 La Vernell L Guadalquiver – Sinner’s Advice ...... 12 Neil Greenwood – 49 and Counting...... 13 Jonathan Radford – One More Love Letter for Doc ...... 26 Mindy Hunt – Soul ...... 31 Anonymous – Hunting...... 33 Venita Smith – The Bride of Christ ...... 35 untitled poem ...... 36 Amy Ford – Revolutionary War ...... 37 Gary Montier – Art Is More… ...... 39 Brandon Grant – Memories When You Loved Me Too ...... 40 I Can’t Wait Till Later ...... 41 My First Kiss ...... 43 Marjorie Gluckner – Carnal Delight ...... 45 Todd Geren – I Saw a Boy Smile Today ...... 47 Aaron Shipman – untitled poem ...... 48 Christy Towery – Forever ...... 49 Gustavo Cadavid – Realization ...... 51 Kenny Starnes – I Am ...... 52 Jackie Beach – The Willow ...... 53 Friendship...... 55 Chris Bridwell – Abraham’s Faith & God’s Sacrifice ...... 57 Tiffani Hancock – Because of Love ...... 59 If… ...... 60 I Will Never Tell...... 61 Jean Crockett – For Kenneth ...... 63 Angel Randolph – untitled poem ...... 64 Krystle Kennedy – George W. Bush’s 2003…(Speech on War) ...... 65 Jason Stills – Homecoming...... 66 Beth Presswood – untitled poem ...... 71 Melanie Fulbright – Shakespeare Parody ...... 73 Sabrina Williams – The Seven ...... 74 Jill Lloyd – It’s Peace Time, Now… ...... 75 untitled poem...... 76 Brandon Johnson – Procrastination...... 77 Jessa Stover – The London Charity Guy ...... 78 Brittney Wear – untitled story ...... 79 Frontage Road 5

Jessica Collins – untitled poem ...... 80 Brianne Bailey – It’s My Heart’s Turn to Talk ...... 81 Cathy Smith – Walk This Path with Me ...... 83 Daisy – I Wish I Was a Bird ...... 84 One ...... 86 That Night ...... 87 The Trial ...... 88 Rodman Schweers – Writing? ...... 89 David Pritchett – What Is It Like to Be Mean? ...... 92 Love’s Death...... 93 Different…Why Not? ...... 94 Voice of Defiance ...... 95 untitled poem...... 96

PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED BY: Janelle Banta, Charmin Branam, Tiffany Combs, Erin Godfrey, Diane Hannifin, Tiffany Hogg, James Patterson, Christy Rogers, Kim Smith, Jonathan Thomas, Ryan Tyner and Amanda Van Sickle.

ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY: Daisy, Melanie Fulbright, Lindsay Gay and Sweta Patel.

4 Frontage Road 5 Love is a Question Phillip Roman

How can one withstand living without love? Can he or she do so? The question is unanswered and still seems that it will never be. But you are the only one that can decide whether or not you want to love. People in the world think of it in many ways. Some say, “It is something that is there to break your heart and be a burden on your life.” I say, “You can be only afraid of what you are scared of and not what you do not know of.” Why is love the meaning of two people’s relationship or what binds two people together for life? Are you scared of what might come out in the open about your true self? One cannot live a full life without tearing down the fear of love and taking the chance of being happy or sad. It is that one thing in life you must not be scared of, but willing to take it on at all costs.

5 Frontage Road 5 Education Wondering Crystal’ Ann Stanich

I wonder why I’m here,

I wonder what I’m worth,

I wonder why I am who I am,

I wonder when life will begin,

I wonder who really loves me,

I wonder what to do,

I wonder if I can make it,

I wonder if I can do it,

I wonder what will happen,

I wonder if I will succeed,

I wonder if anyone cares,

I wonder about history,

I wonder about my future,

I wonder why,

I wonder if life will happen,

I have wondered too long,

I will not wonder anymore,

I will succeed!

6 Frontage Road 5 My Shoulder A song by Cliff Howard

You go through the day. Trials hit you every way. You take every burden with nothing to say. Well I’m here to tell you, I will be true. Here’s my shoulder you can cry on; let me take care of you.

Here’s my shoulder, you can cry on. It’s just here for you. Lay your head on my shoulder; I’m here for you. Let me hold you and show you that I really care. Here’s my shoulder for you to cry on; let me take care of you.

Anything that you face, all the things in your way, I want to be here, day after day. Take a hold of my hand; together we’ll make a stand. Here’s my shoulder for you to lean on; just let me be your man.

Here’s my shoulder. You can lean on. It’s just for you. Lay your head on my shoulder; I’m here for you. Let me hold you and show you that I really care. Here’s my shoulder for you to lean on; let me take care of you.

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The Biltmore House in Ashville, North Carolina photography by Tiffany Combs.

8 Frontage Road 5 Leaning Wall A song by Cliff Howard

Verse 1: Your mom and dad are fighting, and you just don’t understand. You try to keep on striving, but you’re on your last strand. You look for all the answers, but just can’t seem to find, Something that will solve it, something to ease your mind.

Well friend, there is a promise that’s given just for you. Jesus is your Leaning Wall; relax, there’s nothing else to do.

Chorus: Give it all to Jesus; he is here for you. When you are tired of fighting, no one is more true. Lay your burden down. Be still, it’s already through. Just lean against the wall that was built for me and you. Jesus is our Leaning Wall.

Verse 2: Trials fall on every hand, and violence fills our land. Time, it is drawing near till we reach the other land. Just sit tight and look ahead; our father’s standing near. Lean against the wall; he says to have no fear. Have no fear!

9 Frontage Road 5 Grant Me Christina Spetz

God grant me the strength to not want to die. God grant me the strength and will to survive. I hate my world. I hate my life. All I do is dream of my demise. My family hates me. I have no home. I have no place that I can go. I want to leave him but if I do, my whole life will come unglued. The pain I feel, it never leaves. It’s like it’s some kind of disease. I can take the yelling. I can take the scream. I’ll tolerate him hitting all over me. But my kids live in fear every single day, yet I’m still not motivated to take them away. I’m too scared to be out in this big world alone. I’ll tough it out so my kids have a home. I don’t want to be strong and I don’t want to try. I’d rather be unhappy and lie down and die.

*This poem is about all abused women who stay with abusive men because they are scared.

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Drawing by: Melanie Fulbright

11 Frontage Road 5 Sinner’s Advice La Vernell L. Guadalquiver

For you have sinned The wheel of his will. You have seen The people’s ill.

Every time that you need help He was there for your sake. All the sounds of your screaming help That made you look like a murky lake.

Your conscience Keep you awake. That made you realize your own scene That the real truth you could not take.

For the things you have done You deserve to pay the price. Your life had just begun When you receive the appropriate prize.

Life is too short for a human And do not waste the time of your life. So, make most of your time good to your fellow human In the end, you will enjoy the other world life.

12 Frontage Road 5 49 and Counting Neil Greenwood

“Good morning and thank you for joining us on World News Network’s ‘Prime Story’.” I’m Peter Staub, and at the top of our news today is, of course, a history-making event, the dissolution of a state. Yes, that’s right; unless you’ve been living in another star system for the past year, you know that today Tennessee, the Volunteer State, will be formally dissolved after almost 210 years as a state. This event is so momentous that we will be focusing exclusively on it for the next two hours. “Tennessee’s demise raises a number of important questions. First of all, how did Tennessee end up ending up? What could possibly bring an end to a state? Second, how will Tennessee’s dissolution affect the remaining states, as well as the Union as a whole? Will other states follow suit? Third, what will happen to the pensions of all the retired Tennessee state employees, not to mention the pension funds of those still working, at least for the next two hours? This question is part of a larger issue concerning retirement pensions and entitlements for the soon-to-be retired baby boom generation. Fourth, will the Tennessee Titans have to change their name? Finally, what will the end of the Volunteer State mean for the ‘Vols’ and the ‘Lady Vols’, the University of Tennessee’s championship- caliber football and women’s basketball teams. “What could bring about the end of a state? This is a question that has drawn the attention of Americans not just in Tennessee and Washington, but also across the country. Tennessee’s dissolution is the culmination of a chain of events, which do not portend well for several of the other remaining 49 states, a number of nations around the world, and even the United States. Quite simply Tennessee, or, more to the point, the Tennessee state government, could not, or would not, continue to balance its budget. This is not bankruptcy. Rather, this is a calculated decision to dissolve in order to avoid the tough choices of cutting spending and/or raising taxes. For background on the events that led up to this momentous occurrence, let’s get a summary of Tennessee’s recent budgetary woes from our government affairs correspondent, Lucy French. Lucy...” “Thanks, Peter. Yes, budget problems certainly aren’t new to the Volunteer State, nor, for that matter, to most of the other 49 states. During the last years of the last decade and the early years of this one, Tennessee’s state legislature wrestled with the questions of how to raise revenues and reform spending. The measures implemented by Tennessee included making what turned out to be overly optimistic revenue forecasts, tapping “rainy day” funds, and using the “tobacco industry settlement money” provided to the state governments in 1997 in order to compensate them for their out-of-pocket expenses in paying for the care of millions of people who became sick from smoking. Finally, two years ago, the state legislature 13 Frontage Road 5 was left with no choice – wide ranging tax changes, draconian spending cuts, or closing down the state government. Like most of the other states, the Tennessee state legislature is constitutionally required to balance the budget each year. That year, the governor took a stand of his own by threatening to hold the members of the legislature criminally and financially responsible for a shutdown of the state government. A partial shutdown had occurred in the Volunteer State for the first days of July in 2002.” “Hadn’t the state implemented tax and spending reforms,” Staub asked. “Attempts certainly have been made. One house or the other of the state legislature had, of course, passed various tax reforms over the last few years. But the two houses couldn’t agree on any single one. In addition, often there was the additional threat that any given legislative reform would be vetoed by the governor or struck down as unconstitutional by the state supreme court. As far as spending is concerned, the state government had little success dealing with what many Tennesseans saw as the most wasteful program, Tenncare. “Tennessee’s equivalent of Medicaid.” “That’s right, which does not bode well for the remaining states or the nation as a whole. The problems of corruption, inefficiency, and inadequate funding faced by Tenncare mirror those faced by similar programs at the state and federal levels.” “How have Tennesseans responded to the upcoming dissolution of their state?” “On the whole, with a great deal of understanding about the difficulties of their state’s situation. However, at the same time, many Tennesseans place blame for this turn of events on the state government, particularly the legislature. In fact, in the last few years, intensifying hostility toward the legislature has even made it difficult to find willing, if not enthusiastic, candidates for all the seats.” “Willing?” “Yes, both major parties have from time to time and place to place had to recruit reluctant candidates, often pressuring them to run.” “Why the reluctance? What is different about the hostility toward politicians in general and this current intensifying hostility toward Tennessee legislators?” “Aside from a pervasive derision that has made the state legislature the butt of countless jokes, a campaign to amend the state constitution making the failure to agree on a balanced budget by the end of each fiscal year, June 30, a capital crime, and holding the state legislature culpable.” “Well, that would certainly chill anyone’s ambition to serve in the state legislature,” Staub commented. Lucy French merely nodded in agreement. “Lucy, what will happen to the state,” Staub asked. “Today, it will be divided into sections to be absorbed by five of its

14 Frontage Road 5 neighboring states. The dividing lines will be primarily along various rivers and county boundaries. East Tennessee, bordered by the eastern leg of the Tennessee River to the west, will be divided between Georgia and North Carolina. North Carolina will get everything north of the Hiwassee, with the exception of Benton in Polk County, which will go to Georgia. Kentucky will take everything west of the eastern line of the Tennessee River and north of a jagged line of various small rivers and county boundaries that roughly bisect Tennessee from north to south. Mississippi will get the southwestern sixth, including Memphis, and Alabama the south, central sixth of the state. “What about Arkansas, Missouri, and Virginia? No interest in the partition of Tennessee?” “Apparently not. There was support in southwestern Virginia for acquisition of the Tri-Cities area, but not enough interest in Richmond. No one in Missouri expressed any interest in northwestern Tennessee. And I guess there wasn’t enough interest in West Memphis, or any other part of Arkansas for that matter, to consider merging with its larger namesake on the other side of the Mississippi.” “Imagine that! How do you transfer parts of a dissolved state to other states?” “Really, the state governments involved are just winging it. Of course there is no precedent for this. Fortunately, since Tennessee has no state debt – and that was a requirement of all five annexing states – no money has to change hands.... “Will the Tennessee state government’s lowered bond rating adversely affect any of these five states?” “Who knows? But one would think that the bond rating will die with the Volunteer State. “Anyway, to continue, the state governments involved are just coming in and taking over. There will be few changes in the county and municipal governments. However, there are still some sticking questions yet to be resolved, such as what will happen to the names of Tennessee counties annexed by states that already have counties with those same names. A small rural county in southeast corner of the state is dividing...” “Polk County,” the anchor interjected. “Yes, that’s right. Polk County will be split into two counties, one going to North Carolina and the other to Georgia. But both states have Polk Counties of their own. What’s a Tennessee County government to do?” “Maybe the two new Polk Counties can change their names to James K. Polk County. So no one was interested in trying to start a new state to replace Tennessee,” Williams asked. “No takers. Some countries did inquire about purchasing the Volunteer State, but either national security was an issue or the various parties involved couldn’t agree on a price.” “Thank you Lucy.” 15 Frontage Road 5

“Now, for perspective on the political and historic implications of the dissolution of Tennessee, let’s turn to Dr. Paul Austin of Vanderbilt University. Dr. Austin is a professor of political science at Vanderbilt, where he has taught for seventeen years. He has written three books and over twenty articles on various topics in Tennessee politics at the local, state, and national levels. “Dr. Austin, thank you for joining us.” “My pleasure.” “What will dissolution mean for Tennessee, the country, and even the world?” “As far as Tennessee is concerned, no one knows since this hasn’t happened before. Aside from the soon-to-be-unemployed Tennessee state workers and those Tennesseans who consciously identify themselves first and foremost as citizens of the Volunteer State, I don’t think many people in the state will think much about it. And when they do, they’ll view it as a curiosity. Preliminary polls conducted by a number of my graduate students indicate that for most Tennesseans who display visible pride in their identities as Tennesseans their allegiance to the University of Tennessee football team and, to a lesser extent, the Tennessee Titans is at the heart of that identification. “Let me say though that dissolution will not erase the history or contributions of the Volunteer State. Not that anyone wants to pursue either. In fact, I think that dissolution actually will increase interest in the state’s history and culture. I already have had more inquiries about my Tennessee politics seminar this semester than in all my previous seventeen years put together. “How will the annexation of parts of Tennessee affect the politics of the five annexing states?” “Annexation shouldn’t have that much of an effect in any of the five states. Each of these states is annexing a section of Tennessee that is similar to it in a number of ways – economically, politically, geographically. “What are the implications of dissolution for the rest of the states?” “Well, as they say, the second time is always easier. As you know politicians in a few other land-locked states are talking openly about dissolution. People in both North and South Dakota are talking about unification, although I think that would be more on Pierre’s terms than Bismarck’s. The Baby Boom Crunch is just beginning to test the various entitlement and pension programs that are the essence of the social safety net on which people in the middle classes in the country have placed their faith for the continuation of their lifestyles after retirement or in the case of debilitating illness or accident. Social Security, Medicare, various private and public pension funds are all vulnerable. Dissolution may look attractive to state governments that will have to choose between covering for Baby Boomers who either couldn’t or wouldn’t plan adequately for their financial

16 Frontage Road 5 futures at the cost of younger cohorts in their populations or leaving these Baby Boomers to their own devices. “Politically it doesn’t seem much of a choice,” Staub commented. “Those over 55 tend to vote in greater numbers proportionately than those under 55.” “There lies just one of the dilemmas facing these state governments, not to mention the federal government,” Austin added. “Is it true that certain members of the Spanish Parliament suggested that Spain purchase Tennessee?” Staub asked. “Yes. However, it was just one politician who didn’t actually make an offer, rather he just raised the idea in the Spanish Cortes. He’s a member of the lower house of that legislature, as well as a member of the Partido Popular. Among his colleagues he considered to be on the fringe of that party which is essentially a coalition of political groups from the center and right of Spain’s political spectrum. “Is he seeking to restore Spain’s empire in the Western Hemisphere?” Staub asked jokingly. “With conquistadors?” “Will we have to call out the Rough Riders again?” “No. Actually, the vision he holds for Spain’s future place in the world is more practical and practicable, having to do with Spanish cultural nationalism, not aspirations to empire.” “What is that vision and how does it include Tennessee?” Staub asked in reply. “He sees a loose confederation of Spanish-speaking peoples in the Americas, the Caribbean, and Europe forming with Spain at its cultural, if not building center. He is just one of a number of politicians in France, Spain, Russia, and China, not to mention a number of smaller, less powerful nations, who fear the eventual linguistic domination of the world by English. After all, English is now the primary language among international air traffic controllers, in computer software, and in many countries of Africa and Asia. Just look at India, one of the two most populous nations in the world and English is the unifying language among its diverse population.” “This Spanish cultural confederation might present an alternative of sorts to the nation-state paradigm that has dominated human political organizations for at least the last millennium. But I digress. That is another matter, not directly related to the topic at hand.” “Is it true that the end of Tennessee has also encouraged renewed talk about secession from the Union some of the other states?” asked the anchor. “Yes, it has renewed calls for secession by the a number of the same southeastern states that attempted to break away during the Civil War. But what’s significant is that it’s the same old groups and individuals making the calls for a restored Confederacy, and for the same reasons.” “Historically, secession has not been limited to the ex-Confederate states. During the War of 1812 Federalists talked of seceding from the

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United States. And, of course, many of the second tier of states, including Tennessee, had been originally claimed by a number of the original thirteen.” “I remember as an graduate teaching assistant in a discussion section of a large undergraduate U.S. history survey course I convinced some less than attentive students that the British government only agreed to accept U.S. independence because the young U.S. government agreed to take New Jersey as one of the original thirteen states.” “Really?” “Yes. Well, I was bored; some of the other students were bored. Only a few students didn’t get the joke. This university was in southern California, and many people there can’t tell you the difference between New Jersey and New England. But I digress again.” “That’s quite all right, professor,” Staub said with a smile. “Another phenomenon related to secession is expulsion. And there are people throughout the country who, for one reason or another, would like to see one state or another expelled from the Union. Concerning the present event, for years at the end of the last decade University of Tennessee football fans wanted to see Alabama and then Florida kicked out of the United States. The interview having gotten too far off track, the anchor didn’t inquire further. Trying to get the interview back on course again, Staub asked, “A number of commentators have suggested that with the ongoing war, the government’s various entitlement obligations, and U.S. participation in nation building and reconstruction efforts across the globe the country is hopelessly overextended.” Smiling wryly, the news anchor asked, “Might a significant number of Americans now consider dissolution as an alternative to either tough taxing and spending choices or bankruptcy?” “I don’t think so,” Austin replied drolly. “This idea of dissolution has attracted no substantial following. In addition, we have a number of other less radical, if still unattractive alternatives, including increasing the national debt yet again. Since the dollar is considered the foundation of the world economy, governments, companies, and individuals will continue lending the U.S. government money by purchasing U.S. securities – they have no choice. However, a number of nations in Africa, Asia, and South America are discussing dissolution as a radical, if up to this point inconceivable, alternative to national bankruptcy.” “Thank you Dr. Austin for your answers and time.” “My pleasure,” Austin said.

NASHVILLE “For the first of our reports around the Volunteer State we go to Louise Grundie in Nashville, where the formal ceremony of dissolving the state will take place.” 18 Frontage Road 5

“Peter, I’m here in front of the Tennessee State Capitol building, where the formal dissolution ceremony will take place. The weather here is beautiful, quite in contrast with the mood of these proceedings. “Louise, I think it’s safe to say that the state capitol building, more than any other single structure in the Volunteer State, stands for Tennessee. Is it true that we still don’t know what will happen to this building? “That’s right. With little more than an hour to go before dissolution the fate of this building, which has served as the state capitol for 150 years and which survived the Civil War, has still to be confirmed. Standing next to me is Edwin Carpenter of the Society for the Preservation of Tennessee State Monuments. Mr. Carpenter, can you tell us what will happen to the state capitol and state office buildings in Nashville?” “The capitol has been purchased by a consortium of local and county historical societies. It will become the new home of the Tennessee State Museum. The state legislature approved the purchase yesterday in one of its last acts before adjourning. Right now we are just waiting for the last papers to be signed by the Governor. “How much money did the state legislature allocate for the museum?” “None, the legislators just granted their approval,” Carpenter replied. “Is it true that a local developer wanted to turn the capitol into a mall?” “Yes, this individual planned to level the state office buildings on the three sides around the capitol for parking and build a huge dome around and over the capitol. He hoped to build a mall that would match the Mall of America in Minneapolis in size. Rumor has it that the capitol itself would have become a giant coffee bar and discount retail bookstore. Patrons would have been encouraged to walk the halls looking at the busts and paintings of notable Tennesseans while they sipped their coffee lahtis and perused the most recent book on how to survive the upcoming changes and reforms in social security.” “It’s good to hear that the capitol building is safe,” Grundie commented. “Yes, but unfortunately there are still a lot of historic monuments and buildings around the state which are vulnerable to covetous retail chains.” “Back to you Peter.”

JONESBOROUGH “Not everyone in Tennessee is taking the state’s dissolution lying down. A number of groups and individuals openly oppose dissolution. One of these groups, headquartered here in Jonesborough, has stated its intention of fighting to save the Volunteer State. The selection of Jonesborough as the headquarters of this organization is most appropriate since it is the state’s oldest community, having been founded in 1779, seventeen years before the admission of the Volunteer State to the Union. Let’s go to Sandra Brownlow in Jonesborough for more about this group and its campaign to

19 Frontage Road 5 prevent dissolution.” “Thanks Peter. I’m here in front of the Historic Jonesborough Visitor Center. Standing next to me is Bob Latham, executive director of Save Tennessee. This organization was founded six months to stop dissolution. Mr. Latham, with dissolution scheduled to occur in about an hour, how does your group plan to save Tennessee?” “First of all, we will refuse to recognize dissolution, and we believe that we can count on hundreds of thousands if not millions of our fellow Tennesseans to stay neutral, if not actually support our refusal to recognize this immoral, unconstitutional, and illegal act of destroying a state that has been in the Union for almost 210 years. I ask you, how can 132 people, the number of Tennessee state legislators, set aside all that Tennessee has been and abolish its future? All we have to do is convince them not to accept it.” “Apparently most Tennesseans and Americans outside Tennessee have accepted dissolution. How do you plan to change their minds?” “By drawing attention to the righteousness of our cause, through rallies, parades, protests, acts of civil disobedience, petitions to Congress and the state legislatures, and lawsuits before the U.S. Supreme Court.” “What acts of civil disobedience are you planning?” “Well, first of all, we won’t surrender our drivers’ licenses, nor will we apply for drivers’ licenses from those states annexing Tennessee. We also won’t recognize any name change for the University of Tennessee. North Carolinians should know that no true Tennessean, especially a Vol fan, will sit down for UT being renamed the University of North Carolina at Knoxville.” “Those measures should certainly attract attention,” Brownlow said with slight hints of sarcasm and sympathy. “Peter, back to you.”

BENTON “While many Tennesseans won’t be immediately affected by Tennessee’s dissolution, people in Polk County, located in the southeastern corner of the state are an exception. With dissolution their county will divided between Georgia and North Carolina. Interestingly, this division doesn’t seem to bother them. For more on that let’s go to Jess Chamberlain in Benton, the county seat of Polk County, located in the southeastern corner of the state.” “Thank you, Peter. I’m standing in front of the Polk County courthouse on Highway 411. In this small rural county seat there hasn’t been much reaction to the impending breakup of their state. Those residents with whom I have spoken have had more to say about the impending division of their county. Polk County is roughly split into eastern and western halves by the Chilhowee Mountains. County residents informally refer to the western half as ‘below the mountain’ and the eastern half as ‘above the mountain’. The point is that many people in both halves

20 Frontage Road 5 don’t mind the split, even at the cost of Tennessee statehood.” “Peter, let me see if I can get some opinions on the end of the Volunteer State from some of the residents.” “Excuse me sir,” the correspondent said, addressing a man who was making his way toward a bank across the street from the courthouse. “May I ask you some questions?” “Why, I guess,” replied the man. “How do you feel about Tennessee being dissolved?” “Well, I hadn’t really thought that much about it. Probably for the best. Maybe the Georgia state legislature can make some decisions.” “But, don’t you feel any sense of loss about Tennessee?” “Not much. Shouldn’t change too much.” Pursuing this line of questioning, the reporter continued. “But in a few hours your home state will no longer exist.” “Now listen. Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, it don’t make no difference. Besides, next fall Polk County boys will play every Friday night, the Vols will play every Saturday, and the Titans will play most Sundays, just like always.” “How do you feel about Polk County being split?” “Don’t bother me. I won’t miss Copperhill or Ducktown.” “Thank you sir for your time.” Moving down the street the reporter approached a young woman pushing a baby stroller. “Excuse me, may I ask you a few questions about the dissolution of Tennessee today?” “Sure.” “How do you feel about Tennessee being dissolved?” “It’s sad. I’ve lived in Polk County all my life. I’m a Tennessean. I guess I don’t mind becoming a Georgian, but I don’t have a choice. I’m here to tell you one thing though. I don’t think our schools are gonna get any better. We still won’t get no increased property taxes or wheel tax for the renters. You’ll never get a majority to vote on either. Now we might could get more money from Georgia because Georgia has a lottery, but Georgia schools don’t seem any better off now than ours are. You hear about all the people buying lottery tickets, but you don’t see where the money goes. On top of that, I think when convenience stores start selling Georgia lottery tickets here, we’ll have to wait in long lines when the pots are big, even if all you want is a “Little Debbie” and a Coke.” “How do you feel about Polk County being split?” “The mountains done that a long time ago.” “Thank you for your time. Peter, back to you.”

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UNDERGROUND ATLANTA “For some perspective on how people in one of the acquiring states feel about gaining part of what had been Tennessee, let’s go to Steve Barnes at Underground Atlanta, a popular shopping area. Steve, how do Atlantans feel about the prospect of the northward extension of their state into metropolitan Chattanooga and the lower Tennessee valley?” “Most Atlantans I’ve spoken with today seem only vaguely aware of Georgia’s imminent acquisition of southeastern Tennessee. This is after all the beginning of the baseball season, and the talk of the town is the Braves and their chances for getting to the World Series.” “Let’s see what this gentleman has to say.” Turning to a man about to pass in front of the reporter, Barnes asked him, “Excuse me sir. Have you heard of Tennessee’s dissolution, and, if so, what do you think about it?” “Who cares! Actually, it may be the first step in a much-needed weeding out process. Those states that can’t survive the challenges ahead should fold. After all, that’s what happens to businesses that can’t make it. Maybe it should happen to countries that can’t pay their debts. I would’ve figured though that other states, like, say, Arkansas or North Dakota, would have cashed it in before Tennessee. But, whatever. Anyway, it’ll make for a better looking flag.” “How so,” Barnes asked. “Seven rows of seven stars each look better than the present field of fifty.” “I see. Thank you for your time.” Summarizing for Peter Staub, Barnes said, “That view is also typical, if not always so articulately and succinctly stated.” Changing topics, Barnes continued. “A number of business people, both here and in Chattanooga, think Georgia’s annexation of Chattanooga will simplify the development of the megalopolis that is crystallizing between the two cities.” “Aren’t these Chattanooga business people concerned about being the small tail of a very large dog?” “Not really. They certainly realize that the Gateway City will be the junior partner, but they also recognize the advantages Chattanooga has that will complement Atlanta’ size. For example, it takes a lot less time to get through Lovell Field than Hartsfield International in Atlanta. Or, for that matter, the planned bullet train between the two cities.” “There are some people in Georgia keenly interested in dissolution. About an hour ago I spoke with a small group of University of Georgia football fans who were well-informed about Tennessee’s dissolution, hopeful that it would mean the dissolution of the UT Vols, improving their chances for an SEC title.” “That is the question of the hour. Well, we should know by this afternoon about the fate of the Vols. Thanks Steve.”

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MEMPHIS “Now, let’s get some reactions from people in Memphis who will very soon be Mississippians. This morning Davis Stephens has been talking to people at Mud Island River Park, one of the city’s best known attractions and one that epitomizes its status as one of the major ports on the Mississippi.” “Davis, what’s the mood of people in Memphis about their metropolis soon becoming the largest city in Mississippi?” “I and other reporters have been talking to people in Memphis for the last couple of days, and overall they’ve been quite accepting of and open to the idea. After all, Memphis’s most famous resident, Elvis Presley, was born in Mississippi, and both ‘Ole Miss’ and Mississippi State have strong followings here, much stronger than UT. “Is it true that several local groups and civic leaders were pushing for Memphis to become a second federal district, like the District of Columbia? “Yes, the move was quite well-organized. Their main argument was that with the intensifying threat of nuclear, chemical, or biological terrorism in America’s cities, there should be an alternative capital city to Washington, just in case what used to be the unthinkable should happen. Similar campaigns have been launched in Boston, Chicago, Kansas City, Los Angeles, and Philadelphia. As part of Memphis’ campaign, the owners of Graceland had offered it as the alternative White House. “You said the campaign in Memphis was quite well-organized. What happened to it? “It fell victim to bad publicity over Memphis having hosted the Tyson- Lewis fight several years ago. “Ahhh.” Turning to a passerby, Stephens asked, “Excuse me sir, how do you feel about the dissolution of Tennessee?” “I may not be the best person to ask. I’m from Jackson, Mississippi, so I don’t really have a dog in this race. But, if you ask most people in Mississippi, they’ll tell you that Memphis, not Jackson, is the state’s largest city.” “Thank you. Back to you Peter.”

KNOXVILLE “Now for the answer to one of the burning question of the day we turn to Jan Riley at the University of Tennessee.” “Thank you Peter. I’m standing in front of Neyland Stadium, home of the University of Tennessee Volunteers football team (*South Stadium Parking). In front of me is Neyland Drive, and beyond that is the Tennessee River where the “Vol Navy” docks for every home game. The Vols have been playing here for over eighty years, first as Shields-Watkins Field, and then, as the stadium was constructed and expanded around the field, Neyland Stadium.” 23 Frontage Road 5

“Certainly the man standing next to me needs no introduction for most Tennesseans, especially East Tennesseans, the head coach of the University of Tennessee football team. Tell me coach, will the end of Tennessee mean the end of the Vols?” “No. Let me reassure all of our loyal fans that the team will continue to play as it always has. “Since this part of East Tennessee will be annexed by North Carolina, will that mean a name change for the university and its teams?” “No. In fact, the university president confirmed to me that there would be no changes in the name of the university or any of its teams. Tradition will be respected irregardless of the political changes occurring today. “Will the team’s affiliation with the Southeastern Conference change?” “No. We’ve been assured by the SEC, the ACC, and the University of North Carolina that UT will retain its membership in the Southeastern Conference. So Vols fans can continue to count on the traditional games and rivalries in the Vols schedule this fall.” “Tradition aside, some in the state as well as the university community had talked about UT changing its affiliation to the ACC. Wouldn’t an ACC conference schedule be easier for the Vols than an SEC schedule?” “No question, no question. But we thrive on challenges. The SEC has a reputation for being one of the best, if not the best, conferences in college football. Over the years, UT has played and triumphed over some of the best teams that college football has had to offer, all teams in the SEC. In the last twenty years, Auburn, Alabama, Florida, and now Kentucky and Vanderbilt.” “How do you think the dissolution will affect the team’s chances next fall?” “It shouldn’t have any effect. We expect capacity crowds for all of our home games next season. Morale is good among the players. And we think we have a good chance to go undefeated and win the national championship.” “Thank you coach. I’m sure you’ve taken a load off the minds of a lot of Tennesseans. Peter...”

NASHVILLE “Let’s return to Edwin Keeble in front of what will momentarily be the old state capitol of the defunct state of Tennessee, where the formal dissolution ceremony is about to begin, with the governor’s formal pronouncement.” “Thanks, Peter. The governor has just walked up to the podium where he will formally declare that Tennessee has been dissolved. His press secretary has informed us that his remarks will be brief, befitting the somber nature of this occasion.” The Governor began. “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. We are

24 Frontage Road 5 here today to formally dissolve Tennessee as a state in the Union. This dissolution does not, however, mark the end of the Volunteer State, but a new stage in its illustrious history. Certainly, there are those who call dissolution a controversial solution to Tennessee’s longstanding financial problems. But they are blind to the opportunities that this new path will open to Tennesseans. “While there will no longer be a Tennessee as we have known it, the Vo lunteer State will live on in all those people who have called themselves Tennesseans and all the other people who remember it and its place in the republic. Concluding, the governor added, “Thank you and God speed.” “There you have it Peter. It’s now official, 49 and counting.”

25 Frontage Road 5 One More Love Letter for Doc Jonathan Radford

Doctor Winters woke up on a Friday morning. His room was completely dark except for the low glare of his alarm clock. He rolled over, grabbed a cigarette, and inhaled the foul smelling weed into his lungs. After lying there for a few moments, he put it out in an ashtray that hadn’t been emptied in weeks. He was now ready to face another lonely day. He got dressed, skipped breakfast (like he always did), and smoked a few more cigarettes that were complemented by a nice cold glass of sweet tea while he thumbed through the morning paper. Suddenly, he heard a knock at his front door, followed by a deep howling sound. “Damn,” he thought. “I forgot about him.” He opened the door and in walked a boxer bulldog. The dog gave him an annoyed look and went over to his bed of old blankets in the living room floor. “Sorry, Chief. It slipped my mind that I had let you out last night. I mean really, what does it hurt for you to pretend to be a regular dog one night, and sleep outside without getting all pissy about it.” Doc said in a playful tone. Chief looked up and gave a playful growl as his stub of a tail wagged back and forth rapidly. “But old chap, I’ll try to get you a doggy door installed some time this week. I’ve been promising you that for the longest time.” Chief jumped up and walked over to Doc. He was now acting perky as the pup he had been ten years earlier. He rammed his nose into Doc’s hand, and he took the hint. Doc started patting Chief’s head, and soon he was giving him a full belly massage. The thought suddenly came to him that the post office was about to open, and he had a letter to mail. It was hard on Doc retiring from the hospital after fifty years of loyal service, but he had realized that no matter how many people he helped, there would always be more people to in need. He had realized that it was time for him to relax the last few years of his life, and to worry about himself. His whole life had been spent crying beside the beds of terminally ill patients after he had worked fourteen-hour shifts. He had only had enough time to go home, shower, and change, and do it all over again. Doc was a man with a heart that was the whole world could love. He lived by Theodore’s Roosevelt’s philosophy: “Speak softly, and carry a big stick.” He was strong in a pinch, but able to cry when there was nothing left but hope. He believed that hope was the only thing that bound us to and separated us from God: It was the last evil to leave Pandora’s box, but it was the most necessary one of all. He had not wasted his life. He had been happy with what he had done, and he was now tired and ready to go home. Doc never really cared about two things in this world: politics and money. He was an idealist, which made him purposely naive about the world. Doc realized money was necessary to get by, but he never bathed his 26 Frontage Road 5 soul in it. He had always just put it back and lived simply, for he was just a simple man. He had fifteen bank accounts he knew about that were filled up to the FDIC 100,000 dollar insured maximum, but he didn’t care. A simple house and decent car was all he every really wanted as far as the material was concerned. He had willed all his money to his nephew whom he hadn’t seen in thirty-five years. He wanted that kid to have the life that he had missed. He wanted that kid to not have to worry about money, and just worry about making the love of his life happy. Through all this life of servitude, Doc hadn’t been denied the warm love of God. That is what had kept him alive. He was humble and trusting enough to put his faith in God, but he had wanted more than anything, someone to share God’s love with his whole life. Doc never received what he called “an angel from God,” but he wasn’t bitter. He had just accepted his fate to live a humble, lonely servant’s life. There had been one true love in his life. She had broken his heart before he went off to medical school, and they had never spoken again. She was the first thought of every day as he smoked the first cigarette of the day. They had been so close to marriage, but they were young. She had gotten confused and had taken a break that became permanent. After giving Chief the belly massage he received every morning, Doc said, “Time to go Chief. It’s another day, and who knows what it has in store for us.” Deep down, Doc knew it was the same routine every day since retirement, but he hoped for some kind of excitement. He hoped too much. Every day was a short drive to the post office, a ride on the river, and television at night. The monotony of things was slowly wearing down what had once been an adventurous spirit. In his younger days, Doc had traveled the world with the Red Cross. That was before he set up a large practice in a big town and monopolized the business and hearts of its residents. Still, Doc never felt at home wherever he went. He had no home. He just had a boxer named Chief, and dreams of love that had never come true. Doc walked into the post office, and the postmaster walked out to greet him the same way that he had done since the first morning he and Doc had met. “Howdy, Doc, you got your running mate out in the car?” he smiled and said. “I sure do. He keeps getting younger, and I keep getting older. Everybody knows that Chief is a dog except for Chief.” Doc laughed a half-hearted chuckle, and the postmaster joined in. After the laughter had died, Doc handed the postmaster a letter and said, “I’m out of stamps. I’m losing my touch at this old age. Go ahead and give me another book.” “Don’t worry about it, Doc,” the postmaster said. “ You’ve been mailing a letter from here every morning since you settled here in Epiphany. This one’s on the house.” Doc smiled, thanked the closest thing he had for a human friend, and

27 Frontage Road 5 said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tim,” as he walked out the door. Doctor Winters and Chief spent the rest of the day on the river at their favorite spot. It was a rock shaped like heart right on the bank. Doc pulled out a ledger and started to write as Chief went off exploring. He wrote the letter that he would mail the next morning. He wrote it over and over. He took the time to make sure every word was in the right place, and that every word was absolutely neat and perfect. He wrote and rewrote until it started getting dark, and it was time to go back home. Carefully, he folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. He scribbled an address out and placed the letter in his ledger. “It’s time to go, Chief.” Chief came running out of the woods and stopped by Doc’s side. “You ready, old friend?” Doc asked. “You want to go home and eat?” Chief looked up and whined. Doc knew it was time to head back to the house. He had to eat, watch his favorite show, and get ready for another day. Half way back to their house, Doc’s right arm started throbbing. It hurt so badly sometimes. He knew that it was from breaking his arm as a child. It was an accident that could have been easily been avoided. Doc started moving his hand to cope with the pain, but it didn’t seem to help. He remembered that fateful day when it had happened. He was only five years old: Little John Winters had spent all day at his Great Aunt’s house trying to convince his twelve-year-old second cousin to play with his toy soldiers. After throwing a fit to his mother and aunt, they made his cousin Jason relinquish one soldier to him. Jason whispered, “If you lose one piece to my toy, I’ll kill you.” John got a serious look on his face because he hadn’t realized what he had gotten himself into. He went outside to the front porch that was under construction and began climbing center blocks up to the porch. Suddenly, John lost his footing and began to fall with the man in his right hand. As he fell, he held on to that soldier for dear life and tensed his hand up as he landed on his right side. After all the effort, John had broken the toy and his arm. The ER doctor told his parents that if he had let go of the toy and relaxed, it would have only been a sprain. John held on for dear life and had a broken arm to show it, but he didn’t give up. As Doc pulled in the driveway, he realized that from that moment in the ER, he had always wanted to be a doctor. He remembered how nice the doctor had been to a small, scared child, and that’s what he had admired. That was a big factor in deciding a small child’s fate for the rest of his life. One man’s kindness had given Doc dreams. One girl’s love had reminded Doc of his dreams. Now, as Doc came closer and closer to the end of his life, he remembered the one dream he had never been able to let go. After dinner, Doc laid down to go to bed. With tears in his eyes, he pulled out a love letter from his ledger. He opened his top nightstand drawer. The only light in the room was the low glare of an alarm clock and

28 Frontage Road 5 the reflection of the clock light on a silver object. Doc took the object and pointed it to his heart. Outside the room, Chief gave a long, sad howl as a loud percussion trembled throughout the world. That Sunday, as a preacher said a few words for Doctor John Winters at Epiphany Cemetery, Tim Jones stood there with a boxer bulldog. As the casket slowly descended into the earth, a postal truck drove in. “All of those undeliverable love letters are finally getting delivered,” Tim said as tears ran down his cheeks. “Here’s to never letting go of your dreams, Doc,” he slowly whispered.

29 Frontage Road 5

Waterfalls at Dollywood photography by Janelle Banta.

30 Frontage Road 5 Soul Mindy Hunt

For there in your eyes lies a door And but only one has the key to enter. For far below your exterior lies your heart… a fragile but constant one at that. And somewhere between your heart and eyes lies your soul. Your soul is one thing no one or thing can take from you. Your soul will live forever either roaming earth, heaven, or hell. You see…your eyes are the doors to your soul, and your heart is where the key is. You are only able to give that key to one person. So protect it with your body as a temple, and be wise in giving love. For as soon as you let them in your heart, they have the key. They then will choose to hold fast to the gift, or turn and walk away silently.

31 Frontage Road 5

Gorillas at Disney World Animal Kingdom photography by Christy Rogers.

32 Frontage Road 5 Hunting Anonymous

While setting the deer stand, with my bow in hand, then there is a crackling of the leaves. I turn and there the buck stands. I draw my bow waiting for a shot. Holding the bow in hand while drawn, he walks behind a tree. Then I hear him run off, So I climb down from my hunting stand, Then I walk out of the woods slowly, listening and watching God’s creation in action. Hunting isn’t just about killing an animal, rather it’s getting back to nature and relaxing in God’s splendor.

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Cocoa Beach in Florida photography by Kim Smith.

34 Frontage Road 5 The Bride of Christ Venita Smith

You’re a very special Bride of the Lord You’re one of His chosen for a special reward You send out His Love straight from your heart And tell people of the joy, which you are a part

For there is no other that I’ve ever seen Who’s worthy of this special gift from the King That’s why I can say with a smile on my face You’re a special Bride of which no one can replace

One day up in Heaven you’ll walk down the street Where Jesus will take you up to the King There He will give you that special reward A gift that no one could ever afford.

35 Frontage Road 5 A poem by Venita Smith

One lost soul becomes brand new A heavenly choir sings. Rejoicing, for what was lost and alone Has given his heart back to you.

“Welcome home,” the Father says with a smile. “I have waited so patiently For you to accept the Love of my child, who gave up his life just to set you free.”

This road will be rocky and full of hard mountains That will try to stand in your way. But never give up at the foot of that mountain, For the cross will strengthen you each day.

36 Frontage Road 5 Revolutionary War Amy Ford

The Red Coats came in to keep us from our freedom, but we were determined that we were gonna beat’um.

They burned our houses, and killed our cattle. They beat us in most every battle.

But we fought hard, we fought the good fight, and that is why, this very night…

We are One Nation Under God.

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Drawing by: Lindsay Gay

38 Frontage Road 5 Art is More . . . Gary Montier

Art is more than just color to paper or canvas- Art is the essence of the very existence of life, Dwelling within the depth of our souls.

Art is not the reason for being, Art is the reward one gets when they become The person they were meant to be.

Art is a way of expressing yourself to the world, Art reveals one’s inner most aura, in the only way that it could ever possibly be understood.

Art, in its fullest potential, Only taps the vastness of the human being’s reason For life as we know it to be in our late night Dreams of what we want out of our future.

39 Frontage Road 5 Memories When You Loved Me Too Song lyrics by Brandon Grant

Verse 1: I can’t see your picture without cryin’. I can’t say, “I don’t love you” without lyin’. The thought of you brings back the memories of then. The memories of when you loved me too.

Chorus: I can’t bear the thought of being without you, because we had a love so pure. I think about you night and day. I miss you in the worst kind of way.

Verse 2: My tears fall like rain from a storm. Without your love I could never feel warm. I remember the nights you were with me. The summer days we slept under the shade tree.

Repeat Chorus once

Verse 3: I want to feel your arms around me. I want to be back under the shade tree. I miss your soft and gentle touch. The memories of when you loved me too.

Repeat Chorus twice

40 Frontage Road 5 I Can’t Wait Till Later Song lyrics by Brandon Grant

Verse 1: Running through the fields as a little boy, Loved to play outside all day. One day I was grown up and in high school. Found me a girl and was really cool.

Chorus: She told me maybe later. I am taken right now. I can’t wait till later. Want it to be right now.

Verse 2: I saw that girl at graduation. Gave her a big ole hug She had one more year to go in school, and she still had a boyfriend.

Chorus

Verse 3: Another year went by, and she invited me to church. I went with her that day. I fell in love with that little girl, and she is here to stay.

Chorus 2: Now it is later, and I have that girl. Now it is forever that I can’t wait for.

41 Frontage Road 5

Drawing by: Sweta Patel

42 Frontage Road 5 My First Kiss Brandon Grant

The passionate desire of the first embrace. The warm feeling of love all over the place. My first kiss was on a Friday night. Her lips supple and soft, they sure felt right. The unknowing tension between us growing by the second. My heart beckoning, its sweet rhythm harder, faster, longing for the touch. The moment of truth arrives. Her lips finally touch mine. In a rage of love seconds became minutes, hours became days. Our kiss was short but long. The fire felt in our embrace was from the sweet heavens. It was as if I was lifted Levitating above the front porch. My first kiss, the passion, the tension, the love.

43 Frontage Road 5

This is a picture of the New York, New York in Las Vegas photography by Erin Godfrey.

44 Frontage Road 5 Carnal Delight Marjorie Gluckner

He beckons to me promising carnal delight, Dark, smoothe, and beautiful features, Sinful, lusting, I am not strong enough to fight.

He beckons to me promising satisfaction, Brown, silky, exquisite in his form. Stolen moments will transport me to elation.

He beckons to me succumb to my luring, Sweet release is within my grasp. A final surrender, then I’ll stop my whoring.

Exaltation and rapture, I indulge just once. Reality overtakes me, My chocolate urge is gone – until next month!

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Joel’s first shell picking at the beach! Photography by James Patterson.

46 Frontage Road 5 I Saw a Boy Smile Today Todd Green

I saw a boy smile today. His heart was full of glee. He tried to run as best he could, A brace attached to one knee. The “normal” kids, they ran and played, Hitting a grand beach ball. He jumped right in and swatted away, No different from them at all. Although his arms looked a bit funny, His eyes, halfway crossed, A “normal” life he may never have, But his spirit will never be lost. His speech must have been gone; it never came. He only whooped and cheered. The children played all the same, His behavior was never feared. Suddenly, his gaze turned towards me And the book that lay at my feet, He ran over to speak to me; He stuck his hand out to greet. It sounded like he said, “Hi,” As our hands began to part. He pointed at my Bible and said, “Jesus loves me!” And held my hand to his heart. My eyes welled up with tears And I tried hard not to cry As the boy went back to play, His bright smile told me, “Bye!” This crippled boy knew, I saw, That Christ died for him, too. I saw a boy smile today, He made me smile too.

47 Frontage Road 5 A poem by Aaron Shipman

I parked somewhere new today. It was not a ways away. No more across the road I stride. No fears of cars hitting my side. I parked somewhere new today. I parked where basketball is played.

48 Frontage Road 5 Forever Christy Towery

In my heart I feel the pain, but I can see the sunshine through the rain.

Your love has made me strong, and it still comforts me at night. Like a tunnel of darkness, at the end, you are my light.

So shine bright for me my love, like whispers from heaven carried on the wings of a snow white dove.

Because you love me, and showed me that you cared, I will keep in my heart, the love that we shared… Forever!

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Ocoee River ride photography by Jonathan Thomas.

50 Frontage Road 5 Realization Gustavo Cadavid

Bet you value everything except when it comes to emotion, bet if you valued it, you’ll have a different reaction. Without knowing how much accumulation you hold in your organization of body and mind because you don’t think of the infestation you have gathered without thinking it would be an addition. But Once you start your examination, you find out in your Inspection that a lot of its faults are personification. Don’t be stubborn; instead, have compassion by deleting this bad feeling going through you with its flirtation. Be wiser and show them a demonstration that you are stronger, even stronger than any nation. Guarantee that afterwards you’ll feel some kind of stimulation knowing you control indefinite persuasion. Prosper as much as possible until you’ve reached your destination recalling that most of it depends on your action because not always are you going to be the attraction for the best or the worst because this is realization.

51 Frontage Road 5 I Am Kenny Starnes

I am hate I wonder why I am here I hear the screams and tears cried I see the hate in their eyes I want to fade away I am hate

I pretend to be nice I feel cold I touch a flower; it turns to stone I wonder what will happen if I stay I cry for those I hurt I am hate

I understand what I am I say make it stop I dream of a world without hate I try to stop I hope that one day I can I am hate

52 Frontage Road 5 The Willow Jackie Beach

See the willow standing In the field so wide and green With its overflowing branches curled Its trunk so seldom seen

Yet in its great structure Is its very throne of life All its essence there does flow When faced with storms of strife

The willow bends beneath the weight Of snow and wind and rain Yet in the summer of its life It blossoms out again

We may be like the willow Bent beneath a load of care Yet in our inner structure You’ll find us winning there

The storms of life may bend us And the wind may blow our way But with strength we’ll face tomorrow There to bend another day.

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Waterfall in Lechworth, New York photography by Amanda Van Sickle.

54 Frontage Road 5 Friendship Jackie Beach

Friendship is like a garden That blooms every Spring And with each and every flower It makes our hearts to sing.

It must be cultivated And handled so with care So growing thorns and thistles And weeds do not grow there.

It too must, like a garden, Be looked upon with love And thought on each and every day Like praise sent up above.

For each of us down here below Cannot make it through Without a friend so dear to us A friend just like you.

There are many things in life we need To help us each day through But the most important thing Is by being a friend too.

For through this life we need each other On this road in which we travel When things don’t go our way sometimes And life starts to unravel.

Of all the things God gave us In this great world we share Is someone who will be a friend And show us that they care.

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Ball River Falls located in Tellico Plains, Tennessee photography by Charmin Branam.

56 Frontage Road 5 Abraham’s Faith & God’s Sacrifice Chris Bridwell

Background scripture: Genesis 22:1-14

When we start on a journey in life, we embark on a trip not alone, but of one with the creator, God our Heavenly Father. Our destination is intended to be the same for everyone. That destination in the beginning was to walk in fellowship here on Earth with the Father, speaking with him and living in His presence worshipping Him. But, when Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, that destination took on a change. No longer were we able to speak with God as before or walk with Him as before. Sin had eternally separated us from God the Father, and no more could we have the same relationship as we did before because of the sin that was in our lives. Though God still loved us in all we were, he set in motion a plan…a plan that would bring us together in His presence to restore us unto the relationship that we once knew. And such a plan is so greatly revealed in the story of the test of Abraham’s faith that no other story could compare or relate to the plan that the Father had in store for us… His creation…but also the anguish that it would cause Him personally. Starting here in verse 1 of the 22nd chapter of Genesis, we find that God has come to Abraham putting his faith to the test. He tells him to take his only son and offer him up as a burnt offering unto God. He also tells him where they must go and that when they get there, He will show him the mountain on which this is to take place. Now Abraham, without question, packs up all the things necessary to complete the task and moves out on this journey unto the land in which God commanded him. Holding to the promises of God that he would multiply his seed through his son, they reach their destination, and God tells him which mountain to go to. He looks at the servants that went with him, and with a strong conviction and faith in the mighty God, he said, “I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and come again to you.” Having every intention on sacrificing his own son as God had commanded him, he also knew that God would bring his son back to him. Now this is where we can switch roles here. Here in verse 5…I want you to picture this. Here we are…on our journey in life with God, with the sin that has been present with man since the Garden of Eden. We reach a certain point in our journey…and it’s time to come and make a sacrifice unto God, unknowing that we were to be the sacrifice. God loads us up with the wood needed for the sacrifice and takes with Him the knife and fire necessary to make the sacrifice…and here we are saying, “Uh, God/ Father…where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” Knowing the plan that he had set forth, He says, “…my son…one shall be provided.” Finally, we reach the top of the mountain where the sacrifice is to be 57 Frontage Road 5 made. But instead of being in the land of Moriah, we are outside of Jerusalem going up a hill…or mountain that looks like a skull…a place deservedly call Golgotha. God sets and prepares the altar there, prepares the wood, and then He turns to us and binds us and lays us on the altar of sacrifice. He stretches forth His hand with the knife to kill us…then all of the sudden…we hear a voice. Now this voice sounds so familiar as if we have heard it before. It’s a peaceful, caring, loving voice even more so than that of a mother’s voice when consoling a child. It’s the voice of the Shepard, the promised one of Israel, God’s only Son. He says, “Father, forgive them. Here, take me instead. I will pay the debt. My blood will cleanse their sins and calm their fears.” Then God unties us and lets us up, and Jesus, the Shepard, comes and lies down in our place. Then God plunges the knife meant for us into His holy Son. Then…at the time of the fire (the time where Christ bore every sin for every person), God turned His back on His only Son…for God cannot face sin. Then the Shepard says, “It is finished” and “Father into thy hands, I commit my spirit” and bows His head and dies. Now…you might think…what…God didn’t kill His Son. Well, in a sense you’re wrong. A debt had to be paid, and no other could pay it, and we didn’t hold Christ to that Cross. His love and obedience to the Father and compassion for His sheep is what held Him there. We owed a debt that we could not pay, and Christ paid the debt that He did not owe. So, seeing that Christ gave His all for us…the least we can do is give our all for Him. He doesn’t ask us to do anything that he hasn’t done. He left His home, His Father, and His Heaven behind to come here and sacrifice Himself for Us. He served man while on this earth, lived a life pleasing unto God, and followed scripture. He fellowshipped with other Christians and didn’t turn away the lowly, the despised, or the afflicted. He witnessed to all and gave all the same courtesy and chance. He was tempted in all ways…yet remained blameless (Hebrews 4:15), and yet while in the last moments of His life, He thinks of us and says a prayer for the believers that are present and for those yet to come (John 17). If you haven’t accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior, please do so now. Ask Him to forgive you of your sins and to become the Lord of your life. If you have accepted Him and you’re not living according to His word and example, you can ask forgiveness and repent from your ways. He is there waiting and wanting to come and help you. All you have to do is extend the invitation and invite Him in.

58 Frontage Road 5 Because of Love Tiffani Hancock

Traveling through this web of time

We spin our way about with no reason or rhyme

Never knowing what’s behind the door

We proceed with love and nothing more

For it’s because of love that we carry on

Embarrassing out tomorrow’s before they’re gone

Holding on to this moment, this moment so still

It can’t last forever, for time never will

Journeying forward into our great fate

We struggle through with anxious wait

Can we make this last for years more

If we proceed cautiously about the lure

For it’s because of love that we continue on

Capturing eternity together before the chance is gone

Treasuring the moment, this moment in time

It will only last forever in this great rhyme

59 Frontage Road 5 IF . . . Tiffani Hancock

IF...I had just been there

IF...I had just tried harder

IF...I wouldn’t have been scared

IF...I could have stayed longer

IF...I had been stronger

IF...I had more time

IF...I didn’t wonder...

What might have been?

IF...You had been braver

IF...You had more patience

IF...You wouldn’t have been alone

IF...You could have thought more

IF...You had another chance

IF...You had more time

IF...You hadn’t pulled the trigger...

What might have been?

(For my friend always…Jeff)

60 Frontage Road 5 I Will Never Tell . . . Tiffani Hancock

Oh this story I will never tell Of an innocent child with no Name to spell Her mother was unfaithful By her father’s best friend It’s true She has never told a soul Except for me And I will never tell you This baby was born And her daddy did smile Unaware that she was Indeed another man’s child The mommy left her for her Daddy to raise He did so with heartache And is worthy of high praise The child is a woman now With her daddy arm in arm He’ll give away his baby And the mommy will still Smile her sneaky charm Oh this story I will never tell Of an innocent child with no Name to spell

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Aerial view of Watts Bar Lake photography by Diane Hannifin.

62 Frontage Road 5 For Kenneth Jean Crockett

In looking into the future for you, I saw the world open wide its doors; I saw it offer you the sun and the stars and a world of otherness. But as I looked, I also found the clouds, which can envelop those vistas And destroy your chance to reach and grasp and hold a time of your own.

For you, the future looks so trim and neat and polished and new, A little like a freshly minted penny, all shiny and red-toned and fine. For me, it looks deceptive and chancy and frighteningly perverse. I see it as it is, soiled and worn and ready to disappoint.

This is a place in which dreams survive for a moment, A place where kings fall down and their castles and knights can only watch, A place where queens may enter in and yet scarcely rule freely; For this reality, not a dream or a kingdom beyond the sea or sky.

I wish for you those clear night skies with their twinkling, entrancing stars; I desire for you a future which holds on to the magic and releases it for your delight; I hope for you a sense of wonder and majesty of a life within the real, A place in which you might feel free to be and strive to be who you are.

–Winter 2002

63 Frontage Road 5 A poem by Angel Randolph

Dance shoes, why do you cause me so much pain while at the same time giving me the pleasure I desire? you bring me hope and passion only to dash it with the thunder of a thousand storms I love you only to loathe you for the endless hours of practice you force upon me you are the driving force that lives deep within my soul Oh dance shoes, do you not see the life of pleasurable pain you make live? How can you not see?

64 Frontage Road 5 George W. Bush’s 2003 . . .(Speech on War) Krystle Kenndy

“I swear by the teeth in my head I won’t rest till all the terrorists are dead. We’ll turn the Middle East upside down shake the towel heads out and let them drown. We’ll kidnap their children and brainwash their wives, confiscate all their oil, for the sake of Americans’ lives, and Bin Laden might as well be dead but since we can’t find him we’ll kill Saddam instead, To preserve Freedom and not live in fear, he might have the same scary weapons we have over here! So patriotic Americans from sea to sea Pray for God, to favor me, to let us conquer Iraq completely break their back, and once we’ve punished their nation enough, we’ll replace their government with someone who’s tough, a good Christian of course, who will beat them down into shape and not let those dirty terrorists escape.

65 Frontage Road 5 Homecoming Jason Stills

John Bowers wheeled his old gray Ford into the driveway. A loud, grating squawk echoed from the shock absorbers as they hit the pothole, again. A flock of cowbirds that had been safely foraging unseen in the tall grass of the front yard flushed and fluttered over the hood of the car into the branches of a nearby elm. Startled by the flurry of flapping, John jammed on the brakes; the car obeyed by squatting to a teetering stop. “Gees, I need to cut that grass,” John muttered to himself as the adrenaline rush slowly faded. He stared blankly ahead at the half-opened garage door, thinking. His day at the insurance office had been a rough one: several claims, no sales. John walked hurriedly to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, and began gathering up the folders and tangle of papers that had slid from the seat to the floor. “You need to fix that hole!” John backed out of the car, turned, smiled, and greeted his neighbor: “Hi, Mrs. Howard, what’s that?” Mrs. Howard answered with a smile of her own: “I said, you need to fix that big hole.” “Oh, yes ma’am, “ John chuckled and added, “I didn’t see you there in your rose bed, or I would have driven in a little slower.” Waving her hand in a do-not-worry-about-it-swooping-motion, Mrs. Howard answered, “Now, John, my roses are a good ten feet from your driveway. And, I was down in those bushes hidden just about as well as those birds were.” With a hint of laughter she added, “ I didn’t know they were there till you did.” John somewhat flustered, stammered, “You saw the bird thing? …Mrs. Howard, I am sorry about that tall grass – ah, ah – I know all the neighbors are probably embarrassed over my yard. Maybe after dinner I will have a few minutes to work…” Mrs. Howard interrupted, “John, it doesn’t bother me, and if anybody on this street thinks anything bad about you or your yard, it’s because they are old like me but crankier than I am. And, most of them have nothing else to do but mind somebody else’s business. Don’t you worry about ‘em.” “Thank you ma’am… please excuse me; I really need to check on the kids and Barbara.” His diminutive white-haired little neighbor understood his eagerness well: “You go right ahead, and I’ll get back to my roses.” John, with his bundle of files under his right arm and a briefcase dangling from his left, headed for his front door. Ethel Howard knelt, flexed the aching joints in her fingers, picked up her hand spade, and began scratching in the rich humus. She was smiling; she always smiled when working in her gardens; her smile now though was because of her thoughts of John. She 66 Frontage Road 5 really did not want him to fix that hole. Every day when she heard that squawk from John’s old car, the sound to her was welcomed. The day her beloved husband Everett had died, she posted a note with John’s phone number to her refrigerator with a little blue and white goose magnet. That was three years ago. The goose with its note was still there. She checked each morning to make sure that it was. John, fumbling, turned the knob but still had to kick the front door to get it to open. He had never been able to figure out what made it stick sometimes. He thought it could be the weather. As the door was swinging open, he exclaimed loudly, “Hey Barbara, I’m home!” John had heard some distant commotion as soon as he came in the door. His exclamation made it get even louder. “Dad, do something!” Carla, his and Barbara’s seven-year-old daughter, screamed as she bounded around the corner from the kitchen. “Matt, he… look – he busted my lip, look!” John sat his briefcase down and tried to place the stack of folders onto a nearby chair; they slid to the floor, again in a tangle. “Busted is not a really good word,” John muttered as he lowered himself to embrace the child and to get a better look. A little shocked by how swollen Carla’s bottom lip really was, he slipped, “ Oh my, he did bust it didn’t he… I am sure, Honey, that he didn’t mean…” That was not what Carla wanted to hear. She wrenched from his grasp, slapped her hand up to cover her face, turned, and took one running step back towards the kitchen before being scooped up by her mom who was rounding the corner. John briefly marveled at how easily his petite little wife could heft Carla’s head to her shoulder. Carla was hanging limp, her feet dangling just a few inches from Barbara’s shoes. John’s long arms circled both his wife and daughter; stooping a bit, he kissed the back of Carla’s head and inhaled. He loved her comforting smell. Carla began to sob deeply. The sound was muffled; her puffy, quivering lips had found refuge nestled in the little pocket of silky hair and tender flesh all moms make using their cheek and neck. John placed his head on Barbara’s other shoulder and whispered, “Where’s Matthew?” For John, his homecoming was his favorite moment of the day. It was for Barbara, Carla, and Matt as well. Usually they embraced, all four together, but it was three-year-old Matt who was always first to the door. He, like Ethel Howard, had learned to listen for the pothole squawk. “Matthew is in his room,” Barbara spoke softly into her husband’s ear. “He is so upset over hurting his sister… and, John, it really was an accident. Carla from a few feet away tossed that little plastic ball, and I think for the first time ever, Matt was able to hit it with that little plastic bat. I don’t see how that little ball could smack her so hard.” John whispered back, “Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa had better look

67 Frontage Road 5 out; the new homerun batting champ may soon be Matt Bowers.” Barbara, trying not to jostle Carla, added to the jest by popping John in the shin with her knee. She loved the way her husband tactfully lessened crisis situations with subtle humor. She knew John was wanting to cut the welcome hug short, so she gave him a way out: “John, you may want to see about him.” Then she added, “I am sorry, but I burned dinner when all this happened.” “That’s O.K., Hon, Matt ’n I can go out and get some chicken or something. Maybe you can get that swelling down a little before he sees it again.” Carla’s sobs got deeper. As John was giving one last love-squeeze, Barbara ended the consolatory whispering charade by speaking almost normally: “John, and before you go, can you see if Mrs. Howard would like some dinner, too? She has called three times today just to talk. Something odd though, she seems so serene. Oh… John, you need to call a plumber.” “What!” “Go see about Matt; I’ll tell you later.” John kissed his wife’s cheek and tried to peck a kiss to Carla’s. With one last caring stroke on his daughter’s back, he quickly bounded for the top of the stairs. Matt’s door was shut. John knocked softly and stepped inside. He could hear those jerky little gasps that kids always get after crying for a while coming from somewhere deep within the closet. “Matt, are you all right?… Matt?” The only response from Matt was an increase in the frequency of the jerky-gasps. This was the first time the little boy had refused the comfort of his father. “Matthew, you and I are going to the Colonel’s for some chicken. You can see Mrs. Howard, too; I’ll bet she has some cookies for dessert. Come on out and get ready… I need to get ready too… I will be right back in a few minutes… O.K., Matt?” John stepped out, quietly shut the door, and took a long deep breath. He stepped across the hall and entered his and Barbara’s bedroom. Briskly, John shut the door and moved towards his “gratitude chair.” The old chair was a gift from Everett and Ethel Howard. Three years ago, when baby Matt was a newborn, John had a health crisis. Major surgery solved the problem, but for several weeks, he was helpless, totally bedridden. The first day, when Barbara brought John home from the hospital, Mr. Everett brought in this old, old wing back chair with faded maroon crushed velvet upholstery. As he plunked it down, he stated to John who was staring wide-eyed from the bed, “This old thing oughta work just fine; it belonged to my mother, and to her mother before that. It is a little threadbare, and it sits like hell, but anybody sittin’ with the sick don’t need to doze off.” He then turned, sat down, looked over at a still wide-eyed John and asked, “Are you comfortable, Son; can I get you anything?”

68 Frontage Road 5

For about the next five weeks, day and night, Everett and Ethel took turns sitting in that old chair. Barbara protested a little, saying to them that people in their eighties should not be up all night; however, she often wondered if she could have managed her bedridden husband, a four year old, and a newborn infant without them. But it was John who gained the most from the Howard’s company. For long, long hours, John listened as the old man and woman relived their lives. John heard the same stories from each of them. They talked about laughter, frolic, and games of childhoods during a depression, when a bowl of broth was cherished and blessed. They both beamed, remembering high school days and picnics by the river where their young love flourished with unbridled euphoric passion. They shared stories of the excitement of marriage, the joys of the birth of their only child Robert, and then the sadness and hope as Everett left his young bride at home with tear-stained cheeks and a baby as he steamed off to Europe for the Second Big War. John joined with the Howards and cried as they recounted the daily letters, sealed with kisses and stamped with prayers that reached across the Atlantic and allowed them to embrace in moments of solitude. Their stories were identical when it came to recounting the homecoming after the Nazis and fear were defeated. John reflected most often on Everett’s words ‘cause they were “man to man.” “John,” he’d said, “there is no way I can describe to you the joy and gratitude I felt when I got home and saw Ethel and Robert. When I walked through that door to that little house, right over there, and when Ethel…my Darling Ethel, held out my son’s hand and placed it in mine and introduced me to him, and we all hugged, the whole world and our reason for existing suddenly made sense. I trudged through the blood-filled gut- wrenching pits of a devil’s hell for five years, and then I found heaven in the arms of my family. The love, the joy, the gratitude was intoxicating. We laughed, cried, screamed, and rolled around on the floor. It was by far more wonderful than anything I had ever imagined. And, right then, in the midst of our bliss, Ethel and I held little Robert, all hugging together, and we vowed to live each day of our lives as if it were a homecoming. We agreed, that moment, to be happy, to be thankful, to be filled with joy and love for each other and life everyday for the rest of forever.” At that point of the story, the old man rose out of the wingback and leaned right up in John’s face: “And you know what…my friend John Bowers? We have done what we promised! Every day we have let our hearts sing out with thankfulness, and we have been blessed with joy unspeakable. Even when our Robert was drafted and went off to Vietnam, we knew joy because perfect love is not weakened by miles or trials. We shed many tears of grief when he came home draped in a flag, but we washed them away with even more tears of joy and thankfulness for the years we had with him and for those to come.”

69 Frontage Road 5

God had given John Bowers a second chance, and Everett Howard had shown him the reason. As soon as John was able to be up and around, Barbara, Carla, Matthew, and he gathered in the living room and relished an emotional embrace of thanksgiving. They laughed and rolled around on the floor with joy and gratitude because John’s new heart was working fine. They promised to live each and every day of the rest of forever in a homecoming embrace of Love. Mr. Howard left the old, faded chair in the bedroom as a sly gift. John had not cared much for “things” since he heard the old man’s words, but he reckoned the one material possession he cherished most was that old, faded, threadbare wingback. He chose to sit in it often, to think of the Howard’s and of his own family – to remember, reflect, and be restored. At this moment John, and his loved ones, needed the gratitude chair. He moved quickly to take a seat. Relaxing, he sat and thought of Barbara, his precious wife, Carla with her swollen lips, Matt hidden deep in the closet. He loved them all with a great, great Love. John’s heart began to swell with thanksgiving. The angel standing sentry outside the bedroom door crossed his arms and took a half-step sideways to broaden his stance. John Bowers began his prayer, “ Father, you have blessed me today…” The light, the white light that surrounds John every day began to grow brighter. The bright, white light that glows so brilliantly that human eyes cannot perceive it suddenly filled the room completely. The angel smiled, Baby Matt stopped crying, and Carla and Barbara giggled. Mrs. Howard, while on her knees inhaling the sweet aroma of the most beautiful rose in her garden, for a split second felt a piercing jab of pain in her chest. Then, in a slow roll, forward she fell onto the humus and into a soft tunnel of soothing black velvet. For the first time she saw the light, bursting in rays like a million sunrises. The bright, white light broke through, unencumbered, and bathed her new world completely in totally perfect Love, Joy, and Gratitude. Then she felt a touch and heard the most beloved sounds she had ever heard in her lifetime, “Mom?” …and then, “Ethel…my Darling Ethel.”

70 Frontage Road 5 A poem by Beth Presswood

Jimi’s tie-dye headband soaked in mind detergent bleeds into his brain liquid dreams of night thunderbolts of god stream from the axe’s handle vibrates the rains and torrents washes out the mud minds beat as one for three days straight love and peace and ecstasy through the purple haze ghosts like white smoke tendrils tracers at the corners of eyes smother an empty nostalgic field the climax of a generation

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Drawing by Melanie Fulbright

72 Frontage Road 5 Shakespeare Parody Melanie Fulbright

A pair of star-crossed lovers? Yeah, right! Lord what fools these mortals be! I guess she thinks that if you turned his love for her sideways it would block out the sun. Because obviously she believes him to be every inch a king. But after all the hoopla is over, was it to be, or not to be – that is the question. Will you see their glory, like a shooting star? Or will it be Romeo, Romeo Where for art thou Romeo? Will it be the winter of their discontent? While he is gone seeking happy days to happy nights, she’ll be home cleaning up the dog’s mess yelling, “Out, out, damn spot!” Realizing that God made him, and therefore, let him pass for a man. True is it that their love had seen better days. And Romeo? O that he were here to write me down an ass! And of love? Hey! there was never yet a philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently.

73 Frontage Road 5 The Seven Sabrina Williams

Smoldering ashes now cover the ground Of the seven who went into space A tragic flight above earth gone horribly wrong Upon return, Columbia took an about face Only time can reveal the details of the flight Piecing the puzzle to find what went wrong This whole ordeal reminds us Of an all too familiar song Similar tragedy struck this nation Approximately seventeen years ago With seven different ones aboard the Challenger Their fate was sealed not long ago Now fourteen lives are ended short But their legacies will linger on Their works and sacrifices shall not be forgotten For now they are gone to their new home.

74 Frontage Road 5 It’s Peace Time, Now . . . Jill Lloyd

Bush, he’s nothing but slime With brains of oatmeal and grime. He’s waging a war. He thinks nothing more. A problem to grow over time.

This cleverly devised plot Is causing a global rot. This hellish disease Has Earth on its knees. Bush thinks he won’t be caught.

Liberty is lost, I guess, Till someone cleans up this mess. Get Bush impeached And the solution reached. How could we give any less?

My God, can’t anyone see?! What retards you all must be! Quit following en masse, And go kick some a— There’s probably more fight in a tree…

75 Frontage Road 5 A poem by Jill Lloyd

Jaded pleasures bound within my poised symphony Illuminates vibrant desire And deliciously shifting passion Tainted only by too hasty dreams

76 Frontage Road 5 Procrastination Brandon Johnson

The work is just about due, so now what am I going to do? I am in such a bind because I lacked behind. I can’t even write because it’s late at night. I wish I wouldn’t have waited, but I just hesitated. I had to put all this work off, this makes me want to cough.

77 Frontage Road 5 The London Charity Gay Jessa Stover

I wanted to smack him; he made me so mad. He was a pesky little fellow, not a fine British lad. He held out his hand and refused to put it away. He needed our money, he would just constantly say. The poor folks were in need of our only pound, Even though there were plenty in the cup on the ground. “We don’t have money to give you,” I told him again. He began to badger me and tell me I was in sin. Not to give money to the poor folk in town would bring me damnation and in Hell I’d be found. He frustrated me so badly that I couldn’t take it anymore. I realized he wouldn’t take no for an answer, that was for sure. So in my pocket I plunged my hand and gave him our last pound upon demand. The poor become poorer, I’ve often heard it said. Now I’m poorer, and with guys like that fellow, I’ll be poor until I’m dead.

78 Frontage Road 5 A piece by Brittney Wear

It was a typical Tuesday morning. She cooked breakfast; he ate and helped the children get ready. He kissed his wife goodbye, and for some reason on this morning, he held her extra tight and expressed his love to her. After leaving, he took the children to school and told them Daddy loves them and is very proud of what they had become. Although one was in kindergarten and the other in second grade, he was proud. He went in to work feeling quite strange. As he walked through the door to the second Trade Center Tower and got on the elevator to go to the 113th floor, he felt a crisp, cool air that was not there any other day. He walked by his secretary and picked up his messages. He asked if she felt strange or if she noticed anything different today. As he returned phone calls, he felt the urge to call his wife and tell her again that he loved her very much. As he was hanging up the phone, he heard a loud crash and people screaming. The Trade Center had been hit, he heard someone say. At once, he quickly said a quick prayer and began to gather everyone up and evacuate the building. They were going down the stairs, and an older woman fell. He helped get her up and stayed with her to help her walk down. The old woman was feeble and could not walk well. She eventually broke down and started crying. He sat with her and prayed. He told her how she could go to heaven if she said a prayer asking to be saved. That is all that he could remember before everything started to collapse. His secretary spoke with the wife and told her what he had done. The wife cried and said, “If he had not stopped for the older woman, he would be alive here with me, but by doing so…,” and the tears stopped, “he gave someone eternal life.”

79 Frontage Road 5 A poem by Jessica Collins

To Whomever wrote the politically correct laws into you, I would love to sink my claws. Because you forgot two groups, you see, and one of these groups included me. Now lawyers are one of the groups that you forgot. But as most Americans will agree, the majority of them should be shot. The group that you forgot which included me is the Female, Anglo-Saxon, Left-handed, one sixteenth Cherokee, Rural Southern Appalachian American. Where would my name be? Maybe I do have a name, Redneck, Hillbilly, or even Hick To call me this many Northern Yankee Appalachian Americans really get a kick. So to all the Northern Yankee Appalachian Americans, don’t make fun of the way I talk. So when my foot is in your a—, I won’t make fun of the way you walk. When you make fun of a poor “redneck” and he politely shows you his boot, Just make your apologies and refer to him as a Rural Southern Appalachian American and pray he doesn’t shoot.

80 Frontage Road 5 It’s My Heart’s Turn to Talk Brianne Bailey

Simplicity not always simple, calmness isn’t calm. Although the mind may wander, the heart will sing its psalm.

The beginning, often easy, yet there will be no end. All that we believe: not all we comprehend.

Madness, not the question. Confusion. Yes, the answer. If my heart is willing to sing, will the other be my dancer?

Decisions are made, reality found Sanity then disrupted with a harmless sound.

The stairwell of my soul echoes a meaningless name. I listen to the voice; nothing is the same.

Sought upon, then retrieved, I then stare in the eyes of he who seeks

Words are whispered; my heart speaks what is due “If you just knew I loved you,” he said, - - “But I love you too…”

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Photography by Ryan Tyner in Boone, North Carolina.

82 Frontage Road 5 Walk This Path with Me Cathy Smith

Walk this path with me because I am getting weary. I have come a long way on my own. I don’t want to stop now, But I am not sure how much further I can go alone.

This is not a difficult path; There are many obstacles, however. Some are small and easy to get over, Some seem too big to get over, but I always have.

I am not sure where this path will lead, Or what will be discovered along the course. I am sure there will be moments of disappointments But there will also be hours of joy.

I don’t want to be pushed or pulled, I don’t want to lead or follow. I only want someone to help me if I stumble And I stumble often.

This path was chosen for me, but I dare not complain. I am fortunate to still be traveling. This wasn’t my choice, but I travel freely. I know as the days add up that I am privileged to be counting.

Walk this path with me because I am getting weary. I have come a long way on my own. But even if I am alone and weary, I will continue until my journey is done.

83 Frontage Road 5 I Wish I Was a Bird Daisy

The trees appear dead and shamed, for they are clothed in nothing and still. The grass is brown, as if eaten away by rot. The sun hides behind clouds, as if covering the smirk on its face. The sun has to enjoy for us to freeze, for we tell it to go away all summer. “It’s too hot,” we say, so now we pay for it. The clouds must be depressed as well, for the rain seems endless, yet it falls at a slow pace, as if the clouds are crying. Who could blame them? I feel like crying too, on this cold, gloomy, winter day. I wish the winter would go away. I’m sure the animals wish it would too. You cannot sit and enjoy the birds sing, for there are none. They were smart and went somewhere warmer, Wouldn’t that be nice, to be able to fly south for the winter? I wish I was a bird.

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Drawing by Daisy

85 Frontage Road 5 One Daisy

One single woman sits on One lonely chair. Forgotten by the whole world, Covered by unanswered prayers. One tiny tear fell on One wrinkled cheek. It doesn’t matter which way she goes now. It doesn’t matter who she meets. Just a few days ago She held her husband’s hand. Now she’s just holding Her worn out wedding band. They knew his time was running out, But why did it come so soon? Fifty-five years of marriage, Now she hears funeral tunes. One lonely woman Sits in a crowded room. She sees her husband waiting, And she knows just what to do. One more prayer fills her heart. She wants to be with him. She prays till she is weary, And God puts them together again.

86 Frontage Road 5 That Night Daisy

Of all the times my eyes have closed, In sleep, rest, and tears, The time that I remember most was long ago? No, not even a year. I cried and screamed, begged and pleaded, I couldn’t look around. So I closed my eyes and prayed and pleaded To the one who, on the cross, was found. He told me not to look, To talk to him instead. And talking to him was all it took, For me to understand. He said it wasn’t my fault And told me not to worry. For that night I was taught That in my life, don’t hurry. Live my life to the fullest And forget about that night. He said, “Open your eyes my dearest. You no longer have to fight.” And in that moment I saw him there, Dying on the cross for me. My burdens I don’t have to bear. I laid them at his feet. That night has not left my mind And never will I fear. But for him to be so kind, He said, “I am here.”

87 Frontage Road 5 The Trial Daisy

I am a murderer, But let me explain. I hated him; he raped me. You do not know my pain.

The thought of him scared me, The thought of us together did too. So I did what I did, But you would do it too.

Yes I am to blame, But can you blame me if nobody knew? Yes I am a murderer, But you would be one too.

Would I do it again? No, but at the time it seemed right to do. My life was busy, and I was young. But no, I wouldn’t have murdered you.

When I found out I was pregnant with you, I worried and asked God why. How could I bring you into this world? When I wanted your father to die?

So I wanted to tell you that I am your murderer. And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I want you to know I am your Mother. And I never thought I’d miss you.

88 Frontage Road 5 Writing? Rodman Schweers

Why do you write? Do you see beauty in roses and plastic bags? Or does your suffering mind cry for release?

A true writer doesn’t write for beauty and happiness and truth and the damned American way. The true writer is chased by demons and fights back with words, hoping to stave them off for mere moments of sanity, praying that as he writes that he will find some sort of meaning in all the pile of excrement that our world is. And you may counter this view with examples of pretty poems, lyrical sonnets, touching stories, and happy endings. “Suffering?” you question. “Misery?” you jest. “What about *** Insert favorite beautiful work here ***? Ah yeah, and ye may verily be correct. Beauty is abound in the works of many writers. Many true writers.

But, does this beauty spring from a well of mirth deep within the soul? I think not. The world is a cruel, harsh, and unforgiving stage on which countless tragedies are played out. Human beings measure their existence with pain and suffering.

Ask yourself what it is that the world holds foremost in its collective memory. Name the first five major historical events that come to mind.

How many are wars? How many are plagues or famines?

These are the benchmarks of generations, cultures, and societies. Perhaps a pessimistic view: the glass is half empty. But has there ever been a time in human history when there was true peace? Or just lack of war?

So society identifies itself. So the writer identifies society.

The writer steps forward to show us what we are through what he is. And, in the case of beauty, what we wish we were and what he dreams 89 Frontage Road 5 we might be. A creative mind searches for glimmers of hope in a dark tunnel of existence, plucking moments of happiness from life like a single glorious bloom in the midst of a barren land. Hoping to hold onto it and shield himself from the march across the desert ahead. But, as a picked flower will soon wither and die, so do those moments. A family trip to the beach during a perfect summer is swallowed by the death of a father. The eyes of that one and only looking into yours are dimmed by divorce. A beautiful sunset fades into the night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And so we write.

We write about truth and justice but find it few and far between in life. We write about perfect romances and blooming love, but, more often than not, find only a foul mixture of longing and sexual deviance. We write about the wondrous creations in nature and watch as they are mowed down, slaughtered, and gutted.

And so I say that the true writer cannot sit back and blithely scribble sweet nothings of joyous life. A writer is a depraved, sickly soul scratching out inspiration with pen and paper in a futile attempt to hold onto those moments, desperately clutching to them. Ernest Hemingway was a raging alcoholic who shot himself with a shotgun. Edgar Allen Poe was a pedophile who married his thirteen-year-old cousin. These are the minds that have birthed the works of literature and poetry we hold so dear.

I do not write this to weed out the heretics of the written word, to purge the title of the untrue. I, myself, am wary to call myself ‘writer’ and damn my soul to a life of seemingly empty dreams. To be grouped with the best of the addicts of language is to admit the darkest, wholly unsacred parts of myself to whomever may read.

But, alas, I write. We write. And we write from pain and suffering, misery and longing; beauty comes only by comparison.

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We do not write to depress others, however. We do not write to drag them into the rotting pits of our innermost thoughts and desires. To do so would be cruel and unusual. The written word is a dangerous tool that has ended lives and ruined others. It carries with it a great burden and responsibility. A responsibility to reveal people to themselves. A responsibility to pass on understanding— wrought from personal suffering—to those who would stand idly by, ignorant to the true nature of life. Therefore, we write stories of pain to prevent it. We write stories of death to save lives.

And we write stories of beauty to give hope, planting those solitary blooms, hoping that they will take root and grow in others, spreading across the wasteland.

And so we write. We march across the desert with seeds of hope—tormented souls— searching.

So I say to you, writers (if you dare to call yourselves so) march on with your burdens laid heavily on your backs and trudge forward.

Write.

X Rodman Otto Schweers March 20th, 2003 7:41 a.m. —written in a small, bare-walled room while chain-smoking Camel cigarettes

91 Frontage Road 5 What Is It Like to Be Mean? David Pritchett

What is it like to be mean, to be cold and cruel? What is it like to have no warmth in your heart? Or to have no heart at all? What is it like to hate? Or to feel hatred? Do you feel hate like I feel it? When you shower me with it? I pray you never will.

92 Frontage Road 5 Love’s Death David Pritchett

One last staggering step, she falls to her knees. She crawls onward, ever onward never stopping. A kick in the side by Hate. Her nemesis. Still, onward she creeps. Now Hate has no patience left. He strikes once more the final blow. She shudders, beyond pain. And with one last breath, Love succumbs to hate, and meets her death.

93 Frontage Road 5 Different ... Why Not? David Pritchett

I accept the fact, that being different, although very entertaining, will always be considered wrong in our society. Everyone wants to be different, but they lack the courage to do so. Many are more than ready to conform, but a select few are ready to fling off the chains of conformity and to strive to do things their way. They are ridiculed and resented and hated, but as history has shown, these few, who rose up, and became different, did many great things.

94 Frontage Road 5 Voice of Defiance David Pritchett

Leave me alone! Why can’t you go bother someone else? I’ve heard it all before, and now it’s just boring. Do you want an admittance of defeat? Fine! You win. I lose. You hurt me. Boo-hoo. Now go make someone else’s life hell. I’ve got one to rebuild, and this time nothing you do or say is going to work. You’ll ultimately fail. Run along now, with your petty ways of making yourself feel good and try it on someone of your own I.Q. I’ve beaten you, you and your little friends. They cower in my shadow while you stupidly go on as if you rule. Be gone Wastrel! Take up no more of my time and energy! I suggest that you take the quick and easy way to salvage your pitiful pride. It means more to you than life. That’s your downfall. You bet your pride and ego against my defeat, and you lost. Not me. Thank you for playing; goodbye now; I hope you enjoyed our little match.

95 Frontage Road 5 A poem by David Pritchett

You close your eyes and start to pray On your knees both night and day. Yet your prayers go unanswered.

Now here I am to give to you words from the one whom you’ve prayed to. I hear your cry.

Your life’s in chaos; your thoughts are wild. I hear your prayers, my darling child. Keep your faith strong.

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