Cleveland State Community College 2014 Edition
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Cleveland State Community College 2014 Edition ENGLISH DEPARTMENT Editor: Julie Fulbright Graphic Design and Production: CSCC Marketing Department Printer: Dockins Graphics, Cleveland, Tenn. Copyright: 2014 All Rights Reserved Front cover photography by: Julie Fulbright Cleveland State Community College www.clevelandstatecc.edu CSCC HUM/13095/04282014 - Cleveland State Community College is an AA/EEO employer and does not discriminate on the basis of race, color, national origin, sex, disability or age in its program and activities. The following department has been designated to handle inquiries regarding the non- discrimination policies: Human Resources P.O. Box 3570 Cleveland, TN 37320-3570 [email protected] Table of Contents Written By Title Photo/Drawing By: Page Michael Whaley, Jr. Legacies Rebecca Tedesco 1 Kim Frank A Snowy Evening Julie Fulbright 2 Arielle Saint-Loth A Rose to Emily Chet Guthrie 3 La’Trayier Williamson Cave In Chet Guthrie 4 Jen O’Neal The Black Spot Marchelle Wear 5-8 Mark Partain ABC’s of College Degrees Marchelle Wear 9 Poems Kim Frank 10 Ode to Santiago Mark Partain 11 Wormwood Chet Guthrie 12 Carolyn Price My Greatest Inspiration Marchelle Wear 13-14 Ashley Gentry The Cask of Amontillado Andy Foskey 15-17 Daddy Come Home Chet Guthrie 18 Chet Guthrie Comet Fall Chet Guthrie 19 Deep Doe Eyes Marchelle Wear 20 Farewell Marchelle Wear 21 Life Marchelle Wear 22 A Beast It Was Marchelle Wear 23-30 Tonya Arsenault The Angel with the Smallest Wings Tonya Arsenault 31 Anonymous Untitled 32 Colby Denton Immortal Andy Foskey 33-34 Dixie Sandlin The Monster in Me Dixie Sandlin 35-36 Zac Parker The Divine Parody Chet Guthrie 37 Delena Richeson Sunsets Julie Fulbright 38 Marriage and Mismatched Socks Julie Fulbright 39 Kaitlin Loseby Untitled Julie Fulbright 40 Jacob Taylor Contingency Marchelle Wear 41-42 William White Haiku Julie Fulbright 43 Table of Contents - Continued. Written By Title Photo/Drawing By: Page Valerie Trentham Purple Julie Fulbright 44 Kelly Osment Why I Can’t Sleep Rebecca Tedesco 45 Days Before Kelly Osment 46 Kevin Houk Angel on the Subway Marchelle Wear 47 Jeremy Edwards My Prayer Julie Fulbright 48 Jarrod Gee Sleeper Rebecca Tedesco 49 Shawn Beshears Untitled 50-52 Legacies Michael Whaley Jr. Legacies, legacies, can we count them all? So many formed without GOD, And we’ve watched them fall Extra, extra read all or shout it Consumed by this cold world As if you can’t live without it You sick, sadistic world, Miss me with your phony legacies And many obsessions with diamonds and pearls I’ll never buy one Go ahead, if you want, try one Personally, I’d rather not I’m too busy making my own!!! Photo by: Rebecca Tedesco 1 A Snowy Evening Kim Frank Photo by: Julie Fulbright We slaughtered a cow in the barn while still light enough to divide, then went our ways, each with a share, sorry to kill but thankful to eat. The grey dusk pelted white flake before becoming invisibly dark. Nothing hurried headlights or the few trucks passing deserted fields & knotty pines. My own sense of sleep weighed the air. Head, hoof, and shoulder rested easily in the bed behind the cab, but inside, words cheated me with silence. Near home I stopped to survey a bridge I had to cross. Covered by wood and snow, it looked as deep as a hole in night. The truck engine’s steady vibration forced me to make my mind. As I drifted closer and closer to sleep, I drifted closer and closer to sleep. 2 A Rose to Emily Arielle Saint-Loth The rose flickering in the wind The suspense that leads to destruction The rose will fade away A rose found in love struck Searching in the dark, shadow, and dust It will find its dryness as townspeople Sprinkle lime Rise up and Walk my Emily The rose awaits in the distance Your love never becomes wasted until we meet again Photo by: Chet Guthrie 3 Drawing by: Chet Guthrie Cave In La’Trayier Williamson When I walk through the halls the walls cave in. When I walk on the streets I feel the ground cave in. When the wind blows it’s as if the clouds are falling. When the sun goes down, it feels as if everything around is caving in. When it rains it is a dead end, even when it snows it caves in, the world around me caving in. The surroundings I see caving in, as if everything will soon come to an end. The little light I did once see is now coming to an end. The life I once had is caving in, no escape from the caving in. As if everything I did for the good, had no purpose and all gone to waste. My life will soon be caving in at a dead end. 4 The Black Spot Jen O’Neal Photo by: Marchelle Wear After waking from a deep sleep, I glanced over at Tessie, whose snores sounded like a freight train amidst the silence of a still forest. I tapped her on the shoulder several times with no response. “Tessie!” I yelled. “Wake up; we are both going to arrive late to the lottery. Folks will get suspicious.” “I’m awake now, Joe,” Tessie remarked. “I must get home to my family quickly. They will begin to wonder where I am. Told them I was staying with my dear friend Mrs. Delacroix.” Tessie leaped up out of bed, hurriedly gathered her belongings, and left without saying another word. Being the most influential member of the village, our trivial love affair must come to an end. My reputation is at stake. People look up to me; I am a leader of this community. Last night I carefully concocted a plan to insure Tessie’s demise. Mr. Graves, my accomplice, aided in the logistics and set up. For that, I owe him much thanks. Now I must tidy myself up and adorn myself in the cleanest, freshest clothing I can find. Looking my best, I stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of a clear June morning. I took in a breath of fresh air and exhaled slowly leaving all of my nervousness and angst behind. My 1969 shiny, black Ford Mustang sat there gleaming as the rays of sunshine enveloped it. Feeling as if I had the whole world at the tip of my fingers, I started the engine and headed towards the village. As I had imagined, all of the villagers were there anxiously awaiting my arrival. Women, children, and men of all ages gathered around. I stepped into the center of the crowd, looking from one face to another and smiling. “Hello, and good afternoon, everyone. I apologize for my late arrival.” Mr. Graves, my ally, approached carrying the black box dilapidated from years of use and a three legged wooden stool. He sat the stool down and immediately placed the box upon it. The crowd separated and shifted away from the ominous box. The box, a monstrous, foul looking creature glared at the crowd with looks of disdain. “Listen up folks. I need a few of you to lend me a hand,” I announced. Reluctantly, Mr. Martin and his son, Baxter, joined me at the head of the crowd. 5 “Please, hold the box as I draw some names.” I shifted through the slips of paper, one by one, making sure I drew the right one. All of them have certain textures, characteristics, and minute differences that only I can tell apart. In order to distract Mr. Martin and Baxter I filled their ears with incessant chatter. In the midst of scrambling through the slips, Tessie arrived. I breathed a sigh of relief. “I sure am glad she made it,” I thought to myself. I watched as she greeted her friend, Mrs. Delacroix, and then quickly found her family. “For a moment I thought we would have to continue this much anticipated ceremony without one of our finest members,” I retorted. “You wouldn’t want me to leave the kitchen a mess, now, would you Joe?” Tessie inquired. “Okay everybody, let’s get started. So we can all, hopefully, return to our jobs by noon,” I stated. “Is anybody absent? Anybody at all?” I asked. “Dunbar isn’t here,” several villagers replied. “Clyde Dunbar. That’s right. His leg is broken,” I said. “Who will draw for him?” may I ask. A woman spoke up. “Me, I suppose,” she stated. “A wife drawing for her husband,” I smirked. “Don’t you have a man to do this for you, Janey?” I waited for a moment with an expression of intent interest, while Mrs. Dunbar answered. “Horace is but sixteen years old, only a young lad. He is not old enough to fill in for Clyde. Suppose It will be my duty this year,” Janey responded. “Right,” I asserted. I made a note on my list. “Is the Watson boy drawing this year?” “Yes. I will be drawing for my mother and me,” Watson uttered with a look of terror. “Guess that’s everybody. Did Old Man Warner make it?” I asked. “Here,” a voice said. I nodded in approval. “Now, I’ll read the names-heads of family first- and the men come up and select a slip of paper. Once you have gotten a paper, please make sure it remains folded in your hand. Nobody will look until everyone has been called forth. Is that clear?” I demanded. “Adams.” A man meandered through the sea of people and came forward.