The Scarab Oklahoma City University’S Annual Anthology of Prose, Poetry, and Artwork
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The Scarab Oklahoma City University’s Annual Anthology of Prose, Poetry, and Artwork 31st Edition Copyright © The Scarab 2013 All Rights Reserved 1 Editorial Staff Editor-in-Chief Caitlin Swisher Poetry Ashley Dougherty Fiction and Non-Fiction Jessica Garvey Jason Herrera Theresa Hottel Abigail Vestail Art and Photography Jessica Garvey Danielle Kutner Sponsor Dr. Terry Phelps The Scarab is published annually by the Oklahoma City University chapter of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society. Opinions and beliefs expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of the university, the chapter, or the editors. Submissions are accepted from students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Address all correspondence to The Scarab c/o Dr. Ter- ry Phelps, 2501 N. Blackwelder, Oklahoma City, OK 73106, or e-mail [email protected]. The Scarab is not responsible for returning submitted work. All submissions are subject to editing. 2 Table of Contents The Scarab 2013 Front Cover 55 Untitled By Jason Alexander Herrera Scarab Nouveau 60 100 By Jessica Garvey By Amanda Meyer Visual Art 62 Untitled 5 Catwalk By Brishti Bagshi By Amanda Meyer 69 Untitled 7 Root By Emma Foroutan By Amanda Meyer 71 Untitled 8 Moonlight By Danielle Kutner By Perla Carreon 77 Untitled 12 Unititled By Brishti Bagchi By Amanda Fryar 89 Transforming 13 Untitled By Micah McCoy By Jason Alexander Herrera 102 Gated Door 14 Roses By Amanda Meyer By Micah McCoy 104 Whimsical Playtime 15 Unititled By Amanda Gathright By Brishti Bagchi Poetry 16 Coeur et a la Maison1 6 A Study in Romanticism By Mollie Dysart By Dr. Abigail Keegan 18 Untitled By Emma Foroutan 7 Troll Bridge 20 Untitled By Anna Bauman By Jason Alexander Herrera 8 This Poem Doesn’t Have a Title 21 The Extinct and Extant By Erin McCoy By Amanda Gathright 9 Everyone Has a Gnome in Their Pocket 27 Jellyfish By Matt Randall By Alexandra Roy 10 Swans 36 Still Life By Carmen Paquette Micah McCoy 11 The Soul of Poetry 45 Untitled By Jordan Pierce By Alexandra Roy 12 Brave 48 Coeur et a la Maison8 By Rachel Wolf By Mollie Dysart 13 Scavenger Hunt By Allison Bevers 3 14 Syntax Error 64 Engagement By Erin McCoy By Theresa Hottel 15 Rose-Tinted Memories 70 Flying to New Heights By Matt Randall By Ariel Richardson 16 Afterlife Non-Fiction Chickadees 72 Soviet Skydiving By Neilee Wood By Daniel Reynolds Riveiro 17 Reading Poetry at 5 a.m. 78 Why I Want to Dye My Hair Blue Feathers By Ashley Lee Ann Dougherty By Matt Randall 80 Jasmine 18 Mermaids Say By Jessica Garvey By Anna Bauman 87 One Night at Walgreens 19 Home By Abbie Vestal By Caitlin Darlene Swisher 90 Elegant Chaos Fiction By Ethan Berney 22 Cannonballs 91 SXSW: Boom and Bust By Zach Parker By Danielle Kutner 28 Peter Rabbit and Jocko Monkey 95 My Double Life By Jessica Garvey By Courtney Honaker 33 My Wondrous Doodle By Zachary Guevara 103 A Writing Exercise 37 Momma’s Joined the Circus By Ashley Lee Ann Dougherty By Jason Alexander Herrera Contributor Biographies 44 Offshore 105-107 By Zachary Parker 46 I am god By Ashley Lee Ann Dougherty 49 Glass Snowflake By Abbie Vestal 52 The Butterfly Tree By Erin McCoy 56 Patrick By Eric C. Waltman 58 Desperate Bewilderment By Emily Guthrie 61 Bad for Your Lungs By Zachary Parker 63 The Love You Can See By Ashley Lee Ann Dougherty 4 Catwalk by Amanda Meyer Poetry 5 A Study in Romanticism for my students of Romanticism, Dec. 5, 2011 by AF Keegan As you close your books, forget nineteenth century poets in their ruffled collars and cuffs, flickering candled bedrooms filled with opium tinctures, echoing with a consumptive coughs. Put out of sight Blake’s peacock, naked display in his back lot, and Bryon’s brimming skull, wine-filled, tippling on a table of ancestral halls more luscious than anything inside walls of Walpole’s gothic castle. Set aside a plum skin separated from the meat of fruit by the small hands and teeth of Keats becoming a still life. So too move past the background of street sellers hawking their wares under Wordsworth’s blind eye at Bartholomew’s Fair just before evening’s arrival of whores where streetwalker, De Quincey, may have discovered Blake lurking late in the darkness of London nights, both having heard the same clamorous bedlam from the Dog and Duck pub, perhaps turning around at the same corner of misery and history to enter the sights of their own minds. But what of these, please, close your books, never mind Ancient Mariners wandering earth, pointing fingers, whispering at your ear, find a terrain where your soul burns bright as a tyger in the dark wilderness of language, and wrap your heart in a poem that lets you live on your own terms. 6 Troll Bridge by Anna Bauman touch her. Says she’d railing. She saw blue Every woman in my rather dangle off a sky, not family fears them— cliff’s edge than let red—bloodied night. trolls. him love her. She has Her wings were born They say that wolves always been my silent from his claws in and goblins witness. her flesh. plague our farmland, Seen every slow dance, but trolls keep us goodnight kiss, within our and morning after. borders. The troll took her to Do not cross the bridge to see the bridge at night, how the night bleeds cross at day very quiet. red all over our village. Mother says they Said she needs to learn snatch up young women. to be a real woman— Foolish girls trying to seductive and always cross into the next on bottom. When she village. Trying to spat in his face, he lost escape Root by Amanda Meyer control. Picked her this life. My sister up by her neck and says she’d rather die threw her into the than let him 7 This Poem Doesn’t Have a Title by Erin McCoy Some things don’t have titles. Like when you wake up for no reason Neither does my poem. look around and there’s an ominous sweater draped over the chair. The thing that makes you hate that girl even though she volunteers and is perfectly nice to your mother. That feeling you got the first time you saw a cheese grater. That time you stared at the lady on the bus the one that was clutching Moonlight by Perla Carreon the sandwich and you knew her but she was a stranger. When the hairs on your arm stand up and go on watch duty because you felt a draft but your house isn’t drafty. Future cousins that haven’t been born or thought of yet. 8 Everyone Has a Gnome in Their Pocket by Matt Randall I keep mine in my open shirt pocket because he enjoys seeing the blue sky. He peeks out every now and then, wanting to see the world from this vantage point. Others keep them in their coat pockets so the cold wind doesn’t bite into their chiseled faces. Some stick them deep in pants pockets where it’s dark. They like it there. It reminds them of the rabbit warrens they grew up in before moving to the yard near the petunias and tulips. I know a guy who keeps his gnome on his desk at work and consults with him on spreadsheets, graphs, and reports. Few people know how great gnomes are with numbers. Then there’s the woman with the twins, one has a blue hat, the other, red. They guard her front door, turning back solicitors with extreme prejudice. What about yours? Do you let him ride where he can see the street, or do you keep her in your inside jacket pocket where she can whisper wisdom into your chest? 9 Swans by Carmen Paquette He is a swan and he sits on a black lake trying desperately to save his feathers from soiling. They all sit around him bobbing their heads in the filth and minding not one bit. And as time goes by he knows his feathers have begun to dull And he tries to fly away from it all But they refuse to let him, he cannot fly, he is but a swan they tell him with pleasure And he keeps getting filthier as they help paint each feather And the lake begins to look more like a prison And he watches his reflection become what he hates He forgets about that before that has driven him And he waits and he waits and he waits and he waits For something he knows will never come Help from elsewhere so he won’t have to try Help from elsewhere to make it easy to fly This help does not come as it was never out there There’s no help for a swan that’s full of despair Only he can turn his prison of hate, a lake full of muck, into a better landscape The day will come when the swan flies away And the others will watch and they’ll wonder and gasp Because they thought swans were only swans, they know this from swans that lived in the past And as this swan flies, sure his feathers are dull, he can barely flap, and his wings are quite small But now he can see every lake all around 10 The Soul of Poetry by Jordan Pierce A persnickety painter caresses his grand canvas with care, pain, and power; every stroke, every color, chosen by heart – they represent soul.