Cleveland State Community College ENGLISH DEPARTMENT Editor: Julie Fulbright

Front cover photography by: Marchelle Wear

Graphic Design and Production: Tony Bartolo and Donna Benton

Printer: Dockins Graphics, Cleveland, Tenn.

Copyright: 2011

Cleveland State Community College

clevelandstatecc.edu

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/11129/04112011 Table of Contents

Aaron Quinn Blackness of Emotions...... 4 Syllable Away...... 5 Unpaved Path ...... 6 The Well House ...... 7-11 Natalie Hill Paul ...... 12 Heart-to-Heart ...... 13 C. Howard I Wish Time Would Fly ...... 14 Lita Connolly Broken Light ...... 15 Burning Life ...... 16 Burning My Past ...... 17 Guarding My Sanity ...... 18 Journey to an End ...... 19 Unknown ...... 20 Tashia Harvey Untitled ...... 21 Andrea Morris My Mommy Dearest ...... 22 Jonathan Hall What Kind of Chocolate? ...... 23 A Day in February at Cleveland State ...... 24 My Love ...... 25 Ode to My Car ...... 26 Ol’ Worn Guitar ...... 27 Soccer Champions ...... 28 The Good Student ...... 29 The Lost Troopers ...... 30 Winter ...... 31 Oscar Pascual The Problem with Problems ...... 32 Stranger ...... 33 Nail Tacks on My Bed ...... 34 Unknown ...... 35 C. Michael Downes Song ...... 36 Old Acquaintances ...... 37 Michael Honaker Cephei ...... 38 Asa Flowers I Am Me ...... 39 Frankie Conar Innocence Lost ...... 40 The Old Ones Say ...... 41 The Student’s Psalm ...... 42 Seasons of Time ...... 43 Lauren Link Always Remember ...... 44 Eszter Kovacs Song of the Heart ...... 45 Zack Scoggins Star Gazer ...... 46 Tonya Arsenault The Barefoot Princess ...... 47 The Father I Failed to See ...... 48 THE SNAKE ...... 49 The Yellow Raincoat ...... 50 Toy ...... 51 My American Hero ...... 52 Learn from Your Children ...... 53 Nighttime Confessions ...... 54 Stop and Smell the Roses: An Elegy for Rosemary ...... 55 Sweet Release ...... 56 Teardrop Rain ...... 57 Tommy Stamey Sometimes I Cry ...... 58 Too Many Yesterdays and Not Enough Tomorrows ...... 59-60 This Thing ...... 61 The Butterfly Effect ...... 62 Crush ...... 63 Guilt Ridden ...... 6 Just One Lie ...... 65 I Can’t Be Your Hero ...... 66-67 Tyler Wickman Sonnet ...... 68 Sharon DePierro Gypsy Skirts ...... 69 Silent Bond ...... 70 Lone Stalk ...... 71 Chris Bennett Sleep ...... 72 Hour Glass ...... 73 Untitled ...... 74 Sierra White Suicide Spotter ...... 75 James Long Eagle Kilgore Autistic Student at Cleveland State ...... 76 Jeff Young Blessed Debt ...... 77 Beach at Dusk ...... 78 Anthony Bowers In Memory of a Friend ...... 79 Douglas Parris The Purpose of Silence ...... 80 Tiffany Tate Ocean ...... 81 C. Michael Downes Soon ...... 82-84 Eszter Kovacs Aaron Quinn Anonymous Another Kind of Mother...... 85 Photographs and Drawings: Tonya Arsenault, Allen Bouchard, Mandy Cantrelle, Angela Chism, Kylie Clark, Lita Connolly, Misti Davis, C. Michael Downes, Annika Endo, James Garrett, Katelyn Harrod, Granger Hughes, Barrett Kibble, Tatyana Krish- chuk, Aimee Morris, Zack Scoggins, Francehska Scruggs, Ross Spurgeon, James Tivis, and Marchelle Wear. Blackness of Emotions Aaron Quinn

Strangled by loss of reason Driven by sight given Peeks of humanity’s lies Drives them to think Held on by knots of fear Losing breath by their jeers Captivated by depravity Blackness of emotions wash Away the crimson of religion Negating the white of purity Tainting the blue of the sky Ignorance prances along mouths Looks burn hatred into skin It is time to hang another One man of a different color For this act we sacrifice We sacrifice our humanity All for gaining security From the fear of differences

Photo submitted by Angela Chism 4 Syllable Away Aaron Quinn

Bleed into the perceptive circle Optically challenge the winter of youth Guiding me into the spring of adulthood Teach me Shakespearean truths Bring A Winter’s Tale’s hope Into “The Winter of My Discontent” Allow the warmth of earth’s core permeate Blazing through the coldness of my ignorance Grayness of the unknown hides shades of knowledge An array of colors exist on your canvas Merge them into the void of my immaturity Silence the doubts of my lack of wisdom Blow winds of wisdom out of my tongue Lighting a fire of understanding that floats Like a cloud full of life giving rain Droplets of surety will bring forth flowers That will decorate the mental life I live Then, nature, I will see all through your stature I will know nothing while piercing every thought Only to realize I have never thought a thought Yet, all possibilities are just a syllable away

Photo submitted by Tatyana Krishchuk 5 Unpaved Path Aaron Quinn

My vision impaired as though pierced by light Eyes twitching, capturing images of the unfathomed I lift up as though I have Herculean strength Though I move as much as a statue Beauty that is statuesque Details that are carved out by poets’ verse A song sung by lovers’ hearts Emerges from the reaction of the written Challenged by forevermore in the here and now But never made uncomfortable by what they say Lethargy’s mindset becomes the great foe As whimsical thoughts lead to and fro I have died a martyr’s death to ill logic All for the sake of the definition of truth Thanks to the poet I calm like a still river While I rage like a hurricane affected ocean My insides are brittle when I stagnate But immortality greets me when I read the sonnets I plead for more when I shut the book But poetic lines never cease to speak As long as I lend them an ear For them to romantically whisper in Pushing me along literature’s unpaved path Photo submitted by Kathy Austin (Subject depicted in photo is not related to the story)

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 6 Photo submitted by Granger Hughes

The Well House Aaron Quinn

He laughed as the others ran through the field looking for him. The cornstalks hid him from his pursuers. As he heard them enter into the field, he got up and moved into the tomato field. Billy had no desire to be seen today, or any other day for that matter, so inside the tomato patch he listened for the people coming from him, judging how long he would have to escape detection if they managed to break through the expansive field they were fighting for. He looked at the stolen property that dripped red down his hands and cheeks. The warmth of the liquid contrasted the unseasonable chill summer afternoon, and made the uncovered part of him even colder. It did not help matters that clouds blocked the sun from bringing heat to the ground, and now as he sat in his shorts and shirt, the ground felt miserably cold for an August day. The soil that hid below him had been turned into a thick sticky mud after feeling the effects of an extremely rainy season. “We have to find him quick,” a stocky guy named Stan knocked a stalk of corn out of his face while screaming the words to the people five feet from him. “Now, boss, if you feel like screaming at us, you better be planning on telling us where you believe the boy is,” an old man, sixty-years old, named Foster, hacked at the corn while responding to Stan’s shout. Though it was not uncommon for parents, authorities, or friends to go looking for Billy, today there was a sense of urgency in the pursuit of the misplaced citizen. It sat heavily on how they said words, how they heard words, and how they reacted to words. The vast corn field made an irritation mix with sense urgency. 7 “I reckon that the ones who last saw ‘em said he be in this here corn field. Until I get a report saying otherwise, then we look here.” The other ten people who were in ear shot took in Stan’s voice and continued hacking down old man Jim’s corn. Old man Jim followed behind the search party cursing Billy under his breath and hoping that all would turn out better than he feared. Everything during Billy’s twenty three years had been an overreaction or misconception and, silently, he prayed that this time would be no different. Aretha, Billy’s mother, frantically paced her porch, waiting on word of Billy’s well being. After many nights looking for her special son, she succumbed not so willingly to staying at home per the request of the police lieutenant. Sweat ran down her hands from rubbing them together so hard. Today felt different, frightfully different for her. An ominous aura hung gloomily over her head, but she hoped all would turn out well for her family. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with her passive aggressive husband if Billy’s actions once again embarrassed the family. She had pleaded with her husband to trust the good Lord this time with their son. She tried her best to convince him that Billy never meant any harm to anybody, especially them, that after all he was special. Billy started digging in the black lifeless mud. In the distance he could hear the corn stalks falling. He knew this meant that the mob was getting closer. He had dealt with this situation before, and something inside him screamed that he should run. At the same time, a cry rose from below his heart. The cry hit Stan’s ears forcing his head to shoot up. Behind him the others saw him look like a coon dog that had just caught a sniff of the prey it looked for. “Guys, did you hear that?” Stan stood statuesque in-between two cornstalks, trying to catch wind of the faint cry again. Time to him, at this juncture of the search, was precious, and if this gift passed, then his allotment of time decreased because of it. “No, sum. Sah, wha cha hear?” A mechanic named Phin asked Stan, dismayed that he might have missed something important in the search. “The cry! Did no one hear the cry?” As a lion would turn furiously around and glare at a disobedient cub, Stan turned his attention to the pack behind him. He became distraught when each of the group childishly shook their heads. “Well, I’ll be…” Before he could begin his tirade, a louder cry came above the corn stalks and smacked the group hard. “Sounds like Billy,” Old man Jim piped up from the back, speaking with a calm that only many years of wear and tear could induce. His calm unsettled the men he startled by speaking of; in times like this, a bit of edge on a man’s voice can bring more calm than the steady drum of experience. Billy realized how loud the cry was that escaped from below and knew he had to escape detection now. Red dripped off the man who longed for the chase to continue. Hide and seek had always been one of his favorite games when he was just a lad, and today the rush he felt from others stalking him down brought a giggle forth. He searched all around him, looking for a place to hide, when an image of an

8 abandoned well house glimmered in. With the image forcibly in his head now, he hunted the horizon hastily hoping he could remember which direction he needed to go. Just outside of the tomato patch, a large hill dipped down and lead to a dense forest. If his memory was accurate then it was about a mile into these woods he would find the old well house he played in during a less complicated time of his life. With a sense of urgency, Billy stood up and ran towards the hill. A tremble went down the spine of the grieving mother. Though she could not explain what had happened, she could tell that something went drastically array in the search. The only thing she could think to do was pray, and this she was used to doing. Pressure had mounted though, and this woman’s feeble heart could not find the words to pray. Instead she just sat and sobbed on her knees. As the tears soaked her colorless cheeks, the stress from the situation caused her to kill over on the floor. Just as her heart stopped working, her husband made it home to see his house- wife lifeless on the floor. The young of the group hurried ahead, clearing a path for the townsfolk who no longer had the strength to naturally move fast, nor had the imagination to run in hope of a positive outcome. They escaped the corn just in time to miss Billy crossing over the hill. “Alright, boys, we know he is … well where the blame God above is that retard?” The air had been punched out of the gut of Stan when he had stepped through and saw no sign of Billy. Now he and the crew must start their search with no direction. “Well, I’ll be plumbed damned, son,” old man Jim came to the front of the bewildered group. “I know, I whast fer sure we done had ‘em,” Stan scratched his head in exasperation. “We do have ‘em, sir.” “What you talkin’ ‘bout, old man?” Stan did not have the patience to play riddle games at this moment, and wanted the dinosaur of the town to just speak what he meant. “That little pecker done stepped on mah mater plants. Plus over yonder is his prints.” Stan looked at the direction the old man’s crinkled finger pointed and saw that indeed Billy left track marks. “I reckon we head that way then.” Stan threw his arm over his head, directing the others to follow him. “Now watch the mater plants.” The farmer struggled to put one foot in front of the other as the sun started to fall over the horizon. “Dadnabit, Billy,” the father of the hunted wailed out as he held his dead wife in his arms. He had mustered enough energy to call 911. Now, after the exertion, he settled into his misery, with his wife in his arms and perplexity in his mind. Billy stumbled clumsily through the woods, trying his best not to tumble over the weight of his passage. The roots stuck up out of the ground, making the trek towards the well house even more difficult. Now that the sun had became an antagonist, Billy frantically searched for his

9 destination. He felt the stickiness from the field, the liquid he had wiped on his face had mixed with the salt that had came from the sweat when he hurried to escape from visibility, and the mixture now stuck uncomfortably against his face. Thirty men ran into the woods, twenty had joined Stan in the tomato patch, and with them five search dogs came with the new party members. “Do they have his scent?” “They do, Stan. Billy’s father gave us his clothing. We should have him shortly,” Drew the officer who had got the articles of clothing, responded. “Good, we will get that boy safely then, hopefully.” “Go get ‘em.” Drew let his dog off of his leash, and the other officers followed suit with their dogs. “Finally,” Billy muttered as he stepped down into the creek that leads into the building he had found. The old well house had decaying bricks; the decaying had caused cracks to run through the once perfectly shaped bricks, that were muddied red now after years of wear and tear. Years of neglect had made the water inside stagnant, and the smell that came into Billy’s nostrils reminded him of death. He stepped onto the muddy floor inside, and instantly the smell changed to that of manure. Using his free hand, he managed to pull himself up onto a ledge and laid his head down, confident that he could escape the nightmares of this hide and seek game. With dogs leading the way, the search party hurried into the woods, making progress slowly but urgently. Flashlights were drawn, and nerves were even more on edge now that the sun had dipped below the skyline. Time had made a valiant punch, and now their counter punch was a sense of urgency that produced speed. Within fifteen minutes of Billy laying his head down, the dogs had surrounded the well house as though they had treed a forest animal. The search party was not far behind, and those who made it first took a moment to catch their breath as the others caught up. Billy fought to fall asleep, but day dreams of dogs barking brought a fitful rest until he finally arose and realized that the dogs were real, and he had been discovered. He started sobbing at the fact that his little attempt had been thwarted. “Billy, son, now don’t make us come in there. It ain’t going to be purty if we have to, ya hear?” Billy looked down at his hands that held his transgression and thought better than to keep the men waiting. Though reluctantly, he pushed up with one arm and pushed all his weight towards the window, as his sobs got harder. Death had never been his intention, but after escaping into the tomato field, he guessed he had sealed his fate. Once there, turning back was not an option. Stan watched with horror as the body Billy possessed fell down from the window. The group ran in close to examine how much damage Billy’s decision had done. The fears of all who were there became confirmed when they saw the body. Six year old Caleb laid there motionless. Caleb was the boy who had been reported missing for two days now. When Billy’s mom had reported Billy

10 missing, everyone had put both reports together to form their suspicions. Once the suspicions began, the search for the two ensued quickly. Billy had been known for committing many crimes, but he had never done anything like this. But Caleb, the son of Billy’s ex-girlfriend, had proved to be a perfect revenge object. His intent at first was just to scare the woman, but after stabbing the boy, to threaten him to remain silent, and it did not work, Billy panicked and slit the boy’s throat. As he ran over the hill, he held him tightly, wanting to prevent blood from dripping on the grass. Now with these turn of events flooding into his mind, Billy sulked down the well and surrendered silently and passively, knowing he had be found guilty of wasting two lives.

11 Paul Natalie Hill

It’s been a while since we said goodbye, when you held me in your arms and watched me cry. I swore that wouldn’t be the last day, but here I sit in my room and it’s already May. They say April showers bring May flowers, but where are they? Battered and frayed? When we were together I had hopes and dreams, but as you walked away so did my dreams. Dreams of love, security, children, and acceptance, yet again you left my love and forced a distance. You swore on your grave I was the one with your heart, and that was just the start. A start of a life together that would last from now until forever. Where did it end, or start? I didn’t want us to play these parts. Parts of a game of lies and deceit, where we were both forced to retreat. You from me and me from you, I would have followed you anywhere you asked me to. Isn’t it sad how I became a puppet in your game? I fell for you, isn’t that a shame? I look like an idiot who has no pride as I lie down and let you watch me die. But that was then and this is now, so let me explain me to you now. I am me and you are you, I’ll never do anything you ask me to. I picked myself up when you didn’t care, letting a few help me with the pain I bared. Those friends who have helped me in this trying time, I never want our friendships to die. You’ve helped me stand with my head held high, and I’ll never let another man like him watch me cry. I don’t need a man to be in my dreams; all I need is hope and me. One last thing before I go, he wanted us to name our dog Paul; I already hated that stupid dog.

12 Heart-to-Heart Natalie Hill

Explain to me what all I’ve lost because of my stupid pride, come with me now, let’s take a ride, a ride through the trees feeling the amazing breeze, now sit back and listen to all that I say, it might help down this long, dark, and gloomy way. Try as you will, you can’t change the mind of man, of a man of that kind. Hurt and alone but deep in pain, can’t find the way around that rock and chain. It’s the beat of your heart that keeps you here, and will always draw you near. But listen, dear child, as I say it’s ok to walk away, but hear me out one last time, it’s also ok to stay and fight.

Photo submitted by Kylie Clark 13 I Wish Time Would Fly C. Howard

I wish time would fly, so you could be here with me. We could take our time and be where we wanted to be. You and me in love. I wish time would fly so we could take our time.

Photo submitted by Lita Connolly 14 Broken Light Lita Connolly Cracked and bleeding So broken inside Feel her falling apart The world crumbling around her And the blackness creeping in Threatening to take hold When all seemed bleak Help from nowhere Then through the dark The flicker of a light Starting to form It builds in strength Pushes the demons back Comes to her aid Finds a broken girl Her hands clasped tight Shielding her heart Trying to hold it together The light comes in Loosening her grasp Engulfing her heart Now drenched in light Her crumbling world Beginning to heal No longer so broken She can now thrive

Photo submitted by Zack Scoggins 15 Burning Life Lita Connolly

The flame I’d thought died I found is still burning Slowly creeping in Engulfing my heart I feel it seer the edges Wearing it down Till nothing is left

A physical pain An ache in my chest To show this is real To bring me to my end But do I relent And let it pull free Taking and burning All that is me

16 Burning My Past Lita Connolly

I burn my past And with it the pain that it held Holding me back from what I can be

I burn my past And am filled with sorrow Watch what I was go up in flames

But as it burns I am filled with a knowledge Knowledge that I have changed I have been reborn Not held by those memories

I watch the flames lick Devouring what I once was A new beginning That has been reaching forward Needing life But suffocating Is now born And can thrive

Like the rebirth of a phoenix Born from the ashes Of what it once was As I watch my past burn And turned to ash I am reborn As the phoenix begins anew So shall I Without the weight of my past Now that I have let go of my pain And have burned my past I will live once again

17 Guarding My Sanity Lita Connolly

I’ve been so guarded scared to feel scared of drowning the walls protect and keep me sane when the walls came down you were there to guard to help me feel swim when I can’t protect where I fail and save my sanity

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 18 Journey to an End Lita Connolly

Why should we bother? When everything ends in pain Death and destruction Await your arrival So why should we care If we find happiness or love When people die And all joy will stop The journey is more important Not where we are going It matters how you get there So in life’s journey We all die And everything ends But how you get there Is what makes it worth the trip

Photo submitted by Misti Davis 19 Unknown Lita Connolly

Laying in the dark Clutching to my heart Try to keep it from breaking Why is there this aching? Tearing me apart But where does it start? Though I have more joy My mind it will destroy Take my love, my soul and life Not knowing what is left to fight

Photo submitted by Lita Connolly 20 Untitled Tashia Harvey

I rock my two babies So adorable, so innocent, so cute, loved Heavenly peace, as they sleep

Photo submitted by Tonya Arsenault 21 My Mommy Dearest Andrea Morris

How could you leave me not once but twice What did I ever do to make your heart cold as ice. From the day I was born I have never felt your love Not a pat on the back, a kiss on the cheek, or even a hug Now thirty years later I’m still in this pain Just want to know why so I don’t go insane I know I’m not perfect but neither are you You act like I don’t exist but I’m here, I’m real, and I hurt too How could you disown your very own daughter Take everything I had even my father I should be angry, upset, and even outraged But it’s taken me this long to break loose from this cage It’s not up to me to judge you for all of your wrong That’s up to God and you now and that is what keeps me strong You are my mother, the only one I will ever know I hope that you love me even though it will never show To be a mother is a gift and I am one now too Thank you, Mom, for showing me what not to do

Photo submitted by Heather Ruzic 22 What Kind of Chocolate? Jonathan Hall

I must admit I have no clue What kind of chocolate I love best Dark, milk, and white It’s like an unending quest

The journey starts with a Reese’s cup Such perfection is peanut butter and chocolate Then come Milky Way, Cookies n’ Cream, and M & M’s Ice cream and cake are as good as it gets

I love it with a glass of two percent milk Or made into hot cocoa with marshmallows Can be icings, toppings, or even fountains It can turn me into a happy fellow

I’ve experimented, tested, pondered, and thought What could possibly be the solution With each Hershey’s kiss, pie, and sundae I’m drawing no nearer to a conclusion

I’m smart enough to be a college student Even made the Honor Roll last semester None of this helps me get any closer I feel as silly as a jester

So there you have it, my confession I’m slightly embarrassed to share I’m turning twenty-five this coming May With this chocolate burden to bear

23 A Day in February at Cleveland State Jonathan Hall The cold air at his back The smell and taste of fresh air Birds and a girl communicating Power lines swaying here and there The hustle and bustle of cars passing Eighteen-wheelers, squeaky breaks, and tires The sun playing hide and seek behind gray clouds A parking lot with one bad driver The school and its students moving around Backpacks shuffle and purses jingle House with “Stay Out!” fences up Some people starting to mingle The green trees and gray sky One dead brown tree with no leaves A school built with cement and brick I just heard some person sneeze This is the life at Cleveland State Sitting on a bench on this February date

Photo submitted by Lita Connolly 24 My Love Jonathan Hall Dear Love, I love having you in my life So proud of the day you became my wife Your beauty shines inside and out I love learning more what you are about God’s fingerprints are all over you It’s the only explanation I can come to From the rich black hairs on your head To your warm feet when we are lying in bed I hold you in my arms to keep you warm Not a chance for anything to bring you harm Your soft skin so soothing to the touch Your sweet hugs and kisses I love so much I thank God above and my lucky stars For making you exactly the way you are Wouldn’t change a thing about you, baby As our love continues to grow like daisies So sleep my angel for you need your rest Can you hear my heart beating in my chest? Each beat says the words, “I love you” And you know what? I love you too

With love, Jonathan Hall

Photo submitted byZack Scoggins 25 Ode to My Car Jonathan Hall What am I to do with a car like you? We were supposed to pick her up at two You just had to break down right there I can see you smirking like you don’t care I take out my cell to give her a call Of course no service, no bars at all I pitch it in the river some feet below Great, now it’s beginning to snow! I jab the key in like stabbing your heart Turning with a passion yelling, “Come on! Start!” Finally, I see some blue and white lights Thankfully someone cares to see if I’m alright Before I can even utter a word The policeman says something so absurd He says, “You’re parked in a no parking zone” He writes me a ticket then leaves me alone I look up as the snow blinds my left eye I yell to the sky, “Why God why?!” I walk to a station in the blizzard cold Realizing how dumb it was to throw my phone I slide a quarter in the payphone I dial her number to see if she’s at home She doesn’t answer which means she’s not there She must have thought I didn’t care You stupid car what can I do? What am I to do with a car like you?

26 Ol’ Worn Guitar Jonathan Hall Ol’ worn guitar what a time we’ve had Put smiles on faces when they were sad You danced and entertained those who listened We’ve had more good laughs than can be mentioned Your strings and my fingers danced the tango Or was it disco, rock ‘n roll, fast or slow? You’ve taken good care of me all of these years I kept you in tune with new strings and gears Now as I look at your worn body I think back when I bought you to start a new hobby Three-hundred and fifty dollars it cost to take you from that shelf It took every last dime that I had left Each scratch a reminder of another great song That red Kool-aid stain on the neck still isn’t gone On stage, in homes, audiences big and small Sometimes worshipping God and answering His call You saved my life more times than I can count I wouldn’t put you up for sale for any amount Like a friend you’ve stayed by my side My deepest, darkest secrets in you I could confide Now there you lay covered in dust So much time has passed as the gears begin to rust I’ll play you one last time before the sun has set For ol’ time’s sake and memories I’ll never forget

27 Soccer Champions Jonathan Hall Seven o’clock wake up to Mom’s singing Like a beautiful angel with a message she’s bringing I get up, put on my jersey, at the table by seven-thirty Hop in the van with mom saying, “Don’t get too dirty” We arrive at eight the team’s setting up John Lucky number twelve kicking the ball for warm-up Goalie Sam promises not to let a single goal pass Kevin Slow finally comes, he’s almost always last Coach Power blows his whistle to line us up We all set down our lemonade cups He tells us how good we are and to give it our best He reminds me of a papa eagle protecting his nest The other team steps on the field – the Killer Bees Yellow and black stripes and socks to their knees I take my position, I’m the sweeper I usually never score because I never go deeper Kick-off begins, John Lucky’s in action Kicking the ball up the field with a passion Time goes by and a few scores here and there Four to two the final score, the Bees cry “Not fair!” It is true; we had in fact won again Still undefeated I see Coach Power grin Mom tells me how great I looked out there Becoming champions at only age seven is rare

28 The Good Student Jonathan Hall I was in the library at school Working on Creative Writing I saw something pretty cool In you I am confiding The smallest student I’ve ever seen Not even two feet tall Lying on the floor asleep Curled up in a little ball Mom was only a few feet away Working on a project for class Right now all work no play If she has hopes to pass She paused just for a moment Looking with love at her treasure Wishing her time could be better spent Bringing her little one some pleasure I watched all this with amazement And a hint of conviction I’ve been beating myself up like a caveman Trying to learn perfect diction Here was a strong young woman Trying hard to make it to graduation While raising a child with a tender hand And a young daughter with such patience Never again will I complain Of having a rough life The things she has to sustain At least now I have something to write

29 The Lost Troopers Jonathan Hall I take my pen and start to write The pain from the loss I feel inside My hand shakes and my lip quivers Feels worse than when I was shot in my liver I lay here in Kabul for my last breaths I’m not afraid of life after death Your mom had mentioned in a recent letter The details of your cancer and you’d never get better In a way I feel connected to you somehow Mom says you’re stronger than me right now The medic sees my tears but he doesn’t know You’re the real reason for my sorrow I know I’ll see you soon in Heaven Thank the Lord you were saved at age eleven However, Mom is going to be left behind I thought you’d protect her if I lost my life My darling love, my sweet caress Please find new love and know you are blessed You will have two angels to watch over you Have mercy, my hand is turning blue…

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 30 Winter Jonathan Hall Snowflakes falling down Cold air and frozen fingers How I love winter!

Photo submitted by Mandy Cantrelle 31 Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear

The Problem with Problems Oscar Pascual Things shouldn’t be so complicated, They shouldn’t be so tight. Sometimes knowing, Doesn’t make you very bright. Just learn to keep it simple, Even when things are hard. If you follow this, You will be stupid smart.

32 Stranger Oscar Pascual I changed her name to stranger, And stranger she should be, But the strangest thing of stranger, She isn’t strange to me.

Photo submitted by Katelyn Harrod 33 Nail Tacks on My Bed Oscar Pascual Nail tacks on my bed, Oh they just won’t let me sleep. Arrows of poison, And they remind me that I’m a being I put them to the side In the hopes of getting rest, And I neglect them Until they consume my every sense.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 34 Unknown Oscar Pascual Isn’t it ironic what most people don’t know? They try to look for you, they look in every hole, Then they claim they aren’t, and you’re not the point. But is there anything more real? Just enough can solve the world’s problems And too much can kill.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 35 Song C. Michael Downes It is true what they say about song, beast and savagery -the melody’s cool sweetness, the sonorous subtlety quelling the blackened swelling depths with her song saying, soothing the ember crown of Heaven’s dusk returning The spirit moves thin through the ether amidst prayers and burnt offerings thin ribbons of ashen whispers of what may one day be sung together Our psalm of strength and surrender

Photo submitted by Christian Downes 36 Old Acquaintances C. Michael Downes She is wrapped in a perfume scarf That kisses the bottom of her nose Her cheeks pink in the cold The night’s breeze sends Her eyes ablaze in each blink She pauses and winks He grabs the taxi-cab handle Laughing Plastic leather glove seat rub Down main street His winter hotel fireside mantle He slyly slips a joke And she all lashes laughs Glass eyes smiling Sipping her cool silver martini With an old acquaintance

Photo submitted by Tonya Arsenault 37 Cephei Michael Honaker They call him Cephei Those tiny beings on that distant rock He calls himself nothing He has no need for names He was born of tiny simple elements... Helium and hydrogen He is vast now And growing bigger and bigger with age he knows his time will end soon... Relatively He does not care He has existed for ages He has seen many beings come and go Some greater, some lesser He was born of the beginning Many of his kin have passed on Sending their guts shooting through infinity In a blinding flash Seeding the universe So others could exist So he waits... And watches those tiny beings On that distant rock

Photo submitted by Christian Downes 38 I Am Me Asa Flowers

I am an oxymoron. I am too inquisitive to remain clueless, yet I am too unaware to be intelligent. I am too young to be old, yet I am too seasoned to be innocent. I am too bold to be meek, yet I am too afraid to persevere. I am too strong to accept defeat, yet I am too weak to be victorious. I am too inspired to be reasonable, yet I am too grounded to reach for the stars. I am too sensitive to bare disdain, yet I am too calloused to feel the rain. I am too friendly to go to war, yet I am too confrontational to enjoy peace. I am too outspoken to be silenced, yet I am too muted to be understood. I am too enlightened to be sad, yet I am too dark to find laughter. I am too cynical to be polite, yet I am too kind to be heartless. I am too wild to be bound, yet I am too tame to be free... I am me.

39 Innocence Lost Frankie Conar Most everyone my age and older Can remember where they were that day. With excitement I watched for his car to pass by On that day, the day my innocence went away. Time moves so slowly when your ten years old. And the minutes crawled gradually by. My excitement grew stronger each passing minute. “Here he comes!” I heard someone cry. My mother held my hand as we stood with the others Who were waiting for a chance to see his face. We knew the Queen would be with him, and we loved her For she was possessed beauty and grace. There they were the King and Queen of Camelot. He waved as they passed down the street. I was proud as I stood there with the others And I was sure I saw a wink when our eyes did meet. “Mama, Mama, did you see? I think he winked at me!” The sound of a shot rang out and I heard people scream. The Queen so fair was up on her knees and The King was slumped over in the back of the limousine. Shock seemed to dull my senses as I watched, Along with thousands, as events unfolded that day. I learned not all fairytales have happy endings On that day, the day my innocence went away.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 40 The Old Ones Say Frankie Conar

The old ones say they remember, Or was it just a dream? When sparkling water danced, And brooks could really sing.

The old ones say they remember Something they called dew. Each morning they would see it Back when the grass was green in hue.

The old ones say they remember Days spent outside having fun, But that was before our time When people played in the sun.

The old ones say they remember Forest with trees standing tall. They even knew birds on sight, And recognized each call.

The old ones say they remember When the earth was beautiful and green. The water was safe to drink back then And the air was fresh and clean.

The old ones say they remember The days spent in idle hours Dancing in fields of green And sitting among the flowers.

The old ones say they remember And never gave a thought To all these things, or to The pollution the factories wrought.

The old ones say they remember, Or was it just a dream? When sparkling water danced, And brooks could really sing.

41 The Student’s Psalm Frankie Conar

The diploma is my goal, it is what I want. It maketh me to lie down and study, And leads me through library doors, It troubles my soul. It guides me through the paths at CSCC For its name sake. Even though I walk Through the valley of the shadow of failure I will fear no test For thoughts of graduation are with me; Junk food and friends, They comfort me. The cafeteria has a table for me I eat in the presence of my peers. My food is cooked with grease and oil; And occasionally my cup overflows. Surely success will follow me All the days of my life, And I will dwell among the educated forever.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 42 Seasons of Time Frankie Conar The wind blows, and the years fly away, Days whoosh by like the leaves of a tree. Was yesterday a decade, or only a day? Time moves on, the minutes flutter free. Spring, season of new beginnings, birth Buds burst forth innocent, shiny, new Green, tender shoots greet the earth All life sings with its soft subtle hue. Summer’s rhythm of time and nature team Growing, maturing, changing, taking form A lightning’s flash, then childhood’s dream Carried off on the breeze of a sudden storm The gust of time boldly marks the season From green to gold, red, orange and brown Who is chosen? There’s no rhyme or reason Time and leaves waft by without a sound The breath of winters aged, blustering gale Twist the remnants of those left so late. Falling, floating, gliding on the wind they sail And at the appointed time, meet their fate.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 43 Always Remember Lauren Link

It’s true that we will never know How long we have on this Earth. And no one knows for certain the course of this disease Or how long you’re going to remember me.

Medicine, all the pills the doctors say Are supposed to give us more time With you. Before you are gone… Before you can’t remember Just how amazing of a person you are.

I will always remember. All your jokes and sense of humor, how you laugh. You will be forever locked In my memory and my heart As that man you were.

No matter how far doctors say you fall, You are my grandfather. Although so much of you will be gone one day, To me, so much will always remain. Those eyes of yours and your smile… How lucky am I to be your grand-daughter, To have you in my life.

So I make this promise to you, grandfather. No matter how long and winding the road, Whether you remember me Or not. I will always remember you.

Dedicated to her grandfather (who has Alzheimer’s Disease) 44 Song of the Heart Eszter Kovacs

Song of the Heart How silent is your music. Where has your melody gone?

Sound of joy ringing From the voice of the one singing Echoing in the soul.

Song of the Heart How still your instruments lay. Is there no one to play your notes?

Perhaps it is sleeping Under sorrow’s mournful keeping, Overwhelmed by sorrow’s lullaby?

Wake from your slumber! Let your notes resound within, The melody shining in the dark!

For sorrow may last throughout the evening, But God’s joy comes in the morning, With it, the Song of the Heart.

45 Star Gazer Zack Scoggins

A million suns dot the night, Representing lights of a distant time. Lying on grass feeling so small. Through the moonlit woods, the owls call. Faint shimmers and twinkles up in the air. Though far away, its evidence of flares. Flying comets streak the abyss sky, As meteorites enter and leave nothing behind. Distant city life beams alternate light. Farmers and countrymen have true sight. As I look toward the infinite scene, I wonder yet again, if He is watching me. It’s here at this moment I know we are not alone. What if He is an alien, staring right into my soul?

46 The Barefoot Princess Tonya Arsenault Purple colored waterfalls and sugar-coated skies her imagination floating brings that twinkle to her eyes dressed in gowns of pink as she begins to dance twirling like an angel barefoot in the emerald grass lemon-yellow butterflies fly around her golden curls she is the princess of this land her shimmering magical world on swings made of velvet rope her sparkling smile grows flying swift with fairies as the chocolate river flows large multi-colored trees hang not apples, but gumdrops and in her field of daisies spring from the ground; lollipops as she slides on rainbows through cotton candy clouds music fills the air and elves begin to dance around peaceful night rolls in lightning bugs fly fast and so my barefoot princess falls asleep at last

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 47 The Father I Failed to See Tonya Arsenault You’re the one who took me in And showed me how to grow You were so angry with him Yet you never let it show Every time I sat by the window Watching and waiting for him You would hold and comfort me When he didn’t show, yet again When he failed to appear You were always there for me Placed behind the image of him The father I failed to see Turned away from the window Tears welling in my eyes You tell me it’s not my fault As you hold in the angry sighs You bandaged my scraped knees When I fell to the ground I would cry for him at night And you heard every sound You taught me how to love And what sacrifice means You were my mother’s husband Or so it only seemed You gave up your own life To be a part of mine A thing I took for granted For way too long a time You were angry with him Because you loved me so Your heart would break for me Every time he wouldn’t show You have always been something That I never seemed to see I would see him ever so often But you were the one who raised me He will always be my father Don’t let your heart feel sad Though it took too long to realize

48 THE SNAKE Tonya Arsenault It comes to me in the night It tells me that you lied All those times you promised me Yet i always cried It slips in beneath my door And watches silently It whispers words of deceit It whispers that you lied to me It speaks to me through clenched teeth A wicked smile upon its face It scares me yet it says it speaks the truth Its words burn like fire yet it’s comforting like lace It stays there till i fall asleep Smiling that awful smile The phone, it rings off the hook But yet it hasn’t been dialed It’s you i know it is You want to lie to me once more Just like the thing has told me When it slipped underneath my door It’s told me that you lied to me And that you will once again It’s told me you’ve deceived me You and all others until then One more time it slips in quietly Under the door once more My heart can’t take this again My soul is getting sore It creeps across the room to me And flashes that deathly smile It tells me that you lied to me Then looks at me a while This time i can’t take it I tell him “go away, He’s not the one who lied to me You have led me astray!” Then he turns, his wicked smile fading He twists in anger, screaming even more He crawls to the floor, crying Then he slips back under my door

49 The Yellow Raincoat Tonya Arsenault She stands on the sidewalk Her bare feet in a puddle Her body wrapped in a yellow raincoat She stands there, huddled Her eyes are large and chocolate brown And brimmed with sparkling tears She clings to me as I walk by Wanting me to take away her fears I push her back and walk away No guilt within my mind Then I turn to look back at her But to my surprise she’s not there to find This happens every night to me Every night within my dreams The little girl in the yellow raincoat Every night she beckons to me It pains me to see this little girl hurt But what am I supposed to do It frightens me when she disappears Maybe tonight I will disappear too Again I fall asleep and the little girl appears In her yellow raincoat she clings to me This time I ask her, “Who are you?” Then she whispers, “Can’t you see?” This little girl in the yellow raincoat Standing, crying before me in my dream Whispers into my ear softly That she is my soul, lost inside of me

50 Toy Tonya Arsenault Tossed around, flung on the bed Kicked on the floor, step on my head Broken arms and shaved off ears This is how it’s been for years Put in boxes, forgotten about Once loved, now without thought Once without sadness, now without joy I realize now; all I am is a toy

Drawing submitted by James Garrett 51 My American Hero Tonya Arsenault This war has gone on way too long hurting country and family in turn. Without him it all just feels wrong My heart yearns for his safe return.

Blocking out the news stories on T.V. of the troops fighting with my husband in Iraq. Fighting back things unbearable to see the strength to keep going, I falter, almost lack.

I have to be strong for our children, for Him. For what he’s going through is ten times worse. Putting him through this feels like a sin but for the American Hero, that is the curse.

On the radio are stories of men killed, people dying. New car bombs and blood baths every day. I thank God to talk to my husband, both of us crying, saying when things are right, he’ll come home to stay.

Till then keep on hoping, wishing and praying… kiss and tuck in his babies good-night keep on saying those I love yous to him that I’m saying and my American Hero will keep on fighting the good fight.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 52 Learn from Your Children Tonya Arsenault

Listen to your children To their words from the start They have things to say to you Even though it may break your heart

They say how great you are When they are very young They tell you how much they love you But also when you’re not much fun

As your children get older They tell truths you’d rather not know It kills you inside, you try to deny it You get mad but don’t let it show

They tell you that you yell too much And you treat them so unfair They get afraid when you slam doors And they feel like you don’t care

They say you spend way too much time Doing laundry, and washing dishes When you should be spending a little more Playing games and fulfilling wishes

Of course they are still kids And they have little kid minds And things will come out of those sweet mouths That are twisted, deceitful little lies

But listen with your heart To the underlying truth in what they say We adults don’t always hear what we should But with words our kids have a special way

They remind us of what is important And what it is we should forget I have learned so much from my children And I have so much left to learn yet

53 Nighttime Confessions Tonya Arsenault I confess, I’m afraid, I’ve seen him before. That’s why I am scared to sleep by the door. Face of a clown, and the legs of a goat, I fear he’ll come out and slash my throat. Should I sleep with a night light when I’m alone? Hiding in there, he knows there’s no one else home. Long thin fingers can slip through just a crack. I’ve seen him before, I know he’ll come back. He scares me, I’ll admit it; he is an awful sight. I make sure the closet door is shut closed every night. I start to fall asleep, but then… what was that? I hear something scratching on the door… we don’t have a cat. The evil clowned face has come back to get me. But it’s dark in here and I fear I can’t see. I gather up all the courage from my weary stores, Jump out of bed and use something heavy to block the door. I fly back into bed; cover my head silently as I weep Listening closely for noises as I try not to fall asleep. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot as I see the sun rise. Another night down, I think to myself, glad I survived From this clown-like monster in my closet-land. Yes, I confess; I’ve seen him, I believe in him, He’s the Boogeyman…..

54 Stop and Smell the Roses: An Elegy for Rosemary Tonya Arsenault

I have heard that the saying goes the sweetest smell is of the Rose though I had never paid it much mind I have been told I am not the flowery kind But I had a Rose that was great to behold

I had a beautiful Rose of my very own she was thin and always seemed wind blown and just to show my Rose how much she was loved I named one of my children a little Rose bud for my Rose looked out for me since I started to grow

The signs of long lost youth my Rose could not mask my Rose petals were no longer red as in the past but had become faded and gray with age and those years would be re-counted, retold by stage listening to tales of the Rose was my joyous task

To know more about my special Rose I yearned the longer I listened, the more I learned the more I learned, the more and more I loved but the longer we talked the longer life seemed to shove I was enjoying my Rose but I had not yet deserved her

Bent fingers for leaves felt soft upon my face the life of a flower goes at too fast a pace and when its pain is taken feels like removed thorns when my Rose at last was being cut, I heard the music of angels’ horns though I cannot water my Rose with this water, the tears you can trace

I pick up her blanket, breathe her in through my nose hold her deep in my soul, and smell that sweet Rose. for once in my life I believe the saying and for the rest of my life I will continue my praying thanking God for my old one and watching grow my young Rose 55 Sweet Release Tonya Arsenault

A little tickle A little tease I’m still waiting Come on… please It starts to come And then it stops I draw in my breath… My jaw drops Here it comes again… And then it goes I want it to come I know it shows When it finally comes It will fully shake me It will feel so good I will feel so free… It will feel so great to let go I can’t wait for that sweet release The time has finally come I think I’m about to sneeze

56 Teardrop Rain Tonya Arsenault

What have I become? An image of invisibility I have become something I never wanted to be

Too many fears to count And childhood memories Have made up my illusion Of the world surrounding me

Deep conflicting emotions Like never-ending tides Make up the darkness In the prison where I hide

Self inflicted pain And constant agony Seem to hide the truth The person inside of me

Homemade monsters Of my own nightmares They always see me hiding The only ones who know I’m there

Please save me from myself Stop the constant ruin I need to finally deal with What I have been through

I am going crazy Dying with the pain Drowning in the pool Of my teardrop rain

57 Sometimes I Cry Tommy Stamey I have these feelings I keep locked deep inside that are at times hard to hide, these emotions cause a commotion inside my head and my heart, I can’t let them show for the fear they may tear my world apart, I keep them under lock and key so that no one else can see, these emotions, my own personal agony, sometimes I cry, and these are the reasons why, because deep inside my heart it’s bleeding, there’s something missing that I’m needing, sometimes I cry, when I’m sitting all alone, cause it chills me to the bone, that you’re never coming home, that you’ll never call me on the phone, sometimes I cry, because you’re on my mind, all night and day and I can’t find a way to make these memories go away, sometimes I cry, because I have to live like this, deep down inside it’s really you that I miss, These tears that I cry, they fall to help me make it through it all, they wash away the pain and make me whole again, just until I hear your name or think about never seeing your face again, sometimes I cry, because things don’t go my way, when my life it goes astray, when I feel like I can’t go on another day, sometimes I cry, because I’m sick and tired of waiting, for something or someone to take up this time that it seems I’m wasting, sometimes I cry, because it seems that god, he’s hesitating, to fulfill these dreams that I’ve been dreaming, sometimes I cry, because deep down inside I feel like screaming, I’m getting tired of reaching for something that seems so misleading, These tears that I cry, they help to ease the pain inside, they help me to release these feelings that I hide from day to day within this foolish pride, sometimes I cry, because I’m angry about this hand that I’ve been dealt, I wish I’d never had to feel these feelings that I’ve felt, they make my soul feel like it’s starting to melt, sometimes I cry, because it feels so good to let it all out, to take a few minutes to kick and scream and shout, to release the tension of these doubts, sometimes I cry, because I don’t know what this life is all about, at times it seems so hard to figure out, These tears that I cry, they are my release, they give me a moment to stop and breathe, sometimes I cry, because it just hurts deep inside, these feelings that I have are so hard to hide, sometimes I cry. 58 Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear Too Many Yesterdays and Not Enough Tomorrows Tommy Stamey Well, I took it all for granted, things just didn’t go how we planned it, I still don’t understand why this had to happen, There’s no more you, there’s only me, When I look back all I see are these fading memories of what used to be, things were supposed to be better, better than the way things are here today, if only things could’ve gone a different way, I wish there were some magic words that I could say, to make this all go away, my senses are numbed,

59 my soul’s left hollowed, there’s too many yesterdays and not enough tomorrows, the time’s been spent there’s none left to borrow, all that’s left is this heart-ache and sorrow, the bits and pieces that were left behind, no one sees the images that play inside my mind, with no fast forward or rewind, a haunting film filled with murder, misery, and pain, I’ll never forget the face, the place, or the name where these things happened on that Saturday, October 28th, I’m the only one left, with no one to blame this life is different, it can never be the same, my senses are numbed, my soul’s left hollowed, there’s too many yesterdays and not enough tomorrows, the time’s been spent there’s none left to borrow, all that’s left is this heart-ache and sorrow, The bullets burned and broke my bones, they left me here feeling empty and all alone, with no reason, cause, or purpose, did we really deserve this? I’m sorry that I missed your funeral service, no last words, no long good-byes, I woke up one week later paralyzed, to my surprise, I thought you had made it, I didn’t know that you had died, I couldn’t even cry, The doctors kept me so doped up, that no one knew that all the while I was dying inside, my senses were numbed, my soul was left hollow, there’s too many yesterdays and not enough tomorrows, the time was spent there was none left to borrow, there was nothing left but this heart-ache and sorrow. There’s too many yesterdays and not enough tomorrows.

60 This Thing Tommy Stamey How did this thing get this far? I don’t even know where we are! I’ve lost track, who’s been keeping score? I can’t take this anymore! I’m tired of hearing these slamming doors, I’m sick of all the screaming and this dream I’ve been dreaming, that’s not so sweet, Why did we and this time have to meet? Falling off the deep end inches from drowning, I’m lost and I’m found always turning around, I’m listening but there’s no sound, (This Thing...... !This Thing...... !) How did this thing get this far? I don’t even know where we are! So close to flying off the handle! Sick of burning both ends of this candle! I’m losing my grip; my fingers are starting to slip! (This Thing...... !This Thing...... !) Maybe just one more sip of this alcohol will make it all go away for just one more day, These words so hard to say, I’ve been biting my tongue, This situation is making me numb, I’m tired of fighting myself, wishing I was someone else, Somewhere else, another time, another place, Another person, a different face, instead of here taking up this space, How did this thing get this far? I don’t even know where we are! So close to flying off the handle! Sick of burning both ends of this candle! I’m losing my grip; my fingers are starting to slip! (This Thing...... !This Thing...... !) These rhymes without reasons, The never ending seasons, Spending my time watching my money, I can hear the laughter, but nothing’s funny! Whatever happened to my “Happily Ever After?!” It’s time to put this book back on the shelf, This story’s over, it has reached its conclusion, It’s time to end this illusion and self made confusion, How did this thing get this far? I don’t care where you are! So close to flying off the handle! Sick of burning both ends of this candle! I’m losing my grip; my fingers are starting to slip! (This Thing...... !This Thing...... !) (This Thing...... !This Thing...... !) 61 The Butterfly Effect Tommy Stamey A butterfly floats lofty unaware that its effects have begun, As it flutters its wings softly, The effects they create cannot be undone, The wind picks up slowly gently blowing, The leaves on the trees rustle and stir, The branches start bowing, Yet still the butterfly stays gently aloft and remains unknowing, The seas, lakes, and oceans they begin to anger, The ships that sail on them are unaware of the impending danger, The waves they swell as if they had their own story to tell, Civilizations have no realizations of the coming hell, The earth feels this rage and the volcanoes they rumble, the ground shakes violently as the buildings they crumble, yet still the butterfly stays gently aloft and remains unknowing.

62 Crush Tommy Stamey There’s a girl that I know I can see her almost every day, the way she catches my eye doesn’t leave my mouth with much to say, my mind goes blank, my tongue gets tied, her image dances in my eyes while all the while, her pretty smile is accentuating her style, could it be, that it’s just me, wishing that she could be, the missing piece, that makes my life complete, I think I’ve got a crush, but I’m in no rush to let her know, should I move in fast or should I take it slow, to let her know, I love the way that she glows, tell her she’s pretty and how I wish that her heart belonged to me, How I see her in my future and all my dreams, I know it’s only fantasy, But I can just imagine how great it would be, If it were just her and me, I think I’ve got a crush, She’s so out of my league, How I wish I could speak when she approaches me, But I can’t talk and only smile, In my mind I know she’s just my style, She’s got a rock hard body, I wonder if she knows she’s a hottie, My mind tells me that I need her, My arms really want to squeeze her, I think I’ve got a crush, but I’m in no rush to let her know, should I move in fast or should I take it slow, to let her know, I love the way that she glows, tell her she’s pretty and how I wish that her heart belonged to me, How I see her in my future and all my dreams, I know it’s only fantasy, But I can just imagine how great it would be, If it were just her and me, I think I’ve got a crush.

63 Guilt Ridden Tommy Stamey Demons haunting, taunting, reminding, unbinding the ties, Blinding memories, untold truths coming out as lies, Regrets, doubts, worries, fears, debts left unpaid, Crooked paths left unpaved, An innocent life left unsaved, A bat of the eye, a flick of the wrist, An un-understandable gist, Mixed emotion, a battle lost in confusion, a disagreeable illusion, Illicit conflicts stirred and shaken blended into an undrinkable drink, A vertigo spiral spinning in a bottomless sink, A sweet caress with misguided intentions, Words and thoughts unmentioned left tightly wound in suspended tensions, A breathless kiss, a ticking clock, moments missed, Forgotten misleading ill-gotten gains, A railroad spike driven deep into the brain, A bleeding heart bound by barbed wire, Eyes that tire never sleeping always weeping, Tears cried dried by a relentless sweeping, Lips locked tightly by the secrets they’re keeping, Feet that dance gingerly for fear of falling, Ears that listen attentively deaf to who’s calling, Balance lost a glamorous descent a broken body twisted and bent, Jagged shards cut through flesh so tender, Blood bled willingly in a captivating surrender, Misunderstood meanings encrypted in stone, an arctic breeze that chills to the bone only to freeze the arms reaching for someone hold, Nerve endings numbed disconnected and old, Viral infections uncured antibiotics unknown, De-stigmatized and desolate unaware all alone, Situations screeching to a halt, The meaning of life sealed within an openless vault Shame hidden, sympathy ungiven, guilt ridden.

64 Just One Lie Tommy Stamey Just one lie, Days go by, Misleading insecurities, changing the view of what she meant to me, Future’s changed, two lives rearranged, What was meant to be, No longer a destiny, Broken hearts, drifting apart, Tears cried, in moments that died, Just one lie, Months go by, Trapped in misery, Exposed for the world to see, Drunken stupor lived in, Heart ache and regret hidden, A marriage of guilt, the wall was built, Divorced for truths, No longer amused, Just one lie, Years go by, A realized reality, a no longer hidden epiphany, His soul is yearning, too late the bridge is no longer burning, Piles of ash, He’s always thinking of the past, Memories of her a constant reminder, His mistake his love can no longer find her, Just one lie, His life goes by, He still sits at home all alone and cries, Wondering why, The words passed through his lips, Wishing that he would have never let them slip, As he told just one lie.

65 I Can’t Be Your Hero Tommy Stamey In a moment that I could not foresee, I was weakened and knocked to my knees All alone and helpless it was only me the walls closed in and I could not breathe, The skies darkened and I could not see, I screamed so loud that no one could hear me, My strength was drained, My body put into excruciating pain, In was in that moment that I knew, Everything we had was through, I knew that I could no longer hold and protect you, No, I can’t be your hero anymore, I’ve fallen from your grace, The smile wiped from my face, My cape is torn and tattered, Like all the things that mattered, The dreams that we shared left broken and shattered, No, I can’t be your hero anymore, The sun no longer shines on the world that used to be mine, It’s a cold dark lonely place, Nothing’s left but these memories of your face, No, I can’t be your hero anymore, I was down and out for the count, My world was spinning round and round, So fast that I could not see, That I turned my back on what was so cherished by me, Forgiveness lost, Expensive moments ticked away, That cost too much for me to pay, Nothing left for me to say, I lost my grip as I watched our world slip away, I was broken and I knew that I could no longer hold and protect you, No, I can’t be your hero anymore, I’ve fallen from your grace, The smile wiped from my face, My cape is torn and tattered, Like all the things that used to matter, The dreams that we shared left broken and shattered, No, I can’t be your hero anymore, The sun no longer shines on the world that used to be mine, It’s a cold dark lonely place, Nothings left but these memories of your face,

66 No, I can’t be your hero anymore, There are these cold dark eyes that stare, Searching only to compare, With what is now and what used to be, They only dare to see me un-broken and un-bent, Un-twisted and un-spent, The fires extinguished and the smoke beginning to vent, They only see what used to be, Living deep inside of me, Lost in an un-ending dream, With a continuing theme, I’m broken and I can no longer hold and protect you, No, I can’t be your hero anymore, The sun no longer shines on the world that used to be mine, It’s a cold dark lonely place, Nothing’s left but these memories of your face, No, I can’t be your hero anymore.

Photo of James Tivis 67 Sonnet Tyler Wickman So many things to do Writing papers and doing math And sometimes some reading too, Even when I’m in the bath.

If only I had one night off To do some things besides school That includes some tennis and golf But I guess the work keeps me from being a fool.

Tired of all the pressure and the burdens It takes a toll on a college student I’d rather just take a nice trip to Sweden So maybe I’ll just keep to myself and be prudent.

School is something that everyone needs So that way you don’t end up on the street being a dweeb.

Photo submitted by Christian Downes 68 Gypsy Skirts Sharon DePierro

Swirling, Spinning, to And fro, Riots of Color Kissing Calves and Toes

Photo submitted by Tonya Arsenault

69 Silent Bond Sharon DePierro Long ago, across a bar, Imagineered for Second Souls. The Spark alit that spawned a Star, Unknown, as we Danced among our Roles. Masks on, Masks off, it mattered not. Time came, Time went, On tattered ear and comfort sought, True Souls were Lent. The bar is gone, the years ran past, First lives have run aground. Yet you and me, resting in Star so Vast, Know only the Heart has found… Sometimes the Deepest Bond lies in, The one that went Unspoken.

Photo submitted by Aimee Morris 70 Lone Stalk Sharon DePierro

Caught betwixt rough, red bricks, Hard angled, straight and narrow, And the taste of almost mossy dampness, Colliding with air ping-pongin’.

Jingling keys pass right by, Without a second thought, As silent as their sneakers, Upon the slick black-top.

Only the whoosh of wind, Or is that the engine’s roar? To ruffle droop of yellowed leaf, Caught between tree trunk and door.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 71 Sleep Chris Bennett The Sun passes into its alcove For its nightly rest The moon with pride and beam hurls The residue of light at the world We sleep. We do not care for the moon, Who tires out but with constant Vigilance gives us the light We never use.

Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear 72 Photo submitted by Barrett Kibble

Hour Glass Chris Bennett Time is ever alluding to Man In a very causal way, it, points With a crook hand and botched face With a smirk and a wink, Man is left behind.

73 Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear Untitled Chris Bennett

Wasn’t that just beautiful? I try to get a -- The most beautiful poem! I reach for somethi -- Mr. Poet was insinuating that the human condition, I understan -- Is a hopeless, confounding, pernicious little disease that should be avoided like the plague itself! PLEASE HEL –

74 Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear

Suicide Spotter Sierra White Made my Lucky Charms with bleach Blew up balloons for a funeral at three Watched my sister die of yellow fever Felt the world suffocate secondhand in smoke. Cigarettes and cinnamon rolls for lunch Drew a girl’s sketch in crimson at five fifteen Lace dress riddling skin with ten hundred paper cuts And a glance at redemption that wasn’t clean. Black gossip about cries for attention Red wrists white-out my soul around seven; Some voices are too quiet for recognition, Some eyes are too catarized to see. Suicide spotter, little bird peeping on the window sill Sing a symphony for waxed beauty And remember that I couldn’t cage you still. Remember that I tried, that I tried, that I tried. But they didn’t believe me. Oh, no, they didn’t believe-

75 Autistic Student at Cleveland State James Long Eagle Kilgore

August 29th, 2006, I was accepted and enrolled to Cleveland State Community College. About two weeks before school started, TN Vocational Rehab wanted me to accept the fact that I should just be happy to wrap hamburgers; but, my Dad told them “NO” and he did not accept the fact. So they removed me from their rolls. We went to Cleveland State Community College. We located the access center to speak to Ms. Amy L. Derrick. Ms. Derrick is advisor for disabilities support services for the college. Ms. Derrick helped enrolled me in two classes for the first semester in 2006. I started in the Federal Work Study program in 2008 under Dr. Gayle L. Garner. After fifteen years of hard work, teaching the students how to speak in a positive manner. Ms. Garner is retiring to pursue new interest. She has been such a great help to me in the newspaper (The Cherokee Signal) for three years. Dr. Gayle L. Garner. Dr. Garner really helped me whenever I got problems on putting in articles for the Cherokee Signal. I got involved with the Cherokee Signal in the Spring Semester of 2007. I have been writer and reporter for three years and Vice President of the Cherokee Signal Club for two years from 2008 to 2010. This past academic year 2009-2010, I was named the Cherokee Signal award winner at awards night in the Johnson Building at the auditorium. She has been a wonderful teacher and great instructor. Mrs. Garner will be definitely missed by all of the students at Cleveland State. We are very proud of Dr. Gayle L. Garner, who is not only a great teacher, but also a friend to us all. Ms. Karen Wyrick. She has started me in Basic Math, Elementary Algebra and Intermediate Algebra until I started College Algebra on the computer for the first time ever. It was Katie Hines’s idea to have a Math lab in the administration building on the second floor. Former chairman of the Math department was Dr. John Squires, who really take time to go over the tests that I make mistakes on and try to help me improve on test. Mrs. Wyrick takes time to help me whenever I have problems on my homework. She is really an awesome teacher. Mrs. Kelly Ormsby. Mrs. Ormsby has helped me get through basic writing in the fall semester of 2006 and also Developmental Writing in the Spring Semester 2010. Mrs. Ormsby has really picks up some slack by letting me bringing the recorder and use it to study since the Spring Semester of 2007. In the first half of writing, my essay average and quiz average wasn’t very good at all. But, in the second half of writing, I paid attention to my teacher and write the notes down on a piece of a notebook paper so I did not forget.

76 Blessed Debt Jeff Young

Oh King, my heart longs for much more than normal. I am the untamable wolf kept from the wild, Put amongst dogs and expected to be formal. Did you intend for me to sit restlessly like a child? Take away my status and remove my possession. These things mean nothing when my spirit is bound. I leave them behind; you are my obsession. I was broken and shunned, you lifted me from the ground. Become my sole reliance. Teach me your relentless love and astounding strength When unjust authority rises up, give me your complete defiance. Permit me the unwavering will to press on to any length. Foremost, admonish me to never forget I am yours eternally and I owe a blessed debt.

77 Beach at Dusk Jeff Young

Sloshy, wet, sand between my toes And chilling translucent salt water drowns my feet. Beach, you will never recognize how my affection for you grows Or how enjoying you at dusk is blissful and sweet. Colorfully painted seashells are speckled across your grainy face. Each steps sinks below the sand, leaving a print. Pelicans glide above the water with a pleasant grace And I’m amused seeing violet crabs move across the sand in a sprint. Violent waves charges the land in a glorious roar. Pinks, reds, and oranges dash across the sky And sand turns to gold on the shore. The sun kisses the horizon with its last goodbye. This moment is rare and sublime Wishing, for this moment, to be locked in time.

Photo submitted by Tonya Arsenault 78 In Memory of a Friend Anthony Bowers

Many days have gone by. Many nights have passed. It’s sadness like this, you realize life doesn’t last.

I remember us swimming. The sun did die, and quickly it hid behind the trees. We jumped out of the water, almost hearing the shaking of our knees.

You were always goofy, but a good friend though. It’s just so tough, sometimes to let go.

We used to go swim, up at the lake. Yet, never again, because of one mistake.

You had the munchies, so they say. You got in your car, and then drove away.

I wish you were not driving drunk or high. For this simple mistake, nobody spoke a final goodbye.

It’s not easy losing a good friend. Because of this, it takes time, time for the heart to mend.

I remember the last time I said hello, and even hi. Yet, it was at your funeral, my last goodbye.

Photo submited by Ross Spurgeon 79 The Purpose of Silence Douglas Parris

The definition of silence is the relative or total lack of audible sound. The word silence may also refer to any absence of communication, even in media other than speech. Silence in speech can be the result of hesitation, stutters, self-correction, or the deliberate slowing of speech for the purpose of clarification or processing of ideas. According to the culture, silence can be interpreted as positive or negative. For an example, in church there can be a moment of reflection while other times silence can be a form of objection or rejection of an idea or what is being discussed or taught. Placing the index finger over closed lips is the most widely recognized gesture of silence. In Western cultures, silence can mean anger, hostility, disinterest, or any number of emotions; because of this, one side will usually try to fill silence with small talk. The Western Apaches use silence during times of uncertainty and anger. In music, silence is simply termed as a rest. In debate, silence can be both offensive and effective. In law, we have a right to silence. In spirituality, silence can be used as worship and as part of listening for the inner voice. Usually when a client is silent, an event or memory is triggered that they are ashamed of or do not feel comfortable talking about. Many they just do not understand what you are saying or do not know how to response. If I can help to identify why there is silence, then many we can discuss it. Silence can be fear or illness; it also could be shame. There is always a purpose for silence.

Photo submited by Annika Endo 80 Photo submitted by Marchelle Wear

Ocean Tiffany Tate

I can taste the warm, salty breeze. I can feel the sand between my feet. I hear the waves crashing on the shore. I will remember this forevermore. This place is my home away from home. The beach is where I belong.

81 Soon C. Michael Downes, Aaron Quinn, and Eszter Kovacs

Their perfect life came to a shattering halt. Even now, her lips trembled at the horrific memory. For months after the crash, she had to fight the guilt of living, while her son did not. She battled the severe depression that threatened her very sanity, and alienated her husband, as she slowly came to the realization that her baby was gone. Her therapist had suggested that she join an online chat group to talk to other people that had gone through the same tragic experience, to help her grieve. It was there, that she had met a woman who suggested a procedure that could bring her old life back-a suggestion that had shocked her when she first heard it. At first, she had rejected the very thought of such a thing. But then, as time passed, and as her grief haunted her more deeply, she became desperate to return to a time when she had not lost control of her life. When she suggested the process to her husband, he wouldn’t even consider it. “You’re not the only one who lost a son. I did too, and I miss him just as much as you. But hunny…we have to come to terms with the fact that he’s not coming back. Nothing will change that.” Thinking that her husband had been right, she tried to surrender to that thought. But the thought wouldn’t leave her mind. It began to plague her every waking moment. There were bouts of insomnia, and depths of constant sleep. Yet when she woke, her son was always there. She wasn’t personally religious, but she was raised in a strict Catholic family. She knew right away the priest from her old parish would be against it. But was he right? Was it morally wrong to preserve their lives in this way, with this process? There is no specific verse condoning the act-it never even mentions the word. It wasn’t even against the law…well, at least in some countries. But did that mean that it was wrong? Surely God would understand the mother’s desperate wish. There was a story about a lost son in the Bible, wasn’t there? Isn’t it basically the same thing? Surely God wouldn’t begrudge her for trying to regain the perfect life she once had. She glanced at her bulging stomach, then at her husband. He was still staring at the ceiling, then the door. He sighed. She turned a stare to him, waiting for him to say anything. She felt so tired. She huffed and looked up at the ceiling vent. Why couldn’t he see things her way? She had tried to see his point of view, but every single time, she knew that hers was better. Didn’t he understand that she was doing this for both of them? To help erase the pain that had racked their hearts? She looked back at him. Why wouldn’t he look at her, understand her like he used to? Now here she lay, many months having passed, months of constant arguing with her husband about the child she now carries-with the ongoing war in her mind, continuous. A child is on the way. Was she really doing the right thing? People say that the pain of a lost child never leaves the heart, but time softens the blow. Now she had a choice. She couldn’t imagine that ever happening to her again. Ever.

82 Beneath the examination gown, she rubbed the area on her stomach, wanting it all to be over. Soon, Soon! She thought. Her husband will come around. Once he fully understood her vision, her dream for the two of them, it would become his too, and he would embrace it with open arms. Soon. She thought again, turning to look at her husband. The waiting room lay heavy, pressed against his eyes. His wife lay still on her back. Their future rested ominously on the heavy turn of a door handle. An overwhelming dread continued to creep out from his inner-self. They had at least discussed this decision with each other at great length; long nights spent respectively hunched at the computer, medical books-copious amounts of research done. Even the preacher had been consulted, chiming in with his shock, and scolding disapproval. None of it made this moment any more bearable. In the deepest recesses of his heart, he wanted her to make this decision, since at the end of this, it would be she who had to share the physical burden and responsibility. He wanted her to delineate her own bodily limits, but at this point she was not interested in limitations. Even so, he longed to tell her- she, this part of him-that he did not wish to go through with this. Perhaps it was too late to express it. We are here. Waiting. Maybe his opinion had little weight any longer. We are already here. Nevertheless, he burned to scream out, No! -Anything to quell the ache of this. He began to reminisce over the ultra-sound. If things were different, he knew the glossy vignette would have been more than this, more than a child; an adult, a man with dreams that would ultimately surrender to reality, never the same-yet always…his son. He sat in silence, waiting. The air of the examination room wrapped around his wrists and neck, anywhere his skin was bare-a much darker chill, than medicinal cold-sterility. He turned his head slowly toward her. The air, so sharp and electric, stung his eyes. Slowly, they glazed-he feared she’d think him weeping. She stared fervently upward, at the dull gray vent, shifted slightly as the examination table paper crackled hard and loud against the stillness of the room. Was he so innocent in this, sitting silent in the face of destruction? Why oppose the creation of a unique being-flawed, and ill equipped yet an exceptionally distinct individual? He drew in a slow, cold breath, and looked up. The ceiling vent seemed audible in its exhale, that in the entirety of this room, it was the only thing with purpose, volition, no matter how cold its will. His mind lapsed back to her wedding dress, conjuring a comparison to the white of the room that enveloped them now. The purity of the whites deviated; he watched beauty become sterility. He had allocated a whole section of his memory solely for the sanctity of what that dress symbolized. It had so beautifully adorned their night of matrimony, but now that color quickly faded into the walls of the room. Devoid of strength, his chest collapsed, in a shivering exhale, a sigh he did not want released. His wife looked at him, exasperated, tired. Her stare was crushing. Her own battle had been so readily apparent, as if the war within her constantly spilled from her lips, eyes, and tumultuous expressions that so easily made his heart tremble. He wanted to hold her, longed to give his brave wife some kind of support, but for a moment he perceived in her a subtle liveliness

83 that momentarily mocked his beleaguered mind. A schism of rational thought was instantly raised, a wall he had no skill to traverse. Squishing footsteps approached the door and in seconds passed, taking the fortified remainder of his pride with them. His wife sighed. He worried about that momentary emotional detachment from his wife’s well being, and his defensive instinct. But what of all he learned of mortality? -It would soon become a merry-go-round for all the World’s children. He abhorred the thought of such a possibility. Here he remained. Their pseudo-mutual decision alienated him from his wife, and all their family had shared in years that passed so innocently, so that only he remained. Growing colder, hardened and more alone, he held the ghost of his son in a heart that slowly broke, with the turning of the door handle, and the doctor’s footsteps into the room. “My friends-thank you for your patience. First, your test results are positive. That’s great news. We have come a long, long way from vegetables and sheep. Just think, nearly a year ago you two were sitting in my office, overcome with grief from the accident, and the loss of your precious son. We have made strides in returning that lost joy to your life. Future generations will look back at this moment and your decision, as the pioneering endeavor that resurrects lost children. The science community mourned with you and now we are celebrating with you. You have made yourselves heroic examples in a world-fearful of change. Never again will anyone look at cloning as an irrational pursuit. More importantly, very soon, you two will have your son back again, healthy, happy…the way it should have been.”

84 Another Kind of Mother Anonymous

This mother can smile Just like any other She takes pride in her clan She loves like no other

Her loyalty is like steel She is a fierce protector She knows how to feel One cannot help but respect her

There is joy in her eyes She is steady in her devotion Her expression never lies Picture of motherhood perfection

Photo submitted by Allen Bouchard 85