NCSSM Blue Mirror Volume 7 Issue 1

8/3/2019 NCSSM Blue Mirror Volume 7 Issue 1

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IntheTub ABeachinCalifornia

OntheRoadHome

Thoughtsto

t

Powero

fTwo

Ashtray

Home

De

Amicitia

Rebellious

PowerStruggle

Holocaust

Virg

inity

Mag

noliaG

ods

Assimilation

Porcelain

rythin

gto

Learn

from

th

eCla

ms

GraveFr

eedom

Vol. VII

Issue I

Fall 2011


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DockNina OndonaDigital Photography

ONE


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My sister guarded the door,

a sentinel at the exitand gave the okay

to engage in battle. I could smell

its fear. It smelt of

mud, then soap, then lemons.

I reached out and was clawed

and before I could retreat

another smell: blood,which filled my nostrils with copper.

Step by step, my sister

came to my side at no-mans-land.

Water, then soap, then wet fur

which stuck, plastered its body.

I grasped. My sister poured

more warm water. I cringed and lifted

her dripping cat

out of the tub. I held his body

and wrapped him in warmth

First in a towel. Then in arms. Then in sleep.

In the TubErna WoyeeInspired byIn the Well by Andrew Hudgins

two


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A petroleum slave with shattered shackles

Escapes the imprisonment of great-grandfather carbon,

A fugitive briefly to be returned to a fiery reincarnation

While, breaking our promises, we choke his children

With the smoke of his own cremation.And while grains of sand mingle with long-lost beer bottle shards

We sweep them all under rugs and call ourselves benevolent masters

To have returned the plantation to such a virgin state.

Cover your tracks

And mask your distilled perfumes

With resin and musk

So that the last man on earth might hide from his despair

And believe he is the first.

A Beach in California Jordan Harrison

three


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Passageway Into the SeaHolly Modlin

Digital Photography four


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Autumn is coming. Soon. Soon. Its the way of the world. After

autumn, winter arrives. Let the seasons spin.

You called to me many times before, but never bearing the perfect

orthogonal of a blade over your chest. I cannot see past the haze

of years, but your words crawl past distance and time and comfort

and I have never heard anything more beautiful.

But beauty is not the most glorious cry your heart vibrates to. Itsyou, its you, and I cant help but to think of winters and frozen

crystalline blue, the exact color of shivering lips, splayed thinly

over your lawn as we engraved footprints into the ice that would

not last forever.

And I envision: snow is falling over the city of New York, sparing

nothing but the steam like silk, blooming like the last white

gardenias over our coffee shop. Memories like that are the

worldthose that havent been made yet. The days of our future

have been pressed upon my bones so much so that they bleed into

my past, as my ribcage aches to breathe against the delicate flutter

of memories that do not exist but in

timelessness.

So let me take that blade from your hand. Let me lead the way

back and melt the frozen plains of your fingers. When summer

comes, well caress the dunes of each of your fingertips that

evince your existence.

Well watch the seasons spin.

On the Road HomeJessica Gao

five


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Desert Flower Selena HamiltonDigital Photography


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Berries Selena Hamilton Digital Photograph


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(Sometimes, I wonder.

I wonder what youre thinking,

where your mind visits while we talk.

I try to figure it out sometimesmostly by looking at your face.

I never come up with anything sensible.

After a while,

I realize that it might be better

just to ask,)

How do you feel?

eight

Thoughts to the Powerof Two Svend Larsen


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I sit. I sat. I am sitting in the waterfall

Coming from the shower

Head pounding my scalp

Trying without success to wash

Your fingerprints

From myself

That smile

That bright white

Row in your perfect

Mouth the one that spilled

Lies, broken promises

I should have listened

To the voice in

My heart

That said In a boy

Who smokes

You should take

No part

But the smoke

Left me in a haze

My clothes were permeated

I washed them

Three times

You were notWho you said you were

And I will never

Forgive you

For sprinkling your ashes

Onto our time

I was not your ashtray

You owed me

A goodbye

Fingerprints on an AshtrayEmily Boaz

nine


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WiltingRefection

Je

nniferAntoniono

FilmPhotography


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8 MinutesMia de los ReyesWire & Paper


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This past summer, I lost

What I had once called

Home.

It was

Sad, ironic, cold, beautiful.

The dew still clinging to the cacti as we walked with linked arms,Hands intertwined,

Feet pacing awkwardly,

I walked her

Home.

It wasnt

Any surprise.

The sun clung to the lip of the calm, expansive, pacific ocean,

Rays ablazeAnd shoreline to define what was

The boundary between

Earth and Heaven.

Time was moving not too slow,

Nor fast. For once in my life, I could feel

Happy, going

Home.

She rips away at the frayed ropes, with

Gestures disturbed and rough, as if to hold back the angry torment boiling

Inside

And I begin to count to 10.

1; Whats the matter?

2; Nothing

3; You are never like this. What are you thinking?

4, 5, 6; Aboutyou know.

7, 8; Yes. You can say it.

9; How did you know?

10; Ive known since then.

And I ask her for two favors; To let me carry her and to turn around and walk back

the way she came until she returned home.

We hug tightly. She abides by my rules. I do not. I lose composure.

I run

Home.

Then I kiss my abode farewell. And the sun falls into its magenta slumber.

H

omeJaehy

eongLee


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Handing me sweets which

Burst onto my open palms,You smile,

I didnt have a container.

Your blunt apology infects me with a grin --

Dont you know that the food is the packaging?

De AmicitiaIan Maynor

eleven


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Iridescent PavoJamie DicksonDigital Photography

twelve


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UntitledTyler KissingerDigital Photography

thirteen


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Shave your legs, though it can make you bleed,

And pluck your eyes to tears, because you need

To look the way that theyd expect;

Trust me; its a sign of your respect,

Though you show none for what I believe

And that is what is my pet peeve

Cause theres an easy way, and a right way

And I think Ive a right to say

That right now Id like not to conform

When I see a problem with the norm

Please give me time to figure out

What I think my life should be about

I know Im wrong I know Im mean

But keep in mind Im just sixteen

And in my mind I cant amountWhy grades and work, why they should count

Much more than the way that I do dress

While what I think, why is that less?

And I know, mom, Ill lose the bet

To never wear this new corset

Its just Id like to be the one to choose

cause mom, its not about the shoes

Im just afraid that if I lose

The girl Ill be

Will have lost the right to be called me.

Rebellious Power

Struggle

Emma Dedmond

fourteen


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The windowpane I had been resting against vibrated sharply in sync with the purring of the

storm. I lifted my head just enough to see over the windowsill. Lightning flashed across myeyes in an instant, and I figured that to anyone watching at that moment, it must have been

beautiful: to see white streaks across a sea of deep brown. The thick glass fogged from the

humidity, but I did my best to make my way through the thick droplets to watch that

ongoing war called nature. The rain fell with tenacity, as if it intended to punch straight through

the anthills below my window. The ground rose up with each drop, as small clumps of dirt

exploded upward. To an ant, Im sure it must have been tremendous. To me, it meant a day

inside. Funny how an apocalypse for one is a lazy day for another.

Holocaust Zack Fowler


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I did my best to calm the storm with my mind; to stop the apocalypse, but to no avail. The

Earth would roar on without me. But, who am I to stop a storm? Then again, who am I tosave an ant? I had no right to interfere. If the rain was so determined to destroy those hills,

perhaps I should have let it. Perhaps, the ants were meant to die that day. They had never

done anything for me. After all, it wasnt me that was dying; Im not an ant. I suppose I

could have run outside and saved them. I could have sheltered them; been a pillar of love

and support. I could have stepped in and been the calm in the storm that they had prayed

for. But, Im feeling lazy. Funny how an apocalypse for one is a lazy day for another.

Was

itallaD

ream?GraceL

amblin

Digital

Photography

sixteen


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Its all in the name.

If we didnt have a word for itit would lose the weight

that hangs heavy on each letter

and all the gasps and whispers and rumors

would fade into backdrop -

just another fact to be stocked away.

Nameless, we would ignore it:

theres no poetry written over

your first cup of coffeeor the first time you paint your toe nails blue

or that one day in second grade when you used

the left swing

instead of the short one on the right

and afterwards you never went back.

Its all in the title.

They call it losing your innocence,

but Ive seen plenty of naive girls with wide eyesfall prey to the lures of their bodies,

and Ive seen cynics turned rebels

with vows of celibacy

(not that theres anyone worth doing anyway, they say)

since a definition doesnt create meaning

it just explains it.

We can find the difference

between 4 letter words

-love and lust and you know them, kids,

the ones you cant speak -

and we can say you lose it,

but honestly,

one moment doesnt rewrite a history.

I am whatever I want to be called.

VirginityJennifer Kronmiller


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Lego Love Navina VenugopalDigital Photography


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Following in His FootstepsNavina VenugopalDigital Photography

nineteen


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Words drop like

Stones

(stones)

(stones)

Through the weightless ether.

A hush of the melody, jangling softly on

Broken notes, fading imperceptibly in the distance

A perpetually decreasing Shepard Tone.

No meaning, and no end to the meaning.

One thousand ways to survive, but

Only one way to live.

Blazing pulses of superficial delight

Glaze over our eyes

The light turned off just enough, indiscernibly,

To startle when turned back on.We perceived a hopeful world, an eager road

Disappearing in the near misty distance

But that was only the light playing tricks

On our eyes.

Two chopsticks diverged in a yellow wood

And II chose both because I could.

Bent over, picking up splinter by splinter

Off the brown and red and whitened roadWhere the sand lay in swirling eddies of dreary purpose

I dusted off the pieces.

Hazy patches of shade

Reached into the road

And shaded me from the glare.

AssimilationTina Zheng

twenty


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When I was young I was young, the magnolia trees were gods.

Their branches spread wide, inviting my sister and I to play.

We were heroes and adventurers.

We were Tarzan and the branches were all the jungles in Africa.

We didnt think of Gravity, only of the wind and the white flowers.

I came back when I was older.The magnolia trees seemed less.

Not smaller or thinner, but no longer gods, and not so different from a nearby fir.

The branches look weak, and I dare not test their strength.

I know better than to climb, lest Gravity remind me that I am hers, and not the winds.

But, I can still remember the Magnolia Gods.

Perhaps dreams of adventures in jungles arent lost.

Magnolia GodsAbigail Gruchacz

twenty-one


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Egress

TylerHayes

DigitalPhotogra

phy


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Jennifer KronmillerGraphite Pencil on Paper

twenty-three


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Tall and regal

With a pompous air

Long neck poised; roses in her hair

Face to the sun; she smiles in the light

Relatives gawk; shes my mothers delight

But a gentle touch or a slight caress

Sends her to the floorfate does the rest

And then she weeps; broken; distressed

Once, a work of artNow, a mess

PorcelainErna Woyee

twenty-four


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Do you know how a pearl is made?

Ill tell you

There must be a sharp grain of sand, a pain

In the soft body of a clam

And the sand, it hurts, it burns, and so the clam

Secretes digestive fluids

To soothe the pain, coating that grain

Until the pain is healed, and the clam cannot feel it

There, is a shining bright, beautifully whitePearl

And that, my friend, is how a pearl is made

Everything toLearn fromthe Clams

Rachel Shore

twenty-five


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Horse Nina Ondona Digital Photography

twenty-six


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Pavement Matt SummersDisposable Camera

twenty-seven


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I have something for you my friend.

Some people live their entire lives searching for it,

But you, old pal, get the easy way.

Just give me your all and we have a deal.

Deal?

If you are hesitant, look around,

The rocks will tell you what theyve found,

With my help.

You see what I offer is something simple,

But very hard to get.

It is commonly called acceptance,

And well, sweetie, I have plenty.

For I do not judge the person I see,

For the person before me is rotten.

We maggots dont judge,

We just eat

And we are accepting of all fresh meat.

Grave FreedomEvan Scarborough

twenty-eight


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Documents

NCSSM Blue Mirror Volume 7 Issue 1