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HARMONIAFall 2012

ContentsLetter From The Editor…………..……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………3

PoetryMy Perfect half, Nydia Franklin.......................................................................................................................................4

Linger, Shana Rosenwald………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………5

THE NEVER NIGHT, Valerie

Krause……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….5

Daniela, Daniela Nika…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….……….……………6

For the Missing, Melody Beth Tomlinson…………………………………...................................................................................6

The Mad ones, Denise Rivera……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….7

she, E.V. Jackson…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….8

Memory lane, Jamie Rogoff…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………8

All we can do now is pay our respects, Melody Beth Tomlinson…………………………………………………………………….9

Nineteen, Erin Kratina…….………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..….9

One With The World, Erica Bass..................................................................................................................................10

El Espejo, The Mirror, Alcides Aleman……………………………………………………………………………………………………..…….….11

Ode to Generation X, Craig Shay……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….12-14

Different, Christine Talwar……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….15

Message in a Bottle, Jamie Rogoff...............................................................................................................................15

Uprooted Girl, Sabina Nicole Keough.............................................................................................................................16

Soliloquy, Ryan Hickam…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….161

[Transparent the Remix], E.V. Jackson……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….16

We are all stars, Ronald M. Ott…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………....17

Death waltz 29, Craig Shay………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………18

Where Have I Been?, Rich Darren Perez………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….19

The Year of Silence, Aileen Espina…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………19

Ode to Mr. Tomani, Eric Bellamore…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..20

Anxiety, Ashley Di Cairano………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….20

Burning for you, Samantha Childs…………………………………………………..........................................................................21

Fire in the Woodz, Travis Pierre………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………21

In My Eyes, Ryan Hickam ...............................................................................................................................................22

Given Pain, Christine Talwar...........................................................................................................................................22

Cactus Heart, Sabina Nicole Keough..............................................................................................................................23

Rimbaud’s Lost Manuscript, Craig Shay…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….23

SHORT STORIESKeys, Wallet, Phone, Professor Jennifer Person………………………………………………………………………………………………..25-27

Scorched, Samantha Childs.............................................................................................................................................28

Bryce Canyon, Jamie Rogoff..........................................................................................................................................29

Tom’s Monologue, Jamie Rogoff…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………30-31

Submission Information…………………………………………………………………………….............................…………………………….32

2

Poetry

3

My Perfect HalfNydia FranklinThe story that is told behind his eyes, the depths of his soul and the words spoken from those full luscious lips was the gateway to my heartI would not say that I was swept off my feetnor was it anything like “love at first sight” because then I'll be describing a fairytale and, for once my reality is better than any fictional imaginary beingHe won me over for sure, there’s no doubt about itbut there was a process and a journey worth going through to get to this moment in timeThere’s no metaphor or simile worthy of being compared to the meaning of us.How can I possibly write down somethingthat is much more than ink on a sheet and words forming a thought? Your smile brightens my days,your eyes give me something to worth looking forward to,your personality makes me melt and your presence penetrates my heart. if only you knew exactly what I felt for you.But then again that’s something words can’t explain. It’s an irreplaceable, inseparable, exceptional bond that I dare anyone to tamper with. We are the other's half and the completion to life.You truly are my will to survive and my proof of true love. Our hearts are playing the same beat and our souls are singing the same songThe sweetest melodyHe was my dream guy for certain, the true reflection of perfection…..

Then I woke up and this dream guy was no longer by my side.

4

LingerShana Rosenwald

The linger……………

Makes everything better.

Even gone I feel you here on me, around me, for me.

I’ve never felt such a height.

One kiss sends me over mountain tops,

Into the stratosphere and I strike the moon.

The strength of my enthusiasm dents the galaxy.

Kiss me again so I may see the universe.

The Never NightValerie Krause

Thinking about a poem I’ll never write, taking new heights to dark the night.Moonlit sky above the deep,constant moving for it to keep.Swaying willows and malleable ground,making trails in the midnight sound.Fore longing songs in simple beat,breathing air like a kind of feat.Content flutters surprise themselves,it’s how I’ve felt since I was twelve

5

DanielaDaniela Nika

Deeper than your thoughtsAss backwards with ideasNew introduction to eyesight I hopeEventually it will be you not only meLiving with insanityAlwaysSeen as one that makes no senseEven my creator questions meNika Isn't even my identityOr will it just be a part of meRemember my words as my philosophy

For the MissingMelody Beth Tomlinson

How long it’s been since I last saw you here:I dare not think of shadows time has cast,but rather think of days I once held dearand keep them close until you’re back at last.The sailing boats and times I saw you smileI put them close to heart to keep me sane.My skin your very touch itself beguiled;now sorrow’s grasp has settled in my veins.The while we shared in laughter by the beachwatching the waves in course along the bayI treasure them, as riches they keep each,for in them does your loving heart still lay.And mine does dwell there too in great concern‘til, out of fantasy, you may return.

6

The Mad OnesDenise Rivera We were the spitting reflections of those who desired sin

Rhythms of first night screams and brain blackouts

The mirrors for those who sought to bathe in shame

Craving domination, craving flesh

The ones who sought to break and crack to heighten their hypocrisy

Penetrating bloody knives and silver bullets

The ones who pointed the finger in order to popularize good morality…

Wearing fancy suits, clerical collars, and tallit

We were the spitting reflections of the insanity of world’s madness

Broken songs, torn holes, kaleidoscope oblivion.

All hail the euphoric screams.

The kind that plunged the poison needles of hypnotic sounds and hectic sights

Heightened senses, sensational numbness, placebo delight

The kind that gave bloody holes, broken bruises, and branded scar services

New voices crying, new chains clawing.

More needles, more abysses.

In return for our sweet and fire-breathing souls…

Corpse skulls, new disguise.

We were the spitting reflections of youth’s invisibility

Epileptic moods, murky currents

The mirrors for those who will never see the light of day

Black magic evolution.

They closed our eyes, so we flew away...

The mirrors that seduced the beings of dark shadows

We won’t haunt their circus of pleasure and pain

The mirrors that produced potent formulas of cowardice compassion…

As told by the blessed ghosts, dancing in the rain…

7

SheE.V. Jackson

She is me

She is my life

She is my love and forever more we will live in life

Of love and splendor forever more until the end of time itself.

Fore what is life? Without love just a never ending

Road of misfortunes and unhappiness without a turn

Off for success and rest. Not just rest for the sake of rest

Rest for the sake of life for which we all

Nourish from. “such’ as a flower nourishes from the

Sun and rain to grow

Such as we all must grow from life and love

That is why I am with she

Memory Lane Jamie Rogoff

I took a turn down memory laneSee that girl on the swing set? She was only 9.I sat down next to her, and looked at herWhen did I become 29?

She looked at me with hazel eyes,Tell me, am I what you want to be?

Coolly she looked back at me,Are you what you want to be?

Smiling, she turns away from meand walks awayDown the street called memory lane

8

All we can do now is pay our respectsMelody Beth Tomlinson

Tide pools bake their catch

gulls circling overhead

scare oysters below

As heat roils the sky

birds drop their prey on the rocks

careless, careless birds

Below sun-scorched cliffs

lay barren the shell of my life

I’m [so] sorry little one

Though the sun beat fierce

within the craggy rocks hid

my loved one’s pearl

Water pulls and turns

The world wasn’t ready for you,

say the waves, return

9 One With The WorldErica Bass

NineteenErin Kratina

The wrong man is nineteen years oldNo exceptions, three times.Nineteen with green eyes, or blue.We stay together for nineteen days, maybeNineteen minutes. I am nineteen yearsMore mature than him. I am nineteenSeconds in too deep. He is different in nineteenWays from the right man. He isStudious, he has tattoos, he is controlling.He gives me a list of nineteen ways to changeMyself and I spend nineteen hours crying onA nineteen-dollar bottle of wine. I write nineteenPassive aggressive blog posts, and field nineteen textsAsking what my problem is. I haveNineteen reasons to leave and zero to stay.My parents divorced when I was nineteen. DoesThis make me nineteen shades of fucked up?I read the nineteen letters scattered across my floor andWrite nineteen lines.

As the waves crash on the sand beneath my feet, kissing the shoreline, I stand firm.

The water washes away my troubles even as the floor crumbles under me,

I remain calmed by the soothing sounds of the ocean.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, I am alone.

I am one with the world around me and at peace with life.

No matter how chaotic everything seems, at this moment I am no longer worried.

I never want to leave this place but I need to get back to reality soon.

No matter how strong I stand,

The ground underneath is washed away by the everlasting ocean water,

Constantly changing form.

Slowly realizing the smooth sand between my toes is really just tiny bits of broken glass.

Waiting to be formed into something bigger; desperately longing to be with another.

I'm usually too busy fantasizing about the future to enjoy the present;

Saddened and disappointed that fantasies are far from real and will probably never be.

Today, I am sitting on the clouds admiring the sparkle of the stars,

Forgetting about the rain building up inside, the storm roaring beneath the surface.

They say ignorance is bliss, although it never lasts.

One of the most challenging things is change,

Accepting that things will never be how they once were.

Part of my life is gone and all I want is an escape from it all.

To feel the wind, water and earth, possessing peace of mind and self.

To find God in every molecule and finally be satisfied.

10

One With The WorldErica Bass

El Espejo / The mirrorAlcides Aleman

Cuando miras en el espejo,Que sentimiento ves?Si miras un Corazon que sangre azul y verdeMiraste el ultimo refleccion, ESA sentimiento encontrasteSi miras en el espejo y pruebas una palabra perfectaNo cierra tus dos oceanos de café por un SegundoAgarras la mano de ese refleccion que tu Corazon se buscaY dile todos los suenos que sonabas a traves de las estrellas en el mundoEn esa momenta cierra tus ojos y nada mas de una sonrisaY esa refleccion con palabras te transforma en una nina consentidaCon palabras y poemas la pasado de ella esta derrotadoUna sonrisa unisono parte las lagrimas del cielo y hace claro el nubladoY un gran realizacion que cada verso nunca va a ser el ultimoEl refleccion, la sombra que con un voz mistico mata todos los DoloresY hace eso no con dinero o cosas normalesLa vida esta completo con helado y cancionesUna amor puro,con esa refleccion lo mismoCayendo en los brazos fuerto de amor como el pasto ahoga en el rocioAlgo que sin fuerzo sientesLo ves sin la necesidad de limpiar tus lentesUN Corazon sangrandoAzulcafeverde el color que se caye perfecta en un mundo destruidola respuesta divinaEn el espejo encontraste tu mitad perdido

When you look into the mirrorWhat feeling do you see?If you see a heart, bleeding blue and greenYou’ve seen the definitive reflection, THAT feeling you’ve foundIf you look into the mirror, and the search is for that perfect wordDon’t close those two coffee toned oceans for one secondGrasp the hand of that reflection that your heart seeks soAnd tell it all the dreams that you dreamed through the stars of the worldAt that moment close your eyes, nothing more than a smileAnd that reflection with words will turn you into a spoiled girlWith words and poetry her past is obliteratedThe unison smile parts the tears of the heavens and clears the cloudsAnd the grand realization that each verse will never be the lastThe shadow, with the magical voice that slaughters painAnd doesn’t do that with money or casual thingsBut does that with sweets and songsA love so pureWith the paralleled reflectionFalling in the powerful arms of loveLike the grass that suffocates in the dewWithout force something to feelSeen without even clearing your glassesA bleeding heartThe color that falls so perfect in a world destroyedThe divine answerIn the mirror, you’ve found your other half

11

Ode to Generation XCraig Shay

whenNovember’s rain evaporates –

wet cement

Chasing echoes in the distanceechelons to disparity

Blackballed inertia

subjugated

claims of liberation

Confronted with expenditures

and financial analysis reports –

Devoid response

unacceptability

face painted unilaterally valorized

Guy Fawkes mask

offered

blackmailed Rebellion

Thinking it’s all so refutable

yet, on the contrarytotal acquiescence

to production deadlines –

All educated

write the Requiems

across multimedia lines

12

Manipulated pseudo-adults

No alternative likesimultaneously

blowing

Ambiguity of

Political end tie the chords

remodeled and adjusting to Romper Rooms

and

bureaucracy’s pretty nooses –

Inextricable juxtaposition

of the Mandelbrot set

exacerbation

caution-less

with the lights out

sometime ages ago

the counterstrategies that did not arrive

no Dream Songs

but absence

no message but

it’s less dangerous

no response13

challenging only the spectacle

of destruction

I feel stupid and contagious

obediently subdued into midnight silence

grafting antisocial

Pomegranate medication the excesses of wealth and exploitation

with no social purpose devoured

with contempt

recycling the negatives till immunity

and ill temperedness A fatal exposure to irony

here we are now entertain us

14

Message in a BottleJamie Rogoff

Bottle up love, so that

When you need itWhen you really need it

You have it

Bottle up happy memories

So that when you

Need them, you have them

There

Waiting for you

So bottle them up

and

Tuck them away

Hold them tight

A message in a bottle

15

DifferentChristine Talwar

I was raised with insecurities

Fear from love

Surrounded by hatred

Because I am different blood

Fear in my heart

Controlled my life

They were disguised as humans

Deep inside, they were gunmen's

Innocence in my mind

Made me suffer

A powerful force

As if I had no control

Tears in my eyes

Made me go blind

Shutting me out

For the birth of my life

Uprooted GirlSabina Nicole Keough

Egypt is where she was once a tormented slave,Many nights she was beaten into a cold grave,

Shed lay for hours in the abyss,Where she bled from her heart down to her wrist,Tragically she’d question if there was more to life than this,And if it was all over would she even be missed,Then, One night after sobbing, with tears of her own blood,While marinating her body in murky, soiled mud,A delicate hand shielded with light,Reached down and grabbed her with exceptional might,A force that was brilliant dazzled this young girl,As she opened her eyes she witnessed an incredible swirl,That suddenly spiraled up into the gloomy night sky,Leaving her questioning if what she saw was a lie,She looked down at her wounds they were suddenly healed,Then found herself kneeling in a flourishing field,Plucked out of her jail,She vibrantly hailed,“Miracles are realLove is all I can feel.”

SoliloquyRyan Hickam

To be or not to be, that is the question.I pose it to myself everytime I look in the mirror.Everytime we are lying down and she wonders what I am thinking.I have lost who I am, who I was, what I thought I would be.To be this man is not what I aspired or what I had dreamed.How do I explain this to her when all she does is smile?To be this man means giving away all of the things that have made me an individual.I want to be free, I want her and also want myself, though it seems both cannot mesh in harmony.I miss my friends, my family, the way I used to laugh, now I laugh like I heard a joke

though I don’t really get it.I simply cannot go on like this; to be like this and not be me will be my death.Romeo, Romeo, what the hell happened to this Romeo?My Juliet never used to have to wonder.This Montague just has no clue what he wants, who he is, and why his Juliet makes him

want to leave Vienna.

16

[Transparent the Remix]E. V. Jackson

I am transparent, I am translucentCome Look upon me, with your eyes of gazesI am Apollo, I am Zeus, and I am Achilles Without the hill of lifeFor I am a being of self, and of memories, and of my own existenceIs it a notion in itself? Although I may think that I am real,

For I am not Love has preserved me To persevere me, for myself To persevere me, for lifeTo persevere me, to live for eternal essence of soul and bodyTo which mortal man look upon meTo find their inner and outer self,I have the mirror of life, in myselfThat is why I am transparent

We are all starsRonald M. Ott

As I look up into the nightThis beautiful starry nightThe kind of nights I don't get back in Long IslandToo much light pollution from the shine off the big appleI gaze into the universeI gaze into foreverI see starsA lot of starsI don't think I could count them all and besidesthat would seriously cut into my personal timeAnd yet no matter how many stars there seem to beThe universe seems to have a placeSpecifically destined just for themFrom the three stars that work together to hold up Ryan's trousersTo the big dipper and the wannabe little dipperTo the brightest one of them all, smack dab in the middlePolaris the North freakin Star himselfThat's the star I would want to beIf I were a starIf we were all starsIf every single person on earth was a starAnd the universe had its own specific place for all of usUnlike Earth which to be fair is doing pretty good for herself despite the fact she spends her entire day hovering around the sunWhere would the universe place me?Would I get the freedom to chose my place?Would the universe place me smack dab in the middle?Would the universe make me the brightest star in the sky?Would he?Would it?Would the forever do that for me?...no...damn itI am not the brightest star in the skyI don't know what form of criteria the universe would select for such a decisionIf it were based on power and influence, President Obama would be the North StarIf it were based on wealth like an auctionOr a post-Citizens United election,Bill Gates would be the North StarIf it were based on speed like a really crowded 100-

meter dash,Usian Bolt would be the North StarAnd if it were based on brute strength Brian Shaw would be the North StarUnless the criteria is who is the most awesome person in the worldAccording to my momI am not the brightest star in the skyAnd you know what that's okayLike I said earlierThe universe has its own specific place for all of its starsThe powerfulThe influentialThe wealthyThe fastThe strongAnd even those who are none of the aboveThe average JoeThe above average JoeThe below average JoeThe universe will have a place for meAll nice and colorful, close to my family and friendsAnd together we all light up the skyTogether we shine as oneAnd all of us no matter who we areWe are all stars

17

Death Waltz 29Craig Shay

waltzing instep to cold windsblowing toward extinction

in the glow of computer screensas specters haunt American dreams

supporting wars with tax moneypretending there are no bodies no deaths

no innocent women men babies childrenin Iraq, Afghanistan, Liberia, Pakistan, Yemen,

Columbia …

submitting to the brute force of the U.S. military complex

while foreign cities are bombed to ash

quiet co-conspirators,“unaware” that the government

which preaches “freedom” “equality” “democracy”

is the world’s greatest purveyor of violence

with hands heldtightly over mouths

because the American Dreamis only the coma of consent

through a corrupt system of capitalismmonopolies and oligarchies

continue to profit off exploitation

citizens suspended in consumer hypnosisat voting booths, believing the illusions

fed by corporate puppets promisingice cream if we are obedient and play along

to the great charade called democracytune in and dream

a handful of powerful companiescontrol the music of your dance

the media providesthe chanting drone of obedience

denial reignslike a pistol

whipping every citizen over the head

too petrified to act against it

serfs and peasants,on vast plantations,

oblivious to the emergency

apathy replaces the wonder the mystery

there is a frantic buzzing by the windowa trapped fly thinking you’re awake

when you’re really deadthe spider in the corner half the size of his

prey

the sound of realityringing through the dream world the doorway

18

Where Have I Been?Rich Darren Perez

Must you know the truth?Hear me speak;Scream, if you truly understand,And imbibe upon this tall glass of vermouth!

I walk along this esplanade,From morning to evening,And peer over the horizon.Oh! What a facade!

You see, my dear,My horizon coincides not with the looming mountains in the distancesOr the glistening tides,Yet, it this scape in which I do tend to dream!Today I’m certain our souls cohere!

Once our love [was] an apsis,As life had our hearts promenading aboutA pother of inactivity,Rendering ourselves constantly amiss.

In this moment,I find myself gazing deeper into the labyrinth I do call my mind,Wondering as the skies tell me a storyOf seraphim drowning in euphoria.A tale of legend -- what a wonderful advent!

My dearest, this domainHumankind may never know.Yet, these complex simplicitiesSeem to be simple to ascertain.

Yet again,The bulwark rises to the heavens!Once more, the world is dazed in perplexity!I ask you, “Am I insane!?”

Existence dissipates in my wakeLike a mist into the nightWhen I forsakeAll I’ve been trained to loveTo loveYou.

The Year of Silence Aileen Espina

The atmosphere changes when you walk inMy neck hairs stand straight up as you brush past meYour husky stench fills the room but yet there is a hint of lilacA pink stain on the collar shows me what you’ve been up toAnd as I look at you I remember The shouting at night and the whispering during the dayWe pretended to get along, we pretended to love, and we pretended to be understandingI still remember hearing your hushed voice in the back yardbut no matter how low you were, I still heardI heard you talking about your “new”family, your new life.

You are the one I want to be withI would do anything for youThose kids? They’re probably not even mineWe have a new family to take care ofA new life, a new home and you’ll be my new wife

Do you want to tell me who you were talking to in the back yard?Don’t tell me to shut up, you shut up.WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT YOU THINK THE KIDS ARENT YOURS?!YOU’RE A NEW FATHER?! TO ANOTHER WOMAN’S CHILD?!You know what, I’m glad you’re leaving, go make your life with another

It’s been a year, where is your new wife with your new family?Where is your new home? You’re still here.You’re still here in this eerie silenceA silence that has filled the air for over a yearWhat does your voice sound like?

19

Ode to Mr. TomaniEric Bellamore

Once upon a time there was a teacher who assignedAn activity exceeding Expectation.Though thought knew I all school entails, The humdrum pass or fail travails,His lesson left me slack-jawedIn elation.

For five pages, he proclaimedYou will aim to write A narrative that builds upon this thought:You’ve been shrunk down to an atomNow describe the world around youLet your thoughts flowWrite me anything you want.

Of course this seemed at first a daunting taskAs I never knew a teacher having askedTo lemme share the adventures I’d amassed, in my head.I’d been swirling A Link to the PastWith The Monkey’s Paw ‘n friends in classTransmogrifying Calvin in lesson’s stead.

But I’ll put the pen to page, a painless tryRelease the Kraken Inner eyeHey, who am I to deny the teacher who tempts the absurd?And so it was June fifth of ninety-twoIn one thousand words and then a fewThat I stumbled ‘pon the outlet of written word.

And since then I’ve shared the voices that my head heard.

And gave life to dreamed chimeras Only pictured.

AnxietyAshley Di Cairano

Sweat on my neck,Sweat in my palms,Sweat on my head.

Can’t feel my hands,Can’t feel my legs,Feels like I’m dead.

Heart beats fast,Heart beats slow,

Blood stops flowing.

Start to breathe heavyStart to feel faint

Where am I going?

Try to let it pass,Try to ignore it

It doesn’t have control.

Controls my body,Controls my mind,Controls my soul.

I’m not going to make it,I’m not going to get past it,I’m going to lose control.

No.I’m not.

I’m going to be fine.

I have control of my body,My heart my soul,

My mind.

Defeat the feeling,Defeat the fear,

I have won the fight.

I am the strongest,I am a warrior,

I let my power shine bright.

20

Burning For YouSamantha Childs

You should not be hereI fear you will lose hope in this place

shadows dance across my windowbright crimson flames knock on my door

black tar smoke rises above my headtears sting my eyes

as I search blindly for you

my lungs closefill with smoke

I choke out your namesearching for you

I crawl on broken glassheat peels my skin, makes my hands, knees raw, bloody

pain surging its way through my bodyas I search for you

the scream escaping my lips sounds shaky, etched with grief

my body aches to be near you againI push harder to get past the sound of your

voice echoing in my ears

my burning flesh falls off prevents mefrom searching for you

the thought of never finding you awakens meI open my eyes, and find you sleeping next to me

my search for you is overfor you have never left my side.

Fire in the WoodzTravis Pierre

What do you see when you look at me afaceless body, a mindless entity

Well ill tell you and ill say it with pride as Ikick my feet and start my stride

I’m glad you see what you see because itmeans you use your time to think of me

Well ill put my metal to the test and showyou which one of us is the best

I try hard and I never quit ill show you thetrue meaning of the word wit

You try to rule with fear and pain but oneday you will hear my name

You’ll stop to look you’ll learn to listen andfind out what you life was missin

Now you know the true truth because mymind is my fountain of youth

So make your jokes and giggle with gleebecause you’ll never be where I can be.

21

In My EyesRyan Hickam

In this place that we used to call our ownIn this house we used to call our homeI sit in the middle of this room and wonder why you broke to other peoples viewPerception only became reality when you stepped out of our fantasyAnd now I feel so alone, sitting up at night and just wondering why

On this pillow we used to shareI ran my fingers through your hairAnd in this world riddled with goodbye’sAll that mattered was how I saw you, In my eyes

The door closed behind you and my heart sank to the floorIf life is a maze and love is a riddle, I just can’t do this on my ownFloating along, everyday just feels the sameAnd now that your eyes are closed on us, try not to forget my name

And on this pillow we used to shareI ran my fingers through your hairAnd in this world riddled with goodbye’sAll that mattered was how I saw you, In my eyes

And in these months gone by,I fight off the memories of you and IAs I lay my head down like I need to doI see a stray hair that belonged to you

And on this pillow we used to shareI see this single piece of hairI look at it and wonder why we ever said goodbyeWhen all that used to matter was how I saw you, in my eyes.

Given PainChristine Talwar

How hurt I amI cannot explain

a toothpick is stabbingmy heart in vain

Tears wont flowStrong I must be

even thoughNo one understands me

Something is wrongWrong with me

For pain like thisto keep following me

Fickle my heartOh how fickle it can be

Believes every wordpeople say to me

You wont understandYou can't change what you did

You weren't there when I needed youThat's why I turned to this

Pain I swallowIt's food you've given

Poison in my drinkOh how my body wont function

22

Cactus HeartSabina Nicole Keough

You would assume I am thirsty in this dire heat,

Or that my needles would cause others to quickly

retreat,

You would conclude that my flowers were only for show

Or that if someone didn’t water me I would never grow,

But what you don’t see in plain eye sight

Is that I am flourishing with waters of integrity and

might,

Under these thorns you call choked up defenses

Breeds the strength to survive all forms and pretenses,

To you I require little maintenance… but I know better,

I know how to absorb all I need in good and bad

weather,

For I was strategically placed in this atmosphere,

All I need dwells in my structure enabling me to stay

clear

Of beasts that lurk when sandstorms arise,

When mirages start to mesmerize,

When signs and wonders appear in fallen skies,

And soldiers forget to break ancient soul ties,

I stand my post and flaunt my spikes,

A cactus heart survives all flights.

Rimbaud’s Lost Manuscript

Craig Shay

Words from his lost manuscriptwashed through the oceans.

They filled the skies with black inkand blotted out the sun –

Seasons stopped arriving.

Peasants were locked awayfor simply repeating the title.

Bands of musiciansgathered in cemeteriesto light vigils for its ghost.

Girls in the streetswould quicklyflash their breastsif a verse were quoted –

The sea laughed every nightdrunk with the intoxicating images.

The emperor tried to vain to contain it,and massacredthe individuals involved with its survival.

Farmers burned their harvest in protest,the pyre raged for twenty-nine years.

The smoke made everyone in the empire blind.

Only the vague memory of the poems remainedwritten in the sand on the shorelines of the mind.

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Short Stories

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Keys, Wallet, Phone Professor Jennifer Person

For now, as far as she was able to remember, every time she walked outside, all she could see around her was a crinoline of death. Even in the early springtime, it stood out among the crocuses and irises that had finally struggled their way through the earth and took their places to be known as the harbingers of renewal. Although this was cause for celebration, for inhaling the new, for hope, for renewal she only saw the scraggles of old grass and the chain link fences that bore the rust and wear of the winter. When she started to think this way she could faintly remember –it had something to do with feeling alone and small in a great wide world, of feeling like those around her would disappear, evaporate into the ether and she would be alone in her apartment while the world kept spinning along. She felt she would spend the hereafter looking out the window and trying to remember the smell of the wind. She had separated herself so greatly from the outside world that she faintly remember the time when she did not see catastrophes – fires burning only to give warmth rather than consume, a day at the beach not ending in drowning, a walk in the woods ending in not being attacked by bears. She became after a life of many struggles a one woman Greek Chorus – sitting on the sidelines, crowing about sadness and missed opportunities, over conscious of her good fortune and therefore always decrying it, a woman who had everything but acted as if all were denied.

She often wandered through the house picking up objects and putting them down and looking outward and inward as if to say I know this. I know this.

Years ago she had to stop herself from the habit of breaking things in anger – to the point that she would hold in her hands objects and think of them as broken rather than smashing them to the ground.

It would not be a catastrophe if the vases that once held roses met their end and fragmented away; glazing the kitchen floor with shards of colored tempered glass. No one would really notice or care, really. That would only be a small accident, not a full blown horrific incident she rationalized. Not really. Not really.

It is the small things that we remember and it was the cast of mind that she remembers changing at first almost imperceptibly from the daily upset over the misplacement of car keys and phone and wallet to becoming a ground in fear that she went through every day. As soon as she would find one, it was if the others would make a secret sign to each other in the apartment and spirit themselves into unused handbags and into pockets of coats worn weeks before.

Losing one’s keys, wallet and phone every day takes practice that extrapolates into small burning fires of catastrophes associated with losses stemming from childhood and meandering into the crevices of adulthood. Here the pressure to get organized, to keep it together, to function, to win each time at this unending game of hide and go seek, to hold in your hands the thing you need to communicate, to pay for, to speak through to keep connected to everyone when you are out of the embracing arms of your home. Without one of them, catastrophe simply murmmers, the loss of two of them causes panic, the loss of all three results in unbearable immobility and a fear of having lost all – limiting your actions, your speech, your life. These are the daily catastrophes of loss, common, personal and far reaching. She was someone who always felt the loss of these things minutely and their importance and she would pat herself down like a police officer over and over trying to find them in her pockets, fearful even when they were right there on her person because she could not recall where she last saw them. Her concept of Heaven was the place you went to where

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everything you ever lost in your life was given back to you. Although those around her always told her that if she left them in the same place this all could be avoided that even when she made the effort she always forgot one or the other and then got trapped into unknowable cycles of fear that again, feeling something had been lost, a fear that doubled back on itself like a cobra swallowing a rabbit, an endless circular gulping of her self confidence on her way out the door each morning. It felt like an internal tsunami where at days end she would come up out of the water grasping all three triumphantly like a trident as the waves receded.

The loss of her car in parking lots daily is too frightful to recount here; as is the fear of not turning off the iron.

And then she would look out around her and at the face of her husband and think that he would die. She did this so often over time it became a truth that was not real and she lost all perspective on what was happening and what was not. The chalk outline that separates all of us from one another had become blurred and she felt herself sitting square in the middle of his, feeling inextricably that she would have to die if he did. Her friends and family treated this idea with exasperated scorn and her attitude of impending doom earned her a position among those who knew her where she was no longer listened to. This felt more like a windstorm to her – this taking away of her breath, her words now having no power, the repetition of these ideas became only strung together syllables of cacophony and false alarm, a groove in a record, her breath wasted, her voice silenced.

The need to look for the worst possible outcome is, what she realized late in life, was universal and not an exaggeration of woe.The tendency, however, to treat losing a pen with losing a partner now seemed ridiculous and as the realization made it’s way inside her she breathed inward and said “Yes. Yes –that feels good –stay right there” and started to go about her business, keys in hand.

The flames started only to flicker, outside the world eased its grip on her mind, the suppositions of death were tamped down until they became the possiblilties of what could happen rather than what would happen daily. She came back to a gentler knowing of herself and replaced the castrophic thoughts with the actions of enjoyment.

For starters, she bought a kite. She figured that this was a happy thing, an unusual purchase, a touch of whimsy on a February afternoon where the wind was picking up and setting down as she trawled along the pebbled beach that crunched with each step and provided plenty of stones for throwing without the danger of glass houses or the stares of strangers who no doubt would label her eccentric. This was a way away from the rising prices of gas, the reality of supermarket lines and the everyday moments that take up the day when before you realize it, time has passed and you are left holding a ball of string, a tangled kite and making memories that will fade.

As she became more ambitious she branched out further and further, loking for objects that would bring her joy. Swing sets, hula hoops, bubbles, - all these were tried on like last years fashion and discarded one at a time into a pile in the corner of her bedroom where she kept them as reminders of trying to be happier.

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She delved into passions – cake decorating for a time, painting pottery, belly dancing, but nothing seemed to hold other than the usual restive enjoyments of reading ensconced in blankets and looking hard at the tulips she always bought for herself as a reminder that things would always get better.

At first this road to joy encompassed simply a walk around the block on the first day. Just a step outside for some fresh air. It was a day touched by small, almost minute particles of snow and she felt the flakes land on her corneas and seep instantly into the sides of her eyes, making not tears, just water.

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ScorchedSamantha Childs

Her heart is racing. She takes seven shallow breathes trying to calm her nerves. She

has never been put in such a palm sweating, leg twitching position before. A position where

her decision would not only affect her, but her future as well. The stark white walls, sterile

equipment, and the quiet pitter patter of the ultrasound machine didn’t help the situation either.

The doctor had informed her that she was already six weeks pregnant.

Six weeks ago Marissa thought she had everything under control. At 19 she had never

attended a house party, and for four years she was invisible to her peers. She decided to attend

Ren Stevens’s house party. When she arrived at the party people were packed into every corner

red solo cups littered the floor, drunken teenagers spewed out from every room. Marissa decided

to explore the house she made her way upstairs peeking into rooms until she found the one she

was looking for Ren’s. She sat on his bed it smelled of the forest after a midnight rain. Resting

her head on his pillow she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The subtle shifting of the bed awoke Marissa as Ren slid behind her. His arms encircling

her waist and he drew her back against the curve of his body. The warmth that filled her when

his kiss moved along her neck sent silken tendrils through her limbs. When they kissed it was

like a flaming arrow scorching its path into the core of Marissa’s body. One of his hands pressed

against the small of her back while the other slipped beneath her shirt, caressing, exploring. “I

love you” he whispered, kissing her again. “Me too,” she said almost gasping as his lips moved

along her jaw. That was all it took for Marissa to give herself away to a boy she barely knew,

it was her first time. Now six weeks later here she was about to terminate a pregnancy alone,

because she knew that her life would forever change if she kept the child of the boy she thought

she loved.

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Bryce CanyonJamie Rogoff

One of the quietest places on the Earth has to be Bryce. Bryce Canyon in Utah seems to just absorb all the

sound. When I was there, there were a lot of people around me; even so the sound just peters out.

The quietness pervades everything. Even the breeze just brushes past your ear with a small “shoosh” sound. The

quietness only amplifies the colors, since it is the only thing assaulting your senses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many

shades of orange, red, white, or brown in my life. Much less so vivid, so alive. On a sunny day, Bryce is just so blindingly

bright. The canyon stretches to the sky, the crags and peaks seem to be supporting it. Those many crags give the canyon

a wonderful profile. Bryce Canyon is so picturesque it seems surreal, like it’s too beautiful to be really there, even

though it’s the only thing there for miles. Just miles of orange, brown, red, crags, and ravines, or so it seems. Bryce has

some green too. Trees speckle the canyon then suddenly grow in good sized clusters, where they can.

On the hiking trail to the bottom, pillars of irregular stone rise up from random places in the canyon. The hiking

trail is called the Switchback because of how the trail is carved. While going down the trail, the people often look up at

those pillars of rock which seem precariously perched, and wonder how they do not fall down on the other tourists and

hikers below. At the bottom, the trees are suddenly life sized, and sound is no longer absorbed into the air. One of the

small clumps of trees in the middle of the bright rocks became a small forest of trees. The rock down there by the trees

recedes, leaving only normal soil. Anyone who has taken biology class could explain why that is. At the bottom, there are

some animals, small ones albeit, such as chipmunks, some birds, probably lizards and insects. There’s probably a whole

ecosystem down there. Down there, Bryce suddenly seems real, unlike when at the top. Maybe it’s the sounds. You can

here the bird calls, and the wind isn’t as quiet or meek. The sounds don’t float away like at the top, rather they bounce

and roll off the trees, dirt, rocks, and people. Sounds stick around in the air like in a normal place. Maybe that’s why

Bryce doesn’t feel real, at least not in the beginning. It’s also why looking out at Bryce from the top of the canyon stands

out the most in my mind, rather than down at the bottom of the canyon. Don’t get me wrong, the bottom is beautiful

too, looking around at the trees and up at the walls of rock. Even so, because the bottom was more like a real place, it

doesn’t stand out in my mind as much as the silence or view from the top of the canyon.

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Tom’s Monologue Jamie Rogoff

When I walk down the hallway some people glance at me, then quickly look away, hoping I haven’t noticed them

looking, afraid that I’ll pick a fight. Others are more nonchalant about me—meaning no reaction kind of nonchalant. I

don’t care, either way. I’ve always been a bit of a loner anyway. So what’s a few more wary people? A few more pairs of

eyes that see me, but don’t. A few more opportunities lost. So? Happens all the time, ya know? Like I said, I don’t care.

I’ve got more important things to think about. If people didn’t pick the fights with me, everyone else wouldn’t be so

jumpy. But, hey, whatever, most of those guys are all talk and ego, nothing serious. One good punch and they run. Don’t

get me wrong, I don’t ask for these fights, I don’t enjoy them. I try not to get inta them, but they always push me till I

lose my cool. See, normally I’m laid back, no sweat huh? You don’t bother me, I don’t bother you. Problem is; people

don’t see how I normally am. They don’t remember. They prefer to remember the fights. Selective remembrance. Better

stories ya know? Of course it doesn’t help that once I nearly got arrested for assault. The police officers were just rolling

by when I slugged the kid in the stomach. Great timing, huh? It was alright though, surprisingly several people who were

watching actually told the truth; that it was mutual consent. So we both walked away, not even a charge for disorderly

conduct. Still, you know how it goes. Rumors fly. Reps stick.

My little sis tells her friends how I really am. That I’m not the fighter, not a bad guy, not a pushover either. That

really I’m nice, even sweet. She knows me well too. First thing I do when I get back home after a fight happened; I grab a

Coke can, go to my room, and start reading either the Iliad or the Odyssey. She told me she knows how bad it was based

on how fast I walk to my room. She’s observant like that. My little sis then walks into my room and throws herself onto

my bed next to me and gives me the biggest hug. You wouldn’t think such a big hug could come from such a little

person, she’s only thirteen. Then she always says to me “It’s ok Tom, I love you.” She’s sweet like that. She means it too.

Then I always say “I know, Michelle. Thanks. I love you too.” That always makes her smile. Then she starts talking to me

about the latest things her friends have gotten up to, in their craziness. That’s always fun to listen to. See what I mean?

Michelle’s so sweet and innocent. Her friends are like that too. Like once I took Michelle and her friends to the local

amusement park and it started pouring. We didn’t have an umbrella so I took off my jacket and gave it to them so they

could use it to cover their heads at least. At first they didn’t want to use it, but I convinced them I was fine walking in the 30

rain. I even started singing. When we got back to the house, Michelle’s friends were all ready to go make chicken soup in

case I had gotten a cold. I persuaded them that I was fine. I told them that it actually helped me, cause after that

downpour I didn’t need a shower. Yeah. It’s because of little things like that, that my sister thinks I’m nice. I guess she’s

not wrong. But how can she be completely right? I mean, it’s not for nothing that a third of the kids don’t came near me,

another third of the kids don’t care, and the last third use me as a measuring stick to judge strength, not that they win. I

don’t care. So what? Like I said before I’m a loner. I don’t need anybody. It’s just me against the world. The loner against

everybody else. Isn’t that always how it is? The lonely loner.

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HarmoniaFaculty Editor: Professor Williams

Student Editors: Emily Besthoff and Erin Kratina

Dear Readers,

Thank you for making this semester’s Harmonia so fantastic, we got the most submissions this semester yet. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed editing it. We are looking forward to next semester!

Happy reading!Emily Besthoff and Erin Kratina

If you would like to submit to HARMONIA for the spring semester send all submissions to: ireadbooksman@gmail.com with Harmonia in the subject line.

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