The Quietest Place
He liked to walk home alone It was very quiet He could hear the gentle breeze It made the trees sway It was very quiet Sometimes the wind blew hard It made the trees sway He thought it sounded nice Sometimes the wind blew hard Especially in Autumn He thought it sounded nice When the leaves rustled Especially in Autumn He liked to walk home alone When the leaves rustled He could hear the gentle breeze Alexis Hendricks |
THS-LITX December 2019 Issue Featuring Work By: Habiba Abbas Easton Berry EDM Despina Drosinos Ariel Fletcher Elisa Hendrick Alexis Hendricks Coren Huff Lindsey Kester Carlos Lamoso Ashiya Lawrence Scott Morelli Samantha Nixon Oxley Elizabeth Telkamp Kenzie Voigt and Anonymous Poet Featured Artist: Earl DeMott |
Silent Night
A shimmering mist they walk, violet robes shrouded in ghostly white They speak in hushed tones to one another Communicating only through empty winds A storm, they say A storm carrying the favorable aromas of burning flesh and desirable echoes of shattering metal. On the fringes of the fields, scorched upon the ashen lands, a babe’s sock burns alone The babe, a gift of Eileithyia, swathed in ivory cloaks and golden kisses, reaches for her soft skin of honey Her laugh echoes throughout the marble halls, little bells and vanilla cream blending into the fireplaces, radiating Christmas Eve warmth Tiny fingers against calloused palms, they touch, curling reflections of the roasting chestnuts into each other. A feather kiss, their clasped hands, an embrace that yields the seeds of hot cocoa love Rosy cheeks curved towards little pools of shamrock They twinkle in the firelight, a soft glow, illuminating the depths of her abyss. A cavern of stalactites dripping rains; stale whispers They are screaming in the sun She unfurls their entwined hands, extends her arms towards the babe, an inviting warmth that beckons even the deadliest of souls. Come, she whispers into the furs, you are my North Star on a directionless night. My flower bud, a quaint thing, yet beautiful all the same. You will grow to be even more than I am, even more than all the stars smiling down on the sea. They embrace, the babe and the maiden, with doe’s gentleness and dove’s admiration. Marshmallows bob gently in fireplace’s vicinity, gray wolfskins pulse warmth upon chilled bones, windows glaze with virgin frost as flakes dance outside. She pulls away, the remnant of a tear stroking her rosy cheek, shamrock pools reflecting great decay into her chasms. Calloused hands linger for a heartbeat, unwilling to depart from the babe in cowardice Mourning dove laments her plight in hazed solitude Shallow footprints erase with snow, her handprints etched in the curve of stone. Anonymous Poet |
Winter Couplets
The silent night so bright The snow shining like a light All the kiddos snug in bed With their faces glowing red Samantha Nixon Fall of Winter’s Rule
A cracked roof, riddled with holes. Icy spikes stretch through and widen the structure. A crown of holly, wreathed in frost Fashioned to fit atop a royal head. The extinguished braziers warming the empty hall, The lone occupant, sitting on a cracked throne. Frost-wrung robes hang from the once-great ruler. A withered hand reaching out, beckoning the cold To come nearer and nearer. Ice fractiles stretch the walls, keeping the Cracked stones from tumbling to nothing. A single soul, living in the forgotten palace. The sun rises to its zenith, breaking apart the icy Tendrils stretching out from the tomb. Engulfing the entire chateau in flames. The rule of the frost-bitten one has come to an end, The joyous throes of Spring dance around the fallen throne. The new ruler, young and naive. Scott Morelli Illumination
I want to hold your hand through everything Keeping you isolated from the world Please do not leave for you are all I have Can’t, won’t, let the world corrupt what is mine The only light left in the dark tunnel This atmosphere is too toxic for us We have to get out of here to preserve Preserve the only thing left that is real Everything else is fake, it has to be Nothing compares to what you are at all Possession leads to obsession, it does So why keep something so precious away You are only hurting yourself, you know If you keep on, the tunnels stay, light gone Ariel Fletcher |
About the Artist
Earl DeMott is a teacher at Tallwood High School. He occasionally doodles and enjoys photography and art in general. Since teaching with the Global Studies and World Language Academy, he decided to celebrate the various cultures around the women with his Global Women series of sketches, all featured exclusively in this volume of Lit X. |
Tabby
The Tabby plays percussion with the tins, Its padded paws digging deep, Its head bobbing through the torn up bags, Its tail balancing the body. This hunt is in the darkness, In an alleyway of brick and grime, Back beyond the pedestrian care Of seasonal shoppers And the moon, despite its many golden rings, Shines on through the dismal clouds. EDM Untitled
I only want to stop the persistence, And the constant need for motion in me. It’s that motions define my existence, And my mindset can steer from the term “we”, And balanced equilibrium I must see So there’s less stress on my swaying shoulders. These shoulders have quickly become boulders. Due to nobody’s decision but mine. Most nights I feel like I need my holder, But sadly they accompany a fine. Coren Huff |
Pain
I have an excellent poker face. Sometimes it slips, But I always plaster it back on before anyone sees. You may be there, but I won’t share you with others. I don’t need pity when you visit me every day. People don’t need to know. I’m good at ignoring you. My finger hurts? Use the one next to it. My hip hurts? Stand on the other one. My tailbone hurts? Don’t sit down. My toe hurts? Walk on my heel. I’m a great liar. If someone says I need ice, I iced it earlier today. If someone asks how I’m doing, “Good,” is my reply. If people ask how bad you are On a scale of 1-10, I’ll always say a 2 or 3- Even if you’re more like an 8. I’m good at arguing with people. My foot looks swollen and bruised? No it doesn’t. It needs a wrap? I won’t be able to get my shoe on. It needs to be elevated? I don’t have anything to prop it up with. I can’t walk without a limp? Oh yes I can. I can’t put any weight on it? WATCH ME. Despina Drosinos |
Response to Two Poems
Based on "Nature" by Marian and "Light of the Moon" by Yosa Buson First ray of sunlight Breaks the eastern sky at dawn. The flowers open. Autumn’s dappled leaves Make soft paths under the trees. Sunlight gently fades. Carlos Lamoso |
Rise
The moon rose slowly. Darkness filled the sky and land. The light fled quickly. The sun shone brightly. The sun’s reflection glimmered off the waves of blue. Easton Berry |
Dreary days Dreary nights
I hate this weather This type of weather stains my vision It leaves blots of gray around my irises Everywhere I look there are specs of dust dancing in the sky Big gray elephants stomp through the clouds Leaving thunder in their wake Shaking me from the inside out and settling in my core I hate this weather This type of weather wakes me in the middle of the night Crumbling dead branches knocking on my window Asking me to sit and watch the lightning periodically illuminating my room Double pane glass feels like tissue paper The wind whistles in my ears and sleep has escaped me once again Kenzie Voigt |
Characters
It’s the way you act It’s how you interact That’s what they say That’s what builds character … But characters are created Characters are envisioned You become the character you envision yourself to be … If that’s so then why can’t I control my character Why can’t I build character Why do I feel like my character is building me Like I’m being controlled Like I can’t control ... I feel like a character Like I’m out of control I make myself change so drastically I don’t recognize the person in the mirror I wake up and look at them and they look back But we don’t see eye to eye … I am a character I act I interact But this isn’t how I envisioned myself I am a character. Kenzie Voigt Under Stars
In cozy arms lay a sweet silence cracked by a soft whisper of lovers in a blissful slumber. They dozed right back off to think of the other until morning unites again. Elizabeth Telkamp |
free·dom (noun) the state of being physically unrestricted and able to move easily
But what about the times When you dance or sing or talk Without being afraid? Afraid of judgement Or the invisible thoughts floating Around people’s heads. Not being afraid Of what others think of you is True freedom. Now think about the times When you have so much inside you It is bursting your seams. You display your emotions in a glass case For all to see, Without restraint. Being able to express Yourself is True freedom. But who’s stopping you From being free? Really only yourself. Even when your frail bones are chained, Your mind is free. Your thoughts can speak loud, And your small spirit Will make the biggest effect. If you let your mind go From the assumed chains, You will be free. What is freedom? free·dom (noun) the state of having no self-made chains on your mind and spirit. Eliza Hendrick |
Love
The feeling of love Sunsets in the mountains Starry nights on the beach Grass as vibrant as the galaxy Love is like plastic in the ocean Easy to find, hard to get rid of Impossible to obtain Lindsey Kester |