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Literary Arts Society Presents
The Mosaic
In a Handful of Dust
Fall 2003
A Special Message from the Chief Editor
Under the devoted guidance of our former chief
editor Ann Metz the Mosaic has grown more structured,
colorful and, in my opinion, better all around
.
I have had
the great pleasure of seeing four semesters of growth
working as an assistant editor. Now, in spite of their
wisdom, and most likely by virtue of some gross
miscalculation, the leaders of the Literary Arts Society
have bestowed upon me the title of chief editor. Though
I find myself particularly undeserving of such a position I
have done my best to continue the tradition, as exampled
by Miss Metz, of steady improvement.
I have endevored to create a balance between tradition and progress
.
In years
past the Mosaic has been a compilation of beautiful words and images which we have
been blessed to recieve from our fellow students. This, of course, is at the very heart of
the Mosaic and I would not dare to change it. But to go a step further I have retained
this format for the first and more substantial portion of the magazine and simply added
on a second section. In this section, not listed in the table of contents, each of the
assistant editors and
I have
taken words and phrases from the works listed before and
compiled
them into
our own "Mosaics." These works show how the pieces in the
magazine can be reimagined
by
six individuals. On the final page these compilations are
then recompiled
to make
one group
poem
created by our entire editing team.
It
is
my
sincere wish
that
all of
the
works
here
listed in both sections be appre-
ciated
by the
student
body.
Chief Editor:
Dan Buzi
Assitand Editors:
James Burns
Katherine Toale
Jennifer Cherry-Woode
Cindy Pierre
Jessica Friedlander
Advisor: Dr. Richard Grinnell
Fragments from The Wasteland
11
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers ...
11
•••
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You canot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water
...
11
•••
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon--0 swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
...
11
~T.S
.
.
Eliot
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1
Break 10/15/03
Rick Ambrosio
2
10/10
Richard Pinder
3
NoLonger
Justin Calderon
3
Untitled
Anonymous
4-5
The Girls
J. Tara Smith
6
Untiled
Lindsay Taylan
7
Machine
DanBuzi
8
To be Continued
James Reyes
9
Untiled2
Lindsay Taylan
10-11
Crazy
Phil Di Vuolo
12
Untitled
Richard Pinder
13
Cosmic Voyage
Justin Calderon
13
Untitled
FunkKnight
14
Jonny Jockin'
Jessica Licciardello
15
9/7/03
Indigo Nothing
16
Untitled]
Lindsay Taylan
17-18
Pain and Heartache
Ethan
L.
Landers
19
Conversation Piece
Jessica Licciardello and Nichole LoGatto
Front Cover Art: Untitled2 by Richard Pinder
Back Cover Art: Untitled2 by Alex Soter
20-21
Lotus Eater
Michael Traynor
22
Untitled2
Lindsay Taylan
23
Snow
Timothy Griffin
23
Colors of Closure
Indigo Nothing
24
Intentions 10/27 /03
Rick Ambrosio
25
Vicky's Secret Model
Jessica Friedlander
26
HomeNow
James Reyes
27
Lusting
Rick Ambrosio
28
The Outsider
AmyLau
29
Scars
Timothy Griffin
30
Untitled]
Alex Soter
31
Heaven's Sonnet
Justin Calderon
32
9/11/03
Indigo Nothing
33
Untitled 3
Lindsay Taylan
34-38
American Mosaic: A
Eric Hess
Work in Progress
39-40
Hook
Michael Traynor
41
Untitled 4
Lindsay Taylan
42-44
Tranquility Gone
Toni Williamson
45
Untitled
Jessica Licciardello
Break 10/15/03
Rick Ambrosio
TheMosaic
I feel like quoting Shakespeare,
In this 7
th
inning stretch of our lives,
The fall off half-life of our undigested smiles
.
This case here holds it,
The key to everlasting resistance,
The loopholes to our professional hatred
Everything your eyes deceived themselves with.
Culinary intricacy with your forward thinking
,
My Thantos footsteps echo in the dark,
Our take backs render no continues
,
And I am alone.
You're alone.
Were we liars to ourselves?
1
2
Fall 2003
10/10 by Richard Pinder
No Longer
Justin Calderon
The Mosaic
No longer does grief and sorrow stand at my door
,
No longer am I passed out life-less on my bed.
Perceiving my life as a chore,
Till my eyes run tired red,
No longer is my mind troubled by doubt,
No longer are my hands burning cold,
At last my lungs can breathe and shout,
My eyes now beam so bold,
Finally my conscience stands joyous, no longer blue,
My lips glisten, and stand true,
No longer concealed in denial,
No longer housing thatforged smile.
Untitled
Anonymous
hair pulled taught, ear tucked,
long butterfly eyelashes mesh with invitingly precious tan skin,
sitting, on lofted up cushions.
packed cotton bowebuddha legs crossed.
firm
lipped thinking
,
i stare, waiting for her glance
,
but satisfied staring at her.
3
4
Fall 2
00
3
The Girls
J. Tara Smith
It is at times amusing to watch them, her, Girl
#
1. She goes o
u
t,
qu
iet, alo
n
e,
invisible to everyone else. No one knows where she goes or where s
h
e's g
on
e to.
But she comes back with food in her pockets
,
food for the girl sleepi
n
g i
n h
er be
d
,
Girl #2. She comes back, leans over the inert body and empties the loo
t
fr
o
m
h
er
pockets. She does everything for this Girl #2, as though this girl were a
do
g, a cat, a
pet that needs looking after.
Girl #2 just lies there
,
subjected to
h
er kisses. She lies
th
e
re m
a
king
s
o
f
t
squeaking sounds
.
It's late in the morning, a
l
most afte
rn
o
o
n, a
nd this girl h
as
hardly
left the bed of her host. They've been sleepi
n
g si
n
ce seve
n
or eig
ht l
as
t nigh
t,
th
e
t
w
o
of them.
If
you could call it that.
The door to the room is always closed so that they are shut off fr
om
everyone else; isolated and restrained to each other, the be
d.
They only ve
n
tu
re
away from the bed to work on music videos, to talk to their collective frie
nd
s on
l
ine,
and to otherwise ignore each other while captivated in the hyper-real of
t
he
electronic world inside that black plastic box, a Dell
i
f you please, precario
u
sly
balanced on the host's desk. They leave the room only to eat, shower a
nd
em
pl
oy
the ladies "powder room." Aside from these outer-bed activities, t
h
ey remai
n
apart
from everyone, everything else other than each other.
Girl #1, the host, was never the affectionate type. She'd freeze w
h
e
n p
eo
pl
e
so
much as brushed the skin of her, her face skewed up into an expressio
n
of
extr
e
me
,
physical discomfort. Now I'm watching her fawn over this murm
u
ri
n
g guest.
That's one of the stranger
a
ttributes of this guest
-
girl
;
she doesn't talk, instead she
onl
y
murmurs quietly
.
Indecipherably. She lies there in that bed murmuring to her
master as
the host lo
s
es herself in that box
,
eyes glassy and unseeing
.
Girl #2, her jet-
black
h
air
tangl
e
d and spr
e
ad out around her face and body
,
flowing over and into
t
h
e creas
es of bed sheets and pillow covers, murmurs at the inert figure seated just
b
a
rely beyond the reach of her fleshy
,
pale hand.
She rustles the bedding, the sheets, dis
t
urbing t
h
e peacefu
l
ness of t
h
e
bed
,
and slowly, with muc
h
effort, forces
h
erself i
nt
o a s
ittin
g
po
s
i
tio
n. Enrobed in
a
ra
s
pb
erry r
ed
si
l
k
t
a
nk-top w
i
th m
a
t
c
hin
g s
h
o
rt
s,
her h
air
falling
i
n knotted chunks
The Mosaic
5
over her shoulders and face, she dejectedly starts to investigate the rations laid out
for her with care, wrapped in napkins stolen from the cafeteria. Eventually she
reaches down to select a toasted, plain bagel, still warm, and begins spreading
cream cheese on it. Even as she eats her bagel she murmurs, she is a constant
stream of muttled sound, always there but barely distinguishable.
The host, that tiny Girl #1 whose slight frame and boyish clothing make
many people mistake her for a frail little boy of eleven, turns herself away from the
box. It's frightening to see her body physically shudder in the shock from ripping
herself out of the ethereal, electronic reality into this benign realm instead.
She turns to watch the girl eat. She turns to pet the long jet hair and soft
white skin. The girl purrs under her mistress's hand, never removing her eyes from
the figure she so adores as she nibbles with uncertainty at her brunch.
There are people talking outside the room, people moving around, doing
their day-to-day things. These are Girl #1 's housemates. They dare not touch the
door to her room, fearing they might intrude on some intimate moment between the
two. Their respect of privacy and fear of intrusion comforts Girl #1 as she stands
up from her desk to be closer to her guest.
With a gentle though powerful gesture one would not expect from one so
small she takes the half chewed-up bagel from the hands of the girl and with the
pad of her thumb whips away a tiny smear of the pale cream cheese. Girl #2, of
course, looks up stupidly and adoringly as the host leans over her, forcing her to lie
back on the bed. She looks expectantly at her lover, her lips, and murmurs begging
for satisfaction.
Only when her squirming body and pleading lips have begged and suffered
enough does the host grant them peace, pressing her lips roughly to those of her
languidly purring pet. Somehow, she maneuvers her way onto the bed beside the
girl and together they find a way to hide beneath the layers of blankets and
comforters. They lay there, the two of them, purring, petting and murmuring to
each other before dozing in and out of dreams.
6
Fall 2003
Lindsay Taylan
The Mosaic
7
i am 100%-genuine-all-American-recycled-post-consumer-waste / this taste in my
mouth is nothing but plastic bags and oily rags/ what a sad sad bunch of bits I've
become so young and
s
o far to go/ want to vote for Jesus in 2004 but what do I know.
It's such a slow slow march towards the Sargasso Sea of dumped out dreams where i' II
someday sing and know what it means to still be here and completely unseen
and of my dream so young what shall I become ...
leaves of grass// my ass/ I'm becoming smoke stacks/ Whitman can be a bird and
choke on my black gas/ crass to say such a thing// yes// but listen to the words I sing.
rusty
metal pipes cigarette butts burn baby burn crude oil nuclear submarine silicon
valley from sea to shining sea rubber hose welding leads iron tired lean baby lean
propane
tanks and sperm banks
this
is the world i sing
got rubber clan kin' feet. robot to robot i greet; every post-consumer boy and girl i
meet.
our cheeks; drip with melting plastic sugar. i hunger to grow old and paint myself
younger and young:
viagra. ginseng
.
cod-liver oil. anything. balls of a beaver, heart of a
bear.
old rusty
knives
.
my share. my share. face-lift. tummy tuck. keep me young. want to fuck
.
recycled car parts. pacemaker for the heart
.
dream a little
dream.
WONT START.
wont start. Prozac
.
Paxil. my pills.
stay
still.
Ridilin
.
feed the kids. FEED YOUR KIDS. Captain Crunch. a honey bunch of
cardboard oats. open up your throat. processed sugar. machine chokes
.
LIVE
FOREVER: ah .
.
. hope.
sterilized
dripping plastic ice machine// old child/ dying dreams// undead monster/
obscene/
life through a
pipe/ how
will you sing//
Dont
pull the plug. ANYTHING
Anything//
old machine/ rust
machine/
how will you sing/
how
will you sing?
8
To be Continued
James
R
eyes
you open you wallet
to pay for your coffee
F
a
ll
2
00
3
and her eyes
l
ock o
n
yours
and you stare at her picture
that's still in your wallet
a month after she's gone
but it's only a picture
you've lost her she's left you
and there's no turning back
you've tried and you've called her
to tell her you' re sorry
but
she
wont take you back
and
her picture still is there
when her picture screams a thousand words
and no apology can be heard
over the pain
and
frustration of your heart
because
all
has gone wrong
it
all has gone wrong
so you
pound
your
fist against the wall
but
it
doesn't make it any better
it cannot
make it any better
it's gone
her love is gone
h
e
r picture in your wallet
burns a hole in your heart
so put it away
place her picture in the frame
then smash it on the ground
The Mosaic
and watch your dreams fade away
as it all falls down
9
Lindsay Taylan
Fall 2003
Crazy
Phil Di Vuol
o
Cra
zy? T
h
ey say I'm crazy
.
They put us in a whiteroomanddon't
e
ver l
et
us
ou
t.
i
don
t think i was ever normal. My parents were norms my brothers and
sist
e
r
s we
re
norm
s. i was a freak. Not anymore. Everybody here is
th
e same as m
e
.
N
ow im a
no
rm
. D
a
d
s a freak.
i
kn
ow i was a bad kid because dad hit me. Youre so annoying Youre so
st
upid Get
away Shut up Shut up. SmackPunch YellHitCry
.
Mommy yelled at
d
ad a
nd
said Its not
his fault He cant help it. i can help it. im a bad kid. i kille
d E
lyse
.
Elyse teased me in school. Elyse deserved to die. Did die
.
She yelled at me shoved
me called me Freak. i pushed back one da
y
. She died because she fell on the steps
.
Not my fault. Elyse was a norm. Deser
v
ed to die
.
People here are mean. They pushed me in
a
room and feed me. Sometimes. Theres
nothing to do here. i sit and scream
.
i think about Elyse
.
i killed Elyse. Murderer
.
M
u
rderer
.
They call me Murderer
.
i didnt kill Elyse. Elyse fell. Dad didnt kill me. i
fell. i just didnt break like Elyse did.
D
ad doesnt come to visit me. He never said goodbye
.
He said Hes a mur
d
erer He has
to go. Mommy comes to visit me. Sometimes. She calls me her little angel. i tell
mommy i have a little angel too. Elyse is an angel now. i made Elyse an angel. Elyse
says Thank you. Mommy cries when i talk about Elyse
.
i say Mommy Elyse deserved
t
o d
ie Elyse was a norm Now im a norm Youre the freak now mommy. Mommy cries
and leaves. im sorry mommy
.
im sorry i killed Elyse
.
D
a
d p
ushed me dow
n
the steps once. i wasnt doing anythi
n
g wrong. He
call
e
d m
e a
bad n
ame a
nd
pus
h
ed. i fell
do
wn Crash
.
Mommy trie
d
to
hel
p. i hit m
omm
y M
omm
y
hit d
a
d Dad hit
me
.
Ho
w
do
y
ou lik
e
it
Y
ou
fu
c
king
murderer. Wh
y
cant you die like
Elyse
.
i killed Elyse. Dad killed me
.
Almost.
The Mosaic
11
i didnt
want to come
here. Stop Stop Dont take me Leave me here. Mommy said i
could stay. Dad
said
Hes a murderer He has to go. i screamed
when i
left. i
scream
when im here. i hate
it
here.
i
want to be home. Home is where the heart is. Home is
where the hurt is. They pulled me
away
from my mommy. Mommy dont let them take
me. They put me in a car and i screamed Let me out Give mommy back Give me back.
Give me back Elyse.
Elyse hit
the
ground hard Crack. Blood on the floor. Elyse on the floor. Elyses blood.
On my hands. Elyse up in heaven.
im
in hell. This
is
hell Let me out Give mommy back
Give me back. Give me back my life My blood My mommy My little
angel.
im
mommys little angel. im not daddys anything.
im
daddys little murderer. Elyse fell
down
the steps.
Not my
fault. i just
pushed
.
Dad
said i had
blood
on
my hands. She
bled
when she
hit the
ground.
Not my
fault. Not my fault.
i
dont
think i was ever normal. i
dont
think. i kill. i killed Elyse.
Mommy
says Youre
perfect.
im her little angel. Dad says Angels dont kill people Hes a
disgrace
Hes
unsafe.
Mommy said Shut up Its not his fault. i screamed Its not fair im not a bad kid
.
Dad
says Good kids dont kill people. i didnt kill Elyse She just fell. Leave him alone
Its
not his fault He doesnt know what hes doing. He does know It is his fault Hes a
murderer
.
i dont have any friends here
.
Everybody here is a norm
.
Boring. i talked to one
person.
Bryan
.
He died
.
Got shot Bang
.
Blood on the floor. Not Elyses blood
Bryans
blood. i dont care. i never liked Bryan. i just talked to him. He was a freak
.
Deserved
to die.
i was
always like this i will always be this im a freak im
mommys little
angel im daddys
little
murderer im a
norm im
a
bad name
im a
bad
kid im in
hell
im
hungry
im unsafe im
so annoying
im a disgrace
imperfect
im stupid im a
liar im not different
im special im
trapped
im sorry
im
sorry im sorry
im
sorry im sorry
Im Crazy.
Crazy? They
say I'm crazy.
12
Fall 2003
Richard Pinder
Untitled
FunkKnight
Shh Shh
Cosmic Voyage
Justin Calderon
The Mosaic
Life is a vortex of emotion
,
An interstellar vo
y
age
of
OliscC)
l:
e
iy
and strife
,,
Set by the cosmos
.
mto
mottoo
Known
simply
to us
.
as
life
.
Happiness
,
sadness, misery, and doubt,
Confusion
is the only question I attain.
No earthly scholar could soak this drought,
No worldly physician could ease my pain.
Could one person
be
the cause of this and never confess
Striping me and of my personality and success.
Another appears; a new light in your worldly void
But as with time, it's fleeting; over and destroyed.
You try to escape the vortex but it pulls you back in,
Is
Ii
ving by your emotions really a sin?
Don't you hear that?
Souls of men and women screaming out
Letting you know about their plight
Letting you know why they fight
Of course you don't
You just hear the drum
Acting dumb
Bobbing your head
Shaking your ass
Getting down to the beat
While tortured souls scream out
Praying for help
13
14
Fall 2003
ou sit and watch
fi
·
tonlye
•
"
·
r
on thegrain
........
': 2ilf!i{mffw
les
The Mosaic
9/7/03
Indigo Nothing
It appeared
tome
that he was elusive and the seemingly
agi,ngtimeregainedits youth and flighted my grasp. As I watched
my
fingers;
twiddle on the silver keys of my
Samsung I felt
sorrow and regret as I agreed to his deletion from my life. It felt
hard but necessary. Even in those last seconds I thought of why.
Why am I trying to be better? And I hate to think that I'm
satisfied with you although you may not be as special
asl
thought.
I don't think you can understand that
oceverwill and I know I
won't explain. I think soul searchingly thinking you may still be a
good man but I don't want you to be and that's because I' 11 start
to believe in you
.
Time's teaching has shown me otherwise than
to take a man's
words
as truth. The music plays an example to
my ears of a lying Marine and an over-hopeful ex on the tracks of
a
"Best
Man" soundtrack. Quite ironic, the bes.tmenjustaren't.
I'm full of doubt that I wasn't another drunken sight of affection
.
.
I just need you to not say a word and
speak
fluent body
language
and let me know you're sorry. But you won't and I can
'
t say
rtr
forget. For now until I'm ready, show me something more
because this dreamer has been rudely awakened. I need a lullaby
sung with the lips that satiated my sexual hunger and intellectual
appetite. But enough of my needing, exactly what do you want?
What do you really want me to do?
15
16
Fall 2003
Lindsay Taylan
Pain and Heartache
Ethan
L.
Landers
The Mosaic
17
September 10th was a good day for Timmy. He was finally starting the 3rd
grade a week late and a day after his ninth birthday. Timmy should've started
school a week earlier but the roof of his school collapsed and the school district
didn't have any extra space for five hundred kids. Timmy was excited about school,
excited about seeing his friends. He was so excited that he could hardly sleep the
night before and he ended up waking his parents an hour before the alarm clock
was set to go off. His dad John was a fireman, a ten year veteran, and his mom
Laura was a librarian at the local library. Timmy's dad was supposed to work
today, but he switched assignments with another firefighter so he could drop Timmy
off at school and pick him up from school. Timmy's dad was now scheduled to
work the 11th.
Timmy had a great day at school. He saw all his friends, developed a major
crush on his teacher, and even kicked a homerun in a game of kickball during
recess. He was so excited when his dad picked him up from school that he spent
the whole thirty minute car ride talking about his day. When they got home Timmy
and his dad played a game of Madden 2004 on X-Box and waited for dinner. They
were having Laura's special baked ziti for dinner. At 6:30pm Laura came in and
told them dinner was ready. After eating Timmy and John watched a little TV until
Timmy's bedtime at 8:30. At 8:30 John put Timmy in bed and kissed him goodnight.
It
was the last time Timmy saw his daddy alive.
At 11
:00
John kissed Laura goodbye and walked to the subway station a
block from their house. Forty five minutes and a transfer later John walked into the
firehouse and went upstairs to change into his uniform. He then went downstairs
and watched Baseball Tonight on ESPN and fell asleep in the easy chair. When he
awoke it was 7 :OOam and all the other firefighters were downstairs waiting for
breakfast to be cooked.
It was the last meal for most of them.
At 8:45am on Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 the fire alarm rang and the
dispatcher came over the speaker. He said that an airplane had hit the World Trade
Center and that the North Tower was on fire. John and his fellow firefighters got in
their fire truck and made the three minute drive to the World Trade Center. They
18
Fall 2003
had all heard the low flying plane minutes earlier but none of them knew
what
it was.
John and his group of firefighters were some of the first on the scene. They
immedi-
ately entered the North Tower and went upstairs. They started to fight the fire and
evacuate people. Then the second plane hit the South Tower. John and his group of
firefighters were instructed to stay in the North Tower. They were still helping
people when the South Tower collapsed. John and his fellow firefighters could not
understand the garbled transmissions over their radios telling them to get
out
of the
North
Tower.
So they stayed and helped people until the
North Tower
collapsed on
top
of them.
Timmy had
never
seen so many firefighters in
one place.
There were over
five
hundred
of them at his dads funeral and they were all dressed the same. He and
his mom had their own limousine and firefighter escort. As the service at
the
grave
progressed it was time for Timmy to place a rose on his daddy's casket.
He
placed
the rose on the grave, fell into his mother's arms and started to cry.
This
was the
worst day of his life. He would never see his daddy again. He imagined all the other
little boys and girls that lost parents that day and he cried harder. Timmy had never
known so much pain in his short life and every time he would think of his
daddy
he
would cry harder. He thought of their trip to Florida, and he cried. He thought of the
numerous Mets games they went to, and he cried. He
thought
of September 10th,
his first
day
of school, his last day with his daddy, and
he cried. He
cried.
The Mosaic
19
~
. .
.
i
·
·:
·• .
/f
~·
i
'
t
i
~
.l.
20
Lotus Eater
Michael Traynor
Your face is built like paper,
Easily wrinkled, and veiny,
Greenish tendons branching
Through your cheeks.
Fall 2003
You are plantlike in your death,
Your buds rusted over,
Your petals dripping earthward
Like a teardrop,
Wilted and skeletal.
The sun has killed you.
It's lapped up all your chlorophyll,
Siphoned all your color,
And you lay there, dumbly,
Naked as an onion,
Clearer than air
.
Your face is veiled in smoke,
In silver wisps
That creep out like
An afterthought.
It's scent is sweet and potent,
But it chokes me
.
A forest fire rages in your lips,
Sprouting outward in
An orange, leafy swell.
You have burned and eaten
Many of your kind,
The flowerbeds engulfed
A virgin sacrifice.
Arsonist,
The sun has got you now,
And he has burned you
Blacker than religion.
He has tossed out
All the maps you drew of
me,
All the watercolor canvas of
My skin, and the way you
Remembered it feeling.
I must head south
To save my memory.
The noonday sun arises
As you smolder,
Half of what you were,
Unknowable.
I must fight for my autonomy.
I cannot stand the smoke,
The Mosaic
And the sun so full of vengeance is
,
What sends me
Running for home
,
21
22
Fall 2003
Lindsay Taylan
Snow
Timothy
Griffin
A biting wind whistles,
Throws snowflakes about.
White tornadoes walk the streets,
Numbing to the bone.
Trees grow heavier,
Bare branches tum pale,
Stretching for earth below.
The roads, once dark,
Now a pristine spiderweb
.
TheMosaic
Colors of Closure
Indigo Nothing
The sky rips these colors of blue
White and purple-pink
Open right before my brown eyes,
Sitting here on cool green friends
That always seem to understand;
Silent listening patrons and singing birds
Lightly decorate the carressing breeze
I'm starting to realize
I'm fine
I'm truly going to be fine
and already am
23
24
Intentions 10/27/03
Rick Ambrosio
The cookies were never sent,
My heart the alter.
Fall 2003
Throwing it far for conscience bind,
I hide behind my motives.
Caster metal blinders into
binocular view,
I steel away my heart,
For purpose of palatable.
Set the screws to my mantle,
and unearth my intensions.
I'll fall asleep tonight,
Trying not to remember your name.
The Mosaic
25
Vicky
'.s
Secret Model by Jessica Friedlander
26
HomeNow
James Reyes
Fall 2003
He had just returned from Europe.
It
had been a month since they last saw each
other
.
All he had done was thought of returning, returning to her, holding her, kissing
her. Flowers in hand, he rushed through the crowd in the mall. He had to get there
before she got off of work, or he would have missed her, his destiny being
prolonged
.
He stepped onto th
e
moving escalator and rushed down the stairs. He
headed towards the store steadily increasing his pace. Then it happened, his heart
fell to the floor in a thousand shreds. The flowers soon followed making their
journey from his hand to the cold, dirty tile.
There she was
,
in someone else's arms. Kissing someone else
'
s lips
.
A million
thoughts raced through his head but one singled itself out from the masses,
screaming at him "leave
,
leave" he turned around and walked away
.
She pushed him off her disgusted that he would even attempt such a thing after
how he had treated her
.
Her hand met his face with a hard blow with all the pain
and torment she had held in her heart. She turned and walked away from him.
Angered and frustrated she stormed through the mall making her way to her car. As
she was walking she felt something under her foot
;
she stopped. Lifting her foot she
found a bouquet of white roses
,
her favorite
.
Wondering, "Why would anyone
leave these just lying here on the ground?" Dozens of petals fell to the ground as
she picked up the forsaken bundle. She searched for a card or anything that would
signify the rightful owner of the orphaned roses. Opening the attached envelope,
she read it to herself and gasped
.
"I love thee" signed by her lover
She put down the bouquet and ran.
Lusting
Rick Ambrosio
9/9/03
The Mosaic
I can't bring myself to kill an angel,
De-feather it
,
Rip the wings,
Tarnish the halo, dirty the linen
,
Too much for all my desires to quen
c
h
,
My heart isn't in it.
I may not have seen the inside of a church in a while,
But I still know God is watching,
Watching my hands
,
and her too perfect face
,
And no sorrys or prayers will return her
To her proper place.
Place me in chains,
Burn me if you will
,
Hold me in dark bowels
Full of spite and stone faces
So I don't hear the siren
'
s voice.
27
28
The Outsider
Amy
Lau
Fall 2003
In between the desert and the Carribbean
Islands
lies the massive ocean. The journey out of the
dry, hot desert - formidable and agonizing.
Arriving
at
the ocean
shore,
the ocean tide and
waves
came in. The next
few
days spent
traveling through the
waves
to find my way in
the Caribbean,
yet,
found myself lost in the mist.
It felt as though I was heading
farther
away
from my destination. Almost as though, I
was
viewing
the "older
and better me"
-
my future
which was calling upon me. I clearly
viewed
my future destination - my new position and
success, yet finding the right path through the
ocean seemed
impossible.
I was in a state of
dilemma not knowing whether I was going to be
victorious or remain outside my dreams. With
every tum I made, it only seemed like I was
sailing farther and farther away from the
beautiful Caribbean Islands. I wept but
couldn't let myself return to the desert, as my
heart told me not to surrender. So I'll
eventually find my dreams and the newer and
better me. Hope is not gone unless one
surrenders to her fears of failure.
The Mo
saic
Scars
Tnnothy
Griffin
Whenever you feel close
,
She appears in your place
.
Whenever I wish her gone,
She walks alongside me.
She haunts me always
,
Because she hurt me
.
She haunts all my thoughts
,
Because I loved her.
The pain is hidden,
Where few can see it.
The pain lies inside
,
Where I can't reach it.
Sometimes I want her gone,
Allowing me to heal.
Sometimes I want her here
,
Leaving me to cry.
29
30
Fall 2003
Alex Soter
Heaven's Sonnet
Justin Calderon
The Mosaic
Amidst the beaming light and the clouds break,
Lies a place we can only dream to see,
Every soul flying hitherto awake
,
Glad to at last fulfill their destiny
.
Shades of purple and gray absorb the sky
,
Nesting such a placid, tranquil abode,
While seraphim whisper a lullaby,
Bestowing you with what the heavens hold.
Where beauty's maw holds bountiful grace,
And light glistens you through to new frontiers.
Man's psyche could never draw such a place,
So gorgeous that none can harbor their tears
.
At last once that day comes, here we shall meet,
When our lives are satisfied and complete.
31
32
Fall 2003
9/11/03
Indigo Nothing
Tumultuous times are upon us
Or
what
used to be us
.
He said to me that we
always
knew how it would end.
A feeling washes over me
.
I feel uncomfortable saying it's hurt.
But it just might be.
I wonder if when
The time stops again
And our eyes meet.
..
The lips of another in a night's lapse;
This one stole a kiss,
I swallowed a memory.
Mumbled constricted lies.
The Mosaic
33
Lindsay Taylan
34
Fall 2003
American Mosaic: A Work in Progress
Eric Hess
Oh beautiful!
Another song
To sing
For the eagle and the flag
Thatflap
Uberalles.
A parade of geese
Stepping in time and in tune
With the one-eyed man's band.
It's the song I hate.
(Viva!
the
Y.A.F.)
I love America.
The idea of America is genius,
But it has too long been misconstrued and misused by
A Confederacy of Dunces.
But you,
With your cap your daddy gave you,
You take the cake,
Among other things,
You ignorant, spoiled brat.
The idea of America was beautiful, wasn't it Walt?
Faux Captain! Not my Captain!
When will your reign of terror be done?
Your pirate ship cease its attack? Your Proph(f)e(i)t war be won?
I will have nothing but contemptuous, clenched fists
Until I salute you as
Citoyen Cape( t )-on.
Somebody blew up America
And you let it happen
So
You could have a new America
The
Mosaic
For a New American Century
.
A
merica didn
't
need to be born
agai
n
A
me
ri
ca c
a
nno
t
be
bo
rn
agai
n
It's an
ti-
American.
Rome was once a piece of land on the Potomac,
Until after ol' Georgie W. chopped down his cherry tree.
He cannot tell a lie.
Maybe that's why there are
Jase es
in the Chamber of the House,
Decorated with laurel for the State of the Union,
Or a picture of his apotheosis,
Capped by an idol Persephone,
In
a temple of Jupiter.
C.R.E
.
A.M.
Check the money.
Ann
u
it Coe
pt
is.
Novus O
r
do Seclor
u
m.
The millennium came and went
And nothing happened, except you.
The Second Coming.
You will
Yourwill
Will lead us
To the end of the world.
35
36
Fall 2003
And in preparation
Pat Robertson's continues his mission-ary work in the West Bank.
And the 5
th
column's still searching, still marching, still progressing.
Another 1,000 years isn't that long to wait
For another Millennium,
Reich?
You know the power of symbols.
Propaganda and control of the public mind.
Just watch Murdoch's turkeys
strut
and go,
"Gobble, Goebbels, Goebbels."
(We
are all Goebbels children, fed on Guns and Butter)
Talking heads,
Paper
"people"
with inalienable rights,
Logical bedfellows scratching each other's backs,
Relieving each other of responsibility.
Passing the buck along.
Discourse is a weapon of mass destruction
And
you've loaded it like Fat Man and Little Boy.
Structuralism and deconstruction.
You may not have known that they'd fall
But you knew how they'd look,
And that you could provide the words for a speechless America.
"Let's
Roll."
You had the bumper-sticker machines already fired up and ready,
Empty slogans slapped on full tanks.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!
While our Saudi friends are still in power.
Like junkies, friends of circumstance and mutual benefit,
Fuck it, we've scored our own shit,
The Mosaic
To shoot into whatever vain we have left
At speeds
Faster than our anachronistic, ration-al speed limits,
That only hold back progress.
faster, Faster, Faster!
harder, Harder, Harder!
America, they've fucked us all and now we
'
re nothing.
America, how many billions in debt, March 20, 2003?
I can't stand that you don't mind.
American when will we end the human war?
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I can't write my poem without my prescription
.
America when will you
be angelic?
There are no angels in America.
Only men masquerading
As prophets and saviors.
Men are created equal
And endowed
By the system of power that they created and now wield
With certain alien rights,
Like the pursuit of property.
The rest of the world is equally
37
Women, Blacks, Hispanics, Palestinians, Asians, Homosexuals, Godless Anarchists
Who have the right
To bear children for them,
38
Fall 2003
To work for the convenience, pleasure, and enjoyment of them,
To make them feel at home,
To confirm their masculinity,
And to prove their God-given purpose on this earth.
America,
This is not right.
America,
This is not American.
America,
You are not America.
The genius of America was,
'Why?"
America,
Just ask.
Hook
Michael Traynor
Pink anemone,
Our lower lips shut
Upon each other,
Like stubborn oysters
Sucking on their pearls,
The perverts.
The Mosaic
We attract like a sideshow, sickly;
You, the contortionist
With your tricks and
Retractable limbs, and I
The acrobat, dumbly walking on twine.
We dance
The dance of fishing hook
And fishing line,
I in the tap shoes and
You in the magic hat,
Head full of rabbits.
It is not a dance
One might see in Bolshoi
Or New York, but a back alley
Slipperless dance,
The waltz of the homeless,
The flies like a buzzing pit orchestra.
And I, trout mouth,
Wide as woken eyes,
Maneuver each step, each sidestep,
Of the sad, aweful dance.
I ingest every wriggling worm
39
40
Fall 2003
As
they
drop through the surface
Like stars.
My body quakes after a while,
Throat closed and stomach distended.
My body heaves, and
I spit up some shiny thing,
Some ivory bauble
That sparks and awes,
Carved of angel's tusk.
It
is white as a baby,
Tender as a wound,
And as we drift apart,
You seize it from my tongue.
You take my treasure.
And now, with my lungs
Uncorked, the water pours
And weights me like a fat sack of flour.
It
was all leading up to this,
The great gasp, the skin blue
And sliding from bone.
Look at me, the near-dead,
Worthless as a sea star.
What has happened to me?
I am this dark thing
That sickens and terrifies,
This thing we hate and hate.
My mouth only smiles
When the hook curls its shape,
And drowning is
The best I can swim.
The Mosaic
41
Tranquility Gone
Toni Williamson
There is nothing but mounds and mounds of dirt and rock and red clay. Surrounded by a
thick forest of tress and luscious mountain laurel on
all
sides, the dirt lies in pyramid piles scattered
throughout the clearing. In the center of the clearing is a big hole, the beginning of a foundation.
It
is
peacefully quiet here, not even a single cricket is chirping. The only sound in the early dusk of the
evening is the slight warm breeze rustling through the forest. The only movement is the gentle
sway
of
the branches and the flickering purple of the mountain laurel. There are many different types of
trees
in the forest - maples, oaks, pine and birch are a few
.
Some have fallen over and lean precariously
on others, forming a support system. None of the trees
are
thick; they are tall and thin,
and
yet, the
forest is terribly dense and difficult to walk through because of the thick mountain laurel. The
mountain laurel is deceiving. It is so stunning to look at when its purple flowers are in bloom but its
evil lurks in its roots and stems. Its roots squirm underground attaching themselves to other mountain
laurel roots until all the mountain laurel roots are twisted and entwined together and they rise from
the ground creating an eerie, menacing barrier between the dirt and rock and red clay
in
the clearing
and the forest.
A house is being built in this clearing and the feeling of trespassing and destruction lay heavily
in the air
.
The forest looks on sadly, the mountain laurel seems angry. The leaning trees
appear
to
have given up and the purple flowers have lost their luster. A new
way
of life is beginning
in the
forest; the old way is being forced out. The browns surpass the mere shades of the color emulating
disparity.
It
wasn't too long ago when this clearing
was
filled with proud trees, dancing mountain
laurel and wildlife scampering about without a care. This clearing was home to deer, coyote, fox,
bear, squirrel
,
rattlesnakes, copperheads, bunnies, bats, and many other creatures that Mother
Nature felt deserved the freedom and beauty of the land
.
~
N
"'I1
a
-
N
8
(.;.)
There is a small matted down area in the brush near the hole in the ground. It is trampled
with the footprints and droppings of deer. Perhaps a baby fawn was born in this brush; perhaps a
Buck stood watch over his family. At the far end of one of the pyramids of dirt and rock and red
clay is a small den, the home of a fox, caved in from the weight of progress. In the big hole of the
foundation are larger heavier footprints
.
Signs that bear too Ii ved in this once peaceful forest. His
powerful claws scraped along the ground as if he were trying to leave a message - "Stop, go away,
leave us alone!"
Even the people, the neighbors are sad about the changes occurring
.
The private
road to the clearing is dirt and rock, now embedded with huge potholes from the constant
movement of the big trucks, which bring more
dirt
and more rock. The mailman won't deliver mail
down that dirt road; it is too untamed and treacherous. He leaves the mail at the boxes that line the
main road
.
The trees along the road have been trimmed back to make a wider opening for the
module home that will be coming soon. Corning to evade the privacy. Frank, who lives across the
street from the clearing, mourns his once beautiful pine tree. The lopping of its branches have left it
bare on one side, it's sap running down like tears. "I know what that tree has been through, the long,
hard winters, the scorching sun, and now it has been brutally violated by a chain saw."
Further down the road, George saws bears, eagles, and other wildlife out of pine trees that he has
cut down. His yard is littered with the shavings from those once splendid pines. Somehow, that's
different, that's okay. "Yeah, I cut down them grand pines, but they come alive again in my art. My
chainsaw art is beauty in itself and brings pleasure
.
Ain't nothin' like it anywhere."
Along this same road is a small pond
.
There is a log that has fallen and reaches down into
the water from the bank. On a hot summ
e
r day, the turtles line up on that log and sun themselves,
waking only to snatch the bugs from the
a
ir and water. When the big trucks roll in, they disappear
deep into the water
.
It takes days and days of silence for them to feel safe enough to line up on that
log again
.
~
('I)
~
r:/1
i::.i
n·
.j::..
vJ
For the human, used to noise and commotion
and
the
fast
paced way of life,
this
remote,
wilderness is just that - remote and wild. Even with a clearing of dirt and rock
and
red clay,
even
with a big hole for the foundation, even with a wider dirt road, this is a place of feral peace
and
tranquility. To the human, this is the way of escape from
a
chaotic mad lifestyle
to
the need to
recapture what used to be, the
serenity
of yesteryear
.
To the wildlife, however, it means destruction
,
it means packing up and moving on in the hopes of finding another wilderness, it means being
evicted from their birth homes. Progress here means a step back in time. Progress here means the
destruction of that time
.
As progress evolves, wilderness disappears and these
creatures
lose not
only the ground they Jive on, but also their rights of existence. Soon there will be no place
for
them
to go.
The
sun
is setting and the
sky
is getting darker. It
is
the most awesome
setting
with a brilliant
mixture of oranges and reds against a background of purple mountains, blue sky
and
artistic clouds.
The stars are brighter here; the moon bigger. The entire universe looms majestically up above
blanketing the clearing, the forest and the mountain laurel in
slumber.
The peace and
serenity
are
overpowering. The dark conceals the movements in the forest as the wildlife slowly
comes
for one
last look, one last night. They venture just to the end of the forest and look at the dirt
and
rock
and
red clay. The deer family carefully approaches their matted brush and lie down. The fox
sniffs
around his collapsed den and sits protectively on top. The bats soar and dive, the
snakes slitter
about the rocks and dirt investigating the ruined forest. The bear ventures forward and climbs down
into the big hole to scratch a message-
"Stop,
go away, leave us alone!" A coyote howls
wretchedly somewhere in the night.
~
~
"I1
~
~
0
VJ
The Mosaic
45
J
feel
me
ih
yo"'
Bobbitlg
you,.
head
Like a tea..- drop, Naked as al'\ ot\iot\
1
Clea,.e,. than ail"
iwisted at\d etliwit'\ed togethe,., they ,.ise
from
the gl"ot.-\nd
They lay the.-e
1
the iwo
of
them, pt-t,..,.itlg
1
petting and
mu,.mt.-\,.in9
to each othe,. befo,.e dozing in and o"'t
of
d,.eams
-Home
is
whet"e the hearl is.
-Home
is Whet"e the h"'rl is.
):::'ot-t kt\oW bettet'-
1
bt-tt
yo"'
don't cat"e
Thet\ it happened, his hearl fell to the floot" in a thousand sh,-.e1
im so.,.,..y im so,..,.y im so,..,.y im so,..,.y
im
sot"t"Y
Alas, it should
come
those days would pass till the
mot"t"OW,
Watch
yot.-\t"
dt"eams fade away
as it all falls dowt\
aive
me
back
my
life
My
blood
Pt"ogt"ess he,.e means a step back it\ time
'
s.
I may not have seen the inside of a church in a while,
But I still know God is watching,
Hidden from all eyes to see,
Perceiving my life as a chore
I
can move the world with my hands
Change time with my thoughts
.
My Thantos footsteps echo in the dark,
Till my eyes run tired red,
And
I
am alone
Qu
i
ckly do
I define the word lonely,
Even quicker am
I
surrounded by these walls,
robot to robot i greet; every post-consumer boy and girl i meet.
It felt as though
I was heading farther away from my destination
As for friends, they can yield no relief,
i dont have any friends here.
People here are mean.
Everyone is an enemy
My heart thumps to a strange beat
,
so you pound your fist against the wall
Well at least I am no longer in pain.
Those memories that dwell,
Within my perplexed mind,
Those realities and dreams that begin to entwine.
i
dont think i was ever normal.
i was a freak.
Deserved to die.
im in hell.
Untitled
Clearly viewed and beach laid, you glimmered in the noonday sun arise.
The ocean laid behind us shining like chandeliers of blue flames.
The sun inflexible and cracked at the sides
Made this experience.
Pure,
Virginal,
Snow white movements indecipherably humane.
You made me love you that day
\
r.\
~
Meandmydad
Disguised behind the layered
darkness
Beyond th
.
e raging tempest
I'm a bad kid
Souls of men and women screaming out
and no apology can
be
heard
I
hit
mommy
.
They
put me
in
a car
and I
screamed
her love is gone
There
she was,
in
someone else's
arms
and no apology could be heard
Meandmydad
Running from home
So
full
ofvengence
Beautiful souls
Cursed woman cries and leaves
I
asked the world if a little smile would kill
While Seraphim whisper a lullaby
I fall asleep tonight
Tingling
up
my back
Two stars twinkling majestically in th~ sky
Illuminated
by
each other's grace
Together they stand forever.
~
Amalgamation of Amalgamates
I
I
I
,
lov
;-
.,
}'.~U
I
W>
Twi;tea
<
tnd ei:1:twinett'
"
toge
·
~:e:r
c
....
~
y
I
feel me in you
Beautiful souls
Purring petting and murmering
h
l-···
I
Then
~
t happened
/'17
iv<:J
The sun has
got
you now
~• ~ M
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'·
love
is
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In
~
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~ ~
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, ± $
. .
it
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ti' "'
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The Mosaic
In a Handful of Dust
Fall 2003
A Special Message from the Chief Editor
Under the devoted guidance of our former chief
editor Ann Metz the Mosaic has grown more structured,
colorful and, in my opinion, better all around
.
I have had
the great pleasure of seeing four semesters of growth
working as an assistant editor. Now, in spite of their
wisdom, and most likely by virtue of some gross
miscalculation, the leaders of the Literary Arts Society
have bestowed upon me the title of chief editor. Though
I find myself particularly undeserving of such a position I
have done my best to continue the tradition, as exampled
by Miss Metz, of steady improvement.
I have endevored to create a balance between tradition and progress
.
In years
past the Mosaic has been a compilation of beautiful words and images which we have
been blessed to recieve from our fellow students. This, of course, is at the very heart of
the Mosaic and I would not dare to change it. But to go a step further I have retained
this format for the first and more substantial portion of the magazine and simply added
on a second section. In this section, not listed in the table of contents, each of the
assistant editors and
I have
taken words and phrases from the works listed before and
compiled
them into
our own "Mosaics." These works show how the pieces in the
magazine can be reimagined
by
six individuals. On the final page these compilations are
then recompiled
to make
one group
poem
created by our entire editing team.
It
is
my
sincere wish
that
all of
the
works
here
listed in both sections be appre-
ciated
by the
student
body.
Chief Editor:
Dan Buzi
Assitand Editors:
James Burns
Katherine Toale
Jennifer Cherry-Woode
Cindy Pierre
Jessica Friedlander
Advisor: Dr. Richard Grinnell
Fragments from The Wasteland
11
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers ...
11
•••
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You canot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water
...
11
•••
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon--0 swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
...
11
~T.S
.
.
Eliot
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1
Break 10/15/03
Rick Ambrosio
2
10/10
Richard Pinder
3
NoLonger
Justin Calderon
3
Untitled
Anonymous
4-5
The Girls
J. Tara Smith
6
Untiled
Lindsay Taylan
7
Machine
DanBuzi
8
To be Continued
James Reyes
9
Untiled2
Lindsay Taylan
10-11
Crazy
Phil Di Vuolo
12
Untitled
Richard Pinder
13
Cosmic Voyage
Justin Calderon
13
Untitled
FunkKnight
14
Jonny Jockin'
Jessica Licciardello
15
9/7/03
Indigo Nothing
16
Untitled]
Lindsay Taylan
17-18
Pain and Heartache
Ethan
L.
Landers
19
Conversation Piece
Jessica Licciardello and Nichole LoGatto
Front Cover Art: Untitled2 by Richard Pinder
Back Cover Art: Untitled2 by Alex Soter
20-21
Lotus Eater
Michael Traynor
22
Untitled2
Lindsay Taylan
23
Snow
Timothy Griffin
23
Colors of Closure
Indigo Nothing
24
Intentions 10/27 /03
Rick Ambrosio
25
Vicky's Secret Model
Jessica Friedlander
26
HomeNow
James Reyes
27
Lusting
Rick Ambrosio
28
The Outsider
AmyLau
29
Scars
Timothy Griffin
30
Untitled]
Alex Soter
31
Heaven's Sonnet
Justin Calderon
32
9/11/03
Indigo Nothing
33
Untitled 3
Lindsay Taylan
34-38
American Mosaic: A
Eric Hess
Work in Progress
39-40
Hook
Michael Traynor
41
Untitled 4
Lindsay Taylan
42-44
Tranquility Gone
Toni Williamson
45
Untitled
Jessica Licciardello
Break 10/15/03
Rick Ambrosio
TheMosaic
I feel like quoting Shakespeare,
In this 7
th
inning stretch of our lives,
The fall off half-life of our undigested smiles
.
This case here holds it,
The key to everlasting resistance,
The loopholes to our professional hatred
Everything your eyes deceived themselves with.
Culinary intricacy with your forward thinking
,
My Thantos footsteps echo in the dark,
Our take backs render no continues
,
And I am alone.
You're alone.
Were we liars to ourselves?
1
2
Fall 2003
10/10 by Richard Pinder
No Longer
Justin Calderon
The Mosaic
No longer does grief and sorrow stand at my door
,
No longer am I passed out life-less on my bed.
Perceiving my life as a chore,
Till my eyes run tired red,
No longer is my mind troubled by doubt,
No longer are my hands burning cold,
At last my lungs can breathe and shout,
My eyes now beam so bold,
Finally my conscience stands joyous, no longer blue,
My lips glisten, and stand true,
No longer concealed in denial,
No longer housing thatforged smile.
Untitled
Anonymous
hair pulled taught, ear tucked,
long butterfly eyelashes mesh with invitingly precious tan skin,
sitting, on lofted up cushions.
packed cotton bowebuddha legs crossed.
firm
lipped thinking
,
i stare, waiting for her glance
,
but satisfied staring at her.
3
4
Fall 2
00
3
The Girls
J. Tara Smith
It is at times amusing to watch them, her, Girl
#
1. She goes o
u
t,
qu
iet, alo
n
e,
invisible to everyone else. No one knows where she goes or where s
h
e's g
on
e to.
But she comes back with food in her pockets
,
food for the girl sleepi
n
g i
n h
er be
d
,
Girl #2. She comes back, leans over the inert body and empties the loo
t
fr
o
m
h
er
pockets. She does everything for this Girl #2, as though this girl were a
do
g, a cat, a
pet that needs looking after.
Girl #2 just lies there
,
subjected to
h
er kisses. She lies
th
e
re m
a
king
s
o
f
t
squeaking sounds
.
It's late in the morning, a
l
most afte
rn
o
o
n, a
nd this girl h
as
hardly
left the bed of her host. They've been sleepi
n
g si
n
ce seve
n
or eig
ht l
as
t nigh
t,
th
e
t
w
o
of them.
If
you could call it that.
The door to the room is always closed so that they are shut off fr
om
everyone else; isolated and restrained to each other, the be
d.
They only ve
n
tu
re
away from the bed to work on music videos, to talk to their collective frie
nd
s on
l
ine,
and to otherwise ignore each other while captivated in the hyper-real of
t
he
electronic world inside that black plastic box, a Dell
i
f you please, precario
u
sly
balanced on the host's desk. They leave the room only to eat, shower a
nd
em
pl
oy
the ladies "powder room." Aside from these outer-bed activities, t
h
ey remai
n
apart
from everyone, everything else other than each other.
Girl #1, the host, was never the affectionate type. She'd freeze w
h
e
n p
eo
pl
e
so
much as brushed the skin of her, her face skewed up into an expressio
n
of
extr
e
me
,
physical discomfort. Now I'm watching her fawn over this murm
u
ri
n
g guest.
That's one of the stranger
a
ttributes of this guest
-
girl
;
she doesn't talk, instead she
onl
y
murmurs quietly
.
Indecipherably. She lies there in that bed murmuring to her
master as
the host lo
s
es herself in that box
,
eyes glassy and unseeing
.
Girl #2, her jet-
black
h
air
tangl
e
d and spr
e
ad out around her face and body
,
flowing over and into
t
h
e creas
es of bed sheets and pillow covers, murmurs at the inert figure seated just
b
a
rely beyond the reach of her fleshy
,
pale hand.
She rustles the bedding, the sheets, dis
t
urbing t
h
e peacefu
l
ness of t
h
e
bed
,
and slowly, with muc
h
effort, forces
h
erself i
nt
o a s
ittin
g
po
s
i
tio
n. Enrobed in
a
ra
s
pb
erry r
ed
si
l
k
t
a
nk-top w
i
th m
a
t
c
hin
g s
h
o
rt
s,
her h
air
falling
i
n knotted chunks
The Mosaic
5
over her shoulders and face, she dejectedly starts to investigate the rations laid out
for her with care, wrapped in napkins stolen from the cafeteria. Eventually she
reaches down to select a toasted, plain bagel, still warm, and begins spreading
cream cheese on it. Even as she eats her bagel she murmurs, she is a constant
stream of muttled sound, always there but barely distinguishable.
The host, that tiny Girl #1 whose slight frame and boyish clothing make
many people mistake her for a frail little boy of eleven, turns herself away from the
box. It's frightening to see her body physically shudder in the shock from ripping
herself out of the ethereal, electronic reality into this benign realm instead.
She turns to watch the girl eat. She turns to pet the long jet hair and soft
white skin. The girl purrs under her mistress's hand, never removing her eyes from
the figure she so adores as she nibbles with uncertainty at her brunch.
There are people talking outside the room, people moving around, doing
their day-to-day things. These are Girl #1 's housemates. They dare not touch the
door to her room, fearing they might intrude on some intimate moment between the
two. Their respect of privacy and fear of intrusion comforts Girl #1 as she stands
up from her desk to be closer to her guest.
With a gentle though powerful gesture one would not expect from one so
small she takes the half chewed-up bagel from the hands of the girl and with the
pad of her thumb whips away a tiny smear of the pale cream cheese. Girl #2, of
course, looks up stupidly and adoringly as the host leans over her, forcing her to lie
back on the bed. She looks expectantly at her lover, her lips, and murmurs begging
for satisfaction.
Only when her squirming body and pleading lips have begged and suffered
enough does the host grant them peace, pressing her lips roughly to those of her
languidly purring pet. Somehow, she maneuvers her way onto the bed beside the
girl and together they find a way to hide beneath the layers of blankets and
comforters. They lay there, the two of them, purring, petting and murmuring to
each other before dozing in and out of dreams.
6
Fall 2003
Lindsay Taylan
The Mosaic
7
i am 100%-genuine-all-American-recycled-post-consumer-waste / this taste in my
mouth is nothing but plastic bags and oily rags/ what a sad sad bunch of bits I've
become so young and
s
o far to go/ want to vote for Jesus in 2004 but what do I know.
It's such a slow slow march towards the Sargasso Sea of dumped out dreams where i' II
someday sing and know what it means to still be here and completely unseen
and of my dream so young what shall I become ...
leaves of grass// my ass/ I'm becoming smoke stacks/ Whitman can be a bird and
choke on my black gas/ crass to say such a thing// yes// but listen to the words I sing.
rusty
metal pipes cigarette butts burn baby burn crude oil nuclear submarine silicon
valley from sea to shining sea rubber hose welding leads iron tired lean baby lean
propane
tanks and sperm banks
this
is the world i sing
got rubber clan kin' feet. robot to robot i greet; every post-consumer boy and girl i
meet.
our cheeks; drip with melting plastic sugar. i hunger to grow old and paint myself
younger and young:
viagra. ginseng
.
cod-liver oil. anything. balls of a beaver, heart of a
bear.
old rusty
knives
.
my share. my share. face-lift. tummy tuck. keep me young. want to fuck
.
recycled car parts. pacemaker for the heart
.
dream a little
dream.
WONT START.
wont start. Prozac
.
Paxil. my pills.
stay
still.
Ridilin
.
feed the kids. FEED YOUR KIDS. Captain Crunch. a honey bunch of
cardboard oats. open up your throat. processed sugar. machine chokes
.
LIVE
FOREVER: ah .
.
. hope.
sterilized
dripping plastic ice machine// old child/ dying dreams// undead monster/
obscene/
life through a
pipe/ how
will you sing//
Dont
pull the plug. ANYTHING
Anything//
old machine/ rust
machine/
how will you sing/
how
will you sing?
8
To be Continued
James
R
eyes
you open you wallet
to pay for your coffee
F
a
ll
2
00
3
and her eyes
l
ock o
n
yours
and you stare at her picture
that's still in your wallet
a month after she's gone
but it's only a picture
you've lost her she's left you
and there's no turning back
you've tried and you've called her
to tell her you' re sorry
but
she
wont take you back
and
her picture still is there
when her picture screams a thousand words
and no apology can be heard
over the pain
and
frustration of your heart
because
all
has gone wrong
it
all has gone wrong
so you
pound
your
fist against the wall
but
it
doesn't make it any better
it cannot
make it any better
it's gone
her love is gone
h
e
r picture in your wallet
burns a hole in your heart
so put it away
place her picture in the frame
then smash it on the ground
The Mosaic
and watch your dreams fade away
as it all falls down
9
Lindsay Taylan
Fall 2003
Crazy
Phil Di Vuol
o
Cra
zy? T
h
ey say I'm crazy
.
They put us in a whiteroomanddon't
e
ver l
et
us
ou
t.
i
don
t think i was ever normal. My parents were norms my brothers and
sist
e
r
s we
re
norm
s. i was a freak. Not anymore. Everybody here is
th
e same as m
e
.
N
ow im a
no
rm
. D
a
d
s a freak.
i
kn
ow i was a bad kid because dad hit me. Youre so annoying Youre so
st
upid Get
away Shut up Shut up. SmackPunch YellHitCry
.
Mommy yelled at
d
ad a
nd
said Its not
his fault He cant help it. i can help it. im a bad kid. i kille
d E
lyse
.
Elyse teased me in school. Elyse deserved to die. Did die
.
She yelled at me shoved
me called me Freak. i pushed back one da
y
. She died because she fell on the steps
.
Not my fault. Elyse was a norm. Deser
v
ed to die
.
People here are mean. They pushed me in
a
room and feed me. Sometimes. Theres
nothing to do here. i sit and scream
.
i think about Elyse
.
i killed Elyse. Murderer
.
M
u
rderer
.
They call me Murderer
.
i didnt kill Elyse. Elyse fell. Dad didnt kill me. i
fell. i just didnt break like Elyse did.
D
ad doesnt come to visit me. He never said goodbye
.
He said Hes a mur
d
erer He has
to go. Mommy comes to visit me. Sometimes. She calls me her little angel. i tell
mommy i have a little angel too. Elyse is an angel now. i made Elyse an angel. Elyse
says Thank you. Mommy cries when i talk about Elyse
.
i say Mommy Elyse deserved
t
o d
ie Elyse was a norm Now im a norm Youre the freak now mommy. Mommy cries
and leaves. im sorry mommy
.
im sorry i killed Elyse
.
D
a
d p
ushed me dow
n
the steps once. i wasnt doing anythi
n
g wrong. He
call
e
d m
e a
bad n
ame a
nd
pus
h
ed. i fell
do
wn Crash
.
Mommy trie
d
to
hel
p. i hit m
omm
y M
omm
y
hit d
a
d Dad hit
me
.
Ho
w
do
y
ou lik
e
it
Y
ou
fu
c
king
murderer. Wh
y
cant you die like
Elyse
.
i killed Elyse. Dad killed me
.
Almost.
The Mosaic
11
i didnt
want to come
here. Stop Stop Dont take me Leave me here. Mommy said i
could stay. Dad
said
Hes a murderer He has to go. i screamed
when i
left. i
scream
when im here. i hate
it
here.
i
want to be home. Home is where the heart is. Home is
where the hurt is. They pulled me
away
from my mommy. Mommy dont let them take
me. They put me in a car and i screamed Let me out Give mommy back Give me back.
Give me back Elyse.
Elyse hit
the
ground hard Crack. Blood on the floor. Elyse on the floor. Elyses blood.
On my hands. Elyse up in heaven.
im
in hell. This
is
hell Let me out Give mommy back
Give me back. Give me back my life My blood My mommy My little
angel.
im
mommys little angel. im not daddys anything.
im
daddys little murderer. Elyse fell
down
the steps.
Not my
fault. i just
pushed
.
Dad
said i had
blood
on
my hands. She
bled
when she
hit the
ground.
Not my
fault. Not my fault.
i
dont
think i was ever normal. i
dont
think. i kill. i killed Elyse.
Mommy
says Youre
perfect.
im her little angel. Dad says Angels dont kill people Hes a
disgrace
Hes
unsafe.
Mommy said Shut up Its not his fault. i screamed Its not fair im not a bad kid
.
Dad
says Good kids dont kill people. i didnt kill Elyse She just fell. Leave him alone
Its
not his fault He doesnt know what hes doing. He does know It is his fault Hes a
murderer
.
i dont have any friends here
.
Everybody here is a norm
.
Boring. i talked to one
person.
Bryan
.
He died
.
Got shot Bang
.
Blood on the floor. Not Elyses blood
Bryans
blood. i dont care. i never liked Bryan. i just talked to him. He was a freak
.
Deserved
to die.
i was
always like this i will always be this im a freak im
mommys little
angel im daddys
little
murderer im a
norm im
a
bad name
im a
bad
kid im in
hell
im
hungry
im unsafe im
so annoying
im a disgrace
imperfect
im stupid im a
liar im not different
im special im
trapped
im sorry
im
sorry im sorry
im
sorry im sorry
Im Crazy.
Crazy? They
say I'm crazy.
12
Fall 2003
Richard Pinder
Untitled
FunkKnight
Shh Shh
Cosmic Voyage
Justin Calderon
The Mosaic
Life is a vortex of emotion
,
An interstellar vo
y
age
of
OliscC)
l:
e
iy
and strife
,,
Set by the cosmos
.
mto
mottoo
Known
simply
to us
.
as
life
.
Happiness
,
sadness, misery, and doubt,
Confusion
is the only question I attain.
No earthly scholar could soak this drought,
No worldly physician could ease my pain.
Could one person
be
the cause of this and never confess
Striping me and of my personality and success.
Another appears; a new light in your worldly void
But as with time, it's fleeting; over and destroyed.
You try to escape the vortex but it pulls you back in,
Is
Ii
ving by your emotions really a sin?
Don't you hear that?
Souls of men and women screaming out
Letting you know about their plight
Letting you know why they fight
Of course you don't
You just hear the drum
Acting dumb
Bobbing your head
Shaking your ass
Getting down to the beat
While tortured souls scream out
Praying for help
13
14
Fall 2003
ou sit and watch
fi
·
tonlye
•
"
·
r
on thegrain
........
': 2ilf!i{mffw
les
The Mosaic
9/7/03
Indigo Nothing
It appeared
tome
that he was elusive and the seemingly
agi,ngtimeregainedits youth and flighted my grasp. As I watched
my
fingers;
twiddle on the silver keys of my
Samsung I felt
sorrow and regret as I agreed to his deletion from my life. It felt
hard but necessary. Even in those last seconds I thought of why.
Why am I trying to be better? And I hate to think that I'm
satisfied with you although you may not be as special
asl
thought.
I don't think you can understand that
oceverwill and I know I
won't explain. I think soul searchingly thinking you may still be a
good man but I don't want you to be and that's because I' 11 start
to believe in you
.
Time's teaching has shown me otherwise than
to take a man's
words
as truth. The music plays an example to
my ears of a lying Marine and an over-hopeful ex on the tracks of
a
"Best
Man" soundtrack. Quite ironic, the bes.tmenjustaren't.
I'm full of doubt that I wasn't another drunken sight of affection
.
.
I just need you to not say a word and
speak
fluent body
language
and let me know you're sorry. But you won't and I can
'
t say
rtr
forget. For now until I'm ready, show me something more
because this dreamer has been rudely awakened. I need a lullaby
sung with the lips that satiated my sexual hunger and intellectual
appetite. But enough of my needing, exactly what do you want?
What do you really want me to do?
15
16
Fall 2003
Lindsay Taylan
Pain and Heartache
Ethan
L.
Landers
The Mosaic
17
September 10th was a good day for Timmy. He was finally starting the 3rd
grade a week late and a day after his ninth birthday. Timmy should've started
school a week earlier but the roof of his school collapsed and the school district
didn't have any extra space for five hundred kids. Timmy was excited about school,
excited about seeing his friends. He was so excited that he could hardly sleep the
night before and he ended up waking his parents an hour before the alarm clock
was set to go off. His dad John was a fireman, a ten year veteran, and his mom
Laura was a librarian at the local library. Timmy's dad was supposed to work
today, but he switched assignments with another firefighter so he could drop Timmy
off at school and pick him up from school. Timmy's dad was now scheduled to
work the 11th.
Timmy had a great day at school. He saw all his friends, developed a major
crush on his teacher, and even kicked a homerun in a game of kickball during
recess. He was so excited when his dad picked him up from school that he spent
the whole thirty minute car ride talking about his day. When they got home Timmy
and his dad played a game of Madden 2004 on X-Box and waited for dinner. They
were having Laura's special baked ziti for dinner. At 6:30pm Laura came in and
told them dinner was ready. After eating Timmy and John watched a little TV until
Timmy's bedtime at 8:30. At 8:30 John put Timmy in bed and kissed him goodnight.
It
was the last time Timmy saw his daddy alive.
At 11
:00
John kissed Laura goodbye and walked to the subway station a
block from their house. Forty five minutes and a transfer later John walked into the
firehouse and went upstairs to change into his uniform. He then went downstairs
and watched Baseball Tonight on ESPN and fell asleep in the easy chair. When he
awoke it was 7 :OOam and all the other firefighters were downstairs waiting for
breakfast to be cooked.
It was the last meal for most of them.
At 8:45am on Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 the fire alarm rang and the
dispatcher came over the speaker. He said that an airplane had hit the World Trade
Center and that the North Tower was on fire. John and his fellow firefighters got in
their fire truck and made the three minute drive to the World Trade Center. They
18
Fall 2003
had all heard the low flying plane minutes earlier but none of them knew
what
it was.
John and his group of firefighters were some of the first on the scene. They
immedi-
ately entered the North Tower and went upstairs. They started to fight the fire and
evacuate people. Then the second plane hit the South Tower. John and his group of
firefighters were instructed to stay in the North Tower. They were still helping
people when the South Tower collapsed. John and his fellow firefighters could not
understand the garbled transmissions over their radios telling them to get
out
of the
North
Tower.
So they stayed and helped people until the
North Tower
collapsed on
top
of them.
Timmy had
never
seen so many firefighters in
one place.
There were over
five
hundred
of them at his dads funeral and they were all dressed the same. He and
his mom had their own limousine and firefighter escort. As the service at
the
grave
progressed it was time for Timmy to place a rose on his daddy's casket.
He
placed
the rose on the grave, fell into his mother's arms and started to cry.
This
was the
worst day of his life. He would never see his daddy again. He imagined all the other
little boys and girls that lost parents that day and he cried harder. Timmy had never
known so much pain in his short life and every time he would think of his
daddy
he
would cry harder. He thought of their trip to Florida, and he cried. He thought of the
numerous Mets games they went to, and he cried. He
thought
of September 10th,
his first
day
of school, his last day with his daddy, and
he cried. He
cried.
The Mosaic
19
~
. .
.
i
·
·:
·• .
/f
~·
i
'
t
i
~
.l.
20
Lotus Eater
Michael Traynor
Your face is built like paper,
Easily wrinkled, and veiny,
Greenish tendons branching
Through your cheeks.
Fall 2003
You are plantlike in your death,
Your buds rusted over,
Your petals dripping earthward
Like a teardrop,
Wilted and skeletal.
The sun has killed you.
It's lapped up all your chlorophyll,
Siphoned all your color,
And you lay there, dumbly,
Naked as an onion,
Clearer than air
.
Your face is veiled in smoke,
In silver wisps
That creep out like
An afterthought.
It's scent is sweet and potent,
But it chokes me
.
A forest fire rages in your lips,
Sprouting outward in
An orange, leafy swell.
You have burned and eaten
Many of your kind,
The flowerbeds engulfed
A virgin sacrifice.
Arsonist,
The sun has got you now,
And he has burned you
Blacker than religion.
He has tossed out
All the maps you drew of
me,
All the watercolor canvas of
My skin, and the way you
Remembered it feeling.
I must head south
To save my memory.
The noonday sun arises
As you smolder,
Half of what you were,
Unknowable.
I must fight for my autonomy.
I cannot stand the smoke,
The Mosaic
And the sun so full of vengeance is
,
What sends me
Running for home
,
21
22
Fall 2003
Lindsay Taylan
Snow
Timothy
Griffin
A biting wind whistles,
Throws snowflakes about.
White tornadoes walk the streets,
Numbing to the bone.
Trees grow heavier,
Bare branches tum pale,
Stretching for earth below.
The roads, once dark,
Now a pristine spiderweb
.
TheMosaic
Colors of Closure
Indigo Nothing
The sky rips these colors of blue
White and purple-pink
Open right before my brown eyes,
Sitting here on cool green friends
That always seem to understand;
Silent listening patrons and singing birds
Lightly decorate the carressing breeze
I'm starting to realize
I'm fine
I'm truly going to be fine
and already am
23
24
Intentions 10/27/03
Rick Ambrosio
The cookies were never sent,
My heart the alter.
Fall 2003
Throwing it far for conscience bind,
I hide behind my motives.
Caster metal blinders into
binocular view,
I steel away my heart,
For purpose of palatable.
Set the screws to my mantle,
and unearth my intensions.
I'll fall asleep tonight,
Trying not to remember your name.
The Mosaic
25
Vicky
'.s
Secret Model by Jessica Friedlander
26
HomeNow
James Reyes
Fall 2003
He had just returned from Europe.
It
had been a month since they last saw each
other
.
All he had done was thought of returning, returning to her, holding her, kissing
her. Flowers in hand, he rushed through the crowd in the mall. He had to get there
before she got off of work, or he would have missed her, his destiny being
prolonged
.
He stepped onto th
e
moving escalator and rushed down the stairs. He
headed towards the store steadily increasing his pace. Then it happened, his heart
fell to the floor in a thousand shreds. The flowers soon followed making their
journey from his hand to the cold, dirty tile.
There she was
,
in someone else's arms. Kissing someone else
'
s lips
.
A million
thoughts raced through his head but one singled itself out from the masses,
screaming at him "leave
,
leave" he turned around and walked away
.
She pushed him off her disgusted that he would even attempt such a thing after
how he had treated her
.
Her hand met his face with a hard blow with all the pain
and torment she had held in her heart. She turned and walked away from him.
Angered and frustrated she stormed through the mall making her way to her car. As
she was walking she felt something under her foot
;
she stopped. Lifting her foot she
found a bouquet of white roses
,
her favorite
.
Wondering, "Why would anyone
leave these just lying here on the ground?" Dozens of petals fell to the ground as
she picked up the forsaken bundle. She searched for a card or anything that would
signify the rightful owner of the orphaned roses. Opening the attached envelope,
she read it to herself and gasped
.
"I love thee" signed by her lover
She put down the bouquet and ran.
Lusting
Rick Ambrosio
9/9/03
The Mosaic
I can't bring myself to kill an angel,
De-feather it
,
Rip the wings,
Tarnish the halo, dirty the linen
,
Too much for all my desires to quen
c
h
,
My heart isn't in it.
I may not have seen the inside of a church in a while,
But I still know God is watching,
Watching my hands
,
and her too perfect face
,
And no sorrys or prayers will return her
To her proper place.
Place me in chains,
Burn me if you will
,
Hold me in dark bowels
Full of spite and stone faces
So I don't hear the siren
'
s voice.
27
28
The Outsider
Amy
Lau
Fall 2003
In between the desert and the Carribbean
Islands
lies the massive ocean. The journey out of the
dry, hot desert - formidable and agonizing.
Arriving
at
the ocean
shore,
the ocean tide and
waves
came in. The next
few
days spent
traveling through the
waves
to find my way in
the Caribbean,
yet,
found myself lost in the mist.
It felt as though I was heading
farther
away
from my destination. Almost as though, I
was
viewing
the "older
and better me"
-
my future
which was calling upon me. I clearly
viewed
my future destination - my new position and
success, yet finding the right path through the
ocean seemed
impossible.
I was in a state of
dilemma not knowing whether I was going to be
victorious or remain outside my dreams. With
every tum I made, it only seemed like I was
sailing farther and farther away from the
beautiful Caribbean Islands. I wept but
couldn't let myself return to the desert, as my
heart told me not to surrender. So I'll
eventually find my dreams and the newer and
better me. Hope is not gone unless one
surrenders to her fears of failure.
The Mo
saic
Scars
Tnnothy
Griffin
Whenever you feel close
,
She appears in your place
.
Whenever I wish her gone,
She walks alongside me.
She haunts me always
,
Because she hurt me
.
She haunts all my thoughts
,
Because I loved her.
The pain is hidden,
Where few can see it.
The pain lies inside
,
Where I can't reach it.
Sometimes I want her gone,
Allowing me to heal.
Sometimes I want her here
,
Leaving me to cry.
29
30
Fall 2003
Alex Soter
Heaven's Sonnet
Justin Calderon
The Mosaic
Amidst the beaming light and the clouds break,
Lies a place we can only dream to see,
Every soul flying hitherto awake
,
Glad to at last fulfill their destiny
.
Shades of purple and gray absorb the sky
,
Nesting such a placid, tranquil abode,
While seraphim whisper a lullaby,
Bestowing you with what the heavens hold.
Where beauty's maw holds bountiful grace,
And light glistens you through to new frontiers.
Man's psyche could never draw such a place,
So gorgeous that none can harbor their tears
.
At last once that day comes, here we shall meet,
When our lives are satisfied and complete.
31
32
Fall 2003
9/11/03
Indigo Nothing
Tumultuous times are upon us
Or
what
used to be us
.
He said to me that we
always
knew how it would end.
A feeling washes over me
.
I feel uncomfortable saying it's hurt.
But it just might be.
I wonder if when
The time stops again
And our eyes meet.
..
The lips of another in a night's lapse;
This one stole a kiss,
I swallowed a memory.
Mumbled constricted lies.
The Mosaic
33
Lindsay Taylan
34
Fall 2003
American Mosaic: A Work in Progress
Eric Hess
Oh beautiful!
Another song
To sing
For the eagle and the flag
Thatflap
Uberalles.
A parade of geese
Stepping in time and in tune
With the one-eyed man's band.
It's the song I hate.
(Viva!
the
Y.A.F.)
I love America.
The idea of America is genius,
But it has too long been misconstrued and misused by
A Confederacy of Dunces.
But you,
With your cap your daddy gave you,
You take the cake,
Among other things,
You ignorant, spoiled brat.
The idea of America was beautiful, wasn't it Walt?
Faux Captain! Not my Captain!
When will your reign of terror be done?
Your pirate ship cease its attack? Your Proph(f)e(i)t war be won?
I will have nothing but contemptuous, clenched fists
Until I salute you as
Citoyen Cape( t )-on.
Somebody blew up America
And you let it happen
So
You could have a new America
The
Mosaic
For a New American Century
.
A
merica didn
't
need to be born
agai
n
A
me
ri
ca c
a
nno
t
be
bo
rn
agai
n
It's an
ti-
American.
Rome was once a piece of land on the Potomac,
Until after ol' Georgie W. chopped down his cherry tree.
He cannot tell a lie.
Maybe that's why there are
Jase es
in the Chamber of the House,
Decorated with laurel for the State of the Union,
Or a picture of his apotheosis,
Capped by an idol Persephone,
In
a temple of Jupiter.
C.R.E
.
A.M.
Check the money.
Ann
u
it Coe
pt
is.
Novus O
r
do Seclor
u
m.
The millennium came and went
And nothing happened, except you.
The Second Coming.
You will
Yourwill
Will lead us
To the end of the world.
35
36
Fall 2003
And in preparation
Pat Robertson's continues his mission-ary work in the West Bank.
And the 5
th
column's still searching, still marching, still progressing.
Another 1,000 years isn't that long to wait
For another Millennium,
Reich?
You know the power of symbols.
Propaganda and control of the public mind.
Just watch Murdoch's turkeys
strut
and go,
"Gobble, Goebbels, Goebbels."
(We
are all Goebbels children, fed on Guns and Butter)
Talking heads,
Paper
"people"
with inalienable rights,
Logical bedfellows scratching each other's backs,
Relieving each other of responsibility.
Passing the buck along.
Discourse is a weapon of mass destruction
And
you've loaded it like Fat Man and Little Boy.
Structuralism and deconstruction.
You may not have known that they'd fall
But you knew how they'd look,
And that you could provide the words for a speechless America.
"Let's
Roll."
You had the bumper-sticker machines already fired up and ready,
Empty slogans slapped on full tanks.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!
While our Saudi friends are still in power.
Like junkies, friends of circumstance and mutual benefit,
Fuck it, we've scored our own shit,
The Mosaic
To shoot into whatever vain we have left
At speeds
Faster than our anachronistic, ration-al speed limits,
That only hold back progress.
faster, Faster, Faster!
harder, Harder, Harder!
America, they've fucked us all and now we
'
re nothing.
America, how many billions in debt, March 20, 2003?
I can't stand that you don't mind.
American when will we end the human war?
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I can't write my poem without my prescription
.
America when will you
be angelic?
There are no angels in America.
Only men masquerading
As prophets and saviors.
Men are created equal
And endowed
By the system of power that they created and now wield
With certain alien rights,
Like the pursuit of property.
The rest of the world is equally
37
Women, Blacks, Hispanics, Palestinians, Asians, Homosexuals, Godless Anarchists
Who have the right
To bear children for them,
38
Fall 2003
To work for the convenience, pleasure, and enjoyment of them,
To make them feel at home,
To confirm their masculinity,
And to prove their God-given purpose on this earth.
America,
This is not right.
America,
This is not American.
America,
You are not America.
The genius of America was,
'Why?"
America,
Just ask.
Hook
Michael Traynor
Pink anemone,
Our lower lips shut
Upon each other,
Like stubborn oysters
Sucking on their pearls,
The perverts.
The Mosaic
We attract like a sideshow, sickly;
You, the contortionist
With your tricks and
Retractable limbs, and I
The acrobat, dumbly walking on twine.
We dance
The dance of fishing hook
And fishing line,
I in the tap shoes and
You in the magic hat,
Head full of rabbits.
It is not a dance
One might see in Bolshoi
Or New York, but a back alley
Slipperless dance,
The waltz of the homeless,
The flies like a buzzing pit orchestra.
And I, trout mouth,
Wide as woken eyes,
Maneuver each step, each sidestep,
Of the sad, aweful dance.
I ingest every wriggling worm
39
40
Fall 2003
As
they
drop through the surface
Like stars.
My body quakes after a while,
Throat closed and stomach distended.
My body heaves, and
I spit up some shiny thing,
Some ivory bauble
That sparks and awes,
Carved of angel's tusk.
It
is white as a baby,
Tender as a wound,
And as we drift apart,
You seize it from my tongue.
You take my treasure.
And now, with my lungs
Uncorked, the water pours
And weights me like a fat sack of flour.
It
was all leading up to this,
The great gasp, the skin blue
And sliding from bone.
Look at me, the near-dead,
Worthless as a sea star.
What has happened to me?
I am this dark thing
That sickens and terrifies,
This thing we hate and hate.
My mouth only smiles
When the hook curls its shape,
And drowning is
The best I can swim.
The Mosaic
41
Tranquility Gone
Toni Williamson
There is nothing but mounds and mounds of dirt and rock and red clay. Surrounded by a
thick forest of tress and luscious mountain laurel on
all
sides, the dirt lies in pyramid piles scattered
throughout the clearing. In the center of the clearing is a big hole, the beginning of a foundation.
It
is
peacefully quiet here, not even a single cricket is chirping. The only sound in the early dusk of the
evening is the slight warm breeze rustling through the forest. The only movement is the gentle
sway
of
the branches and the flickering purple of the mountain laurel. There are many different types of
trees
in the forest - maples, oaks, pine and birch are a few
.
Some have fallen over and lean precariously
on others, forming a support system. None of the trees
are
thick; they are tall and thin,
and
yet, the
forest is terribly dense and difficult to walk through because of the thick mountain laurel. The
mountain laurel is deceiving. It is so stunning to look at when its purple flowers are in bloom but its
evil lurks in its roots and stems. Its roots squirm underground attaching themselves to other mountain
laurel roots until all the mountain laurel roots are twisted and entwined together and they rise from
the ground creating an eerie, menacing barrier between the dirt and rock and red clay
in
the clearing
and the forest.
A house is being built in this clearing and the feeling of trespassing and destruction lay heavily
in the air
.
The forest looks on sadly, the mountain laurel seems angry. The leaning trees
appear
to
have given up and the purple flowers have lost their luster. A new
way
of life is beginning
in the
forest; the old way is being forced out. The browns surpass the mere shades of the color emulating
disparity.
It
wasn't too long ago when this clearing
was
filled with proud trees, dancing mountain
laurel and wildlife scampering about without a care. This clearing was home to deer, coyote, fox,
bear, squirrel
,
rattlesnakes, copperheads, bunnies, bats, and many other creatures that Mother
Nature felt deserved the freedom and beauty of the land
.
~
N
"'I1
a
-
N
8
(.;.)
There is a small matted down area in the brush near the hole in the ground. It is trampled
with the footprints and droppings of deer. Perhaps a baby fawn was born in this brush; perhaps a
Buck stood watch over his family. At the far end of one of the pyramids of dirt and rock and red
clay is a small den, the home of a fox, caved in from the weight of progress. In the big hole of the
foundation are larger heavier footprints
.
Signs that bear too Ii ved in this once peaceful forest. His
powerful claws scraped along the ground as if he were trying to leave a message - "Stop, go away,
leave us alone!"
Even the people, the neighbors are sad about the changes occurring
.
The private
road to the clearing is dirt and rock, now embedded with huge potholes from the constant
movement of the big trucks, which bring more
dirt
and more rock. The mailman won't deliver mail
down that dirt road; it is too untamed and treacherous. He leaves the mail at the boxes that line the
main road
.
The trees along the road have been trimmed back to make a wider opening for the
module home that will be coming soon. Corning to evade the privacy. Frank, who lives across the
street from the clearing, mourns his once beautiful pine tree. The lopping of its branches have left it
bare on one side, it's sap running down like tears. "I know what that tree has been through, the long,
hard winters, the scorching sun, and now it has been brutally violated by a chain saw."
Further down the road, George saws bears, eagles, and other wildlife out of pine trees that he has
cut down. His yard is littered with the shavings from those once splendid pines. Somehow, that's
different, that's okay. "Yeah, I cut down them grand pines, but they come alive again in my art. My
chainsaw art is beauty in itself and brings pleasure
.
Ain't nothin' like it anywhere."
Along this same road is a small pond
.
There is a log that has fallen and reaches down into
the water from the bank. On a hot summ
e
r day, the turtles line up on that log and sun themselves,
waking only to snatch the bugs from the
a
ir and water. When the big trucks roll in, they disappear
deep into the water
.
It takes days and days of silence for them to feel safe enough to line up on that
log again
.
~
('I)
~
r:/1
i::.i
n·
.j::..
vJ
For the human, used to noise and commotion
and
the
fast
paced way of life,
this
remote,
wilderness is just that - remote and wild. Even with a clearing of dirt and rock
and
red clay,
even
with a big hole for the foundation, even with a wider dirt road, this is a place of feral peace
and
tranquility. To the human, this is the way of escape from
a
chaotic mad lifestyle
to
the need to
recapture what used to be, the
serenity
of yesteryear
.
To the wildlife, however, it means destruction
,
it means packing up and moving on in the hopes of finding another wilderness, it means being
evicted from their birth homes. Progress here means a step back in time. Progress here means the
destruction of that time
.
As progress evolves, wilderness disappears and these
creatures
lose not
only the ground they Jive on, but also their rights of existence. Soon there will be no place
for
them
to go.
The
sun
is setting and the
sky
is getting darker. It
is
the most awesome
setting
with a brilliant
mixture of oranges and reds against a background of purple mountains, blue sky
and
artistic clouds.
The stars are brighter here; the moon bigger. The entire universe looms majestically up above
blanketing the clearing, the forest and the mountain laurel in
slumber.
The peace and
serenity
are
overpowering. The dark conceals the movements in the forest as the wildlife slowly
comes
for one
last look, one last night. They venture just to the end of the forest and look at the dirt
and
rock
and
red clay. The deer family carefully approaches their matted brush and lie down. The fox
sniffs
around his collapsed den and sits protectively on top. The bats soar and dive, the
snakes slitter
about the rocks and dirt investigating the ruined forest. The bear ventures forward and climbs down
into the big hole to scratch a message-
"Stop,
go away, leave us alone!" A coyote howls
wretchedly somewhere in the night.
~
~
"I1
~
~
0
VJ
The Mosaic
45
J
feel
me
ih
yo"'
Bobbitlg
you,.
head
Like a tea..- drop, Naked as al'\ ot\iot\
1
Clea,.e,. than ail"
iwisted at\d etliwit'\ed togethe,., they ,.ise
from
the gl"ot.-\nd
They lay the.-e
1
the iwo
of
them, pt-t,..,.itlg
1
petting and
mu,.mt.-\,.in9
to each othe,. befo,.e dozing in and o"'t
of
d,.eams
-Home
is
whet"e the hearl is.
-Home
is Whet"e the h"'rl is.
):::'ot-t kt\oW bettet'-
1
bt-tt
yo"'
don't cat"e
Thet\ it happened, his hearl fell to the floot" in a thousand sh,-.e1
im so.,.,..y im so,..,.y im so,..,.y im so,..,.y
im
sot"t"Y
Alas, it should
come
those days would pass till the
mot"t"OW,
Watch
yot.-\t"
dt"eams fade away
as it all falls dowt\
aive
me
back
my
life
My
blood
Pt"ogt"ess he,.e means a step back it\ time
'
s.
I may not have seen the inside of a church in a while,
But I still know God is watching,
Hidden from all eyes to see,
Perceiving my life as a chore
I
can move the world with my hands
Change time with my thoughts
.
My Thantos footsteps echo in the dark,
Till my eyes run tired red,
And
I
am alone
Qu
i
ckly do
I define the word lonely,
Even quicker am
I
surrounded by these walls,
robot to robot i greet; every post-consumer boy and girl i meet.
It felt as though
I was heading farther away from my destination
As for friends, they can yield no relief,
i dont have any friends here.
People here are mean.
Everyone is an enemy
My heart thumps to a strange beat
,
so you pound your fist against the wall
Well at least I am no longer in pain.
Those memories that dwell,
Within my perplexed mind,
Those realities and dreams that begin to entwine.
i
dont think i was ever normal.
i was a freak.
Deserved to die.
im in hell.
Untitled
Clearly viewed and beach laid, you glimmered in the noonday sun arise.
The ocean laid behind us shining like chandeliers of blue flames.
The sun inflexible and cracked at the sides
Made this experience.
Pure,
Virginal,
Snow white movements indecipherably humane.
You made me love you that day
\
r.\
~
Meandmydad
Disguised behind the layered
darkness
Beyond th
.
e raging tempest
I'm a bad kid
Souls of men and women screaming out
and no apology can
be
heard
I
hit
mommy
.
They
put me
in
a car
and I
screamed
her love is gone
There
she was,
in
someone else's
arms
and no apology could be heard
Meandmydad
Running from home
So
full
ofvengence
Beautiful souls
Cursed woman cries and leaves
I
asked the world if a little smile would kill
While Seraphim whisper a lullaby
I fall asleep tonight
Tingling
up
my back
Two stars twinkling majestically in th~ sky
Illuminated
by
each other's grace
Together they stand forever.
~
Amalgamation of Amalgamates
I
I
I
,
lov
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toge
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....
~
y
I
feel me in you
Beautiful souls
Purring petting and murmering
h
l-···
I
Then
~
t happened
/'17
iv<:J
The sun has
got
you now
~• ~ M
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