Mosaic_S_2001.xml
Media
Part of The Mosaic: Spring 2001
content
Table Of Contents
1
Back Again
Melinda O'Callaghan
2
Dark Sky Morning
Cavs
3
Setting Sun
Scott Neville
4
Fever
Chris Knutsden
s
Walk with the Devil
Jay Mazloom
Shore Steps
Scott Neville
6
Mommy Said
Dan Buzi
Ode to Gertrude Stein
Kirstin Dooley
Smoking It
Jennifer Hoffman
7
Balance
S. Randall Thompson
8
You
Kelly Meagher
Black Stimulant
Jay Mazloom
9
Pinhole Negative
Christina Muller
10
Dream
Chris Knutdsen
11
AURORE
Tad Richards
12
Intrigued by Beauty
Alex Korova
Untitled I & II
Christina Muller
13
Fallen Angel
Kyle Mostransky
14
Home Again - Camelot Revisted
Donna Jackson
15
Step Back
Cavs
Silohuette
Christina Muller
16
S-T-R-E-A-M
Anonymous
Rays Through the Forest
Kathleen Kelly
17
And
if
just before the storm ...
Jamie Wajdowicz
18
Coffee
Tad Richards
Waiting
Jamie Veley
Grave Silence
Scott Neville
Table Of Contents
19
Get Busy
Dan Buzi
20
Another Wasted Class
Chris Knutdsen
21
Prepared for Rain
Alexis Scarpinato
22
Sara Lee
Jaime Smith
23
Slush
P. Tarantello
24
I Would Prefer Not To ...
Cavs
25
And My Mother Died of Cancer
James Babiarz
Skeleton
Scott Neville
26
Fingers to Fame
Jim Rovello
Cave Mouth
Scott Neville
27
You are the end result of history ...
S. Randall Thompson
28
Justification for Dancing
Jay Mazloom
The Long Walk
Scott Neville
29
We Walk Together
Ann Metz
30
6 a.m. on a Sunday Morning
Caneil McDonald
Ripples by the Shore
Scott Neville
31-33 Joyful Superman
Michael Craigg
34
At the Drive-In
Cavs
35
Enlightened Needle
James Babiarz
36
No amount of warm milk. ..
Anonymous
Infinite Wilderness
Scott Neville
37
And we chanted with voices ancient. ..
Dan Buzi
38
To this day I have wondered
Katie Mussen
Rolling Tide
Scott Neville
39
Mystical Eyes
Katie Mussen
Forever Thunderclouds
Sarah Dowling
The Mosaic
Back Again:
Did you miss me?
Is that what this is?
This love spilling forth
From every pore,
The sunshine bursting
From your soul,
The joy in your voice,
The glow in your eyes
Perfectly enchanting.
Because I fill
Your
spaces
The ones you try to hide?
Were you running on empty
For
too long?
Well, this rest stop
Is closed.
Find
someplace else to go
If
you can't stay
.
Melinda O'Callaghan
1
2
Spring2001
Dark Sky Morning
The sky was dark this morning. I woke up, and couldn't
see
anything. The darkness enveloped
me. As I pulled the covers over my head, thinking it was still night, I glanced at the clock at the side
of my bed. It read 10 o'clock AM. I stared a minute longer, not understanding, not comprehending
why I couldn't see the light that I knew was there. I got out ofmy bed, trying to understand what
was
happening. I got dressed with the intention of going to my tree, the source of my light.
This was my favorite tree. Whenever I went to this tree, I felt alive and happy. An energy that I
felt nowhere else emanated from this tree. Whenever I was in the presence of this tree, I smiled and
couldn't
stop for hours. As long as I was near this tree, I was happy. Its beauty astounded me. The
feeling
of its trunk against my back as I sat daydreaming under its branches made me more than
happy. I could look at the sky and see everything I've always wanted in the clouds. Don't get me
wrong, life went on without the tree, and I could be happy not being near it. There was, however,
something
about this tree, something that made me a hundred times happier than I had been when I
was
away from it.
It
was something I could not explain.
Today, in the dark-sky morning, I went to the tree. I went to sit next to it, hoping that its
branches would wrap around me and hold me close. I went in hopes of feeling safe and comfortable
and happy. I went hoping for that
feeling: the prickles in the back of my neck, the flushed face, the
light-headedness, the pounding chest, the complete euphoria.
Today, in the dark-sky morning, I went to the tree, but it wasn't there. At least, not how I had
seen
it before.
It
didn't welcome me today.
It pushed me away and wouldn't let me sit beneath its
branches.
It
did not envelop me and hold me close.
It
shied away from me. I knew that it wanted to
hold me close and keep me safe, but something would not allow it to do so.I knew that it wanted me
to sit in its branches and be near to it, but it would not allow itself to have the pleasure. I knew that
on the other side of the tree, the happiness I had known before hid from me.
The sky was dark this morning. That tree was my light when the sky turned dark. It was my
sunshine
on a cloudy day. When I was near the tree, everything was brought
into
the light. I can
only
hope
now
that the tree
will
realize that it does not have to hide its light from me. I
will
not steal
its light,
and
I will not cut its branches. I
will
only
sit
in its
shade
and let
it
wrap its branches around
me, keeping me close and making us both happy again.
I can only hope.
Cavs
The Mosaic
3
4
Spring2001
Fever
Subconscious paranoia as represented through physical debilitation
Fever
waves crash on the conscious state
wavering
heat lines like spring break on a Tahiti beach with too many Tequila sunrises
cascading through the veins
pushing aside the capillaries and blood
cells
of red and white
(blue?)
with
a telekinetic force that aspirin pills coated in sugared layers can't contain
A cold chest competes with warm legs for dominance of the quilted blanket
a
cocoon of restoration
sheathe
of rest in a thin veil salty sweet sweat
as the wuhrwoohrwoauhroooahmas of voices deflect off beige walls
and
become distorted despite the lack of cross winds
and try as you might there's no sense to be made of it.
Napalm
induced stinging of the eyes
even
when closed
stabbing
through the puffed lids and burning through shades of pink into richer hues of stopsign
red
.
She dances
through the unsummoned tears streaking down a flushed face
sliding
through closed eyes so gracefully leaving enthropic trails
brighter than any acid trip vibe lines
and
whiter than any presupposed imagination of angelic beauty.
A
1
/
2 inch
wide
crack in the window lets a small breeze enter
embrace and
caress
the
bed
,
lifting towards the ceiling in
a
lopsided fashion as the head
spins
and
cries
because
gravity
is denied
.
Pulsing
orange
green
until the bed drops,
the
climax of a rollercoaster,
as the
bree
ze
dies and I sleep
Chris Knutdsen
The Mosaic
5
-
6
Spring 2001
Mommy Said
Peg
g
y said I suck
And Margey said I'm fat
Mommy said I'm handsome
And somehow I prefer that
,
And when Cindy said I'm stinky
And Jason said I'm dumb
I told
'
em they should ask my mommy
She thinks I'm handsome
Smoking It
Jennifer Hoffman
Dan Buzi
Ode to Gertrude Stein
Did you Find you
.
You
you were Found
.
The dog the monkey
the donkey
.
The dog knows you
.
The
dog knows you in the play
Part 4 Act I Scene 3
.
Not to be to be to be
different.
Tend
e
r Buttons
was my
first my first was Tender Buttons
.
Lifting B
e
lly
that smelly belly
after Tender Buttons was
only the beginning
.
What am I am I you
are you me together do
we make up you or do we make
upme
.
Kirsten Dooley
The Mosaic
Balance
Icarusbird reigns from the sky
like
the moon in motion,
pulling the tides and me with it.
I'll call it a He as my birdgender prowess is lacking
and It is too
impersonal
for
a friend
of mine.
On the third night of each solace He rains down
in showers of wisdom and insight,
resting one-footed atop pine trees -
balance instructor finding and showing peace
to the chaos
of
"is"
and "being" - knowledge
.
I seek and I sought and I strive and I find that moment,
but
it's only a moment and then I'm breathing cheeseburgers
agam
on a thruway toll heading towards nothing for
tiny green slips of paper,
which Icarusbird uses for His nest - practicality.
And as
I
take instructions from stoplights
I see Him evaporate into the twilight of sky
to
be
reborn again.
I know He
is
better,
for I too have fallen from the sky,
my soul neither social nor security,
and I just
haven't
found the time
-
yet -
to build a new set of wings.
S. Randall
Thompson
7
8
Spring2001
You
I entered.
A picture on the wall
,
man
touching woman's cheek
.
Paint brushes
on a table. I throw my keys in a spot
of green. Your presence occupies the air
.
A wooden box carved with flowers filled with sage. Dried
petals lie on
a
book and spell my name
.
A 35-millimeter, black
and white prints tacked on a wooden wall, scattered
on a wooden floor.
I have to step over your visions. Oil shows
the way you portray it. Ceramic elephants
,
penne pasta with plum tomatoes, sex
in the rain.
I exit through a door. You enter and I am there.
Kelly Meagher
Black Stimulant
I need to drink expresso until a
sensation
sparkles
life seems too weak
truth never conquered any fate
life always goes to cappuccino then instinct
yes, java beyond virtue
no fuel like ground steam
hot
caffeine
at breakfast forever
minds in coffee auspiciously woke the whole universe
slowly it would be only romantic contentment
the possessed still pour liquid
.
JayMazloom
The Mosaic
Pinhole Negative
Christina Muller
9
10
Spring2001
Dream
Best dream I've
ever
had
Today I had a dream of the most beautiful blinding
vision
where the flames licked at the skyscrapers
scratching for capitalistic definition;
where the riots weren't color-coded classifications of condition
and where there wasn't blood
on
the walls
from an aborted backstreet education.
Manhattan NOT Berlin where Wallstreet burned down
as millions of computer capital was faxed to the ground.
Sounds
of
a thousand yuppie voices
screaming in unison to the chord of desperate choices
where your life or your liberty is compromised for the state
when Harlem and Silicon Valley finally can relate.
It's fate
that
we serve as God's final witness
when
society
degrades to survival of the fittest
where sweat is worth more than dollars
and dollars ain't no threat.
No regret
for Starbucks finally got what they had to get.
We'll move on from convenience and onto sustenance
no more A-bombs or Fat Cats so we'll finally get the chance
to grow from the ashes so humanity can actually last
Past
the
point of technological nihilism
when the Earth bounces beats of an all-natural religion.
And we dance
lll
the fires through the night
because this apocalyptic vision has finally set things right.
Let the motha@#* !
?=
bum baby.
Chris Knutsden
The Mosaic
AURORE
This is an archetype; her name is Aurore.
Start again, with her this time, and it's
her under you like a small craft,
till you drift on her balance
down a stream silvery with trout, to
the Hudson's brackish estuary
.
She marries you. The river is fecund,
shad running in enormous schools,
the work of days to harvest,
nights to rest with your head in her lap
.
You leave her when you reach the
river towns, where ferries cut back and forth,
lights teem and spatter.
but you go back to the docks ag
a
in
,
and
find her, young
e
r now
,
though the craft is older
.
The hawsers cry out against their warping
.
She casts off with you into the night current.
With the dawn, you drift into the Sound
.
Lights are blinking in the dark west, but you don't care.
She stands in the prow, outlined by soft rays.
To either side, shoals of herring glimmer.
Tad Richards
11
12
Spring 2001
Intrigued by Beauty
Oh love, wouldn't you be mine?
Touch of my hand on
your
soft skin
Don't you know I'd give it all away for you?
Hang your heavy head on my shoulder,
I'll help ease your load.
Oh beauty, you intrigue me
beauty inside and out
beauty eyes i could get lost
beauty laugh break an angel's harp
beauty is this the last dance?
Oh heartbreaker, I've seen you do it before
I don't want to play the victim in your games
You could be my queen today
and I'd be your Servant
What say you, don't break my heart.
Alex Korova
The Mosaic
Fa
ll
en Angel
One canno
t
understand the power within our
souls.
It
is a disturbing and relentless divine thing
That takes us under the current and releases our hearts into the murky
sand.
It is a song that brings on the unconscious and
empties
out the trash in our
minds.
It is a breeze that's
fragrance is
long forgotten but remembered upon intake.
It's
a
mother that would die
for
her
son
in the midst
of all
turmoil.
A father
that never
comprehends
the
nature
of
life
but
is never afraid to risk his
own
life.
A woman whom your eyes catch a glimpse of in a casino and you wonder if they
will ever
be
so lucky again.
A brother, whom
never
understands
but
always fights
like
a warrior for
the
safety
of your heart.
It
is the
bagpipes
that play forever and we never want the air to be released out
ofthem.
It
is
the
soft gentle touch of a hand that brings us closer to our China rose.
It
is the way
my
shadow explains nothing to me but knows all the answers.
A glimpse of fantasy and then the sunset is gone.
It
is the movies that cause us to believe there is a chance
.
It
is the actors that we want to be and want to love.
It
is the baseball catch with Dad that lasts until the morning of eternity
.
It
is looking across the river and never reaching the other side.
The way the struggle put before us is seemingly hard but only a three-piece
puzzle constructed by a child in the first grade
.
It
is the concentration
,
the drive, the determination
,
that brings me to say to
you
.
..
Never ever let your arms move away from the faJlen angel..
.
Or you will miss out on the heavens that lie within your own self
Kyle
Mostransky
13
14
Spring 2001
Home Again
Camelot Revisited
They say nothing has changed
("
Well, not much, all these
years
.
.. ")
but my step sounds hollow,
a half-remembered stranger
to
empty
suburban
streets
blackened by the cold drizzle.
Chilled, I seek shelter
in
my hunched
shoulders.
I pause, a cursed knight lost
in the Wastelands - unhorsed,
unarmored and unmanned.
With Lancelot's hollow eyes I scan
the brick face before me. The white
screen
door mocks my
small,
cringing frame
.
Chilled,
I seek shelter in my hunched
shoulders
.
"!
have
remained.
1 have
weathered storms,
punching fists,
broken hinges, and
still
l
stand firm
in my housing.
Time
'.s·
termites have
rotted
yours.
You bang loosely in the wind.
"
Chilled, I seek shelter in my hunched
shoulders.
An angel once showed me
the
Grail
behind this door,
held it aloft to me
.
I never reached for it.
I reached for him instead.
The angel cast me out.
Chilled, I sought shelter in my hunched shoulders.
Donna Jackson
The Mosaic
Step Back
I step back and
Lookup
At the cold night sky.
There,
I
lose myself in the stars
That seem endless as time itself
I
lean back
And breathe deep
The still night's air
With arms open to the world
And mind clear of all worries.
For a moment, all is right.
For that one moment
,
All my feelings
Of Worry
Of.Fear
Of Friendship
Of Love
Leave me behind, and I am happy.
Jhen the world begins
laslow
revolutions once more.
And
1u
that was once suspended
Comes flo<'ilipg back to life,
Inflicting its cruel torture upon me again.
Then I hear the one phrase that you gave to me,
"When I'm with you, the world stops spinning.
my favorite part of the day."
-
~
15
16
I'm
a
King
,
I'm a
brick,
I'm
eroding,
cycles
make up life,
speak, speak,
Spring
2001
S-T-R-E-A-M
I'm a homeless
man,
I'm
a flower,
I'm bleeding
,
I'm
burnt
,
Tear
us
all apart,
death
or
life,
music
can
fill the
soul
cuz
I
got
none of my own,
TRUTH, TRUTH,
Why do I repeat myself?
Rays Through the Forest
Kathleen Kelly
I'm the
Daili
Lama,
I'm
confused,
life
or
death
or
stories,
I love to hear
Why
do
we all
lie
?
The Mosaic
And if just before the storm,
Love is the calm.
..
If love is the
sky.
Bright with the
sun,
Then
all must end, before it's
even
done?
Love,
Without it there
would
be,
No sun nor stars,
Without it there would be
No beauty near nor
far.
Without it there would never
Be happiness nor pain
Without it there would be
Nothing
to lose nor
gain.
So love is thus,
A decision we must make
To reach in ourselves,
To he whole-hearted,
Or fake.
Love, this path,
Which we
all
should take,
Can
lead to happiness,
Or to heartbreak.
So thus
this journey
of
love
,
Which we call life
It is ours ...
It is
our only
unconditional right
Thank
you for
loving me.
Jamie Wajdowicz
17
18
Spring 2001
COFFEE
The
guy on the
stool
next to me looks into his
coffee
as
though it
could foretell
the future - undeserved
wealth
,
a voyage, a
woman. Two. The deathbed
conversion
of his
oldest son
to the faith he's renounced; but there's nothing
he can use there, only the bitter roast oflowland
Guatemala: DDT and
stoichiometry
of
heated
oils,
molecules
rearranging
like
spiky
tinker toys, tartaric
acid,
caffeine
to the
sympathetic
nervous
system,
increased peristalsis, vasal dilation
.
Tad Richards
The Mosaic
19
Crazy D, I'm writn' this first on paper
Thinkin' about the grand
caper
The threefold plan
To take life from outa my hands
-Education
-Job
-Retired
But
by then I won't be inspired
Life's so precious
I can't deny her
I f
ee
l like
fate
will dish me what she pleases
I pray to holy Jesus,
But maybe I don't have a
choice
Where there's a will there
'
s a voice
,
But not
always
a way
Like
a lamb astray
Cryin' for
its master
Full-fledged disaster
Soon to be had
The lamb
starvin'
mad
,
With no choice
Ju
s
t a voice in the empty wilderness,
Can
you
picture this ...
Me,
all
educated,
I
'
ve masturbated long enough on my own
knowledge
That by then I could teach it to others
My
sisters
and brothers
Who by then pretend I'm their superior
,
But in truth just older
A little bit colder
,
Frigid
as
I approach death quickly
The reaper wants ta sickle me
Life doesn't tickle me,
Cuz I haven
'
t grown to be
Any better
Just a messenger
Of more bull
@#
$
%
to come
More books
More babies,
More indefinite maybes
More
ways
we all want to be
And never will see
Cuz we 're too stuck grindin
'
It's not livin' it's survivin'
It's
strivin'
for da minimum
Workin' class money bum ...
The picture
scares
me too
Probably youth blurrin' my view
But as for now I don't
got
no time for
survivin'
Gotta get busy livin' or I
'
ll just
get
busy dyin'
.
Dan Buzi
20
Rephrase
rehash
Spring 2001
Another
wasted
class
and restate the
principle notions
of
qualitative data
we've collected the
l
ast
2
weeks
Dull
ideas float
throu
g
h
sta
le
air
becoming
progressively more foul
from the sweating
impatience
of
1
7
learn
ed
runts
shifting
in their seats
The contrapunta
l
nature
of
this
"
hi
gher
learning"(tm)
wasting tim
e
watching
the clock
wri
tin
g
notes for
the
sake of writing notes
and
g
lan
c
ing
at
the
clock
again
When
will
we
realize that
this isn't
supposed to be a one-way
imp
eria
li
stic
empirical trade route
and that half
the proce
ss
is the process itself
not th
e stress
of memorization
Chris
Knutsden
The Mosaic
21
22
Spring 2001
SARA LEE
It
was
three score and one years ago
,
In a factory by the sea
That a maiden there lived whom you may know.
By the name of Sara Lee
;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to distribute wholesale sugar,
coffee,
and tea.
I
was
a child and
sh
e
was a child
,
In this factory by the
sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
It
beat making clothes for Kathy Lee-
With a salary of just pennies per hour
Numbering thirty
-
three
.
And
,
this was the reason that, long ago,
In this factory by the
sea,
We had
cake
and cookies and brownies of fudge
Made by the beautiful Sara Lee
So that hypoglycemia
came
And bore her away from me
,
So now I must find other ways
To worship my sweet Sara Lee
.
And Playtex, more comfortable than nothing
,
Fitting better than leaves from a tree-
Yes!-that was the reason (as all men know
,
In this factory by the sea)
That Rinbros, Giltex, and L'eggs are made
By the Corporation Sara Lee
.
But h
e
r
stock
it was stronger by far than the stock
Of those who were older than she-
Of Kraft and Little Debbie-
The Mosaic
And neither Hillshire Farm nor Gallo Salam
e,
Nor Chock Full
O' Nuts Coffe
e
Can ever dissever their stock from her stock.
All were bought out by Sara Le
e.
I am sick I think
,
from the coffee I drink
Made by the beautiful Sara Lee;
As my cholesterol rises
,
my Hanes increase si
z
es
Thanks to cheesecake bites by Sara Le
e:
And the Jimmy Dean Meats and carcinogenic sweets
S
lu
sh
Oh my heart-my heart-now I can
'
t see m
y
feet.
Till my pantyhose
nm and my leg hairs roam free-
I love you
;
I love you, my sweet Sara Lee.
The Earth awakens, the snow melts.
Jaime Smith
Gooey
,
luscious slime seethes from under brilliant white piles of ice
-
Nature's saliva.
Eagerly, her life juice oozes down her flushed cheeks,
delightfully, the slobber streams along her rosy complexion.
Spring is here--
Finally she can swirl
with the wind through the trees,
with the moon through the darkness.
Her purple and yellow fragrance will linger among the flowers
in the field where she once slumbered
but she is alive again
and begs the Earth to receive her, to cast away the frozen blankets
and acce
p
t her loving embrace
.
The Ear
t
h gives in, gathering her puddles of drool in his
brown, wrinkled hands.
P
.
T
a
rantello
23
24
Spring 2001
I Would Prefer Not To ...
I would prefer not
to
.
.
.
be hit by a car from behind.
I would prefer not to ..
.
live in a world with the truly lazy
,
whiners, and stupid
people
.
I
would
prefer not to
...
have to kiss ass to get anywhere.
I would prefer not to
...
do other people's work for them
I would prefer not to
.
..
aknowledge the existence of bigots and racists.
I would prefer not to
...
be
sick
and tired of being sick and tired.
I would prefer not to
.
.
.
know that all my actions have equal and opposite reactions.
I would prefer not to
.
.
.
go
to sleep angry with someone I love
.
I would prefer not to
...
lose any
of
my friends because of feelings.
I would prefer not to
...
liv
e
m
y
life wond
e
ring what could have been
.
I would prefer
not
to
...
regret
anything
I've
ever
don
e.
I
would
pr
e
fer not
to ...
have
written
this poem
.
Cavs
The Mosaic
25
26
Spring 2001
The Mosaic
"You are the
end
result of history
and
evolution"
Imparted knowledge and dominant thinking
of
every
era of mankind's brief, deshuctive history -
is wrong!
The world
was
flat
,
then wasn't.
The sun moved, then didn't.
God had a son! who
,
I'm told, was killed for being God's son.
There's no
such
thing as
evolution, except
there is.
I know I cannot be the end
result
of history and evolution,
because, despite a history of wrongness
,
I still think that what I know is truth.
So, readers in the future -
if I died for something I believed,
whether right or wrong
,
then my life ended not in
vain
but in knowing faith
and I wish the same for
you.
S
Randall
Thompson
27
28
Spring 2001
~
The Mosaic
We walk
together,
Although the
Boston
Globes say we might collide
Into
each other at O'Hare trying
to
Make one international flight.
They
don't
see
that we
originated
the
creation
Of
this whispered shout,
And
that if
we want
to
end
the
vacation
In the Smokey Blue
Mountains,
All we have to destroy is the secret
Single bedroom apartment above Madrid's kiss
.
Then the sex would run casual
To cold blood like England
'
s clammy fog.
All the
words we say
to each other mean more
Than
electronic
laughter and
cyber conversation.
When we talk it's like the Golden Gate Bridge
Holding hands with the muddy breath
of
the
sky,
Knotting together shoelaces and fingers
With Atlantic
salt
letters.
Sometimes these puddles spill
Into the singing sanctuary of weeds
Of Orion's Big Dipper
And
I
'
m left to wonder what
Fresh
water truly tastes like
Because
I
can't remember
not
Drinking anything
that
didn
'
t touch
your
lips.
29
Ann Metz
30
Spring 2001
The Mosaic
31
Joyful Superman
I can't remember clearly what happened; it was all
so
fast. I was tightly gripping my cousin
'
s
arm, as
she
screamed hanging out of the window six floors high. I was
crying
and
yelling
for my
mother to come. She
was
talking in the kitchen with my aunt. My cousin was slipping
;
I
couldn't
hold on for much longer. My mother and aunt came bursting through the bedroom door.
My
aunt
screamed and ran toward the window. But her hand was slipping ..
.
Superman was on
TV, and
Joy and me were his biggest fans
.
Joy is my cousin, although she
acted more like my
sister
.
We were so close - I didn't have any
siblings
yet, and she was good
practice. Joy was my confidant and my best friend
.
Superman was our favorite superhero
.
He was
unbeatable,
super
strong and best of all, he could fly. Anyway, the movie was almost finished and
we started to enact some of the scenes. I ran into my room and tied a towel to my neck and ran
around the room pretending I was the caped crusader. Joy did the same thing of course
,
and we
both
were
transformed from normal six-year-olds into super humans with extraordinary powers
.
In
one blow, I could blow away some papers on the desk. Joy was so strong that she could lift the
chair. My eyes could see through walls.
I
to
ld
my cousin that I
had
a yellow T-shirt in the closet.
Peering into the half-open closet, she confirmed. We both
gained
abnorn1al speed
,
as we raced
each
other through the hallway of our apartment. The only ability we didn't have was the power to fly.
Well, not for too long at
least.
I jumped on the bed and told Joy to move out of the way. With my arms outstretched, I jumped
off the bed and onto the floor. I didn't end up horizontally like Superman, but with enough practice
I
could end up
like that.
Joy looked
in
awe as I got up from the floor. I smiled and said, "You can do
that, too."
So, we
each
took turns flying, when after ten minutes passed, we still
hadn
't
reached a horizon-
tal position. We both stopped and tried to figure out what was going wrong.
"How
come we aren't flying straight," Joy asked.
"I
dunno."
"Well
,
I want to fly straight."
"Me too," I said.
32
Spring 2001
I looked at our
costumes.
Her pink towel was
slipping
off of her neck, and
she
was turning red
from jumping up and down so much. My white towel
was stuffed
uncomfortably down the back of
my
shirt.
I
was
thinking hard about what we were missing when Joy
gasped
in astonishment.
"Look
out there on the stairs," she whispered
.
On
the
rusty
fire escape was
a
white
pigeon,
strutting around
like he
owned the apartment
building
.
He
stretched
his
wings out
to
show
off his
feathers. Then,
he quickly turned his head to
us
and winked before di
s
appearing into a passing cloud in the blue sky
.
He
left
behind a tail feather
for
us
to remember him by
.
Suddenly,
I
got an idea
.
"
We can fly," I exclaimed. "That
bird just
told me so."
"Y
e
ah right Michael
,
" Joy laughed.
I kn
e
w we could fly. I
looked
at the feath
e
r and remembered Superman
.
I saw how the pigeon
fl
e
w off
,
horizontally
,
and then up, up and away
.
It was beautiful.
"
W
e
ar
e
n't high
e
nough on the bed," I reasoned. "In order to fly straight, you have to get high
enough."
So
,
we scaled
the dresser, jumping
from
it
and
wondering why it didn't
work
.
I looked
outside.
The
light
bulb went
on again.
"You
try it first," Joy told me after
she
heard my proposal.
'Tm telling you,
I'll follow as
soon as
I
see you
do it," I promised.
"Don't
lie. You promise?"
"I
pro1nise."
We
sat
on the window ledge giving each other preliminary hugs, like
two
pilots going on their
first test flight. I
s
1
niled and
said,
'This is going to be so cool." "I know," said Joy excitedly. She
put her feet out of the window first, because she was afraid to look down. I told her that once she
was
in the
air
that she could sail down
slowly,
just like Superman when he's finished flying. She
said
ok, and then we
started
the countdown.
The
Mosaic
33
"10
..
.
9
.
.
.
8 ...
"
Joy shifted nervously on the
window
.
She sucked in a deep breath
.
"7 .
.
.
6
..
.
5 ..
.
"
I gripped her shirt tightly. I could hear my mom laughing in the kitchen
.
"4 ...
3
.
.
.
"
I
thought of Superman.
I
thought of the white pigeon
.
I
thought this would be the greatest day
of my life
.
"2 ...
1
..
.
"
The high shriek from Joy as she slipped from my arms, vibrated through my skull. She was
slipping from my hands. She yelled for me to pull her up, but she was too heavy. I closed my eyes
and screamed as loud as I could
.
I knew that
something
was wrong. I heard the fear in my cousin
'
s
voice. Her fear told me that we could not fly.
I
struggled
to pull her up. Her hands clamped on my wrists as I pulled backwards to help her in
.
But her foot slipped, and she was dangling outside again. I yelled for my mother
.
"Mommy!" I
screamed.
"Come
quickly!
I
need help with Joy!"
I
was in shock at how fast
everything
was going
.
I
remembered just a few minutes ago, Joy and I were together, jumping off of the bed. Looking at her
hand
slipping,
I realized that flying was pulling us apart.
"I'm
sorry Joy," I said shakily.
"Pull
me up! I'm falling!" Joy was crying now
.
I heard my bedroom door explode and my mother's voice yelling my name. I
couldn't
hear her,
though. I was just focused on Joy's hand sliding down my wrist. My aunt screamed and my hand
jolted backward. I heard joy
yell,
and then
.
..
then I couldn't feel her hand anymore
.
Michael Craigg
34
Spring2001
At the Drive-In
Cavs
The Mosaic
Enlightened Needle
Someone get me my spoon
I'm going to mainline the world
Melt it down to its essence and put it all in one big needle
After all a Republican approach to enlightenment is painfully slow
I could stretch this f
@#
$ing metaphor as long as you want me to
Tie off with your confining convention?
Roll my soft eyes to the sky at the rush of knowledge
'
s fix?
35
Maybe I'll live the cardboard box ofmy regrets .
.
. more? how much? how much longer?
Another year?
Another day?
Another instant?
NAY!
GNE
ME MY INSTANT REVOLlITIONLORD!
My Armchair Renaissance
I'd risk an OD for this
This
.
.. this .
.
. oh goodie .
..
words fail me now too
Bleck, and I call myself a poet
A napkin, a cigarette, a pen ... strong coffee
Genius is purely chemical apparently
So why not?
James Babiarz
36
Spring2001
And we chanted with voices ancient
,
Hundreds,
A Sunday morning feast of sound
.
The Mosaic
"I believe" we began and expounded on such
.
Many no longer heard their
own
words
,
It
didn't matter
,
"Maker
of heaven and earth
,"
Magical words,
"fall
things visible and invisible."
Mixed up in their minds with "one nation under God indivisible"
And other such "liberty and justice for all"
Not far from
"one
lord Jesus Christ
,
the son of God the only begotten,"
But the voices took me back, generations behind,
A time
To reflect
And reassess
The mind
.
These words were beautiful then for their simple repetition,
For the eloquence of history that they encompassed.
My
grandfather
before me and my great before then
Spoke these words still unchanged,
Before then in Albanian they chanted the same chant,
The intent
Unbroken
As one moves back
,
and beyond the words, before Christ
To the tribal times,
To the tribal times when maybe mongrels controlled that same land,
37
When maybe it wasn't "our father who art in"
"one
nation under God indivisible with
When it was rather,
"give
us Earth mother" "our daily bread"
And other such suppliant words,
When men knew not of the One God but many
,
Even then the intent did not bend under the will of time.
The words have changed,
"I believe in one" "earth mother provider of all things who gives us our"
"liberty and justice for all."
It
is the veritable quintessence of community, The Chant.
We all say the same thing, hundreds
a Sunday morning feast of sound
liberty and justice for all."
"I believe
,"
we begin and expound towards "the
resurrection
of the dead and the life of the
world
to
come," where we know we will all one day end.
One day,
When the
chant can
no longer bend,
When the
words snap,
Are dead
.
DanBuzi
38
Spring2001
The Mosaic
Mystical eyes
,
Set
upon
the sky so vast.
Beads of memories float down her face
.
Cascading,
Reflecting colors of the
past.
Where are you
,
spirit of mine?
Pieces
of you
lay amiss,
Sprawled out
in
all directions
.
Picking
the
pieces up
one by one,
I find
a
reflection of my
body upon
those
shattered ages.
My
journey.
My work, Finding my missing
pieces among the ruins
of the earth
.
In
the
end,
I
shall walk
upon
the
ruins
Feeling as
ifl too have the ability to be
a complete
me.
Katie Mussen
Forever Thunderclouds
Weight of the
world
bearing down harder than a
vice
tightening
on its wood.
With every step
that
I
take the ground seems farther away than the
step
before it.
The
square wheels on my
wagon
of burdens
inch
along as I try to pull it out of the
rain,
The forever thunderclouds cross the sky and cover the life
giving
light of the glorious
sun.
I yearn for its rays of hope, its light fluttering to the
earth
on the
wings
of doves,
Bringing peace to the down trodden and miserable, comforting those who know only
saddness and
extending
a hand to those who need uplifting.
But the rays of a new
life
terminate just before my rain clouds begin,
Just beyond the reach of my outstretched
arms.
Leaning out, trying to grasp anything, something strong enough to pull my weak
body
from the wreckage ofmy life.
The wind blows
harder and
begins
to howl
as
the distance lengthens between
my
fingertips and hope.
It
drifts
away
like
a
brown leaf
caught on an autumn
breeze not
to be seen again.
And so with my solitary escape rout out of
reach I have no
choice
but
to continue,
Continue on
leading
my square wheeled wagon, as the
weight
of the world
gets
heavier.
Sarah Dowling
39
l
GET A JUMP ON NEXT SEMESTER'S MOSAIC!
If you have any poetry, prose, photography, or other
artistic expression that you would like to submit for
possible publication into the Fall 2001 Mosaic, please
drop a copy of the work - a hard copy or on disk - in
the Literary Arts mailbox in the Council of Clubs
room, in the Student Center. All work will be returned
in its original condition. Watch for deadlines posted
around campus during the semester. Contact
Jim Rovello or Ann Metz for more information.
Mosaic_S_2001_001
Mosaic_S_2001_002
Mosaic_S_2001_003
Mosaic_S_2001_004
Mosaic_S_2001_005
Mosaic_S_2001_006
Mosaic_S_2001_007
Mosaic_S_2001_008
Mosaic_S_2001_009
Mosaic_S_2001_010
Mosaic_S_2001_011
Mosaic_S_2001_012
Mosaic_S_2001_013
Mosaic_S_2001_014
Mosaic_S_2001_015
Mosaic_S_2001_016
Mosaic_S_2001_017
Mosaic_S_2001_018
Mosaic_S_2001_019
Mosaic_S_2001_020
Mosaic_S_2001_021
Mosaic_S_2001_022
Mosaic_S_2001_023
Mosaic_S_2001_024
Mosaic_S_2001_025
Mosaic_S_2001_026
Mosaic_S_2001_027
Mosaic_S_2001_028
Mosaic_S_2001_029
Mosaic_S_2001_030
Mosaic_S_2001_031
Mosaic_S_2001_032
Mosaic_S_2001_033
Mosaic_S_2001_034
Mosaic_S_2001_035
Mosaic_S_2001_036
Mosaic_S_2001_037
Mosaic_S_2001_038
Mosaic_S_2001_039
Mosaic_S_2001_040
Mosaic_S_2001_041
Mosaic_S_2001_042
Mosaic_S_2001_043
Mosaic_S_2001_044
Mosaic_S_2001_045
Mosaic_S_2001_046
Mosaic_S_2001_047
Mosaic_S_2001_048
1
Back Again
Melinda O'Callaghan
2
Dark Sky Morning
Cavs
3
Setting Sun
Scott Neville
4
Fever
Chris Knutsden
s
Walk with the Devil
Jay Mazloom
Shore Steps
Scott Neville
6
Mommy Said
Dan Buzi
Ode to Gertrude Stein
Kirstin Dooley
Smoking It
Jennifer Hoffman
7
Balance
S. Randall Thompson
8
You
Kelly Meagher
Black Stimulant
Jay Mazloom
9
Pinhole Negative
Christina Muller
10
Dream
Chris Knutdsen
11
AURORE
Tad Richards
12
Intrigued by Beauty
Alex Korova
Untitled I & II
Christina Muller
13
Fallen Angel
Kyle Mostransky
14
Home Again - Camelot Revisted
Donna Jackson
15
Step Back
Cavs
Silohuette
Christina Muller
16
S-T-R-E-A-M
Anonymous
Rays Through the Forest
Kathleen Kelly
17
And
if
just before the storm ...
Jamie Wajdowicz
18
Coffee
Tad Richards
Waiting
Jamie Veley
Grave Silence
Scott Neville
Table Of Contents
19
Get Busy
Dan Buzi
20
Another Wasted Class
Chris Knutdsen
21
Prepared for Rain
Alexis Scarpinato
22
Sara Lee
Jaime Smith
23
Slush
P. Tarantello
24
I Would Prefer Not To ...
Cavs
25
And My Mother Died of Cancer
James Babiarz
Skeleton
Scott Neville
26
Fingers to Fame
Jim Rovello
Cave Mouth
Scott Neville
27
You are the end result of history ...
S. Randall Thompson
28
Justification for Dancing
Jay Mazloom
The Long Walk
Scott Neville
29
We Walk Together
Ann Metz
30
6 a.m. on a Sunday Morning
Caneil McDonald
Ripples by the Shore
Scott Neville
31-33 Joyful Superman
Michael Craigg
34
At the Drive-In
Cavs
35
Enlightened Needle
James Babiarz
36
No amount of warm milk. ..
Anonymous
Infinite Wilderness
Scott Neville
37
And we chanted with voices ancient. ..
Dan Buzi
38
To this day I have wondered
Katie Mussen
Rolling Tide
Scott Neville
39
Mystical Eyes
Katie Mussen
Forever Thunderclouds
Sarah Dowling
The Mosaic
Back Again:
Did you miss me?
Is that what this is?
This love spilling forth
From every pore,
The sunshine bursting
From your soul,
The joy in your voice,
The glow in your eyes
Perfectly enchanting.
Because I fill
Your
spaces
The ones you try to hide?
Were you running on empty
For
too long?
Well, this rest stop
Is closed.
Find
someplace else to go
If
you can't stay
.
Melinda O'Callaghan
1
2
Spring2001
Dark Sky Morning
The sky was dark this morning. I woke up, and couldn't
see
anything. The darkness enveloped
me. As I pulled the covers over my head, thinking it was still night, I glanced at the clock at the side
of my bed. It read 10 o'clock AM. I stared a minute longer, not understanding, not comprehending
why I couldn't see the light that I knew was there. I got out ofmy bed, trying to understand what
was
happening. I got dressed with the intention of going to my tree, the source of my light.
This was my favorite tree. Whenever I went to this tree, I felt alive and happy. An energy that I
felt nowhere else emanated from this tree. Whenever I was in the presence of this tree, I smiled and
couldn't
stop for hours. As long as I was near this tree, I was happy. Its beauty astounded me. The
feeling
of its trunk against my back as I sat daydreaming under its branches made me more than
happy. I could look at the sky and see everything I've always wanted in the clouds. Don't get me
wrong, life went on without the tree, and I could be happy not being near it. There was, however,
something
about this tree, something that made me a hundred times happier than I had been when I
was
away from it.
It
was something I could not explain.
Today, in the dark-sky morning, I went to the tree. I went to sit next to it, hoping that its
branches would wrap around me and hold me close. I went in hopes of feeling safe and comfortable
and happy. I went hoping for that
feeling: the prickles in the back of my neck, the flushed face, the
light-headedness, the pounding chest, the complete euphoria.
Today, in the dark-sky morning, I went to the tree, but it wasn't there. At least, not how I had
seen
it before.
It
didn't welcome me today.
It pushed me away and wouldn't let me sit beneath its
branches.
It
did not envelop me and hold me close.
It
shied away from me. I knew that it wanted to
hold me close and keep me safe, but something would not allow it to do so.I knew that it wanted me
to sit in its branches and be near to it, but it would not allow itself to have the pleasure. I knew that
on the other side of the tree, the happiness I had known before hid from me.
The sky was dark this morning. That tree was my light when the sky turned dark. It was my
sunshine
on a cloudy day. When I was near the tree, everything was brought
into
the light. I can
only
hope
now
that the tree
will
realize that it does not have to hide its light from me. I
will
not steal
its light,
and
I will not cut its branches. I
will
only
sit
in its
shade
and let
it
wrap its branches around
me, keeping me close and making us both happy again.
I can only hope.
Cavs
The Mosaic
3
4
Spring2001
Fever
Subconscious paranoia as represented through physical debilitation
Fever
waves crash on the conscious state
wavering
heat lines like spring break on a Tahiti beach with too many Tequila sunrises
cascading through the veins
pushing aside the capillaries and blood
cells
of red and white
(blue?)
with
a telekinetic force that aspirin pills coated in sugared layers can't contain
A cold chest competes with warm legs for dominance of the quilted blanket
a
cocoon of restoration
sheathe
of rest in a thin veil salty sweet sweat
as the wuhrwoohrwoauhroooahmas of voices deflect off beige walls
and
become distorted despite the lack of cross winds
and try as you might there's no sense to be made of it.
Napalm
induced stinging of the eyes
even
when closed
stabbing
through the puffed lids and burning through shades of pink into richer hues of stopsign
red
.
She dances
through the unsummoned tears streaking down a flushed face
sliding
through closed eyes so gracefully leaving enthropic trails
brighter than any acid trip vibe lines
and
whiter than any presupposed imagination of angelic beauty.
A
1
/
2 inch
wide
crack in the window lets a small breeze enter
embrace and
caress
the
bed
,
lifting towards the ceiling in
a
lopsided fashion as the head
spins
and
cries
because
gravity
is denied
.
Pulsing
orange
green
until the bed drops,
the
climax of a rollercoaster,
as the
bree
ze
dies and I sleep
Chris Knutdsen
The Mosaic
5
-
6
Spring 2001
Mommy Said
Peg
g
y said I suck
And Margey said I'm fat
Mommy said I'm handsome
And somehow I prefer that
,
And when Cindy said I'm stinky
And Jason said I'm dumb
I told
'
em they should ask my mommy
She thinks I'm handsome
Smoking It
Jennifer Hoffman
Dan Buzi
Ode to Gertrude Stein
Did you Find you
.
You
you were Found
.
The dog the monkey
the donkey
.
The dog knows you
.
The
dog knows you in the play
Part 4 Act I Scene 3
.
Not to be to be to be
different.
Tend
e
r Buttons
was my
first my first was Tender Buttons
.
Lifting B
e
lly
that smelly belly
after Tender Buttons was
only the beginning
.
What am I am I you
are you me together do
we make up you or do we make
upme
.
Kirsten Dooley
The Mosaic
Balance
Icarusbird reigns from the sky
like
the moon in motion,
pulling the tides and me with it.
I'll call it a He as my birdgender prowess is lacking
and It is too
impersonal
for
a friend
of mine.
On the third night of each solace He rains down
in showers of wisdom and insight,
resting one-footed atop pine trees -
balance instructor finding and showing peace
to the chaos
of
"is"
and "being" - knowledge
.
I seek and I sought and I strive and I find that moment,
but
it's only a moment and then I'm breathing cheeseburgers
agam
on a thruway toll heading towards nothing for
tiny green slips of paper,
which Icarusbird uses for His nest - practicality.
And as
I
take instructions from stoplights
I see Him evaporate into the twilight of sky
to
be
reborn again.
I know He
is
better,
for I too have fallen from the sky,
my soul neither social nor security,
and I just
haven't
found the time
-
yet -
to build a new set of wings.
S. Randall
Thompson
7
8
Spring2001
You
I entered.
A picture on the wall
,
man
touching woman's cheek
.
Paint brushes
on a table. I throw my keys in a spot
of green. Your presence occupies the air
.
A wooden box carved with flowers filled with sage. Dried
petals lie on
a
book and spell my name
.
A 35-millimeter, black
and white prints tacked on a wooden wall, scattered
on a wooden floor.
I have to step over your visions. Oil shows
the way you portray it. Ceramic elephants
,
penne pasta with plum tomatoes, sex
in the rain.
I exit through a door. You enter and I am there.
Kelly Meagher
Black Stimulant
I need to drink expresso until a
sensation
sparkles
life seems too weak
truth never conquered any fate
life always goes to cappuccino then instinct
yes, java beyond virtue
no fuel like ground steam
hot
caffeine
at breakfast forever
minds in coffee auspiciously woke the whole universe
slowly it would be only romantic contentment
the possessed still pour liquid
.
JayMazloom
The Mosaic
Pinhole Negative
Christina Muller
9
10
Spring2001
Dream
Best dream I've
ever
had
Today I had a dream of the most beautiful blinding
vision
where the flames licked at the skyscrapers
scratching for capitalistic definition;
where the riots weren't color-coded classifications of condition
and where there wasn't blood
on
the walls
from an aborted backstreet education.
Manhattan NOT Berlin where Wallstreet burned down
as millions of computer capital was faxed to the ground.
Sounds
of
a thousand yuppie voices
screaming in unison to the chord of desperate choices
where your life or your liberty is compromised for the state
when Harlem and Silicon Valley finally can relate.
It's fate
that
we serve as God's final witness
when
society
degrades to survival of the fittest
where sweat is worth more than dollars
and dollars ain't no threat.
No regret
for Starbucks finally got what they had to get.
We'll move on from convenience and onto sustenance
no more A-bombs or Fat Cats so we'll finally get the chance
to grow from the ashes so humanity can actually last
Past
the
point of technological nihilism
when the Earth bounces beats of an all-natural religion.
And we dance
lll
the fires through the night
because this apocalyptic vision has finally set things right.
Let the motha@#* !
?=
bum baby.
Chris Knutsden
The Mosaic
AURORE
This is an archetype; her name is Aurore.
Start again, with her this time, and it's
her under you like a small craft,
till you drift on her balance
down a stream silvery with trout, to
the Hudson's brackish estuary
.
She marries you. The river is fecund,
shad running in enormous schools,
the work of days to harvest,
nights to rest with your head in her lap
.
You leave her when you reach the
river towns, where ferries cut back and forth,
lights teem and spatter.
but you go back to the docks ag
a
in
,
and
find her, young
e
r now
,
though the craft is older
.
The hawsers cry out against their warping
.
She casts off with you into the night current.
With the dawn, you drift into the Sound
.
Lights are blinking in the dark west, but you don't care.
She stands in the prow, outlined by soft rays.
To either side, shoals of herring glimmer.
Tad Richards
11
12
Spring 2001
Intrigued by Beauty
Oh love, wouldn't you be mine?
Touch of my hand on
your
soft skin
Don't you know I'd give it all away for you?
Hang your heavy head on my shoulder,
I'll help ease your load.
Oh beauty, you intrigue me
beauty inside and out
beauty eyes i could get lost
beauty laugh break an angel's harp
beauty is this the last dance?
Oh heartbreaker, I've seen you do it before
I don't want to play the victim in your games
You could be my queen today
and I'd be your Servant
What say you, don't break my heart.
Alex Korova
The Mosaic
Fa
ll
en Angel
One canno
t
understand the power within our
souls.
It
is a disturbing and relentless divine thing
That takes us under the current and releases our hearts into the murky
sand.
It is a song that brings on the unconscious and
empties
out the trash in our
minds.
It is a breeze that's
fragrance is
long forgotten but remembered upon intake.
It's
a
mother that would die
for
her
son
in the midst
of all
turmoil.
A father
that never
comprehends
the
nature
of
life
but
is never afraid to risk his
own
life.
A woman whom your eyes catch a glimpse of in a casino and you wonder if they
will ever
be
so lucky again.
A brother, whom
never
understands
but
always fights
like
a warrior for
the
safety
of your heart.
It
is the
bagpipes
that play forever and we never want the air to be released out
ofthem.
It
is
the
soft gentle touch of a hand that brings us closer to our China rose.
It
is the way
my
shadow explains nothing to me but knows all the answers.
A glimpse of fantasy and then the sunset is gone.
It
is the movies that cause us to believe there is a chance
.
It
is the actors that we want to be and want to love.
It
is the baseball catch with Dad that lasts until the morning of eternity
.
It
is looking across the river and never reaching the other side.
The way the struggle put before us is seemingly hard but only a three-piece
puzzle constructed by a child in the first grade
.
It
is the concentration
,
the drive, the determination
,
that brings me to say to
you
.
..
Never ever let your arms move away from the faJlen angel..
.
Or you will miss out on the heavens that lie within your own self
Kyle
Mostransky
13
14
Spring 2001
Home Again
Camelot Revisited
They say nothing has changed
("
Well, not much, all these
years
.
.. ")
but my step sounds hollow,
a half-remembered stranger
to
empty
suburban
streets
blackened by the cold drizzle.
Chilled, I seek shelter
in
my hunched
shoulders.
I pause, a cursed knight lost
in the Wastelands - unhorsed,
unarmored and unmanned.
With Lancelot's hollow eyes I scan
the brick face before me. The white
screen
door mocks my
small,
cringing frame
.
Chilled,
I seek shelter in my hunched
shoulders
.
"!
have
remained.
1 have
weathered storms,
punching fists,
broken hinges, and
still
l
stand firm
in my housing.
Time
'.s·
termites have
rotted
yours.
You bang loosely in the wind.
"
Chilled, I seek shelter in my hunched
shoulders.
An angel once showed me
the
Grail
behind this door,
held it aloft to me
.
I never reached for it.
I reached for him instead.
The angel cast me out.
Chilled, I sought shelter in my hunched shoulders.
Donna Jackson
The Mosaic
Step Back
I step back and
Lookup
At the cold night sky.
There,
I
lose myself in the stars
That seem endless as time itself
I
lean back
And breathe deep
The still night's air
With arms open to the world
And mind clear of all worries.
For a moment, all is right.
For that one moment
,
All my feelings
Of Worry
Of.Fear
Of Friendship
Of Love
Leave me behind, and I am happy.
Jhen the world begins
laslow
revolutions once more.
And
1u
that was once suspended
Comes flo<'ilipg back to life,
Inflicting its cruel torture upon me again.
Then I hear the one phrase that you gave to me,
"When I'm with you, the world stops spinning.
my favorite part of the day."
-
~
15
16
I'm
a
King
,
I'm a
brick,
I'm
eroding,
cycles
make up life,
speak, speak,
Spring
2001
S-T-R-E-A-M
I'm a homeless
man,
I'm
a flower,
I'm bleeding
,
I'm
burnt
,
Tear
us
all apart,
death
or
life,
music
can
fill the
soul
cuz
I
got
none of my own,
TRUTH, TRUTH,
Why do I repeat myself?
Rays Through the Forest
Kathleen Kelly
I'm the
Daili
Lama,
I'm
confused,
life
or
death
or
stories,
I love to hear
Why
do
we all
lie
?
The Mosaic
And if just before the storm,
Love is the calm.
..
If love is the
sky.
Bright with the
sun,
Then
all must end, before it's
even
done?
Love,
Without it there
would
be,
No sun nor stars,
Without it there would be
No beauty near nor
far.
Without it there would never
Be happiness nor pain
Without it there would be
Nothing
to lose nor
gain.
So love is thus,
A decision we must make
To reach in ourselves,
To he whole-hearted,
Or fake.
Love, this path,
Which we
all
should take,
Can
lead to happiness,
Or to heartbreak.
So thus
this journey
of
love
,
Which we call life
It is ours ...
It is
our only
unconditional right
Thank
you for
loving me.
Jamie Wajdowicz
17
18
Spring 2001
COFFEE
The
guy on the
stool
next to me looks into his
coffee
as
though it
could foretell
the future - undeserved
wealth
,
a voyage, a
woman. Two. The deathbed
conversion
of his
oldest son
to the faith he's renounced; but there's nothing
he can use there, only the bitter roast oflowland
Guatemala: DDT and
stoichiometry
of
heated
oils,
molecules
rearranging
like
spiky
tinker toys, tartaric
acid,
caffeine
to the
sympathetic
nervous
system,
increased peristalsis, vasal dilation
.
Tad Richards
The Mosaic
19
Crazy D, I'm writn' this first on paper
Thinkin' about the grand
caper
The threefold plan
To take life from outa my hands
-Education
-Job
-Retired
But
by then I won't be inspired
Life's so precious
I can't deny her
I f
ee
l like
fate
will dish me what she pleases
I pray to holy Jesus,
But maybe I don't have a
choice
Where there's a will there
'
s a voice
,
But not
always
a way
Like
a lamb astray
Cryin' for
its master
Full-fledged disaster
Soon to be had
The lamb
starvin'
mad
,
With no choice
Ju
s
t a voice in the empty wilderness,
Can
you
picture this ...
Me,
all
educated,
I
'
ve masturbated long enough on my own
knowledge
That by then I could teach it to others
My
sisters
and brothers
Who by then pretend I'm their superior
,
But in truth just older
A little bit colder
,
Frigid
as
I approach death quickly
The reaper wants ta sickle me
Life doesn't tickle me,
Cuz I haven
'
t grown to be
Any better
Just a messenger
Of more bull
@#
$
%
to come
More books
More babies,
More indefinite maybes
More
ways
we all want to be
And never will see
Cuz we 're too stuck grindin
'
It's not livin' it's survivin'
It's
strivin'
for da minimum
Workin' class money bum ...
The picture
scares
me too
Probably youth blurrin' my view
But as for now I don't
got
no time for
survivin'
Gotta get busy livin' or I
'
ll just
get
busy dyin'
.
Dan Buzi
20
Rephrase
rehash
Spring 2001
Another
wasted
class
and restate the
principle notions
of
qualitative data
we've collected the
l
ast
2
weeks
Dull
ideas float
throu
g
h
sta
le
air
becoming
progressively more foul
from the sweating
impatience
of
1
7
learn
ed
runts
shifting
in their seats
The contrapunta
l
nature
of
this
"
hi
gher
learning"(tm)
wasting tim
e
watching
the clock
wri
tin
g
notes for
the
sake of writing notes
and
g
lan
c
ing
at
the
clock
again
When
will
we
realize that
this isn't
supposed to be a one-way
imp
eria
li
stic
empirical trade route
and that half
the proce
ss
is the process itself
not th
e stress
of memorization
Chris
Knutsden
The Mosaic
21
22
Spring 2001
SARA LEE
It
was
three score and one years ago
,
In a factory by the sea
That a maiden there lived whom you may know.
By the name of Sara Lee
;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to distribute wholesale sugar,
coffee,
and tea.
I
was
a child and
sh
e
was a child
,
In this factory by the
sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
It
beat making clothes for Kathy Lee-
With a salary of just pennies per hour
Numbering thirty
-
three
.
And
,
this was the reason that, long ago,
In this factory by the
sea,
We had
cake
and cookies and brownies of fudge
Made by the beautiful Sara Lee
So that hypoglycemia
came
And bore her away from me
,
So now I must find other ways
To worship my sweet Sara Lee
.
And Playtex, more comfortable than nothing
,
Fitting better than leaves from a tree-
Yes!-that was the reason (as all men know
,
In this factory by the sea)
That Rinbros, Giltex, and L'eggs are made
By the Corporation Sara Lee
.
But h
e
r
stock
it was stronger by far than the stock
Of those who were older than she-
Of Kraft and Little Debbie-
The Mosaic
And neither Hillshire Farm nor Gallo Salam
e,
Nor Chock Full
O' Nuts Coffe
e
Can ever dissever their stock from her stock.
All were bought out by Sara Le
e.
I am sick I think
,
from the coffee I drink
Made by the beautiful Sara Lee;
As my cholesterol rises
,
my Hanes increase si
z
es
Thanks to cheesecake bites by Sara Le
e:
And the Jimmy Dean Meats and carcinogenic sweets
S
lu
sh
Oh my heart-my heart-now I can
'
t see m
y
feet.
Till my pantyhose
nm and my leg hairs roam free-
I love you
;
I love you, my sweet Sara Lee.
The Earth awakens, the snow melts.
Jaime Smith
Gooey
,
luscious slime seethes from under brilliant white piles of ice
-
Nature's saliva.
Eagerly, her life juice oozes down her flushed cheeks,
delightfully, the slobber streams along her rosy complexion.
Spring is here--
Finally she can swirl
with the wind through the trees,
with the moon through the darkness.
Her purple and yellow fragrance will linger among the flowers
in the field where she once slumbered
but she is alive again
and begs the Earth to receive her, to cast away the frozen blankets
and acce
p
t her loving embrace
.
The Ear
t
h gives in, gathering her puddles of drool in his
brown, wrinkled hands.
P
.
T
a
rantello
23
24
Spring 2001
I Would Prefer Not To ...
I would prefer not
to
.
.
.
be hit by a car from behind.
I would prefer not to ..
.
live in a world with the truly lazy
,
whiners, and stupid
people
.
I
would
prefer not to
...
have to kiss ass to get anywhere.
I would prefer not to
...
do other people's work for them
I would prefer not to
.
..
aknowledge the existence of bigots and racists.
I would prefer not to
...
be
sick
and tired of being sick and tired.
I would prefer not to
.
.
.
know that all my actions have equal and opposite reactions.
I would prefer not to
.
.
.
go
to sleep angry with someone I love
.
I would prefer not to
...
lose any
of
my friends because of feelings.
I would prefer not to
...
liv
e
m
y
life wond
e
ring what could have been
.
I would prefer
not
to
...
regret
anything
I've
ever
don
e.
I
would
pr
e
fer not
to ...
have
written
this poem
.
Cavs
The Mosaic
25
26
Spring 2001
The Mosaic
"You are the
end
result of history
and
evolution"
Imparted knowledge and dominant thinking
of
every
era of mankind's brief, deshuctive history -
is wrong!
The world
was
flat
,
then wasn't.
The sun moved, then didn't.
God had a son! who
,
I'm told, was killed for being God's son.
There's no
such
thing as
evolution, except
there is.
I know I cannot be the end
result
of history and evolution,
because, despite a history of wrongness
,
I still think that what I know is truth.
So, readers in the future -
if I died for something I believed,
whether right or wrong
,
then my life ended not in
vain
but in knowing faith
and I wish the same for
you.
S
Randall
Thompson
27
28
Spring 2001
~
The Mosaic
We walk
together,
Although the
Boston
Globes say we might collide
Into
each other at O'Hare trying
to
Make one international flight.
They
don't
see
that we
originated
the
creation
Of
this whispered shout,
And
that if
we want
to
end
the
vacation
In the Smokey Blue
Mountains,
All we have to destroy is the secret
Single bedroom apartment above Madrid's kiss
.
Then the sex would run casual
To cold blood like England
'
s clammy fog.
All the
words we say
to each other mean more
Than
electronic
laughter and
cyber conversation.
When we talk it's like the Golden Gate Bridge
Holding hands with the muddy breath
of
the
sky,
Knotting together shoelaces and fingers
With Atlantic
salt
letters.
Sometimes these puddles spill
Into the singing sanctuary of weeds
Of Orion's Big Dipper
And
I
'
m left to wonder what
Fresh
water truly tastes like
Because
I
can't remember
not
Drinking anything
that
didn
'
t touch
your
lips.
29
Ann Metz
30
Spring 2001
The Mosaic
31
Joyful Superman
I can't remember clearly what happened; it was all
so
fast. I was tightly gripping my cousin
'
s
arm, as
she
screamed hanging out of the window six floors high. I was
crying
and
yelling
for my
mother to come. She
was
talking in the kitchen with my aunt. My cousin was slipping
;
I
couldn't
hold on for much longer. My mother and aunt came bursting through the bedroom door.
My
aunt
screamed and ran toward the window. But her hand was slipping ..
.
Superman was on
TV, and
Joy and me were his biggest fans
.
Joy is my cousin, although she
acted more like my
sister
.
We were so close - I didn't have any
siblings
yet, and she was good
practice. Joy was my confidant and my best friend
.
Superman was our favorite superhero
.
He was
unbeatable,
super
strong and best of all, he could fly. Anyway, the movie was almost finished and
we started to enact some of the scenes. I ran into my room and tied a towel to my neck and ran
around the room pretending I was the caped crusader. Joy did the same thing of course
,
and we
both
were
transformed from normal six-year-olds into super humans with extraordinary powers
.
In
one blow, I could blow away some papers on the desk. Joy was so strong that she could lift the
chair. My eyes could see through walls.
I
to
ld
my cousin that I
had
a yellow T-shirt in the closet.
Peering into the half-open closet, she confirmed. We both
gained
abnorn1al speed
,
as we raced
each
other through the hallway of our apartment. The only ability we didn't have was the power to fly.
Well, not for too long at
least.
I jumped on the bed and told Joy to move out of the way. With my arms outstretched, I jumped
off the bed and onto the floor. I didn't end up horizontally like Superman, but with enough practice
I
could end up
like that.
Joy looked
in
awe as I got up from the floor. I smiled and said, "You can do
that, too."
So, we
each
took turns flying, when after ten minutes passed, we still
hadn
't
reached a horizon-
tal position. We both stopped and tried to figure out what was going wrong.
"How
come we aren't flying straight," Joy asked.
"I
dunno."
"Well
,
I want to fly straight."
"Me too," I said.
32
Spring 2001
I looked at our
costumes.
Her pink towel was
slipping
off of her neck, and
she
was turning red
from jumping up and down so much. My white towel
was stuffed
uncomfortably down the back of
my
shirt.
I
was
thinking hard about what we were missing when Joy
gasped
in astonishment.
"Look
out there on the stairs," she whispered
.
On
the
rusty
fire escape was
a
white
pigeon,
strutting around
like he
owned the apartment
building
.
He
stretched
his
wings out
to
show
off his
feathers. Then,
he quickly turned his head to
us
and winked before di
s
appearing into a passing cloud in the blue sky
.
He
left
behind a tail feather
for
us
to remember him by
.
Suddenly,
I
got an idea
.
"
We can fly," I exclaimed. "That
bird just
told me so."
"Y
e
ah right Michael
,
" Joy laughed.
I kn
e
w we could fly. I
looked
at the feath
e
r and remembered Superman
.
I saw how the pigeon
fl
e
w off
,
horizontally
,
and then up, up and away
.
It was beautiful.
"
W
e
ar
e
n't high
e
nough on the bed," I reasoned. "In order to fly straight, you have to get high
enough."
So
,
we scaled
the dresser, jumping
from
it
and
wondering why it didn't
work
.
I looked
outside.
The
light
bulb went
on again.
"You
try it first," Joy told me after
she
heard my proposal.
'Tm telling you,
I'll follow as
soon as
I
see you
do it," I promised.
"Don't
lie. You promise?"
"I
pro1nise."
We
sat
on the window ledge giving each other preliminary hugs, like
two
pilots going on their
first test flight. I
s
1
niled and
said,
'This is going to be so cool." "I know," said Joy excitedly. She
put her feet out of the window first, because she was afraid to look down. I told her that once she
was
in the
air
that she could sail down
slowly,
just like Superman when he's finished flying. She
said
ok, and then we
started
the countdown.
The
Mosaic
33
"10
..
.
9
.
.
.
8 ...
"
Joy shifted nervously on the
window
.
She sucked in a deep breath
.
"7 .
.
.
6
..
.
5 ..
.
"
I gripped her shirt tightly. I could hear my mom laughing in the kitchen
.
"4 ...
3
.
.
.
"
I
thought of Superman.
I
thought of the white pigeon
.
I
thought this would be the greatest day
of my life
.
"2 ...
1
..
.
"
The high shriek from Joy as she slipped from my arms, vibrated through my skull. She was
slipping from my hands. She yelled for me to pull her up, but she was too heavy. I closed my eyes
and screamed as loud as I could
.
I knew that
something
was wrong. I heard the fear in my cousin
'
s
voice. Her fear told me that we could not fly.
I
struggled
to pull her up. Her hands clamped on my wrists as I pulled backwards to help her in
.
But her foot slipped, and she was dangling outside again. I yelled for my mother
.
"Mommy!" I
screamed.
"Come
quickly!
I
need help with Joy!"
I
was in shock at how fast
everything
was going
.
I
remembered just a few minutes ago, Joy and I were together, jumping off of the bed. Looking at her
hand
slipping,
I realized that flying was pulling us apart.
"I'm
sorry Joy," I said shakily.
"Pull
me up! I'm falling!" Joy was crying now
.
I heard my bedroom door explode and my mother's voice yelling my name. I
couldn't
hear her,
though. I was just focused on Joy's hand sliding down my wrist. My aunt screamed and my hand
jolted backward. I heard joy
yell,
and then
.
..
then I couldn't feel her hand anymore
.
Michael Craigg
34
Spring2001
At the Drive-In
Cavs
The Mosaic
Enlightened Needle
Someone get me my spoon
I'm going to mainline the world
Melt it down to its essence and put it all in one big needle
After all a Republican approach to enlightenment is painfully slow
I could stretch this f
@#
$ing metaphor as long as you want me to
Tie off with your confining convention?
Roll my soft eyes to the sky at the rush of knowledge
'
s fix?
35
Maybe I'll live the cardboard box ofmy regrets .
.
. more? how much? how much longer?
Another year?
Another day?
Another instant?
NAY!
GNE
ME MY INSTANT REVOLlITIONLORD!
My Armchair Renaissance
I'd risk an OD for this
This
.
.. this .
.
. oh goodie .
..
words fail me now too
Bleck, and I call myself a poet
A napkin, a cigarette, a pen ... strong coffee
Genius is purely chemical apparently
So why not?
James Babiarz
36
Spring2001
And we chanted with voices ancient
,
Hundreds,
A Sunday morning feast of sound
.
The Mosaic
"I believe" we began and expounded on such
.
Many no longer heard their
own
words
,
It
didn't matter
,
"Maker
of heaven and earth
,"
Magical words,
"fall
things visible and invisible."
Mixed up in their minds with "one nation under God indivisible"
And other such "liberty and justice for all"
Not far from
"one
lord Jesus Christ
,
the son of God the only begotten,"
But the voices took me back, generations behind,
A time
To reflect
And reassess
The mind
.
These words were beautiful then for their simple repetition,
For the eloquence of history that they encompassed.
My
grandfather
before me and my great before then
Spoke these words still unchanged,
Before then in Albanian they chanted the same chant,
The intent
Unbroken
As one moves back
,
and beyond the words, before Christ
To the tribal times,
To the tribal times when maybe mongrels controlled that same land,
37
When maybe it wasn't "our father who art in"
"one
nation under God indivisible with
When it was rather,
"give
us Earth mother" "our daily bread"
And other such suppliant words,
When men knew not of the One God but many
,
Even then the intent did not bend under the will of time.
The words have changed,
"I believe in one" "earth mother provider of all things who gives us our"
"liberty and justice for all."
It
is the veritable quintessence of community, The Chant.
We all say the same thing, hundreds
a Sunday morning feast of sound
liberty and justice for all."
"I believe
,"
we begin and expound towards "the
resurrection
of the dead and the life of the
world
to
come," where we know we will all one day end.
One day,
When the
chant can
no longer bend,
When the
words snap,
Are dead
.
DanBuzi
38
Spring2001
The Mosaic
Mystical eyes
,
Set
upon
the sky so vast.
Beads of memories float down her face
.
Cascading,
Reflecting colors of the
past.
Where are you
,
spirit of mine?
Pieces
of you
lay amiss,
Sprawled out
in
all directions
.
Picking
the
pieces up
one by one,
I find
a
reflection of my
body upon
those
shattered ages.
My
journey.
My work, Finding my missing
pieces among the ruins
of the earth
.
In
the
end,
I
shall walk
upon
the
ruins
Feeling as
ifl too have the ability to be
a complete
me.
Katie Mussen
Forever Thunderclouds
Weight of the
world
bearing down harder than a
vice
tightening
on its wood.
With every step
that
I
take the ground seems farther away than the
step
before it.
The
square wheels on my
wagon
of burdens
inch
along as I try to pull it out of the
rain,
The forever thunderclouds cross the sky and cover the life
giving
light of the glorious
sun.
I yearn for its rays of hope, its light fluttering to the
earth
on the
wings
of doves,
Bringing peace to the down trodden and miserable, comforting those who know only
saddness and
extending
a hand to those who need uplifting.
But the rays of a new
life
terminate just before my rain clouds begin,
Just beyond the reach of my outstretched
arms.
Leaning out, trying to grasp anything, something strong enough to pull my weak
body
from the wreckage ofmy life.
The wind blows
harder and
begins
to howl
as
the distance lengthens between
my
fingertips and hope.
It
drifts
away
like
a
brown leaf
caught on an autumn
breeze not
to be seen again.
And so with my solitary escape rout out of
reach I have no
choice
but
to continue,
Continue on
leading
my square wheeled wagon, as the
weight
of the world
gets
heavier.
Sarah Dowling
39
l
GET A JUMP ON NEXT SEMESTER'S MOSAIC!
If you have any poetry, prose, photography, or other
artistic expression that you would like to submit for
possible publication into the Fall 2001 Mosaic, please
drop a copy of the work - a hard copy or on disk - in
the Literary Arts mailbox in the Council of Clubs
room, in the Student Center. All work will be returned
in its original condition. Watch for deadlines posted
around campus during the semester. Contact
Jim Rovello or Ann Metz for more information.
Mosaic_S_2001_001
Mosaic_S_2001_002
Mosaic_S_2001_003
Mosaic_S_2001_004
Mosaic_S_2001_005
Mosaic_S_2001_006
Mosaic_S_2001_007
Mosaic_S_2001_008
Mosaic_S_2001_009
Mosaic_S_2001_010
Mosaic_S_2001_011
Mosaic_S_2001_012
Mosaic_S_2001_013
Mosaic_S_2001_014
Mosaic_S_2001_015
Mosaic_S_2001_016
Mosaic_S_2001_017
Mosaic_S_2001_018
Mosaic_S_2001_019
Mosaic_S_2001_020
Mosaic_S_2001_021
Mosaic_S_2001_022
Mosaic_S_2001_023
Mosaic_S_2001_024
Mosaic_S_2001_025
Mosaic_S_2001_026
Mosaic_S_2001_027
Mosaic_S_2001_028
Mosaic_S_2001_029
Mosaic_S_2001_030
Mosaic_S_2001_031
Mosaic_S_2001_032
Mosaic_S_2001_033
Mosaic_S_2001_034
Mosaic_S_2001_035
Mosaic_S_2001_036
Mosaic_S_2001_037
Mosaic_S_2001_038
Mosaic_S_2001_039
Mosaic_S_2001_040
Mosaic_S_2001_041
Mosaic_S_2001_042
Mosaic_S_2001_043
Mosaic_S_2001_044
Mosaic_S_2001_045
Mosaic_S_2001_046
Mosaic_S_2001_047
Mosaic_S_2001_048
