St. Michael's Catholic Academy 2013-2014 Literary Magazine

The Literary Magazine

St. Michael’s Catholic Academy

2013-2014

Erin

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Table of Contents

Title Author Page #

Where the Aurora Comes From Marcella Massarenti 3

Christmas Time Emmaline Potter 4

Daydream Elizabeth Kelley 5

The Night’s Sun Crystal Mountain 5

Sin Kathleen Shea 6

Introvert Elizabeth Kelley 7

Golden Jungle Gym Crystal Mountain 8

The Perusal of Sight Suyeon Kim 8

Is He the One? Anonymous 9

First Day Orientation Cam Lutz 10

Nature Study Kate Bush 11

What Dwells in the Dark Jay Davidson 12

The Second Self Suyeon Kim 13

Summer Jewel Suyeon Kim 13

Beautiful Treasure Daniel Luque 14

Clockwork Liliana Debonis 15

In the Cogs of the Mind Ryan Pelarski 16

Second Grade Art Class Kathleen Shea 17

Through the Many Days Michael Wood 18

Photography Callen Flynn 19

College Lance Sharp 20

Collection of Haikus Sarah McCormick 21

Federacy of the Wise Elizabeth Kelley 22


The Changing White House Kathleen Shea 24

On Deck Sarah McCormick 26

April Showers Dominique Ramirez 27

The Full Moon Stride Suyeon Kim 27

A Modest Proposal Tomas Maia 28

Not a Cinder Stone Elizabeth Kelley 30

Parallel Mimicry Suyeon Kim 31

Reaching For the Zenith of Ambition Suyeon Kim 31

In the Darkness and in the Light James David Mahoney 32

A Friendly Canine Have I Known Nicholas Moser 33

Grandfather Clock Liliana Debonis 34

A State of No Return Michael Wood 35

The Journey Patrick Shea 36

Eggplant Liliana Debonis 36

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I Am Sarah McCormick 37

The Mask Stealer Marcella Massarenti 38

The Peace of Silence Cam Lutz 39

Ballad of Flight 93 (Let’s Roll) Michael Wood 40

Creativity Unleashed Crystal Mountain 41

What is it like? Genoveva Guerrero 42

Airplane Annie Carnegie 43

Infestation at the Temple Marcella Massarenti 44

A Woman’s Dream Carl Schiro 45

Cosmic Consciousness Elizabeth Kelley 46

Time Annie Carnegie 46

Clouds of Silver Marcella Massarenti 47

Desert Light Cam Lutz 48

The Pelican Elyse Andrews 51

A Child’s Fantasy Dominique Ramirez 52

Demanded Elizabeth Kelley 52

The Masked Marauder Michael Wood 53

The Firefly Tomas Maia 54

The Jungle at Night Marcella Massarenti 55

I AM Julia Erin McElhenny 56

Charcoal Identity Suyeon Kim 58

Mother Deer Amanda Dugas 59


Splendor of the Body Ryan Pelarski 61

Time Running Out Tomas Maia 62

Iridescent Pandemonium Crystal Mountain 63

My Dreams Frances Hodapp 64

Evaporation Kate Bush 65

The Aquarium Marcella Massarenti 65

The Ocean Patrick Shea 66

Midnight Luminescence on the Strand Suyeon Kim 67

Stars Annie Carnegie 68

The Way of the Warrior Dominique Ramirez 69

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Where the Aurora Comes From

By: Marcella Massarenti

Description:

“I learned how to draw on my computer when I was 4-years-old, and it has been my favorite

hobby ever since. Back then, of course, I did everything with my mouse on MS Paint, but over

the years I've been improving, perfecting my technique little by little and starting to use better

instruments and software. I use a Wacom tablet and my favorite programs are PaintoolSAI,

Gimp and Paint.NET. I am constantly learning new things and my style is always evolving, and

that's what's exciting about what I do. I love drawing animals and I usually draw fantasy

illustrations, but I also enjoy doing pet and people portraits.”

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Christmas Time

By: Emmaline Potter

Once the weather started chilling, instead of heat it was so thrilling,

People started wearing coats to keep them warm in colder air,

The trees were starting to look bare, when their leaves had fell everywhere

Landing in playing children’s hair when playing out in the cold.

Winter now is on its way and Christmas must be soon foretold.

Cookies, treats, and gifts behold.

Everyone out buying presents, part of merry Christmas events,

Mothers and kids baking cookies from their family recipes

December puts you in the mood for family, joy and yummy food.

Family members all together, all of them from young to old.

Stockings hung and trees renewed, with ornaments and garland gold.

Cookies, treats, and gifts behold.

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Daydream

By: Elizabeth Kelley

Phantasm words arise

from the amalgamation

of the mind

order banned, ideas

romp and rollick

even as the mirage

roils ripples rends,

keeping the countenance stoic

pulsations throb across

the scape, bringing

new life and potentiality

to the resplendent perceptions

of time’s everlasting tides.

Meanwhile, the lecture

monotonously carries on.

The Night’s Sun

By: Crystal Mountain

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Sin

By: Kathleen Shea

I am the fear that makes you run;

With strength, I can be overcome.

I am temptation that whispers in a quiet voice.

Do not blame me; I am a choice.

You hear the right

And know the wrong.

There will be an epic fight

To find out who will be strong.

I am like a storm cloud over a field;

You are the knight without a shield.

There is one of you and many of me,

But if you stand together

You’ll have more power than me.

You have your Father, your Spirit, your Son;

I am just me, alone as one.

Together, I promise we will have fun

Until the morning of the rising sun.

The guilt you feel is the price you pay

To be on my side in which you play.

I should warn you that you will be judged

By your Father, your Spirit, and your Son.

I may be easy,

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But my burden is heavy,

So make your decision

When you are ready.

I see you regret choosing me

And think that it is easy to leave.

But once you start,

I am hard to stop.

Just build some courage

And stretch your voice.

I can be stopped

I am your choice.

Introvert


Introvert

Sit somewhere alone.

Observe.

That is how it is done.

No need to intrude,

no need to talk.

Just look with open eyes,

and hear with open ears.

Snippets of conversations

and ways people walk,

avid, lively movements,

and people still often talk.

To keep chatting is wonderful,

that it may be,

but to watch is sublime

wherever you may be.

This is how it is done.

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Golden Jungle Gym


The Perusal of Sight

By: Suyeon Kim

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Is He the One?

By: Anonymous

His dimples as he smiles make my heart skip a beat,

His glistening, laughing eyes make me smile,

His sarcastic yet juicy humor makes me split my sides,

which then makes me think: is he the one?

He’s as much of a bookworm as I have been all my life,

We both play sports competitively, too.

We share different opinions on what movies to watch,

yet I still hold up and think: is he the one?

He holds the door open for me and honors my dignity,

I do the same for him (minus the door opening as well).

He always insists on paying the bill,

which gets me thinking: is he the one?

I love how his tempo rises as he speaks of a topic passionately,

How he cherishes his family as I do my own,

How he regards his friends with utmost respect,

which drowns my mind with the thought: is he the one?

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First Day Orientation

By: Cam Lutz

Amidst a jungle

Of migration,

I am alone

In oblivion.

I cannot see,

I cannot know -

Invisible

To all who go

Across my stare.

Now blankness grasps

My tender air.

Nowhere to go,

Nowhere to be,

Unfit to flee -

Yet nought to know.

Boundless hall -

Endless expanse,

Long and lonely,

Cold and empty,

Oh hollow void

Oh frozen ground

Oh starless cave.

Who’s to usher?

Who’s to see?

Who can account

For my own course?

This world so big,

This empty world.

Deprived of life

I wander weak -

Neither stupor

Nor deep sleep -

As if immersed

All too deep

In the Lethe.

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No one perceives

That which vanished -

Vanquished spirit.

Never nearing,

Never knowing,

Never to gain,

Never to be,

Not even here.

Invisible.

Nature Study

By: Kate Bush

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What Dwells in the Dark

By: Jay Davidson

Once the sun has finished setting, that’s when Sam begins his fretting.

Then his bravery abandons him; he shivers in his fear.

Yes! He lies in blackened room; he feels a sense of coming doom.

Biting lip through eerie gloom, now he sheds a single tear.

This is something Sam can’t hide from, for the moment’s drawing near.

Monsters of the night are here.

Fretting that which lies awaiting, beasts whose hunger needs its sating.

Ghosts, and demons of the unknown, praying that they won’t appear.

While he lies there, shaking slightly, clutching bed sheets to him tightly.

Open windows blowing lightly, Sam can see them oh-so-clear.

Silent stalkers of the nighttime, growls reaching both his ears.

Monsters of the night are here.

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The Second Self

By: Suyeon Kim

Summer Jewel

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Beautiful Treasure

By: Daniel Luque

Why are you hiding beautiful treasure?

I have been searching for so many years.

I have struggled and gone through great measures,

but my work will soon turn into great cheer.

You shine unlike any star in the sky,

and lead every man on a desperate chase.

Now is the time for me to not be shy,

for it is with you that my heart is placed.

Everyone says the odds are against me,

that I should settle for silver instead.

But you are the one my eyes always see,

and to you only my heart has been led.

One day, oh treasure, my dream will come true,

for the map on my heart leads straight to you.

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Clockwork

By: Liliana Debonis

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In the Cogs of the Mind

By: Ryan Pelarski

In the mind from other planes

Grinding gears of heavy metal

Hefty thoughts lifted by cranes

Steam blows from ports as thoughts churn out

Tinkling sounds of intellect

Hissing, pumping and steaming pistons

Crushing notions of flaw and defect

Time for the action after the thought

Routes are taken and the movements are made

Kept on time or not, each to our own clocks

Unless forgotten the goal does not fade

The body and the mind or the machine

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Second Grade Art Class

By: Kathleen Shea

We did not know

What was happening.

There were shrieks and moans

From the room with the sink.

We rushed to see

What the commotion was about,

Despite the teacher’s plea

To stay out.

It was my best friend at the time

With a naughty red-headed boy.

Her face was red; she held her neck tight:

This was all part of his twisted ploy.

Kids yelled, “It is an asthma attack!”

But I knew more.

The thumbprint on her neck

Told me to rush to the door.

The nurse came with me;

The EMS filed in.

The red-headed boy would pay the fee.

I never saw him again.

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Through the Many Days

By: Michael Wood

The days they come and go away;

They will in fact ‘til judgment day.

God gave to us His only son,

To save us from what we have done.

Jesus came through incarnation,

To give to us our salvation.

The burden of our sinful ways,

He cast aside in just three days.

And to the heavens He did rise,

And took with Him our very lives.

From God to man this path He chose;

He lives among us as He grows.

But on this earth in mortal tme,

Let’s not forget He’s still divine.

Satan knows that God has won,

But continues on with a lashing tongue;

To deceive our wandering thoughts,

Away from God and all He’s taught.

We mustn’t let the serpent’s breath,

Instill doubt of Jesus’ death.

Through meditation and in prayer,

That in His life we’d like to share;

We act in goodness and through right,

And follow Jesus in God’s light!

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Photography

By: Callen Flynn

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College

By: Lance Sharp

As a kite needs the wind to fill its sails

A string is kept wrapped around a spool,

To keep safe the kite in the chance it fails

To be a helping hand not unlike a stool.

The kite begins to fly, up and up it goes

Unaccustomed to new surroundings,

Kept safe by the spool always juxtapose

Wind picks up, increasing its boundaries.

Curving and winding throughout the fierce air

Even though the string was kept dry and well taut,

Wind, who waits for no man, causes a tear

The kite flies away with the wind it had sought.

The kite drifts far away into the night

With desire to reach a new boundless height.

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Collection of Haikus

By: Sarah McCormick

Poem #1

The radio on,

a woman's sweet symphony

consoling us all.

Poem #2

Postcard perfect scene,

blue water, white beach, adobe -

Santorini, Greece.

Poem #3

Football in the yard.

Aroma of barbecue.

Sundays in Texas.

Poem #4

Flowers blossom in

bright red porcelain rain boots

placed by the front door.

Poem #5

A strong gust of wind

sprays sea mist, soaking the

polished wooden deck.

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Federacy of the Wise


A flailing flat-footed fury-fight,

An eager from the eccentric enemy-earflaps,

Arises from a physically gauche, but gritty green hunter’s cap,

As an opaque obelus-opposition,

For the faultless fantasy-federation found fervent in the mind.

Here, the hortatory heed for all, highbrow and head-heathen,

Is beckoning to boycott modernity in favor of the benediction of Boethius,

To forsake this newfangled pleasure-passion of the present period.

But, surely, this quixotic qualm-quagmire queries all too much.

Companionship constrained, creating chaos in the conscience-core,

Inhibits the ideal ideology of the instant-time.

Steady habit diverts from the deviled distraction of the distant veteran-date;

Outliers do not outlive their orderly commoner-comrades ordinarily.

Then, the torturously treacherous trepidation began,

In the base form of the bulbous life-beast, the bout-breaker,

Of time timeless: the temporary textile factory and tenacious trough of frankfurters.

No, this noggin-notion is not unintelligent, nor is it nefarious.

The conquest has come to a close and commands the ceaseless calm,

Of Fortuna’s felicitous wheel of fortune in the forward trajectory.

A finished whisper of the final white word-wing,

Ends the enduring task-work and engenders effort-euphoria

In the glad daughter of Sean and granddaughter of Rod.

The elaborate style of this story-keeper is something before not seen,

Normally; the words were not unknown to the life-novice.

Accomplished still, the story is adapted.

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Photography

By: Callen Flynn

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The Changing White House

By: Kathleen Shea

On every hook and doorknob in her bathroom, dripping on the towels

She is ready for action, says each empty water and Powerade bottle

She is a running girl, says the wear of her shoes

Covered in dirt and dust, drying in the garage;

A swimming girl too, say the hanging swimsuits

Desperately trying to dry before another use;

Scattered around her room; A messy girl as well,

Says the clothing left on the floor, each pile a complete outfit,

Atop cold tile and white carpet.

She has brothers, says the grocery bill falling out of her mother’s pocket

Almost every day of the week;

Two of them, say the two Play Station controllers

Dropped near the two televisions, lined up side by side;

The other playing the game version of the first.

One playing live sporting events,

The older of the brothers is off to college,

Says the tear in her mother’s eye

As she puts away the steaming white dishes;

Says the hard expression on her father’s face,

Typing in his partially-closed-door office;

Says the closed door of the other brother’s room, with just a crack of light beneath it;

Says the empty room alongside her own, collecting dust,

No longer being disturbed to unlock the shared bathroom’s door

By the other brother.

Her family Notre Dame fans, says the flag hanging out the window

Of the white limestone brick house the week of the eldest brother’s graduation

From the high school she has been dreaming of attending

Since four years ago when he was a freshman;

Like she is now, two grades below the other brother,

Drying on the deck above the pool after night runs.

Who is also a runner, says the sweat and blood stained on his socks and shoes

A Catholic family too, says the pile of church bulletins piled high

On the coffee table in the living room that is decorated with family portraits.

Her mother a loving one, says the too large canvas of the eldest brother’s face

Hanging on the wall, smiling back at her as she walks up the stairs

Carrying the freshly washed and folded laundry in a basket almost her size.

Her father a supportive one, says the Lost Creek Aquatics Polo shirt

Hanging in his closet, alongside his running shoes covered in dirt and sweat,

Just like those of the girl and her brother,

Used on the Town Lake trail every Sunday morning,

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Says the sound of his car engine leaving the house at 6:30AM

All year round.

Things were changing, say the charity bags full of St. Gabriel’s uniforms

Sitting on the curb by the basketball hoop in front of the white house.

The lack of cars pulling into the driveway on Wednesday nights

Say Plucker’s Trivia Night is no longer being attended by the eldest brother.

High school has started

Says the pile of novels on the floor in her room

Atop the fluffy pink and blue rugs

And beneath the clean laundry thrown on the floor

After her mother has neatly placed it on her bed.

Things were changing, they say,

But some things will never change,

Say the family portraits hanging in the living room

And at the top of the stairs, smiling back at the girl

Scrambling to the car pulling out in the rain

Her father and brother stopping for her anxiously but lovingly,

Holding her socks and shoes,

At 6:35AM,

Like any other Sunday.

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On Deck

Sarah McCormick

Sliding lower down the seat, until you face the night sky

the creamy white vinyl is cool against your shoulders

the wind is a steady rush above your face

you can hear the silent slice, of the deck boat cutting through the wind

and the steady thumping as the bow meets the water

the water, rippling, the deepest blue, nearly black

white foam at the wake

occasionally spraying a facefull of kisses

all the while, your eyes entranced upwards

on the clouded magenta glow of the milky way

on the white sprinkled dots, nearly filling the slate

on the steady pulsing of each one

on the white crescent, so clear you can see dark craters upon its surface

on the glow it emits, illuminating itself a blue border

however you try, your eyes cannot be torn away

the stars only twinkle out here

in the company of the sea.

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April Showers

By: Dominique Ramirez

BOOM! CRASH! BAM! WHOOSH! CLAP!

Thunder and lightning lighting

the sky with strong lights.

April showers are rougher

than people believe they are.

The Full Moon Stride

By: Suyeon Kim

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A Modest Proposal

By: Tomas Maia

(For Enriching the Academic Experience of Students at St. Michael’s Catholic Academy, and for

Improving the Atmosphere in Which They Learn)

It is a great shame in this community that the once well-renowned high school of St.

Michael’s Catholic Academy is losing both students and prestige to other private schools in

the Austin area. Loyal families and faculty alike recoil as the number of St. Michael’s students

dwindles over time. Even worse, the very institutions that siphon off those members of our

community, such as Regents, St. Dominic Savio, St. Stephen’s, and St. Andrew’s schools, are

beginning to receive greater recognition for educational achievements. Having the utmost pride

in our beloved school, we cannot bear to see it lose ground to such inferior establishments. Thus,

in order to preserve the exceptional quality of education and spirit of St. Michael’s, we have

developed a plan that will ensure SMCA’s supremacy for centuries to come.

Our first priority must be to eliminate the expression of school spirit. Students these

days are much too distracted by silly competitions and events which demonstrate pride in

St. Michael’s. To correct the problem, there will no longer be any school days set aside for

entertainment or community activities. Such petty interruptions of the school schedule include

Community Day, pep rallies, and Homecoming Week. At one point there existed a Senior-

Freshman Week, in which first-year students were dressed in every manner of costumes to be

welcomed and shown school spirit; thankfully, however, the ungodly practice was abolished

and may now serve as a beacon for our future policies. In addition, colorful decorations will be

banned and the student dress policy will be restricted to gray jumpsuits, as black and white are

also too vivid to be seen around the hallway. This new strategy will ensure that our scholars

remain focused on their studies, while also increasing efficient use of our class days.

Another solution that must be put into action is a steep increase in the productivity of the

students. This will be mainly accomplished through a mandatory rise in the level of homework

assignments and essays. All teachers must assign at least forty-five minutes’ worth of homework

each night to be assessed the next day, and not to be completed in class. Meanwhile, during

the hours of the school day, students must be constantly working, whether writing notes during

lectures or doing in-class activities. Not to worry, proper painkillers and arm braces will be

provided for overworked pupils. The change will be also be accompanied by a new eight-period

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schedule, without study halls, to further streamline the learning process. All of these procedures

will boost efficiency at SMCA, earning us greater academic status and brighter graduates.

Lastly, we deeply feel that the overall environment in the hallways of St. Michael’s is in

need of improvement. Our students and teachers alike deserve a school building as wonderful

and well-kept as the rigorous time in class that they enjoy! To create such an atmosphere, we

have concluded that the majority of the school’s funds should be directed toward improving the

interior hallways of the school. The walls with be covered with new paint, and elegant new TVs

will be placed in whatever spot we think would be a good place to put one. Although mention

was made of an upgrade to the restrooms, we feel that it is unnecessary and that they are in

passable condition; besides, students can always wait to use the bathrooms in their own homes

after school. As an added bonus, we will set aside funds for interactive laptops and tablets to be

given to each student, and will distribute them as soon as we can find the money to revamp the

school network.

We eagerly anticipate this new wave of progress at St. Michael’s, as we are certain that

our esteemed and well-liked administration will most likely approve it with flying colors.

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Not a Cinder Stone


Do you see it?

Or would you rather see

the flesh and blood,

bones and tendons?

Do you see it?

The flicker of a lively ember

not the dead cinder stone?

Hear the golden aria

rather than the monotonous tune?

Drink from the ambrosia cup.

Feel the ichor rush in.

Smell the born ashes

and beat with the

amber ember heart drum.

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Parallel Mimicry

By: Suyeon Kim

Reaching For the Zenith of Ambition

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In the Darkness and in the Light

By: James David Mahoney

In the darkness

Of the night

In the day

And its bright light

I was overcome by fear,

And my reality surpassed my grasp

And death drew near.

Only then

Did I realize my soul,

My soul

Was alive.

My soul

Was near.

My soul,

Made itself evident

And made itself clear

In a simple statement,

“I am here”.

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A Friendly Canine Have I Known

By: Nicholas Moser

A friendly canine have I known:

And I will dare to tell,

But in my readers' ears alone,

The feelings I have felt.

When I did once come out to play

And have a little fun,

I found that she had run away,

Beneath the summer sun.

Upon the road I fixed my eye,

Unto the narrow street;

And from my lips escaped a cry:

'My dear, come back to me!'

And now I raced toward the wood;

So silent and so still,

And through the trees I swear I could

Hear her bark, and then be still.

My feet moved on; step after step

I trudged, and never stopped:

When up above my head she lept,

My friend, upon me dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide

Into a child's head!

'How foolish!' to my pet I cried,

'That I had thought you dead!'

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Grandfather Clock

By: Liliana Debonis

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A State of No Return

By: Michael Wood

As the light fades into the blackest night,

From everywhere shadows begin to prowl.

As the darkness overcomes the day's light,

When none can see without aid but an owl,

A man stands alone under a street light

Moping about dreams long past, all the while

A feeling of dread holds on to him tight.

He's lost the one who could give him a smile.

He thought he was her shining valiant knight,

but now he's just in a state of denial.

She proclaimed words that all men learn to hate;

Now friendzoned his wish is to eschewal.

From that wretched zone he must escape,

But with no time left, now it is too late.

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The Journey

By: Patrick Shea

The days draw longer as the years sprint past,

Memory strikes as the clock tick-tocks too,

Through shyness and awkwardness skies o’ercast,

I hear Heaven’s bells ringing, it is you.

Sometimes I wonder where it all began,

On the playground? In the gym? Advanced math?

But in honest such won’dring is for man,

For God knows it was forever the path.

It has not always been clear, one can see

At a glance. Obstacles and struggles line

The way; But now it is worth the degree

Of pain, as the stars begin to align.

Each and ev’ry morn’ as rises the sun,

I thank God for the journey just begun.

Eggplant

By: Liliana Debonis

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I Am

By: Sarah McCormick

I am a cheerleader

I am blonde, artificially

I am a procrastinator

I am the always unlocked doors of my Jeep,

And the donation of my cash to the homeless

I am Jack Johnson on Pandora and a Bath and Body Works candle

I am a bubble bath every night

I am an evening run when I feel like it

And a tub of ice cream when I don't

I am an answered call at 2:00 in the morning

And a friend to many

I am full faith in humanity

And overly trusting of strangers

I am a mani pedi, catching up with friends

I am a birthday present waiting at the front office

I am a Pinterest addict

And an on online shopper

I am spotlessly organized when I want to be,

And disastrously messy when I don't

I am the daughter of a dentist

I am the older sister of a "gamer"

I am a boat ride on Lake Travis in the heat of summer

And a golf cart an adventure with friends in the dead of night

I am my pink Hunter rain boots

I am a Californian by birth

But a Texan by will

I am Sarah Cailan McCormick.

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The Mask Stealer


39

The Peace of Silence

By: Cam Lutz

Silence beckons me to fields unknown.

Withering wheat whispers yet unheard,

Simmering seas swirl in torrents, sown

To dusty dirt, perhaps preferred.

Dusty paths writhe through bubbling seas,

The moon mocks me, as though to seize

All my sanity and my soul.

I know not why I fled, nor from whence.

I must escape this harrowing ache

Of time long gone, or some offense.

Yet I know nought, only awake

To swirling seas, to jeering moons.

I wander, weary, now harpooned

To the path which leads to limbo.

Amid the darkness of the ripe night,

Blackbirds descend severed from shadow,

Motionlessly sailing, taunting,

Across the field in which paths writhe,

Amid boiling earth, mocking moon.

Yet now, all is fixed and still.

My eyes closed, I shan’t feel more thrill;

I’ve no more will.

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Ballad of Flight 93 (Let’s Roll)

By: Michael Wood

In memory of those aboard Flight 93, who valiantly gave their lives to protect the people and to

preserve our Freedom. May they rest in peace.

In the skies above,

One last call to the ones they love;

Not knowing what’s to come,

But knowing something must be,

knowing something must be done.

I heard him say, that day, he said,

“Let’s roll, roll, roll.”


“Let’s Roll.”

Never giving in

To the hate that drove those men

Their courage knew no bounds

as they plummeted to the ground,

as they plummeted to the ground.




“Let’s Roll.”

When faced with tragedy,

Those aboard Flight 93,

They showed us how to stand,

When Evil makes demands

He said, “Let’s Roll.”




“Let’s Roll.”

Roll on to victory,

Roll on to keep men free.

Remember one and all

our new clarion call

“Let’s Roll.”

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Creativity Unleashed


42

What Is It Like?

By: Genoveva Guerrero

What is it like?

Is it slow and peaceful or does it hurt like hell?

Will it sound like a jackhammer or ring like a bell?

Am I alone in this darkness? Will there be any light?

And will I be happy or shall I cry with fright?

If only someone could tell me what it’s like.

I remember learning two sides to this deal

One of entering heaven, to wonder if it’s real

The other falling to hell with no one to catch me

Landing in darkness with nothing to see

If only someone could tell me what it’s like.

What is it like?

Should I be scared? Should I think of it at this age?

Or should I be mad and begin my rage?

Stomping and screaming I realize…why?

“Don’t worry.” I finally tell myself-Save your cry

But will no one tell me what it’s like?

I’ve seen in movies people dying and taking their last breath

They just lay there…quietly in their bed of death

They seem calm and at peace

While sleeping in their state of decease

Maybe they could tell me what it’s like?

What is it like?

I asked my grandma and she said “It’s okay.

Just don’t think of it. Go outside and play.”

Do I want this answer that will end my life?

To know how it would feel when they stab me with a knife?

But I wouldn’t have to go through that strike

If someone could just tell me what it’s like?

What is it like?

43

Airplane

By: Annie Carnegie

A deep darkness encircles the city;

as another dreary day begins.

The sun looms beyond as I loosen the bed coverings.

Daylight breaks and I dash downstairs to bring forth the boarding pass from the printer.

The passage-giver permits entrance on a great, grumbling, metal beast.

The monster’s lair is far from my locale.

I navigate the narrow road,

driving my steel-steed, decelerating beneath bright yellow orbs,

and halting before hellish red demons who give way to gracious green fairies.

They bid me safe travels, speed, and good tidings to conquer the grisly ghoul.

After these strenuous struggles on the wretched roads, I approach the rouge’s retreat.

The beast lurks beyond the lighted lobby of its lair. I wait in line.

An agent announces my approach and asks for my identification.

“I am Grace Ann Carnegie, daughter of Laurie Ann Pye, granddaughter of Nan Nunn Hische,

great granddaughter of Grace Naomi O’Baugh.”

My advance approved, I apprehensively await attack.

As, I approach the air-beast, it abruptly and devilishly devours me!

It swallows hundreds of humans and I struggle to escape its stomach.

Gripping and grappling at the sky-monster’s guts, grasping and

Blundering in its belly, I barely breathe.

Racing and roaring above the runway, the beast’s rage was not reserved.

Hands helped distribute drinks within the monster’s depths, yet I could not safely sip for

the wind-demon’s rambunctious inner rumbles rocked me rebelliously.

“A tiny turbulence,” a distant voice declared.

The victims murmur, while a muffled mutter makes known intentions to disembark.

The sky-fiend hastily halted, hurling its humans headfirst.

As it settled, it spit me out and weakly wandered away.

Tired and timeworn, I desperately departed from my battle with the beast.

Injured and inclement, the sky-brute desolately deserted the dismal tarmac.

Who won the war is hard to say, but the sky-monster seemed weary when I walked away.

A strange setting I soon saw,

with glittering skyscrapers and gleaming streams.

44

The ghastly air-demon had unloaded me in unusual whereabouts.

The location unknown to me, I quickly looked around to see a simple sign.

Shading my eyes, I shyly skimmed the symbols; they read “Chicago.”

Infestation at the Temple


45

A Woman’s Dream

By: Carl Schiro

At times the man would see her there,

Among the long, fresh grass of home,

And gaze as winds blew hard her hair

And sigh as light controlled the gloam.

But she would stand and stare aground

At leaves that fell as time did pass,

And she would love the world around

As though it were all made of brass.

He would, in fear, turn round and cry

That she would not turn back and see

The love he had for her and try

To run as fast as clouds in sky.

But she did love him all along

Dreaming that she to him belong.

46

Cosmic Consciousness


Only when a symphony equates

A discordant cacophony,

Sounds blossom into iridescent rainbows

And colors sing a melodious tune,

Does one finally grasp

At the fluttering butterfly-idea that

We are but droplets in the vastness of the ocean.

Time

By: Annie Carnegie

My heart glows bright when I behold

A star shimmering in the sky

So it was nights long ago

So it is now when I wish, and oh

So be it when all told

Or I will cry!

Time stands still and still will flow;

And I could wish for it to stop

But then would see no longer stars atop,

So I will not.

47

Clouds of Silver


48

Desert Light

By: Cam Lutz

A hot breeze rustled the desert sand around my body, contrasting sharply with the cool,

shifting earth under my skin. The yellow orb of the sun quickly rose over the horizon, flooding

the desert with light. I groaned and rolled over, my mind attempting to make sense of the

situation, but nothing came to mind. I opened my eyes, then quickly shut them again at the bright

sunlight. I lay there for a while, trying to remember something - anything - about my life. All I

had were fragments: a harsh, yet strangely familiar face...a bright flash of light...and a name -

Zion. Yes...my name was Zion!

Finally I arose, partly out of thirst, and partly out of curiosity. Though the day was still

young, heat blazed across the desert. All around me, I saw nothing but empty wasteland. I

walked west toward the sun. After walking for what felt like many hours, I collapsed to the

ground. My skin red from the deathrays of the unfiltered sunlight. Thirst clawed at my throat.

My eyes were sick of seeing the sickly, bleached white sand, of gazing at the pale, hazy horizon.

The sand burned against the exposed skin on my arms and face. Gritting my teeth, I forced

myself to stand up and keep going.

Even in my agony, I began to realize something...I know this land! But at the same time, I

didn’t. It was like trying to put together a complicated jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces

missing.

Quite suddenly, I realized a figure was advancing toward me. He wore a loose, white

cloak with a hood, much more adequate clothing under the circumstances than my jeans and t-

shirt. We stopped several feet from one another, apprehension boiling in my stomach. A sudden

gust of wind blew back his hood, for the first time revealing his face. I inhaled sharply. The

man’s face was the same cruel face I remembered from my past.

My instincts took over. I threw myself at him, tackling him to the ground before I fully

realized what I was doing. I had no control over my actions. We wrestled over the scorching

sand and gravel for a short period of time - maybe a minute, or perhaps just a few seconds. My

side suddenly flared, and a bright red liquid hissed as it dripped into the sizzling sand. Something

glinted in the man’s right hand.

I kicked out and managed to detach myself from the brawl. I needed to leave. Now. But

something caught my eye. A metal cylinder lay on the ground, near where my adversary began to

49

get up, looking slightly disoriented. I dived at it, knowing it might be my only chance at survival.

I grasped it, as I frantically rolled away, the knife gashed a mark on my shoulder. I ran for what

life I still had within me.

My whole body felt like it was on fire and being torn apart. Glancing back, I saw to my

horror that I was being pursued. Energy from somewhere deep inside me surged into my body

and I forced myself to keep going. After an eternity that stretched for only a few minutes, I

stopped and, with trembling fingers, opened the cylinder of hope.

Inside, there was little water left in the container, but enough to keep me going for several

more hours. I took a gulp, and wonderfully cool, life-giving water burned a trail down my raw

throat. As the sun sank below the horizon behind me and a numbing darkness settled from all

about, I forged ahead with a new strength.

Miles of the same barren landscape passed by and I began to wonder if I was running to

anyplace in particular. The desert could not go on for eternity, could it? Was there any point in

running if there was no place to run?

Strength seeped out of my body despite the refreshing cold of the night. I could not go on

forever, and my pursuer seemed to know it. He was following at a distance, letting me spend my

energy. I dreaded the passage of the calm night into the blistering day. There was no way I could

make it through another day.

After an eternity of endless wandering, the sky began to gray. I came to the crest of a hill

and collapsed, completely spent. A few moments later, I heard the soft footsteps of my foe

approaching. I managed to pull myself up to a sitting position, and he sat beside me.

Together, we gazed out as light began to creep back into the land. A hot breeze blew in,

carrying the cool morning air away with it. Below us lay the ruins of a city - my city… Suddenly

everything made sense. The flash of light - it had been a bomb. My beloved homeland, with all

the hills and forests I had so loved, was now no more than an arid wasteland. My family, my

neighbors, everything I had treasured - now only dust.

“Zion. Do you remember now?” asked the man with the harsh, yet strangely familiar

face.

“You...You did this?” I gestured at the destruction before us.

“No. You did this.” The man’s voice was deadly calm. “We were scientists, perhaps the

best in the world, working on a special project to protect us from an extraterrestrial threat. Is it

50

coming back to you now? We created a bomb, one powerful enough to annihilate the life on an

entire planet.”

Horror seeped into my veins as memories, unbidden, began to flood my mind.

“We were on our way to test it on another planet, but you did not properly repair the

connection to the second capsule - the one with the bomb. It came loose during the takeoff

and…” The man, who I now recognized as Xavier, shook his head, eyes glistening.

Everything came back to me. How Xavier, in his awful wrath, had flown back down and

left me in the midst of my destruction. Leftover chemicals from the explosion must have affected

my memories. He must have come back to see that I was dead.

“It was an accident…” I pleaded.

Xavier’s face hardened and he slowly and deliberately drew his knife.

“I know we have long resented each other, but-”

“No!” A mad glint shimmered in his eyes. “Your soul is unfit to roam this earth!”

He raised the knife as the sun rose fully above the red horizon.

51

The Pelican

By: Elyse Andrews

52

A Child’s Fantasy


The forest fairy comes at dawn—

a shimmering kaleidoscope

endowing earth with graceful hope—

she blesses flowers, then is gone.

Wings beating like a hummingbird,

Her smile telling dreamy spells,

Each movement making sounds like bells,

Her chiming laughter always heard.

I even dream of helping her,

our mist enchanting all in bliss,

entrusting springtime with a kiss,

our magic uber and astir.

But those who don’t believe in fantasy

Will never see these qualities.

Demanded


To keep still,

to keep quiet:

that is what we were told.

“Stop fidgeting!”

“Don’t talk!”

is what we were told.

It wasn’t our fault;

we really couldn’t help it.

We’re sorry,

we won’t do it again.

But then,

we do.

We don’t mean to.

It was just what we were told.

53

The Masked Marauder

By: Michael Wood

From the depths of the shadows comes a small stalker skulking in the night;

He could smell the sweet scent of the feast before;

He was watching us, waiting for his time to strike;

He had round eyes with rings like a mask,

That proved useful in the perpetual darkness;

The dark rings greatly improved his nocturnal prowess;

He was concealed from our view, but could see us clearly;

In the darkness sleep fell heavily upon the group;

It was his time to strike;

He lept into the camp and tore at the trash bag with his tiny claws;

Tearing it down the middle to obtain the treasure inside.

He greedily gorged himself with the leftover grub.

Little did he know that there was one yet to be taken in by the lulling darkness.

Michael was his name.

He was a mighty hero, the head of the group,

An eagle by nature, a lion at heart,

Michael had grappled with bears and braved swarms of bees

He would not tolerate theft, nor be tricked by such a tiny creature

The group’s head lunged at the masked-marauder, who made a break for the woods.

The ring-eye was startled by the surprise attack

Why would this strange supersized day-seer be chasing him in the middle of the night?

The mask hurried through the trees and flew over hollow logs;

He ran through the trees and flew over hollow logs;

He ran through the briars, and he dashed through the brambles,

And he sped into the bushes where Michael didn’t dare go.

This little masked-marauder had evaded the colossal creature.

Michael was baffled; he had been beaten, tricked by that sly creature.

Never once had he been bested,

Especially by a creature so small as a raccoon.

54

The Firefly

By: Tomas Maia

Firefly, Firefly, burning bright

On the porches of the night,

What mere mortal child’s eye

Can ignore your glow as you glide by?

In what celestial factory

Glared thee in thy history?

What Maker dare screw in the light?

What the bulb ignites the night?

And what lamp-switch, and what wire,

Could create a bug like fire?

And when thy light did oscillate,

What foolish insect took the bait?

In summer evenings with air so fresh,

In what furnace was thy flesh?

What lidded jar, and what clasp,

Would dare to keep you in its grasp?

When your Creator sent you out

To summer midnight fields throughout:

Was He who made you very pleased?

Did He who made the flame make thee?

Firefly, Firefly, burning bright,

On the porches of the night,

What mere mortal child’s eye

Can ignore your glow as you glide by?

55

The Jungle at Night


56

I AM

By: Julia Erin McElhenny

I am Julia,

A JEM by design,

I am 17,

Five feet and six inches of freedom.

I am a girl.

I am someone who loves to be in the sunshine,

I and the bridge and chorus to Dust,

The smell that greets you when you walk into my house,

My dog’s wet tongue on your hand in greeting.

I am the breeze in the woods,

The smell of dirt and peace.

I am the baby blue eyes, tinged with green flecks,

The ones that refuse to hide my true thoughts.

I am the stabbing pain in your shoulder that never goes away,

The tender, juicy, but well-cooked steak that oozes deliciousness when you cut into it with a

butter knife,

The cuts, scrapes, dirt, that cover the brown Ariats.

I am the unexpected smile from someone you never met,

The warm hug that is all too familiar,

The inviting surprise of a new adventure.

I am colorful.

The red of my nail polish,

The yellow of my hair tie,

The pink of my lips,

The blue of my fishing hook bracelet.

I am not filtered.

I am the thoughts that should be silenced, yet are said out loud anyways.

I am the typical summer country song,

57

The mason jar that no one should know about,

The moonshine in the water,

The wind in your hair when your windows are down.

I am Sunny and 75,

A silver butterfly that is ever present,

A finger on a trigger.

I am the words I feel and the emotions I speak.

I am honest.

I am the straightforward opinion that you asked for but weren’t expecting.

I am the individual.

I am the muscles that make you feel protected just because they are with you,

Yet I am also the one that needs protecting.

I am the only math problem my brother can’t solve,

The fashion crisis my sister can’t stand.

I am the younger sister that was a veiled blessing,

The never-ending worry of my mother,

The hockey pal and letter buddy of my dad.

I am myself.

58

Charcoal Identity

By: Suyeon Kim

59

Mother Deer

By: Amanda Dugas

It pranced among the tall and breeze-blown grass,

With gentle step and silent graceful poise.

I watched and let its tiny followers pass,

Their white-tailed mother never causing noise.

As quiet as a pleasant evening breeze,

As vital to her young as breathing air.

A guiding star rising behind the trees,

A careful guard dog with a cautious stare.

She quickly turned her head at every sound.

On high alert in danger-laden woods.

Her love for each young heartbeat so profound,

The mark of blood and family understood.

They leapt along, but I stood still in awe,

Their shadows gone and selves behind the green.

The love of child from mother, pure and raw,

Had painted me a captivating scene.

60

Photography

By: Callen Flynn

61

Splendor of the Body

By: Ryan Pelarski

Timid eyes and a shy smile

Fidgeting hands in playful laps

Faces ask one to stay awhile

Soft hair hanging to supple waist

Pretty people who are polite

Never minding how they look

Always nice to talk in the light

Friends, lovers meet whenever.

Quick touches of arms and of backs

Looking at slender or at strong legs

The dancing body never slacks

Feelings surround a tender lover

Skin yielding to touch

Like the music, go with the flow

Lovers give so much

At the end bring memories home.

62

Time Running Out

By: Tomas Maia

The human race

Is the only kind

That keeps track of time,

That discards instinct

And chooses to think,

That sees the reality

Of its own mortality.

Humans think within seconds,

Act within minutes,

Live within decades.

So, naturally,

The human race

Is the only kind

That’s afraid of time

Running out.

63

Iridescent Pandemonium


64

My Dreams

By: Frances Hodapp

I floated through my dreams at night,

Like puffy clouds across the sky,

When all at once I saw a light,

That shone on field of lilies,

Beside a flowing river stream,

That glided through a misty steam.

The water sparkled in the sun,

Whose rays were bathing light on trees.

And lilies danced with gleeful fun,

Whilst tossing petals in the breeze.

Continuous as sands on shores,

The lilies freed their baby spores.

A poet could not but be pleased,

To know that soon some buds will sprout,

And push their heads through earth with ease,

And grow new lilies strewn about.

With such a happy thought I saw

The vast surroundings with great awe.

The wealth the land had brought to me,

Has flashed in my most deepest mind,

And brought my heart much bliss and glee,

For such a dream has been so kind.

And once again I close my eyes,

To dance with lilies through the sky.

65

Evaporation

By: Kate Bush

Sometimes I wish that I was made completely out of water.

So that when the sun’s rays intensified I would be burnt up and transformed.

I would graze weightlessly against the cheeks of the daffodils outside my house.

I would choose to be the condensation on your car window.

To greet your tired eyes and sensitive fingertips on a Thursday morning.

Would you cast me away with an unfamiliar sleeve?

Or would your prints carve the words, “I love you” into my exterior?

I would hope for the latter.

The Aquarium


66

The Ocean

By: Patrick Shea

The waves roll gently on the sand,

Making sound on the sacred land.

The foam is white and bubbling forth,

Cleansing sin’s stain and bringing worth.

The rhythm of the sea will fade

One day, but remain in the blade

That time has made, forever more.

Reminding there is more in store.

I touch the surf with my white toes,

It’s cold, stinging as the wind blows.

But I do need the chilling surge,

From chaos of life it will purge.

The demons of the past remain,

But in defeat, for I have slain

The heartache of previous life.

I live anew, but still face strife,

But we all do, it is the rule

From waters deep to shallow pool.

The sea does not know what I’ve done,

Or who I’ve hurt, or songs I’ve song.

It does not take away the pain,

Felt by others, from my sharp chain.

When lost at sea, in Satan’s storm,

It is a chance to be reborn.

I feel it still in sorrow day,

But here comes again a new wave.

It stretches farther than I see,

Maybe there is hope left for me?

But that is not why I am here,

To bask in self and fear the mirror.

What do I gain in these few lines,

I speak of me, a selfish child.

If there is anything to learn,

The ocean is big, have concern

For all around you on this earth,

67

In them lies the key to your worth.

As I leave the huge ocean’s sight,

The brightness of day turns to night.

A chance at redemption here lays,

I can be saved from hellish days.

But in the past I hear those waves,

Tell the point is not to be saved,

But to save.

Midnight Luminescence on the Strand

By: Suyeon Kim

68

Stars

By: Annie Carnegie

I meandered silent as a mouse

That scurries across fields and floors,

When at once I saw above the house

A score, of shining shimmering stars;

Beyond the green, before my eyes

Glittering and gleaming in the skies.

Astounding as the trees that sprout

And grow throughout the light of day,

They beamed with strength, oh, so devout

Beyond the bounds of where we play:

Millions saw I at one glance,

Winking their eyes as if in trance.

The flowers beneath them danced; but they

Out-shone the joyful blooms in spark

I could not help but shout “Hooray!”

Despite being alone at dark

I stared—and stared—but hardly knew

What joy their glittering brought through:

For now, when all alone I lie

In worried scared or somber mood

The stars shine within my mind’s eye

And grant me joy happily hued

And then my heart dismisses scars

To twinkle with those endless stars.

69

The Way of the Warrior


What does it mean to be Samurai?

To simply protect ones people ’til the end?

To be mercenaries with no calling to a king?

Or create peace with silent strength to rectify?

In veracity, there are countless truths to keep in mind.

From the moment one wakes, to the moment one sleeps,

Devoted to the perfection of whatever is being pursued,

Exemplifying aptitude of an ox, disciplined and unconfined.

Utterly dedicated to a set of moral principles,

Forever following Bushido, the Samurai code:

Rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor, loyalty—

All being visible yet invisible reputable laurels.

For the Way of the Warrior is seeing things through,

Pressing on and refusing to stay down,

At no time or moment crumbling under pressure,

Not once surrendering with strong resolve and value.

Attempting to seek and find a stillness of the mind,

Striving to better the self in all aspects—

As a Samurai, one must strengthen character;

As a human, one must perfect spirit.

Being among brave companions,

Warriors willing to give their lives in the name of honor;

Never forgetting who one is or where one comes from

Nor neglecting the original soul no matter one’s fortunes.

70

In some cases, half the battles may be “knowing,”

In others, proper spirit can win a battle before it even starts.

Additionally, if one does something of worth,

No matter how trivial it is to others, life has meaning.

So what does it mean to be Samurai?

To simply protect ones people ’til the end?

To be mercenaries with no calling to a king?

Or create peace with silent strength to rectify?

71

Dear Readers,

We have loved putting together this issue of the literary magazine. Seeing the talent of the young

writers and artists in our school and enjoying their creativity has been a real joy to us this year.

Our love for writing really began when we were a part of Dr. Weibly’s creative writing class.

Both of us went in apprehensively and weren’t sure what the class would be like. Luckily,

joining Dr. Weibly and the one of kind class that was A block creative writing opened our eyes

to a new way of penmanship. So when Dr. Weibly asked us to be editors for the 2013/2014 issue

we could not help but jump on the opportunity. One of our favorite parts was not only reading

the creative poems and short stories but also the amazing artwork that our very own SMCA

students produced. Our cover, done by the very talented Kate Bush, was a clear winner to portray

the literary magazine. Erin, the title of the issue, is named after a young girl who attended St.

Michael’s and passed away after suffering from cancer. We hope that our issue, a magazine

comprised of the talent of St. Michael’s, pays tribute to Erin, her life, as well as her creativity.

We aspire for everyone to enjoy reading and seeing the amazing work that this year’s students

produced!

Sincerely,

Dominique Ramirez & Jacque Rousseau

Date post:	14-Mar-2016
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St. Michael's Catholic Academy 2013-2014 Literary Magazine

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