The Two Faces of January

 Just as the name January comes to us from a Roman god, Janus, with two faces, so our post this month reflects love and peril, loss and adventure, nostalgia and Nikes. Writing and art are amalgams of all that we are. 

We hope you enjoy the fruits of our labor as a new calendar year begins!

Artwork by Chris H., Grade 8

A Peril Love 

 

Let it be known: 

Our novel love is a prototype 

for the screen. 

Exemplary and abiding,  

sure to age just as the eternal stars did. 

 

But time will wisp aways 

its evocation a souvenir, 

its echo imprinted for us only. 

Only to rewind and behold, 

for only to us is it bared 

 

To witness out affection disperse and tear, 

to implode like the stars, 

to survey the damage and fall to bits, 

reliving the dismantled fiction, 

would be all too dire. 

 

To adore you is a tragedy in of itself, 

for there are possibilities  

I’m not willing to chance. 

 

Until we meet our demise will I cherish it dear. 

For our love, though a peril jeopardy, is darling in the worst way. 

So for now, let this stay. 

 

By Avery H., Grade 9 

 

Artwork by Hailey T., Grade 9

 

Instead of looking through a keyhole, find the key and open the door 

 

Something I learnt too late. 

My world came crashing down 

My timbers of support have fallen 

In scarlet red flames and booming explosions 

And I kept looking for the perpetrator 

Holding the torch in their hand 

I spent so much time looking out, 

I didn’t stop and look down 

To see the burnt-out match 

Resting between my splintered fingers 

 

by Nia H., Grade 9 

 

Artwork by Rory G., Grade 9

 

These Are (Not and Never Will Be) My Words 

 

False, false words are ones that constantly flow out of our mouths 

          False are the words I will say (Nobody know, except me.) 

                         THE WORDS I SPEAK ARE NOT WHAT I WANT TO SAY. 

                                                    DON’T MAKE ME SAY MY REAL FEELINGS, 

     the mask I wear may crack, and fall to the ground in ashes 

                      my composure may shatter as well as my happiness, 

              LIFE IS NEVER FOREVER. 

                                                                    WHY DID I BECOME ATTACHED 

                                                                                                                                STOP MY PAIN 

HELP ME, I BEG 

                          I AM ON MY KNEES 

                                  STOP MY PROBLEMS FROM LEAKING OUT 

          my feelings are overflowing, they’re spilling 

                            WHY WON’T IT STOP, 

                                                                      MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP 

please. 

    help me. 

           stop it. 

                                                YOU CAN’T HELP ME 

                                                                         why am I so naïve. always so stupid. always so sad. 

                                                          CRYING SHOWS WEAKNESS, I AM WEAK. 

WHY AM I CRYING? 

        I substitute my words to cover my sorrow. 

          so I won’t break in front of everyone. 

               why did you die? Why do I have to speak at your funeral? 

                            I now need to pretend that the words are mine (they aren’t, and never will be). 

  why did you leave me, to say these words, as if I’m being graded 

                                                                                                           because you died. 

 

by Ellana K., Grade 7 

 

Artwork by Amelia U., Grade 9

 

A Quiet Moment 

 

I love my purple life jacket. 

The one from the back room. 

It fits snuggly. 

 

All new and different. 

Things I’ve never done before. 

Helpful hand guides me. 

 

Lucky hat for success, 

fresh bait on the hook. 

He casts, I watch. 

 

How wonderful he is; 

Gentle heart, strong mind. 

Love is a word I use to describe. 

 

He casts over his shoulder 

Standing tall, soft as a bear. 

He hands me the rod. 

 

We watch and wait. 

A moment so simple, 

yet ever so special. 

 

It’s not when, 

or how, or where, 

but who. 

 

Thank you, Grandpa. 

 

by Julia N., Grade 9 

In a Deep and Dark December

 Sometimes Simon and Garfunkel say it best: "A winter's day/in a deep and dark December."  Our editors and writers went a little dark this time . . . but sometimes in the darkest time of the year, we just need to embrace the sense of hibernation it demands.  We hope you enjoy our offerings this month!

Pluviophile

 

“Pluviophile” I whisper up to the sky,

A word that defines me, and I’ll tell you why.

One who finds comfort in warm summer showers

The quiet pitter patter on windows of ours

 

When the sun hides away

and the sky turns gray

When the clouds start to cry

A tear falls from my eye

 

It falls into the puddle, under my shoes

Filled with grief and behavior I constantly excuse

“I’ll give them one last chance,” I told my best friend

But we both knew it would not be the end.

 

Just like how the rain would never stop falling

I’m following a voice that won’t ever stop calling.

For the voice knows the hold it has over me,

I fear from that voice I will never be free.

 

But I will continue following your voice

Knowing I wouldn’t ever be your first choice.

I’ll keep trying to change you, I’ll be kind to you too

Because all I’ve ever wanted was to be a pluviophile with you.

by Anya A., Grade 9

Artwork by Mackenzie J., Grade 8

World

            Why is it so loud in here, it’s not supposed to be loud…

 

              Many people talking, screaming, no not screaming shouting loud loud loud,                     Door wide open

                     Hospital Lights 

Hospital Smell

Tap tap taping pencil…feet….homework…oh god homework

                                                Why would someone push it off so much

    I would push it off so much

So much

So much

                    Green cabinets     The Smell Of Rain

 

LOUD CRACK BANG and RUMBLE  RUMBLE

            Hot hot face         can’t breath, hot tears hot face… run…get out…why

                                No, this was supposed to happen always supposed to happen

                                BANG CRACK RUMBLE

by Rowan F., Grade 8

Artwork by Richard W., Grade 8

easy

We don’t need you,

    little dog.

Hence, I can serve the usual suspects.

 

I’m as mad      as you      remember.

 

Kiss

another fine mess.

Just

another fine mess.

 

Every special moment was a

    d i s c o n t e n t   d  r   e    a     m      .

The truth, if tranquil, would suffer like family…

Frankly, my dear, ask yourself who is between

Grace       and        give,

 

Wicked &

Wither.

by Anya A. and Avery H. 

(A poem began with magnetic poetry)

Artwork by Richard W., Grade 8

Treasures

Our editors have decided to feature one of our talented poets and artists exclusively this month. Mackenzie J. is a ninth-grader here at Holicong, and we hope you enjoy this spotlight post. Like an exhibit in an art museum, it gives a broad overview of her body of work. 

Ignorance

 

Those Little Things Left Behind

The memorabilia of a life once lived

Forgotten now, scored and scarred

 

An Averagely Abnormal Day

Catch glimpses of untruthful things

The shadows in the alley

 

Promise Me

You're here to stay

Don't let him take you away

 

One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

The face of a friend

And a smiling spider

 

Homeward Bound

Round up the bodies

Rumbling wagon down the road

 

Teasing, Laughter, and a Sense of Unease

The setting sun that graces red faces

And the monster cloaked in blindfold and smile

 

The Absentee God

Fearful of the world she raised

Now hidden from the mistakes she's made

 

Empty Pages

Old and slashed by fragmented glass

Like the tracks left in the lost nightmare field

 

For Your Own Good

He'll always insist

So twist your grimace into a grin

 

Memory Lane

For a faceless friend

For a recollection curdled sweet

 

The Fear Effect

The sweeping plague of paranoia

Oh, the things it makes us do

 

Bloody Steeples

Gifted help you never wanted

While your shadow cries against stained glass windows

 

Ignorance Aflame

Like scorched paper in a lit hearth

"You'll never miss it", the monster promises

 

Small-Town Politics

A wordless stare

A last hope snatched

 

You Don't Exist

Just a wraith of what you used to be

Even if you can't recall

 

The Lion's Head Door Knockers

Silent sentinels of once-quiet library

Split by shouting of once-close friends

 

The Presence of Loneliness

A bleak repetition of mornings past

Amidst contemptuous ghosts and guardian shadows

 

Curiosity Killed the Cat

Stuck in a cycle, tricked by lies

Trace the footsteps you forgot you left

 

Wishing on Grounded Stars

Cast yourself before ever-watchful eyes

Search for that monster, your brother's epitaph

 

A Step in the Wrong Direction

To grasp the hand of that silk-woven man

They never did see how you tried to tear free

 

When Push Comes to Shove

Run away runaway, shadow touched child

"Don't trust him", it whispered, so why wouldn't you listen?

 

"Ignorance is bliss, after all."

 

The Ashes of a Burning Heart

 

How does it feel, my dear

To lose the best thing that ever happened to you?

To have that spark in your chest go out

Like the mirror's cracking glass

To have what once shone

Go dark and dull

Lost where it can’t be saved

 

Yes, your mind still thinks

But does your heart still beat?

Or have you left it in the ashes

Where his fire once roared?

 

Oh, Dear Lover of Crows

 

I have heard people whisper

That if the crows love you

They will always lead you home

So every time I saw one

Perched outside my door

Sleek and black and ever watchful

With those far too intelligent eyes

I would leave a piece of bread

In the hopes they would love me

Enough to guide me back

No matter how far I wandered

But I do not know yet

If they love me enough to bring me home

For I have not yet left

And maybe never will

 

An Old Story

 

Someone always has to leave first

This is a very old story

I loved you

There is no other

And you left

Version of this tale

The ending will be the same as the beginning:

Soft

And sad

And blurry around the edges

The Return

 We are back for a new year with some editors from last year, some new editors, and lots of new ideas to make this year's magazine posts grand!  Enjoy our opening pieces for the year, and look for a few more soon. In the meantime, join us at the annual Holicong Coffeehouse, the evening of November 4th to hear Holicong students perform their own music and poetry. 

Exercises for an Artist 

(after Tanya Shadrick, after Wendell Berry)

Stare at the beauty 

Analyze the meaning, the story 

Pick up your pencil, pen, paper 

Let your hand flow lightly 

A small moth flapping its wings and gliding in the air 

Ask: are you happy with it? 

If not, change it, recreate it, take flight again 

Strike your pen down like lightning 

Give life to your art. 

by Nia H., Grade 9

Artwork by Mackenzie J., Grade 9

Today I Saw a Deer

Today I saw a deer,

Munching on some grass.

Wrapped in a golden blanket of sunshine,

Showered in warmth.

 

Still, he seemed lonely,

Sitting on that hill alone.

I brought him a friend,

A small puppy.

 

The puppy was as dark as the mud beneath the grass,

His fur as soft as a bird's feathers,

His goofy smile stretching for miles,

As he lopes around the grassy hill.

 

They have fun, those two.

Maybe they understand each other?

Maybe they never really had a barrier between them at all

Because of their love for the sun.

 

When the deer grows old, he can no longer dance with the dog;

Maybe he doesn't want to.

But the dog stays loyal, old as well,

And stays by his side.

But then the deer found the one he holds close, 

And he no longer wants to be with the dog.

Though the dog indeed was his best friend,

Their dancing was already out of sync. 

 

Today I saw a baby boy,

Sucking on his finger.

Wrapped tightly in cotton blankets,

Showered in hugs and kisses.

 

Still, he seemed lonely,

Sitting in that cradle alone.

I brought him a friend,

One he would remember, long into his life.

 

A small, stuffed puppy.

by Richard W., Grade 8

Artwork by Julia N., Grade 9

My Off-White Sweater

That long-lasting embrace of soft polyester

My only lover, my off-white sweater

A shield from the cold, the chill, the wind

A shield from the sorrow, and all I’ve sinned.

 

It holds my strengths and happiness within,

weaved through the stitches, weaved into my skin.

For the so-called sweater, not sweater at all

But a layer of protection, with it’s help I wont fall.

 

My sweater holds me when no one else will,

The holes in my heart, my sweater will fill.

The soft polyester will be there forever,

My only lover, my off-white sweater.

by Anya A., Grade 9

Artwork by Richard W., Grade 8

Finding Old Comforts In A Fresh Start

 

Stop and look around.

Take: 1, Scene: 1, Episode: 1, Season: 1.

I swear, I’ve seen you before.

In another life.

Welcome back, I missed those eyes.

My Hiraeth.

by Jaime P., Grade 9