Faith of a child
Bennett Harper
Class of ‘26
Confusion makes my cheeks hot
I am asked about why I go to the church I go to
And what does it stand for and what are the rules it stands by
I don’t know it was where I was born and raised
The ash brown hair catches the sun
The long nose sits above a mouth
That tells me it's an important question to ask
The face tells me I should know the history
I should know the logic and the rules
I know the truth and isn’t that good enough
And the table we sit at is warm metal
The ginkgo tree has pale green leaves that distort what would be straight rays
I am talked to with hands waving in the air with conviction
I am told that if I think I can realize the “one true denomination”
The long face drags me along the unoriginal trail of thoughts
I just have what I am called to have
I may have the faith of a child but better than the faith of a scholar
I see that a thinker of a person thinks too much too often
Hiwassee Nights
John Parker Fain
Class of ‘26
Mist hangs low on the river
Crickets hum faintly upstream
Our tents glow with borrowed firelight
Steel stakes driven into soft ground
Ancient stories from long ago
Green trees lean over the banks
Old and patient
While we carve our small mark
A circle of smoke
A night borrowed from the Hiwassee
Seeing the end
Gabriel Lindley
Class of ‘26
When I was a child,
I used to always skip to the very end of my “I Survived” books to know the ending.
The fear that my favorite character would vanish from the pages haunted me.
Knowing the ending brought me comfort –
but it wasn’t reality.
Life doesn’t give you the endings early,
that’s what makes it life.
The urge to continuously seek the ending of an event,
prevents you from cherishing the moment.
Reading the full book, rather than skipping to the end, allows you to understand the buildup of a character,
rather than the achievement.
Trapped inside
Madelyn Moffitt
Class of ‘26
I’ll never be right in your eyes.
Illogical things spew from your mouth.
“I don't think that is right.” “You don't know what you're talking about.”
I instantly regret that.
What do I know? I'm just arguing.
My words are trapped behind my tongue.
They begin to bang on the sides of my mouth
Begging to be set free.
It's no use.
I know this now. I finally cracked the code.
Sit back and nod.
The safest method out of all the ones I’ve tried.
The Fawn won't outstand the Buck.
Soon.
I'll let my words be free.
Soon.
Road rage
Ryder Smith
Class of ‘26
(An imitation of [Pulled Over in Short Hills, NJ, 8:00 AM])
My teeth clenched. As my anger arises
Like a volcano on the verge of eruption,
my hands squeeze the steering wheel.
Fire from my feet rises to the top of my head, trying to escape.
My mouth sealed like a can of corn.
As the car rides my tail going 75 mph.
I hold in my anger, as my blinker blinks.
I get over just to be flipped off by the same car.
“People” I think, the fire cools down, like ice in hot tea.
while the car fades in the distance.
The Sunday Funnies
Marjorie Stark
Class of ‘26
I pretended to like
the business section
And the politics section
And the sports section
And the news section
the cold crisp pages colliding together
Telling the narrative of the day
“President Donald Trump has been impeached!”
“The Climate is at an all time low, Action is Needed!”
My dad and I would scan the pages
He would start with World news
Maybe I would start with local
Then we would switch
And I would skim again
The black and white
Just sat in my head
Scrambled, scattered, sitting
But
Today was Sunday
And it wasn't just black and white
It was filled with colors
And there was an extra page
The Sunday Funnies
Garfield and Odie burst out
Of the little black box
Hagar the Horrible
Swinging his giant pint of foaming liquid
Jeremy lazily lying all across the page
Immersed in the animated pages
I traverse on
Through the
Family Circus
Billy and Dolly and
"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift. That's why they call it the present!”
Dagwood and Blondie
With her golden hair
Dancing around the page
Beetle clothed in his
Green army gear
Nodding off in the corner
Right in the middle
Between the war on terrorism
And United Kingdom’s withdrawal
Sat brilliant childlike calm
As the characters flowed across the pages
Whirling around
The world didn’t seem so dim
Because even comics
Could break up the dark
See Across; Here Beside You
Margo Windemuller
Class of ‘27
Settle down ‘round the table,
all nicely done up for a meal
Hold hands and say a prayer,
for hope that heart can heal
See across, the mother and father;
eating till they can’t feel
Here beside you, a young brother,
whose laugh is like a shrill seal
Up and out, reside over towering cities
to a sad shadowed bunker
Down and under, here's a bridge;
threatened by rolling thunder
See across, a tired man
who could barely keep awake to hunker
Here beside you, a half dead fox,
something of a measly hunter
Walk away, far from the scene;
now today you’ll see new things
All alone, and lonesome besides,
a quiet woman so softly sings
See across at the poster,
its lunacy’s pitiful lonely holdings
Here beside you, search for the lover
who broke promised golden rings
Run, quick as a lie!
Then stop like the cold and bitter truth.
Play a bit of ‘I-spy’
to spot the skinny girl playing hard at ‘aloof’
See across the dirty street;
to the building with a wretched roof
Here beside you watch her trembling;
The cracked concrete is her sole sooth.
Claw your way out of town,
and pave for want of better place
Breathe little as time slows down,
focus on the sallow passing face
See across and follow to the grave;
slow is his lulled mourning pace
Here beside you, a tearful wife,
Though the dead rarely disclose faze
Pick the flowers off tops of cars,
as the highway makes like falling stars
There’s a rickety apartment not far,
though it is sad, soulless, and sparse
See across the kitchen and at the splatter;
a rich deep color of mars
Here beside you, racks of knives,
much like the man wanted behind bars
Run to our hallowed roads,
so inching along makes you a fine rubberneck
Bent, bruised, and bleeding,
a poor Toyota is a wretched mess of a wreck
See across to him crying:
The Hispanic teen can’t pay the check.
Here beside you is the white man,
who’d find it hard to ever forget
Drag along back to a warm home,
slump down on the threadbare armchair
Ponder lavishly the people all alone;
is it truly right? Is this wholly fair?
See across at a television blaring:
news never fails to speak of total disrepair.
Here around us is our failed power
to craft a world worthy to share.
What We Always Were
Margo Windemuller
Class of ‘27
Inspired by this phrase in the Crucible
We stoop through the gilded season;
Through the frosted, bleary Winter.
Until it all melts away
By the warming Spring breeze.
And then we rush in a pilgrimage,
And march far beneath the canopy smother,
Until come end summer, and we are halted.
We seek the destination of our unhappiness
But Fall will fall again,
And Winter will freeze our bones.
We never may reach the end,
We hide it all too well.
And maybe this is our selfishness,
And this was our hope all along:
That, surely, we will always be lost,
Because we fear we may find ourselves.
A Reflection of Two Years Past
Margo Windemuller
Class of ‘27
Long time since then,
Since the moment when I wrote here.
Many tears have fallen, have dried,
Since the snapshots of that past;
Since emotions from those years were buried.
Reading back, I can’t say its beautiful
But I must say it’s real, and it’s what I was;
And partly, thank God only partly,
Who I am.
I couldn’t say this is beautiful;
Though, it’s far less melodramatic.
And that’s fine, a blessing of clarity even.
However I fear for the two year evaluation...
Sure, this diction could be more ‘thoughtful’
But truly, I’m burnt out, and nursing the wound.
Certainly, progress has been pioneered,
And in my exhaustion I smile more.
I’ve less than two years, actually, before it’s over.
And I grow saddened at the thought. Alas,
Nothing got done with anxious fears,
And on I will write; and older I do become.
Don’t bury these things, these proofs of me.
That isn’t a truncation; logical or justifiable,
That would be rage. An erasure of yourself. Of me.
Here, as I type, I wonder with all complexity about you...
Because as I am interpreted as only a fragment, this I am not.
Here, as I write, I am a person who was the whole of you,
The entire convoluted and deeply feeling
All of me.
I fear too, for the death of myself is at the end of your index.
I laugh too, and enjoy the pleasures of living, like love
I write too, and consider greatly some things from the world
I hope too, and with this I must give you latitude for who I become.
Yes, here is the greatest difference:
A hopeful note that I depart from.
And to you, dear future,
I will try to impart it to you.
You must be willful, intentional, whatever is in this essence.
Despite the freedom to dally, dallying is all you will be
If there is no intent, no thoughtful creation of character.
But, dearest me, this is a great gift, a great gift of Heaven.
And surely a gift of Heaven is to be used, to be delighted in.
And to our guests, our audience that has gathered here:
It’s this I clearly mean:
Go out and be the one of intent, and, upon that path
Do not walk to become a perfect fragment;
Rather you must stride to become a collage of life.
The Stories We Tell
Pierce Alpers
Class of ‘28
The stories we tell
About worlds we like
About things we want
About the places we’ve been
Each story is different
Some real, some twisted
Some conjured by the mind
Each provides truth
Stories let the mind wander
Let it travel among places
You want to be
You want to have
The stories we tell
About worlds we like
About things we want
About the places we’ve been
But some are meant to cause pain
Are meant to harm the mind
As it wanders by the guiding story
Forcing it to watch
Stories let the mind wander
But hold it still
On the parts of the story
That wants to be known
The stories we tell
About worlds we like
About things we want
About the places we’ve been
An Ode to the Orchid
Lillian McArdle
Class of ‘26
She is an orchid,
Glowing vividly in the sun,
And wilting in the night.
When she paints, or when she writes,
She glows even brighter in the dark.
She doesn’t bend for herself,
But for the cranes she sees,
Tied up on the ceiling of her room,
She bends paper to shape what she wants them to be.
She wants to fly,
To soar and to be a tree for anyone to lean on,
Her sturdy bark holding the heaviest of burdens,
In the fall she lets go of her own leaves
To carry us in her gentle branches.
The orchid isn’t yellow.
She bends while the honey colored dandelions look straight up to the sun.
But she looks all around her;
At the sky, and at the drowning grass surrounding the field,
In hopes she can help another to direct their eyes upward.
She is an orchid,
And when I pick her up out of the ground,
She picks me up with her.
The seaglass eyes see straight past the overgrown weeds I put up
And sitting on the maroon couch,
we like to laugh.
We make bracelets with store bought beads
And we sob into each other’s arms
And we dream of a field,
Where the orchids grow, leaning to a much brighter sun.
I'm feeling happiness
Anna Fluhrer
Class of ‘29
Today im feeling happiness,
Let me tell you why.
I finally felt the chill of fall,
And the air is going dry.
My apple crisp Bloom was bubbly and delicious;
And made the fall feeling fill me up.
Its harvested taste gave me energy;
I'll always want another cup.
I was given a chicken biscuit,
Which of course made my day.
The hearty meal I’ve had this morning,
Send the sleepies far away.
Ode to Fall
Bella Francescon
Class of ‘29
The cool breeze picking up the fall leaves
The cold weather nips at me so I’ll be wearing long sleeves
The sweet smell of cinnamon and vanilla in the air
The creak of the old rocking chair
The warm fire hugging me tight
Like the sky hugs the stars at night
Fog drifting across the pond
Espresso with shots of blonde
Hot chocolate in my morning mug
I can’t wait to wear my comfy Uggs
Watching college football
Oh how I love fall
Carving pumpkins is always a delight
The leaves changing to a soft orange is a wonderful sight
The spooky season is near
I can’t wait for it this year!
Shame
Daniel Garner
Class of ‘26
He towered over me, and spake his deadly grasp into my mind. “Did you do it?”
His intentions were truly of inquisition, yet I could not help but cower.
I confirmed my completion, the singular task I could bring myself to do.
He walked by without recognition, but I could tell in the subtle way his face deformed, his mouth which
twitched surly downturned and the angle at which he turned away
His disbelief was all too clear, a searing glaze of shame washed over me, as I could do nothing but bang at the
walls of my former inhibition.
My sloth has grasped at my feet these days, and brought me to the floor to lay. When I get up I feel the
weight of everything I could have done. The simple things I have time to do are overcome by what was left to
hang, the rope slowly raises and my neck starts to burn.
Their disbelief is not unwarranted.
Oh I wish it were so!
That my energy were directed towards what is expected of me.
It is of my own accord that I do not complete them. I have surplus of time, and complete understanding of
the task.
I recoil at the woes of others, those who truly don’t have the time or the energy or the understanding.
Their wailing is of accord, they have room to be complaining.
What have I to complain of?
There is naught that I lack and no excuse remains for me to shield myself from the bloody rain of shame.
All I have suffered hast been my own suffering smitten onto my lonely soul by the crazed beast that is
Indolence.
What use is crying out, there must be defiance.
This mistake that has taken my life by the tongue and smothered its smouldering flame.
The fetter I have clamped on my leg, still leaves its key in my hand.
I bring my head up to look at the forsaken beast, the glassy black throne it sits upon to stare down at me
with its pungently mold-like grin of tyranny.
My eyes, bathed in red and screaming out for justice, stare through its skull and pierce him through his brain.
The indignant stare I show now is not a sign of things gone right, but of a subtle turning, a little shift, my
fetter remains but looser, he still sits on the throne, but less terrifying now, and the revolution I have shown
has ended his bloody reign of shame.
Already Enough
Charlie Johnson
Class of ‘28
While I sit here in silence
I hear your name echo through these walls
From late nights, to long days, to hard fights and shaky faith
All I want is peace at last
Can't find nothing that will last
But I keep telling myself I'm fine
I'm sorry for the things I've held I just didn't want you to worry
Cause when I get those thoughts my mind and soul turn blurry
It's hard trying to battle yourself, trying to be perfect for the world, never understood that I'm already enough
I'm sorry for the things I've held I just didn't want you to worry
Cause when I get those thoughts my mind and soul turn blurry
It's hard trying to battle yourself, trying to be perfect for the world, never understood that I'm already enough
Deer
Andrew Womack
Class of ‘26
The dusk brought on darkness
I lied by my tent
Eyes glued to the green
These 3 adolescent deer danced gracefully through a field;
They ran with vigor and impressive endurance;
There was no predator in their wake.
But still they hurried to and fro
This way and that,
I saw they were chasing each other,
Juking and dodging when a sister or brother came too close
3 deer tapped into what I thought a human instinct;
3 wild animals delighted in “childish” games with each other;
3 deer played.
Why does innocent (human) children’s play
So often end in hurt feelings and pain?
“It’s ‘cause they haven’t learned compassion,” I thought as I steadied my rifle.
Beautiful Day, Isn’t It?
Bennett Dawson
Class of ‘29
If You Remove All of the Blood from a Person’s Body
Bennett Dawson
Class of ‘29
Jolly Old Doomsday Prepper
Harper Green
Class of ‘29
Yellow Lilies
Anabelle Osborn
Class of ‘27
Ephemeral
Carlie-Ann Pell
Class of ‘27
Lenore
Carlie-Ann Pell
Class of ‘27
Primrose
Carlie-Ann Pell
Class of ‘27
