the literary magazine - mpits.mcn.orgmpits.mcn.org/mpanth/2012/tourmaline2012.pdf14 remember ......

Click here to load reader

Post on 05-Mar-2018

219 views

Category:

Documents

4 download

Embed Size (px)

TRANSCRIPT

  • TourmalineThe Literary Magazine

    of The Pacific Community Charter High School

    Volume VIII

    Spring 2012

  • TourmalineThe Literary Magazine

    of The Pacific Community Charter High School

    Volume VIII

    Spring 2012

    Faculty Advisor: YOLANDA HIGHHOUSE

    Art Direction: WHITNEY BADGETT

    Layout & Design: BLAKE MORE

  • 2012 Pacific Community Charter High School

    All rights remain with the individual authors

    the Redwood Coast Educational Foundation The Arena Technology Center California Poets in the Schools

    California Arts Council Cheryl Rhodes

    and PCCHS Director Yolanda Highhouse without whom almost nothing would be possible.

    Pacific Community Charter High School PO Box 984

    200 Lake Street Point Arena, CA 95468

    [email protected]

  • TourmalineThe Literary Magazine

    of The Pacific Community Charter High School

    Volume VIII

    Spring 2012

  • 6

    Contents

    Poetry

    Andres Aceves Untitled ...8 Remi Alexander The Seed ...9Morgen Pack Adolescence ...10Celeste Van Abrams Untiled ...12Evan Arana Remember ...14Adela Martinez Yubs (age 10) ...15Max Hantzsche That's Right Marcus ...16 Patrick Hillscan Coffee Grinder ...17 Delilah Corona Blanket ...18Henry Power Untitled ...19Markus Allard Landscape Poem ...20Celeste Van Abrams La Saladita ...21Andres Aceves A Gift For Evan ...22 Adela Martinez short, with fiery insides ...23Max Hantzsche Untitled ...24Adela Martinez Milk & Honey ...25 Andres Aceves Untitled ...26Arrow Van Abrams The Fight ...27 Evan Arana Dear Baby Jesus ...29 Delilah Corona I'm Sorry About those Things ...30Celeste Van Abrams The Sound ...31Adela Martinez Hidden Amongst The Pines ...32

  • 7

    Artwork

    Untitled, Charcoal...Front Cover Untiled, Ink on Silk ...8

    Untitled, Masking Tape ...11 Untitled, Charcoal and pencil ...13

    Untiled, Colored Pencil ...17 Untitled, Gouache ...20 Untitled Colored Pencil ...23

    Untitled, Charcoal ...24 Untitled, Charcoal & Pencil ...29

    Untitled Acrylic ...30 Untitled, Altered Book ...33

  • 8

    Untitled, Anaise Ronne, Ink on Silk

    Untitled

    I warm your skinI keep the soil freshI enlighten the batsI give opportunityI reach out to godsI have a fatherEach morning you wakeIm waiting for you to come outWhen its night I get sadIm highest at noon

    Andres Aceves

  • 9

    The Seed

    the bonsai treeteaches me strengthin delicate beauty

    groundedness in roots

    it teaches me that size means nothing

    the nip of its dying limbsrenews, reminding methat change is constantand should be accepted

    the bonsai knowsthat the more gnarled and twistedits branches becomethe more cherished it isI am the seed

    Remi Alexander

  • 10

    Adolescence

    Its like this flash of redand you fall downshins firsta table of elbowscrying outbut you dont fall flatyou sprawlawkwardlyyou take up too much spaceand sometimes you rememberto get up quickbut youre always too slowand you always fall againsnaking, spiralingall fingers and a thick waistyour eyes squintyou ask a lot of questionsand never get answersyoure hopeful;because your eyes are still tendergreen shootssprouting upleaves catching sunshinetheres so much to seeand yetyoure hardenedyouve seen the view when you fallyou know your eyes are naiveyou want to shove themback into the groundlet them grow for a bit longerbut they wont listen and you cry outwhen they hit the lightbecauseits so much Morgen Pack

  • 11

    Untitled, Patrick Hillscan, Masking Tape

  • 12

    Untitled

    The mingles that you didn't getJuices of various vegetables clearing your tubesBreaking of tradition against your will and healing the older generations.Stuffy hotel rooms,Stuck with the scabs and the complaints,All night insomniaConstant text messages to back home, asking how we are, Did we win our game,Well here are some things you missedFreezing mornings, frost crunching the grass,We won some games,A particularly wide tree this year,Our yearly holiday trip to foggy San Francisco,Hope to see you before Christmas. Love you.

    Celeste Van Abrahms

  • 13

    Untitled, Morgen Pack, Charcoal and Pencil

  • 14

    Remember ...

    Remember the rain,remember the sun.

    Remember the lightning and the thunder,remember the surrounding trees, and remember the cool breed.

    Remember the land remember the house,remember the hate, remember the love.

    Remember the feelings, remember the conflicts, remember the fights,Remember your separation,remember your exit.

    Evan Arana

  • 15

    Yubs (age 10)

    A nickname never forgottenHe embraces the definition of lazinessDemanding pancakes, was never so easyHis persona, a vibrant mixture of blacks, and graysA gloomy little fella, at the best of timesHis hilarity comes from deep with inA gift learned from the future himI see his potentialHes smart, and he knows whats upAt times I long to squish his face, yet I refrainBecause, well, I love himHes my stinking little brotherWhats not to love?

    Adela Martinez

  • 16

    That's Right Marcus, I Can Do It Too

    The Frisbee leaves my handTowards the wall to the rightit goesIt is a speeding bulletcurving to the left as it goesNarrowly missing the wallit swings back overLike a train with no brakesit yells outI think I can I think I can!Still barreling across the roomwith a greater curve than everthe Frisbee smashes through the hoopA perfect swoosh.

    Max Hantzsche

  • 17

    Untitled, Adela Martinez, Colored Pencil

    Coffee Grinder

    Abruptly and without warningThe coffee grinder whirs to lifeSmall lemon sized motorSpinning the blades at a tremendous rateEach one tearing the tiny seeds without mercyOnly to stop when not but ashes remain

    Patrick Hillscan

  • 18

    The Blanket

    I am the one who holds you closeWhen you feel aloneI cover you Making sure you always feel safe and secureYou hold me close at nightYour arms wrapped tightly around mine

    Your insecurities are mine to shareIm the only one who has seen you at your all Hate Love Tearsand shame

    You never want to leave me in the morningHolding me closely as you get pulled out of bedStill,Sentimental value?Im last on your mind

    Last one to be thought of Yet Im always here in your times of needI never complain when you let them sleep between usSeparating us, yet we still are close

    You kick me off the bedBut still Ill always be here when you wake up

    Delilah Corona

  • 19

    Untitled

    the forked stick,jabs into jet puff,creamy marshmellow,like a key into a lock.

    the stick then lowers,over the licking flame,like a man baiting a fish,

    the marshmellow turns to goo,the exteriors crips,turns into a golden brown,the stick rotates some more,

    before long,the whole casing,is golden,holding a melted inside,until the stick rises,and the golden encased goo,goes down the hatch

    Henry Power

  • 20

    Landscape poem

    The sun is rising.The moon is setting.What was dark is know light.The birds start to sing. The grass is shining with droplets of water.The day has just begun.

    Markus Allard

    Untitled, Gioia Warnock, Gouache

  • 21

    La Saladita

    Step onto La SaladitaThe waves were twisting and fallingLike an uncoordinated boy in P.E.I grasp my blue soft-top long boardAnd set a bare foot into the vast blue seaButterflies crashing against the sides of my stomach As I paddled out, the distance betweenThe white sand bottom and me grewMy heart was pumping just like the waves I was intruding onBut I was ashamed to say so The first wave of the setSent me upward over the peak of the salt water mountainDreading the moment when I had to embrace what I came here to do.Surf.

    The second wave came at me like a sandstorm made of liquidPushing me over the edge and forcing my board downwardFear pulsated through my bodyA stream of saltwater rushed up my nose As I came up, I coughed and tasted salty wavesImmediately paddling inNever to be visiting that feeling again.

    Celeste Van Abrams

  • 22

    A Gift For Evan

    Evan is 8:30 p.m.He is an avocado because he looks like oneHe is an ugg because he is furryHe is the song of my life because it sounds like lalalaBronze is EvanHe is a Dodge truck because he is heftyHe lives in the 1970s because he is stylishPop is his sound He is often smiling like a manHe is like a baby whaleHe is violet like the sky

    Andres Aceves

  • 23

    short, with fiery insides

    short, with fiery insidessmall black stones rattle within your guts when your round in my hands, you twist with painsnowing black flavor across my meal your touch is aversive but delicious

    Adela Martinez

    Untitled, Remi Alexander, Colored Pencil

  • 24

    Untitled, Celeste Van Abrams, Charcoal

    Untitled

    A rain of limes fall down upon him.Eyes attacked by lies of their owners.The bubblegum like persona l ongingly stuck to the challenges of wear and tear.

    Max Hantzsche

  • 25

    Milk & Honey

    as the clock struck twilight, the forest tucked under, speckled heads nestled into shadows,the breeze,a humble shush, calming ever tick of day, all movement and worry, melting into sweet slumber, the creek took its time, a trickle, little legs at ease, croaking,happy dreams

    Adela Martinez

  • 26

    Untitled

    You are slimyYou are stinkyBut your cleanliness surpasses all textural flawsYou fight off infection like a cougar eating a gazelleI rub you between my fingersLike a rosaryPraying that you diminish each bacteria infested fingernailIm addicted to you Andres Aceves

  • 27

    Untitled, Gioia Warnock, Charcoal and Pencil

    The Fight

    Hot DesertClean ShoesCasino FloorsBright LightsTitle FightRing GirlsKnockout PunchVegas Baby!

    Arrow Van Abrams

  • 28

    Untitled, Roxanne Childaw, Acrylic

  • 29

    Dear Baby Jesus

    You are two feet high but so sinful.You are the sun of the solar system,the fire of my heart.You are an old worn out shoethat has been over prayed to.You live in the sky above the influenceof drugs except that time at the theater.Wasted, lost and beer in hand you were.I was there to catch your fall.To guide you in the right direction.I sent you to better handsfor I could not take care of a baby.I have never met a baby that was expectedso much from pole to polemillions of people puttingtheir future in your hands.

    Evan Arana

  • 30

    I'm sorry about those things I said before

    Im sorry about those things I said beforeThere are other things I could have left you to remember me byIm sorry I treated our love like a burdenOne day I hope you realize Im sorry about those things I never said

    Im sorry life got in the waymaybe well be less busy people somedayMaybe when high school is over Youll return into my life

    Ive always hated thinking too muchbut lately I dont really care becauseYoure the one Im always thinking of

    I wrote you this poem becauseYou told me its never too late to forgiveI hope its not too late to apologize because,Im sorry for the things I never said

    Delilah Corona

  • 31

    The Sound

    I am the soundthat makes our chest shakethe pounding of feet on the floorteaches me to keep beatingsmall moving lights twirl around the roomencouraging people to movesitting in the backI educate knees to bounceI am the vibration, the vibration in the concrete when a car goes byrattling your bonesand etching a sketch in your mindI am the sound of a rainbowutter silenceteaching us to dreamwhile were awakeI am the soundthat makes your chest shake

    Celeste Van Abrams Grade

  • 32

    Hidden Amongst The Pines

    I am the golden chanterelle, waiting to become palatableTediously growing,Neglected by the sleeping girl,I will suffice, You know my earthy tones, gentle ruffle, as if by heart

    The forest jubilantly wrinkled my brainTeaching me to intertwine with what is presented effortlesslyFocus, on the breeze, the sunlight The melody of living

    The poised rain, wholeheartedly, recuses me from deprivation Nourishing my stem, helping my love explode, caring for all flaws, the jawbone, the crooked eye

    The sunlight, a wise old friend, an endless amount of encour-agement I treasure its beauteous language, thoughtfulness,I look up to her,Though still, here I wait, hidden beneath the somber pines

    Adela Martinez

  • Untitled, Kayla Jones, Altered Book

    33

  • PO Box 984 200 Lake Street

    Point Arena, CA 95468 [email protected]

    TourmalineThe Literary Magazine

    of The Pacific Community Charter High School

    Volume VIII

    Spring 2012

    Pacific Community Charter High SchooL