November Stream Team at Deer Creek

Ashaki Hall, MICDS ‘10 -Photography

 

Katie Johnson, CHS ‘10 -Photography

Anjuli Dharna, CHS 10′– Bird Watching @ Creve Ceour Lake

DeAnna Pope, MICDS ‘12, Poetry

Seeing it again.
Would be hell.
Always hotter than hell.
I could go jump off the balcony and be colder than in that room.
The bedroom and the bathroom.

Hastily, the makeshift door handle for the bathroom.
The bored crickets in the bathroom.
Lighting my only candle at night to keep me company in the bathroom.
I even cried when I thought it was broken in the bathroom.

I cried at night anyway.
The crickets would hop under my bed and try to soothe my tears.
I would draw images of a new rising sun.
When the pencil would break, I would read my books.
I was homesick for fiction novels.
Which I would put back in the same spot every time.
The same spot.
So I would know if someone stole it.
Maybe. If someone stole my reality, I could accuse them and get a chance.

More often, I would feel guilty for these thoughts.
But when I would feel guilty I’d look at my ceiling-too high for me.
To ever possibly reach.
I would try to put a magazine cover up there.
I was too short to put up a shadowy-eyed model on the top.

I missed you a lot too.
I would look at the magazines.
In room 709.
Trying to journal every night.
The same spot.
Today I’ll remember.

Playing the flute at night to bug the neighbors because.
They couldn’t speak English to tell me it was awful.

Anjuli Dharna, CHS ‘10, Poetry

The Act
Drum roll please,
as they takes Center Stage.
Each in Bright Colors,
my cousins– Family.

They are on display.
Center Stage–  in my House.

Off to the side,
I Stand, Bowler hat in hand,
watching, orchestrating– Conducting?

Right now they are the focus,
Audience, the World,
have a good look!

the Plans I have– Unveil
a disappearance, Severed abdominals?
The choice is Mine.

Minutes Pass, like years,
and still they stand, There.

5  4  3  2 1
Gone.
Just like that.

Who chose? They to leave?

No matter, I am alone.
Stage Right,
Bowler hat in gloved Red hands.

Applause?

Slingshot Stream Team Effort #1

Good Morning,

Last week Elena, Diane and I went down to the urban stream Deer Creek in our area and picked up litter along the stream bank for an hour and a half. Between the three of us we  each picked up one load of trash. However, since it has been raining so much recently the stream was quite swollen making it hard to get to a lot of the trash. But between the three of us, I think we did a pretty good job. We are all very glad that our Stream Team is now officially set up and our next outing for Stream Team will be 11/7/09, so mark your calendars and I hope to see you out there with us!

Anjuli Dharna

Anjuli Dharna, CHS ‘10. Behold the Midwest

Katie Johnson, CHS ‘10. Digital Media

Elena Makansi – MICDS ‘10 (Poetry)

Firefly

Spread-eagle on the billiards table,
I lay face-up, making the plaster swirl like an eddy
On the ceiling, the sky, the heavens,
Where my dreams float up and burn.
So I too will burn, burn to disappear,
To watch myself disappear.
Like my dreams, I want to fly
To float, to blaze.

We know it’s not possible. Birds fly,
Flies fly, Fireflies fly, Fire flies.
Not homo sapiens sapiens.

“What is the symbolic and supernatural meaning of fire?”
I ask, too cold, frozen solid, can’t move.
I am claustrophobic.

So I drink and so we all drink.
I douse myself, limbs like ice,
Stalagtites, stalagmites, der stalag,
In Vodka. In drink, in drunk,
I’m sinking, sunken, not quite like something old and weary
But like a miscarriage.
A sacrifice? A suicide?
A fresh-from-the-womb mistake.

I want to burn. Ice-block body incinerated.
I light the match, fingers like four
Robotic machines:
I am machina! I laugh, or cackle, or something.
So I light myself and so
I burn.