Torch Art and Writing

February Art and Writing

Composed by Charlotte Suttee

This February edition is rich in poetry from more writers than ever before! To be included in March Art and Writing, submit your work following these guidelines. Thank you to everyone who sent their outstanding art and writing this February. We can’t wait to see what you send in next.

“Business and usual” by Skylar Abel (12)
Acrylic on canvas

“Riverside” by Chloe Jackson (12)

The wheel is cold and the moon is gone
And the sun won’t be up for a while.
My heart is still asleep.
But the river is not.
“Perhaps it could use some company.”

It’s not in a hurry.

My soul reaches out to the red lights
They keep me paced and measured
They give me time to look.
The clouds are a cap on the sky
And there is nothing beyond them.

The river is quiet and herons are sleeping.

I could scream.
I could wail catharsis,
Knowing there would be no reply.
Like a prayer.
But I will not sully the quiet.
I ought not corrupt the air.

I would be a shriek in a cathedral
A screech in a cemetery.
It is not my place to pierce sacred morning silence.
It is the bird’s.

“Music” by Hudson Mazzei (12)
Acrylic

“A Phate of Metafysics” by Rajveer Korpe (12)

Order’s structure is still

Rigid, unchanging stasis

Like Voids black and eternal

Thought once to be chaos

Primordial and primeval

Yet they are quiet

Chaos isn’t quiet

This force of entropy

Descending upon me

An all-black sea

Through which no eyes can see

A force of order indeed

For entropy cannot bring chaos

As it changes us to stasis

A morbid periphrasis

Order pulls us into our beginnings

Our most basics forms

And it returns us back there

And that’s to be the norm

We accept it as structure

As scripture, and as sculpture

“Light in the darkness” by Hudson Mazzei
Led

A natural end of life’s sepulchre

Chaos drives life

In youthful abandon

Perseverant and persistent

Like resplendent Ra on his randan

It challenges us

Made life ever-free and ever-forged

Oppressive thread of the Fates it engorged

On a climb beyond Everest on a height much higher

For its freedom given form and fervor and fury and fire

Chaos acts on Order

Ripping apart its structure

But Order is clever

It’s of a long-term culture

It wants equilibrium

As structures are simplest when static

Yet decay reduces it to the fundamental

Those bowing to structure find it erratic

Disillusioned from how they bend

But it breeds stasis in the end

And change, to nothing it shall rend

“Shattered” by Hudson Mazzei
Acrylic

For when stasis causes change to stop

And heat death kicks in

Dead our universe shall drop


by Eliza Fitzhugh (11)

he only has time
but that’s the one thing she doesn’t
possess
no patience, no
immortality
isn’t it strange
she’s the one who lingers the longest
over his frigid traces

“12 February 2019” by Eliza Fitzhugh

you walk with the unshakeable certainty

of the sun dawning

this perfect posture was born from pure practice

days spent feeling out and replicating one position

and now the set of your bones radiates outward instead of turning questioningly inward

like most of us

your smile is sincere and thoughtless, immediate, and

i should probably be ashamed it holds me enthralled

but you have such assurance of your worth

like nobody else i’ve met

you are a sun just peeking over the horizon into your potential

and i want to hike with you the entire journey, even if

your sure step is equal to four of my tremulous own

“Anonymous” by Jadon Song (12)

“Ecstacy” by Chloe Jackson (12)

I was a marble slab.

Stolen were the mountains

Full of salt and holy

With aural faces, eyes

Closed in silent ceremony.

I was to be trapped in Ecstacy

Divinity delirious

Like Teresa. Feverfree,

Rapture in stone-

Cecilia alone

In a high ceilinged basilica.

But my lips are cold and shut.

I was enchanted by the moonrise,

Distracted by the corvid cries.

My hands are still, unpraying.

My heart is godless and fossilized.


“I’ve been dreaming” by Chloe Jackson(12)
I’ve been dreaming of cemeteries again
Of dirt and escape,
Of fogged highways
Of running
Of banshee tears
High antlered deer
Groaning over something pale and stiff
Ophelia fingers, statuesque
in the cold dew of grey rocks below the cliff

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