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.
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.
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
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
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
"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