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12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Homecoming

Homecoming
by Victoria Lane

Every time I come to visit, 
I stay for hours. 
But I’d stay for days, 
For years, if you’d let me, 
A princess in a tower. 

It’s hard to leave 
When here I once returned. 
Coming here meant going home. 
Now what’s left for me, 
This house of bones? 

I know I can’t stay. 
It’s not my home anymore. 
But I can’t bring myself to drive away, 
To even stand and walk out the door. 

Now my home is one of convenience, 
A single rented room I have no hope to ever own. 
I pay for my twin bed, desk, and paint-peeled walls, 
And I return in the summer to someone else’s home. 

If I ever have children, 
I will build a house with a thousand rooms, 
So that each child may someday return 
To a stable, unyielding place in the world. 

A forever home. 

I’d never turn their room into an office, 
Box up their things, or even paint the walls. 
I’d leave their posters there, 
Their photos, memories; I’d leave it all. 

They say a house does not make a home, 
But this life without a house, 
Living from dorm to dorm 
And spare room to spare room, 
Does not feel like home either. 


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write.

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

when the twink and the butch get together over discord

Playing through an mp3 file on my old crappy laptop I got for free from my father, her voice transmits a signal of safety, of living with a stable internet connection, of being whole and happy in a stone cottage high in the mountains, surrounded by pine and earth. 

She sounds gorgeous, and I want to press my mouth against the microphone just to see if I can taste her lips through the Wi-Fi at my work that delivers her to me. I don’t see her face nearly enough, so I long for her in the empty spaces between vowels and consonants, hanging onto the smiles I can hear, the crinkling of eyes I swear emits via the soundwaves blasted from almost a thousand miles away. 

I don’t want to scare her with the ugly declarations of passion I do not yet know how to make,  so I simply curl up in the hollow emptiness left behind when she’s gone, because “I love you” sounds tinny and false over the phone, and she deserves to hear it from a flesh and blood man who isn’t so virtual. 

One day, I’ll hold her in my arms, press my hand to her chest so I can feel her heartbeat, and brush her hair aside to whisper in her ear those words that I need her to feel in her bones. 

For now though, I’ll listen to that Rise Against cover she recorded for me, and I’ll know that the sun’s always rising in the sky somewhere. 


Emerson Gray, a disabled genderqueer creator living in Saint Louis, Missouri, has been previously published in the Eunoia Review and Neon Mariposa Magazine. His piece “Life of an Ophelian Girl”, as seen in Crabfat Magazine, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He can be contacted on Twitter @Emerson_Gray_

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12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Up in Flames

Delilah Abell 

Beautiful and talented 

All women envy her, all men want her. 

 But her eyes lock on one thing… power. 

An actress by day… arsonist by night. 

Manipulation and force are her key to success 

She auditions and is accepted, it’s very rare that she is rejected.  

If she is rejected, well… they will surely pay. 

Their company will go up in flames. 

So, as you can see, entertainment industries have no voice. 

Casting her as the lead is their best and only choice. 

In sad way, she’s gets away with it.  

Destruction and chaos 

She’s even enjoys it. 

 A warning to all entertainment industries 

The next time you see the name Delilah Abell 

Remember to give her the lead role.  

Never, Never, never reject her. 

Or you will burn in her hell hole. 

It’s not difficult to recognize her 

Eyes that are hazel, and bright as the sun. 

Brunette hair that looks black from a distance. 

Olive skin that’s oil resistant.   

From the looks of it, she seems innocent in a way. 

But as you know, your true self always gives you away. 

Her indication is the look of hatred  

Eyes changing into a lifeless black 

The saying goes “If looks could kill, you be dead.” 

With her death stare, you can’t never get that image out of your head.  

Once again, I plead, cast her as the lead. 

Your company will be safe… And undemolished. 

But most of all, make sure that one day she will pay. 

Justice will be served. 

Her luxurious life will… go up in flames. 


Andre Tompkins a junior at Lindenwood University (soon to be Senior this fall!), earning their bachelor’s degree in Social work while minoring in psychology, Gender Studies, and creative writing. Andre is currently an editor for Lindenwood’s undergraduate literary journal called Arrow Rock. Plus, Andre was also an editor for The Gateway Review: Journal of Magic Realism, while they were attending St. Charles Community College. Andre is an advocate for Diversity and Inclusion in all literary forms. And they identify as a non-binary person of color. Their ultimate dream is to write stories that are diverse and inclusive, that their readers will be represented in an authentic and positive way

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Rosemarie

Grapes make the wine of the Von Keller line 
Bines tangle, duties to church and country cross birthright 
 Bedight the uniform of gallant might 
Courante the battlefield, she reaps the souls 

She closes herself off from the rest of them 
Condemn behind masks of falsehood she bares 
Millionaire’s despairs of a time before 
A world at war, she calls for my return. 

Brought into a world, not of my own birth  
Caught in pools of purple, I find myself 
Digits lingering in fields of yellow strands 
Unworldly beauty beams, white shines splendidly 

Taller than myself, I complement her 
My Rosemarie is my grand talisman. 

Summary:  

This is a sonnet between a god and his creation. Rosemarie is a character of my own work. This sonnet is about a war-torn world and Rosemarie is of noble birth. She comes from a family of winemakers. Thus Von Keller. Keller is a German-surname for winemakers. This poem is about her life before the creator/god/writer gets brought into his own work. It also makes the last part more clear. She is a very religious person thus the inner battle between her family and the church. He is the reason that caused her mask to drop  and she smiles so brightly at him. The first two parts are Rosemarie’s history with the last being what the creator sees. The last two lines are the creator’s thoughts of his creation.  

Vocabulary Used: 

Courante: a court dance of moving forward and then retreating. Her armies tactics in ‘The Grand War’. 
Bedight: adorned or making something prettier or better. This refers to her accomplishments in the military. 
Talisman: A good luck charm. This is actually from an old german song in which I got the name for Rosemarie. Name of song is, “Es ist so schön Soldat zu sein”. Song also goes by, “Rosemarie Lied”. 
Complement: a thing that completes or brings to perfection. 


Owen James Napolitano has studied at DeVry and Southern New Hampshire University. Owen is currently studying at Lindenwood University for creative writing. He enjoys writing his own characters and new worlds to explore. When he is not at college, he is working at Amazon. He has one published piece.

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Wounds

These wounds you give me bleed, 
but I will not cry, 
my blood will cry for me. 


Raven Knight is an artistic person and loves to write stories. She has about twenty-plus stories in the making. She already has two poems published: one in her high schools Literary Magazine and one in her colleges Creepy Campfire Stories 2019 edition, and a short story published on Amazon E-books.

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Standing Guard

Balancing two children  
In a parking lot of  
unfamiliar territory. 
My cousins’ parents inside an urgent care;  
For stomach problems and  
A cut head. 

Many people passed by, 
Not giving us a second glance. 
Maternal overdrive 
Parked with a station wagon.  
I had never wanted to die  
For anyone before. 

Auburn wasn’t asleep for long  
before I ascended out the car  
to hold her. 
Ivory watched PJ Mask on my 
near dead phone,  
I prayed for the first time in a while. 

It was still light out when they returned. 
Aunt and Uncle  
let me drive the white jeep, 
and gave me a white credit card  
to pay for gas; 
as if I were some sort of knight.   

Did Lancelot ever cry? 

I did the on the drive home. 


Amanda May is a senior at Lindenwood University. She is majoring in English Literature with an Emphasis in Creative Writing and minoring in Journalism. When she isn’t writing, she can probably be found screaming or crying (or both) about Star Wars, anime, or Florence + The Machine. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram @Amandalorian451

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Creator’s Heart

We are Stonewood, 
a place where thinkers, think; 
and dreamers, dream. 


We are Artists, 
ones that imagine the world in abstract colors; 
and ones who can change the world for the better. 

We are writers, 
who can make a world of our own; 
and make our imaginations come to life. 

We are crystals, 
ones that shine like the sun; 
and ones that are dark like the night. 

We are the creators of the world, 
and we shall continue to create 
for as long as our hearts may go on. 


Raven Knight is an artistic person and loves to write stories. She has about twenty-plus stories in the making. She already has two poems published: one in her high schools Literary Magazine and one in her colleges Creepy Campfire Stories 2019 edition, and a short story published on Amazon E-books.

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

portal

when i was five
whenever it stormed,
i would run down the sun-warmed driveway
heels pounding on the concrete
reverberations echoing in the backs of my legs
as i would crouch down by the pothole at the end of the driveway
and watch the water that had gathered there

swirling beckoning whispering
in a way i imagined must have been like hypnotism
i called it the rainbow pool
(please remember, i was five)

(and, incidentally, the rainbow was gasoline trickling down the curb from the Jeep parked in the neighbor’s driveway)

sometimes still, after a storm
when the pockmarks in the concrete are filled,
reflecting the stony light of the rain-washed sky,
nd the gasoline from the propane tank has bled into the depths,
i think about the rainbow pool
and wonder if the fairies still live there


Mary Montgomery is a rising senior at Lindenwood and is pursuing an English Studies major with a literature emphasis. When she isn’t busy with homework or working at the Lindenwood Writing Center as a student tutor, she can be found squandering her savings on coffee or attempting to write poetry.

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Ode to a Lumberjack

Ode to a Lumberjack

I don’t know a lumberjack,
but I want one to take me in the woods.
Watch them cut down trees to make paper
I will carve my stories on.
They can build a house,
I will maintain a garden for deer
and other woodland creatures.
Supper will always be warm and ready
for when they return after a hard day’s labor.
They can carve sculptures in their spare time.
Of chairs, of clocks, of bookshelves,
perhaps of babies I cannot give them.
Of a bow and arrow
of a baseball bat to protect ourselves.
I will go out with them one day,
help them carry wood,
clean a saw.
If I cut myself by accident they will be there
to kiss and fix it.
I cannot promise the same for them,
but they don’t care.
They like when I dance with the wolves
and sing with the birds.
We will swim in a lake nearby
The fish tickling our skin as we soak up each other.
We never tire of one another
long days apart bring us closer.
We remind ourselves we are not our friends,
our parents, our teachers, our peers who have all fallen out
of love and reality.
We are in both together.
I want a lumberjack to take care of me,
and live in the solitude of the woods.


Amanda May is a senior at Lindenwood University. She is majoring in English Literature with an Emphasis in Creative Writing and minoring in Journalism. When she isn’t writing, she can probably be found screaming or crying (or both) about Star Wars, anime, or Florence + The Machine. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram @Amandalorian451

Categories
12th Edition Poetry- 12th Edition

Another Bronze Medallion

Is it better to always go for gold, 
To achieve it one in three, 
Or to always get third place? 
I know they say that life is not a race, 
But it always felt like that was something 
That people who think they are kind say only to your face. 
What if you risked it all for that gold medallion, 
But the bronze medal was awarded to your quickest pace? 
Would you smile proudly as that hung around your neck? 
Would that be happiness shrouding your face? 
Was it enough for you that you ran at all? 
Would you find comfort in the fact that you’d placed? 
You’d still stand on the podium, 
At least a few inches above the crowd, 
But the tallest among them might stand your equal, 
Would you still feel proud? 
Your bronze medals will clank against each other 
As you walk throughout your life, 
The sound will be beautiful, like wind chimes, 
And it’ll cut through each bout of silence like a knife. 
And although the bronze is much lighter than the gold, 
Your neck will slowly break beneath their weight, 
You’ll keep polishing the bronze and hoping for silver, 
But you’ll continue at this rate. 
The wise old Greeks found your beloved bronze unequaled; 
They built their perfect people the same burnt gold hue. 
But even they found it more practical than beautiful, 
And they melted their bronze masterpieces, save for an overlooked few. 
Those that remained were mistakes, now a sickly green, 
They remind you of decay, of mold, 
Of the dirty, worthless pennies you’ve found in the street, 
So different from their favored bold. 
Your bronze trophies luster now, but 
One day, too, your medals will meet this fate. 
And, as you always have, 
you’ll wish for gold and silver, 
But crushed beneath your pile of almost, 
It is far too late. 


Victoria Lane is a graduating senior at Lindenwood, completing her degree with majors in Game Design, Digital and Web Design, and Art History. She plans to continue her education through Lindenwood’s Writing MFA, where she intends to write more original fiction and poetry. She loves to read comic books, collect action figures, watch films, play video games, make art, and yes, write. 

Portfolio – victoriamlane.com

Instagram – @victoriamadilynlanee