Art and Design Commons^™

Alone, Cindy Carrion

TYGR: Student Art and Literary Magazine 2018-present

No abstract provided.

Entire Issue, Kyra E. Blair, Rachel Sedgwick

TYGR: Student Art and Literary Magazine 2018-present

No abstract provided.

Full Issue, The Anthology

The Anthology

This is the entirety of the 2013 Winthrop Anthology issue.

Full Issue, The Anthology

The Anthology

This is the entirety of the 2014 Winthrop Anthology issue.

Ice, Genesis Montalvo

First-Gen Voices: Creative and Critical Narratives on the First-Generation College Experience

Commonly known as ICE, the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement works to monitor the level of illegal migration to the United States. They also are in charge of at least 40% of deportation of innocent, non-criminal immigration violators. At times, the children of these immigrants are born in the United States. As US citizens, ICE cannot deport them without violating their rights, resulting in the separation of families. This poem speaks of a young child whose mother was deported by ICE and the yearning of wanting to know where the mother is. The mix of English and Spanish reinforces the …

Full Issue, The Anthology

The Anthology

This is the entirety of the 2015 Winthrop Anthology issue.

Full Issue, The Anthology

The Anthology

This is the entirety of the 2016 Winthrop Anthology issue.

The Mercury 2015

The Mercury

No abstract provided.

Doughnuts At Night, Michael Martone

Manuscripts

Open, it says, all night.
the tacky lights talk
flicking around the yawning O
and the open hole of the doughnut.
a planet peers through.

A Fourtwothreelegs Poem, Ed Shacklee

Manuscripts

The first grade teacher greeted
with simplicity the coming of the Day

Of Sap And Tears, Diane Hale

Manuscripts

I sit in the woods
and watch the stream
admiring the trees as they ripple and flow
Waves sweep us in,
lulled into dream-sleep,
carrying us away--
content to settle beneath the gentle caress
certain to end as we began

The Surrender, Diane Hale

Manuscripts

Light revolves
patterning grey age faces
in flashing momentary brilliance--
exposing shadow dreams
of victorious kingdoms
built in bottle caps
the shrapnel of hope's treachery--
to be swept away with
debris of belief

The Hairy Arms Poem Or The Love Song Of J. Alfred Poofrock, Mary Harter

Manuscripts

I have encountered "The Love Song of J. Alfred Poofrock" in three different college English classes taught by three different teachers. They all agree that T. S. Eliot wrote the poem. On everything else they disagree.

Definition Of Poetry, Lynn Z. Bloom

Manuscripts

Once
I took a course in aesthetics:
Three hours credit
If I could learn
What a poem was.

Excerpts

Manuscripts

Excerpts from additional submissions by authors: Betty Lewis, Joseph C. Greenlee, Suzanne Weesner, Katherine Armstrong, and J. Wm. Lynn.

Ode To A Jukebox, Rosemary Haviland

Manuscripts

Oh fat gleaming monster reposing in the corner
With your soul glowing like satan's fires,
Whence have you come to destroy life's peaceful existence;
To tempt youth and put new lines in the seers' brows?

Like the roaring blasting furnace, you require nourishment,
Taking pity on your pangs of hunger, I'll feed you a nickle,
Ungrateful one! There you sit with your polished sides gleaming,
Smug and satisfied like a fat Buddha.

Slowly you devour my offering,
And as it reaches your digestive system,
You gr--rr-owl and gr--rr-Ind;
Instead of a soft crooning thanks, you stab at me with a …

Sonnet, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Now let the sweeping clouds of spring be gone
forever from these wild perfidious skies,
and let no more a laughing sun mask dawn
with psuedo-joy to veil its mocking lies.
No more the solitude of swinging space
stretching through the unrecorded hours,
marks alone time's lofty ponderous pace
across this heaven and above these towers.

Now you will see a servile sky defer
at dusk before a dark-winged enemy,
and you will hear the low portentous purr
of planes announcing death decorously.
No more can nights which swept the heavens clean
of war, within these shell-shocked skies be seen.

Verse Forms Class Poetry

Manuscripts

Once from Carthage Dido's funeral pyre
Signalled Aeneas that his dream was ended
And all his hour of passion purged by fire,
By fire of brand and fire of spirit blended.
The way the gods had marked once more seemed best
And he was free to found the destined race
That sprang from Troy but settled in the West
With trojan greatness in the Roman place.
Again from Carthage sails the founding host
Again toward Rome the guided legions sail
To build a newest Troy upon the coast
That held Aeneas in the older tale.
But now the guides are …

November With The World At War, Mary M. Schortemeier

Manuscripts

November with the world at war
Is a strange sight
And a frightening thing.

When the leaves die and the headlines scream
Of more important deaths it is so evident
What death is.

And when the darkness hours are almost twice
The light, it is far too easy to guess how it would be
With the dead.

And when a lame bird is all that is left
Of the summer singers it is plain what the world would be
After all the deaths.

And the cold wind and the first snow
Chill the soul like the final kiss on the …

Excerpts

Manuscripts

Excerpts from freshman themes by authors:Robert Mann, Robert Holcomb, Helen Wells, Evelyn Petersen, Donald Morgan, Clara May Masterson, and Mary Elizabeth Donnell.

D Minor, Jean Siskel

Manuscripts

With stealthy passion
The music filled the room,
Brushing with mystic melody
His throbbing heart.

Outside the stony window frames
Were trees,
Rustling excitedly,
Bowing with frantic grace.

Do trees have hearts? Can they too
Feel the stirring touch of tone?
For trees, there is wind;
For men, music.

On Nantucket Sound, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Do you recall the morning on Nantucket Sound
when white wind whipped our sails against the August sun,
when we stood tanned and laughing, loving the sea, and bound
for any port or none?

Do you recall that out from the tiny towns which lay
along the coast, came salty strangers seeking cod,
tanned and laughing as we, plundering the bay
with net and fishing rod?

Do you recall that when the west waxed pink again
homeward we turned the tiller, and as we came around
with sails set full for shore, lights flashed from a world forgotten
on Nantucket …

Dry Leaves, Mary M. Schortemeier

Manuscripts

In stealth
Stalking its prey
Winter is creeping
Groping its way.

Today
Summer is reigning.
Only the dry leaves
Show it is waning.

Too soon
Comes one final leap
For winter - for summer
Only to weep.

Today
My heart is young.
Dry leaves for me?
From mortals I'm sprung.

Flamingos, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Far through the jungle, bird cries mark night's end.
Eastwardly the sky is streaked with pink,
and near the water's edge black orchids bend
beneath webbed-feet, as white flamingos drink.

Deep among the spindling silent stalks
which border banks surrounding the lagoon
wet reeds stir, and a tall flamingo walks
infringing on the sleep of afternoon.

Flamingos showing silver in the night
fly far above the jungle toward the west,
and following a star's transluscent light
at length reach home, and white flamingos rest.

Excerpts

Manuscripts

Excerpts from additional submissions by authors: Melvin Kuebler, Richard Jowitt, Mary Elizabeth Black, Quentin West, Edward F. Wright, Margie Ann Hukriede, Margaret Dawson, Don R. Cutsinger, and Suzanne Van Talge.

Two Poems, Margaret Byram

Manuscripts

On Discovering a Book of Shelley's Poems

A portion of the feeling that once hallowed Keats
when he kenned the vast unknown
And stood, a Watcher, rapt, alone,
Came to me, a vision, swift, unbearable
In beauty scarcely born.

The joy of fusing with a master's soul,
The searching bliss of first discovery
Swept my mind, and left me tense and free,
A spirit treading the fresh-dewed grass
In early morn.

My Attitude Toward Poems, Richard Outcalt

Manuscripts

I am not interested in most poems. At one time I disliked poetry to the full extent of my ability, but as I grew up I became aware that to many people, poetry was all right. On careful consideration of this awakening, I decided that there were undoubtedly merits to poetry, but that you had to be in the mood to really get anything out of them. This mood to me seemed to signify a pale thin fellow skipping with gaily outstretched arms and fingers, romping through sunny fields of buttercups chasing gorgeous butterflies, then, tiring of this strenuous exercise, …

Credo, Mary Wiley

Manuscripts

In our sad days it is a woman's part
To keep alive the things that ease the soul,
All music and delight. It is her role
To pour out lovely songs to fill the heart
With tenderness again, and hopeful start
The hymnal in the church; amid the whole
Of dark, confusing time out of control
To sing, and let not loveliness depart.

Unfaltering faith is difficult to keep
When futile tears fall on the changeless earth
And still are dried by the recurrent sun.
Mankind may perish if its women weep
Too much, too long. We will allow no …

The Silversmith, Joe Berry

Manuscripts

The child was born unto a silversmith,
born son and grandson both of silversmiths
in the small room behind the dusty shop.

The old man stopped his pounding on his bench,
his son turned down the fiercely blasting fire
when the child was born. But when he breathed, cried
and howled, they worked again, as they had done
all morning - and as they had done
for years before, the old man and his son:
silver sculptors, bracelet makers, fashioners
of all small articles from gleaming blocks.
Now they were glad; not for two hundred years
had the house lacked …

April Thoughts In War Time, Helen E. Hughes

Manuscripts

Sonnet

Blue skies are cruelest now; immense, they bend
Over the lonely land, uncompromising,
Unconcerned, aloof. Unnatural friend!
Whose time is April when the sweet surprising
Daffodils spring up to rival such
A brave and tender blue! We who are used
To turning calm eyes skyward now see much
Of heaven that is alien and confused.
Where once we laughed into the sun's embrace,
Once welcomed friendly rain, once searched the broad
And democratic sky for Saturn's face,
And, searching, strained to touch the hand of God;
We now stand under skies that vomit fire.
Be angry at the blue …