Art and Design Commons^™

Lost Goal, Joann-Lee Johnson

Manuscripts

I explored the caverns of my mind;

The chambers of my soul.

Hoping to find a single path

Leading to my goal.

Smart Fly, Donald H. Emrich

Manuscripts

SLOWLY and carefully I studied the signature sprawling lazily across the bottom of the page in grandiose style, so typical of Latin penmanship. Brushing aside an inquisitive fly, I reread the note and pondered at length upon its awkward phrasing. "Yes," I said, at last addressing the buzzing marauder, :'Carlos is licking his wounds, all right." It was all between the lines, his strained gaiety, a vain attempt to disguise the frustration, the bitter disappointment that was gnawing at his heart. Of course, the question that persisted in bothering me was whether his simple melancholy was justifiable. From the sidelines …

Flight 501, George Fullen

Manuscripts

THE African sun was excessively brilliant and hot as Jack and I struggled toward the Operations Buildings, carrying his bulging and unwieldy barracks bag between us. We dropped the bag in front of the unlovely red building with a gasp of relief. Jack mopped his face and tugged at the necktie which he was so unaccustomed to wearing. "I'm damned if I don't choose a cool day the next time I leave North Africa," he said. "You're luckier than me," I said. "It'll certainly be a cold day in July when I leave this place."

Schizophrenia, George Fullen

Manuscripts

In a slattern country of pond and paradox,

He is a stem resisting the most violent winds,

But whose dead roots prevent the flow of the sap of life;

He is a sterile reed standing in fertile soil.

Alan Takes A Wife, Marjorie Little

Manuscripts

THE Dobbinses never had seemed to belong to Wayneboro society. Their children had always been my biggest problems in grade school, and scarcely a year went by that I didn't gain a new Dobbins while I still had one to cope with. Some of them could not help being problem children. They should not have come to school at all, for I didn't have either the time or the training to help their slow moving minds. Others seemed bright enough, but they were indifferent to school and left it any time a better occupation offered itself, perhaps to work in …

The Ant-Hill, Joann-Lee Johnson

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The Long Journey, James Salee

Manuscripts

THE boy stood near the entrance to the club-car and looked at the people. And the people who stirred in the smoke were like people in a dream...

The Mad Russian, George Fullen

Manuscripts

The Russian composer bravely sings

Mad melodies on ranting strings,

Inspires us to the passionate stage,

And leaves us while we turn the page...

Sonnet 29, Allyn Wood

Manuscripts

THE boy Argus, who is nineteen, with palette colors in the carriers of his fingers, turns back to the house as if to make a last precautionary round before a journey. Instead he has decided to stay. He leaves his belongings in the debris of the hall. A cat from the end of the hall peers and they exchange reserves across silence heavy but for a hum, compoundly powerful and accustomed, like a thousand cats purring, or as a tornado may sound to those it has left behind, with implication eternal, both retrospective and ominous; from the core of which …

The Man With The Loud Voice, Loren Moore

Manuscripts

WAR had been declared about one year, I guess; anyway, the first killed - in - action notice had been received in Cripton, Indiana, and. the news shocked the whole county seat for that Halen boy was a good-natured lad who had married the Foster girl. It was a cold Saturday morning when we first heard of it and hardly anything else was discussed at the dinner table. Father was angry that we had ever got in the war in the first place saying that it was a shame that fine young man like the Halen boy should die for …

Front Matter

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Continued Remembrance, Abbigail Mehnert

Geifman Prize in Holocaust Studies

I always found great interest in learning about the Holocaust and how it has affected society even to this day. Through my winter LSFY course “Ashes to Immortality” I got the opportunity to discover a greater empathy for those who suffered, lost their lives, and survived this historic event. I wanted to insure that my piece represented the importance of passing on experiences and knowledge of the Holocaust in hopes that a similar event will never happen again. In my piece, I painted the entrance of Auschwitz converted in red splatters to represent the lives lost. The concentration camp is …

Volume 14, Issue 4: Full Issue

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The Last Word, The Editor

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Memento Of A Region, Joseph D. Hopper

Manuscripts

The car sped down the highway. Many familiar hills and houses appeared on either side. The car gained speed as it headed down the hill. At the bottom, the highway leveled of!' across the bridge spanning the deep ravine. The noise of the automobile took on a new, hollow sound as it rolled upon the bridge. I looked over the valley spreading out to the left. How warm and green the valley was! How blue the sky was! How familiar it all was!

Foot Doctor, King Dunbar

Manuscripts

Not long ago in one of those unbuttoned moods everybody has, giddy from cocoa and crullers, I allowed myself to be cajoled by my mother, a mild hypocondriac, into visiting a osteo-something-or-other-- hereinafter referred to as a foot doctor.

The Return Of The Native, Roger Chittick

Manuscripts

In the opening chapter of the book, the heath assumes its role as protagonist and never releases its hold throughout the novel. The heath assumes a character of vast grandeur and although ever changing at any given moment, it yet stands changeless in the fact of time. The heath was, as Hardy states, "majestic without severity, impressive without showiness, emphatic in its admonitions, grand in its simplicity." Like a Sibelius symphony it presented a hard and cold exterior to the stranger or the uninitiated and yet to him who knew and understood it was a broad, loving and powerful mother. …

Sleep, Howard Michaelsen

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Emerald, Jack Wilkins

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Third Movement, Russell W. Finch

Manuscripts

Sweat popped from his forehead, coursed down the crevices to the light stubble of his beard, gathered weight, itched its way around the promontory of chin, surged in rivulets down the leathery neck, collected in a pool at the base of his throat, spilled over on the breast, was absorbed by clothing, became a source of future irritation-unnoticed at the moment. His tommy negligently tucked in the crook of his right arm, some hundred and fifty pounds of equipment stowed about his person, weight pressed into the cable-guard, he stood with feet spread wide on the loading ramp of the …