Fiction Commons^™

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.

The Molloy Student Literary Magazine Volume 12, Damian Hey Ph.D., Cassandra Palmer, Helen Daly, Mary Akt Gallagher, Vincent Rocco, Roger Smith, Jordanna Fenton, Julie Montalbano, Angie Elkaray, Christina Karnavar, Joseph Ostapiuk

The Molloy Student Literary Magazine

The Molloy Student Literary Magazine, sponsored by Molloy College’s Office of Student Affairs, is devoted to publishing the best previously unpublished works of prose, poetry, drama, literary review, criticism, and other literary genres, that the Molloy student community has to offer. The journal welcomes submissions, for possible publication, from currently enrolled Molloy students at all levels. All submitted work will undergo a review process initiated by the Managing Editor prior to a decision being made regarding publication of said work. Given sufficient content, The Molloy Student Literary Magazine is published twice annually in Spring and Fall. Interested contributors from the …

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 …

Indecision, Brenna Swoboda

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Johebed, Brenna Swoboda

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Awkward Love Poem, Abby Edele

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

You Used To Be, Rachel Factora

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

War, Zachary M. Alley

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Prejudice, Jordan Harms

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Don't Tell Mom, Casey Freeman

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Liquored Love, Casey Freeman

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Control; Darkroom, Chris Hudson

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Winter Of Memories, Jacob Grayson

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

Toilet Paper, Brenna Swoboda

Arrow Rock

No abstract provided.

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 …