English Language and Literature Commons^™

Better Than Grey, Tanya Tsikanovsky

The Tuxedo Archives

Our words slide off our tongues like marbles on wet floors,

too wet to stop gliding

And we soak up our thoughts like sponges,

wringing out the water we both now taste ~excerpt from poem

Ivy Leaves, Volume 92, Ivy Leaves Editorial Staff

Ivy Leaves

The 2017 edition of the Anderson University journal of art and literature, Ivy Leaves.

The names of the known editors for this issue of Ivy Leaves were Jenni Harris, Grant Looper, Shelby Swing, Ruthie Snow, Randi Adams, Cara Ann Hendsbee, Haley Schvaneveldt, Caitlyn Lamb, Jennifer Bowers, Meredith Lyons, Michaela Staon, Tara Stewart, Ben Boerma, Jennifer Jefferson, Matt Swank, Shelby Kenrick, Lindsay Higgins, Cameron Ohls, Anna Tabor, Dr. Randall Wilhelm, and Tim Speaker.

Sight And Song Augmented, Robert P. Fletcher

Sight and Song Augmented: Painting and Poetry in Mixed Reality

This file is an Android application built in the Unity 3D game engine with the Vuforia Augmented Reality extension. It remediates Sight and Song (1892) by Michael Field (Katherine Bradley and Edith Cooper), a collection of ekphrastic poetry about paintings by the Old Masters.

Jack Apple And Blanche Cream, Annette Lust

The Tuxedo Archives

Cook: (narrating) One afternoon, after I finished preparing dinner, an apple with rosy cheeks and a pitcher full of thick white foamy cream stood on the kitchen table.

Cuckoo: Cuckoo! Look at handsome Jack Apple and sweet Blanche Cream! ~excerpt from short story

You Will Forget You Are Even Burning, Cheramie Johnson

The Tuxedo Archives

"There's places around here," Rego's mother told him once, outside on their front porch over coffee and tea, "where demons walk."

"Demons, then?" He was always playful, he always catered to her.

"Devils," she whispered harshly, and her skinny fingers shivered against her cigarette. ~excerpt from short story

Strange New World, Marcus Bowlus

The Tuxedo Archives

The trip between Egypt and Jerusalem had taken hours already, the environmental shielding on his sand skimmer shone a faint orange, the barren wastes flying by below were scattered with husks of tanks and bones, scorch marks still clinging to a battle field no one wanted to remember. ~excerpt from the short story

The Last Lesson, Travis Lyons

The Tuxedo Archives

Transmission sounds like it’s got maybe a day left in it before I really got to take it in. Put it off long enough now; ain’t like I’ve had any spare cash to pay for it. So now the damn thing sounds like it’s had enough. Fucking lovely. Refrigerator blew out yesterday; dropped my last light bulb while trying to replace the one in the kitchen. ~excerpt from short story

Waiting, Alexis Brown

The Tuxedo Archives

“Thinking about someone special?” a young woman with big round brown hazel eyes asked me as I sat waiting for my time to come. I didn’t really have anything else to think about while I sat on the old moldy looking chair inside the 36B Airport Terminal. All I could replay in my mind was the thought of my wife smiling at me when I finally got home. That is, if I ever got home. ~excerpt from short story

Gunman Slays 4 At Texas Church, Then Kills Self, Alexis Brown

The Tuxedo Archives

They were laughing at me, I knew it. I brushed the sweat off of my brow and looked forward at the tall looming steeple that had haunted my dreams for the better part of a year. I could see their false angelic faces staring back at me, mocking me, waiting to see if I would complete my mission. ~excerpt from short story

Winter Wings, Jennifer Jensen

The Tuxedo Archives

Aideen’s eyes glowed with envy as she watched her older sister Fia dance the Burning Dance in the center of the circle. Fia’s hair was a drifting mass of golden tendrils, and her thin, graceful limbs writhed in perfect unison with the movements of the flames. ~excerpt from short story

Jack In The Box, Laura L. Reiche

The Tuxedo Archives

Behold the bloodless puppet rising
out a cheap quadrangular man-hole.
Fluorescent mandarin hair forming
a deceptive heart around alabaster skin,
framing his daisy petal eyes, his pink colossal nose,
and boomerang mouth.

~excerpt from poem

Doors, Laura L. Reiche

The Tuxedo Archives

Staunch sentries of decision

gloating and imposing

tempting and untrustworthy. ~excerpt from poem

Dragon 04, Jennifer Jensen

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Dragon 03, Jennifer Jensen

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Dragon 01, Jennifer Jensen

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

The White Light, Michael White

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Blue Man, Michael White

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Blue Embrace, Michael White

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Bag End, Claire Munzer

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

The Shadow Puppets Of Elsinore: Edward Gordon Craig And The Cranach Press Hamlet, James P. Taylor

Mime Journal

Taylor considers the role that book arts may play in Craig’s theories of the new theatre, or the Art of the Future. He expands our understanding of Craig’s design work to include print culture, examining his engravings for the monumental editions of Hamlet published by Count Harry Kessler’s Cranach Press in 1929–30. Taylor explores the relationship of Craig’s designs for the 1912 Moscow Art Theatre production of Hamlet to his engravings for the German and English-language Cranach Press editions of the play. He suggests that it was only with this print publication that Craig finally achieved the absolute artistic control …

Untitled, Anonymous Author

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Unititled, Anonymous Author

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Untitled, Anonymous Author

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Untitled, Anonymous Author

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Apples Decay, Lauren Rigor

The Tuxedo Archives

The following article was taken from the last issue of The Summerland Courier, a major newspaper published in Summerland, a city located twenty miles outside Avalon across the Lake. It was found at the bottom of the newspaper’s regional section.

Tea Party, Julia Van Der Ryn

The Tuxedo Archives

It was 1966 and I was seven years old. We lived in Berkeley, California. I was dressed up for a birthday party. I had on a white dress with frills around the sleeves and the hem. My white socks were ringed at the top with a thin strip of lace. I had folded them down so that the lace neatly encircled my ankle, right above my black patent-leather mary janes. I even had on my best underwear that had fringes of lace all across the bottom.

My parents were driving me to the party. They said that we would leave …

Falling, Kerri Kor

The Tuxedo Archives

True autumn doesn’t come with a date on a calendar; it comes with a change in the air, a certain quality of light, the heightened busy-work of birds and squirrels, the deepening of nature’s colors. And it comes for each person, early in the new academic year, when the buzz of human concerns crashes head-on with the ancient rites of transition. Groans and grumbles and added stress change in that moment of messy glorious perfection when we are once more reduced to parts of the whole and the illusion of control gives way to Reality. Will you recognize it when …

Caberet Girl, Kathryn Frazell

The Tuxedo Archives

A woman stepped into the crowded and lively entrance of the banquet hall. She was wearing a knee-length white coat. That should have been the first clue, that she wasn’t wearing tights or leggings of any kind. All you could see was bare leg. The black, slinky dress left no surprise as to the curves of her body. Her hair was raven black, cut in a chic bob, and her neck was adorned with pearls. Kohl covered her eyelids, and the lips were stained cherry red. She was the image of jazz and cabaret. ~ excerpt from the short story

Let The Walls Have Their Say, Kathryn Mcginness

The Tuxedo Archives

She’s a beautiful girl. Near-strangers tell her this on a regular basis. I’d tell her, too, but I don’t like giving things to people who don’t appreciate them. ~excerpt from the short story

Moths, Crystal Smith

The Tuxedo Archives

The thick air held still in the hot August evening.

Angela and her family were at their neighbor’s house—mostly because they liked the pool they had in their backyard more than they liked their actual neighbors. But her parents were busy schmoozing over beer and barbeque, leaving Angela to play peacemaker among the children—her younger brother, Joe, 10 years of age, and Wesley McArthur, 8 years old. They were best friends and arch rivals, despite their age difference. They especially needed to be watched when they started rough-housing. Angela sighed under the outdoor light, trying to quickly complete reading Catcher …