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Maple’s Soliloquy
By Alyssa Phifer Photo by Pexel Stock Images My branches nearly brush her windowsill She sleeps inside so sweetly ’til the sun Shines through my leaves, warm green glows soft into Her dreams, her waking moments intertwined With mine—though I do not know how to sleep Or wake—I wonder what this might be like To lay my body down, to rest beneath The shade of someone else’s outstretched arms I stand still, tall and strong—my roots reach down, Dig deep to raise me higher than before I stand, I grow—she sleeps, she dreams and wakes To see her limbs seem longer, running out To share her dream with me—together, we…
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Done.
By Meg Salizzoni “Mors irrumat omnia. Death fucks us all.” —Leigh Bardugo in Ninth House mors omnibus adest memento mori words meant to soothe calm prepare redirect divert numb to the eventual end of which we do not consent? instead, mors irrumat omnia. latin is a dead language already. we were doomed from the start.
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Revenge
by Alyssa Fallavolitti We were happy, but then you stomped on my goddamn heart. And like the fucking idiot I am, I forgave you. But that’s what I wanted you to think. I’ll admit, at first, I wanted to believe you’d change. At first, I wanted to give you another chance, but all those words you said to me replayed in my mind like a broken record. All the bruises on my body told me there was no hope for you. And like the selfish bastard you are, you thought you had the upper hand in our relationship, but it was me all along. It was all about me. Your…
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Vengence
By Alexis Craft We were happy. Too happy. So, I stomped on your pretty little heart. And like the fucking idiot you are, you forgave me. Or so I thought. I believed I had the upper hand in our relationship, but to my surprise, you had it all along. My mood was based around yours; our conversations were all about you and your day, and our love was on your terms. But from the outside looking in, it was pure. That stunt I pulled was meant to be our end, and it almost was, but then I decided I wasn’t done with you. I wasn’t done with the attention you…
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Felix
By Rachel Hoarau (Photo by Pixel Free Images) My paw pads aren’t callused like my mother’s. They are soft and pink. The light is bright, and I can hardly see. Mom licks my head Says bye bye and runs out of the den I want to go out there, too! It looks so bright and green. A year has gone by and I’m running every day, Crushing green sprouts in soft soil and spilling down over the hillside, nearly falling into the chittering brook. There is another like me in the brook’s wavy water. He is red and white with deep brown eyes. I dance with him. I think he…
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Angelica
By Thea Angeles (Photo by Adobe Stock) Innocent and demure she may seem The moment you first encounter her; But as time goes by and by, Get to know her more And you’re in for a surprise. Yes, she’s still that ingenue you knew That fragile and innocent flower; Only later, you will find A free-spirited princess she actually is Especially in times of adrenaline and excitement.
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Allowing the Mistreatment of Black Americans
Each year the Department of Literature, Languages, Cultures, and Writing selects the very best final essays from ENGL 102 Critical Writing to be entered into a scholarship competition, evaluated by professors within the department, and ultimately selected by Emeritus Professor of English James Strickland. Below is the winner of the 2023 Strickland Award for Writing. Congratulations, Daniel!! By Daniel Tooson Original Drawing by Megan Krumpak The United States Constitution was first authored in 1787. The Constitution createschecks and balances within the government, orchestrates three branches, and establishes theUnited States as a Representative Democracy and Republic (What is the Constitution). Withinthe U.S. Constitution, there are amendments. These amendments allow the Constitution…
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The Early Bird Gets an F
Each year, the Department of Literature, Languages, Cultures, and Writing asks the professors teaching ENG 102 Critical Reading to submit the best student essays from their classes for consideration for the James Strickland Writing Award. Below is one of the selections that won an honorable mention for 2023. by Madison Barr It is no secret that students hate waking up early to go to school. As they get older, it only becomes more difficult. Every day, these students reluctantly drag themselves out of bed and try their best to make it through the morning. One has to ask, could these early morning wake-up times hurt more than attitudes? The fact…
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No Longer Breathing Easy
Each year, the Department of Languages, Literatures, Cultures, and Writing at Slippery Rock University holds a contest for the best essays produced by students in the required Rock Studies course Critical Writing. Named after English Professor Emeritus Dr. James Strickland, the contest awards scholarship monies to students whose professors submitted their final essays as the best-of-the-best. Here is one of the three honorable mentions for the 2023 Strickland Scholarship contest. By Hayden Fritz Dr. Seuss’s book “The Lorax” is a classic from many people’s childhoods. It follows the exploits of the character named Once-ler as they build their business empire from the humble beginnings of chopping his first truffula tree…
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Solving Press Censorship by Revolutionary Means
By Ray Eschenbach Image by Megan Krumpak Yevgeny Yevtushenko, a Soviet-Russian poet, once said, “The truth is replaced by silence, and silence is a lie” (Yevtushenko 1). Throughout history and today, journalists and press organizations have faced censorship of many forms, including self, hard, and soft censorship. According to the 2021 World Press Freedom Index, nearly seventy-five percent of the world’s journalism is threatened. At the same time, China has detained over 115 people related to journalism, and BBC has even banned quite a few news services from airing in their country.i Often, it is because they are speaking critical truths about leaders, governments, or historical events. Because of how…
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The Doll in the Woods
By Mackenzie Elmer (Photo by Connor Beer) I saw a dollstuck on a fencewhile walking todayin the forest dense. Her head was smashed in,her eyes were cracked.Her lovely white dressthe crows had ransacked. She looked so lonelysitting thereon rusted barbed wire,rotting in despair. I thought a lot abouttaking her home,rescuing her from her gravein the moldering loam. I’d fix her right up‘til she’s good as new.I’d clean her faceand polish her shoes. But I knew it was pointless,she was too far gone.So I looked straight aheadand quietly moved on.
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Fruit is Forever
Written by: Rachel Hoarau Image from Pixel Free Studio Chapter 1 “You used to tell me about walks you’d go on,” Satmulan said. I glanced at her. She was sitting across from me and looking out at the golden field below us. She shifted and narrowed her eyes, fixing them on something far away in the glistening field. “Yeah?” I said. She nodded, still looking down below. “Yes, and you always said your favorite part was the wildflowers. Oh, Maeve,” she said with her rich voice. She looked at me. Her brown eyes were billions of years old, certainly, they showed that in a brilliant way, but they were bordered…
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The Tragic, Undeniable Connection between The Kite Runner and the Ukraine Conflict
by Zachary Artley Photo by Sebastian Leis In the words of former United States President Ronald Reagan, “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction” (Reagan). With the state of current events, these words feel as real as ever. Even though the Russia-Ukraine conflict is far from the US mainland, it serves as a stern reminder of how the fight for freedom is incessant. Throughout history, there has been a continuum of factions whose principal goal is the oppression of others. Today, this oppression is exhibited by the Russian state. The series of events in the novel The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, provides a glimpse into what…
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Eating Disorder Recovery on Social Media
English instructors of first-year writing select the very best student essays produced for that class and submit them to a scholarship competition named and evaluated by SRU English professor emeritus, James Strickland. In selecting this easy for an honorable mention, Dr. Strickland notes, “Grace Buckley, in Eating Disorder Recovery on Social Media, examines the disturbing controversy surrounding the health risks of eating disorders as portrayed on social media sites such as Tik Tok, Twitter, and Tumblr. Grace presents a shocking exploration of potential triggers and dangers for those suffering from eating disorders, including postings by pro-ana groups who escape detection and censorship (that is, normalizing the disorder point of view,…
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Nationwide Access to Paid Parental Leave
The Department of Languages, Literatures, Cultures, and Writing at Slippery Rock University hosts an annual scholarship contest, the James Strickland Award, for the best essays to come out of our first-year writing course (English 102.) Below is one of the honorable mentions for the 2021-2022 academic year. In selecting this essay for recognition, Dr. Strickland noted, “everyone, I am told, assumes that any program that would improve the lives of our citizens would be too expensive and too much government overreach. Jaden Boyle makes the case that Nationwide Access to Paid Parental Leave would actually have a positive impact on our economy. Jaden’s argument is so well presented that it is…
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Lifting a Financial Burden
The Department of English at Slippery Rock University hosts an annual scholarship contest, the James Strickland Award, for the best essays to come out of our first-year writing course (English 102.) Below is one of the honorable mentions for the 2021-2022 academic year. In selecting this essay for recognition, Dr. Strickland noted, “Melanie Putt’s essay is a well-reasoned argument in favor of providing a universal basic income for every United States citizen. Melanie offers the benefits and drawbacks of the plan and to those who find the concept unbelievable, she presents examples of how it has successfully worked in Alaska, California, Kenya, and Canada.“ By Melina Putt Money. It is something…
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Welding Compassion
In Selecting this essay for the third-place in the James Strickland Scholarship, emeritus professor James Strickland notes, “James Byron’s essay was a delightful surprise: a meditation upon the value of teaching meditation, controlling one’s breathing, and practicing compassion. All of it done while supposedly teaching welding techniques at a trade school. James’ unusual story includes the reaction of some of his students, like Leroy from Homewood, but the real joy of the piece is hearing how James himself became a convert. Imagine the karate kid with a welder’s mask.” By James Byron Have you ever considered the power of a single breath? We all breath, automatically, involuntarily. It’s something we do naturally, without…
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The Feminist Movement: The Needed Shift for Women in Their Careers
Each year the Department of English selects outstanding essays from ENGL 102 Critical Writing as entries in the James Strickland Award in Writing scholarship contest. RockScissorsPaper is proud to publish these pieces in our summer edition of the website. Below is the second-place winner for 2022, Sasha Jantsch. Dr. Strickland writes: “Sasha Jantsch’s essay on the necessity of the feminist movement in 2022 is a powerful argumentative essay in the traditional research genre. Not only is the feminist movement not superfluous today, but Sasha also argues it has established and protected the rights of women in the workplace, rights that would have never been realized otherwise. Her essay reminded me of a…
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Nuerotypicals Speak
Each year, the Department of English awards the James Strickland Award to the top essays from ENGL 102 Critical Writing. These pieces are selected first by writing instructors, narrowed down to 10 by a select committee of reviewers made up of department faculty, and then ultimately selected by professor emeritus James Strickland.Below we are proud to present the winner of the 2022 James Strickland Award for Writing, Zach Sterza.Dr. Strickland explains: “I enjoyed reading Zach Sterza’s essay, “Neurotypicals Speak,” because it was so professionally written, so carefully researched, and rhetorically so in control. I had some experiential understanding of autism, so I knew his essay was probably about autism spectrum…
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The First Peril of Love
By Aaron Caplea The first peril of love The picture of a younger man- A sentiment of long ago; Surrounding, an old woman stands, Remembering her time: A boy and girl, both holding hands, Not seeing where the night will go; Their unrepentant heads will band Together, they will find. . A girl will lock her dreams inside; A boy does what he knows: Himself, agree to never tell The very girl his name. The woman can recall the time: A land that god had sown- And one that ordered fire set To any ounce of shade. . But every thought of him felt false, The memories too hard to…
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The Voice in Silence
Story by Hailey Joslin Photo by Carson Denney Dear friend,Please take caution in beginning this work. I have shared a story that is deeply personal,but may also be traumatic to some readers. Please take caution if topics surroundingsexual assault, rape, and/or suicide trigger you in anyway. I hope you enjoy. At sixteen I walked around without a chip on my shoulder, head held high. With apassion for life, music, and friendship. I strolled down the hallways with hope of a bright andsuccessful future. My junior year was similar to many others, uneventful yet full of drama. Thegossip of who slept with who, the latest fight, and why the power couple…
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Downpour
By Austin Gray Cults come with some serious downsides. Dart had been aware of that going in, but hethought most of those problems were for the followers. Yet, here he stood, ankle-deep in waterand pig shit trying to stop the rain. It started two weeks ago, harmless and calming rain. Afterthree ceaseless days, the basements of the complex began to flood. Several of his disciples hadlost their food stores before they even realized the problem. Being the speaker of the God—theinflection of ‘the’ showing his divine supremacy over lesser religions—meant that he had thepower of ultimate sight, and as such he should have been able to foresee the loss of…
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My Perspective on Religion
By Carson Denney I was raised baptist. I went to a baptist church with my very religious parents from 1stgrade to 10th grade, when my dad stopped making me go. My dad never liked church, but hewanted me to learn all the bible studies and he was not confident as a teacher. I ended upworking at a church in early high school and attending that churches’ youth group regularly. Itwas around this time that I started to figure out I was queer, and I remember being reallyconflicted about my identity in relation to religion. I remember one particular day in freshmanyear, right after gay marraige was legalized. I sat in…
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The Human-Raised Prince: “Some Things Come with a Price”
By Alyssa Fallavollitti It was a rainy Tuesday morning, which meant it was a school day. “Noah! You’re going to be late for school again!” His mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs. This happened every morning because he was almost never on time. “I’m coming mom!” Although he was running late, he was in no hurry. He calmy walked down the stairs and grabbed a piece of buttered toast that was prepared for him and took a bite, leaving it hanging in his mouth. He grabbed his stuff and waved to her as he walked out the door. It was pouring, the air smelled like a combination of…
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Mindfully Mindless
By Jake DePietro He took a deep breath as he looked out the window, heavily gazing into the eye of the storm as if to symbolize the chaotic flow of thoughts rushing through his mind. The storm suddenly ceased and left Maverick truly alone. He couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. The day he had been waiting for was slowly making its way over the horizon, as he fought the inevitable weight of his eyelids. As he drifted farther away from reality, he found himself in a state of mind where his worries were gradually dissipating with each second. Maverick, breathing heavily, was now fast asleep, dreaming of…
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Language Empowerment in the Classroom
By Olivia Umholtz (Each year RockScissorsPaper publishes the winners of the James Strickland Award for Writing. Named after an honored colleague and SRU Professor Emeritus, these award-winning essays have been submitted by SRU English faculty and winners have been determined by SRU English Department Faculty, the College of Liberal Arts, and Professor Strickland himself. The following essay deserves Honorable mention for the 2020-2021 academic year. Professor Strickland noted the following in selecting this essay: “An honorable mention should also go to Olivia Umholtz’s “Language Empowerment in the Classroom.” Umholtz asked teachers to become more aware of their students’ backgrounds and their home languages; with this knowledge, she hopes teachers will…
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Prescription Games
By Ezeck Warren (Each year RockScissorsPaper publishes the winners of the James Strickland Award for Writing. Named after an honored colleague and SRU Professor Emeritus, these award-winning essays have been submitted by SRU English faculty and winners have been determined by SRU English Department Faculty, the College of Liberal Arts, and Professor Strickland himself. The following essay deserves an Honorable Mention for the 2020-2021 academic year. Professor Strickland noted the following in selecting this essay: “Another honorable mention should go to Ezeck Warren’s “Prescription Games,” an engaging essay that asks readers to reconceive of videogames as therapeutic, offering video game playing as a way to relieve stress and certain illnesses such…
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Creating Awareness to Efficiently Provide Prom Dresses Presented to Pittsburgh Public Schools District Student Support Services Department
By Emily Graham (Each year RockScissorsPaper publishes the winners of the James Strickland Award for Writing. Named after an honored colleague and SRU Professor Emeritus, these award-winning essays have been submitted by SRU English faculty and winners have been determined by SRU English Department Faculty, the College of Liberal Arts, and Professor Strickland himself. The following essay deserves an Honorable Mention for the 2020-2021 academic year. Professor Strickland noted the following in selecting this essay as one of our finalists: “Graham made the heart-felt case that a charity, Becca’s Closet, one that provides free prom dresses to young women for whom the expense is prohibitive, deserves to have a free…
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Does Texting Really Affect Writing?
(Each year RockScissorsPaper publishes the winners of the James Strickland Award for Writing. Named after an honored colleague and SRU Professor Emeritus, these award-winning essays have been submitted by SRU English faculty and winners have been determined by SRU English Department Faculty, the College of Liberal Arts, and Professor Strickland himself. The following essay was the second-place winner for the 2020-2021 academic year. Professor Strickland noted the following in selecting this essay as our runner-up: “His title was meant to draw in readers because his argument is really whether new technology, especially that connected to smartphones, changes how writers write. Rogan used evidence from educators, bloggers, journalists, and researchers to look…
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Native American Voter Suppression
By Victoria Lydon (Each year RockScissorsPaper publishes the winners of the James Strickland Award for Writing. Named after an honored colleague and SRU Professor Emeritus, these award-winning essays have been submitted by SRU English faculty and winners have been determined by SRU English Department Faculty, the College of Liberal Arts, and Professor Strickland himself. The following essay was the winner for the 2020-2021 academic year. Professor Strickland noted the following in selecting this essay as our winner: “The essay began with a challenging thought–what if our voting rights were endangered by the very people elected to protect our rights, and then proceeded to explain the different laws and conditions that…
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lexapro
By Amy Myers my mind was once so loud. knocking on my skull; tyranny, invisible to all, to me, never able to quiet down. my mind was once so loud. lit by merely one, dark cloud. reaching out to the eye of the storm, they responded with the thought that my cerebral fight is out of the norm and assigned me my mask to be bought. i waited in line with all the rest to become numbed into a trance and absolve the knot in my chest with one orange bottle that i glanced. each day i swallow a synthetic seed that slides down my throat dissolving…
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natural roots
By Amy Myers thoughtless days pound in my head, but the absence of thinking prevents my lying in bed. i grow…yet in a backwards motion, like an arrogant tsunami pulling in all sides of the aggressive ocean. my brunette hair creeps in from my roots, reminding me of my overwhelming mind that my bleached hair tried to mute. my bangs fall heavy by the sides of my ears, soon will they reach my chin; something they haven’t done in years. effortless growth with heavy intention, perfectly crafted bleached and toned deception.
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no more apples
By Amy Myers a couplet a day keeps the depression at bay… in the time that i have here i’ve spent it in fear fleeting days simply wash away within the blue lights of a camera, so bright education may continue but my mind stays behind you i am not learning; rather, i am yearning for a time that i can say that i would love to stay
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the two x’s
By Amy Myers sunny days tend to be worse than others, for the inner monologue is so..so loud. i am never enough…not in your eyes, but mine burn in each reflective surface. i hate to see it, but i have to look. my weeping circles gaze back at me, begging to be loved by their owner. i’m so hostile….but only to myself. as if i’m experiencing stockholm syndrome within my own body. i don’t wish to leave, but i am so unkind to my reflection. comparison shadows me, like an altered version of myself. i walk, and it’s there. i run, and it’s there. i think, and it’s there. like…
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The Diner
By Melina Bowser The ceramic mug sits heavy in dainty hands— steam warming her face. Perfect circles stained the boomerang laminate countertop again. She sits quietly, taking long breaths between sips, thinking of a friend. Pulling out a book, she scrawls cursive words onto a page of ardor. Tears blur the pen ink knowing she will never read these words meant for her.
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Little Bads
By Jacob Hetrick Every good piggy knew the story by rote— how the wicked wolf had grabbed the first piggy by the throat and with a snap and a rip, and oh, a gush of blood! extinguished the little pig’s soul before it licked its lips and ate him whole. The second pig was not such easy fare for in his state, it was legal for pigs to keep arms to bear— to polish and preen and keep them seen and at every piggy’s hips, there was a cold metal sheen. So, when the big bad wolf came a-knocking, the second little piggy got his gun a-cocking, and with a…
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Empty
By Andrew Jones Food pantry struggles to restock. I can’t word that any worse. Let’s talk about politics; police violence, racial inequality, taxes, marriage rights, we can debate for days, but food pantries? How can something so pure come to rummaging the local paper to fill itself, like an empty stomach trudging below the railroad bridge, tattered sign dragging against a harsh November wind, each door they pass closed in this small town, each rifle loaded, each belly gorging on the daily news, new tax reform, new police training, same old empty food pantry.
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V=d/t
By Kim Cardello Velocity can be directed it can be detrimental. defined as distance over time. How far can we travel away from this all? How much time will it take to get where we want? Friction Abrasion trying to slow this hurtling through space and time telling us to not move on but you must move on there is too much going on inside this brain this mind as we all hurtle through time it freezes as your soul shatters Numbness eclipsing the deepening chasm if you lock your heart away will it still die when you crash?
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The Painter
By Kendra Tischer The lingering feeling of a kiss by a man The warm sensation of an embrace by a woman The innate power of one’s touch by frank eroticism The soothing stroke of muse’s cheek by painter’s hand The nude portrait of golden leaf by Gustav Klimt
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Henry, This Is What You Wanted
By Matthew Brothers Henry Bemis, this is what you wanted, “time enough at last.” Before, you were mocked. At your work, they scoffed. Bank teller, bookworm. Sad to say they don’t go together well. Reading on the job, your boss’ head throbs. Engrossed in the book, you convey the plot to the customer. She’s not pleased when she’s shortchanged, Henry, please. Your wife asks you to read her A poem. Then you see She’s blacked out the words. On your break, you go to the bank’s back vault. This place is perfect for reading in peace. Your stress is released. While reading, you cross into a land of “shadow and…
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In This World
By Kendra Tischer When I look into her eyes I see many worlds where I am with her but I also see an impossible world where I could not love her because there was once upon a time in this landscape of universes I could not love her the way she deserves. When I look into her eyes in this world and in all possible worlds where she exists I will choose her over and over again because the dimensions of my love scatter throughout the multiverse as she is my theory of everything.
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The Multiverse
By Jack Dolinger What if on Earth 32,the Pangea never broke apart?Is it still divided into countriesor is it one singular country? What if on Earth 56,there actually is a star wars?Would it be war against humans and aliens?Or aliens against other aliens? What if on Earth 82,Donald Trump is a DJ?Does he claim that hisequipment is rigged after a bad gig? What if on Earth 498,The Avengers are real people?Maybe the movies we haveare actually documentaries. What if on Earth 603,man never evolved beyond the cave?Maybe that Earth is in a healthier condition. What if on Earth 952,Jack Dolinger isn’t even my name?If I had my pick, I’d be…
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Can’t Be Spoken
By Emilee Friend “I love you”The words get heaver as I age;A weight in my chest.They stick to my tongue.Their taste foreign,meant for everyone else.But I’m a hoarder.I can’tI won’tPart with them so willingly. “I love you”My aversion isn’t noble.I’m not saving this for ‘the one’This is fearOf knowing what love isOf accepting its existenceOf realizing I might not fit the moldI know I can’t,I won’tGive them this. “I love you”I can write the wordsIn sloppy penmanship.They stare ate me from on the page,But my mouth can’t form the sounds,Haven’t been able to in years.I hate this.
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To Myself, Age Eight
By Jacob Hetrick A kid’s brain is a demented thing filled with slime and gunk and G.I. Joe, grasshopper legs and dog slobber and sawdust, Pokémon and Inuyasha and PlayStation, a fragmented mirror that reflects in miniature a thousand facets of family, of given love and learned hate, and in between the cracks in the glass you can see the backboard of the person to be. My home was a hollow conch that echoed with screams instead of waves and when I crawled off the bus, I found that that the screams followed, echoing inside my head until they shot like vomit from my mouth, ripping apart everything in their…
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Easy Listening
By Jack Dolinger How can you not light up a smilewhen Tony Bennett’s voice bursts out in your ears? You can’t help but nod your headto the beat of James Brown’s funky rhythm. The stress of homework turns into meditationwith Floyd Cramer’s soothing piano. You could drop into a deep sleepwhen Frank Sinatra wishes you a Merry Christmas. You’ll crave acoustics over foodafter hearing Hozier strum away. You want something slow but relatable?Never underestimate Lady Gaga. All these people can pull you to the dance floor.All of them can settle you with a chill groove.
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Galactic Waters
By Matthew Brothers Resting against the backdrop of pinpointed light, the nebulous cloud like stretched sea smoke. There are no waves in the black, yet the sea and space share vastness, one much greater than the other. The snowball nebula rests in the cold void, it’s the opposite of snowball earth, it’s beautiful. Well, snowball earth is beautiful, from the outside at least. It floats on a sea holding black matter and cosmic clams. How can the sea and space have a connection? The milky seas send up their light for the satellites to see, and that is all the connection they need. Take this fact from me and you…
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Pushing Past the Past
By Kim Cardello These feelings of dread, sorrow so overwhelming it’s hard not to cry. You cast me aside carelessly I fold myself inward like the waves we watched once, freely hand in hand Moving forward is hard there is too much pushing and pulling, my emotions taking me back but my heart nudging me forward. One day it’ll be easier, treading on the water; this boundary, keeping me from drowning, sweeping me to solid ground where I can bask in the sun again without remembering you.
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The Red Wheelbarrow
By Andrew Jones so much depended upon that red wheel barrow you pushed across dirt, leaving a dusty trail across our barren backyard, no rain to glaze; just two small kids playing in the clay, mom roasting a chicken.
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Elephants
By Melina Bowser After death, Is there Heaven? Hell? Nothing? The unnerving question Hidden away in a darkened room inside my mind A place I never visit in the day Yet, I can’t seem to escape it at night When my heavy eyelids finally surrender to the exhaustion I run to shut the door Lock it up before it slowly seeps out I make it just in time I’ve suppressed the hunger for answers Never wanting to let myself wander A place I’d only imagine to be daunting But one can only fast for so long On a warm evening A few months after he left us I allowed myself…
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Freedom and Leaves
By Jennifer Weismantle Part I There’s a twisting leaf I notice, eyes fixed on the sky. Wishing to be free from its safe home on a branch. To journey through the sky to lead somewhere new, Impatient leaf, lighthearted wanderer. The twisting leaf’s shadow grows as it falls, A massive hawk’s shadow casts me in darkness. I know what it’s here to do, Stalking my wanderer, a calculated killer. Part II Like the twisting leaf, my ducky likes to wander. Rushing to the gate of her protective enclosure. Disrupted from the days when she could frolic free, There’s more in the sky today than just leaves. From a twisting leaf…
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Canton
By Leah Dietle In the cold of early April, when the frost still clings to grass like enamored lovers, and winter’s last icy breath clings to spring’s dew- that’s when I was brought home. My hometown: a modest white house with wood in the back, serving as the backdrop of my escapist fantasies. Running feet crunching sticks and dirt staining my knees, the sun casting a hazy auburn in its metamorphosis to dusk; my mother’s call ricochet between the trees. Come home, Come home. My hometown: Where buckeyes break from the trees; digging into my back when I fall. The sublime knocking at the front door: Come play, Come play.…
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Spilling Tea
By Emilee Friend They gossip As I sip earl grey. No sugar is added To sweeten their words Or the bergamot on my tongue. They add cream To lighten the topic. I prefer my tea bitter and black, Better to keep me alert Of those with a knife at my back. They gulp down Nightshade tea, Declining the offer Of lavender, chamomile, or mint. Tea parties are wasted If you don’t poison each other With words. They let the drinks get cold. Teacups crack, Dripping red drops of rooibos, Staining the white cloth. They don’t take a break. The stain sets.
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Museum Fatigue
By Anna Potter Upon viewing “Three Figures at the Base of Crucifixion” by Francis Bacon Garish orange framed by sterile white walls, black hole churning in redbrick universe, and I, small spectator, sucked into its revolution. Fifteen is the age of revelation, the year of waking up to the sharp edges of this flesh-suit, that eternal itching, that toothless smile, pedestrian still in matters of horror, that worldly sting still fresh on my cheek. * Consciousness demands screaming, I think. The lungs of a newborn can attest to this theory, how we all emerge, gory and guileless, shrieking into this world. But for the dying, for the dead, …
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The Fight for Gender Equality: 7 Discriminations Women Still Face in The Workplace
By Hallie Boburka Have you ever heard of a conversation concerning the rights of men? I have not, but I have heard of conversations regarding women’s rights. In comparison to men, women are still seen as the damsel in distress rather than the strong and powerful hero. Women are also considered to be incapable of holding high positions of power and deemed only important for the process of reproduction. Inequality can be seen everywhere and in different forms. A common place for women to experience inequality is in the workplace, often through the form of discrimination. As nice as it would be for everyone to believe in working women, sadly…
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Mother Tale
By Anna Potter We tell each other stories I tell you how in eighth grade I tried to graft new flesh Onto my birthmark, how when I began the crime of bleeding, I dammed myself with cotton and chocolate. You tell me how your body formed from the crust of earth, how desire rose in you with the same ache as morning sky, and how heavy it has been ever since. I had forgotten this until now, but once An old friend coaxed me with stories of how the sun rises in Haiti, how my body’s vacancy might soothe his own. Another recalled how she observed the curvature of the…
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should
By Amy Myers should. an ambiguous being that holds an impossible burden. it dances in the past and future. attached to the verb of the doer. they should’ve been graduating; they should’ve been traveling; they should’ve been alive… it should be over by then. should gasps for air as those around him confuse his being for selfish hope and pseudo nostalgia for a time that never existed. wishing to surrender my reality, i extend my hand to should, and he settles into my brain almost as if he should’ve been there already. should holds my mind with an aggressive, hostile grip. sadness overwhelms me, and i am now lost in…
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Nocturnal Depression
By Grace Hall Today I’ve fallen in love with the clouds And the trees And yellow I smiled freely and laughed in the face of life’s little inconveniences And became enamored with the notion that I am capable of such immense feeling. But now it’s raining And pouring It’s four in the morning And my poems are all starting to sound like cliche little nursery rhymes Although I can’t seem to care Because while the day seemed bright and full to the brim with endless possibilities The limitations of my bedroom walls Those towering shadows in the dark Feel as though they’re crushing the air out of my lungs Expelling…
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Poetry Contest Fall 2020 Winners
We’d like to congratulate the winners of our Fall 2020 poetry contest! In first place, we have “Mother Tale” by Anna Potter. In second place, “should” by Amy Myers. And in third place, “Nocturnal Depression” by Grace Hall. We’d like to thank everyone who sent in poetry for this competition for giving us the pleasure of reading all of the poems; contest winners will be contacted soon, and each of their poems will soon be uploaded onto the site.
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Sky High
By Andrew Jones My favorite ways to watch you: When you roll your back onto the couch, letting your paws stretch towards some unknown pleasure, waiting for the inevitable belly rub. When you find just the perfect plot of grass to rub and roll around in, tail like an industrial fan while you tangle every part of your body with every inch of leash I have left. That is to say, my favorite ways to watch you are the ways you’ve flipped my world over and let me drift in your Sky.
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Cardinal
by Leah Dietle * A vermillion stroke across the canvas above- before perching on a branch to rest your weary wings. Your artistry makes others green- envious of your love affair with the wind which carries you. * But my mother looks forward to your arrival- she searches for your existence outside the window. She believes as the wind carries you, you carry reunification- a spiritual messenger from those we lost. * To her- you are the afterglow as her sun sets. A beautiful melancholy- a subtle pungent sweetness infused with the dry sharpness of grief. A pinot grigio for the eyes- addicted. * She feels orphaned now- pacing in…
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Three-Sentence Stories Winners!
On Tuesday, January 28th, RockScissorsPaper participated in the Student Government Association’s Spring Involvement Fair. We met potential members, submitters, and readers! At our table, we had students participate in a three-sentence story activity. The students selected prompts out of a hat and wrote three sentences that made a story right on the spot! Below are the two best stories from the fair. Thank you to all who participated!! The boy awoke to discover that his dream may not have been a dream after all. Laying on the pillow next to him was the bloody dagger he just witnessed snatch a life in his dream. Deep down he started to realize…
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Twisted Fate
By Veronica Therrien Twisted Fate Life seemingly finds my reactions entertaining. It enjoys sitting there, watching my face grow in anger and my body crawling on my hands and knees, while hurling unexpecting surprises on my path. The only day I’m free from work, a day of possible jubilance, I end up getting lost, in the woods. The forest has always been my escape from the modern world, but apparently, life wants to twist my paradise into a nightmare. The trees softly blow in the gentle wind. I check the weather app on my phone. Seventy-seven degrees, partly sunny. I peek up. The sky thickens in gray shades.…
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Why the Sun is the Only Star in the Sky
By Maisi McIntyre It was quiet and the park was rather empty today, only a few gray clouds in sight, but the weather report did call for thunderstorms later in the evening. So hopefully I would be out of here by then. I had been dreading this day mostly because for the last twelve years of my life I had been strictly avoiding it. And what made matters worse…I would be doing this alone. It was twenty minutes past noon, which meant I had ten minutes to get my crap together, to brace for impact as I delivered what could potentially be a fatal blow. I kept checking…
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Mountains and Molehills
By Dallas Starcher Some people have a way of staying the same for decades at a time, looming mountains to the saplings that grow in the valley every year. Hair teased up into a half-hearted beehive, strawberry-white and pieced together by can after can of noxious hairspray, crime-scene tape barring the bathroom door in rows upon rows of stacked-up warning: don’t go in there, it’ll suffocate you. Jewelry jangles on her hands: a ring for every finger, gold and gleaming, as shiny as a crow’s nest after a season of stealing. Eyeshadow and blush perfectly placed, her soft lipstick outlining a mouth so thin tightrope walkers could use it for…
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1 Lilac Lane
By Sarah Snee 1 Lilac Lane On my first and last day of housekeeping for the Richardsons’ large and looming estate, the flowers began to talk to me. I was, by all opinion, horribly naive. The estate, in its entirety, was spotless. There were whispers all over town as the sleek black Audi rolled through the streets, its reflection in each shop window catching the attention of every passerby, although there didn’t seem to be an eye that wasn’t glued to the back of the car. There was no license plate. I worked at an ice-cream shop on Ginger Street. A scoop of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough plopped onto the floor as I…
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Drink Me
by Jianna Palladini In both The Mortal Immortal, by Mary Shelley, and Tristan and Iseult, the famous Celtic legend, characters learn the consequences of abusing magical potions that promise them what they imagined to be a long-desired love. Though written centuries apart, common themes can be found in both stories and in English literature in general, such as love, magic, and tragedy. Both narratives help audiences ponder the thought that, perhaps, an unfavorable reality is better than we interpret it to be, as meddling with destiny may lead to disaster. Magic potions, specifically, have been a common literary element throughout history. In Alice in Wonderland, Alice drinks the magical potions…
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Dead Eyes See Dead Stars
Dead Eyes See Dead Stars by Matthew Brothers Cylinder of sound rotating around, ears hear voices from the ground. Crawling about below, what they do no one can know. When the sounds surround, the decayed will run, scream, and cry. Those reactions given to the realization, and the three are shared across the nation. This moment of sound, when the skulls look around, they all learn what they are- the bones of those perished so far. They can move, their senses active, however, their sight- what they see is not attractive. Their sight blinded, their hope bound -to despair. Blindly trying to dig to the top, reach the starry sky.…
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Flicker
By Matthew Brothers Lights flick on, lights flick off. Lights flick on, lights flick off. In the dark, creatures dwell, can’t you tell? So, don’t turn out the light. Unless you want to be plunged into that chaotic night, don’t ever turn out a light. If you heeded my word, you can read this warning well, you’ll be ok, so long as you remember. Keep the generator running; the electricity can’t run still. In light, you’re safe. In dark, meet your grisly fate. There’s a line between the horizon of safety and demise. It’s a clear switch when light enters and exits. But when lights flicker, what happens? Will…
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Rock Through Finals Week With Positivity!
Finals week can be tough, but Ronald McNerney’s poster serves as an uplifting reminder to us all that “We can do it!”.
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SOMEONE ELSE
by Anna G. Potter Dear sorrow, dear last swallow of coffee, dear folded-up longing, dear late-evening fog, I am supposed to write a letter with something important to say to someone else. Someone else. Dear someone else, dear other being, dear alternate life, dear what’s-his-name, dear story-bearer, I am supposed to say something important about you, me, this brief lapse of time. Time. Dear time, dear spiraling-dead leaves, dear autumn, dear spring, dear ever-healing-wound, dear gap, I am supposed to let you pass with measured optimism, but you crash and collapse into free verse. Free verse. Dear wilted metaphor, dear upside-down simile, dear sideways symbol, Dear everything-has-meaning-if-you-look-hard-enough, I am supposed…
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Bust of Maria Barberini Duglioli
Marble is cold, Unforgiving material mocking the sculptor But your eyes, though blank, bear softness. Spider webs lace your collar, contrasting sharp Round beads collecting at the neck. Not in your Blood to be gentle, you, queen command Attention among whittled down features. Your fragile beauty speaks more than cold should. By Jenna Moses
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Sestima for Future Thought
Sestima for Future Thought By Jenna Moses If our world has survived boiling down to nothing, Through our drawn-out years of wasting and decay My hope is that you are well and alive. A great-great-great-grandchild so far ahead That you are much less than a memory to me, And I, likely the same, to you. It is not frequent, my thinking of you, For the things I know are slim to nothing. But I could guess the same in your idea of me: One full of rot and decay, Less about a young girl in your shoes, with journey ahead, More of Grim Reaper, heaven, or spirit, than alive. But…
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To Wrinkle
by Jenna Moses To Wrinkle is to create a fold, cause some thing to be imperfect in appearance, in stature, in grace. A blemish on the otherwise smooth face of a woman whose tired eyes cry lines through her cheeks, across her forehead, slither down to decrepit hands that grip desperate onto life but cannot stop the hiss of years wringing out like sheets on a windy day. Life becomes a flat line, which doesn’t look so flat pressed against skin. It is soft, speckled, requesting an iron be taken to perfect the folds.
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Smart Prey
by Fatu Pombor The wind pierces her skin as her feet slip outwards onto the wet cool leaves. She is running, running somewhere, running nowhere, her mind doesn’t seem to know as she gets deeper into the woods. It’s dark, though the midnight sky is filled with swirls of lilac, sapphire, and amber. Only lit by the glow of the moon that drips its light onto the cold hard surface, leaving soft flickers of kisses against her warm alabaster skin. The air is sticky and filled with steam. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for me, she thinks to herself. She decides to run faster. The cold…
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Broken
He was stuck in an everlasting wasteland, one of the few able to see the real evils of the world, the evils that destroy and ravage even the most innocent and kind-hearted attacking their fickle minds like a vulture on the hunt, ripping through skin to pick apart everything they keep hidden inside feasting on the weak until they are nothing but an empty shell of themselves, left dormant, abandoned, hoping for the light. But the light they want is a light easily attainable through a cold barrel and that bright white flashing against a blackened sky, making them finally feel at peace with the world around them laying as…
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SLAB Day of Giving
Next academic year SLAB will be celebrating its 15th anniversary! The student staff has accomplished so much over the years . . . . As part of the 24-hour SRU Day of Giving on Tuesday, March 26, the department has created an “early bird” funding campaign to help SLAB get a little “extra” to help with the celebration planning for next year. To donate please visit: https://srugivingday.everydayhero.com/us/slab
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The Weight of Kevlar
By Ryan Stryffeler Yesterday I was helping my daughter get ready for school She put on her Kevlar backpack while I tied her shoes “If anything happens, I love you” I said with a smile And gave her an extra-long hug to hold her close for a while And smell her thick hair, place my lips on her scalp, For a moment unconscious of anything else I looked at her then, so trusting, so pure, So ignorant of what she’ll be forced to endure They grow up so fast, everyone says But why must growing up bring her closer to death?
