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 Southwest's Literary and Arts Magazine




The grasshopper springs
From green grass blade to the next
With senses alert

by Morgan Wilcock


The leaves are blowing
Like feet dancing in circles
Happy to see ground

by Jon Porter

The Ticking

Her life was a clock,
constantly ticking and time flying by.
Never knowing how many days she had left.
Would there be years? Months? Weeks? Days?
Or would time run out sooner than that?
She ached and felt pain like a knife piercing her stomach.
Somehow her soul was a rock, not giving in to Time’s sorrow.
She enjoyed every minute she had left to spend with her husband, children, and friends.
Though time passed and she grew weak, she battled with Time to let her stay longer.
She wished she could live years longer, to see and hold her grandchildren in her arms.
As days of radiation and treatment passed, she grew sicker and her hair fell out.
She knew Time had won that battle and did not show mercy, but she continued to fight.
Fighting was no use. Her time was running out.
The clock was ticking faster and faster as her life grew short.
She wasted away before our eyes and it only took a couple of months.
Time took away her words, her actions and her life in what seemed like minutes.
But the clock never stopped ticking, because there is one thing Time can’t take away.
Her life may have ended, but that one thing that will last forever is her love.
The love she had for her family.
The love she had for her friends.
And the love she had for Time.
Time didn’t prolong her pain for years.
Yet Time gave her months instead of weeks to stay with her family and friends.
And when she felt too sick to live, he took her life and made her pain disappear.
Yes. Her life was a clock.
Ticking away until Time made it stop.
Ticking until she wanted peace.

by Sarah Meyer


With muscles s tense
The lion is ready to pounce
Like lightning, he strikes

by Dane Sannes


Frogs in the meadow
Leaping high on lilypads
Full of energy 

by Jessica Swanson


In Atmosphere's "God Loves Ugly", the song starts out with the lyric "I wear my scars like the rings on a pimp", and Sean Daley has many other lyrics about his many scars. I can never tell if scars are something to be proud of or ashamed of. The only beauty that comes out of their ugliness is that they all tell a story. They're tattooed permanently onto your body to remind you how you got them, even if sometimes you'd like to forget.

I can tell you all about my physical scars, but never underestimate the power of the emotional scar. People in wars could lose a limb, but losing their friends will end up doing more damage and leaving an ever bigger intangible scar. People who were in bad relationships may not be able to recover as quickly because of the scars left by their previous lover. I am scarred on the inside from losing my sister. I will never forget about her, and she will be my scar forever.

My physical scars tell some interesting stories. There is one on the right side of my left pointer finger. I got this in fourth grade on a camping trip. Everyone was whittling and a few people had cut themselves a bit, nothing too serious. After dinner, we were all laughing and having fun and I picked up my knife again to whittle, and on the first slice, I had cut deep into my finger. Blood was everywhere on me and i was embarrassed. Good thing someone on the trip knew how to make a small splint out of sticks and a napkin.

The scar on me with the best story is probably the one on the bottom of my right palm. It was the night before the last day of school freshman year. I was biking home from Bryn Mawr and I had to cross over these train tracks. On this particular day, a train was going by. It rode it's tracks ever so slowly. Nine, maybe ten miles per hour. I set my bike on the ground and ran along side the train. I ran up to the latter, and I jumped on and climbed up. The breeze in my hair, my head, and my soul were the best things I had ever felt, ever. It was the single most exhilarating moment of my life. That's a happy scar. The train began to gain speed, and I saw my bike get smaller and smaller in the distance, so I jumped off without thinking of the best way to do it. I hit the ground, not believing what I had just done or how dangerous it all was to begin with. On that THUD onto the ground, I landed on sharp rocks. That scar comes from my hand being stabbed and sliced by landing on a sharp rock. My other hand has no scar I show, but I won't forget what happened to it. I had broken the smallest most vital bone in it, and I spent most of the summer in a cast because of it.

Scars are on me and in me, but I don't let them define me.

by Nick Assardo


Boundless energy
Endless wonder in their eyes
The youth’s joyous heart

by Jenna Verchota


The rollercoaster
Makes voices scream and hair fly

by Gabrielle Major

Truth or Dare?

Pushing away the veil of security I watch you step closer to me
staring at you carefully I dare you to step one more step
come to me my sweet sweet love, don’t get away from me.
The smell of fear overwhelms me as I know you are
Scared too.
I take my own step closer to you, the grin on my face spread wide.
My love will you dance with me, I say as confidence
through my veins.
You take my hand and pull me close, my eyes are
wide with panic now  we move together as one.
A dance many are too afraid to dance.
Images of you and I make me want to puke
My head feels light and airy now
as regret pulses through me.
But you still stand there so strong so sure,
that this is what you want.
Frantically I try to find a reason to get out
Analyzing everything you do, pushing myself away from
of course it isn’t your fault, nothing ever could be
I envy you, you with
      a million strengths
a million hearts
a million fears that you let drift away
and I, too frightened
      too happy
try to find misery, how happy I could have been
      If I hadn’t let you go from me.

by Liliana Jimenez


Teapot jumps and screams
Vigorously streaming loud
Boiling with fervor

by Brandon Nelson


Young puppies run free
Through the meadow of daisies
Full of energy

by Anna Bertel