Blue Marble Review

Literary Journal for Young Writers

amymasson

Editor’s Note

By

If Issue Two looks especially bright and shiny it’s because we have help. Humble thanks to our ‘still wanting to be anonymous’ grant benefactors whose kindness enables us to pay our contributors for their work.  Minneapolis artist Chris Howard’s vibrant work is once again featured on our site.  Lucky for us, Chris is inspired by nature and loves color, and her talent lights up our home page. Thank you Chris.

(For more information about Chris’ art contact: editorbluemarblereview@gmail.com)

Issue Two is dedicated to all the young writers who submitted work for consideration. Whether you just started writing, have been previously published, or are only sending your essay because your English teacher made you (ten extra credit points!)—we’re grateful.  We’re honored by the personal stories you shared, impressed by the way you’ve waded into fiction and poetry, and awed by those of you who sent submissions in English when it’s your second—or third language. Wow.

Reading submissions has been unforgettable. We’re here to report that creativity is alive and well. The same can be said for humor, quirkiness and the ongoing effort to make sense of the world.

The aim of Blue Marble is to applaud and encourage imaginative thinking, as well as gather and display the work of young artists and writers. We see ourselves as collectors, constructing an assemblage of creative work and inspiring the idea that art and writing and music and photography are expansive pursuits that stimulate individual growth, as well as adding value to the world community.

Young writers, this journal belongs to all of you. Thanks for helping us piece together and online creative community.

Molly Hill
Editor

It takes generosity to discover the whole through others. If you realize you are only a violin, you can open yourself up to the world by playing your role in the concert.

Jacques Yves Cousteau

Vegetarian for me, but also, the bees

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For me, it is easy

I do not eat any

Beings that scream for mercy

I am no carnivore

I am no cannibal

I am simply me

Although I care for the bees and saving our trees

World peace

You can see

I care as I stare at agricultural scares within our planetarium

You can see

Everyone thinks that animals grow out of trees

This isn’t surprising to me

But I SEE

People don’t care unless it satisfies their needs

People eat whatever they see

Unless it’s people like you and me

A decade

A century

A millennium

By this time our planet will become uninhabitable

Only a memory

Our bodies will morph into the remains of leftover meatloafs past

What about the bees you ask?

Oh who cares

We are only going to destroy their paths

What do bees do anyway?

Coffee, Hazelnut, Chocolate

Without the bees means no plants, no trees

No food and allergies

But that isn’t all;

Genetically Modified Organisms is how we’ll also fall

Imagine this

A fish you are allergic to but can’t dismiss

DNA mixed with your fresh side of corn

EXCEPT it is plausible

You have been forewarned

It’s called Genetic Engineering

No worries!

No bees

Leads to no trees

No pollinating things,

No food

–

No means to eat until you please

Until you are soon diseased

By that of bolognese

 

 Katelin is a senior Marketing student at Heidelberg University located in Tiffin, Ohio. She loves to research, write, network with people, and be open-minded. Her hobbies include snowboarding, mixed martial arts, yoga, and living a vegetarian lifestyle. She is originally from Cleveland, Ohio and loves the city. This is the first poem that she has produced and is grateful to be published by Blue Marble Review.

Written Missiles

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Written Missles

Clara is a college sophomore studying economics and music. Considering that her life hasn’t quite started yet, there will be more to say about who she is later. Soon. Stay tuned.

[Guts]

By

The pig’s exposed organs sepulchered our only scalpel:

a rusted thing.

My fingers are covered in guts

‘cause no one else would dig in.

Abi called us “nasty”

me and the boy, laughing as we dodged

squirting juices from the bloated fetus on our black lab table.

The pig’s exposed organs sepulchered our only scalpel:

After class, the ammonia smell chased me

down the biology hallway to my

baby blue locker,

a rusted thing.

I guess, as kids, we’re almost always running

from unspoken somethings. Our class was never truly

separate- always a collective organism -until I whispered,

“my fingers are covered in guts.”

No one wants to hang out

with a twelve year old cannibal

so I was alone in my painful excavations

‘cause no one else would dig in.

 

Mackenzie Cook is a high school junior currently attending Cy Fair High School. She is head editor of the literary magazine there, Voices in Ink, and also actively participates in the WITS Houston youth advisory council as vice president. When not writing, she loves to look at birds.