Stephen Duncanson

i.

Botanically: as the blushing rose named

for her, vivisected into light-shy

petals.             On the flower

-laced continuum of taxonomy

we scatter her somewhere between

inanimate object and heroine.

 

ii.

Linguistically: we assign her the word

“devoted” and move on to Romeo.

But shouldn’t we stop and debate if she, too,

can be strong? Debate if women can be

workers

breadwinners?

Only 2 women debate in parliament.

 

iii.

Mathematically: equate her relationships. Love

is the product of physical beauty. Is this

why my friends starve themselves?

Strawberry juice

is the colour of botched

skin after plastic surgery, blood

seeping through Botoxed smiles.

 

iv.

Artistically: paint her pale skinned, baby-

curled, trailing damask. We hand her

a button

for modesty. Then criticize her

for her short skirts, hot pink

binders and crop tops.

 

v.

Astronomically: hold our hands against the same

constellations            Juliet

looked up to when Romeo left her     lost

and alone. We watch the moon wax and

wane, looking for a line of best fit

through this

star-crossed path.

 

 

Amanda Lee Siu Ching is from Singapore. Amanda is a student at Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) and a Creative Arts Programme mentee. Her work has been recognised by the Torrance Legacy Creative Writing Awards and appeared in TeenInk.

I don’t consider myself a poet

I like to think I’m a mathematician;

There’s something burning inside her

That I can’t quite calculate.

Each time she speaks

I listen closely for hidden x’s and y’s

Maybe a z or two

But my mind is distracted by the movement of her lips

A cosine curve in dark red.

She ties her hair up into deep chestnut twists

My abstract geometry professor wasn’t lying

Fibonacci spirals do exist everywhere.

I love mathematics

Puzzles, missing pieces, transformations through numeral planes

God, this is the most challenging puzzle of them all

I scribble out equations over and over

And smear graphite on my fingertips

But my final conclusion is always the same:

I love this girl more than I ever could the numbers.

 

 

J.L. Von Ende is eighteen-year-old writer from Washington, D.C. His hobbies include: feeding pigeons, studying mathematics, writing, and riding the subway for fun.

The king of Hollywood— the main event, the star—

Demands the roaring crowd’s attention. Royal pain

Awaits the swooning girls who beg to stroke his mane.

He bares his teeth, a predatory smile, and paws

His prey behind the scenes. He feasts on wild applause

And box office revenues, claims the lion’s share

Of praise, and blames his bombs on brands his costars wear.

He reigns a concrete kingdom, prowling past the mates

He ruled by stalking, spiking drinks, and skipping dates.

The paparazzi poach a picture, hunting news

To mount on magazines and garner website views.

He snarls and roars at newsroom queens, his pride destroyed,

As channels pounce on stories. Fade to black. A void

Consumes his fans and fame. The scavenger remains

Encaged. He dreams of breeding, meat, and private planes.

The girls remember beastly nights, each one a scar.

 

 

 

Emily Dorffer is a current undergraduate at Johns Hopkins University. When she isn’t busy reading or writing, she loves spoiling her cat and baking with her mom. Her works have previously appeared in Cicada, Breath & Shadow, and The Lyric.

Preparing blackened boy, I heat a house

with matches struck by boredom. Hungry flames

escape and gnaw the door. The boy can’t douse

the fire that licks the walls and ends his games.

 

I marinate a girl in salty brine.

As coral traps her foot, some kelp and weeds

entangle legs. A shark’s sharp teeth confine

her thrashing limbs. She trails from jaws and bleeds.

 

Methinks it’s best to serve outdoorsmen chilled.

As snowflakes season skin, the hiker slips.

The crack of bone on stone announces spilled

ingredients, and frostbite tints his lips.

 

One day, dear reader, you shall make a fine,

delicious dish, and I alone shall dine.

 

 

Emily Dorffer is a current undergraduate at Johns Hopkins University. When she isn’t busy reading or writing, she loves spoiling her cat and baking with her mom. Her works have previously appeared in Cicada, Breath & Shadow, and The Lyric.

I like to paint / over a painting / just to see / if the story it tells / the one with the purple sky / and below it / a pair of silhouettes / changes into one / where I’m actually in. / It’s fine if I’m stood / behind the trunks of the autumn trees / or in the form of a lone sparrow / or even hidden in the crevices of the minds of two children. There’s a bottle of tears / under my bed / and as I let the substance spill / onto my fingers / and slither / into the nooks of the frame / I watch a blue-gray sea / of scattered memories / ripple against its own waves. / The landscape / now is darkness. / Perhaps there was nothing / to begin with / and so I’ll start / my own journey. / The brushes / on blank canvas / pave a never ending / road.

 

 

Adam Zhou has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards at the National Level and his work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Rising Phoenix Review, What Rough Beast, The Kill List Chronicles, Eunoia Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, among others. As a high school sophomore at the International School Manila, he has been subject to the wide array of exhibitions cultural perspectives have to offer and aims to share these through writing.