This is a sample of poetry and essays from our latest journal, Perennial Phantasmagoria. Enjoy. :)
Staff:
Editor ~ Julia Buch
Assistant Editor ~ Caroline Poon
Lay-out Director ~ Mari Kaislaniemi
Art Committee ~ Olivia Reyes, Kyle Shideler, Martin Klingelhofer & Katie Hoffman
Business Committee ~ Karen Huang, Young Nam Lee & Phyllis Jer
Publicity/ Sales Committee ~ Ching Fu & Susie Lee
Autumn
Winter
Spring
Summer
For Those Who Have Left
Autumn- About You; Across the Sea
All amidst a sea of pain
I love you.
Across ancient seas and infant mountains
I pine
Winter- Journal Entry #14
My grand father died last night.
He died around midnight. I had seen him no more than eleven hours earlier. I remember seeing him laying on his bed, the morphine drip already attached to his arm, his mouth slightly open with saliva running down his cheek, his eyes open but seeing nothing. I took a piece of tissue paper and wiped his cheek softly with it. I almost cried right then, seeing him so weak, so lifeless. Emily Dickinson said, "There's more dignity in drowning than in trying to swim," and my grandfather's face told me that her aphorism was true.
I didn't feel like crying when I heard that he was dead. I had actually hoped that he did die. I couldn't stand seeing him stripped naked of all the integrity, wisdom, and character that he had gained over his lifetime. is that a selfish thought? How can I justify that a man should die simply because I think it will leave him with a little more dignity? If I were in my grandfather's condition, I wouldn't be able to leave the world with my chest swelled with pride knowing I had died an "ideal" death. I would choose to hang onto the threads of life, the hope that I might get better. It's a shame that hope can make a man live on his knees, instead of dying on his feet. Hope is an evil element, for it reacts so violently with life.
Spring-The Kingdom
Standing, over looking their kingdom
Summer- Pleading Onion
Pluck the prudent pansies
John Dwyer
Happily running through falling rain
Falling rain, weathering my accepted utility
In instituting long and venerable
Distance eating the fabric
Dan Murtaugh
Erin Doherty
with their crowns of golden sun and eggplant purple.
They bow, and lead, and scold the commoners down far below.
But the commoners always look up to the King and Queen
for they are above; to commoners, touching the sky
But to us in another world, far above, they are just two flowers and blades of grass.
Katie Hoffman
Anastasia, turn them holy
kiss the pig engaged with velvet
he knows more than roley poley
while you were dancing with Confucius
you tore your Easter dress
sang the prelude to the mudpies
only blackbirds clean the mess
sold her with the kitchenware
while Heidi iced the cake
Ginger feel the witches burning
they curse you from the stake
getting toasty need some pudding
cherubs always eat with haste
kiss your sister with the eggplant
vines entangle at her waist
widow flaunt your string bean love
while you smoke with pious popes
powder with your talcum sweet
while cleanse with perfumed soaps
caper with the radishes
they escort you with their fleet
have encounters with the grapefruit
hide the bells beneath your feet