a student anthology of verbal and visual art mosaic · a student anthology of verbal and visual...

mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual ArtA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art

mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c20mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i c14mos a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i cmo s a i cmos a i cmos a i c

Boylan Catholic High School 4000 St. Francis Dr. Rockford, IL 61103 www.boylan.org

Cover art: Derek Droessler 2014mixed media

Ben Satterlee 2016oil pastel

First PlaceFine Arts Poetry Competition

Reading a MessEmma Fredrickson 2015

Let’s say you are a scientist out hiking through the woodsWho comes upon a wild Me up in the trees or by the river in the sun.I won’t be in your field book, your pocket guideSo if you’d want to know Me, watch meLaugh, sing, run and tap my footAnd paint and smile and draw and playOr if you are persistent, see meStub my toe or sigh or cry.(Let’s say that’s not enough)(Let’s say you want a closer look)Then lure Me in with bread and friendly talkNo need for nets, you’ll have my trust.Examiner, look at my scars See restless fingers and tired eyesDon’t be surprisedBehind my nest of hair I hideOpen ears and feverish brain, fragmented tunes ofWarm cadmium blood racing rhythms of a patched up drum.Open my whirlwind chest, open my graphite ribs and charcoal lungsShielding messy love notes and pain andSoft hugs andAssorted coffee mugs.ffee mugs.ffLet’s say you’ve had your fill Let me go.(Let Me fly where I might)Let’s say you wish to come again(It takes a lot to read a mess)I’ll be in the trees or by the river in the sun.

2 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Honorable MentionFine Arts Poetry Competition

Ode to Route 20Caroline White 2014

Here’s to Route 20,for leading me to the ones I hold close to my heart, from near and far.Here’s to the two lanes, and the four.

Here’s to all the little towns that consume the drive every few miles,and to all the big cities that fall few and far between.Here’s to all the gas stations with only a single restroom,with a broken handle,and air fresheners that smell like cheap candles.

Here’s to the backseat of my car,for it has hosted all of my belongings;from old and faded jeans,to scratched Beatles CDs,to an old lover’s shirt.Here’s to the bumpy and broken road in the middle of nowhere,and the fresh gravel with thick paint when I am city bound,with the heavy hum that follows regardless where I am.

Here’s to all the cops that never pulled me over,and to all the ones that did.Here’s to the all-night diners with the servers named Martha,who always brought me two chocolate chip pancakes,with a side of hash browns and homesick. Here’s to all the motels with the broken TVs and the ill lighting that sufficed as home, but just for the night.

Here’s to all the troubles I left behind on the road,and to all the ones I went to meet,with a twenty year old gas pedal and brakes beneath my feet.Here’s to all the people you unintentionally meet,and all the ones you intentionally don’t.Here’s to thee, Route 20. Derek Droessler 2014

colored pencil

3osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Amy Englund 2017marker

Megan Coady 2016graphite pencil

4 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Marian Reyes 2014acrylic, colored pencil, and ink

Ode to the CityCheyenne Oseguera 2014

Your foggy black hairtwinkling with golden light.Your eyes are of thousands of people smelling the grog and eating hot dogs at the lake.Stomach flat and paved, withhips they lust for. Legs seemingly miles long.Your feet are wheelsof skateboards or bikes.You wear a new dress every day,a new coloror style.But for you, it alwayslooks beautiful

Amidst your beauty,though, you hide secrets.Your eyes shiftfrantic, praying to stay hiddenwhile remaining seen.Your brother’s killed the teacher,your neighbor sold drugs to children, who are running awayfrom a shattered home.

But all the while, you just sitand stare at the people around you.Sit tall, lovely woman.Don’t let yourself fall.

5osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Madelynn Peters 2017oil pastel and marker

Alli Phillips 2016graphite pencil

6 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

FinalistFine Arts Poetry Competition

ShoesMaribeth Marshall 2014

On the telephone lines hang the shoesThat my brother once wore.I look up at the sky, gloomy and gray.I walk the long worn out path.Oh the memories, Oh the memories.I look down the street where my brother had his last goodbye.

It’s never see you later, it’s always goodbye.The stupid fight over a pair of shoes.Sweet memories.At the corner of 4th street is where they were last worn.I kick the rock that is on this path.The dark sky, has that look when it’s about to rain, all gray.

The shoes are worn down and gray.The last time he said good bye.Why did I take this path?Stupid shoes, stupid shoe.That my brother once wore.They never fade, they last forever all the memories.

Memories, MemoriesAll are all now black and grayThey tore them down and then were worn.I never got to say goodbye.The telephone lines that hold the shoes,Were on the long worn out path.

The way I get to you is by a path,That holds all the memories,And all the shoes.My life is now all gray.Goodbye Goodbye,Is the last word worn.

I pick up the shoes that my brother once wore.The long worn out gravel path.The long never said goodbye.Oh memories, oh memoriesAre now all gray.Just like the shoes.

Noah Anderson 2014colored ink markers

7osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Mary Parsons 2017oil pastel and marker

Wendy Flores 2016graphite pencil


Dreams We Dream Of at NightSiena Oliveri 2017

The world is too big to fathom, too vastTo imagine, for every grain of sand On a beach there is a person, at lastI still dream to see every bit of landLike diamonds and jewels that I wish to hold And stare at through the thick glass of my youthWindowpanes to other worlds of goldThe world I live in seems to scream the truth That I am too young to achieve, believeTo think the world is still beautiful“You can do anything” that will deceive “You will do something” is more suitableFed lies and false standards of what is rightWill distort the dreams we dream of at night

8 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Marisol Paredes 2014pastel drawing

Lockdown DrillDrew Hazen 2014

“Stand up!”Move to the wallCrouch downStay SilentNo movement, no laughingNo room for personal spaceNo room in school to be yourselfUniforms mold and shape how we are supposed to lookRules keep our behavior to a boring standardWhile the tediousness ofschoolworkhomeworkpaperstests just goes onAnd on And on…But what ever happened to the creative spirit that school is supposed to foster?Since when have artists used artificial molds to sculpt masterpiecesInstead of using the hands that God gave them?Who ever decided the potential studentsare supposed to reach instead of the students deciding themselves?While treated like adults but referred to as childrenThe students themselves are drawn and quartered betweenResponsibility School WorkDrama and life. Butis that even a bad thing?

To raise a delicate flower into a beautiful blossom, One must not dryly neglect it Nor should one flood it with water The middle ground between both excess and oppressed Makes man fight to earn the strength he doesn’t know he deserves And this way has been proven to manifest the potential in all of us No matter which road he takes to arrive there.“Get back in your seats”The simple drill telling usTo wait and hideBecause the world’s eyes aren’t yet readyFor the blinding light of our potential

9osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM


I Wish I Were a TreeNoah Danaher 2016

I wish I were a treeBut even your words would destroy meI want to have a thick trunkSo nothing could get the best of meBut even a trunk wouldn’t stop youFrom breaking through and tearing me downI wish I were a treeBut even your words would destroy me

Go ahead and take a hitSee what you could releaseMy demons are what I trap insideI can show you the tricks they play on a person’s mindBut you would know, you’re one of themI wish I were a treeBut even your words would destroy me

Cut me down and make me paperAnd write the insults you’ve said to meLet them sink into my poresBe sure no one ever sees themBecause your secrets would be revealedAnd everyone will see the monster you truly areI wish I were a treeBut even your words would destroy me

Monica Skrzypczak 2014watercolor, colored pencil, technical pens

10 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Olivia Corcoran 2017colored ink markers


Safety of WordsLizzie Chiodini 2014

Don’t write about people writeabout feelings,she told mebut I didn’t.Instead I wrote about person after person goingas far as titling the poem HisName that repeated overand over whileI tried to come up with another wordfor “breathtaking.”Dictionaries thrown around my roomthe kitchen walls coveredin torn out pagesHighlighters opendried out like my eyesafter scanning the same pagethe letters roll offcollapse and rise, surroundme like a hopeless raft lostin a storm at seaall spell out the same wordpoint in the same directioncall me out of the waterinto the life jacket of your arms.

Claudia Consuelos 2014graphite pencil

11osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Megan Peterson 2016colored pencil

Emma Fredrickson 2015colored pencil

12 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM


I Am One of ThemTess Vrbin 2015

Look at me. Look at us. Look at them.Synthetic organisms, skin-covered androids,Bleeding liquid gold, breathing dusty propheciesNothing passes for oxygenSloth passes for nourishmentLies pass for bonesFlimsy, feathery fingers grasp fragile quillsDipped in disappearing inkScrawling illegible clichés on air masked as paperWhile real, tangible paper lies close byWaiting desperately, yearning everlongTo receive the honor of documentationSpread out in plain sight, but to no availFeeble extremities, always moving but never in mo-tion,Fill pages upon pages of potentially vivid, valuable fleshWith only insubstantial impressionsWooden lips drift aimlessly, glacially slowly,Forming in their spare time voiceless, meaningless whispersClouded nostrils soak in the sedativesTongues are cut at all the wrong timesRusty iron teeth munch on virtual cherriesDevouring the sweet fruit, discarding the hard pitsAnything undesirable should be exterminated.Such is the motto of the masses.They could be engines, puffing, running, soaring through all adversityBut they balk at the thought that there is a chanceOf becoming just another train wreck.They don’t know what they’re missing.Neither do you. Neither do we.Neither do I.

Abby Ferguson 2016ink and pastel

13osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Siena Oliveri 2017Siena Oliveri 2017oil pastel and marker


The Man She LovedMax Cichock 2016

The man she loved strode through the doorAs if he’d just seen HellConcerned, she asked, “What’s wrong, my love?”He had something to tell.The note came in the mail that dayThat finalized his fateTerrified, they sat and criedSoon detached from their soulmate.He had three days to say goodbyesBefore leaving for warHe made one promise to his wife“I won’t get hurt,” he swore.Three months dragged by, each more aloneWith no one there to holdShe prayed at night, he fought the fightThat froze his soul ice cold.But then he’d think of her againThe ice would melt awayHe’d feel the love he feltThat fateful day they met in May.Was only a matter of timeBefore his promise brokeA German shot him in the back,Destroying all his hope.He laid there among all the rubbleSure he’d soon be deadPraying to God, asking for deathGod let him live instead.His partner found him, picked him up,And carried him to baseThe doctors saved his life thoughHe survived by God’s good grace.The bullet in his spine would changeHis course of life foreverHandicapped but soon he and hisWife would be together.

The girl he loved, not knowing ifHe was out of harm’s wayWas torn inside, nowhere to hideAll she could do was pray.And then one day, as if it wereA gift straight from above,Wheeled in the man she so longed forIt was the man she loved.She rushed to him, embraced him andRefused to let him goSpeechless both, and yet they knewThey loved each other so.

14 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Ben Satterlee 2016watercolor and ink


The EndJoshua Armendariz 2017

It started so suddenlyTheir beasts were swiftBeginning the end as they descendThe four horsemen of the apocalypse.Death to all those who had lived wellQuick reaping with scythes so sharpWhole towns empty, the streets are bleedingAs the whole sky is plunged into dark.The people run screaming as they rise from the groundConquering their promised cursed earthDemons of horror and enormous dimensionWreaking havoc the whole world’s girth.After the enemy fearlessly strikesThe first attack on what is weakNo nourishment remains for those who surviveAnd famine decimates the lowly and meek.War rages unchecked on the earth condemnedHumanity declining for lack of defenseBut none of the soldiers could defeatThe predestined fate that was so immenseDivine power claimed those who knew the truthAnyone else alive had to fend for themselvesAgainst the strength of the demonic armiesEven though they could not be helped.The dark one arrived with chaos so greatWitnessing as the last human fellThis once great planet of condescending beingsHad now become a new part of Hell.


RoadJulie Uram 2016

Watching the powerlines sway, wasting the day away.Tall, untrimmed grasses bend, dancing with the wind.Dark black road seems unfamiliar, not like the roads where I used to live.

Nothing to see, and at the same time-Everything, passing quickly, enjoy it before it’s history.Focused on my foot, high on the dash.

Reminds me how small the world really is, the whole earth just beyond my toe.Houses scattered within the grass, they look like cartoons-Too flawless to be a home.

No birds on the powerlines today, they don’t come here anyway. The children are quiet, playing in the streets,As they waste the day away.

15osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Monica Skrzypczak 2014watercolor

Marian Reyes 2014graphite pencil

16 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

It was a beautiful April day in Florida, and Herb Poovey was out mowing the lawn while his dog Judy frolicked through the yard, her nose glued to the ground. Herb finished cutting his last row of grass and his wife Mariam brought him out a tall glass of iced tea. Herb turned off the lawn mower and looked out at his ff the lawn mower and looked out at his ffwork. The yard was perfect, and he smiled with satisfaction. The Poovey’s next-door neighbors, the Finkles, had been on his back about taking better care of his yard and now they would have nothing to complain about. Suddenly Herb heard the sound of growling and he turned to find Judy tossing her head frantically back and forth, and something white was hanging from her mouth. Herb ran as fast as his 65 year old body could carry him to retrieve whatever poor animal Judy had her jaws on this time. As he approached the dog, he realized that the thing hanging from Judy’s mouth was a white rabbit, its fur matted with dirt and blood. Herb commanded Judy to drop the poor animal and she did. Herb leaned over the mangled animal and swore. It was the rabbit the Finkles had gotten their son, Timmy as an early Easter present.

The Finkles and the Pooveys didn’t get along very well and now the Poovey’s dog had killed their rabbit. Herb glanced over at the Finkles’ well-manicured lawn and remembered that the Finkles had left for vacation and wouldn’t be back for another week. Herb bent and picked up the rabbit and cradled the dead animal in his hand. He walked into the house and grabbed a towel, laying the rabbit on the towel on the counter. When Mariam walked in she gave a high-pitched yelp.

Herb told her what had happened and Mariam frowned. Suddenly a plan formed in Herb’s head and he turned the water on and held the rabbit under the faucet. All the dirt and blood streamed into the sink. After the rabbit was clean Herb went into the master suite bathroom and grabbed Mariam’s blow dryer. He returned to the kitchen and Mariam watched in horror as he dried the dead rabbit’s fur. After the rabbit’s fur was dry Herb and Mariam stood back and looked at the rabbit. It almost looked like it was sleeping. Herb picked up the rabbit and walked back outside crossing the boundary into the Finkles’ yard, and found the rabbit’s cage. Sure enough the cage door was wide open. The rabbit must have escaped. Herb gently laid the rabbit back into his cage so the Finkles would not think he had anything to do with the rabbit’s untimely death. He secured the cage door and walked home to his wife and dog.

1 week laterHerb was cleaning the vegetables Mariam had picked up at the store and through his big window he saw

the Finkles’ blue minivan pull into their driveway. Herb swore and prayed that they wouldn’t think anything was amiss with the dead bunny. He didn’t need any more problems with the Finkles.

Later that day Herb decided to go out and prune the hedges in his front yard. Jim Finkle was out starting up his lawn mower. Herb raised a hand in a wave and Jim gave him a weird look but also raised his hand. Throughout the afternoon Herb kept catching Jim giving him odd looks over the lawn mower. Herb kept pruning the hedges but was starting to worry that Jim somehow knew what Herb had done. Jim finally cut the lawn mower and walked over to Herb.

“Hey, Herb, you didn’t happen to see anything weird going on around here did you?”Herb shook his head, “No, sorry Jim. I haven’t. Why?”“Well it’s the weirdest thing. You know I got my son Timmy a rabbit as an early Easter present.”“Yeah, I think I remember your wife saying something about it.”“Well, it died.”Herb pretended to be shocked, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”“But that’s not the weird part. We buried it before we left on vacation and we arrived home and the

rabbit was back in his cage, dead with not a spot of dirt on him.”

WinnerRobert Collins Creative Writing Award

ResurrectionLeah Ports 2015

17osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Emily Hudak 2017oil pastel

BackstageMeghan Gaffney 2014ffney 2014ff

Nothing in the world is too broken. CRASH!Know it can be fixed with gaff tape.ff tape.ffNow if only someone could find it. WHERE THE?

BLACK A mike wire bent to a ninety degree angle, WHO THE? a human incapable of whispering,

a broken green curtain, a slow scene change

How could he have missed HOW THE? his cue, it’s the same every night. Hectic chaos, Hurrying feet QUIET

I found it, gaff tape.ff tape.ff

18 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM


The ThiefElaina Weickert 2017

I never knew the thiefnever as well as I wishedHis marriage into my family when I was a child,Forged in my mind only through stories reiterated overYears.Respectful nods to the dead.But all I sawwere sideways glancesand my aunt’s broken heart.I never loved the thief.His only legacy in my mind was the brand,the scar he left on the ones who loved him.The only credit to his name:the tears of my favorite cousinshed for the man she called fatherI never forgave the thief.The echoes still reboundHer words,“another cut”were his fault always in my mind,The traitor of his kindfor abandoning the girl I was too young to know how to helpI was too young to understand her wordsAnother cut.I never understood the thief,his lack of hope for the beautiful daughter he loved,but chose to leave.I’ll never know.I’ll never understand.I’ll never rememberWhy the thief took his life.

Morgan Nicole Pietruch 2016marker

19osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Emily Gibson 2014watercolor and technical pen

Jennifer Peters 2014acrylic, watercolor, colored pencil, gel pen

20 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Delaney Appino 2017ballpoint pen

My FatherMarisol Paredes 2014

He is a working man,His hands are calloused, sandpaper likeHis body is tired, an old car that has reached its last miles.His body shows the signs of years of 12-hour days in the sweltering heat,Days covered in grime and dust particles that invade his lungs,His once flawless skin is stained by the dirt.He speaks with an accent, the kind the business man looks down on.The man in his fancy suit has already made a judg-mentMy father is not worth his time.

If only he’d listen he would know,My father has value past his accentHe is an intellectual,“Education is the only true gold,” he’d say.My father has lived through hard times and come out on top.He is not afraid of lifeHe loves with an intensity comparable to the sun in summer.When I look into his eyes reminiscent of coffee ffee ffbeans,I can see the face of ChristI’ve watched him give his last five dollars to a home-less man on the streetAfter suggesting the man would only use it for drugsHe explained: “We are all brothers, it is my duty.”He has calloused hands, sandpaper like.My father is a working man.

21osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM


The Riots of KievMarcus Tecarro 2015

“Run fast, run far, please run away”Said Anya to her child.“The rioters will soon get here”Her eyes grew wide and wild.

“But mother dear I wish to stayI feel no fear of man”“My boy, my boy, my brave small boy They would not give a damn.”

The president, he would not signA bill to give us tradeIn the European UnionA grave mistake he’s made.”

“Oh no, they’re here! They’re right outside!”The mother she exclaimed,“Don’t worry mom, I’ll guard you here”The child he proclaimed.

He quickly ran outside the doorDespite his mother’s cryThe rioters were mad and crazedShe feared her child would die

The cops had tried to stop the mobThey tried and tried and tried,The end saw guns and bombs and maceSo many people died.

The fires burned, the city sackedThe damage had been doneThe corpses scattered in the streetsAnd Anya lost her son

Julia Uram 2016ceramic relief and acrylic paint

Salmon FishingMolly Schorsch 2014

I am awakened by the voice of my fatherspeaking in whisperto avoid waking my motherShe sleeps soundly in her room

My brother waits in the jeep of my fatherThe dark navy metal is starting to rustbut the wood shines like it is still newI pray the car won’t break down again

A small tornado of pebbleswhirl when the wheels come to a stopI can see our boat tied to the dockThe paint is chipped and looks small next to the othersbut it is ours

I carry the cooler down the hillIt is almost as big as IMy father starts the engineand my brother lays down the lines

The small strands from my ponytail escapefrom the speed of the boatWe head to our cove in the lakeand see the sun start to rise

Now we wait

22 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Alexander Hills 2016Alexander Hills 2016colored pencil


Discarded ShoesNina Herkert 2015

Hemingway’s baby shoesFor sale but never worn;My little kid ballet shoes,Dirty, tattered, and torn.

Bloody nails and bandaged toes,Caused by their replacement;A shiny pair of pink toe shoes,My feet bound in their encasement.

While other kids were running freeOr playing with their toys,I was busy, hard at work,Learning discipline and poise.

To be the best, as I was told,You had no time for fun.You must plie, and tendu, and pirouetteUntil the day is done.

Ballerinas look so beautiful,After recitals, holding their roses.No one seems to understandThe pain our art imposes.

The aching muscles and battered feet,Toenails sent permanently to their graves.Countless turns ending up on the floorGet up, try again, be brave.

Sometimes I regret the time I’ve spent,All the normal things I have given up.But when I am on stage once againIt’s worth it to hear the audience erupt.

Of my seventeen years here on this earth,More than half I have spent on my toes.It’s peculiar to look back and see the years past,My little kid days gone in repose.

The price of grace, I never thought,Would be so great a fee.Hemingway’s declaration I do see fit,There was no childhood for me.

23osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Delaney Appino 2017Delaney Appino 2017graphite


DuskMichael Kaufman 2016

Relaxed.Silent.Crunching through the crumpled leaves, the sound as crisp as an autumn apple.Walking down the windy, winding path, unaware of the slowly disappearing trees.Still walking down the narrow path, the light haze of dusk overhead.A gentle breeze carries me.Looking up at the endless sky,I follow the path of the soft darkness of dusk.I walk on. The night sky comes to life with its angels.I see one fly.The darkness consumes me,But I am not afraid

24 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Madalena Ricotta 2014dictionary page and ballpoint pen


FamousGrace Moss 2014

Some girls want to be famous.They are fascinated with Wanting to be fascinating.They are stuck in a fictionThat only exists in movies,Hoping for one day to be in a movie.They are brainwashed into Believing that beauty is Obtained after editing forFifty minutes, and theyfty minutes, and theyftDon’t see how beautifulThey are by just being Alive,But in their unconscious They want to be famousBecause they crave theAttention they didn’tReceive from theirFathers and lovers And while they want to be famousI just want to be heard.

Wendy Flores 2016ink and colored pencil

25osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

A Little ChangeHayley Elliot 2014

The cashier says, “That will be $11.76, please.” Looking downI reach into my pocket, searchingFor something to hold on to, anything to fitInto my hands to keep them warm and occupied; they searchThe depths of the darkness and longFor substance, for security, for lifeMy pocket holds the next moments, waitingAlways waiting to see whatWill come next. My handsNow warm and occupiedFind their way out of my pocket, holdingWhat they were searching for. Grateful to see theThree quarters and penny gently lyingIn my hand, I reachOver the counter and slowly handThe exact change to the cashier

Hannah Harris 2017oil pastel and marker

26 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Izzy Messman 2016charcoal

Ode to a LampshadeChristina Vicari 2014

Ode to you who protects themfrom my piercing light.

You shield me as a mothercovering her child’s eyes. You are my eyes.

But I wish I could see the world myself.My light could cast out shadows

from the farthest book on the bookshelf,and revive its binding.

I know you’re here to protect them.But all I want is to reach out.

You dull my feeble attempts to touchthe shadows.

Your stiff fabric keeps me subdued.ff fabric keeps me subdued.ffQuietly, as particles drift through my galaxies.

My light pours around your curvesbegging to be let out of your doors.

My wires spark delight whenevera shadow crosses my avenue.

Is it the “CAUTION” stamp hugging my body?I caution you to relieve me.

I promise to make my light reach every corner.Do you fear their reactions? Their judgments?

I want to see them dance in the raysof a ray I have sent. Sparkling.

Ode to you lampshade,I could shine so bright for them.


The Scene of HomeChristopher Van Scoy 2017

The peace of night—what holds?The cool breeze, the dark and starry sky, the slowness of the neighborhoodThe fast hum, the quick and wavy lights, the hurriedness of the town—the highway built strong and loud— The lights blinding the stars, the noise shattering the solitudeWhy no rest?Turn around. Look into the home. What is seen and seemed?Uncertainty? Mystery? Flagrancy? The chilling night is taking hold.Security? Familiarity? Humility? The house is warmed.We have what we have; people have their people;Good or bad; survive?Good or bad; thrive.

27osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Julia Uram 2016oil pastel and marker


An Ode to Passive Voice that was Written by a Pathetic Poet Jimmy Krein 2015

Passive voice was written by a wearisome man. Each word was made from the stroke of his tired hand. A grand thought was pondered by his mind about what was contained in each line.

The written lines were praised highly by his eye. “Your poem is sublime the people will cry,” said a lie That lingered inside, and was brought about by a person who has been chastised by a power from high.

Praise was received by the man from all of his adoring fans. The style was made the new normto which all the writing experts would conform.

Now catastrophes could be reported by the newswithout worrying about people who were affected by the blues. ffected by the blues. ffThe passive power was spread by all who wroteIt felt so good when it was spoken by the throat

The lifelessness of society was observed by all. Crying was common by people curled up in a ball. Passive voice was written by a man who used to stand tallbut now was loathed by society who wanted him to fall.

A way to survive was sought out by the people. A man told the people he had an idea to save their lives. Even passive is better was the reply given by the people who despised their lives by allowing the life of their writing to die.

28 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

MaryKate Francisco 2014oil paint

FinalistRockford Women’s Club Poetry Competition

Chest HairColin McDonough 2014

I want to be him, a manThe man with guns and not sticksWith a beard and not a naked cheekI want to see over people and not haveTo stand on my tip toes to make eye contact.

I want to be strong, a soldierHe who is at the front lineWhile I quiver behind my shield in the back.His name will forever be rememberedBut my name was never known.

I want to be steadfast, a rockThe man who does not shed a tearIs not me for my tears fill a sea, andMy ideas change every moment whileHe does not change in the face of adversity.

Even though I don’t have guns or height,Even though I don’t have strength,I have my me.My chest is barren and my face is naked.I shine bright and can out emotion the manliest man.

My strength is in my words and ideasMy willingness to stand up for myself is my chest hairMy voice is the lion’s roar defending his rockI do not envy the man who gets in my pathNothing is stopping this train

Enough coal to keep it going for three lifetimes.

Growing PainsFrancesca St. Angel 2014

Our breath came out in slow puffs of steam,ffs of steam,ffthe sky above us cool and gray, like my grandma’s hair,as she chopped down the fresh Christmastree’s aroma with its waxy needlesglistening like beautiful figures at my grandma’s housesmelling of lemon and lavenderand the lingering aroma of good foodunlike the middle school’s cafeteria after recesswhen the air smelled like burnt leather solesof the shoes worn by little warriorsplaying our dangerous games which neverthreatened to take away the delicious smell of momher stew which made you take your coat offto stay awhile to eat on ourlemon’s rich pulp polished, carved wooden table from far away wherethe father lion in Africa protects his cub,but the freezing rain kept coming, the smellof tears lingered in my home becausethe one who was a cat in one scenewas a dog in the next.

29osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Joey Pritz 2015watercolor and ink

Alyssa Noonen 2015charcoal

30 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

“Good morning, Gracelyn,” the nurse called as she pushed a wheel chair into my room, “I brought you a visitor.”

“Hey, Gracie.”“Hey, James,” I smiled back.“Don’t forget, you have radiation at four, James. I’ll be back at three to get you prepped.” The nurse

reminded as she walked out the door with a smile.I looked at James in the chair. He hated using it. He insisted that God gave him legs for a reason and I

always wanted to say that God also gave him a heart for a reason but kept my mouth shut. James was my only real friend in the hospital so I couldn’t go making him mad at me although I don’t think he would stay angry for long. A few minutes to everyone else are a years to us. We’re terminal.

“So, how’s the cancer treating you?” James said finally.“Like I’m its bitch,” I laughed. I hadn’t been feeling too good the last few days so I was confined to my bed

which wasn’t very unusual. “I’m hanging in there though. Not giving up yet.”“Same with the new heart valve. Hey, I brought you something,” he grinned that lopsided smile I loved. His

big sky blue eyes shined with excitement. Those eyes were the closest to the sky I had been in a long time. “Here, open it. I had to order it and the package just got here.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I looked at him through my eyelashes. I ripped the blue paper offthe box and opened it gingerly. Inside was a small, silver heart shaped necklace with little cancer ribbons lining the sides. The ribbons were so small you could barely tell what they were if you didn’t already know. I ran my fingers down the side of the heart and felt a ridge. Pulling it open, I saw a picture of the two of us on the right hand side. On the left, engraved in the silver, was a poem that James and I had written when we were little:ft, engraved in the silver, was a poem that James and I had written when we were little:ft

Roses are red,Violets are blue,Life will neverBe tougher than youStay strong, my dear,I’ll see you again.Life isn’t over,When another one ends.“Thank you, James. It’s beautiful.” I could feel salty tears collecting on the brim of my eyes.“Happy sweet sixteen, Gracie.” I began to fumble around with the clasp, my hands shaking too much from

my meds to hold it properly. “Here, let me.”“Thanks,” I replied awkwardly, hating my own weakness. James swung the chain around my neck before

I lay down so I was level with him as he closed the clasp. “I hate not being able to put on a necklace by myself,” I muttered.

“You know I would have wanted to put it on you myself anyway.”“I know but I just wish I could do anything for myself. I hate staying in this bed all day.”“Look on the bright side, you get to see this devilishly handsome guy every day,” he gestured to himself and I

couldn’t help but laugh.“Yeah, and that’s good because I’d never be able to get a guy anyway.”James sighed, “And why not, Gracelyn?”“What guy wants to go out with a bald girl that can barely stand up half the time?”“What girl wants to go out with a defective guy that can’t run more than a few steps without passing out?”I should have known not to bring it up.“If you went to school I’m sure girls would be all over you.”“And guys wouldn’t be all over you?” He challenged, “Come on, look at you!”“Yeah, the scrawny bald girl that will probably be dead before she’s twenty. That’s a real turn-on.”James looked down at his lap.“Please don’t talk like that, Gracie.”I could see a thick tear slide down his cheek and land with a small click on his blue hospital gown. His chest

moved up and down quickly. He was crying.

FinalistRockford Women’s Club Prose Competition

The GiftJennifer Bauer 2014

31osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

“James, I’m sorry, please don’t cry. Please.”“You can’t talk like that, Gracie. I can’t think about you dying. You’re my best friend and the thought of

you being gone… Having to watch them bring your body downstairs… I couldn’t handle it. You can’t leave me, Gracie, you can’t.”

“James, I’m sorry,” I leaned down and hugged him. I could feel him shake under my arms. My face was buried in his shoulder and I could feel my own tears starting to soak into his papery gown. “I’ll do my best not to leave you but you need to promise me you will to. Can you promise me something?”

He looked up at me, his blue eyes now red and puffy.ffy.ff“Anything.”“Keep fighting if I’m gone before you.”“I promise,” He said in a choked voice. He laughed, wiping at his eyes. “God look at us. “Here come on up.” I patted the space of mattress beside me, scooting to the end of the bed and helped

James haul himself out of the chair.We curled up under the scratchy sheets and faced each other. We stayed there and talked about life, death,

and the in between place where he and I existed. I didn’t know what would happen to me and James. Would we grow up? Would we see each other tomorrow? Would we live long enough to go back outside? Life was full of questions. Why did bad things happen to good people? Why did the good die young? Why couldn’t life be fair? One thing that James told me that day stuck with me: if bad things happen to good people then we must be fantastic. If we die, we know we were good. In the end, I think he and I lived more than most people get to. Everyone’s terminal. Someone just had the heart to tell us.

Sadey Jumapao 2014mixed media

32 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM


Genevieve Taxon Creative Writing Scholarship WinnerFine Arts Poetry Competition

Genevieve Taxon Creative Writing Scholarship WinnerFine Arts Poetry Competition

FatherKenzie Green 2014

Perched at the table contemplating the state Of political chaos His glasses perch on his nose like a birdWatching from above. A blanket of beard and teeth crossing Like fingers wishing for luck He scrapes his chair against The wood, a shriek of disagreement. He hugs my mother and perches his chin on her head, Weary from the day of suit and tie living.

The head of the table, the leader of The pack of matches that he keeps from the restaurantSaving for another day.

Conversations float and tangle Wrapping around the chandelier like snakes. The nightly routine, running. He ticks like a clock Rushing to get to the next number. He takes off his glasses and puts them to rest. ff his glasses and puts them to rest. ff Time to start all over again.

Amy Englund 2017ceramic relief and acrylic paint

33osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Jennifer Peters 2014charcoal

This was it. It was finally over. All the struggle was coming to an end. It seemed like I had been running for days. My friend John passed me seemingly hours ago saying, “Pick up the pace, Benny Boy!” This 5K was no problem for him because he had been running for years. I, however, had not. I also was not particularly fit. I was pretty obese. Like large and in charge Fat Albert size. Needless to say running was not my thing, but I wanted to start changing things and losing weight so there you go.

None of that mattered then. I could see the bright white finish line and I could not wait to go home and collapse. Feeling each step against the hard cement, sweat rolling down my chubby chipmunk-like cheeks, I could see victory lying just beyond this tree lined street. As I approached the finish line, stepping on squishy paper cups as I went, I felt so proud. Then it happened. Like cars moving fast on the road; it was all a blur. I stepped into one of the holes on the path and immediately heard a loud snap. I fell to the ground a few feet from the finish and cried out in agony. The hot pangs of injury were filling my body as people approached dressed in white and decorated with red crosses. The sounds of Johnny and the other runners screaming began to fade as I fell out of consciousness.

When I woke up I was in a hospital room. The white paint hurt my eyes or maybe that was the glare from the bright lights. I managed to see a blue cast on my right leg. I blinked a few times so I could see the whole room and there I saw John sleeping in a chair. He must have been worried. I thought about what a great friend he was trying to get me in shape and trying new things. Even though his presence was comforting all I could think about was that everything was wasted. After all that work I couldn’t finish. I will never finish.

FinalistRockford Women’s Club Prose Competition

RunnersJames Mann 2014

34 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Noah Anderson 2014oil pastel


What Lies in the WindLamari Thompson 2017

I remember the conversation I had with the trees.I was lost and I wanted to know how it felt to be a leaf.

The leafs told me tales about how it felt to be freeBut they warned me about what a trickster the wind could be.They told me that if I was not careful that I would surely see,that I too could be blown away by the breeze.

I had a conversation with the wind,I kept the warning of the leafs in mind.The wind told me he lived a fast life,So I would need stability if I wanted to survive.

I took a chance and I went with the windAnd I found a new me,I found the true me,I found myself, deep within.

Alyssa Noonen 2015ink and collage with gel pen

35osaic osaic MM

MM

MMMMM

MM MMM

M

MMMMMMM

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

MMMMMMM

Megan Peterson 2016graphite pencil


It Never EndsSamantha D. Chung 2016

Shiro Shiro ShiroWhite White WhiteAll I see is whiteThe walls are that horrid colorWhat happens when I close my eyes?

Kuro Kuro KuroBlack Black BlackAll I see is blackThe space around me is that colorWhat do I see when I open my eyes?

Aka Aka AkaRed Red RedRed leaks from my bodyBlooming like roses What happened to me?

Sinking Sinking SinkingDown Down DownMy breath leaves my pale lipsMy head feels lightWhere am I?

Clank Clank ClankPain Pain PainWeights carry me downAn eternal dropWhy can’t I flee?

Mock Mock MockTrap Trap TrapThey laugh at meA broken bodyWhy are they not helping?

Fear Fear FearDeath Death DeathA cycle I will never leaveA cruel life Why me?

36 osaic MM

M M

MMMMMMMMM

MM

MMM MMM M

MMMM

MMM

MMM

MMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM

MMM MMMM

Janey Knuth 2015colored pencil

Ten years old with war paint on your face bright red feathers in your headdress, You held a toy gun, a boy and arrow.In my hand—a sharp stone together, brother and sister orIndian chief and his princess, hand in handWe found them in the backyard on rocks by the lakeSlithering from their watery home, stretched out and baking in the July sun,four feet of gray scales We shot them one by one.We gripped them by the necks and took them to the flamesYou tied knots with their flesh, laid them at bonfire stakes.Strapped to sticks and peeling, our captives dead.With a flume of smoke, they were raptured resurrected.We sang chants and danced in circles and when we walked barefootinto the lake’s edge,You said to me Now we can go swimming together every day and forever.Happy with blood on our hands,We thought the water snakes were gone.

FinalistRockford Women’s Club Poetry Competition

Water SnakesAnna Girgenti 2014

Mr. Jerry KerriganMr. Christopher RozanskiMrs. Mary GavanMrs. Lynn McConvilleFriends of the Fine Arts Booster ClubMrs. Lil MarxIdeal PrintingMr. John Schmit

Contributing Sta�

Art Department

English Department

Acknowledgements

Mrs. Elizabeth WoodyattMrs. Rebecca Pelley

Mrs. Carol DaviesMrs. Breja Fink (Designer)Mr. Tom HerrmannMr. Chris MuellerMrs. Barb OlsenMs. Jessica OlsenMrs. Nicole RonanMrs. Tricia RozanskiMrs. Karyn WilsonMrs. Penny Yurkew

mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaicA Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art A Student Anthology of Verbal and Visual Art

mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic 20 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic 14 mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic mosaic

Boylan Catholic High School 4000 St. Francis Dr. Rockford, IL 61103 www.boylan.org

a student anthology of verbal and visual art mosaic · a student anthology of verbal and visual...

Documents