Selected Works, 2019 edition
Take Your Pen and Don’t Hold Back
Collin Coy
Take your pen
And use it;
Paint a picture in people’s minds.
Show them what you’ve seen,
Show them the nights you laid in your bed and cried yourself to sleep,
Or the warm summer days spent at the beach.
There’s only one rule:
Don’t hold back.
Take your pen
And write all your experiences.
Pour out your heart
And let the memories
Flow out
Like spilling coffee on a table.
Don’t hold back.
Take your pen
And write what you feel.
Writing is simple;
People only make it complex.
Take your hopes and dreams
Loves and losses
And write about them.
Don’t hold back.
Take your pen
And write until your fingers bleed,
Until you are empty.
Just write
And remember:
Don’t hold back.
Paradise
Collin Coy
In a world full of
Snapchat
Tweet this, tweet that,
Simplicity is lost
In a world trying to be complex.
We spend so much time thinking of
What people think,
Who liked what,
And how we looked in that picture
That we forget to slow down
And just be human.
In a world obsessed with pointless things
There is one place
Where you can hide.
A place where the world can meet
But not on a screen.
A place where the world’s ideas exist infinitely.
Surrounded by pages
And a calm and serene silence,
Ideas and beliefs
Collaborate to create one enormous sanctuary.
It isn’t some boring old library.
It’s something more magical,
Like an oasis in a desert
Or the break between storms.
A place to escape this madness we call society.
It isn’t just a library
But a hidden paradise from this overwhelming world.
Endless Winter
Collin Coy
They say winter is the longest season.
The trees lose their leaves,
The ground freezes as the snow covers it,
Temperatures drop below zero,
Animals hibernate,
Even people become reclusive.
The world becomes an icy and cold setting
For a tragic story.
People get through the winter by looking towards spring.
They think of the rebirth of nature,
Of the flowers coming alive,
Of trees’ green leaves sprouting,
And of birds singing their joyous tunes
like a melody to accompany the world.
They think of the warm sunlight on their skin,
The breeze through their hair,
And the promise that beauty and joy
Will return to the world.
It fuels people’s souls,
The thought of the bright future.
Warm days
And sunny rays.
There’s only one problem.
I don’t think winter will ever end
For me.
I Dreamed of Her Last Night
Taylor Harvard
I dreamed her back to life.
I remember her presence so vividly.
I was at my dad’s house and
he was eager to show me something—
it was Brooklyn.
She was in the kitchen
aimlessly wandering around.
I called out to her,
but she did not respond.
Her skin was drooping from her face,
wrinkled and distorted.
It had a purple-haze surface,
eyes wide open,
vacant.
She limped around
and never spoke a word.
She was physically present;
However, she was not mentally, emotionally, or
spiritually with us.
No one could see it
but me.
Everyone was happy because she was “back,”
except for me.
I knew the truth.
I knew it was just a dream.
I knew this was an empty corpse
loosely portraying my sister’s physical
appearance.
I know that no dream will ever bring her back.
However,
I look forward to the day
we reunite in Heaven.
Victoria Secret Models
Taylor Harvard
Skinny, perfect women
in sexy lingerie
posing seductively.
Do you pose like that for me
or my boyfriend?
What are your real intentions?
As an average woman,
I’m confused about your message.
Am I supposed to desire
to look like you?
Am I supposed to desire
To be a size zero?
Am I supposed to feel uncomfortable
in my own skin?
In all actuality,
you make me sick to my stomach.
You set unrealistic expectations
in the heads of men.
Sorry guys,
real women have cellulite,
round hips, pimples,
and enjoy eating on a regular basis.
We don’t wear make up 24/7
or dance around with other girls
half-naked.
Thanks Dove and Lane Bryant
For keeping it real;
I appreciate it.
Chameleon
Rachel Hasty
I don’t want to say I miss you
because I’m not sure you’re the same you
I miss.
Something—everything—
has changed.
Why doesn’t your smile reach your eyes?
It used to, and then it would reach over to
top off my soul.
There’s something in the way you speak now
that doesn’t sound like home.
Your voice used to remind me of
wind blowing a fire,
somewhere between whispered songs
and raucous laughs.
But now your voice is a recording
saying whatever it can to disrupt the silence:
“Did you know…”
“Yes, I do.”
“Did I tell you about…”
Have you stopped inventing yourself
or started all over again?
Are you done jumping from one empty dream to another,
or are you drawing a new roadmap to voids unseen?
You’ve manufactured yourself so perfectly.
No factory could’ve done better.
You’ve adapted so well that I’m not sure what you are.
No chameleon could hold a candle to you.
I wish I could tell you I miss you.
I wish I could,
but you aren’t the same you you were,
and neither am I.
Child of the Day
Rachel Hasty
Hello, my beautiful one,
with lightning in your fingertips
as they pound and dash across piano keys.
Dandelion wishes in your laugh.
A mischievous glint in your left eye,
an emblem of truth in your right.
My compassionate one with
tears that fall in pace with my own
and a soul that cannot contain your joy.
When you smile the sun shines a little brighter.
Your tight embrace lifts people above their fears
and reminds me
I am strong.
My humble one
who does not see your own brilliance,
does not understand the miraculous fire of your mind,
cannot grasp the delight of your own words.
If only you knew.
Look to the moon, my beautiful one.
Know it was hung
for you.
The Lady He Loves
Rachel Roberts
Crimson curls and eyes that shine
Like lipid pools of turquoise.
Your pale pink skin glimmers in the sun’s rays
And guides me in the moonless night.
You have secrets buried as deep as diamonds
And an everlasting smile to warm my tender heart.
You come to me, here, in my little toy shop
with eyes full of wonder at all my little creations,
my dolls dressed and tailored to suit them perfectly,
but none compare to you.
As the days began to flutter away
You left me here in my loneliness;
For without you, I cannot breathe.
And in my time that you left behind
I began to create a gift only for you.
Countless days and nights I slave for you willingly,
wanting nothing more than to see your sweet and precious beauty.
To share your laughs, your dreams, and your love once more.
To you, I give my heart and soul
In this little doll I’ve made for you
With its crimson hair and turquoise eyes.
But in all the excitement of completing this for you,
I forgot to realize that there’s not one of me
To keep your doll warm and safe
As we sleep away our eternal days.
Like a Thunderstorm
Matthew Taylor
Like a thunderstorm,
I will travel
East to west.
When you hear me,
The roar of thunder,
You will know
I am coming for you.
You will see
Streaks of lightning
As I raze
Your sanctuary.
Fear me like
A rabbit fears a hawk;
I show no mercy.
Pleas won’t earn pity
From me.
In due time,
My wrath will end,
And you will see the
Wasteland I left for you
Glittering in the sun.
​
Rodent Patrol
Gilliland Hobbs
“One week ‘til Christmas, boys,” said the Captain.
An unidentified voice asked from the dugout, “When we get our orders to go ‘ome, eh?”
“Who said that?” asked the Captain.
A group of voices laughed.
“That’s enough out of you sods!”
The trenches were a place no one wanted to be. I heard everyone talking about “being home by Christmas,” but it turned out to be another lie. The old farm I used to hunt at was just a few miles back, currently occupied by Headquarters. I hadn’t been back since the generals had moved in. They didn’t like cats. I was out here doing my bit.
Private Charles walked out of the dugout and lit a cigarette. He leaned over and tapped my head, “How you feeling today, Thomas?”
I shook my head. Private Joseph followed out behind Charles lighting a cigarette. “Bloody cold, ain’t it? Bloody cold.” Joseph was a plump soldier with a tiny mustache that resembled Charlie Chaplin. His sense of humor did not.
The ice slowly melted off the barbed wire across no man’s land. It didn’t matter. It would refreeze overnight. The snowy, icy landscape was quite nice. It covered the bodies and numbed our memory of them. All one could focus on during the day was the cold and the hunger. Food was hard to come by out here for me. Charles and Joseph were greedy with their rations, and I had a large appetite. I used to hunt and eat all day long at the farm. Here, I only found the time to eat at night, but food was hard to catch out here.
“Gas! Gas! Gas!”
Joseph sprinted and in one swift motion put on his gas mask, picked me up, and carried me back into the dugout as I tried desperately to claw my way out of his gripping arms. In the back of our dugout, Joseph shoved me down his shirt. The new technologies of war had yet to create a gas mask for felines. I tried to find my way out of the sweaty uniform, not knowing in the excitement that Joseph was saving my life.
I could barely make out the muffled, “It’s okay. Alright. Calm down, little fella,” as he pet my head constantly with his cold, calloused hands.
It worked. I calmed down. All was quiet outside. Everyone was waiting for the all clear. Finally, it came.
Charles stepped in the dugout coughing as he tore off his mask. Through months of practice, he managed to save his cigarette and continue smoking underneath the mask. “Bloody can’t breathe. How’s your friend? He make it?”
Joseph pulled me out of his uniform, “That he did. Thomas is a tough one.”
Charles looked impressed. “Bloody remarkable he survived the gas. Guess the nine lives bit is true.”
Joseph set me down and I scurried outside. The men followed. We walked along the trench and came upon Private Crawley who oversaw the carrier pigeons. He had his wicker backpack off looking through to see if any survived the attack. The nearby soldiers gathered around. He pulled one out.
“Dead,” he said.
Joseph examined the pigeon. “Which one was this?”
“Ethel. See the missing leg?”
“And the rest?” someone asked.
“Dead…”
“If it wasn’t for ‘em we’d be dead right now. All dead.”
Since the backpack was on the ground, I stood up and peaked inside. If I could get my paws on one of those dead critters. In that instant, my eyes caught the faint breathing of one of the pigeons. It spotted me. Its head darted up making eye contact. Suddenly, it flew upward, but I bit its wing, stopping it from taking flight. The backpack fell over and we tumbled around inside, surrounded by bodies.
Outside, Joseph and Crawley were yelling, “Get out of there! Get him out!”
Joseph pulled me out by my neck as the pigeon’s was in mine.
I barely tasted the meat as Crawley pulled the bird from my grasp. “That bloody cat!”
Charles asked, “Which one he bag?”
Crawley welled up with tears. “Hermes. He was the fastest.”
Charles shrugged. “Well he isn’t anymore.”
The Captain heard the excitement and stormed over, “What the devil is going on?”
Crawley ratted me out. “That damned cat killed our last bird, sir.”
The Captain turned to the runner next to him. “Go wire headquarters to send us some new ones. And inform them that we were downwind of their attack. No casualties except the birds.”
Later that night, I scanned the floors of our dugout waiting for the rats. They hadn’t been showing themselves in our dugout the past few days. My hunger was growing. It was as if the rats had learned their lesson about coming in here. Joseph was lying still trying to muster the words needed to write to his mother. Charles and the new recruits were playing cards on Charles’s bed. Sergeant Williams stumbled in from the cold.
“Men,” he said, “you’ve got orders. Wiring party tonight.”
“You’re having a laugh,” said Joseph.
Charles threw down his cards, “Will, we were on the last one and the one before. Let us have our bleeding sleep tonight!”
“Orders, chaps,” said Williams leaving.
Charles sat back down and picked up his cards. “Whose turn was it?”
One of the recruits chimed in, “Not yours. You folded.”
Charles knocked the recruit on the temple. “I’ll fold you, recruit.”
Soon, Charles, Joseph, and the two recruits got their gear. On the way out the door I greeted them goodbye. Joseph scratched my head. Then the first recruit bent down to do the same, but I scurried back. I wasn’t too sure of the recruits. Not just these two, but all of them. They never stayed long. I could never grow as attached to them like I was with Joseph and Charles on some days. . . Charles peeked back in after everyone left.
He rubbed the back of my head. “Need one of your nine tonight.”
Nighttime was when the real fun began around here, but with no food showing up for an hour, I decided to head outside the trench and through the thicket of wire. Here, the trench lit up bright at night. You could see the occasional shadow of the wiring parties, both sides, but more importantly the rats ran everywhere. Even through the cold, the bodies were too much of a treat for them. The thought of all that prey waiting for me got me off my tail and I ran leaping up the trench wall and over into no man’s land.
The snow crunched under my paws. I rubbed up against a post and shook the snow off my fur. Passing under the first row of barbed wire, the flare light reflected off the icicles. The frozen body of a soldier clung to it, tangled up. He was unrecognizable. Up ahead, the flares lit up the entirety of no man’s land. The flares messed up one’s vision out there. One could never grow accustomed to the dark. The reliability on the flares for light was a disadvantage in the hunt.
I scanned the horizon up to the second row of barb wire. No rats. The darkness returned after the last flare died off. I hopped up on a large post for a better view. The barb wire surrounded me. Up ahead, movement. Couldn’t be rats, but whatever it was, was crawling on its belly. A row of big somethings crawling in a line. I prowled my way up through the row of wire. The sudden sound of voices next to me refocused my attention. I cocked my head around and saw the spiked helmets and the hushed voices of the Germans. With a new flare shooting up, they halted their movement. A couple had inched there way into a large shell hole. I slowly made my way to them to spy.
They crawled like rats into the hole. Here they whispered to each other. One peered up out of the hole toward the British trench. I stood atop the other side. One shaken soldier, probably a recruit, turned and saw me. He gasped and held up his rifle. I hissed. The one leading them put his hand on the rifle and whispered, “Katze, katze.”
The German lowered his rifle and went back to his mission. I went away with mine. . . the rats. A flare went up shining on a snow-covered arm stuck up out of the snow. The fingers reached skyward. Suddenly, a rat scurried up the arm and toward the fingers. I lowered my back and raised my shoulders getting as close to the ground as I could. I slithered my way, meter by meter keeping my eyes on the juicy rodent. Meanwhile, the rat had its back to me gnawing on the poor bugger’s pointer finger. It picked at the icy nail as I inched closer. About a foot away now, the rat’s hair raised on its back. He sensed something. Its head turned back to me and he froze. I took one more step and in one motion it dropped the finger and ran in the opposite direction.
The great game was on! I followed my prey through the snow as it darted in and out of the webs of barb wire. My fur caught some unfrozen wire and became stuck for a second. That was all the rat needed to get ahead. My fur tore, clinging to the wire. In that instant of pain, I lost sight of my meal. A German flare lit up the sky and the ground. The rat was running full speed across no man’s land. It ran into another row of wire. I followed as quick as I could locking onto it. Around me I began to hear voices.
“My fingers are numb.”
“You want those krauts to hear us? Now shut your bloody mouth.”
The voices came from Charles and one of the recruits. I had discovered my comrades’ wiring party.
“Jesus! There’s a bleeding rat in here!” shouted a recruit.
Joseph took the butt of the rifle and hit the recruit with it. “You wanna get us killed?”
I jumped in the wire where the recruit was. I pounced on the rat catching its tail in my claws. Unluckily, I bit the air as the rat ran away. I followed still. It ran out of the wire and further on. I gained speed only inches away from it. Finally, an inch away from it, I pounced again. I leaped over the rat and clutched its hind legs. My claws tore into its sides. The blood began to pour. We rolled over to a stop and lay on my back pawing the rat. I bit its neck as it stopped squirming. It wasn’t dead yet, but in shock. Above us was the cold steel of the German machine gun sticking out of a trench.
I licked the rat’s head and juggled it in my paws. Next to my head, I could hear the Germans start talking louder and louder. They sounded panicked.
“Feuer auf mein kommando…”
Why they would be panicked about a Tommy cat playing with its rat I don’t know.
“Feuer frei!”
The machine gun sounded off. I leapt up to my feet next to it and ran back several feet. More machine guns in the line began to fire as well. A sniper stuck his rifle up trying to find a target. I jumped into the trench carrying my rat by its throat. Men ran around the machine guns glancing up over the trench to see the action. I carried the rat into a dugout to avoid getting stomped. The shooting lasted for ten minutes. Once it was over a couple Germans walked into the dugout and spotted me. They crept up on me. I dropped the rat. One fixed the bayonet on his rifle and impaled my supper. He picked it up, looked at it, said something to the other, and threw the rat outside. They both lay in their beds. I sat still, angry that they stole my only food. I licked my paws to get the last taste of the rat.
One of the Germans dropped a piece of bread for me to eat. I didn’t eat it. I planned on catching another rat. I slid under the bed and waited. It wasn’t long. Three rats came in and spotted the bread. All three came over and began picking at it. I could take only one on scaring the others, possibly chasing them down. The rats never fought back. I could try and corner them if I attacked the one closest to the door, but that one was also farther away…
I jumped out from under the bed and attacked the one closest. In an instant I tore at its throat. One took off running toward the door. The other wasn’t so lucky. It turned out that the German wasn’t in bed asleep, but also planning his own surprise attack. He stabbed his bayonet at the ground, grazing the rat. It ran off to a corner, a dumb mistake. I left my rat bleeding out and dove on the cornered one. It was dead instantaneously. I pawed at it for a minute, then checked on the other I left. As I checked, the German picked me up by my neck and set me down on his chest. He pet me over and over until he fell asleep. It had been a long and hard-fought night. I jumped off his chest and onto my big meal. I ate and ate and fell asleep under the bed.
The morning I awoke on the floor to the sound of artillery. The dugout was full of Jerrys. Dirt and dust fell on the ground as we were rocked by shells. No one spoke a word until it was over. Then the real fighting began. I stayed in the dugout as everyone ran out manning their guns. The machine gunners stopped firing in bursts but let loose on the enemy. Peering outside I could see the machine gun nest in front of me stop firing. The gun must’ve overheated. Jerrys were racing around until one came back with a bucket of half melted ice pouring it over the gun. They yelled at each other until one was shot in the face. The other looked up to see a British soldier storming the trench. He jumped in and onto the German trooper with his fixed bayonet. He stabbed the soldier several times. Gunfire became less frequent as more Englishmen jumped in overtaking the enemy. One Brit rushed in the dugout looking for more enemies.
“All clear!” he said.
He left and the fighting continued for some time. I followed him out. The fighting was over in our area. Down the line some voices were crying out in German, prisoners.
Someone shouted in the distance, “They’re retreating!”
The men applauded and shouted even though many were wounded. Their blood filled the trench. In the distance I saw Charles lighting up a cigarette. I ran toward him and rubbed against his leg.
“’ello there!” he cried.
He picked me up and kissed me from the side of his mouth. It was like he saw an old friend. We then walked over to where most of the soldiers gathered.
The Sergeant was issuing new orders. “We sent word to Headquarters about our victory. They’re very proud.”
“Thanks, mum,” laughed one of the soldiers.
“And we are to clean this place up immediately. The General is coming to visit while the chaps prepare a new headquarters.”
The men groaned and walked away gathering up the enemy remains and searching for souvenirs. Charles never put me down. One of the soldiers joked,
“What if we put on the Jerry’s uniforms? What would the General say to that?”
“He’d surrender!” said another.
Hours passed. The men did little to clean the trench. It was a wreck and would remain a wreck. The generals didn’t understand. I looked around wondering where Joseph was. He always stayed close to Charles. I never could find him. Soon, the soldiers lined up. Charles tucked me in his shirt with my head stuck out. Everyone stood at attention. The General inspected every man. There wasn’t many left after the big push from the morning.
The General stopped at Charles and stared at me, “And who is this little fella?”
“Thomas, sir.”
“May I pet him?”
“Yes, sir.”
The General patted me on the head. “Thomas, Thomas. Why does that sound familiar?”
The Captain stood behind the General. “That is the feline, sir, that killed our pigeons the other day.”
“Ah, the one that ate Hermes?” he asked.
Charles interrupted, “Well, sir, the birds were poisoned from our –”
“That’s enough, private,” said the Captain.
The General wiped my fur off his gloved hands. “Seize that cat.”
Charles cried out as the Captain and another officer grabbed me, “Why? What the devil is this?”
The General glared, “That feline is wanted for treason.”
“Treason?”
“Yes, for the death of our finest pigeon. If it hadn’t been for that bird carrying orders for us to ceasefire, we would’ve lost countless more lives at Wipers. It was up for some of the highest military honors. Who knows how many other lives he could’ve saved until your cat murdered it. Traitor.”
Charles couldn’t speak. I meowed unsure of what was going on. The Captain held me now and looked at the General, “What shall I do with him, sir?”
The General marched on. “Shoot it.”
The Captain looked uneasy. “But, sir, I don’t think that would be great for morale.”
The General turned around and scowled, “Then have it shot by firing squad with the rest of the prisoners. Don’t question my orders again.”
The Captain nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I was carried off and handed over to a runner and then taken over to where the German prisoners were being held. One of the prisoners was the same one who helped in my attack on the rats the night before. He took me in his arms as each prisoner was ordered to stand up in a line.
People Watching
Noah Hutchins
​
As I sit with my laptop 70 percent charged and my mild roast, light cream coffee that tastes more burnt than usual, I listen to the lives of those around me in this cozy coffee shop on the right side of Main Street.
“Okay, so I think this is what will work best for . . . ”,
“Hey Angie, just calling to let you know I’m . . . ”
“This essay killed me, I’m deceased, goodbye, hello baby Jesus, take me home.”
Who are they? What are they going through in their lives? Do they notice me? Does anyone ever just take a second to feel the energy of the room they’re in? Can someone even do that? The questions are endless.
People watching is such a bizarre pastime. Every day, we walk down a street or enter a building and we see all these different faces. There is a slightly chubby blonde A middle aged woman is telling a dull story about her child’s play where he starred as Party Guest #3. Her chubby blonde friend has a smile to show interest, but her glazed glare says otherwise. By the counter a man in his mid 30s is third in line. He appears to be trying too hard to hold onto his youth by wearing skin tight red jeans, a white shirt a size too small, a busy patterned cardigan, and a pair of brand new Chuck Taylor’s, scarcely worn. I wonder what relation his has to the teenage blonde male beside him.
For no particular reason, a male strikes my eyes and I can’t help but stare. He wears a heavy black wool coat, no doubt to brace for the chilly veil that waits outside to encompass us as we leave. There is nothing of particular interest about him. His hair kisses the nape of his neck and chin and appears as if the he is growing it out, for he fiddles with it. He puts it in a bun one minute and out of it the next, trying to find what style looks best at its current awkward length. His shoes are a nice chocolate brown with a few scuffs. He probably likes to dress up daily, and he holds a book on his hands that he has yet to start since the bookmark is wedged between the cover and page one. He waits for his coffee by lingering a few feet away from the counter but isn’t conversing with anyone.
After a few moments go by, he takes out his phone to occupy his hands and give himself something to do. The poor boy is probably coming in alone because a friend or family member couldn’t make it, but it was too late to cancel his plans. He surveys the room as if to see if he knows anyone or if his friend decided they could make it after all.
“Mocha latte to go!”
That must be his order, for he picks it up in a hurry, and quickly walks towards the front door to leave. Before he does, our gazes meet momentarily and my thoughts freeze, for I feel I may have made the boy uncomfortable. I don’t know if he has realized I’ve been observing him like a bird watcher.
In that moment, we share a connection that is impossible to describe. Neither of us feel awkward by staring at a stranger, but we don’t feel a need to say hello either. No, it’s more of a nonverbal way of saying hello and acknowledging they exist.
Suddenly, there is the clink of the bells being hit by the door as the boy exits, and falls to oblivion for as far as I will ever know. Without thought, I take a sip and the burnt beans transport me back to reality. Yes, I was watching a podcast which I had completely forgotten about and haven’t absorbed a single word. I rewind to what I believe to be about right and hit play.