Page 6 - HEF Pen & Ink 2023
P. 6

The Issue With Counting Crows
By Lynsey Read
It’s entirely nonsense
The discography of such a rock band
Inspires a strictly banal sense
Popularity and lack of ingenuity doomed to go hand in hand?
Band name from a nursery rhyme
Gives the impression of a contemplative bunch
To “Big Yellow Taxi”, they should have paid the same time Meaning squashed under a modern heel with a crunch
An environmental anthem, that ballad once was
A beautiful, thoughtful assertion
Doomed now to be remembered only as people losing loves
A complete bastardization, this Crow’s version
True meaning, we’ve allowed ourselves to forget
I’m so sorry Joni Mitchell, really
I only hope that no more covers this cover will beget And that we’ll sing along to your song rather than to a song sang silly
By Izaak Ramirez
Life In Motion
By Teddy Harman
She told me after the divorce that she would be healthier and would take care of herself. I never thought this would mean taking her life. As I walked in through the paint- cracked door, a red-crimson color that we painted the day we moved in, a wave of nostalgia rushed past me. I sud- denly remembered our wedding day and the life that we spent together. I could remember her bright smiling face and how she opened the curtains every morning to get the right amount of vitamin D.
Now as I look around at the dreary room, gloom draped over like a blanket suffocating the happiness like a vacu- um. I see empty dog bowls still there, a coat of dust laying thick from months of no use. I sometimes regret taking the dogs in the divorce, but I know now that it was the right thing. I turn to see the empty entertainment center lay on its side, the victim of a nasty fight. I remember that fight, it was when we finalized the decision to end our “eternal vows” as she would’ve said. She threw the papers that I handed her, tears streaming as she destroyed the room along with our marriage. It seems so lonely without the quiet humming of the television.
But I guess everything was lonely here. I look over to the table, dripping wine bottles lay unattended, glazed with the stickiness of leftover merlot. I sit down on the crumb-rid- den sofa beaten and torn, a wedding gift from over ten years ago. It was a bright cheery yellow when we got it. Now it is a dreary muddy brown riddled with stains and lies. I stare at the apartment that was once a source of joy and light and think, “What happened?” I get up and head to the bedroom mind spinning with memories, I pick out her favorite dress, one that she always wore and set it aside.
I sat on the bed one last time and I cried. I cried for what seems ages because now she’s gone, with a part of my soul gone with her.
  By Shelley Olsen

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