MontageThe Literary Magazine of Quinnipiac College; Spring,, 1994

Montage Staff

Editor-In-Chief .......................................... Jeff Abrahamson

Managing Editor .............................................. Dina Kaplan

Secretary ................................................ Margaret Hoffman

Treasurer ..................................................... Sherry Kardos

Editing Staff .................................................. James Bosco

............................................... Karen Dionne

.............................................. Daniel O'Brien

......................................... Todd J. Palladino

...................................... Rebecca Robinson

............................................ William Seigrist

........................................ Theresa Southern

Cover Design ................................................... Scott Baker

You are now holding the first issue of the newly revisedM n_Mg._n.laÿ, the literary magazine of Quinnipiac College.

I must point out that this is wholly a student effort: theyinitiated the revival, they collected the manuscripts, and

they carried the issue through to publication. I not only

did none of the work; I barely advised. I encouraged

them, then stood aside and watched their efforts take shape.

Jeff Abrahamson, with his able and devoted crew

deserve the thanks of the entire college community, as they

have succeeded in bringing the creativity of our students

before the public. I sincerely hope you enjoy the issue.

Table of Contents

- Mark Johnston, Faculty Advisor

What you are holding is more than a magazine - it is the end

result of three semesters of planning and work, put together

by other students like yourselves. The Montage staff has many

people to thank for giving so freely of their time and support

including but not limited to:

Lynn Dorsey in A.V. for her assistance with typesetting,

Rich Hanley, Ray Foery, & Bruce Carpenter for the use of

the Journalism Room's typesetting computers, Dr. Johnston

for letting us "take the ball and run with it," Paul Wolansky

for all his wisdom, and Frank & QCARS for the use of their

meeting room during a very hectic 12 semester.

Finally, we would like to thank the students of Q.C., who

submitted over 65 works, making it painfully difficult to edit.

Again, a great deal of work went onto the revival of the

M n._.M.Q.n_!i!ÿ, both by the magazine staff, and by the contributing

students. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

pageDedication .............................................................................. 4

Fruit ......................................... Karen Dionne ......................... 5

Depression .............................. Daniel O'Brien .................. : ..... 6

The Flock ................................. Daniel O'Brien ....................... 6

A New Beginning ..................... Todd J. Palladino .................. 7

Un NouveauCommencement ................ Todd J. Palladino ................. 7

Artwork ..................................... Michelle Sinofsky ................. 8

The Reality of Peter Pan .......... Elizabeth Irene Daniels ........ 9

Aria for the Sinful, or,Hawthorne's Song ........... Mark John Isola .................... 10

Sonnet Xlll,The Cliffs Within ............... Mark John Isola .................... 10

Untitled .................................. Michelle Ren6e Christie ........ 11

11 B.C ................................... Teresa Weiss ....................... 12

The Ring ................................ Karen Dionne ....................... 13

The Natural World .................. Kate M. Sanders .................. 14

The Elephant ......................... Karen Dionne ........................ 15

Artwork .................................. Amy A. Eppinger .................... 16"To Aphrodite". ....................... Dan O'Brien ........................... 17

Grey ...................................... James F. Dinn ........................ 17

Falling ................................... Jeff Abrahamson .................... 18

Understanding Death ........... Elizabeth Irene Daniels ........... 19

Artwork ................................. Amy A. Eppinger ..................... 20

Birthdays .............................. Rebecca Arias ........................ 21

Artwork ................................ Amy A. Eppinger ..................... 22

Quote .................................. Todd J. Palladino ..................... 22

Untitled ................................ Gerald Sullivan ........................ 23

What matters ........................ Kate M. Sanders .................... 23

Matchbook ............................ SID ........................................ 24

Sonnet XI,A Pillow of Fine Lace ........ Mark John Isola ..................... 25

Ebb N' Flow .......................... Sandra Lombardo .................. 26

Farewell to Friends ............... Sandra Lombardo .................. 27

impressing god ..................... Gabriel Savario ...................... 28

-Jeff Abrahamson, Editor-In-Chief

! onor memorp of

Cbms BeckenFruit

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The bnusbsTnokes oF

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pnolo eveny pone

To inundate

The eye.

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buommTy.

0 DetlbenaTe LIF_e!

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oF kindness, buwon, an3 znrellecr

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youn Tbum)enous voice

be woidÿ sTIH neven

know Tbe rnue you.Benemb The canvas

hÿy a ÿan oraJyTbzc srarune in The ,,nonÿ aÿeA moÿe[ - wone so Tban Ac)aw.

Black crows in the mistFlitting through the orchardsBitter November morningThrow frost overthe applesThe fruit, no longer productive,Carried by the birdTrying to feed the youngDesperate to keep the blood warmDesperate to beat the leftover night

Weeping willowsSet in front of the starsChattering batsOutside the car windowThe fruit, stapled by lost lustCarried by the loverTrying to create youthTrying to beat time

IOnÿs neven swoÿ so pnouL

Momaqe 8Tal:F.-ÿeoÿlkÿ

"So we saun.en wvcand .be Holy Land, TiLL one day .be sunshall shne oÿone bnzqbTLy Than even be has &he, shallpencbance shine into oun oJznds and bean, s, and hqbr upoun whole byes vctvb a qnea, awakenznq hqbr, as wanoJand senene and qd&n as on a banksl& m auruoJn."

l-lenny Danb Tboneau, "WaUnnq"

Half naked treesAutumn leavesScattered on the groundThe fruit, the last sweet colorTrying to make the warmth lastTrying to beat winter

Ice branchesRungs on a ladderA small boy reaches the topTrying not to slip,Enjoying the snow and his afternoonNot caring about the fruitToo young to touch on desperationToo young to understand lustToo young to dieToo young, too close to the fruit

Karen Dionne

DepressionBridges of the mindIntertwining thoughtsBreaking of the lineand goals I've overshot

A New Beginning

Reestablish justiceIn turbulence and sinCrumbling precipiceof fury dwells within

Cancer of the soulLeprosy of brainDividing up the wholeDeteriorate remains

Ghastly stench of rotSin, disease and DeathPain that courses throughRancid final breath

As I walk along the beach,My mind drifts with the endless waves,The ocean air refreshes my inner soul,The sand holds my insecure body like the arms of a mother,The towering trees protect my fragile feelings,The water washes away all my fears,The moments of my life reflect in the clouds in the distance,The horizon enlightens my disappearing ambitions,The open sky stimulates my imagination,The constant view promises me a future,My life like the tide forever changing,My mind forever searching.

Thinking they were being ledThe herd continued on aheadHis protection keeping them from worry

But when no help from Shepherd cameThey kept believing just the sameThinking His help to be beyond their view

And all this time they prayed and workedViolent thoughts and evil lurkedThe Shepherd's blank check taken as free will

And though some wandered; casting doubtThey believed in Shepherd's cloutAnd roamed ahead as they're doing still

If this you read and don't believeDon't let faith your mind deceivePlug your ears and find the truth yourself

Don't be taken all your yearsBy someone else's hopes and fears

Your fate is locked by you and no one else.

Daniel O'Brien

Believing that the Shepherd caredThey filled their days with peace and prayerBlaming scapegoats for things that went askew

The FlockThe Shepherd led His sheep astrayNever telling them the wayAnd turned a deaf ear to their cries for mercy

Un Nouveau Commencement

Comme je fait "a pied le long de la plage,Mon espirit dÿrive avec lesv vagues sans fin,L'air ocean rafraichit mon ame intÿrieurr,Le sable tient mon corps peu sur comme les bras tendres

d'une m6re,

Les arbres imposants prot6gent mes sensations fragile,L'eau emporte tous mes peurs,Les meilleurs moments de ma vie r6fl6chissent au nuage

"a la distance,

L'horizon 6claire mes ambitions qui disparaissent,Le ciel ouvert stimule mon imagination,La vue constant me promet une future,Ma vie comme la mar6e est pour toujours changeant,

Mon espirit est pour toujours p6n6trant.

Todd J. Palladino

The Reality of Peter Pan

Here we stand,peering out upon the worldwith bright eyes.

Unaware that once the clouds lift,the truth of what life beholdswill be revealed.

We are only ignorant children,yet to feel the wrath of the world,sheltered by our hopes for successand dreams of Neverneverland.

;;- . , .+ - .+] ........ .ÿ,<,

One day we will awake to see reality though

•.. if only we could live forever in our dreams...

' Elizabeth Irene Daniels

Aria for the Sinful, or, Hawthorne's Song

Daring elements of finer delightsBewitch the air like a wiry spriteHaphazardly weaving a golden threadThrough seams of night filled with scarlet dread.Unto the darkness there breaks a screamAs beggars and harlots let loose their dreams.Toward the scaffold all do crawl,Toward the monument with chiseled scrawl.Ascend the steps with burning breastAnd look to those with power to redress.From the scaffold's edge all is seen:The moment lost, the flowing stream.

Come, drink a cup of Hester's tutelage

And cast your lot with Hibbin's prerogative.

As the rain gently kisses the groundI think of you.And the breeze doth tickle the leaves,So my heart when I am with you.The grass blade stands tall and strong,Though wind does bend-so I for you.Stars light the sky as so the twinkleIn mine eye.All the endless hopes of our love run my mind through.Water caressing the sandy shore,Your flesh like a flood surroundingEvery inch know I so well.

Oh moon white and brightAs your smile the darkest nights does light.To touch you in a dream;Soft puffy clouds we walk,Cotton so soft, gentle, white.So kind and loving are you and I.

Mark John Isola

Sonnet Xlll, The Cliffs Within

Mark John Isola

At night, when you lay your weary head downOn a pillow that yields to your reposeAs the veils of your black curtain unfold,Revealing the chasm that is your own,Two mammoth cliffs form the essence of you:The first defines all that you have achieved,The second defines all that you could be.And as the true you wafts between the twoAm I there bound by dreams and trapped insideOn a shrine beautiful and glorified?Am I a glimmer within your mind's dreams?Do you see me kissed by your love's stream?Between two cliffs you unconsciously glide;Am I the compulsion that guides your ride?

A fire growing, passions flameDoes know us by our very name.Rushing waters, words so loudShouting laughter all around,To the point where it must fallAnd meet a gentle brook, to flow.

Extending miles fields of colors,Rolling hills and flowering meadows.Peace but our breath can only hear,Or gentle whispers in thine ear.

O Love! O Love!Needing as breathing the very air,To thee let nothing compare.Though thunder roll and cold wind blow,Mountains mighty does you and I hold.Valley does shelter hearts,Fragile as a rose can bloom beautiful,Let free as a falcon, swift as a cheetah,Never, never, ever to stop.

So our love For always share,And sing our song hand in hand.Though many wonders of the worldNone such as the love we do hold.

Michelle Rende Christie

11 B.C.

Life

The ultimate journey.

A guaranteed round-trip ticket to hell and back.

After that God only knows.

How ironic it all seems.

The Ring

We live for practically nothing.

No benefit to mankind, only destruction of it.

Billowy stoneWrapped in the nightCushioned in the dayLeading to the unknownBright stars or black holes

Living for violence is the only key it seems,

Would we really go back if we had the chance?

Would we go if we knew all that

we will when Death comes

knocking on our door?

Teresa Weiss

For what else is recorded more often

in the history books of our youth.

It all makes one stop and think...

Feathery kissesA rush of passion and temptationA fall into busy insectsA flight on butterfly wings

Rough skinHovers over the smoothWaiting, then delvingAn uncertain acquiescenceI become a cloudI am full of fog

A circus clown,You becomeTo mock orTo create a smileI can only sit in the standsAnd wait for the next trick

Karen Dionne

The Elephant

The Natural World

Angelic hauntingsOnyx pawsDisasters calling rhymed riddlesTHE NATURAL WORLD

Once magnificent and boldNow a slayed heap of gray foldsSacrificed for the only elegance God bestowedLeft to rot in the heat, feed for the crows

Protected hideawaysIvory petalsWinged Voices soothing the soulTHE NATURAL WORLD

Irreversible blameDoomed mindsThe incredulity should have been believed inFOSSILIZED REMAINS

Dusty pagesLost insigniasLeft to marvel overIN SOMEONE ELSE'S NATURAL WORLD

Kate M. Sanders

Barred placesMeaningless giftsNatives evolve into intrudersHOME IS GONE

Paved labyrinthsStained terrainEnigmas to cure the spiritDESTROY THE NATURAL WORLD

In the African mistSurvival is your animal cause and your mortal wishYet growing wise only to tumble to dustPerishing for a hunter's superficial lust

Like the American's treatment of the noble feathermanThey rip your white divinity as if it were the landExcept you execute no defense or even mumble protestYou touch ground slow and heavy, like a comfortable rest

Once so plentiful and commonNow a rarity who is unjustly almost doneTaken from the blues and greens for selfish greedLeft as memories in our eyes, feed for a child's dream

In the history's pageYour legacy may survive the dark killer's rageYet soon age will decay the mighty bonesAnd the hunter will still pull in air on the cushions of his home

Like prejudice, no one will halt ignorance untamedWe take dignity of simple humanity that should apply to the

beasts just the sameExcept we continue this war of false triumph and beautiful

achievement

The flesh bodies slash their own flesh in another form:THE ELEPHANT

Karen Dionne

"To Aphrodite"

To she that like the stars does shineperfect in body, soul, and mindFairest of Olympus and of earthone challenges your flawless birth.One has matched your dazzling graceas she compares with your fair face.One - the finest jewels adornher complete and mortal form -praised by Nature when she smilesand captures hearts with wit and wiles.She, an image of thy own,devised of mortal flesh and bone,who my devotions earns as thee,but who can understand/love me.And jealous should thou be abovefor she may not be god of Love,but her immortal spirit shinesas our two hearts intertwine.

Dan O'Brien

GreyGrey, grey, grey,

from the sky on a winter day,from the lobes of a brain,

from the cement between cobblestones,from the exhaust left on snow,from the hair of an old man,

from the leaden mullions of stained glass,from the wool of dirty sheep,

from the color of a dying man's skin,from the iron of the railroad tracks,from the lenses of aviator shades,

and from the ashes left after cremation.

James F. Dinn

Understanding death

Falling

"Why me? Why me?"the child cried ashe knelt on his mother's grave.

I'm falling. Falling down an endless hole,Yet unafraid. The clock awakens me,And I wonder, while the clock chimes its toll,What it means. The bottom, I cannot see,And a strange excitement fills my troubledMind. So I fall back into my slumber,Curious and unwary, past crumpledDefenses with debris strewn asunder,Shattered remains of my heart's barricade.Then I realize, (too late), that my fall's nameIs Love. Memories come,,and my dreams fade,As I fall into Life's frustrating game,Down deep into some emotional well,And forgotten the girl for whom I fell.

He pummeled the ground 'til hislittle body grew weary.

Now the only movement left in himwas the heaving of his tiny chestas he bathed her grave in his tears.

Jeff Abrahamson

"Why her? Why her?"the man questioned,lifting his head toward the heavens.

He knelt, as always, at the footof her grave.

Death had not taken from him,but given to herfree of suffering

free of painfree of the world was she now.

God granted her death,so that she may live on forever.

Elizabeth Irene Daniels

"Birthdays"

There's a picture in my mind ofA happy Birthday. I pictureda little girl laughing, surroundedby balloons... Swirls bright incolor from the ceiling. Her eyesfilled with dreams as she revealsherself in the sound of her laughter.As she blows out the candlesin hopes of her wish coming trueHer birthday wish is her strongestdesire. Puts all faith from herheart, believing it will cometrue... She waits...

Rebecca Arias

In a low placefarther down thanthe homes of wormsor even thanthe leaden realm of Vulcanlies my love for youwhere it shall remainwarm and embracedby Great Mother Earthwhere it is safefrom the cold exposureof Great Father Timeand the unwelcomecaress of a stranger's handsforever guarded by

a stone head and a memory.

Gerald Sullivan

What Matters

Waves come and go like chapters of our life thatwe will read and put away forever.

Todd J. Palladino

Smooth grace ripples on thee broken crystalFresh swans with bright beaksFill my worldUnderneath their elegance,Pushed by webs of motionMy image residesPond scum with slimy surfaces

Artwork by: Amy A. Eppinger

In the corner,Clear crystal revealsA dead beautyWithout the scum to keep it afloatIts color does not matterIts feathers negligentStill the scum is notRecognized or appreciatedThe swanOnly liesDeadAnd it is sad, really sad

Kate M. Sanders

MatchbookSonnet XI, A Pillow of Fine Lace

Just imagine.One simply movement,possible destruction, painDon't hold it too close,you might feel a sharp stinging.Pyro, you can't breath.Mania, you can stare for hours.Consumption of your mind.Obsession.What makes it fascinating?Power.

The scent enters your soul.It gives warmth.It's all a matter of concentration.Determination.How long can you hold on?All this excitement.To get burned.

I build you a temple with every breath.I shore up it's sides with a million prayersAnd free its stresses with drops from LetheAnd with each utterance, I fashion stairs.Your brilliant blue eyes serve as a beaconThat beckons me to a shrine of bugbear.I mount the alter as my knees weakenAnd anoint my fears with your fallen tears.You are my grace, my Father Confessor;You dole my fate, my Act of Submission,To an angry heart that knows no measureBut seeks to escape deception.I bequeath my faith as part of your gaitAnd lay down a pillow made of fine lace.

Mark John Isola

SID

Ebb 'N FlowFarewell to Friends

An incoming wave breaking on eternal sandCarrying new creations of all kindsStones and pebbles and particularly shellsOf infinite and unimaginable quantitiesAll different in shape and sizeShells already on the beachNew ones arriving with every pounding waveRemaining as that wave ebbs away foreverThe persistent beating sunWarming the old shellsNew wet ones fitting in betweenNiches of the oldAll mixing and minglingUntil the sand has becomeOne beach againThe old shells, disappearingBeing buried under the new onesCrumbling, or washing out to seaBy the ebbing tide and summer stormsThe new ones, looking outWatching the disappearing relicsAlready making their own groups and clustersOpening new niches for incoming wavesCarrying new creations of all kindsStones and pebbles and particularly shellsOf infinite and unimaginable quantitiesAll different in shape and size

We were a new waveBreaking on Eternal sand.Pebbles and stones ofDifferent shapes and size

The old stones wereRough and rocky and unwelcoming.But soon the old and the newBegan to mix and mingle,With the little pebbles fitting intoNiches in between the old.We became part of one beach.

Sandra Lombardo

Editor's note:

These are two versions of the same poem.The editing staff was unable to choose which onewe liked better, so we left it up to you, the reader, to decide...

Then a storm came,Not harsh and not demanding,One of natural occurrence,Sweeping the old stonesAway out to sea.

Looking on in the aftermath,Remembering yet makingTheir own new clusters,Opening new niches forIncoming waves carryingPebbles and stones ofDifferent shapes and sizes.

Sandra Lombardo

impressing god

The curtain opened.The audience frozen in their seats,

their gaze fixed on center stage.Never in their wildest dreams did

they think this would be the outcome.

The lights brightened.There he stood,

the actor upon his alter.Naked; stripped of his costume.To all he revealed his true self.From then on there was no turning back.

The audience exited.He had created a new self.Nurtured it from the beginning

with lies and empty promises.He had set out to please god,

but was deceived by its selfish ego.It preyed upon his naivete,

sucking him dry until theblood flowed no more.

The stage went black.And still he stood.Naked and alone.No audience to impress.He was only a convenience to them.No use once they left

the confines of the theater.

The curtain closed.Rejected, he retreated to his dressing room.But off in the distance.

one light did he see.Not everything had gone black.There she stood with outstretched arms,

and an open mind to hear his woes.She had never left,

only drifted into the background,blended into the scenery.

He, in the meantime had givenhis life, his love, his soulto the almighty.

There all along she was,to heat his bleeding wounds.

Gabriel Savario