The Jungle by Jordan Pai Friday nights, North get ready to fight Students gather to watch the spectacle You could almost say it’s a festival The football team arrives It’s time for the away team to say their goodbyes From the bleachers comes a mighty roar You can feel it in the floor It’s the Jungle, loud and proud Full of the lions, a zealous crowd North scores! The Jungle roars The game is done and North has won We are the Jungle, loud and proud Full of the lions, a mighty crowd Zoom by Leah Kemp I'm not an individual anymore, just an oddly specific arrangement of pixels in the upper right hand corner of your screen, placed in just the place that gives me the perfect view of the light in my eyes fading to black. I silence myself and keen for the beautiful life I was evicted from. The teacher calls on me (for the first time in three days), and I type that I can't participate today because I have lost my voice. The teacher assumes that I'll be able to speak tomorrow. The teacher doesn't realize that I long ago buried my speaking in the backyard of my childhood home and replaced it with talk. My Kitchen Table by Mia Vitiello It’s round, wooden, and small with four legs and a hard flat surface on top. Those are it’s features to anyone walking in who Glances over it as they inspect the rest of the room. But my kitchen table is a circle that gathers the family every Friday night. My kitchen table is home to laughs and inside jokes and games and stories. It is where everyone stops worrying about the rest of the world And just starts focusing on one another. Coffee is spilled and secrets are spoken, Snacks are shared and experiences are exchanged. And it all stays in this one place. Once we leave it, nothing has changed, But the next Friday night everything is new again. The Days We Come Back by Anonymous The day Ever-fleeting goes by And another day And another day And another day And soon a week has passed Looking back we can’t even remember what happened Because it’s all the same Staring at the screens we’re trapped We try to get out but we can’t Prisoners locked in cells that are only Little muted boxes Before we know people we know all their names First and last, off the tops of our heads And I’ll never know these people again Because the time slips away and the screen goes black and they’re all gone A month later we haven’t seen our friends We haven’t had the motivation To do anything but get out of bed We’re losing ourselves and we’re losing our time We’re losing our friends and we’re losing our minds We’re losing our opportunities and we’re losing our fights So why do we come back Day after day We feel the steady pulse of each day in a week We feel the heartbeat of each week in a month And now we are numb Numb to the loneliness Numb to the pain And so numb so why we come back is a mystery Maybe we come back because something’s driving us to outrun history Gray Light A collective poem written by the Northern Lights Staff A nation divided, dismantled, destroyed Unable to see the other’s perspective Choosing power and profit over our people How did we get here? Where do we go? A collective culture so desperate for change We need love over loathing and hope over hypocrisy We ache for freedom Life as it was before we were forced By the confines of society to isolate ourselves Stuck in our minds and stuck in our rooms Our world has almost emptied, has Grown sadder and paler with each passing day Blinded by the haze of smog-smoke, Numb to the fire that scorches the Earth. That smoke, deafening and overwhelming, Shrouds our ears, our opinions, and our minds, Trapping us in oblivion, unable to hear one another, Incapable of hearing ourselves. Though through the gray are slants of light Faint songs of dreams and whispers of hopes Lilting like weaving songbirds through the columns of shadow Shattering the chains of despair that shackled us down Though we are shrouded in shadow We can break through Part away the gray with the silver-lined blade of hope Alone and apart we may fall Or we may surpass these bounds and rise Rush past the dismal storms There are blue skies ahead Moon Festival by Selina Zhang Ink night silence chased away By roaring dragon-like crowds Boasting fiery reds and golds Fear and uncertainty drowned In wishes of luck and fortune In laughter and rosy cheeked smiles A communion of families and friends Under a round soft gold moon Crimson lanterns bright with hopes and wishes As innumerable as the stars in the boundless heavens Header Photo: African Galaxy by Abigail Kreitner
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AuthorNorthern Lights is an art and literary magazine full of work from the students of North. Have something to add? Email a submission of writing, art, or photography at northernlights@nhvweb.net |