Spring 2017

Editor-In-Chief
Sarah Crispell

Editorial Board
Nicole Boliver
Joseph Lehmann
Troy Nikander
Jessica Wolfe

Nevermore 1
 Editors Letter

When asked to be the next Editor-in-Chief of Nevermore, a lot

of thoughts floated through my mind. Why me? Is this a good idea?
Will I be able to handle this? Will I ruin the legacy that has been
created? After the moment of shock wore off I was thrilled. I had
never considered being the Editor-in-Chief of anything. I always
thought I would be more of an assistant editor or even just the
person in the background that nobody knows about that makes
small suggestions. This experience has changed everything for me.
It has proven to me that I am capable of much more than I ever
thought I could be. That is something that I want everyone to get
out of this issue. I want everyone that contributed their work, their
time, or their advice (along with all of the readers) to know that
they are all capable of much more than they think they are.
This semester we opened the guidelines up a little more in order
to accept essays of all kinds including Composition essays from the
freshmen class, to show people the power of writing and the
experience of publishing. I wanted more people to get the
opportunity to be published. It is amazing to see something that
you created published because you have put so much time and
energy into it and now you get to see the final outcome.
I want to thank everyone that helped with this issue of
Nevermore. The editorial board: Nicole Boliver, Joseph Lehmann,
Troy Nikander, and Jessica Wolfe. I also want to thank Doctor
Dangelantonio for her encouragement, advice, and absolute faith in
me.
I hope you all enjoy this issue of Nevermore.
Sincerely,
Sarah Crispell

Nevermore 3
 Table of Contents

Cover Art
Tala Wilson 17

Mast Head
Jayce Ringwald

Poetry
7 I Like to Write about the Stars
8 The Cabin
13 Night Is No Place for Me
14 They Tell you To Be Yourself
15 Locked In
16 Remember Caesar, Thou Art Mortal
17 To a True Friend
18 A Chaucerian Self-Portrait
20 The Retrospection
21 Waves in Our Souls
22 Fighhting for Love
23 Here, Now
24 Moonlight
25 My Treasure Chest

9 Creative Non-Fiction
True Paradise

12 Picture
Cameron Day

27 Submission Guidelines

28 Contributor Biographies

Nevermore 5
 I Like to Write About the Stars
Jessica Marcure 18

I like to write about the stars.

Im not really sure why
If you ask some people,
They say youre just a dreamer
But I see the world and all its horror.
Maybe its the idea that
The stars are stars,
There for thousands of years
And theyll probably be there for thousand more.
Some old astronomer named them.
Some ancient race based entire religions off them.
Balls of gas
On the verge of dying
Burning themselves in the past
But shining now.
Doesnt that sound a lot like a legacy?
But theyre just stars.
Just burning and burning
Shining and shining.
They care for nothing
But I care for them.
No matter what I know about those stars,
As inanimate as they are.
I swear they smile and whisper their encouragement every time I
look up.

Marcure 7
 The Cabin
Jayce Ringwald 18

My shoulder is a pillow for my little sister

who has me squashed against the door.
My skull rattles in time with the garbled static on the radio,
teeth chattering almost too loud for me to hear it.
I pretend to count the rushing blurs of trees,
blinding sun blinking between the gaps.
Its warm
underneath my sleeping bag and pillow and little sister.
Even when the sun goes down,
and the moon bathes me in blue light,
and my sister shifts to lean on my brother,
its warm.
I stare at the stars and make up my own constellations
when Im not looking at the moon
or following the dark wispy clouds racing overhead.
Theres a crick in my neck and my mouth tastes dry,
hot breath burning my nose and lips.
Almost there. Almost home.
Are we there yet? How much longer?
The sun is streaming through the window
and burning my cheeks and forehead and arm.
Its warm.
I dont remember what its like to finally be home,
just how long it feels to get there.

8 Ringwald
 True Paradise
Macklin Lang 18

I held the rubber flippers in my hand. The warm water

lapped at my feet. I ran over the rules over and over again in my
head. Dont hold your breath, ever. Make sure to equalize the
pressure in your ears. Stay calm or you will use too much air. And
Macklin, try to have some fun. My heart pounded with anticipa-
tion, I could hear it in my ears and feel it pulsing in my throat. We
waded out deeper, the water was up to my chest now. I put on my
goggles and put the snorkel in my mouth. The instructor told us
to swim out to the buoy before we submerged. The waves pushed
my brother and I around gently. My pulse began to ease and my
breathing was less rapid. Snorkeling wasnt new to me or Henry;
we would do it every time we visited my grandparents. Diving in
a snorkel was also something we had done before, but thats only
about a minute underwater, not an hour. SCUBA diving was a
whole new game.
The buoy loomed into our view bobbing up and down
sharply. The waves were much more intense out here. The instruc-
tor told us to swim to the bottom slowly and make sure to equalize
pressure on the way down. I stuck my head under water and saw
the vibrant reef, hundreds of fish and the pure white sand sixty
feet below me. The water was so clear and beautiful. My heart
started to race again. I was so nervous. We began to sink into the
water slowly. My hand was on my nose to squeeze out the pressure
that would build up in my ears. I remembered to take deep, calm
breaths. My feet landed on the sandy bottom starkly. I jumped
and opened my eyes, the world around me had changed. I was on
an alien planet. Tall spires of coral were orbited by tiny fish. Tall
dense boulders of coral were nestled into the sand and hundreds of
fish swam playfully around them. I pushed off the bottom slowly
and floated in the water. Everything was so surreal. Underwater
was a dream-like world. I pushed forward and glided above the
coral structures. A small fish buzzed around my head and my hair
was a lofty halo. The water felt so good on my skin,

Lang 9
all my stress and anticipation for this melted away. I felt so free.
Our instructor swam ahead of us, we followed and he
guided us past mountains and valleys of coral, vibrant fished
filled sections, dull gray barren sections and a vast desert of sand
swarmed with docile stingrays. The place hummed with the sound
of boat engines from miles away and of waves crashing on top of
the distant beach. The canned air tasted dry and metallic. I was
thirsty but it didnt bother me. I had found true paradise.
Our instructor pushed on further. He approached a darker
section of the underwater world. There was a sharp drop off and
when I peeked over the edge; it seemed to go on for miles. The
sunlight couldnt penetrate the water down there, it was dark and
cold. Looking into I felt unsettled and chills crept up my spine. I
didnt like it and I hoped we wouldnt be going down there. The
abyss reminded me of my future. It hadnt been written yet. Noth-
ing had been planned but everybody expected me to have some
general idea of what I wanted to do. I didnt have an answer for
that. That scared me. How could I not know what I wanted to be
when I was older? How could I not know what I was good at? How
could I not know what I loved?
He turned quickly and pointed at a beautiful turtle gliding
through the water in front of us. He decided to chase it and we
followed. I was glad to be leaving the creepy abyss behind me. The
turtle disappeared and we were around where we had started the
dive.
I rolled onto my back and looked up at the surface, it
glistened and my bubbles floated all the way to the top slowly
and peacefully. A school of fish drifted by, swimming in unison. I
wanted to stay like this forever but my hour was up and it was time
to surface.
I pushed my head above the water and the smell of
coconuts and sunscreen bombarded me. The sun glinted off the
water and blinded me. I pulled the mask off my head felt the water
refresh my face. Swimming back to the beach I felt a calling back
to the ocean. I couldnt wait to get back there. Underwater

10 Nevermore
everything was graceful and clean. There is no mess and all things
were in harmony. My underwater life, though it had just begun,
was so much more enjoyable than my above water life. Up there I
felt lost. Everybody always trying to guide me and mold me into
what they thought I should be. No one wanted my opinion on who
I should be, no one cared. Underwater I could forget my problems
for an hour. Underwater I didnt have to constantly appease
someone. No one could bother me. All my troubles were forgotten
and I knew I had found something I truly loved. I knew I would be
back.

Nevermore 11
 Untitled
Cameron Day 19

12 Day
 Night Is No Place For Me
Nicole Boliver 17

The ink black night is no place for me

As sleep escapes my grasp
Its unforgiving lack of light engulfing me
Taking me prisoner held tight
Shadows appear though there is no light
Monsters creep in and out of sight
But only as I lie there in undeniable fear
Trembling as my imagination throws me off guard
I realize that the monsters are a lot more near
That much is abundantly clear
For the monsters I thought were under my bed
There to fill me with fear
Have been hiding in my head instead
Where I cant escape

Boliver 13
 Be Yourself
Nicole Boliver 17

They tell you to be yourself

To not hide behind a mask
With judgment hidden in their eyes
They say its so easy
Just be yourself
Until you walk outside
Where people silently judge you
Watching from afar
And snicker when you walk by
Different is humorous
Different is dangerous
Not to be encouraged
Because when someone isnt like you
You never know what they could do
Much worse they could be better than you
So you shoot them down
Strip them of their individuality
Until people are afraid to be themselves
They will never be the same

14 Boliver
 Locked In
Katie Purves 20

Why is it we persist to destroy,

To destroy what makes us happy?
Does every light have a switch,
Does every high have a fall?
Darkness, it creeps upon us like an invisible fog,
Evil only showing face in vulnerability.
Cant we find a way, a way to murder,
Murder our killers and eradicate our demons?
Or is it simply that their clutches are too tight and that the padlock
has no key?
Are we forever locked in, trapped,
With no prospect of escape?

Purves 15
 Remember Caesar, Thou Art Mortal
Jessica Marcure 18

Remember Caesar, thou art mortal

Lies a reminder for one man that he was no king.
No god.
But Im sure Caesar was offended
Because
Friend, why do you tie my feet to the ground?
Oh, poor Caesar
Icarus wishes someone had been there to pull him down.
Icarus, who surely believes he was meant to fail.
Apollo above him and Poseidon below him
Two gods could not let father and son live.
So they rolled the dice
And Icarus lost.
Oh dear Hamlet, has your madness been misunderstood?
Othello wishes the world would believe he could control his own.
Hercules just wishes the world believed that the gods were to blame.
Medusa wishes for comfort, but shell take a stone garden instead.
Listen as
Iago lays forth his plot,
Richards silver tongue sings praise,
All the while the women curse in their wicked ways.
Why is it always the women who curse the world?
Why is every tale I see covered in tragedy?
Because tragedy keeps us enthralled,
It keeps us amused.
The saddest thing is just that.
We are amused and glad
Their woes have not struck us.

16 Marcure
 To a True Friend
Joseph Lehmann 18

(When telling a good friend you are not looking for a relationship
because of a difficult time)

After countless instances of greetings/

your smile empowers me through black storms/
a treasured memory is our meetings/
at a time of rose gardens all in thorns/

Although weve conquered challenges extreme/

as testing times mean we must stand as one/
alas, I am poison and youre like cream/
man of the moon and daughter of the sun/

Dark days of uncertainty are afoot/

friends and foes of past have been a-couple/
the thoughts of peaceful living now kaput/
with me, your future be filled with trouble/

Your open arms are needed, but not now/

Give me time and Ill give you love somehow.

Lehmann 17
 A Chaucerian Self Portrait
Troy Nikander 18

Now trudging through the snow upon the ground,

Was a young student who knew all around
The quietest places inside and out,
Of this there certainly was never doubt.
As other students jump and loudly cheer,
He could not help but grin from ear to ear
Perusing library shelves to look for
Books he might read, one day, if more
Time were only available. He said,
These all look so good! They must all be read,
And he took them home with due haste; it is
Sad to say, but those poor books sat on his
Nightstand day after day. Weeks went by in
This very same way, til they must have been
Collecting dust in a neat, tidy sheet.
His hair was dark brown, straight, and very neat
And if his shoulders were the rocks, it falls
Quickly down in streams like vast waterfalls.
The jacket sleeves were tattered and now torn,
Since for many years it had now been worn.
He wore boots of fine leather, caked in
Mud and dirt from different walks, wherein
He basked in the quietude of the trail,
Thinking hard on how best to tell his tale.
A writer he wished to be, the best of
Them all, for each word was worthy of love
And admiration. From a young age, there
Was little more to enjoy than writing, for where
One could write, stories could come to life right
Before your eyes! It kept him up late at night
In wondering what to write next. As he
Waits to write during his days and nights, the
Ways of words are not the only ones. To

18 Nikander
Teach is equally fruitful, I think, though few
Undertake the task; it nourishes each
Soul, strengthens the mind, and when you will teach
The heart swells with joy. It was these thoughts that
Whisked through his mind in the shelves, on the flat
Library ground, out onto the earth, left with one
Goal: to cherish life until it is done.

Nevermore 19
 The Retrospection
Elora Philbrick 18

The words are congregated on the page as if

the book in my hands were a modern day
meeting house, a cage of my own
imagination. Rewritten past at my
fingertips. Outside the breeze begs the
fallen leaves to dance, their shades a sad
reminder telling tales of caution to those
who dare to cross into recollection, much
like myself. I close my eyes, breathing in
the chilled, barren air from the open
stained-glass window. The burnt orange of
harvest a reflection of the fires burning
within me. Crisp nostalgia carries me back,
calling me home to a place Ive never
wanted to visit until now and bringing with
it the promise of growth in due time. At the
worn oak kitchen table I sat, a comforter
wrapped around the upper half of my bare
torso and his hot breath whispering in my
ear.

20 Philbrick
 Waves in Our Souls
Katie Davert 19

The way the world turned

and life danced with death
set our souls free.
Since spring only blossomed in May,
as dusk fell around us and
lit the past on fire. The sky
called to our souls from
off the crest of a wave
but the days had turned brown
with the downward spiral into oblivion.
Shadows of death surround us
as we bloomed into life
off of that same wave.
We let our souls race
through the blood pumping in our veins,
while life fought with death
echoing in soft screams
as we stood together
letting the wind rip through
and set our souls free.

Davert 21
 Fighting For Love
Katie Davert 19

Im in love with the idea of love

but then, arent we all?
We lie, we cheat, we steal and we thrive
on the feeling of it, guilt free.
We lie to the ones we love, we cheat
to win and we steal the souls
of those who trusted us most.
We scream for peace; we fight for love.
Humans dont breed peace, they breed war
and love is anything but peaceful.

22 Davert
 Here, Now
Elora Philbrick 18

In the simple quiet of our bedroom

he lackadaisically runs his fingers
through my tangled weaves of
hair, hair the color of sifted dirt,
pooling between the grooves
connecting his index and thumb.

His words roll off his tongue like a

river rippling against small stones
at the bank; and like the water
shapes and smoothes the pebbles,
his words shape and smooth the roughest
of my edges.

I want nothing more than to

be here.

Philbrick 23
 Moonlight
Troy Nikander 18

The moon casts a pallid

glow on the pavement - it has
been caught in the rain
yet again.
Where do I walk?
Scuff the pavement first. Click my heels,
once, twice, three times
to reach home.
It is a sheet
of black ice a mile long in my mind
and I long for your
arm to grasp, not too tightly,
just enough to know
that you are there with me.

24 Nikander
 My Treasure Chest
Ashlyn Sperry 20

The smoothness of your voice reminds me

of the way ocean waves glide upon the shore to kiss the sand beneath it.
I hear your laugh in the winds surrounding me
and Ive never loved the outdoors until I started noticing the beauty
in the way the sun glistens on the tops of cliffs
wondering how much the fall would hurt when the cold water swallowed
me whole
but lately Ive been watching the way the birds play up in the clouds
and how the sun feels upon my ivory skin-
the only thing I can imagine to feel any better
is the strong of your arms wrapped around my waist
and your face buried deep in the crook of my neck
like youre a treasure waiting to be discovered and
I want to uncover the smallest parts of you.

Sperry 25
26 Nevermore
 Submission Guidelines

Nevermore typically accepts up to three poems per person

(one per page), up to 2,000 words of prose (fiction or non-fiction),
and photographs. The theme is chosen by the editor of that
semesters volume. Please email all submissions to nevermore@
franklinpierce.edu

Nevermore 27
 Contributor Biographies

Nicole Boliver is a graduating senior with a major in English

creative writing and a minor in psychology. She enjoys reading and
writing. Writing is how she makes her way through each day. She
lives in her imagination but youll see her in reality every once and
a while.

Katie Davert is a communications major with a minor in creative

writing and a minor in visual arts. She is a sophomore at FPU,
originally from Coventry Rhode Island. In her free time she writes,
hikes and does digital and black and white photography. She plans
on becoming an author.

Cameron Day is a freshman with a double major in Secondary

Education and History with a minor in Documentary Filmmaking.
When not working at the Wensburg Writing Center or serving his
duties as Quartermaster for Gamers Club, Cam can often be found
adventuring in the woods or cosplaying.

Macklin Lang is a junior at Franklin Pierce University. He is from

Shelter Island, New York and enjoys sailing, hiking and other out-
door activities. He is studying English and philosophy. After college
he plans on continuing his education in English.

Joseph Lehmann is a Junior in the 2016-17 school year. He started

writing seriously when he was eleven years old with the first draft of
his first book. Ever since then, he has been developing this
manuscript for his first novel expected to be finished in September.

Jessica Marcure is currently a junior double majoring in English and

Education. She enjoys writing and reading whenever possible. She
has been a Peer Leader, a tutor at Wensberg Writing Center, and
has participated on the Womens Bowling Team.
She has also fought a shark. Because the shark deserved it. (This is
not to be added but I just wanted to give you a kick)
28 Nevermore
Troy Nikander is a junior at Franklin Pierce majoring in English
with a double minor in Psychology and History. He is the recipient
of the 2016 Peter Wensberg Poetry Prize. His writing has appeared
in Nevermore and is forthcoming in Northern New England Review.

Elora Philbrick is currently a junior majoring in English and Mass

Communications. Her feature in this years journal is her second
publication in Nevermore. Elora is an inducted member of both
Lambda Pi Eta National Honor Society for Mass Communications
majors as well as Sigma Tau Delta National Honor Society for
English Majors. She has been involved in the Universitys Student
Government Association for three years and most recently served
as the Executive Board Secretary for the 2016- 2017 fiscal year. Her
passion for writing poetry and love for reading it began in
adolescents.

Katie Purves is a 20-year-old girl from Scotland who is here on a

track and field scholarship for 400m hurdles. Katie is a lover of cof-
fee, anything orange and foxes. Writing poems and short pieces of
prose are used as her coping mechanism when life gets tough.

Jayce Ringwald is a Creative Writing major who has made the

seventeen-hour car ride from Georgia to New Hampshire at least
twice a year for her entire life. When shes not drawing or painting,
shes thinking about how she can translate words into art and vice
versa.

Ashlyn Sperry is a freshman at Franklin Pierce University.

Tala Wilson is a senior here at Franklin Pierce University. She is one

of the last Graphic Communications majors that will be
graduating this spring 2017. Her time is spent doing art in many
different mediums. She enjoyed working to create the cover for this
edition of Nevermore.

Nevermore 29
Nevermore is a student-run literary journal produced
every semester. It showcases Franklin Pierce University
students and professors poems, short stories, and
photography, along with the occasional drawing. A new
editor is selected every semester. This editor chooses
their editorial boards, determines the theme of the issue,
sets deadline dates for submissions, creates the final
journal, and brings it to press.

Contributors
Nicole Boliver Katie Davert Cameron Day
Macklin Lang Joseph Lehmann Jessica Marcure
Troy Nikander Elora Philbrick Katie Purves
Jayce Ringwald Ashlyn Sperry Tala Wilson