Culture //

Acknowledgement I, II & III

Poetry by Elena Zagoudis.

Artwork by Blythe Worthy and Alexandra Mildenhall.


There are specific things that may be acknowledged:

Growth is painful, learning to be alone is natural,

Youth is tortured, too silent, too much stimulation

The caffeine draining our minds of any rational thought

The hormonal cyclone of immaturity and desire for anything,

Everything, more, always

As I watch those around me grow into those I do and do not

Aspire to be, in a quiet intensity, so too I feel the fluid in veins,

Of ‘Ginsy and Jack’, as it flies through me in meaning, or in vain

I do not maintain a position of steadfast breathing, nor a statue

Of some other deity I aim to be;

In fact, I am flighty, I am never in one solid form, and perhaps I

Am held only in the palms of those in my midst, for my foresight

Is limited – I have neglected the good wishes of the eyes


There are such epiphanies to be had, in the growth (pain) of

New friendships and the floating conversations of strangers

(All things that float are irrelevant, for they do not adhere to


And may the ground hold me down with a might unwavering, so that

I withhold the nausea of living

What a time to be alive – what a self-reflexive epiphany – so

Mindlessly suggested by those to whom I’ve granted wings in my eyes

And though thoughts may be spared, I am thankful of the little but

Boundless insight regarding everything in the past life

I vehemently try to revive


For don’t you see it now, there is a revolution within our jaded minds,

A revolution in the cyclical sense, that the cogs in our hearts may

Turn faster than fast

And possessions fall apart or dissolve, as we value the eyes

Of our souls – what a sight to behold, the New Romantics or Old

Let us separate the lives of our parents and dive in the cold

Fall of a world melted tenfold

Our eyes be the witnesses to the fires of disgust, and the fires

Of resentment, of irreverence, and false sympathy

As I rip out the insincerity of daily, ordinary acceptance of life,

It is apparent that honesty is not the constellation I watch in

My night

Rather, she is an entity at times horrid, or bright for weary eyes

And may I aspire to pursue such a noble lady as honesty in

This lifetime,

May her challenge or power strip my eyes, from time to time

From this badly- imagined perception that is thrust in our minds

By some society so inept, that she rejects the cry of

Her own child

Let the child grow to become the forefront of love, the leading solution;

If society will not nurse the humanity at her feet, then let the

Role be inverted;

Such power as we have not seen lies at our feet,

Vacant and culminating –

And I will seize whatever finality I can grasp, for the world is

One burning phenomenon away from some Hell we’ve imagined

And I hope you will take my hand as one, even in too

Much silence, too much stimulation, and we will pinpoint the

Right constellation

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