Tartarughe Senza Tampe

 By Leena Febles

-

In the damp morning,

life is a movement

of heavy whispers,

a shell anchored to the earth,

the slow pull of existence,

gritty soil clings to the body,

each inch a struggle against the weight

of the world overhead. 

 

Leaves loom like giants,

their vastness a canopy of fear,

and rain,

a tumultuous flooding,

drowning the quiet hopes of a simple meal. 

In shadows, the scent of danger,

footfalls of larger lives,

where the world can crush,

snapping the fragile thread of being. 

 

Yet in the slowness,

the pulse of life beats steady,

a reminder

that resilience is woven

into the fabric of each journey,

as the heart continues,

full of dreams,

trailing glistening paths through the dark.

About the Author

Leena Febles is currently in her first year at ICC. Her favorite form of poetry is persona because she loves trying to see the world from other people's shoes. If you were to ask her "How do you even write poetry anyways?" , she would tell you that "Poetry is word vomit on a page, it all can be beautiful, so just do it!" She hopes writing stays with her forever, no matter what.

My Thoughts on Free Verse

 By Joshua Gay

-

I do not like free verse

I care not for its linguistic liberties

Nay

In its unrestrained lines

And rhythmless verses there is

An irksome quality with a

Biting reproach stings mine eyes

I am insulted

It tramples on the graves of poets long since past

It spits upon the headstones of

Bards those great men

With skill and patience to bind 

Their highest machinations of thought in 

Graceful girdles of meter

And rhyme

The abrasive stream of words harangue 

Me and my soul wearies

Grated against the harsh

Soliloquy that would grieve e’en the

Beautiful mind of Shakespeare

Pain

Verily I detest it

I care not for

Inconsistency

In sound and syllable nay!

I cannot pardon it

No diction or mellifluous phrasing can

Atone for this crime

And utterly blasted 

May I be

Should I ever forbear to indulge in this literary 

Sin.

About the Author

Joshua Gay is currently in his second year at ICC for his associate’s degree in education. Living nearby in East Peoria, Joshua is a committed member of the ICC Honors Program and enjoys a variety of subjects, from English, creative writing, and the Humanities to sciences like Biology and Psychology. In addition to a part-time job and family commitments, Joshua also enjoys walking his dog, hiking in nature, or expressing his artistic inclinations through drawing, programming, and writing short stories and poems.

The Query

 By Joshua Gay

-

When upon a late-night working

Sleeping, staring, of duties shirking

I find myself in a state of active mental void,

By a noise destroyed.

But often nights, devoid of slumber

I can naught but lie and wonder

Thinking, fearing, madness nearing, 

Madness like the chugging of a train

Lost in a one-quart brain.

 

Wondering how it, to begin

To look out by having a look within.

To close your eyes and watch time pass

For minutes, hours, but alas!

Waking from your mental task

To learn that only seconds passed.

Pondering back at all your knowledge,

Trusting that the facts are solid

Like an iceberg in the chill of lands far negative below

But can you know?

If you were the top professor

The brightest mind, all others lesser.

If you knew all in the sky and earth below,

But can you know?

Is it a possibility that something base as gravity

A law as constant as the sea whose tides shall ever flow

Could one of nature’s basest laws

Be at its deep foundations, flawed?

Despite great care it had underwent

Countless fulfilled experiments?

Could that one law with surest proof

Crumble in a moment’s poof?

Could truth be false and reality take a fatalistic blow?

Can you know?

For thought, take time’s monotonous passage

Given like endless ambassage,

Seconds, minutes, hours, slaying wise the same as fools,

Days, weeks, months, like infinite yarn upon a cosmic spool.

Is it cruel?

Or worse, I drown in rising dread

In the oily well inside my head.

Is our concept of time even lucid, right or real?

Perhaps the fact has been corrupted,

And falsehood, in its place constructed

To cool our fears and calm our nerves

And the peace of mind preserve.

Could the world’s next horrifying twist

Be that order does not exist?

Do months have sound and days a noise?

What if all clocks are useless toys?

Can a year be seen by sight and have a feel?

A worthless thought and purest vanity

The result of raw insanity.

All these things the world may say and…though

Can you know?

So carry on for pleasure’s sake

Believe the world you know is not fake.

Delight in each dinner and watch the stars move.

Stand tall, after all, for all that is proved,

You might be much less of a being than you thought

Only you’re there, at least, something ought.

Perhaps knowledge of men will show future far

We’re all in a test, simply brains in a jar,

And science will show, for better or worse

We all live in a virtual universe,

Where the pain of a sting and the light of the sun

Are master illusions fabricated for fun.

But you say, it is plain this all is not so!

I personally act and choose where I go!

But can you know?

Can you know?

Can you know?

Can you know?

About the Author

Joshua Gay is currently in his second year at ICC for his associate’s degree in education. Living nearby in East Peoria, Joshua is a committed member of the ICC Honors Program and enjoys a variety of subjects, from English, creative writing, and the Humanities to sciences like Biology and Psychology. In addition to a part-time job and family commitments, Joshua also enjoys walking his dog, hiking in nature, or expressing his artistic inclinations through drawing, programming, and writing short stories and poems.

The Shadow

 By Joshua Gay

-

A shadow oft besets me and makes fearful attack,

But like a shade in the same way this phantom is but lack.

Often it sails at nighttime, and sometimes at midday,

And even when inside my den can I become its prey.

Mere metal solely aids it; it seeps through clothes with ease.

It rides upon the very air and strikes within the breeze.

Its chilling, frightful presence makes men turn red as rose.

It bites and nips the digits and nibbles on the toes.

It circles round the fingerbones and travels down the thumb,

Seeping like foul poison that gives feel of dead and numb.

What manner of a specter has the reader just been told?

I tell you plain clear to explain: the shadow is the cold.

About the Author

Joshua Gay is currently in his second year at ICC for his associate’s degree in education. Living nearby in East Peoria, Joshua is a committed member of the ICC Honors Program and enjoys a variety of subjects, from English, creative writing, and the Humanities to sciences like Biology and Psychology. In addition to a part-time job and family commitments, Joshua also enjoys walking his dog, hiking in nature, or expressing his artistic inclinations through drawing, programming, and writing short stories and poems.

Not a Flower

By Dinah Henry

-

A rose blooms only when it needs help, love, encouragement, and beauty. If it doesn't have those things it doesn't bloom, I have been called a flower so many times that I can't count, But I can't bloom if I don't have those things I can't bloom if nobody can take care of me. I will also not become something that I want to become. Flowers means that they have become something extraordinary and if I don’t become that, then I am not a flower.

About the Author

Dinah Henry has been going to ICC for almost 6 years. Sometimes is super shy, but once she gets to know you she starts to warm up to you. She is studying for creative writing and already has six poems in the Illinois Central Review that you really should read. Tell her if you love her work. 

We Care Too!

 By Gerald Hoye

- 

Often good deeds are overlooked. 

Most never know all the risk you took. 

When others locked doors and turn out the lights.

You will advocate and hope they'll do what's right. 

Some would have quit from the sting of NO. 

But you keep coming back when others would go. 

Why do you care if we do well or fail?

We are not getting out soon, this, no county jail. 

This is too much for you, I see it in your eyes. 

Who stays, working a job that makes them cry? 

Your heart is in the right place, but why endure the pain? 

The system says: "we're a lost cause, we'll never change." 

We can't protect you after your kind words are said. 

With all the people listening, wanting the incarcerated dead. 

Please don't give up your peace to those who would let us die. 

Stop showing them you care so much; don't cry. 

Thanks so much for being kind over mean. 

Thanks for helping each of make real, what we've only dreamed. 

Your giving is the metric by "The Hearts of Men" would be measured. 

Seeing Men, Humans; people that should be treasured. 

Just like everything good in prison; this too will end. 

We'll remember you as Instructor, but most importantly, "FRIEND." 

So don't worry; we know you're right where you need to be. 

We'll keep moving forward; telling stories about Dr. G. 

About the Author 

Gerald Hoye is a Mississippi Delta-born black man who you'll grow to love. Even if your are eyes are wondering why he shared that he's black. He'd say it's important because of where he is from. He would also say, it's how he honors all those killed while fighting for the freedoms and rights he has today. Gerald also wants to do all he can to shed light on incarcerated people. He hopes people will see that many, while they are inmates, are not a lost cause. Simply, t hey are more like lost in the system; waiting for a second chance at life. And not all people who are incarcerated have left their values at the gate. Gerald wishes to touch your hearts, and hope you'll see the humility in his work. 

Wax Wings

 By Addy Inugay

-

If I were to choose

Between being Icarus or Daedalus,

I would choose Icarus.

Because Daedalus lived, sure.

He outlived his son by decades.

But he lived with the guilty knowledge

That his creation was the instrument of his son’s death.

Without his wings, Icarus would have been safe. 

Safe, but trapped.

And Icarus died, yes. 

His body plunged into the icy depths of the sea. 

But for a brief moment the sun kissed his face,

Its rays warmed his skin

And in that moment, Icarus decided

That perhaps getting to touch the sun was worth dying.

So Icarus fell,

And I would too. 

But before he fell, he flew

About the Author

Addy is an English major at ICC and will be graduating in December of 2025. She is currently a librarian and absolutely loves it. She has been reading and writing her whole life, but this would be her first publication.