Flights of Fancy
Issue 1: Tales
Poetry
A collection of poems from our Kalliope Members
Forged Feelings
By Eli Benzel
The fire of Passion
The heat of a blush
The steel of nerves
The pounding of the heart
The pang of regret
The repeating desire
The shape of love
The hammering in the chest
The unknowing result
The water uncertain
The plunge into courtship
The sizzle of emotion
The sharpened sense for each other
The grinding of the teeth
A Sword forged in the furnace of love
When the Spark Fades
By Atara Kagedan
High-pitched giggles and fairy crowns tangled in hair
Milk and cookies on the floor, but not a worry in the air
Innocence at its finest; she hasn’t yet been exposed
I must nurture her flame and see where it goes
Hands pulling on each other, whispers of “come with me”
Out the back door, just don’t go in too deep
The breathless thrill of those glittering disco lights
Create these magic moments, so late in the night
Before she can blink, it’s now time to decide
She can give it all up, or stay waiting behind
Not a tear streams down; the choice has been made
Her old mission is over; she wants to change her ways
Diamonds, gold, and gemstones fill up her cart
These cold, hard rocks match the exterior of her heart
She’s in high society now, where she always dreamed of being
But the fire is burning out, and her spark is slowly fleeting
The empty echo of high heels on a gothic amethyst floor
Her house is filled with a husband and kids, is life anything more?
She clears her mind, taking the kids to the local park
While intrusive thoughts keep her awake when the light grows dark
The years go by, and nothing much differs
She slips into facades like she does her velvet slippers
One day, she sees a girl laughing across the road
She stops and stares for a second, feeling exposed
Hair graying like the moon’s phases
Purple basil withering in Chinese vases
Everyone’s moved on; the flame has burnt out
I have failed at my purpose, now onto a different route
Army Lad
By Aaron Chachkes
This is a tale about an army lad
Mama’s baby, daddy’s prince, so sickly soft
Left home with his flowery bride standing
Light to dark, peach to crimson spilt open
Iron became all he was ever to know
Screams and screams, petals adrift in dark depths
What will you do now? Hey, don’t point it there-
March on Vienna
By AJ Finkelstein
As the fog clears, the beautiful mountains arise
And come to full strength in front of our eyes
The mountains and farmlands have given access to our armour
We shall march and fight with all of our honor
And as we trek through this journey of desolate beauty
We must think of what's beyond, and fulfill our duty
Here’s the path we must take
All the way to the enemy lines in which we must break
We must stab them with the sword, straight across the sierra
Shoot them with our arrows, and we shall march on Vienna
Through the land, valleys, and mountains we shall cross
Through the grass, bushes, trees, and moss
We shall defeat the enemy, and bring them down to the ground
We shall slash them to the floor, and win this dark battle
A battle of bravery, triumph, and victory
We shall march on Vienna, we shall take the mighty castle, we shall defeat the king
The king who has sat in a mighty castle, and a castle who hosts a king with no might
Queen Of The Night
By Eli Benzel
To the Queen of the night, I offer this humble poem
An eminence within the twilight,
breathtaking and radiant,
A beauty unmatched by any folly of man.
The glint of your hair catches the moonlight, weaving it into stars
Your graceful steps echo,
leaving ripples in the inky darkness,
A blinding flash outshining the moon herself
The sky is at your will, the celestials at your beck and call
Like a moth to flame,
Like a beast to fate,
Guide me with your soothing voice, into a never-ending midnight
In my imagination, the night persists until the stars fall
An impish grin plagues my face
As I admire the lazy rise of the sun
And know our time together is at a close
Hide
By Nava Chetrit
The light edges closer,
Like a train on a track,
Nowhere to run, I must turn back.
I see it approach,
Then run in fear,
I cannot bear my light so near.
The candle burns bright,
But beware the flame;
And watch for the wax that burns to maim.
I need to be far,
My heart beats too fast,
I am afraid of dreams come to pass.
That is the light,
But I shy away,
Only in darkness am I here to stay.
A Traveling Tale
By Eli Benzel
Stopping in town for only a short while
An itinerant tale has come to rest
Weary at first, the village he would soon beguile
An end to his wandering, many did behest
He entranced the weary souls with the magic of fantastical lore
Flesh raw, the will to resist up in smoke
Their hollow vessels filled to the brim with new life and adore
The warm embrace, pure and bespoke
A Poem By Aaron Chachkes
Ever burning, too wild and destructive
Always claiming lives and dreams full of hope
Repeatedly feasting on unjust meat
Consistently pandered and pampered for
Regularly lighting more flames to spread
Inevitably consumed in your blaze
A Tale for Kalliope
By Courtney Yankovich
Bring forth your tales of starlit nights,
Of dragons’ wings and silver lights,
Of winding roads and whispered lore—
The kind that leaves us wanting more.
Let kingdoms rise on pages bright,
Where heroes learn to face the night.
Let forests hum with magic old,
And secrets shimmer, soft and bold.
Your sketches cast a gentle spell,
Your words make hidden worlds feel real.
Each line becomes a shining door
To places never seen before.
So write your tale, both brave and true—
A fairytale born straight from you.
Kalliope waits, its lantern high,
To lift your story to the sky.
Perfect
Why can’t everything be perfect?
My grades,
My emotions,
My words,
My thoughts,
My life?
Why can’t I wake up each morning
Without the fear
The nausea
The anxiety
That today, everything unravels?
Why can’t my inbox be perfectly sorted,
My essays flawlessly written,
My parents pleased
My teachers thrilled
My siblings starstruck
And my life neatly put together?
Why can’t I just be perfect?
Change
By Nata Fradkine
Creases are left in the jacket’s pocket
Hinges break off a fired rocket
Language splits apart a cracking tower
Nations scattered, start to flower
Growing from a synapse rotted
Speech is built, newly allotted
Schisms lead to syncopation
Musical divergence, into harmonization
Stretching children to adults,
A new identity’s results
Evolution changed the game
Only change has stayed the same
For now, for us, forever?
Every day’s a new endeavor
Routine
By Nata Fradkine
Among the slowly turning traffic circles
Lay minds afloat above their owners
In dreams of grand ambitions
Clocks that count a countless tick
Re-wind, repeat, restart
A twelve-hour cycle turned infinite
Nonetheless
By Eliora Wolfe
Every tree has a story
Every twig had to grow
Every leaf had to fall
Every gust of wind
Every sapling oak
Every rock
Every pebble
Every drop of water
Flowing through the river
Has a story
A story untold
A story unknown
A story unheard of
But a story nonetheless
A Traveling Tale
By Eli Benzel
take a closer look at this poem, how many ways can it be read?
Stopping in town for only a short while
An itinerant tale has come to rest
Weary at first, the village he would soon beguile
An end to his wandering, many did behest
He entranced the weary souls with the magic of fantastical lore
Flesh raw, the will to resist up in smoke
Their hollow vessels filled to the brim with new life and adore
The warm embrace, pure and bespoke
A man in a white room
By Seth Berkowitz
This is an autobiography by a man in a room.
There was a man.
In a white room.
The man was content with his life.
He had not known anything but this.
He had free will.
Or so he thought.
It made no difference to his purpose.
He was to exist, and he did.
He thought all day.
Nothing else to do.
He ate his food when given it.
He made the most of his wares.
He had gotten old.
And all went black.
That's all.
Star harvester
Nava chetrit
You look at him like he hung the
stars
when he’s the reason they fall
He tells you he will heal your scars
But there are more after every
unanswered call
You bleed and bleed
Until you wish you are no more
He finally shows at your greatest
time of need
But just admires the gore
You looked at him like he hung the stars
But now you know he’s the reason they fall
He didn’t ever heal your scars
But he’s a star-harvester, after all
Lies
A story of lies
A tale of mistruth
A facade
Is all I am
The real me is buried deep below
And all you see
Is the story I tell you
The story I want to tell
The story I want you to hear
Which story is the true one?
Which tale is correct?
Which version of me
Is the one inside?
I don’t know
Who I am
Don’t know
Which identity
Is the original
Unaltered
Unchanged
Me
The tales I tell
The stories I spin
The web of lies I weave
Hold me
Suffocate me
Encompass me
Until my life becomes that lie
Until my personalities become different people
Until I am nothing but an actor on a stage
Playing many different roles
Yet knowing
That none are real
But who is the actor?
Who is the player,
For surely they cannot be
The characters they play.
That is me
And my stories
My tales
My web of lies
The Nowhere King
By Eli Benzel
The Lord of Absence,
A single being presiding over emptiness
A Vagabond upon the endless sands,
Grains of time, mere husks of what they once were
The Pale Monarch
Devoid of all emotion, hollow inside and out
Colorless as moonlight on a moonless night
A dead man walking
The Emperor of Silence
Voice long-ago stifled by sorrow
Endless agony suffered in silence
A paragon of taciturnity,
The Prince of Darkness
Eyes long dead, endless pools of nothing
Darkened by the shadow of fiery memories
A never-ending midnight
The Nowhere King
Found in the deepest recesses of elsewhere
A King with no subjects
Subject to endless forlornity
The Chimei
By Nava Chetrit
I’m trying to look away
Trying not to be swayed
Not to look it in the eye
For its gaze would be the source of my cry
It’s deception is evident but looks too true
All emotions of fear and pain brew
I can’t see past whom I love
Would rather send up the dove
But to surrender would be to admit defeat
And so the monster’s eyes I meet
But all I see is my lover’s pain
It takes enumerable effort to recover my brain
And so, with nerves of steel I palm my knife
And try and forget about taking a life
A life of one I love so deep
The monster’s soul do I reap
I don’t manage to look away
But neither am I swayed
And so I look it in the eye
And to my beloved, I bid a sharp, bloody, goodbye
A fairy tale poem
Libby Gottfried
Tale as old as time,
The clock’s chime.
Cinderella left the ball,
The dwarves are very small.
Goldie broke a chair,
Rapunzel had very long hair.
Aurora fell asleep,
Little Bo Peep lost her sheep.
Elsa has ice,
The stepsisters seemed nice.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Snow white was the fairest of them all.
Riding Hood got lost in the woods,
Robin Hood got all the goods.
The White Rabbit was late,
Ursula is someone we hate.
Always, Always
Eliora Wolfe
Like Hansel and Gretel,
We are drawn to the candy house,
Lost in the woods,
Trapped and forgotten
Like Cinderella,
We are beaten down,
Ignored,
And yet hoping to be seen
Like Snow White,
We are banished from our homes,
Stuck and confused,
Hoping for someone to save us
Like the third little pig,
We hide behind our high stone walls,
Our brethren hurt by outside dangers,
While we remain safe inside
Like Rapunzel,
We are locked up in our towers,
Isolated,
And alone
Cindarella's Tragic Ending
By Maya Lowe
The clock read 11:45.
There was still a little magic left in the air.
As I danced with the prince —
With his warm hands and his smile kind,
for once, I felt like I belonged.
Then everything changed.
The music went blank.
The lights started to flicker
the air that once felt full of dreams
turned heavy —
like the world had forgotten how to breathe.
They came from every corner of the ballroom.
Yelling.
Running.
“Get down!” someone shouted.
“Bomb! Everyone out!”
My body froze.
My feet wouldn’t move.
The prince pulled my hand,
but the crowd pushed harder.
Glass shattered.
A scream echoed.
And the fairytale turned into fear.
When the smoke cleared,
the castle was silent.
The fancy diamond chandeliers were scattered the floor,
and my magical slipper laid cracked by the stairs.
I never saw the prince again.
Only the pieces of a night
that once felt perfect.
After all
They say the magic fades at midnight.
A poem of idioms
By Seth Berkowitz
When time comes to take your place
When people chant to see your face
You cannot beat around the bush
The crowd from cheers and then to hush
There are no cutting corners here
Make one misstep you'll lose your ear
Bite the bullet as you go
As your vision wobbles too and fro
The trial has come to meet your end
You feel death around the bend
The nature of this day will come to light
Only if you win this fight
You think about another choice
To find your footing to find your voice
That choice is gone you lost your way
What you must do is seize the day
Break a leg or break them both
To your demise or for your growth
Inching forward to your death
Until you breath out your last breath
Under the table powers play
In their sandbox you now pray
To weather the storm to be relieved
To see the plant come from the seed
No sweat, make waves
Be the change, don't hide in caves
You keep your chin up unperturbed
This power in you can't be curbed
You got your whole life in front of you
They made the evil from their own brew
Get on with your life
Or meet your end
To Be Chosen
Atara Kagedan
To be loved is to be wanted,
To be flaunted, to be chosen.
Melting ice that once was frozen,
As warmth rises from within,
Softening even the roughest skin.
When raised above all,
Even the mighty will fall—
Tumbling into this endless black hole,
Losing any sense of control.
For if the validation persists, who could resist?
And the sun never stops shining
Until the day you’re left crying,
Because nothing lasts forever;
It shifts and twists like the weather.
What was once chosen and golden
Ends up rotten and forgotten
When its initial appeal is no longer ideal,
And its spark begins to fade,
Blurring into shade.
It is too common a tale,
Leaving graves gone stale
Where the strongest fail,
And darkness prevails.
Mountains of bodies pile up: those used,
Then abused,
Then refused.
What difference does one more make?
It’s hardly even news.
My Life
Nobody knows about my life.
Why should they?
What would make them care?
I’m unimportant.
My tale’s been told a thousand times over,
So what difference would it make
If mine varies in the slightest?
I don’t want to be a bother,
Don’t want to force you to hear the sad,
Woeful tale of my life,
Don’t want you to notice my pain at being ignored,
Don’t want to make you hate me instead of
Simply not noticing me.
I won’t mind if I’m excluded.
It happens every day.
My story is a sad one,
But one told over
And over
And over again.
So why would you know about my life?
Take Me Away, Space Lion
By Abby Rich
An atmospheric, celestial synth,
A low, melancholy sax
A shimmer—
The sax grows stronger, more nostalgic
Bongos interject;
The ethereal births a tribal rhythm
All the instruments entwine—
A grand crescendo comes to life
Sentimental chants emerge—
Ay yai yai yai yai a ai oh oh oh
I’m torn between woe, wist, and tranquil;
An overwhelming calm overtakes my body—
A rebirth
I ride a seven-minute spiritual journey
It feels like that quote:
“Boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”
Trudging forward, yet always drawn back
The vocals march on,
Bolstered by drum and synth
A vibrato joins the chorus—
Subtle, deep, sincere
The synth swells, climaxes, falters,
Then turns uplifting
The sax reappears—
Soft, subtle, yet eager in will
The vocals pause,
Yielding to the cries of the woodwind,
Whose splendid melody complicates
Only the bongoes remain—
Steady, marching on—
As the reed and ambience wane
First goes the synth.
Then sax.
Then percussion.
Silence.
I am left floating in the void,
Grasping what is no more…