Introducing Issue One: The Blueprint
The Ballad of Billy Jones - Emma Jolise
Way down there in Colfax County—
Where the riv’r runs rich with fool’s gold,
There lies Contention mine
Its tunnels oft dark and cold.
This be the home of young Billy
With his tight suspenders in tow,
Billy, young Billy Jones
Mucking alone, under, below.
They gave Bill a brand new hole
And with eyes of pale yellow fev’r,
He dug down deep’r, did ol’ Bill Jones.
Down where darkness doomed the deceiv’r.
On a clear, hot, summer aft’rnoon,
Billy mucked alone, his hardtack tin
Waiting on the bench, abandoned.
Billy Jones mucked past lunch with a grin.
They forgot Billy down there,
But deep down, Jones forgot ‘em too
And no miner rememb’rd ol’ Bill
When their blasters lit charges through!
Billy’s body was ne’er recov’red—
But many a miner will say
Way in deep Contention mine, muckers
Hear the tommyknock’r bay:
Gold, yellow gold
Gold for good ol’ Billy Jones!
Remember You - Saiba Gutierrez
What is hope if not an escape
as the darkness closes in
and the light shuts out
the glimpse of hope will only get me out
I can’t move on, I can’t leave you
So instead I remember you
I miss your calls and candy runs
i miss your dog and excessive puns
I miss you
more than the sun misses the moon
I miss you
more than I loved you
I try to be happy
but it’s not the truth
life sucks and it always feels blue
I try to process but I can not forget
I’m angry
I’m mad it wasn’t me
I’m mad I couldn’t save you
I'm mad it happened
What could I have done?
Loved you’d more or held you close
you were already someone I loved most
So as grief piles up
and your old clothes do too
I’ll try my best to always remember you
Wisteria - Li Bai / Adapted from Li Bai's "Wisteria Tree" Ancient Poetry Collection
from The Tang Dynasty
紫藤挂云木，
花蔓宜阳春。
密叶隐歌鸟，
香风留美人。
Translation:
"Wisteria hangs on the cloud tree,
Flowers and vines are perfect for spring.
Songbirds hide among the dense foliage,
The fragrant wind leaves a beautiful woman."
Susuru Ramen - Elizabeth Bae
Crisp metal jingled
In the tawdry aperture
I had never seen one in person, never smelled the halo glow
That hummed with rosemary and distilled honey.
Inside, a reckoning of mystique
Only three bountiful tables,
Rocking wood clicking with pleated fabric, joy luck rimming the edges,
Guards with barons and streaks of novelty in the wollen night.
Cotton stuffed my ears, drums full of hollow cider and crimson spice,
Nose blushed and swelled, fingers grasping, pinching at the relentless honey glow.
It was much more beautiful than daylight,
I couldn’t have reckoned on Chrysler,
But the magnitude of foreseen strength bent my will
With each power-hungry, delirious slurp.
No lazy souls remain once they trek here.
On the outskirts of the parade, circumference and drowning,
The edge of the pool of great fortitude.
Watching from afar, though, that was something else.
Echoes of remedy and bibliophilia drank up my wine,
Whispered serenely, solace capsized by her wandering might.
She smiled up through the saltiness, fingers greased,
Lips bountiful and alive.
Bells clicked on teeth, pearls blinding cotton,
Vocals muffled with each
Metal jingle.
Dog Walk - Chenyi Wu
In the dandelion window, Bruiser,
Formaldehyde frosting, which your waxed tongue searches,
Illuminated by the never-ending foreclosure, New Yorker and Chrysler, tipped hat perched
By such an endowing owner.
No pistol echoes blaringly, in one’s blatant lexicon of pleasure,
Mildred, who swings beneath train carts and latches empty junctures
Up atop stickered, rusting poles,
Whistles when you chuck near it, paws eerily placed, blanched naked across the pavement.
No more fitting than for rats, you say, sniff, drip in the alabaster sunrise.
Sunshine, baby, as he tips down, down, once more, guns ablazing, dried, fastened sneakers
Running, plowing, scattered amongst dreaded termite loads and clustered beetles of envy
For which you must surpass.
It shall eternally remain inevitable.
A lampshaded pull, adjacent to the rolls of the neck, flamboyant in their efforts to conceal
With sparkles secluded in every daunting, pasted-on letter.
He’s running, now, beckoning with intrepid fingers, convergence launching out in static waves, Unformidable spider legs adjourning as the devil snarls for that pink tongue.
A suffocated glance spurs me on. Mildred’s jauntiness withdrawals.
Faces mobilize as I tip, unfazed knees knocking out past templates of baked concrete,
Shadows haughtily ablaze in the crimson mist of July. They all whistle me on
Behind the ceased, dandelion window.
Pick up the pace,
Pick up the pace.
A Constellation Unravels - Emma Jolise
Deep amidst a Summer’s night, warm,
Over the dusty paths we strayed,
Beneath thin pines, into a rue-dappled field
Where a campfire’s golden blaze played.
Others sat there, the grass flattened by chairs
And up we stared, at Summer’s night
Into a dark expanse of twinkling, swirling stars
Winking wordlessly in our sight.
Together we watched a wonder
play out across the inky sky:
Eternity danced to the wind’s soft chimes,
Tapping out a tearful good-bye.
Yet still the universe unfolds,
and still we stare, our reverence full
At holy grandeur, the divine plan
Woven through the hearts of all.
Welcome to The Conscious Narrative
The Conscious Narrative cultivates a supportive literary community where emerging voices can flourish, focusing on fresh perspectives that might otherwise go unheard in traditional publishing spaces. By creating meaningful connections between emerging young writers, the magazine fosters artistic growth and mutual inspiration across different backgrounds and experiences. The publication's inclusive approach represents a thoughtful evolution in literary culture, honoring both innovative expression and the authentic emotional landscapes of a new generation of poets. We are dedicated to nurturing and promoting the work of young poets, offering a glimpse into the evolving landscape of contemporary poetry.