Happy Summer!

Our staff here at Pathos Literary Magazine would like to thank all the students, artists, and producers who contributed to the making of our beautiful magazines this year. We are so grateful to have had a successful release party where we shared magazines, donuts, and live poetry with you all (stay tuned for more events next year!). We look forward to opening submissions come Fall to welcome all the amazing art you all make this summer! Have a great summer!

A Short & Sweet List of Environmentally Friendly Art Projects


  • Save all your bottle-caps to create a bottle-cap collage, necklace, or belt
  • Make a clock with buttons or bottle-caps
  • Use old cans and jars for storage or as vases
  • Tie together scraps of ribbon to create bookmarks
  • Use recycled paper (especially newspaper or brown paper bag) as giftwrap
  • Sew an old t-shirt into a tote bag
  • Cut up an old pair of jeans for denim patches to sew on clothes
  • Cut and paint an empty cereal box into a paper holder
  • Clean out and repurpose empty candle jars (or recycle them at Yankee Candle)
  • Make a pressed leaf or flower collage with honey for glue
  • Collage with pages from old books from Powell’s
  • Use recycled art materials from Scrap (store located in Goose Hollow)
  • Paint on recycled canvases
  • Make your own nontoxic paint pigments from plant matter
  • Design an indoor forest of house plants
  • If possible, work digitally or with recycled or repurposed paper/material

Online Art Gallery, Volume 6

Submissions for the Spring issue are now officially CLOSED! Thank you so much to everyone who submitted! Our team is in the works of putting together the magazine, as well as planning surprise projects to share with you all! Have you picked up the Winter issue yet? The Spring issue will be hitting the stands in a few weeks! It’s starting to feel more and more like summer… Here’s some poetry for your weekend.

*

Untitled

by Rachel Woods

She writes down the story of her life,

On a piece of paper.

Like lyrics of a song,

She composes the words.

To let out her emotions,

Feelings that she holds so much in.

Without the words she puts down,

She often gets stressed.

She feels miserable,

Not writing for so long.

Now she picks up the pen,

And begins to writes again.

To heal herself,

Through writing.

 

No longer will I lose,

To the demons that I have inside.

I will fight back,

Step up to live on.

No longer will I live,

In the past.

My focus will be,

Mainly the future of my life.

For the key of the future,

Lies inside of me.

For I will survive this,

Like many battles before.

Through meditation,

Writing.

I will get through this trial,

And be stronger I am now.

And be one true,

Survivor.

 

Behind each tear is a person,

That isn’t giving up hope.

That one day there will be peace,

No longer war.

For war separates,

Divides us in half.

Tears us apart,

Shreds us like pieces of paper.

For we may not be born in this world,

To hate.

But to show love,

Compassionate feelings toward each other.

For the path of peace,

Has not lead us to the dark.

But to be children,

Of the light.

*

GRU and BLAY:

by N.A.

There once were two fellows

named Gru and Blay

 

one astute, the other gay

one loved school, the other play

and though they differed

in their usual ways

 

they became unlikely friends

*

THE UNDERBELLY

by Simone Toimil

soft, exposed, flesh, ripped open,

bleeding, dripping like tears

streaming down cheeks from not one but

all emotions,

feelings, experiences.

 

neurons firing

 

that first shock of being born

into this world,

when we never asked to be.

rooted in mortality

and the question of what.it.means.to.be.

to love

to live

to die

to sing

to weep

 

the misunderstood gift

 

the shadow that creates light.

the Truth.

the creature that soars,

and flaps, and claws

through the dark skies of dreams

into our most unreachable

un-seeable places

 

unleashing its contents

its secrets

across our unprepared souls.

 

look up, and you will see him,

screeching through the stars,

raining down hot drops of blood

onto your curious, outstretched, tongue.

fresh, from his breached underbelly.