Online Art Gallery, Volume 3

Welcome to another installment of Pathos Literary Magazine’s online art gallery! The flowers are blooming and beautiful, and the warmth of the Spring sun is finally shining on campus. The most recent issue of Pathos is currently on the stands around the hallways of PSU. We hope you consider submitting your unique artwork, poetry, and/or prose for publication in our next issue or online. Check out our social media pages to stay tuned for continuing updates and inspiration!


“Each of these photos were taken over the summer. They are representations of things I learned over the course of the summer. Disappearing Comrade is from a theater production I was in (over the summer) about WWII and current day performed entirely in German (this photo was taken during dress rehearsal); the character depicted in the photo is talking to one of his friends who was released from a concentration camp and he is unsure as to where his friend’s allegiance lies. Fine Wine is a representation of how we as humans and our style has changed over the years but our fundamentals remain in-tact. Protektor is a friend I was in the theatre production with who helped me when stress was added and feelings were hurt– he talked to me and kept me from anymore hurt feelings, not to mention he made me smile when I wanted to cry.”

– Josephine Claus


Disappearing Comrade

by Josephine Claus

Fine Wine

by Josephine Claus


by Josephine Claus


Take a deep breath and…

by Jessica Layman


Count the grey flecks on the 16 doves in the ash tree.

The arch where we made our own rain.

Table set to tea for two, but it’s too cold now.

The dead and drying vines threaten from the fence.

Mug of coffee, still warm.


Fingers frozen against glass pains.

Tangles of hair twist and tickle red ear tops.

Blankets wrapped around shaking shoulders.

Bite of concrete on skin.


Revved engine trying too hard on back country roads.

Rustling from the compost.

Someone, somewhere, is mowing their lawn.


Petrichors thick from the last rain.

Aging dog with the sunshine teeth grinning.


Too much cream.


You Can’t See My Sick

by Jessica Layman

i slurp up my brain stem

resting in a bowl of spinal broth


touch of basil            sprinkle the jalapenos


sliced, not diced

reveal the seeds

sprout new roots

on the roof of my mouth


it hurts


not as much as last time

still the noodles scream


slightly salted and crushed moon

to settle the ache


Sabi Sands

by Karla Powell

Along deep rutted roads our guide’s keen eyes detect minutiae traced in dusty earth

decipher faintest prints, in paid pursuit of that most precious wild

which still remains, such as this lounging pride


whose direct gaze disarms

whose measured strolls, so nonchalant, glide past us

where we sit in open jeep


without legs we’re neutralized in these lion’s eyes

like torsos of store mannequins, we are an incomplete display

tourists of ecology, toting souvenirs of early man within our DNA


the oldest of these lazing cats rests his bloodied mane

atop the cavernous remains of last night’s kill

our tracker warns us not to stand, not to lend them recognition


should one charge would we reenter our fateful history

that enduring interplay, which pivots on uncertainty

over who is predator, who is prey?

Online Art Gallery, Volume 2

Pathos Literary Magazine is pleased to produce for you the second edition of our online art gallery! We have so much gratitude and appreciation for our artistic community here at PSU. Stay tuned for more art, poetry, and inspiration, on the blog, on our social media pages, and on the Pathos stands in the hallways of PSU! Click on the visual poems to enlarge them.


Discourse on Cultural Impositions

by Emma Wallace


First Snow

by Jocelyn Kiffe

The red rain

sprinkled on the river.

It changed cold spring

to cloudy meadow.


My excitement mended

the chance to be mad at myself.


As the dust cleared

I shed my moldy skin.

My shell was short-lived.


And I, loud and rowdy,

became a wrinkle with a cane.



by Karen Torres-Olguin

I’m stuck in a cycle of living

and loving

in instances

That are nothing but exactly that –

short lived



by Karen Torres-Olguin



by Karen Torres-Olguin

Music playing in the background

The only way that I seem to fall asleep lately

There’s a break in the beat

Replaced with a steady buzz

A phone call


I pry my eyes open long enough

To read your name on the screen

And glance at the time

Knowing that by now you’re drunk

Filled with enough courage to last you through the night

And into the morning


During those five rings

That seem to span minutes, rather than seconds

I’m taken back

To spending those nights, that turned into mornings

On different sides of town

Wondering, if you’d ever make it back home to me


I worked on keeping you afloat

Never minding that I was drowning

Because you see, this is what love it supposed to be like

This is what love is supposed to be like

An affirmation that grew murkier, and quieter

As our voices grew louder


Five long rings

And I can feel myself

Sinking, sinking

Back to sleep

Online Art Gallery, Volume 1

Pathos Literary Magazine is pleased to announce we will be publishing online all the poetry and art that could not make it into printed versions — creating an online art gallery! We receive so many great submissions, we often don’t have enough pages in our mag to print every piece – even those we love. Now, we can publish even more, online! Thank you to the artists who agreed to online publishing. Stay tuned for more posts of unpublished submissions!


Pineapple Dream

by Claire Meyer



by Claire Meyer


by Claire Meyer


In the End

by Abbas Habibi

Old rusty unused train tracks

Where few wander to now

And pact inner city subways

Will all be empty in the end

The busy bars where so many go

To fight to laugh and to cry

And many venture to drown sorrow

It will all be empty in the end

The libraries home of many tomes

No hand will reach to read them

No one roaming the isles

All silent in the end

Natural scenery rushing waterfalls

None left to view them

Their beauty no longer admired

No one is left in the end

The fierce back and forth

Arguments and wars of men

Petty emotions unnecessary pain

Will all come to an end in the end

Nature will have its day in the sun

Unleashing its force against all

Mother Earth’s healing will begin

No one is left to hurt her in the end



by Rachel Woods 

Shades of red,

At a distance of time.

As I lay there,

In a meditative state.

Slowly going into a dream,

That I never dreamt before.

The past creeps up,

So fast.

Trying to wake up,

But don’t want to.

So many memories,

I had.

Some bad ones,

To make me think.

That I survived it all,

Through hell and back.

I moved on,

With life.


I am a survivor.