Number 3528967

Confined to the smallest space

Only theses 4 walls I see everyday

And a small window they peak into every now and then

They see all of us just the same

I was a battered woman who snapped one day

And I ultimately took my husband life away

But the lady next to me decided she didn’t want to be a mother any more

But all they recognized us is as numbers

All of us have the same mentality

A menace to society

An endangerment to our environment

Never analyzing the situation differently

I’m just number 3528967

All because I was stuck with a lawyer who was working with the DA

A public defender who couldn’t even remember my name

And a jury who didn’t give a damn if I dropped dead that exact day

I was handcuffed the last time I seen my kids face

I couldn’t hug ‘em, couldn’t kiss ‘em

The last thing I told them was I love ‘em

Now I’m lose in the system

Just number 3528967

Doing life in the penitentiary

I no longer have an identity

No name and everybody share the same face

Being told when to eat, when to sleep

I’m no longer a writer, but a murderer

I’m no longer Paris, but number 3528967

By: Paris Shampagne

Open

As the light shunned upon my face,

The blessings of my life unveiled upon my brain.

My soul began to ache with love from above,

His mercy ever so abundantly given to me,

Shed upon my twenty years on Earth,

His grace stretched with his loving

Arms of protection.

I thought nothing about the world, but

Rather being closer to Him,

For the things of this world will inevitably

Pass away, like a dream that one can’t

Recall in the morning, you are left

With nothing.

There was no need for me to procrastinate,

No angst or fear, except the fear of Him

In thy soul, He will and has delivered

Me from anguish, and destruction

of my soul.

Do not worry or dwindle your thumbs about

The ending of your self-centered lives, but

I urge you to take a step back and listen to

God. He’s speaking, you should listen,

Open your ears, the trumpets will soon

Sound through the nations, open your ears,

Your hearts, don’t worry about the End,

Just listen to his voice, He is here,

Prepare yourselves for Eternity,

The End.

-By Chaney Bennett

Chaney Bennett was born and raised in a small town, 20 minutes outside of Baton Rouge called Gonzales. Growing up she always envisioned her self becoming a teacher, but by the time she reached high school graduation, Chaney was determined to find something more deep within her self. She began writing as much as she could, trying to find her "niche", pressing to find herself. Chaney loves writing, she never knew that until it was all she did, she enjoys it, she is desperate for it, everyday is a poem, an article, a short story to be written, to be told.

My Church

We’re always prompt and on time,

every Friday night, we walk the line.

We practice scriptures all through the week,

our church is not for the soft or the meek.

I’ve tried to visit other churches,

I was judged as I walked through the door.

My voice froze in my chest, my feet were glued to the floor.

I pile the makeup high on my face,

to try to hide all the pain.

But when my voice carries through,

They hear my despair all the same.

The members seek right from wrong,

search for a place to belong…

You don’t have to be pretty or carry

A lot of dough,

you just have to carry a tune.

In my church, its ok to break into dance,

to wear really short pants,

its ok to no longer pretend,

to have all the answers.

We left them somewhere upon the

Altar of broken dreams.

We are still searching for salvation, it seems…

I can’t be around angels,

I’m afraid I will burn right through their halos,

with the dark cold of my searing past,

and the many squeletons that live

In my closets made of glass.

The sinners never held me up,

above the places that I couldn’t reach.

This church is made of the loneliness

of the spare, no one questions

Why you are there.

We’ve all decided we can’t bare

to get on our knees and preach.

We wail our sorrows into a much-used mike,

we screech and hiss our dreams and our fright,

we send our love across the room,

to try to dissipate some of the gloom.

The preacher sits safely behind his blinking

bible, its his job to hold it together when we

all start to fall apart.

I am reliving my teenage years when I was just

a shadow longing for a spark in the dark,

You just found the spotlight and moth to the flame,

You refuse to remain…elsewhere.

Its a fragile house of puppets, this place

that we call home.

I’ll see you next Friday and please, don’t be late.

I will scream my confessions on the pedestal of my hate.

We know we’ll never make it to the pearly gates,

but maybe hell has a beaten-up stage and a leaky microphone,

and we’ll sing an almost- perfect song…

When all of the saints have gone. 

-By Jaleh Kazemi

Jaleh Kazemi was born in Ivory Coast (a country in West Africa) of an American mother and an Iranian father. She moved to Lafayette, her mother's home town, in 1993 to pursue an American college education. She obtained a Bachelor Degree in English Education at ULL (then USL) in 2000. She received a Master of Arts Degree in French in 2006 at ULL. She is currently a doctorate student with an ABD (All But Doctorate) status in Francophone Studies in the ULL Modern Language Department. She is the proud mother of Kadin Alexander Louis Richard and Koral Sharon Elizabeth Richard.

The Circle of Autism

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Chantez en moi, ô Muse

Gracela

-By Pamela Reese

Just a Reminder...

The Southwestern Review is the University of Louisiana at Lafayette's in-house literary journal edited by graduate and undergraduate in Creative Writing. It features short fiction, poetry, non-fiction and drama by faculty, graduate students, undergraduates, and alumni illustrated with student art work. For any questions, please contact The Southwestern Review Editors at southwesternreview@gmail.com.

Benjamin's Verse

Benjamin of a rare and noble breed

a gentleman of intelligence and class

to be enjoyed among indulgent company

Ben of dedication to an honorable creed

your soul reflects of an intricately colored glass

bringing translucent conversation to many

Your temperament enigmatic and enthralling

is absorbed by an inspiring resilience

and amusing is your solid essence

With pride and justice you seek a calling

full of an ever righteous sense

and you pleasure me with your soulful being

Benjamin, your audacious character displayed

believe in yourself and you’ll live in irenic ambience

your courteous demeanor is so befitting

Ben, whose dignity always shines through

may you pertain to a life of rectitude

full of refinement and self-respect

Remember those who know you true

they’ll cherish you for your fortitude

and embrace in your ability to connect

- by Annette Redmond

-Annette Redmond is a Lafayette native who spent 5 years in the Middle East, graduating high school from the American School of Doha before moving to Denver, CO. After six years in Colorado she has come home to study English with a concentration in creative writing at ULL. She lives with her three year old son and plans to also attend graduate school at UL and hopes to teach creative writing workshop as well as publishing her own works. Annette has been writing poetry since the age of 12 and has broadened her work to include several short stories and 1 or 2 potential novels. Writing has been a long time passion for her and she is eager to expand her talent through education. Some of her inspirations include Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Frost. 

The Writer's Bloc

The University of Louisiana at Lafayette's NEW Creative Writing organization will be having its first meeting Wednesday, January 25th (Tomorrow!) at 3pm in Griffin Hall Room 315. This is a great opportunity to meet other artists and share ideas about bringing creativity to our community. See you there!

Lover's Leap

- By Lynda Frese

-The artist Lynda Frese, a native of Rhode Island, has made her home in South Louisiana since 1986. She received both her B.A. and M.F.A. degrees from the University of California at Davis, California and is an alumna of the Skowhegan School for Painting and Sculpture in Maine.  The artist has lived in France, Italy and Costa Rica as an artist-in-residence, including the Rockefeller Bellagio Center, the Liguria Center for the Arts and Humanities and the American Academy in Rome. Lynda Frese is Professor of Art in the Visual Arts Department at UL Lafayette, where she teaches photography.

Lynda Frese’s artworks present hybrid worlds combining images and artifacts from ancient sites with zones of wilderness. Her recent book Pacha Mama: earth realm

combines photography with egg tempera painting and explores notions of death and rebirth by considering the way Nature teaches us, feeds us, cleans us and mends us through time. 

A distant dream

Ticks and tocks of clocks:

time passes through itself

melting away into the surface.

A picture, an image, a dip into surrealism.

Unfamiliar grounds express chaos.

A fight between night and day:

religious beliefs mold into the earth.

The web of life comes alive:

a dome of peace.

Clouds form the background:

an hourglass of time.

Sand pours to the bottom

as light shines through it.

A pathway is shown to this beautiful land.

Sailing across the vast ocean: an adventure.

Running towards the shadows: stupidity.

An oasis of time consecrates the state of mind.

-by Taylor Cohen

                                                                                          

The Beginning and the End is near....

Coming this Spring for the first time, the University of Louisiana at Lafayette's premiere journal, The Southwestern Review will began updated its blog Monday-Friday starting January 23rd.

We will be showcasing selected art from ULL's own community of creative minds. Here the conversation will began about what the phoenix means and how those interpret it. Also, we have some great surprises this spring. We will keep you updated!

The Southwestern Review: Phoenix Edition is coming soon. The Beginning and the End is near. See you there!

The Southwestern Review Editors