VOL 1 — No. 2
Winter 2014-2015
a division of Greystock News + Magazine Church Farm School 1001 East Lincoln Highway (US 30) Exton, Pennsylvania 19341 FOR ALL INQUIRIES TO THE STAFF
Greystock@gocfs.net CONTACT THE EDITORS
EKim@gocfs.net Edward Kim ‘16
JShields@gocfs.net Jeremy Shields ‘16
Director, Lead Editor-in-Chief, Greystock News + Magazine - Edward Kim ‘16 Editor-in-Chief, Greystock Magazine - Jeremy Shields ‘16 Faculty Advisor, Greystock News + Magazine - Mr. Robert Warfel
Mohammed Bappe ‘15 Muzhi Liu ‘16 Mohammed Emun ‘17
STAFF
Andrew Richards ‘17 Alejandro Zuleta ‘17 WanTierre Harris ‘18
Cover photo by Christopher Mazzoli Christmas Pageant Copyright © 2015 Church Farm School. All rights reserved. The works or opinions expressed in this periodical do not necessarily reflect the views of Church Farm School, its faculty, staff, or administration, and are the sole, creative works of their authors. Reproduction, disribution, or alteration of this document without the express consent of all necessary parties prohibited.
6
A Letter from the Editors
March 2015 We’re very late, but Happy New Year! The Greystock team is incredibly proud to have begun its new year with not only the launch of the online Greystock News website, but also with a full new release of Greystock Magazine. As we’re wrapping up the winter season here at the Church Farm School, we’re moving onto the final stretch of the 2014-2015 academic year, with Spring Break only days away. This issue of Greystock Magazine reflects the hard efforts of the team during the last three months since the publication of our first issue back in November. The theme for this issue is “Our work, old and new, defines us.” Our magazine showcases many different styles of writing and creativity, in the form of short stories, poems, illustrations, photographs, and so much more. Many of them are based on a lifestyle built around our school community and structure. This issue also delivers some photographs and videos sharing what our lifestyle is like here on our campus, highlighting certain events that have taken place over the last season. We have a photo essay that we think you’ll find particularly pleasing later in the issue. While much of the work presented in this issue is “new,” there is a bit of “old” that we wanted to share. Greystock Magazine’s predecessor, the school’s literary magazine, used to be a single publication at the end of each school year. Unfortunately, due to complications with the magazine’s publication last year, many students’ creative efforts never saw the light of day. The Greystock Magazine team wanted to rectify this by including some of those submissions in our own issue. What follows are some lost gems of the Church Farm School community, of creative minds both present and gone: the swan song of the CFS literary magazine. We hope you enjoy our second issue of Greystock Magazine. This compilation of different artistic and literary works represents not only the different passions and writing styles of our students, but also the diverse cultures and thought processes we bring to our school community. Thank you for taking the time to read the hard work of our fellow students. Sincerely yours, Edward Kim ‘16 Lead Editor-in-Chief & Director, Greystock News + Magazine Jeremy Shields ‘16 Editor-in-Chief Greystock Magazine
our work, old an
G
nd new, defines us
GREYSTOCK MAGAZINE VOL. 1 NO. 2 – WINTER 2015
BEGIN
10
A LONG WAY HOME A Short Story by Andrew Richards ‘17
AS I LEFT THE PAVILION, A BLUSTERY SQUALL HIT MY FACE. There was a blizzard, but I could not afford to let it hinder me; I had a destination to get to. I began to walk and I could hear my footsteps fall like bricks on the frigid concrete. I felt the voracious winds devouring my face. The raging snow obscured my vision. The view was desolate and the sky portrayed a dark, dusky image. Would I ever get back safely? As I climbed the treacherous incline, all I thought about was the community of friends, the warmth, the delicious food, and the safety that awaited me at my destination. How much longer would I suffer through the cold? Suddenly, I stumbled upon a cavern. A faint glow shone from the ceiling. Cautiously and nervously, I crept through the long passage. As I approached the end, I could hear a foot strike the floor. I knew it was him: the School Monitor. He was ruthless, strict, and unforgiving, offering no clemency to night-wanderers. For a second our eyes locked. I averted my gaze and tried to escape further into the cavern, but he took a purposeful step toward me, poised to punish. No, I could not allow him to punish me. Carefully stepping back, I almost fell on an icy surface. This was perfect. Swiftly, I moved behind the ice. The School Monitor sprinted toward me, prepared to present the demerit. I dashed toward the end of the tunnel with haste, while the School Monitor slipped on the unnoticed ice. I had no time to look back. Now all that stood between my destination and me was a small hill. I pushed, persisted, and persevered against the howling gale. No, I cannot make it … it is too far … I will not get there … a few more paces … and suddenly I was there. I had reached it: the place of community and friends and family and warmth and delicious food and safety. At last, I had accomplished my goal. I had returned home, to Woodside Cottage.
RIGHT Woodside Cottage during the Christmas Decorating Contest (file photo)
Silence
A Poem By Ukashah Shabazz ‘15
Silence is a flower with no color or shade An ignorant human forgetting why he was made A young child forced to behave Silence is a virtue Silence is sought after Silence can hurt you Silence can kill laughter Don’t stay silent. Be defiant. Only then can you grow Stay strong because the world is something you never truly know.
13
ABOVE Ahmad Thomas ‘15 plays the role of the priest during the Christmas Pageant Photo / Chris Mazzoli
WAR A Short Story by Kristos Kokoronis ‘16
THE NIGHT WAS COLD, BRISK, AND UNFORGIVING—AN UNUSUAL OCCURRENCE EVEN IN THE DARK FORESTS
of the Bavarian countryside. The long and cold winter brought all things to a halt, straining the fire here and gears of machines elsewhere. We here, the elite, feel the bitter cold of the breeze while our countrymen feel nothing in a far and distant land. It is here that the trumpets sound with such compelling passion, only to fall on deaf ears far, far away. It is in our native land that we see and command; all the while we are blind. Throughout alien woods and ancient hills, our words echo loudly, yet unheard stand our proud leaders. So in our towns and in our cities we sit empowered by malice; but hidden in our hate and hidden in our prowess, was fear. Here, where we find fear, we realize the mistakes made for all these years. We condemned them to silence and ourselves to blindness; amid our hoards of wealth we found paper useless against steel, and finally, in the end, it was us who needed to heal.
ABOVE Shingeki no Kyojin fan art Illustration / Edward Kim ‘16
16
RED APPLES BLUE
&STONE A Poem by Muzhi Liu ‘16
I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN I BEGAN TO OBSERVE.
It’s a lonely fortune that I should deserve. Nobody would talk to me actively. Even my siblings said nothing daily.
Oh, my dear siblings, you were captured by peasants in straw hat. How can I feed myself? If only I would struggle to leave the branch. One day I was blown from the ground by winds. I later started my escape to unknown regions. I ran and ran, sunset as my final destination. I rolled and rolled, never stopped at a station. Decide to forget tears and sadness. Travel with smiles and happiness. Day by day, I traveled almost the whole hemisphere. Finally, I met you at an extensive field. Face to face, I tried to break the depressing atmosphere. Actually, we didn’t speak for so long. My character is enthusiastic like my red skin. Your quality is melancholic as your blue body.
17
Seasons passed fleetingly, It was time for my journey. Farewell was given sincerely, You still said nothing. On my way to the end of the world, I made many friends with red faces. You still stayed the same as I moved far away, But you played an increasingly important role. Children considered you a fun place to play. The elderly regarded you a holy place to pray. I ran and ran, sunset as my direction. I rolled and rolled, with no communication. Finally, I arrived in my hometown, had a rest and then looked around. I met my descendants I had missed so long, They were chosen, though they had done no wrong. I just realized this was the end of life. I asked myself, when I would die? I expected to meet you again. Before everything was taken away. However, heavy snow and rain Filled my heart with wound and pain. I couldn’t forever stay young. My journey-scarred body fell down. My brittle body can’t withstand time’s ruthless torment. Your firm shield allows enjoyment of ever-changing moments. Suddenly, you opened your mouth, Said, “I will be with you.” Presently, you buried my ashes in the ground. For the first time, I felt singularly proud. After years at another end of the world, an apple tree sprouted that people never knew. Children on trees don’t know what tasks to undertake. Would they have the same ending as me for fortune’s sake?
18
ABOVE Students and faculty actively engaged in a conversation on how to present a topic regarding racial equality following a school-wide viewing of Selma. Photo / CFS File Photo, Development Office
19
A REFLECTION ON
RACISM AND POLICE BRUTALITY Police brutality has affected countless African Americans. But it also affected Muslims. By Saaif Ahmed ‘18
THE AMOUNT OF RACISM IN OUR SOCIETY HAS INCREASED IN THE LAST FEW MONTHS. The idea that racism influences police brutality is completely true. However, the idea that it only applies to black people is false. What we don’t hear in the news is how Muslims are treated in these situations. I believe it is time to recognize what Muslims face. Being a Muslim I am well aware of all the stereotypes that surround us. Such stereotypes are, “We beat our wives,” or, “We hate America,” and the most infamous: “We bomb.” Such statements should not be taken lightly; however, the media finds no interest in our situation. All you see is the bombings, fights, and riots Muslim countries face every day. Now to my fellow classmates, you all know that I am not a radical. I do not hate women or America. And the only thing I have exploded is a bag of popcorn. But, if I were on my way to Friday prayer, wearing my prayer clothes, I would definitely be stopped. If I were carrying a bag it would be even worse. Why? They would suspect I was carrying a bomb, or even worse, that I was the bomb. Let me show you another example. If I was on a train or a bus with a group of my friends, and we were all dressed in prayer clothes, what would the rest of the people on the bus think? People are afraid that Muslims will harm them, and radical groups such as ISIS and the Taliban are to blame. They claim to fight in the name of Allah, yet they are only murderers. Muslims by the command of Allah are to only fight to protect faith, family, and property. When the Taliban and ISIS ruthlessly kill women and children they break their faith, if they had a faith to begin with. Those monsters are not Muslim, they are savages that portray themselves as part of Islam, and people should realize that. It’s a shame that this is the scenario for Muslims, but is even a larger shame that no one seems to notice. There is no need for racism in this world; however, that which is spotlighted and stigmatized in the news cannot overshadow similar injustices.
20
Snow Day A Poem by Mohammed Emun ‘17
Outside, we did go, To do nothing, oh God no. Just there in the snow.
ABOVE Towards Home Digital Illustration / Edward Kim ‘16
21
22
ABOVE Prefects and several guest faculty enjoyed a special Etiquette Dinner prepared by Prefect Director Mr. Zach Roberts. CFS File Photo / Stefanie Claypoole
23
My
JEWISH CHOCOLATE BAR A Poem by Jeremy Shields ‘16
It’s Christmastime again, But not for chocolate.
The menorah shines and sparkles gold, Emblem of Jewish holiday old.
I attend not a synagogue, Nor have undergone Bar Mitzvah. My meat need not be kosher Though I worship God (Jehovah). The Talmud does not interest me, And in my heart I know That Maimonides and I cannot Wax philosophical.
Yet these are for men of plebeian tastes. Why carry coinage, specie, change, When chocolate bars are all the rage?
Yet as I curl up by the fireside, In Jewish chocolate I abide. ‘Blasphemy!’ the zealous cry, ‘What sacrilege is this?’ Well it is my view That without Hanukkah Jews, There cannot be a Christmas! For what would Christmas be without The Jewish chocolate all about? Chocolate coins in fishnet sacks, And in relief upon their backs
Keeping with the currency trend, The bars, they glimmer gold. To tear away this precious cover Reveals confectionary wonder: A chocolate bar, the sweetest treat, Menorah-emblazoned, ripe to eat. Stereotypes pervade, nay, steep This holiday indulgence, But in a positive light, Aureate wrap does invite A sensation of hallowed refulgence. Indeed, there exists no recourse among sweets Like my Jewish chocolate bar.
24
FROZEN in TIME A Short Story by Zavier Richards ‘17 I LOOK AT THE POND EVERY YEAR ON THE SAME DAY AND THINK. The plant growth seems to be completely stunted, but they are not dying. The pond is lifeless, but not dead. Rather, it is still. One day the pond will come back filled with life and excitement; the frogs will swim around, the ducks will paddle along, and the breeze will not be one of pain as it is now. Now it is still, as if frozen in time, as if something has provided time for reconciliation as I wait. It was a normal day like any other; the world was coming to the bitter winter as it always does. Life was still good; there was still Joy in the air and birds in the sky. Joy is movement. Joy is gracious. Joy is life itself. However, joy makes one think not of dying at any moment, as when one glides across a recently frozen pond. Joy makes one forget such thoughts and only think about joy and not about the present threat. Joy ends quickly and others take over. Depression. Mournfulness. Gloom. Every day I wait for joy to come back through the pond. Every day I pray for joy to come back through the pond. Every day I imagine joy coming back through the pond. Joy is Everything.
25
fly high A Poem by Mohammed Emun ‘17 Birds flying, flapping over my head As they move south with nothing to be said I wish I could be with them, up and free Not stuck on earth where God put me If I were them I would soar through the wind I could do anything, no need for discipline I would have amazing wings that I could spread And fly high till the day I fell dead And as I fell, I would look down with glee And reflect that I had lived so happily. If you want to be a bird, just don’t sin. When I did, ‘twas my life which wore thin.
fireworks
If you’ve never read the lyrics to the song “Firework” by Katy Perry, you should! They are inspiring. As are these original photographs taken by our own resident photographer Stephen Zarycranski ‘16. Enjoy both!
Do you ever feel Like a plastic bag Drifting through the wind Wanting to start again Do you ever feel Feel so paper-thin Like a house of cards One blow from caving in Do you ever feel Already buried deep Six feet under Screams but no one seems to hear a thing Do you know that there’s Still a chance for you ‘Cause there’s a spark in you You just gotta Ignite the light And let it shine Just own the night Like the Fourth of July
PHOTO SERIES Fireworks by Stephen Zarycranski ‘16
‘Cause baby, you’re a firework Come on show them what you’re worth Make them go, “Oh, oh, oh” As you shoot across the sky Baby, you’re a firework Come on let your colors burst Make them go, “Oh, oh, oh” You’re gonna leave them all in awe You don’t have to feel Like a waste of space You’re original Cannot be replaced If you only knew What the future holds After a hurricane Comes a rainbow Maybe the reason why All the doors are closed So you could open one That leads you to the perfect road Like a lightning bolt Your heart will glow And when it’s time you know You just gotta Ignite the light And let it shine Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July ‘Cause baby, you’re a firework Come on show them what you’re worth Make them go, “Oh, oh, oh” As you shoot across the sky Baby, you’re a firework Come on let your colors burst Make them go, “Oh, oh, oh” You’re gonna leave them all in awe Boom, boom, boom Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon It’s always been inside of you, you, you And now it’s time to let it through ‘Cause baby, you’re a firework Come on show them what you’re worth Make them go, “Oh, oh, oh” As you shoot across the sky Baby, you’re a firework Come on let your colors burst Make them go, “Oh, oh, oh” You’re gonna leave them all in awe Boom, boom, boom Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon Boom, boom, boom Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
“FIREWORK” by Katy Perry Published by Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Peermusic Publishing, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., DOWNTOWN MUSIC PUBLISHING Songwriters WILHELM, SANDY / ERIKSEN, MIKKEL / HERMANSEN, TOR / DEAN, ESTHER / PERRY, KATY
30
PHOTO SERIES Fireworks by Stephen Zarycranski ‘16
31
32
Of Lust Anonymous If present, lust devours all, abandoning past, present, future, revealing hellacious senses. Sinful, a wickedness with a tendency to proliferate through every inch of one’s being, imitating wildfire, being fire. Consuming one in a glorious high, naught the high of life, but the high of things naught to be touched, naught to be felt, for they create a world of pleasure. The skin burns in elation, naught adulation, for that would imply love, for love by the enemy of lust. “I made a covenant with my eyes not to look lustfully at a girl.� Job 31:1 Lust breaks covenants, destroys pledges, they are useless in the arms of lust that is the home of sinful joy. A house fulsome of temptation thee art drawn to, wax a plant of corruption, where knives cut the sheets of morals built, flimsy like paper when lust is present. A discrete enemy, hiding, though just as formidable, disguised as passion, which illuminates from the heart. Passion caresses the body, with tenderness and intensive care, lust attacks with joyful stabs, violently but smoothly, sending ecstasy into the blood, attacking the arteries, poisoning the heart and soul. To have love is to taint lust, to have passion is to clutch lust by the reigns of life, to have lust is to abandon the two. Lust is the innate wanting, not desire, for in that moment it is ceaseless, unbroken, perpetual. Conjuring an aroma, lifeless of passion, to resemble knees in the hands of mischief.
33
SKETCHES ABOVE Treecko and Bulbasaur by Zeeshan Zahid ‘16
34
ABOVE Chikorita by Zeeshan Zahid ‘16
35
ABOVE The Global Griffins Club of the Church Farm School interviewed Shin Dong-hyuk, an escapee of a North Korean internment camp and the subject of the biography Escape from Camp 14.
CFS File Photo / Stefanie Claypoole
40
41
OPEN MIC NIGHT COMMUNITY
CFS students participated in an Open Mic Night that highlighted some of the talented voices and instrument players in the community. Check out the videos on (if you’re on campus) Shared/Clubs/Greystock/Open Mic Night Performances, or on our website at http://greystocknews.com/
Thank you
for reading
GREYSTOCK Magazine
Greystock Magazine Vol. 1 No. 2 Copyright Š 2015 Church Farm School. All rights reserved. 1001 East Lincoln Highway. Exton, PA 19341. The works featured in Greystock Magazine are those of their respective authors and do not represent the opinions or views of Church Farm School, its staff, faculty, and/or administration.