The Phoenix, 2024

The Phoenix 2024

Every year, she watches, waiting for her time to strike. Searching for the best prey, flashing their ardent colors and sharing their sacred songs. When the time comes, her fire painted feathers glide down, consuming only the best Every year.

- JP Loyko ‘24 & James White ‘24, Editors-in-Chief

The Phoenix

2024 - Volume XXXIX

EDITORS IN CHIEF

JP Loyko & James White

PRODUCTION EDITOR

Max Diaz

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Anderson Bishop, Enzo Bunag, Joey Bunag, Tobin Choquette, Hartwell Craig, Quinn Gibson, Kai Rock, Jack Scandling, Ryan Scott

MODERATOR

Dr. Harry Rissetto

SPECIAL THANKS

Mr. Joe Ross, Mr. Matt Duffy, Mrs. Shelly Farace, Ms, Molly Flynn, Mr. Ciaran Freeman, Mr. Steve Beaulieu, Mr. Andrew Bevilacqua, Ms. Sarah Blair, Ms. Kathleen Clark, Mrs. Teresa Jackson, Ms. Mary Kate Kimiecik, Mr. Bill Pierce, Ms. Kylee Piper, Mr. Joe Sampugnaro, Mr. Randy Trivers, Mr. Patrick Welch, Ms. Shannen Milletary, Ms. Emily Murray, Nick Gaston ‘23, Peter Mildrew ‘22, Liam Downing ‘21, Michael Kennedy ‘20, Henry Sullivan ‘20, Lucas Scheider Galiñanes ‘19, Ethan Tobey ‘19, Alex Gomez ‘18, Rylan Madison ‘18, Tommy Boyce ‘17, Quinn Aitchison ‘17, Luke Allen ‘16, Holden Madison, ‘16, Chris Hrdy ‘15, Kevon Turner ‘15, Matt Buckley ‘14, Joe Dahut ‘14, Christian Forte ‘14, Matt Druckenbrod ‘13, Dominic Plantamura ‘13, Andrew Richard ‘13, John Morabito ‘12, Aaron Clark ‘12, Daniel Sweet ‘12, Tom Robertson ‘11, Matt Weider ‘10, Johannes Schmidt ‘09, Will Felker ‘08, and all students who submitted art and literature for consideration.

Dedication

The 2024 edition of The Phoenix is dedicated to Gonzaga’s extraordinary librarian, Ms. Shannen Milletary. Whether she’s decorating the library for Christmas or orchestrating the Gonzaga annual chess tournament, Ms. Military transforms the library into a cozy haven for both casual chats with friends and intense study sessions. Although Ms. Milletary often operates behind the scenes, her efforts never go unnoticed. During Black History Month, she curated the stunning 50th Onyx Anniversary exhibit, showcasing the club’s rich history and compelling stories. Ms. Milletary, please continue to brighten our campus with your warmth and illuminate the path of literacy for all of us here in the Gonzaga community.

L I T

Failures

Chris Settle III

In shadows deep, where dreams do fade, A life once vibrant, now betrayed. With every step, a stumble, a fall, Echoes of failure, a haunting call.

Ambitions lofty, like fleeting mist, Grasped too eagerly, then dismissed. I n the tapestry of time, a frayed seam, Weaving tales of a broken dream.

A symphony of sorrows, a mournful tune, Played on the strings of a heart, marooned. Hopes lie scattered, like autumn leaves, Crushed by the weight of unmet beliefs.

Yet in this lament, a whisper of grace, Resilience rising, a steadfast embrace. For in the ruins of what might have been,

A chance for rebirth, to rise again.

Every Sunday James White

On Henry O. Tanner’s painting “The Banjo Lesson”

Every Sunday after church, you would teach me

A routine agony your wrinkled hands guided me through the chestnut board. And when minutes turned to hours and when flinched fingers retreated from sharp strings

You forced me to continue and when the crimson liquid oozed on the plain white canvas you forced me to continue and when the tears showered the blood clean you forced me to continue

When several Sundays caused your grip to fade and voice to diminish I didn’t mind

It was a comforting relief

Every Sunday

When you could no longer give me lessons I would play on my own every Sunday

When you could no longer hear my progress I would play for the unknown every Sunday

When you could no longer breathe

My banjo must continue your tone

Every single Sunday I play for joyous crowds with tear in my eyes longing for one more Sunday when I would sit on your lap and you would teach me to play

the text i couldn’t send Peter Allen

i lied when i said that i loved you and im sorry that i couldn’t say no we dreamt beautiful dreams together but i got scared and let go

i don’t know if i ever meant it even though i promised that i did what am i supposed to know about love? young romance isnt meant for every kid

we never got our hallmark movie our homecomings or picnics in the sun despite all the tears that i shed secretly i was relieved we were done

but you told me that you loved me and i stuttered in my reply i managed to choke out “i love you too” but all i did that night was cry

ive felt hollow ever since that tragic night so im confessing to the lie i told im deleting all my pictures of you and giving up on dreams of us growing old

Dear Summer Tomas Vick

Summer has flown away. With each flap of its wings a day passed. No answer regarding its return. Just acceptance, that Summer is leaving

Relaxing mornings became brisk and chilled. Summer friends became classmates. The ice cream truck becomes a snow plow. Warm dew mornings now made grass crunch because summer is far away

The tune of the morning bird, silenced.

Replaced by quiet. The warmth of the bright star, dimmed.

Replaced by bitterness. My smooth skin under calming heat, disrupted.

Replaced by goosebumps.

Clouds that gave breaks from the sun now erupt from the mouth in cold air. Flowing rivers providing life turned deserted slates of ice because the summer is gone.

Silence James White

I yearn for perfect Silence, she hides from me. I desperately drive searching engines roaring, horns singing I continue looking, for Silence my necessity. And I peek through moss-covered meadows. An eye seeks. owls quiet in shadows, by the creek for a second. I see a glimpse. One squirrel ascends bark.

My search continues. I look in my intimate domain It’s safety comforts me, I seldom look for Comfort. I can find her with ease I search for silence. Behind, she hides. By the escaping air of dull blades. Behind, She hides distant chatter, wheels cruising.

My search continues Finally, I looked inside For my time few and my findings fewer She is nowhere, not found. Drumming of my chest. Not found. VastAirCompressed, not found. In the dynamic nebulous of my mind She is never found

God Is Not Purple

Justin Tonio Wallace

Do you really know what school you go to

The Chains and the whips

And the screams and cries

Of the pregnant women Peter Kenney saw

Or the scorching heat of the day

And the hungry cold nights

Where the real founders of this school

Could not have a half a day to themselves

People with my skin color

Were traumatized

Dehumanized

Traded for crops and animals

God is not Purple

God is Brown

Brown as Gabriel

Whose story is unknown

When you wear the G

Thomas Martino

When you wear the G

You must commit to be

A man of honor

A man of integrity

When you wear the G

You accept the responsibility To stand up tall And carry on the legacy

When you wear the G

Be grateful and proud You’re among best around Not just another in the crowd

But part of a culture so profound

When you wear the G

You have a reputation to defend

A duty to be loyal, To be a brother and a friend

So, keep up the tradition To be a man for others

Alongside your brothers Take on the mission

For the greater glory of God

Take up a cause

Through actions and words

Narrow or broad

Hail the purple, hail the white

Always put up your best fight Against the wrong, for the right And keep the brotherhood close and tight

To the high road you must climb

Life is sacred and so is your time

Cherish it, define it and bring it meaning

Actually do the things you’ve been dreaming

Life is special so make it count

You owe it to yourself to climb that mount

Live with intention

Be the best you can be

In all your efforts

In all your activity

Now is the time to be staunch in loyalty

To Embody love, faith, and charity

Devoted to justice, freedom, and dignity

The pursuit of intellect, competence, and chivalry

To the men of Gonzaga, past, present, and future

If you put on the G

Please for the glory of God remember to be

A man defined by leadership, service and integrity

Fly high, boys and set the world on fire

To honor those who’ve come before

And those who’ll come to be

Forever cheer on the Eagles and long live the brotherhood

AMDG

Those Simple Times

Alex Guarini

I think about those perfect days

The blissful simplicity of childhood I wish to relive that fleeting phase.

My dad hurls a ball and it meets my gaze I send the ball flying and my biggest fan cheers I think about those perfect days.

My brother jabs my side in the midst of praise I conceal my laughter from the crowded church I wish to relive that fleeting phase.

I limp inside with my legs abrased

Like a nurse my mom cures me with an antidote of kisses I think about those perfect days.

I beg my sister to come downstairs and play My expected defeat brings the joy that I craved I wish to relive that fleeting phase.

I wish for childhood’s simple ways

As bright and invigorating as Helios’s rays. I think about those perfect days I wish to relive that fleeting phase.

Where the Road Ends

Tomas Vick

On my trip to the US Mexico border last summer, after Langston Hughes

He and I see the same star from sunrise to sunset but shadows cross brick and iron so his light and mine have never met.

He and I Our hands reach far Then stop split by orange steel bars.

He and I share the same dreams but his deferred while mine gleams and his dried like raisins in scorched plains.

He and I broken by brick and iron which ends the road that led us to the friends we could have been.

What do you see when you see me?

Justin Wallace

What do you see when you see me? do you see my dreads my fresh nike sneaks that doesn’t show you who

I really am Or do you see, my football skills the jumping, running, tackling which is only part time

Why don’t you see, my kindness or my caring heart or see my creativeness or intelligence which outweigh any aspect of who

Justin is

Yeah Ma I tell you

Son to Mother Justin Wallace Dedicated to Langston Hughes

Life for you ain’t been no golden spoon. It has sour taste And bitter And cries dropping From the chin to the floor

Suffering

But all the time

You’se been eating And fighting And finding ways to survive And sometimes there will be days Where there feels it’s no way out

So Ma don’t you turn back now

Don’t you stop eating

Cause you fine it’s kinder hard

Don’t you starve now

For you show me how to eat

And life for you ain’t been no golden spoon.

The Magic Mirror Kai Rock

“Mirror mirror in my hand, Who’s the finest in this land?”

“It’s him and her,” the mirror will say “They’re vibrant stars

Glowing in the darkest skies, Their gravity is inescapable Their beauty is incorruptible” Look deep into the mirror and ask “Am I as bright?”

“Mirror mirror in my hand, Who’s the most popular in the land?”

“It’s him and her,” the mirror will say “They generate a constant storm of heat

A fire for every follower

Emitting from each pixel on your screen”

Consuming this arid and lonely landscape, Look at deep into the mirror and ask “Am I as radiant?”

Mirror mirror in my hand

Will I ever be good enough for this land? Compared to the sun, I seem dim Compared to their energy, I feel tired

Mirror mirror in my hand

Why bring this terrible curse to our land? I’ve lost all my value like so many others I can’t stand my reflection I can’t stand stand who I am

To the black holes in our hearts, To the phones in our hands, We’re more fragile than we know

Route 80

Chris Settle III

Beneath the canvas of the morning sky, A boy who lives enjoying his time. Leaving home unknown to him, Time to embark on the journey within

A suitcase of dreams, a heart full of fears. Venturing forth as the horizon nears. New faces, strange places, a world unexplored, Challenges abound courage is implored.

Lonely roads and echoes of fears, In the face of trials, determination steers. Unfamiliar tongues and uncharted ground, In the crucible of change, strength is found.

Through the darkest nights and days so gray, They persevere, pushing doubts away. For leaving home to a new embrace He finds a strength that time can’t erase.

Still thinkin’ bout

Your smile. the funny stories you told always kept us laughing

You Ephram Mersha

Still thinkin’ bout Your energy. consistently bringing joy changing our negative moods

Still thinkin’ bout Your love. deep in our hearts filling our restless soul

Still thinkin’ bout Your protection. keeping us safe from punishment when we deserved it most

Still thinkin’ bout Your wisdom. giving sound advice to learn from past mistakes

I’m still thinkin’ about you.

I miss you. See you in Heaven. Until then, still thinkin’ bout you.

half empty Blake Harper

a cup filled with water one little droplet in a river to be blessed and highly favored by the power above riding the wave that has no adversity man

I miss that feeling may 26th, 2023 2:42 am my pen runs out of ink a cup half empty seeing life through a polaroid life is like multitasking in class do I pour the water out? that’s not fair to the cup holder couldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy the people sitting on the other side of this glass couldn’t fit in my shoes

Tranquility

Charlie Wooters

In sprawling landscapes where whispers linger, Underneath vast skies, a game takes its stance,

Here, a test of skill unfolds, daunting and precise, Where time seems to pause with each deliberate move.

Golf, the pinnacle of precision’s domain, A symphony of focus, a delicate dance, Each swing a calculated blend of power, In nature’s arena, where obstacles abound.

Across the fairways, the ball sails with purpose, A negotiation with wind, a pursuit of height, Yet within this pursuit lies a vast maze, Where the smallest error can erase past triumphs.

For every shot demands sharp calculation, Navigating hazards where dangers lurk, Bunkers like traps, water’s reflective surface, Each obstacle a puzzle in the game’s unfolding.

The greens, like lush carpets unfurled, Each contour a silent challenge, For here, the game decrees, To decipher slopes, a task of its own.

Yet amidst the struggle, beauty emerges, In shared stories, in camaraderie found, For golf transcends skill under the morning sun, It’s a journey shared, in the bond of companionship.

Food Alex Lopez

In a restaurant in Puerto Rico, Where anticipation chews at an impatient child, My food comes out first, Overcome with joy I smiled. My brother was jealous, As if he was exiled. He lunged across the table, My steak, defiled. My parents were shocked, From them my brother was reviled. They called his actions egregious, Like one of a school child’s. My parents wanted remorse, An apology to be compiled. To me this was expected, A consequence that was mild. But my brother was stubborn, He didn’t think his actions were wild. Instead he gave me some of his steak, His actions were reconciled.

The Beauty of the pastor Hayden Burnside

Upon the hills, the sun blows orange creamsicle kisses, As cold, crisp breezes sweep through streets of planted fields, Where wildflowers in bismuth colors blossom. Beneath the light lapis sky, so vast and clear, Where meadows green and cold sway like whispers, The pastor lays the virgin like an unmarried hand

The paper-crunched leaves, a lullaby they sing, As they rustle and dance beneath ancient and valent trees, To serenade the soul in the pastor’s shrine Beside the stone fence and pebbled path In nature’s cradle, where time passes by.

In this simple world, where the senses reign, The whispers of the wind, the smell of dew grass, The taste of clean water and the feel of living earth. And every moment feels like reverie; So, let us go and explore through meadows, Brought in by nature’s tender, motherly arms, And find solace in life’s quiet charms.

Its legend is famous

It’s all but gracious

They say its a fake

The Butterfly Bird Adam

Ford Redd Jr.

Yet none claim to hear its sound

A lie people make But I know that to be unsound

For on this day

I’ll say it my way I heard the butterfly bird.

Debates they are cautious

Filled with the anxious

Who think they all heard a sound

Yet I say to them it won’t make amends

To tell them they’re all crazy

For what they heard wasn’t a herd

For It was the butterfly bird.

I’d swear I heard the butterfly bird And its majestic song

In fact long had I heard the butterfly bird

When those who lied were sated

But then they woke With rage afloat And burned those who thought one way

In times long past Its legend would last But now it’s gone it seems I used to know someone would go And try and see the thing

Yet I still know one thing is sure That I heard the butterfly bird.

Ally

and Foe Alex Guarini

None endures more than water,

The earth’s sweet nectar of life.

Tossed and turned it is

In this unforgiving world.

From ice to mist it transforms.

Frost coats green like a white sheet.

Roaring waves cry out to the birds

As the water rises and falls with the tides. But just as Neptune permits our being So in his wrath he revokes it.

Storms leave trails of thunderous destruction

As nature hides from its greatest ally and foe.

Slick ice and thick snow

Are needles to the fragile creatures

Who dare share a world with this monster.

Yet water loyally withstands the irreverence of the universe

Its coolness eternally runs through rivers and streams

It defuses the fire of thirst, its flavor so empty

But as jolting as liquor.

And the rains from up above, Neptune’s purest antidote, Hoist our crops to Olympus.

Caged

Bird Charlie Wooters

I’m not an airplane, Restricted by the actions of pilots but, Free.

Well somewhat free Its hard to tell

This cage with its iron bars, How is it my home? Placed here alone me

No roof or walls to protect me Just myself No bed to rest my head Just cold hard metal

The illusion of freedom Constant Like one raindrop After another Merely making me feel, I’m home.

How can this be a home? How can I live here?

Stop! Something is wrong.

Love Ryan Scott

Oh, dearest love, how do I yearn for thee

With every beat of my sincerest heart

My soul is captured by your company

Oh from your side, I never wish to part

In dreams, your calmness grasps with no disgrace

A constant presence in my tender mind

How I long to feel the warmth of your grace

And leave this longing, endless, surely kind

Though distance keeps us in its own cruel hand

Our love will bridge the space between our gap

For time nor space can dare break our strong stand

The bond that binds our souls, never to part

Just let us cherish every dashing hour

And through our love, find everlasting power

Tick Tock Charlie Wooters

Way back ago, Second’s final tick Hour’s final rotation.

When we are lost

What are we to feel When our last breath is taken

When our last Second Minute Hour Is gracefully forced into the hands of Time, and a vague image

What were we? Way back ago.

Thank you, Pasta For the eggs and the wheat For the sauce that wraps you Like a blissful sheet.

Thank you, Pasta For your billions of shapes The big and the small The light and opaque.

Thank you, Pasta For the memories made The gatherings ‘round the table With true feelings displayed.

Thank you, Pasta For the bubbling noise The hums touch the soul And are thieves to my poise.

Thank you, Pasta For the boiling convection For the savory sauce And the al dente perfection.

Ode to Pasta Alex Guarini

Spiders

Alex Lopez

Like a grain of sand, One is insignificant, But multiple form land, When combined together, They form a band, But one on its own, I do not need a hand. Multiple crawling on eight, I have nowhere to go, I wake up in my bed, They are all over my pillow. Where is Athena? She ought to know, For she beat Arachne, So long ago. I am a shipwreck, Frozen in time, I am stuck in a hot desert, Walking in slime. I am surrounded and suffocated, Scared to death, I call out for help, It is my dying breath.

Sunset Nicholas Marisa

As the sphere peaks out over the mountain

Emerging like a shy and nervous kid

The sun has drive and he has a mission

For when brightness came out the darkness hid

The burning ball raises even higher

Saying his first words taking his first steps

The sun has begun his journey through fire

Rays cover earth the sun flexes biceps

But now the sun has lost his innocence

After living with our world for so long

The sun has been through all, omnipotence

The sun is tired he has sung his last song

He lived a good life now it’s time to rest

Of all things in Space the sun is the best

Sunrise

I have yet to call James White

You were an unnamed face, locked behind my glass barrier

Difficult to shatter, but your kind words prevailed

You reminded me as our bus had arrived It was by no means a colossal act, but it was significant to me

I learned your name, sweet and unique

Your eyes gleamed with curiosity, blitzing numerous queries

On that 42-minute bus ride, We talked about the cities we explored and those still on the list

We fantasized about our future and confessed our family situations

Some may say it was a lot for a first encounter, but we felt so comfortable

As the world turned, our relationship grew Your presence made me feel at home. I felt like you understood me

You embraced my beliefs while challenging them You filled me with a warmth feathers could not replicate I was at peace

But when the abrupt goodbye was necessary, my hope still stood I mean, We are only an hour away? We have each other numbers, surely we can talk?

And then it was done

You gave me your address and your number

But I have yet to call

Although you are only an hour away, your distance feels unreachable

Leave Him on Read Hayden Burnside

I wish I could live and let it be but my eyelids don’t listen I miss the person you were to me

call me psycho now that I’m free not living moment to moment yet I wish I could live and let it be

I’m lost without my roots, like a tree Beckoning for water is my new normal I miss the person you were to me

in your arms, no seer could see to escape from a dilapidated home I wish I could live and let it be

packed up and outward so I could flee the raven croaks In blind reverie I miss the person you were to me

I wish I could live and let it be I miss the person you were to me.

A Miracle in Plain Sight

Eamon Dunn

Just how lucky are you to breathe? when you have a cold, every breath you try to take reminds you of your condition

the purpose of your nose is to smell and breathe, but it has forsaken you. your own body.

Why shouldn’t it?

all the hours you breathe unimpeded, y ou never take the time to recognize “wow! I am breathing fine and everything is just great” it fades into the background. mere backdrop for everything else.

Just how lucky are you to smile? when you’re depressed, it seems every waking second you spend thinking about how miserable you are

the purpose of the human person is to find happiness, but you search and search and its nowhere to be found

Why is that?

every second you spend happy and content, do you ever take just a few seconds for gratitude? “i am happy! how amazing is that!?” or does it fade into the background, like clear sinuses.

Breath, smell, happiness, and contentedness ought to be the baseline of the human experience. The lens through which everything else is experienced.

And what a beautiful lens it is, forgotten and underappreciated and so it came to be that a miracle could hide in plain sight.

My Compass John Gaskins

My compass, my caretaker, my comforter. The one that graciously reaches her hand out, while I struggle to pull myself up from the cliff.

Her immense love beams upon me like the illusive light of the glowing sun.

The love that she bestows is the life that I one day pray to undergo.

The holstering woman, who gives my life purpose, Her willingness to sacrifice and give her all, Without her, I would be like a solemn chick, lonely, Wandering in the brinks of pitch black nightfall.

A chick that has absolutely no purpose, no goal,

The one that is always near, to my mother, My compass, I love you so very dear.

Specs to planets and back again

Tomas Vick

Specs, became rocks, became asteroids, became moons, became planets.

In their own galaxy share a rotation share a sun share their lives.

They grow yet drift separate.

One planet of fire and the other of water. One planet of snow and the other of spring. One planet of peace and the other of war.

A contrast so large that every galaxy is too small, for two different planets went two separate ways.

They drift, searching desperately, tugging at the rope that once tied them so close, now a string so brittle destined to snap.

Pulling, struggling to find the specs they used to be. When they were close. When they were comfortable. When they just Lived.

Bed Ryan Scott

Oh how I desire you during times of restlessness

My everlasting comforter

At last, one lay on you and all my worries vanish, Into the depths of your sheets

Your warmness brings me relaxation, Just when I need it most Your softness grants me rest. After long days of pure exhaustion, All I desire is to jump in your sheets and sink away into the abyss of dreams you bring me

How I crave you in school, Where my only wish is to lie down on your warm, toasty pillowcase

Bed at last!

Let me sink into your deepness and forget all of my worries For you are my only relaxant

2076

Adam Ford Redd Jr

Its 2076

The world is burning

The government’s failing

And I’m all alone

But the more I think

The more I drink

To the wonderful year of 2076

Some would say it’s crazy

Others that it’s fate

But the more they pray

The less they see

The wonderful year that’s 2076

My friends tell me it’s over

And I tell them they’re wrong

Then I look at that empty room

And realize they’re all gone

How long ago I cannot say

But many years have passed

And now they’re distant memories

Of all that’s gone away

But then again I drink to them

And end with praises left unsaid

To this great year of 2076

The politicians they squabble

Telling us it’s alright

Yet yesterday at the strike of noon

We watched them fall without a fight

But in this trouble, this beautiful trouble

There still is a shining gleam

And that gleam may you ask

Is this beautiful year of 2076

Nature’s Gift

John Gaskins

A light-absorbing, reflective, bright blue lake lying at the tongue of a cliff. Autumn’s scent lingers in the air vibrant flowers bring joy to the nostrils around.

Cool water kisses young adolescent feet upon splash.

A barrage of multi-colored, harmonious, leaves surround, Minute creatures, revealing through their sounds, briskly move throughout their loud counterpart, the woods.

The sweet taste of fresh blueberries, nature’s gift, bursts into all compartments of my mouth, leaving nothing but a trace of serenity.

A Second Voice

Alex Guarini

My fingers skate across the iv’ry keys

And music grand takes off into the air

The notes go wafting through the space like breeze

The sounds too gold and sweet to simply share.

The zebra box gives fingers voice to speak

Of stories bright as sun and bleak as morgues

A knight does ride along a foreign street

He leaps and ducks with each bombastic chord.

I take a stand and smile towards the crowd

Their roar of claps brings joy I can’t conceal

My music lefts its mark, a tender shroud

I wish to face again that time of zeal.

My achy fingers fail to drown my love

For heaven’s greatest gift from up above.

A verse to our love Hayden Burnside

The vines do mingle under one same beam

A sewn prophesy of’a family tree

My love for you is counted in reims Let love show so much that the blind can see

Amidst gospel hymns, our spirits entwine, Proclaimed atop the red oak tree’s high crest. For you, within my heart, do reign sublime, To a land where love and freedom find their nest.

Did God, in wisdom, bring you close to me?

A twist of fate, in our minds turmoil, spun. As steadfast as a rock, my loyalty, Resides within, a gift beneath the sun.

Rescue me from day’s cold, harsh, wintry grasp, In this verse, I wrote for us, love does clasp.

Everlasting John Gaskins

The calmness of the fast-blowing, brisk wind, Two in front, three in the back as we ride, My face swallowed by an outpour of grin, That black Range Rover, where memories lie.

The grip of summer clenched within our hands, Soon to be a wrinkled piece of paper, Gone, with only memories left to stand, In the young minds of our close partakers.

You never sense you’ve left the good days, Until you actually depart them.

An aching decade til the month of May, When, again, heart-filled friendships will blossom.

In summer, time will always be the blame, Leaving me in longing for the very same.

Donald Trump Ryan Scott

Please, not again

Don’t try to take over my country like you did last time

Don’t lie about the election and defame the names of good people

Don’t turn my neighbor against me because we disagree

Every time your mouth opens and spews lies

The more American democracy burns

And the more my heart weeps for those you oppress

With your authoritarian iron fist

You love America as butcher loves cow, Not as patriot loves country

Frankly, I am terrified of what you will do to my nation

The only nation I have ever known

The only nation for which I would die

All I ask,

Remember what America once was, Before it met you

Skydiving (something I dream of)

Alex Lopez

I’m on a plane and up in the blue sky, By my lonesome, jumping out on my own, I pray that when I leave I will not die. The nervous energy leaves with a sigh, The moment turns into full excitement, I’m on a plane and up in the blue sky.

It’s no big deal, to myself I lie, Creating a fantasy to escape, I pray that when I leave I will not die. The view is gorgeous, the scene passing by, Mountains sitting on a massive ocean, I’m on a plane and up in the blue sky.

Emotions overtake, I want to cry, Questions, fears, and doubt creep into my mind, I pray that when I leave I will not die.

Ready to go, departing from comfort, Fulfilling my dreams, leaping into my fears.

I’m on a plane and up in the blue sky, I pray that when I leave I will not die.

Ode to

Football John Gaskins

Football, more than just a sport, more than just a simple game. A supporting parent (metaphor) to all kids around the world (hyperbole), guarding them from all harm and pain. A sanctuary from all outside stress. An opportunity to better your intended life plans. The exultation football delivers as one crosses the long, white goalline, the edge that stands enticingly tall (personification), acting as the barrier between victory and defeat, or as one kicks the brown, spherical ball through the vibrant, gold-tinted goalposts of the arena (imagery). The feeling is indescribable, incomprehensible unless experienced, one that makes every inch of your body tingle, leaving you to feel nothing less than like a king (simile), ruling over the entirety of the world.

An ode to Motherhood Hayden Burnside

while willows sway Mother’s stand around the fire and passion of love like the hurricane an eye brought from singularity not eternity of nebulas and stars coalesced the perfect supernova and like the thrashed and battered seawall corroded over like untrimmed nails a protector a light endless clouds and endless cries Motherhood stands Motherhood protects Motherhood Is

Winter’s Charm Harry Wimbish III

Waking up early on a winter’s day

Peering through the cold glass for any white I shouted yes, no school! As I did pray Eagerly shouting, look grayish twilight!

Rushing to the news to check for delays, Eagerly “Prince George’s County Schools closed” Yes! Things finally went my way! A break! All were happy, smiling, all unopposed

Peering through the door, greeted by a kiss, A cold kiss, followed by a hundred specks, I begin to fall into the white bliss, A bliss which billions have felt its effects,

Looking up into the vast gray abyss, Smiling at a past I deeply miss

Ode to the future

Harry Wimbish III

The future is so unknown, so strange, So promising, so heartening, So morbid, so depressing, So many possibilities, What is the truth you hide, Why so mischievous, so full of secrets, Why so dynamic, always so bipolar, What is the beauty you don’t tell us, What is the ugliness you hide, What is that for us in your hand? Is it a box of roses, a box of knives? A box of chocolate, or a bomb? Tell us, you’re coming too quick, Hurry up, you’re leaving us to wait, Please show us something, Show us what you have.

Landon Carter

I love to go surfing surfing brings me joy the waves are churning into the water I deploy I look into the distance

Blue meets blue

My paddling loses persistence

People are few

There is calm on the ocean

Made it past the break

Explosion on the beach

What wave should I take

A set comes in I must drop in

Paddle Out

Blake Harper

remember our why our motivation our token of labor treasure office of finance and treasury federal reserve note after it’s used lost in the matrix living in an untold society education vacuum’s sinners invest lincoln

The Old Days

Daniel Holmes

The sprinkler rapidly sprouted out crisp cold water on summer days

The icecream truck drove by twice day singing a catchy melody Adults only swim was the worst thing ever Waking up to the smell of cut grass knowing what that meant

When only word problems subtracted people, those were. The old days when i was excited to see police on career day When we saw color only when picking teams dang, those were The old days

I wished to grow up. Wished away from. The old days, because I wanted to grow up

So sweet, so naive, so harmless, So pure, those were…

Baltimore Cody Hobson

Police sirens

One man rules the city

Most Wanted

Gun violence 24/7

Duck!

Stay low to the ground.

The projects

Apartment buildings

Stash house

Omar

Special, crazy, adventurous

Lone wolf most wanted…

Next Chapter…

Blake Harper

now, choices and options abound there are many routes and directions to choose from both positives and negatives and definitely can make the wrong choice

where do I fit?

offering thousands of dollars to make up for lack of thoughts what do I see myself doing in the future? I can’t mess up this decision

can my dad see me play multiple days in a week? my relationship with the coaches is strong but this scenery doesn’t fit

a lot of money on the table, I have bigger goals and dreams to fulfill

I got it, and it’s the perfect fit 6th St NW signed my name on the paper my goal is fulfilled my dad doesn’t have to pay

In days gone by as i grow more and more I take time to think about the days when I-

Time Machine

Justin Wallace

Played all night and day not having to worry about a thing. the laughter and happiness or no fear struck my face

Nowadays corruptness, sadness doubts, hopes fill my mind

Hopefully I can go back some day.

Sonnet to Me Kai

Rock

The protagonist from legends of old Emboldened in the center of the page

My illuminated name written gold

Divine hero of the shining new age

Some may say I see myself too largely

Imagine a bold and drunken ego

But I’ve questioned some soberness lately A small man in me I’d rather not show

I’ve been to the depths of low self esteem

A lack of confidence can’t deliver So ego or not I must find a mean Or ‘ever in the depths I will shiver

Without self love I will surely crumble Still, can I be great while being humble?

My Song

Billy Dingell

Verse one, my song begins to start A development of my soul and my heart What yet is to come from this song?

Verse five brings joy New adventures within my reach The chorus begins to repeat

Verse thirteen comes with confusion New groups, New opportunities, Friends changing like the notes on the sheet,

I start to see the world for what it is Pain, truth, and everything in between. Life’s melody begins to sing a hideous tune.

Verse fifteen showed hope Temptation and a downhill slope I had to figure out the best rhythm for me

Verse eighteen sheds a new light New paths begin to pave my mind

A steady future, ready to sing its unwritten tunes.

like a Deer

Alex Guarini

There’s peace in the still In the stagnant things

That forever will

Like the bond of two rings. It’s change that does irk

The phantom it is

Ruin is its work

Towards he who freely lives.

My life now is good

The Fates did me well

Change things I could But that’d burst my shell. I like my young age

My family and friends

No pain to assuage Or commitments to attend.

But here stalks the ghoul

As fresh becomes soph

My world’s under rule

As by a crippling cough. I come home to toil

When free I seek work

My youth tends to spoil And the big future lurks.

Life entails motion

And that’s the sad truth

There’s tides in the ocean

And growth in our youth.

Yet it’s change that I fear

Life’s invisible hand

Now I understand deer

Resisting motion they stand.

Still

W-O-R-D-S

Hayden Burnside

Oh you know the imaginary dreams the ones that handmaids sew into a sweater of reality

W-O-R-D-S

with letters long enough to pierce my heart an ambrosia-tipped Arrow with feathers so elegant

W-O-R-D-S

The human’s best invention Does God destine the words brought to the altar of our lips and sung into existence willed to woe but made to love

W-O-R-D-S

How I know it breathes to speak and frees the chained, unshackles the meek a key to Samsara the wheel of a ship

W-O-R-D-S

If I named the ways I love you I use you so rather instead of the hummingbird I am the crow instead of the talker I am the thinker

That was bliss

Alone for a Moment Kai Rock

A Villanelle

I remember with a childlike longing

What was more pure than this?

I entered the warm halls glowing with a kiss

My proud mother drives off to rule the world That was bliss

The past is painless

Middle School friendships, and not hesitating to stand on someone else’s shoulders

What was more pure than this?

It’s so easy to reminisce

Those simple times and endless times and constant joys That was bliss

I get lost in the past abyss

Looking back, I was a small boy, unsure about placing his right foot in front of his left, yet still, What was more pure than this?

I seem to thirst for the past when I dread the present Looking on my snow globe world I miss, That was bliss What was more pure than this?

Even then - On being a black man in America Tomas Vick

No sympathy for me until my name reads in headlines as the blue and red lights shine in the eyes of mourners and a white line drawn where life once danced. You felt threatened, and even then,

I never showed hostility

Simple summer fun turned gloomy because I can’t hold a water gun. Police eyes see a bullet and barrel Then their bullet fires, and even then,

I never was armed.

You cross the street. You hold your purse close. On trains you change your seat. Just as I walk past. and even then,

I never stole.

Eyes glare with animosity

Your jokes seldom humor me just stab deep with a dagger of ignorance and even then,

I never strayed from kindness

A boiling pot of emotions suppressed feelings bubble over. A steam of frustrations screams as I await for heat to lower because we will never be even then.

Drum Dreamers Hayden Burnside

A poem inspired by the Drum Dream Girl by MARGARITA ENGLE

Nostalgia is a fickle feat for us drum dreamers. Look back and see tenured crescent moons

A blazing sun pierced loudly upon the virgin horizon. So hot, roaring with the battles of a new day

It’s an honor to remember a time in the smog-filled skies

Where big drums played to the ground, and worries washed out under the worldly sounds

While the new day trusts itself upon us drum dreamers, It bears its teeth with a thirst for strife unquenched

Yes, indeed, the wise would hide abreast. they stand aside with their malignant heartbeat

Rather than jive to the world of loud congo drums that dance and parade their otherness

How can a dreamer with no weapon fight?

Yet we, the drum dreamers, still dare to make beats.

In uncharted tumors of bigotry, hope keeps a rhythm going A torch through a winding maze of uncertainty

So that drum dreamer girls and drum dreamer boys should feel free to dream.

A Molasses Brown Tomas Vick

After langston Hughes “The Negro Speaks of Rivers”

Skin like molasses so sweet, so brown His roots burrow deep like trees in ground

Pride crowns and his pain sounds like shrieks of ancestors and hunger’s frown

That bright light of hope now drowned deep in rivers where his soul is found

A Childhood to Remember

Trevor Weiner

It was first grade when I met my first true friend. It was on the basketball court where I first became part of a team. It was a peaceful Saturday when I rode a train with my grandpa for the first time.

It was on my third birthday when I received my blanket, my first memorable gift.

It was a breezy afternoon when I first skimmed my knee on the pavement.

It was my friend Grady, who made me fall in love with soccer. It was mid-July when I first visited the beach with my family. It was my mom, who first read me a bedtime story.

It was my dad, who carried me around on a sunny afternoon. It was my grandpa, who first played trains with me in the basement.

It was a Sunday morning when I played my first soccer game. It was in my backyard that I was first thrown into the pool.

It was my third birthday when I first fell in love with Mexican food.

It was my parents who first took me to the park and taught me to run.

It was at St. Paul’s Park where I first rode the swings. It was with my dad that I learned to ride a bike.

It was my two little dogs who I would feed my scraps to.

It was a day on the beach when I first felt the icy ocean water. It was my first nanny, Yaya, who taught me how to play Go Fish. It was the sun that scorched my skin during my first week of summer camp.

It was mid-March when my dad handed me my first ever four-leaf clover.

It was a snowy winter when my parents first took me sledding. It was every night that my parents would tuck me in and kiss me goodnight.

Lost and Alone

Brayden DeVaul

Oh life, how you have changed my perspective. How fast I have been locked away at home like a lonely rat with no objective. For I am left alone, not free to roam.

I spend my days recalling memories. Alone in my cold dark room, feeling lost, pictures play like a documentary. For in-person meetings come at a cost.

The active kid I once was has vanished. A lost soul in a smashed society. The lively boy has left feeling banished. Alone with nothing but anxiety.

Feeling astray, I resort to my mind. Reminding me everything will be fine.

the crime rate is rising at astonishing pace

Rite of Passage

Ephram Mersha

murder comes and goes greed consumes the world

morality staggers back kindness disappears

loyalty shot through the heart and love with no real meaning

What happened to the world we knew?

where love didn’t need much thought and selflessness was abundant

where people could walk out not expecting death’s shadow

it’s gonna get worse before it gets better

but that’s society’s rite of passage

Spring’s Resurrection Ephram Mersha

the crispness of the air returns birds sing their flavored songs cherry blossoms flex their guava pink flowers the sun shows her face

farmers bring out their markets children burn energy and play with friends spring sports make a comeback carnivals last all day

the rain follows a schedule April’s rain ignites May’s growth neighbors gather together to laugh with others and spread cheer

spring break is coming up Easter is almost here churches sing glorious hymns the sacred smell of barbecue floats through the air

spring is a time of rebirth and regeneration trees emerge from the dead people flash their pearly whites as they watch the days get longer

Maybe it Was James White

Maybe it was the foul stench compacted into a huddle after a hard-fought victory

Or the early mornings when hundreds of weary eyes surveil the cherry blossoms desperately searching for the perfect photo Making each annual trip worthwhile

Maybe it was teaching a boy at WJA a killer new chess opening. Watching the eyes of insight glow the room, reminding me of a younger self

I don’t think it was those tedious drives down New York avenue the many fender benders or numerous late slips collected but whatever it was, It had to be the reason for me spending many hours crafting a poem, standing in front of a crowd of hundreds hoping in the deep sea of knowledge at least one line would be remembered

Little. Kai Jones

Maybe to them I’m a fraud. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Trying to be bigger than my body allows. You’ll underestimate me, and push me down and stomp me out. But I’ve been stomped down for a while now. It’s alright. Watch me rise like dough and hot air and wind and life and love.

Those Days

Nicolas Piermarini

the careless days that yearned before my eyes longed for something independent but never expected for those days to arise

those days as children, the days we were charged with resentment

days we “wished we were adults“ but really just missed having leeway

some days are abandoned, while others stick by as we grow older regrets fill out mind for the days left behind

[She Is] Hayden Soderman

my morning coffee my mid-day energy drink and my mid-night snack

a flower in bloom waltzing on gusts of wind from my lungs as I labor

the shower of stars in the sky, shedding light on what I cannot see in broad daylight a deep-rooted vein, grasped around my heart underground

my unbreakable bag, effortlessly enveloping all that I carry with me.

The National Anthem Julian Washington

Lift every voice those who stories have gone untold lost in the darkness of our past when uncovered we shall sing Till earth and heaven ring for our eyes will no longer be blinded by the shroud that our country so often wraps us in

We will Sing our song full of the faith that our dark past has brought us. That’s all we were given to guide us from the motherland to the roaring seas to this land of the free this land of the free, where a false hope was given

We will Sing our song full of a new hope a hope born of years of struggle this precious feeling appointed to us by the mothers and fathers of the movement

We will face the rising sun, the same sun that scorches our skin the sun that reveals everything symbolizing a new day

Our new day will begin It is our choice to use this day the road that will lead us this day won’t be undemanding So we’ll keep marching on until victory is won.

Friday Eve Jimmy Mulholland

O how I admire you Thursday Each time you come around the thought of you only lasts a second

Tomorrow is Friday and the hope for what will be outweighs what is The thought of tomorrow leaves you shoved in a closet

But how wrong they are I admire you not for where you were placed on a calendar but for your Strength, Courage, Kindness,

You’re strong because each week you come back ready to be forgotten

You’re courageous because you were the one willing to take the spot in front of the big three

And finally, you are kind because you accept each person into your day even if they may call you

The Day Before Friday

Against the Clock

Billy Dingell

The joy of life as a baby cries for help, waiting to grow until silence wins, into new life, it sees a lifetime of remembrance, new experiences, left for them and their family, unknown memories for this new chapter.

Loved ones come to cherish their life, until their name gets forgotten, thinking of everything what is left of them like their name and their eyes, cannot be changed, sticking with them until they die once that day of judgment comes, but how will they be remembered?

They start to grow old, moving to new schools seeing friends return and pass. Having hopes and dreams, wanting to try new things, seeing the world like they once did, but realizing time is running out.

Martyrs. Kai Jones

I’ve watched my parents shrink as I grow strong. my growth means they learn to see through lenses, and adorn pale hair, and hard lines, and ache. my creator who gave her body so I could run, my creator who gave her beauty so I could breathe. my father who gave his voice so I could speak, who gave his brain so I could think. there is no more running or beauty for them. It’s all in me now. they sacrificed. now I’m learning to live.

False fathers

James White

Written for the 2024 Gonzaga Black history month assembly

My false fathers built this box

Two hundred and forty eight years ago

Sturdy and strong Made to endure

For it had to hold us all in one place

But how strong was the box it wasn’t strong enough to hold the chains of Douglass and Tubman how strong was the box It couldn’t stop the critiques of Baldwin and Dubois

It couldn’t stop the resistance and protest from Dr. King and Malcolm X

It wasn’t strong enough to prevent the education of Rugby Bridges and Gabe Smith or suppress the blows of Ali and the swing of Robinson

So I ask how strong was the box

They built this box for us sturdy and strong

And we set it on fire

On A Writing & Walking Field Trip with Seven

High School Students

Exploring Langston Hughes Sites in Washington, D.C. Mr. Joseph Ross

The city teaches us today with brick row houses and front stoops, bicyclists, the squeal of car brakes.

Hurried drivers watch us waiting on the sidewalk or writing on Hughes’ front steps, Bikes hiss by, their spokes sparkle against a grey sky.

My students gaze at Langston’s windows, wondering what poem began here, what poem ended here, what poem was tossed away?

One moment, these boys are a riot of laughter, shining with silly, colliding with each other. The next, they search the sky for wounds.

I watch them sitting on his stoop, these are serious boys, writing words they mean, seeking words that will be true in America.

I wonder about these boys. Where do they begin? Where do they end?

What loneliness or love will carry them?

A R T

Langston Davis

Ms. Shelly Farace

About the Artist

JP Loyko

With a creative desire at heart, I wanted to challenge myself in my final independent portfolio after four years of art at Gonzaga with a collection of abstract paintings that were focused on bright colors, textures, and contrast. In all the “artistic chaos” of my works, these paintings pushed me to use my desire for constant perfection as a creative fuel. Each painting took anywhere from one week to two months, and the portfolio is meant to be filled with eye-catching pieces. While each one is very different in terms of layout, the colors and similar textures help gel them together. Ironically, I always hated the first day of completion because of horrible contrasting colors or a lack of “perfect maximalism,” but in the end, I was able to stand back and smile as my eyes were always on the move. For me, this collection will always serve as a reminder of the evolved skills and comforts I have developed with my artistic expression.

Joey Greenhaus

Callahan Smith

Teddy Fritz

Matthew Pardo

James White

Dylan Baroudi

Braydon Lewis

Brayden DeVaul

Joey Greenhaus

James White

Preston Thomas

Chris DiLorenzo

Richie Pineda

Andrew Gaenzler

Tobin Choquette

Kainoa Winston

Joey Greenhaus

Lucas Rohde

Chris DiLorenzo

Chase Tovornik

Jaden Rivas

Lucas Rohde

Brayden DeVaul

Ariel Solares

Caleb Quartey

Caden Wilkinson

Mac Smith

Charlie Wooters

Zion Rogers

Rex Stinchcomb

Andrew Hoffman

Spooner

Jadon Bumbaugh

Mr. Vince Rizzo

Mission

The Phoenix, established in 1979, serves as an annual collection showcasing student artistic and literary works.

Policy

The Phoenix is an after-school extracurricular activity that works independently from other school programs. All student content is welcomed and considered for publication. Throughout the year works of art and lit are submitted by our 940-member student body and selected for publication by editorial staff members. 1050 copies are produced and distributed to students, faculty, and staff.

Colophon

The Phoenix is printed by Graphic Visions in Gaithersburg, MD. The cover is 80# gloss white, #1 sheet, aqueous coated, prnted 4/4. Text is #70 gloss GV house brand. Binding is glue perfect. The staff used Adobe InDesign and Photoshop. Typefaces include Book Antigua for body text, artists names and pagination.

Contact

Gonzaga College High School 19 Eye Street, NW Washingon, DC 20001

c/o Dr. Harry Rissetto 202-336-7100

hrissetto@gonzaga.org

The 39th volume of The Phoenix was published on May 9, 2024