“I think someday I’ll be a poet,” she mused aloud one day. He shook his head and laughed and said, “Whenever were you not?”
Epigraph by Diana Chen Cover Art by Laura Siciliano
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The Scribbler Co-Editors in Chief Samuel Drucker Jaime Halberstam Layout Editors Joseph May Alina Edep Arts Editor Alana Steinberg Sponsor Kate Peters
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Callie Leone
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Table of Contents Clockwork Heart Drew Doughty
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Invisible Jewels 12 Anonymous
A Strange Illustration 14 Gabriella Mayer
A Lost Lover’s Love
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Amman Bhasin
You
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Your Sweet Face
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Rose’s Rose
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Prep School Parody
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Anonymous
Sara Jo Battat
Jaime Halberstam
Anonymous
Snow’s Feelings 24 Alexis Chestnov
The Senses
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“Cry”
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Reading Dickens
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Troy Gonzales
Diana Chen
Diana Chen
Two Points on the
Spectrum 30
The Closed Room
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All - but not One
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Perception
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Gabriella Mayer
Zahra Markatia
Sammy Krouse
Allison Belette
At the Met Seeing Madame Charpentier by Auguste Renoir 38 Alexis Chestnov
No Vacancy 40 Nakura Stout
I’m Sorry. I Think. Diana Chen
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My First Love
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Emily Kidd
Wendy
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Peace
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Conformity
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To Wake to Hear the Ocean Noise
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Dreams
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Founder’s Council Visual Arts Award Feature
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A Glance from Mars
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An Unnecessary Apology
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Tugged
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Kate Edelson
Starlite Stromer
Louis Browne
Alex Evenson
Seren Nurgun
Dani Pendergast
Zachary Gittleman
Allison Samowitz
Ivy Kilpatrick
A Collaborative Effort
64 Nakura Stout, Diana Chen, and Kate Edelson
The World Spun ‘Round Her 66 Fragile Form Nicole Baptista
Kaleidoscope Eyes
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The Persistence of Memory
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Life’s Requirements
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The Way of the Leaves
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Yin and Yang of a Fox
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The Dog
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A Dog’s Best Friend
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The Feline
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Nakura Stout
Maddie Skimming
Alexis Chestnov
Jake Pagano
Holly Goldberg
Blair Bosshardt
Savanna Gornisiewicz
Max Gittleman
Lilith
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Louis Browne
Firebird
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The Dull House
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The Infant
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Drew Doughty
Ryan Wexler
Anonymous
Fallen
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Kate Edelson
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The Sun
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A Woods that Burns so Lovely
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People in Glass Houses...
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Life Through Pearl’s Eyes
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Emily Kidd
Dimples
Jessica Pancer
Drew Doughty
Nakura Stout
Carter Helschien
Fire
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The Lord’s Resistance Army
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Dear Silver Tongue
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Side by Side
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Where the Truth Lies
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Dear Imaginary Friend
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A Strain of Fling
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Courage
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The Wish of Dreams
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Anonymous
Angela Cureton
Diana Chen
Lea Stempel
Theodore Jackson
Diana Chen
Holly Goldberg
Anna Sze
Lea Stempel
Clockwork Heart Drew Doughty
There is a sound that the Seconds hate and Minutes fear There is a girl that Time serves A girl that Time has known, for quite a while With blood dripping hair and pale fire eyes Her schedule is precise Never stopping on the hour late or early never exists only all that is now Minutes and Seconds all contained Unruly they are for wanting to flee But she is the master keeping time in rhyme and rhythm in space Entranced by such a sound Miss Pied Piper led them astray Spiraling down through gears and grinds Where menacing hands pointed and laughed Laughed with a sound that haunted them all Resonating in the solace of her mind from the round shaped heart held in red A place where hands twist and contort and numbers dance with Time Tick Tock Clockwork Heart
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Jillian Samowitz
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Invisible Jewels Anonymous
A little down the road and to the right, The house towers, admiring the night. Sitting lofty in its humble stance, Alas, unworthy of a second glance. To all but itself, inconsequential, Although it thinks itself influential. Decrepit, decaying, windows swaying; Invisible jewels it is displaying. In the distance, the carillon playing, It sits quietly fraying and greying. Grasping for a poise it cannot attain, Its attempts to impress are all in vain. It knows it is just ahead of the game, With time the houses will all be same. At sight of passerby, shoulders pulled back, Masked in shades of dark - the night pitch black. But he smiles, for the night is almost gone, And the darkest hour is just before the dawn.
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Peng Kuai
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A Strange Illustration
Gabriella Mayer I illustrated the strange picture, The one you see in that small pocket of your brain. The solemn blue, the child’s cry. The wearied red of a fire’s silver eye. The opportunity of the glorified white. The lines black of an unanimated humanity. The royal Purple crown that donned they and our sacred heads. The animals running toward the river, they wait for they don’t know where the Well is. The child of Midway sings softly as he’s carried to the River where he dies. I draw these images, these images of sorrow. The man with the hair of fire Falls to his knees as news of his lost Beloved becomes Recognized. No one recognizes the Man. They don’t know it’s someone Higher Than Anyone Will Ever Be. My son was poor, but then he was hired by a lost man to gain happiness in the lost hopes of the Universe. He succeeded, but then the lost man took his life while I watched the wound become prominent. I draw these images, these images of chances. I said to him “What have you done? Ripping through Silk and Cotton with a dry paintbrush, a brush so red!” Though he and I knew he would not say more. 14
I trembled and scratched his face, a deep wound with My Diamond Ring. I draw these images, these images of a person’s grief of Somebody Loved. The kinder saint was brought home by the river, he was almost dead before he was rescued; Never would you think of a personal suffering far greater: the images he saw burned his eyes. He jumped into the river and seeked a cure for his near-blindness. A medicine man was brought to the house in which He reigned and got relieved of a previous sin. I draw these images, these images of redemption. I draw these images for the world to glance at and gain sympathy since most have been through it. It may bring up many things harsh but at least a person’s emotions shall be developed and used when a Tzaddik churns in a person’s bones.
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Andrea Levy
A Lost Lover’s Love Amman Bhasin A little glance from her makes my heart jump, Sometimes I think her beauty makes me blind, The very thought of her makes my heart thump, Her smile makes thoughts disappear in my mind. I think her heart does not beat as mine does, As she dreams of another in her sleep, Which throws my thoughts into a complex buzz, So deep is the pain that it makes me weep. But her beauty will never fade for me, Love will remain eternal in my soul, She gracefully rises like the sea, Forever in my heart will be a hole. I will love her always but she isn’t mine 16 But with age she will get better like wine.
You
Anonymous You are not the only One, I hate being Alone too. I will never leave Your side My Mind didn’t change, so I still cryThe further I drift, the closer I feel, The more able it is to become real. Your eyes glisten like the Stars in the sky, A distance away from You and I I keep thinking of You -
Maddie Smoot
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Your Sweet Face Sara Jo Battat
The sun fell gently upon your sweet face As your gorgeous green eyes had glistened I miss the old way my heart used to race. And now I wish that you would have listened. Listened to the advice I would give you Listened when I pleaded for you to stay Listened to the ways that I had loved you But you did not listen and had to pay Why did you have to leave home to go fight? Did you not think you had a chance to die? I know you thought that what you did was right But now you are gone, in the grave you lie My last memory is of your picture of grace Where the sun fell gently upon your face
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Patricia Reyes
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Rose’s Rose
Danielle Coller
Jaime Halberstam You passed me and I tried to smile at you. I tried in the best way I could to lift the stubborn corners of my mouth into that greeting you always offered me. I knew you could see me, but I couldn’t muster even the faintest hint of happiness. Seeing you in a black box, held up by strong men clad in even blacker shades, broke the gates to a deluge of emotion. I endlessly searched for building blocks to construct a façade for my younger cousin, to tell her everything was okay. Her kind, innocent eyes looked into mine, searching for an answer. It took unimaginable strength to stop my face from purveying the pain I felt. I loved my grandmother, Rose. My belief that she was the embodiment of the ideal of humankind was no personal opinion; it was fervently agreed upon by anybody she spoke to, even those with whom her exchanges were brief. She magnificently and gracefully turned every stumbling block into a stepping-stone. Her words, so perfectly chosen, so sincere, were alarming in their simple beauty. 20
The recipient of her sagacity always left the conversation with something valuable learned. The image of her angelic face is still emblazoned in my mind unspoiled by the passing of time, as fresh as yesterday. Behind the withered exterior and the glasses perched on her nose, her face was magnificently carved. What may have been considered beauty in her youth was now considered serenity. The peaceful set of her eyes never failed to soothe whoever needed soothing. Her delicate skin was impervious to troubles and resilient in the face of defeat. But that same wonderful skin is now limp and non-elastic. That same chuckle which used to stay always ready and waiting under her tongue has gone into the abyss and mystery of afterlife. That sparkle in her eye has indefinitely lent its light to the stars in the sky. The silence that used to be our favorite means of communication now hangs tensely in the air. And so I stood there, staring. Staring at the remains of what used to be the paragon of all mankind. But if I’ve learned anything from my grandmother it is that the physical is frivolous. I loved my grandmother for who she was – not for the skin and bones that her soul called home. And thus I paid my respects to the coffin as a mere ritual. I knew that the most sincere thank you I could give her was not by formality of ceremony, but rather by nurturing the seeds of wisdom she planted within me and hoping that one day they will flourish to a Rose remotely as beautiful as hers.
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Prep School Parody Anonymous
Mommy kissed me goodbye as I hopped out of my car seat, my tummy full of butterflies but my heart throbbing with excitement. As I skipped towards my classroom, my teacher welcomed me with scolding words- prep school students, she said, are never on time. One must be early in order to avoid shaming both themselves and their families before the whole school community. Confused and bewildered, I entered the classroom as the teacher introduced me, “Your classmate has finally arrived,” pointing at me to further embarrass and reprimand me. As I precariously settled myself in a chair, I noticed the little girl next to me. Her hair, in two neat french braids was pulled far off her face, which was very pale—had she never played in the sun?!—with deepset, all-knowing brown eyes. Her oxford shirt was buttoned all the way to the top button and her socks rose to her mid-calves. The teacher began distributing a worksheet. Concerned, I reminded myself that Mommy had assured me I was very smart for my age, being able to read small words and write out my name. Unfortunately, the worksheet had big, big words. By the time I finished reading the instructions, a young boy was already turning in his completed worksheet. I looked down. The paper read, “What college would you like to attend?” For goodness sake- the first graders looked huge to me! College? Were my parents supposed to teach me this? In a fit of internal confusion, I looked to the paper of the girl next to me. She had neatly printed, in small handwriting, “Princeton,” next to choice 1.
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Finally! A word that looked familiar- just like “princess” in my favorite fairy tales. Hurriedly, I scrawled my newfound alma mater on the worksheet. By the time I finished, however, the wise girl had turned in her paper as well. Looking up, I saw the entire class staring at me, waiting for me to finish. With no one to turn to, I left choices 2 and 3 blank. Walking up to the teacher, I handed in my paper as well. Her eyes scanned the paper and then quickly turned to me. Her mouth curled into a sad, condescending smile, and her eyes seem to laugh at me with patronizing glory. “I don’t know about that,” she said wistfully. Crumpling down into my cold chair, I thought, “I just want to be a princess!”
Louis Browne 23
Snow’s Feelings Alexis Chestnov
The reoccurring chill runs down my shivering spine Yet with the simple beauty of the air, I smile The sky is grey, hollow, and seemingly haunting But with the ground covered, there is nothing to fear The steps I take go further into the unknown Still at every pulse, my footsteps become lighter The dead, bare, solemn trees tower over my head Amidst the vast, empty, snow-covered ground, I pause I breathe - an inhale so bitterly cold, I quake I seem to be more relaxed than ever before Ironic, with how scathingly cold winter is For I, I see depth in the heart of snow’s meaning The frost beneath my feet represents all courage It was no fear of falling, no single desire It is as it is, as it wants, and as it feels It knows no enemy, it knows no brutal fiend I aspire to be like the chilly winter snow Remaining peaceful - an ideal state of being And so I gaze, with a chill running down spine Yet I smile, for there is the beauty of snow
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Keeli O’Brien
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The Senses Troy Gonzales
“‘Faith’ is a fine invention For Gentlemen who see! But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency!” - Emily Dickinson
The one who said that faith was fine For Gentlemen who see Condoned the other senses four Oh, silly Emily! For fellows who can hear The world is wide and free! But so, so few can truly hear Their own stupidity! It’s not enough to see and hear Their wonders of the earth So savor smell and taste, they two Ensure a lack of dearth Of savory and pungent things To be enjoyed for now! But of the most important? You may already know... The missing link? The odd one out The final one, it’s true The only one all round the frame Conveyed from me to you. Perhaps it’s better left unsaid Despite its palpable might. Embrace them all, hear the call, As it fades into the night! 26
Estrella Levy
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“Cry”
Diana Chen “Cry,” you said, and the sky opened up. Heavy drops pelted a tin rooftop and echoes filled a tiny room, the music in the middle of a storm that gave hope to a frightened child.
The music of god, she thought in awe, not because she didn’t know better, but because she knew better than us. You said, “Cry,” and the sky washed away tears.
Reading Dickens
Diana Chen I once read Charles Dickens’ work, but all I understood was the ghastly number of words he could cram into one sentence, stuffed full of various appositive phrases and adjective phrases with colorful (and, more often, drab) words that painted a picture of revolution and discontent, absolute phrases contributing to the sense of unease permeating the novel, seeping into the very pages of a not so worn paperback through participle phrases and other literary devices that elongated endless entreaties, each expecting the reader’s undivided attention as alliteration, imagery, and so much more pulled the gaze of those who had not been daunted by the sheer size of a single sentence, a section of speech spanning several lines to half a page. 28
Savannah Kennelly
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Two Points on the Spectrum Gabriella Mayer
I’ve brought the flowers you needed to woo your lover. That dress you made out of Tory Burch and BCBG bags, dull and bright The flowers you picked are lying on that bag, too bad they’re already dead. Red and Black paper hanging like a curtain next to the three-colored lamp. The skeleton deserves to die with flowers in his hands. A plastic grave is held up on the balcony, the little white balcony. The flowers you picked are lying on that bag, too bad they’re already dead. Deliver to me your colorful soul, I’ve wandered too long in the dark. I’m The Boy Who Knew Too Much, living a Life In Cartoon Motion. What’s The Origin of Love? Light, color, music. Soul. Is there nowhere my heart will end up? It ought to stay together Those rooms two floors apart, three if the ICI. Come together and we’ll pick up our brushes as we dance.
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Byrne Hollander
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The Closed Room Zahra Markatia
The Closed Room - with its Bright Darkness Corners - filled with Wonders Such mysery - it attracts - Yes And it inspires Her Familiar voices - and sounds Heard - from the Other Room Sitting - In her Dull White Gown She Listens - just Listens Words and Thoughts dash about the Room From Mind to Ink - they flow Those not used - in the air they loom Waiting - just Waiting their turn -
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Alana Steinberg
Stephanie Rosner 33
All - but not One Sammy Krouse
So slowly the group approached me, All imperfection shunned! Each member moved so Smooth and Silkily, That I sat watching - stunned! I felt them so entrancing like a painting - full of Tone, just watching them advancing, I see All - but not One. When I start seeing each feature as they move into view, and I see each single creature, my Thoughts are misconstrued! For though they seemed Angelic Perfection in Existence my Thoughts were psychedelic, distorted by Distance.
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Andrea Levy
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Perception Allison Belette
A Shadow - across the Hall Without Identity A first Perception - of Terror Though - Harmless nonetheless A Mountain - truly a Mole Hill Hyperbolic image - not understood A Thought - never contemplated Defined by Self A Figment of - Imagination Are Shadows - in your line - of Vision? Certain Variation - within - the Mind A mountain - vainly climbed
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Sharon Rozencwaig
Louis Browne
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At the Met Seeing
Madame Charpentier by Auguste Renoir Alexis Chestnov
I gaze upon a family posing, Exchanging looks with each other. Madame Charpentier admires her family. Her gown, so silky, her poise goes unnoticed. Her arm, a barricade for her children beneath. Her son’s eyes twinkle like the North Star As he smiles upon his sister. She stares lightly at her beloved mother. The children wear an innocent blue, And have the same lengthy, golden locks. They enjoy the company of the family dog, His long, black and white fur Echoes the dress of Madame Charpentier. All is calm and warm, reflecting the surroundings. I bask in the orange and gold colors, And I am soothed and comfortable. I gaze toward my mother and smile, Reflecting Madame Charpentier’s family.
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Pierre-Auguste Renoir
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No Vacancy Nakura Stout
Dancing with passion With vigor, with love We express our every emotion Every thought and every pain It pours from our souls And onto the dance floor The studio air filled with dreams Hopes and desperations Fluttering through the air As our hearts cover the ground Occupying any empty space The music has not already claimed
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Blair Bosshardt
Lexi Warman
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I’m Sorry. I Think. Diana Chen
(I did it again; I said what wasn’t supposed to be said.) My strange, my weird, my awkward was showing. (And it often does at often the wrong times.) Did it unnerve you or unsettle you? Discombobulate or disconcert you? (I ask because you all had that look on your faces.) I I I I
should should should should
have have have have
ignored it; kept silent. said zilch; said nothing.
(But I bet you were thinking the exact same thing.)
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Megan Smith
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My First Love Emily Kidd
I love math. Hate numbers. Love math. Or more accurately, I love math class. I haven’t learned one theorem, formula, or stupid acronym all year and the worst part is it doesn’t even bother me. I’m in love and believe me, I’m gagging as I write these words, but it’s true. I’m hopelessly in love. I tried to deny it at first, I even tried to fix it. I began completely avoiding all aphrodisiacs and I even stopped reading Jane Austen, but finally, I had to admit it: I’d been hit by the pointy stick of that dumb, proverbial cherub. Don’t get me wrong, love is beautiful and I might actually be all for this relationship thing if there was a mutual second half involved. Yes, I am another cliché, just one more woe begotten tale of unrequited love. My story’s the usual: he’s hot, I’m not. It’s not like I’m a freak show or anything, I just kinda blend in. As for him, he’s smart and funny and, though I can’t believe I consider it an attribute, he has the cutest ear piercing. Well, here I am in math, writing love poems in pink gel pen. The very rude -and possibly illiterate- girl who sits in front of me is twirling her hair in my face and he’s being sickeningly irresistible. Suddenly, an ear-piercing ring resonates loudly throughout the school and we all file into the football field. I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the fresh air or the fact that I look unusually pretty today or maybe because the last circle our teacher drew looked oddly like a heart but right then, I go up to him. “I think you’re cool and I think maybe if we spent some time together, you might find me cool too.” 44
I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and my heart thumping out of my chest, but I don’t run away. I’ve gotta see this thing through. He’s shocked, as are his friends. He shrugs and giggles and though his words are practically indecipherable, I manage to catch the phrase: “Nah man.” Nah man? I’ve just thrown myself out there and the best you can do is ‘nah man’? As you can imagine, I want to rip someone’s head off, and I have most decidedly fallen out of love and right into hatred. I get back to the classroom and I don’t even know what to do. There’s his name, in my hands, written over and over in swirly cursive. There’s his face, across the room, laughing insidiously, and to top it all off there’s some spoiled brat’s hair swirling in my face! I don’t even know what happens next but somehow I find myself with scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. Now, I know I should be upset but actually, I feel great. That was just the release I needed to get over my first love. Besides, it’s not like it’s my hair.
Emma Wu 45
Wendy
Kate Edelson
Mother’s lipstick on your cheek, Father’s stern words echoing in your head, Put away the costumes, Time to put your brothers to bed, Fake swords on the floor, Plastic gold coins under your feet, They say it’s time to grow upYou have new restrictions to meet, But stories make you fly Even without the pixie dust, So throw away their expectations, It’s the outcasts you must trust
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Alana Steinberg
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Peace
Starlite Stromer
Peace. Happiness and Free Spirits flowing like fresh lemonade on a summer’s day. but the Harsh winds, the Cold skies, the raining Tears and Strong thunderous words make the Peace run away. It Hides. Afraid of standing up for itself. Fear that trying to change everything to make peace, may make the storm worse. It shuts its mouth and hides under its blanket, but the storm is so Powerful. Peace can’t help but Try to make a difference and Try to change this Miserable feeling surrounding its life. It stands in the rain and Screams! “I Can’t Take This! Stop Fighting! Stop the Harsh, Mean, Stormy Weather! Why does it Always have to be so Miserable All the Time! Why Can’t We be Friends and Everyone be Happy!” …but it does not work… The Rain keeps falling, the thunder keeps yelling and the winds sweep Peace away. It is broken. With all the pressure from the clouds, the rain, the thunder, the cold, wet damp, miserable skies, it starts to give up. …Peace is Alone. no one feels the same way. no one desires the same thing. no one cares about the same thing. no one wants to fight for it. Peace. slowly peace dies away, sickened by all the misery. it starts to blend into the life of uniformity, it spirals into a deep depression. Dismal, Dark, Hurting, Harsh, Crying, Critical, Stress, Somber, Mourning, Nothing but Depression…Pain. the new peace. “no one agrees with me, they Want all the Drama, the Pain, the Fighting, the Yelling, the Cursing, the behavior I have been Trying
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to stop Will Not Go Away. I have Tried to stop them and they just Won’t Stop. so the best way to keep peace is just to Blend in and Keep the Misery Alive.” peace starts to Weep. Months Pass, Peace is Gone. Hope. Joy. They come to Comfort peace. Wondering why peace has Given Up. “no one will Listen, they just Yell and Complain and Stay Miserable. I am Tired of trying to glue, and mend, and fix all of their problems just so they can find new ones. there is Too Much Drama in the World.” at that moment Hope and Joy gave the Most Important advice to peace. “If thats the case then Stop Trying to Fix THEIR Problems, it is Not YOUR Job, if they Want to be Miserable, walking around Causing Drama and Hating Life, that is THEIR Problem. Stay Peaceful, Stay Happy, Be Yourself. Do Not Surround Yourself With Hate. Surround Yourself With joy” Peace Revealed itself from under the covers. Peace is Back. Gave Joy and Hope a very thankful hug. They Strode, Tall and Proud, outside in the storm. Thunder Started Yelling its Harsh Words, The Rain kept Pouring Dismal and Dismayed. Peace Wanted to Help, Joy whispered with fresh spirits “do not worry, Only They Can Change Themselves.” Hope hugged Peace and warmly responded “they Always pour out their Tears onto the ground, the Harsh Words that the Thunder Screams upsets them, but They Don’t Change. it seems like they Enjoy Having the Drama, the Pain, the Misery.” no matter How Much the Thunder, the Cold, the Damp, the Rain showered their feelings around Peace, it understood that it Could Not Control Them, Peace can only Prevent Itself from being Sucked back into the Black Hole of Misery. Peace, Joy, Hope are in their Own World, Free from the harsh winds, the cold skies, the raining tears and the strong thunder. 49
Conformity Louis Browne
I enter; My feet tap the floor as I follow.
I kneel; My head bows like the rest.
I think, As the rest of them pray.
I pray, That others think.
I seehim look down upon me.
I knowI should have faith, but Sometimes I don’t .
I cannotFollow blindly.
I won’t Conform 50
Keeli O’Brien
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To Wake to Hear the Ocean Noise Alex Evenson
To wake to hear the ocean noise The smashing of the waves. Birds - screeching - out their starvation, Next to the sea - the graves. Quicker than a flash - darkness - comes. Creatures start to scurry The life on the beach is now gone. All god’s creatures hurry. Hoping the storm will pass by soon, So the fun can begin. All hopes are - high - in good spirit, The storm will stay within.
“Dreams” Seren Nurgun
“Dreams” appear to those who wait, Sleep for an EternityFor when thine Eyes open, All is better than Reality. 52
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Alex Fisher
Dani Pendergast Founders Council 2012
Dani Pendergast, Class of 2013, is the recipient of this year’s Founder’s Council Award for Visual Arts.
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A Glance from Mars Zachary Gittleman
Oh how the solar system looks from here, I am so jealous of that blue planet, With all its life and water over there. All I am near is this massive gas jet, Twisting and turning ‘bout a godly storm, Unlike the blue marble which sits in peace, Its temper’tures so darn lovely and warm, If it cared to it would just sit and cease. But its inhabitants are so occupied, Fighting wars and bringing hostility. It seems as though, they have already died, For their continuous futility. Oh how I love to watch that sphere go roun’ A pity those squatters will make it drown.
Sharon Rozencwaig
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An Unnecessary Apology Allison Samowitz
Nothing is gained from sympathy. It is futile to trouble and wail for the ones who have lost. There is no need to send false security,condolences,apologies, excuses, forgivenesses, pardons, pities, commiserations, precautions, and “I’m sorrys” Empathy is unneeded to the deceased, the mourners, the fallen, the broken, the weak, the luckless, the failures, The fools, the downtrodden, the heartless, and the weary, It is all just vacant dribble. They know you will go in your car and travel upon your familiar asphalt path. And they know you will turn off the engine and reach for your house keys. They know you will open the door and plop down in your familiar seat. And they know you will watch the television and brainwash yourself with dancing lights. They know you will be able to unsee and unfeel what they cannot shake away. Only feel for yourself, who will not know the feelings at all, Until you too have gone through it all.
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Tugged
Ivy Kilpatrick
With words that rhyme From time to time You get the many exaggerations And many take What is really fake And turn it into realizations It becomes the truth It becomes literal When truly it was basically a lie To evoke the feel To tug at the strings Make you laugh, or even cry Poems become fantasy They become a dream Like a movie that wishes to suck you in But the snap back The revelation Can come from nowhere except within So if you’re strong You won’t fall victim Or maybe you will, they all do And because of that fact alone You just might Feel, be tugged, and cry too
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Carolyn Chaney
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A Collaborative Effort The air was still with piercing silence. The sky was an empty gray canvas just waiting for a breath of color to bring the world to life. -Nakura Stout I dared not breathe for fear that I would ruin something with such great potential, but you touched my heart and I could not help the sigh that left my lips. -Diana Chen And a sigh was all it took to set the world on fire, for that one simple breath lit the match of color that ignited a flame of passion. -Nakura Stout A flame that swept through the planet, turning dull, bland gray into vivid splashes of colors, of reds and oranges and yellows, of greens and blues and violets, of emotions painted across the sky. -Diana Chen And the seas stretched out with longing to be a part of that blur of light; the waters reached for the shores 64
hoping, like the flame, to ignite, to raise their tides and squash the burning, and join the painted scene. The foam set aglow with the joy of color, and the waves began to wean. -Kate Edelson Like the sea, the land grew hungry with the desire to bloom and blossom with color. And blossom it did, into flourishing brilliance. Expansive lands of grass and root pushed forth their hands of branch and chute. The trees, they answered my divine sigh, budding their flowers and baring their fruit. The meadows of daisies, marigolds, posies and all other petalled earthly gems shone their best in a heavenly display of all earthly delight they had to offer. Even the deserts longed to be one with the spectacle of harmonious hues. Having no flower, no fruit to offer, the dead lands took pride in golden glory; the luscious sands of age embraced, yet reflected the burning fury of the sun’s blonde stare. -Nakura Stout And in this newfound wonder in awe we stood together. All across the world we were bound by the color of this weather, this hurricane of hues, this tsunami that stained the earth. It was a second Renaissance, a true reawakening and rebirth. -Diana Chen
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The World Spun ‘Round Her Fragile Form Nicole Baptista
The World spun ‘round her fragile form- Gaze on the Horizon Ominous visions lead the Storm Fear of - Life - sets the tone
Kaleidoscope Eyes Nakura Stout
We’re staring into the sun With glitter in our eyes And watches on our ankles Because telling time Won’t matter where we are It never did matter, but We often pretend it does Checking every minute or so For something that will never come Little did we know The time had come and gone Yet all the while, with sparkling vision We blinked through the colors Never noticing a thing
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The Persistence of Memory Maddie Skimming
Tick tock The heart’s clock is ticking Time is of the essence Ants swarm to the clock rotting flesh Clocks limp with drooping hands Time bends and blends together Faded memories diminish as we try to hold on Memories come and go of their own free will They are not, but real Rather a blown-up past reality
Salvador Dali 67
Life’s Requirements Alexis Chestnov Sing and dance to the rhythm around Move to the beat of Mother Nature’s ground Do not lock up your mind and fade away Be the light in the room on the darkest days Open your eyes, experience, and see Be happy and proud- confidence is key Believe in yourself, trust your heart Accept what is around you- every part Embrace situations and hope for the best Try your hardest to learn from life’s test Experience, travel, enjoy, and have fun Take a deep breath, let your course run Listen and watch from all angles and learn Think of love, dream, and do what you yearn Smile and laugh and make every day well spent Life is a gift, live it to its full extent
Samantha Breakstone 68
The Way of the Leaves Jake Pagano
My way of life has been forever changed by this contaminated corrupted city. I was sucked into the city life with the colossal constricted buildings overshadowing the people below. I hear the vrooms and horns of cars, the screams of people going insane, the thumping on the stairs of people rushing to the subway, the subway screeching to a halt. I hear the airplanes flying overhead creating a sonic boom, the non-stop chatter on the sidewalks of the city, the muttering of the foreign dialect, the continuous flow of consumers flooding the store. I can’t find true happiness while living a life in a corrupt, crowded, controlling city. I take a walk through the woods embracing the pure nature around me. I am hearing the chirps of the birds, the wind blowing through the trees, and the sound of squirrels arguing over their winter surplus, and the silent, calm, collected woods. I smell a beautiful smell of the fire, just-extinguished, of an unseen camper. I take a step and leave behind a footprint, a small mark that shows I have been there. While walking through the woods, the leaves change from green to orange. I look at the leaves where they try to leave by touching the sun. But as time will tell they will return back to where they belong. Inspired by Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself, with collaboration from Hannah Veale, Alex Evenson, David Goldstein, Zachary Kahan, Viraj Kulhari, Matthew Gerrard and Joel Levy. 69
Yin and Yang of a Fox Holly Goldberg Oh, why is the fox always called so sly, Though he runs away quickly and acts so shy? Perhaps maybe he is much like a young lad; Nobody can make certain if he’s blissful or sad.
His tail flickers like a light bulb near its death, Exactly like the orange flame of a candle While the wind exhales a delicate breath. Such a playful, bold youth’s familiar to scandal? Always portrayed as the trickster or thief, Yet his fur is as soft as an expensive fleece. His eyes are smooth and dark like marble. Does he use them to spy? Or only to marvel? The fox is a predator, that can’t be denied. His sleek, smooth body bends with the grass, And slender, light paws allow him to glide; Must they be the same paws that supposedly harass?
Holly Goldberg 70
The Dog Blair Bosshardt
On the couch I reside, paws in place Tucked under my nestled nose, soft, warm fur As I dream of rabbits, or squirrels, to chase Bouncing, tempting thoughts of running wild stir. Or dream even of bones, some meaty treat Of which my beloved master may bring; Bacon, kibbles, something tasty to eat But the brutal realization does sting, As I realize while lying on my chair That master is gone, once again, all day, And while I sit alone, heart in despair Wishing that master could stay home and play, I can do nothing more than simply wait, And hope to be loved on another date.
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A Dog’s Best Friend Savanna Gornisiewicz
Of all the toys and games outside, It’s me who his desire calls. Though I try and try to hide; Why can’t he just chew some tennis balls? Chew and tear and bite and rip, Prada, Sperrys, Coach or Vans, Eventually all that’s left is doggy spit! Though it goes against my owner’s plans, There is nothing left to do But wait for the dog to grow up And hopefully leave me to be a shoe. Then one day, mature, a civilized pup, He sleeps and doesn’t want to play. And I wait hopefully and lonely, in the closet all day.
Laura Siciliano 72
Bryn Berkowitz
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The Feline Max Gittleman
When I come to thee I am so blessed, My master to this day I cannot repay. Thou bringest my milk putting me to rest, Your overindulgence brings my decay. Idleness overtakes the lazy days, Indolence is my spiritual calling. Lethargy rules like the sun’s summer rays, Indifference leads to my greater stalling. But thou adores me like mother to child, Though I stare ahead not seeming to care. My “charming pleasantness” ever beguiled, A fleeting look of contentment so rare. But in the end you’re my unfurry cat, You see rejection when I see a spat.
Emily Slatkow 74
Jillian Samowitz
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Lilith
Louis Browne
There is a turquoise tint to a room while she perfects a sharp edge with her eyeliner, and the air sends waves as her silk-like robe falls to the ground. A zipper closes a lust-inducing device that wraps around her feminine frame. The hostile cuff of a heel in the entrance to her syndicate of victims would be the last alarm for potential casualties. With a fair white complexion, dark lips, and auburn eyes that seared; her beauty was a weapon of razor-like caliber, which brushed the subconscious of each person in her wake, and left a pool of blood trailing in her path. She had nothing to hide, except her intentions. As her brilliant smile propelled onlookers into fits of modesty, she continued on into the room. Her eyes sent bullets flying. Revenge was the kerosene that lit her passionate fire, and as she acquainted herself with the thought of ending his life; she knew, she was, to die for.
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Andrea Levy
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Firebird Drew Doughty
Flames twirling wildly in a sea of sky smoking tail and bright fire eyes with feathered flames alight the world casted gaze to scorch the earth but dare not land for swords in hands await Firebird, Firebird the day bids gone this world is finished ‘tis ending of song on greater destinations its spirit spreads to bring light and warmth or ashes and dread
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Dani Pendergast
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The Dull House Ryan Wexler
The walls are covered With white paint None are yellow Or red with yellow Or yellow with green Or green with blue They are all but the same Without fantastical paintings Or mural masterpieces Men are not going To imagine the impossible ‘Cept for the child Full of joy and wonder Chases elephants Under blue moons Based on Wallace Stevens’ poem, Dillusionment of ten o’clock
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Le Martin
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The Infant Anonymous
Darkest night in February, I’d call morose but not as scary, Scary as the feeling that I will fall to a rather unfortunate fate. Mulling over the bleak and blank prognosis of my cancer, I try to sleep but am unable; the drugs have left me quite unstable, Insomnia - not solely for fear of falling fatal to fate, But also for out the door a piercing cry begins to pulsate “An infant likely wailing, for all this environment can create, It’s likely soon to dissipate.” Ah, yes, I do recall, this was exactly six months from the fall, That there had been a finding of a deadly rather unamusing trait. I sadly wished my end would come; these days drag on like a funeral drum Drumming, tapping, counting, humming, keeping track of my ill fate. Each second making it harder to look back into a pleasant state. In which I simply was just without that which I prognosticate. Now I rarely do celebrate. I hear again the harsh, high wail; I restrain from taking action towards the gale, It crosses me through, since the disturbance will grow, not abate, And I alone am the one and only one here to quell the cry, “Pardon me, sir, but that cry created, you must now dissipate! Your blatant intent is sent and now a disturbance you create,” I continue to hear the ingrate. It is now me the child does mock, watching the draining of my stock, “Quiet your infernal voice and the sound you do create” Now contrary to abation, it reaches a decibelic incarnation. 82
This child’s piercing cry has made it impossible to tolerate This lame, loud, proud, prudent protrudence, carrying the sounds of freight I think it will never abate. Though I now look upon the babe, although against it I outgrabe, No matter how much I tried, the child ignored my attempts to elucidate Only more: harsh, piercing, rash, chilling, nearly killing me to hear it, It mocks me, my cancer, my demise, doom, destruction, and hate I just sit and wait, patiently for my time to arrive at the gate, though, I wait.
Louis Browne
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Fallen
Emily Kidd
It was cold, The spiteful wind sent shivers deep within my soul. It blew away all warmth within me, and stole my merriment as well. I spoke, Though what words I gave her remains as irrelevant now as then. She heard nothing. She was gone long before she fell. I knew. There was much I didn’t understand, nor had ever, but this I knew; She would leave and I could do nothing. That remains my irreconcilable regret. It was quick, yet slow. It all seems so hazy now but for that moment. She drifted back, inch by inch, so slow I could almost grab her. Only I didn’t. I couldn’t, she kept slipping away. And then we both fell, her to the light and I to the dark.
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Dimples
Kate Edelson
It’s as if the sun reached down to kiss you, As gently as she could, A gusty whisper, with more breath than lip, Afraid to burn you where you stood, She might have tentatively leaned towards you, Almost scared to close her eyes, For if she came too close to you, My dear, you’d surely fry, And as her exhale brushed your cheeks, It was barely an embrace, But she left two slight-yet-audible dents On both sides of your face
Mirella Cardoso 85
The Sun Jessica Pancer When I come out, the day can start anew. My light appears to start the humans’ days. When storms conclude they signal my debut. No light bulb’s shine can try outshining rays. I cannot gleam forever through the night. My duties cease when moon reveals its face. I start the workday, not the party site. I wish to stop the dark and crazy chase. It leads to eerie acts I never see, Can never shine the path to show the now. Replacing darkness, stealth and secrets’ spree, To show the truth the next day I vow. I blind the eyes, but help the heart to view That light can never truly say, adieu.
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A Woods that Burns so Lovely Drew Doughty Somewhere in this dying light I found my truth Beyond the measures of starsighing whispers Snowflakes begin ablaze With wild ashes dance Faintly does the heart respond Beating in the moment like the river’s song of endlessness Passing through eternity Swimming in forever This fragrance that smells a sickly sweet From all the flowers left behind They do not know of a long time Though fed by seconds They smell of fear and decay Wilting in their forgotten melody of a woods that burns so lovely
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People in Glass Houses... Nakura Stout
The sun has set on this lonely town The lights go out in every other home Except for in my own As their rooms grow dimmer Mine light up and the night begins As they can gaze right in At all the fun they’ve been missing There’s a light show and the music is loud It’s like nothing they’ve ever seen All are invited, free of charge Come right in, on one condition
There shall be no stones
Life Through Pearl’s Eyes Carter Helschien
Pearl saw her mother standing with the man, The very same that covers his chest with his hand, Hester beckons for her to come near, Yet she mustn’t move, so much fear Why is it that her mother bears no A? Perhaps the Black Man took it away? She crosses slowly, ever so wary, Her mother loses patiences; “Pearl, don’t tarry!” She comes to her mother but the man bends close, Oh no he wouldn’t, couldn’t; this Pearl fears most She wants to run, this is her only wish, Yet she can’t escape, and must accept the kiss 88
Lexi Warman
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Fire
Anonymous
My eyes sting Is it smoke or tears? Hell’s where sky meets the ground. Are these facts? Or frivolous fears? This silence is so loud. I can’t stand this hellborn heat. It chills me to the bone. My body feels so incomplete. Is this skin my own? I spew up blood and poison air insides out and outsides gone. You think it’s done, up more flames flare. The catastrophe loves on. What a smell, human flesh and fear. Burns my nose like acid. I wish I were so far from here a peace calm and placid. Splash of water, sound of hope, as flames flick up higher. One last chance. I pray to God; Please save me from this fire. 90
Alana Steinberg
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The Lord’s Resistance Army Black eyes do follow, At night - they can be seen Borrowed from their families. Stolen from communities. Babies - children They are forever young.
Angela Cureton
Their cries, echo through The solemn night. White light, nice and bright light, Blazes a path - a sojourner’s torch for Dirt black faces, Pure black faces Invisible - Forgotten Faces They are forever young. Fruitless battles blazing, Baby boys must bear The burden - father couldn’t bear Ebony bones broken and bent Broken, before their time Brought into battle Forever Young. Booming Little Rambo in the woods Their hands are tied - forced to kill us Forced to bleed us Booming Voices, controlling Too many forever young. 92
Blinking - Breathing - heart Beating Ceased Blood - blood lost and gained Brushed maddeningly across canvas Spirits crushed - Dreams misguided Imaginations twisted These were Forever Young Forever and Never Never Young.
Brianna Blais-Billie
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Dear Silver Tongue
Diana Chen It was the day thick molasses seemed to coat my throat. As I tried to turn my garble into coherent words, I barely succeeded and then only in forcing out a harsh litany of nouns and verbs and adjectives all crashing together in a coarse cacophony. Frustrated, I glared at the words. Until I heard you speak. Your voice wove itself through the air the way a bubbling brook twists and trips through the trees. It ebbed and flowed gently, yet remained strong. You followed the streams of thought, bending and turning with the landscape of subtext and punctuation, reconciling words with tones in a harmony that danced right off your tongue. Entranced, I caught every syllable and breath, And I understood how the cobra is caught by the charmer’s song. But you did not read forever, and as I heard the final diminuendo, as you let your voice drift off into the painful silence, I made a decision guided by a newfound love: I was going to write you a poem that never ends. Sincerely, Addicted to Your Voice P.S. Please read aloud and then repeat and repeat and repeat. 94
Alec Bloch
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Side by Side Lea Stempel We stand side by side And sometimes back to back, But always together That is the fact. We are together, But apart. We stand side by side, But we part. The distance between Our shoulders increased. People filed in And some deceased. In the corner of our eyes The comfort lied, Because we stood side by side. Or was it back to back? I wish I could say, But I no longer see your face. Was it ever there? In the corner of my eye? Was it just in my mind? So far away, Your features drifted away. The comfort gone away. We stood side by side And sometimes back to back, But always together. 96 That was the fact.
Where the Truth Lies Theodore Jackson Question the reality of your existence Or question the existence of your reality Is everything around you a palpable truth Or just a projection of the life you wish you had Next time you go to sleep, where will you be? Will you be in another world unrecognizable by conscious thought Or will you wake up in the same environment you always believed to be real Who are you? What are you? Where are you? All I know is I am alive.
Samantha Johnson 97
Dear Imaginary Friend,
Diana Chen I believe your name was Shannon. That’s right, because I named my favorite stuffed doll after you, and you were named Shannon because my big sister had a real best friend named Shannon. Not that you weren’t my real friend. Actually, I think you may have been my only real friend. The people I met - the bullies and teachers and “friends” disappeared from my mind when I disappeared from town to town. U-Haul trailers (painted with fish and birds and once a big blue ship) preceded only by a day where suddenly our rooms were in boxes, whisked me away to new places in a time before Facebook. But no matter what, as we sat in the back of my dad’s red truck, I would talk, and you would always listen. I suppose home was where our family was, but Mom worked hard in our little clinic every day and Dad was doing business God knows where. As for us kids, well, I was just the sweet, quiet middle child. Yeah, I guess home was where the family was, but more importantly, you were there, too. Then one day we walked into another empty house, and Dad says, “We bought it; this is ours.” Suddenly, home was a house with a pool and a deck. Home had a wild garden we’d explore, 98
our own secret garden in the backyard. Home was an address worth remembering, a phone number I could call my own. Armed with the promise of permanence, but still the new kid as usual, I played with you for a year at school. Then the summer passed and I was still there. I made five friends at school, and suddenly recess became adventures on the monkey bars with girls who talked a lot, as I began to listen. Eventually, I forgot my play-dates with you, and I talked with kids who gave their opinions, who would call me right or wrong. Eventually, I’d learn to hold my own against those who talked back. And eventually, once more I’d come home to boxes. But when I sat in the back of my dad’s red truck on the way to a new home, not five miles away, it was a journey I made alone. I’m sorry that I left you in a garden by a crumbling birdbath among wild bushes. I’m sorry that I never said, “Good-bye.” So, let me now say, “Thank you” for lending an ear until I was ready to talk to the world, for holding my hand until I was ready to walk on my own. Sincerely, One Who Forgot But Never Stopped Believing 99
A Strain of Fling Holly Goldberg
The unbloomed rosebud, concealed true in green, Daubed with suspense and mystery. Will it be deep crimson, cerise or pale? All loom the rose that will bloom to full scale. Yet roses so tight leave no room for breeze, Unlike salt-rimmed petals of blooms near seas. Fluorescent sunshine dust stains those who play By the coast fling, where wild hibiscus sway. Sandy, steamy gale and erratic gusts Guide Cupid astray; shores flourish in lust. Laying a hibiscus behind thy ear; How tranquil and calm to clutch nothing dear-Till floral gnats crawl, nip, and creep Embedding thy head and marring thy keep. Impressive illusion, Pan’s blithe’s enough To live oneself sure alone in the rough?
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Beatrix Walter
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Courage
Anna Sze
If you want to know what courage is Just ask the friend we shared, For I know that she’s still with us Though it seems she isn’t there. And, yes, she knew what courage is. You could see it in her stance As she faced her greatest enemy Without a backwards glance. Think of how she greeted The birth of each new day With such determined gallantry As she kept her fears at bay. Remember for a moment The smile upon her face Where self-pity never surfaced, Not even the faintest trace. Think of her tenacity As she savored everyday And shared her relentless energy With those she met along the way. How she mothered my sister and I With such devotion and such care-Love to last our lifetimes Is the legacy we’ll share. Remember how supportive And nurturing a wife; 102
She truly was the perfect bride To adorn my father’s life. And when it came to friendship Her spirit overflowed With her exuberant love of fun And compassion a la mode. Determination as a colleague Was certainly her rule. Each task she undertook Was such an asset to our school. So when you call upon your courage And find it isn’t there Just ask my mom to bolster you, For she had so much to share. Yes, ask her in the darkness Of a quiet, lonely night When you discover demons That sadly you must fight. I know you’ll discover her Just waiting patiently To buoy you up and comfort you And light the way, so you can see. Then soon the dark of night will pass, And your courage will be found As you’re inspired by my mother, Who now is heaven bound. 103
The Wish of Dreams Lea Stempel
I begged myself to go back to the dream, The fairy tale that played in front of closed eyes, Continued to slip as the world awakened me. It dangled before my eyes And my heart skipped at my mind’s lies. The rope pulled the peace away All I could do was stay. I wished for eternity, I got finite. The scene was unreal. But how could it be false, When it was perfection? A creation. That was all it was. I could not bring it back No feelings were there It was not real, But could I not wish? I willed myself to dream, Because even if to other eyes I must remain unseen, I will wish for a life filled with such dreams. For even as I wake, I could make myself believe That once I had experienced loving eyes on me. Who would not wish for such a dream? 104
Anastasia Novak
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