The Scribbler | Undefined | 2020 by Pine Crest School

Undefined The Scribbler Volume 54 May 2020 Cover art courtesy of Delaney Dardet

undefined

un 路 de 路 fined 1. not clear or defined Defining undefined is a paradox - undefined is an idea, a concept. As a word it may be defined, but never as an idea. The universe is evergrowing, filled with many stars and planets; the undefined is much like the universe, unable to be contained, forever growing, full of endless possibilities.

universe

u 路 ni 路 verse 1. all existing matter and space considered as a whole; the cosmos. The universe is believed to be at least 10 million light years in diameter and contains a vast number of galaxies; it has been expanding since the Big Bang, its creation 13 billion years ago. By: Carys Edwards 3

Table of Contents

Written Work

10 All the Ways to Pronounce My Name | Ilana Hutzler 32 Sunset at 7:36 | Sophia Reich 12 A Whisper in the Wind | Samuel Morse

34 honestly I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t tell you | Ilana Hutzler

14 Vague | Spencer Davimos

37 Trimmed | Jake Oletsky

16 Monster | Spencer Howe

39 Tangerine | Ari Bernick

18 The Abyss | Drew Delimitros

40 The Neon Lights are Enough | Ilana Hutzler

21 Sinner | Emilia Velasquez

42 Static | Micah Bernstein

22 Journey Up the Hill | Jessica Haykov

45 Joy | Akshat Bagdamia

25 Afterthought | Emily Roy

46 Caroline | Mynda Barenholtz

26 Unspoken Word | Connor Norris

47 Mynda | Caroline Morrissey

28 Bakerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Street | Jolie Albinder

48 Undefined | Sydney Friedman

30 Critique of Shakespearean Sonnets #1 |Owen Seiner 50 Sign of Relief | Ally Keyes 52 And Selene Plunges Into the Atlantic | Ilana Hutzler

Table of Contents

Written Work

54 Les Dehors | Henrik Polatsek

78 Arepita Linda | Clarissa Zisman & Sofia Alkon

57 DayDreamer | Haley Cisewski

80 Strength in Numbers | Grace Hancock

59 Flora | Meli Borujerdi

82 My Grandfather’s Alzheimer’s | Spencer Davimos

59 Loyalty | Ari Bernick

84 Simple Sensations | Delaney Gertz

61 Sweet Wisconsin | Haley Cisewski

87 Tangerine | Ari Bernick

62 Rem | Charlize Cruger

88 Farewell, My Friends | Sterling Kalogeras

64 Regretful Path | Spencer Davimos

90 Book of Life | Daniel Cohen

67 I’m From... | Ari Bernick

93 Poem about Yellow | Denny Gulia-Janovski

68 Auxilium | Charlize Cruger

94- | Ben Krut

71 Rain | Dasha Peppler 72 The Center of the Universe | Caroline Morrissey

Table of Contents

Art Work

Table of Contents

Art Work

58 Lions | Danielle Weisfisch

81 Perspectives | Karene Hermon

60 Boquete, Panama | Karly Burnstein

85 Long Distance | Natalie Berman

65 Light into Darkness | Lakshmi Singh

86 Colours | Lauren Goldman

66 Who? | Dimitri Politano

89 Jane Got Her Gun | Alana van Woerkom

63 Rock | Salo Bendrao

91 Toothpaste | Joshua Koolik

69 Madame Rouge | Samuel Morse

92 Re-built | Joshua Koolik

Editorial Staff EDITOR IN CHIEF Ilana Hutzler DESIGN STAFF Mynda Barenholtz Spencer Davimos Caia Farrell Lily Fishman Delaney Gertz Benjamin Harvey Karene Hermon Jacob Liberman Jade Klacko Isabella Koopman Caroline Morrissey Sara Moss Saylee Nemade Gabriella Pecoraro Dasha Peppler Ivey Rao Owen Seiner Matthew Vega 8 Emilia Velasquez Sarah Wittich

COVER ART Delaney Dardet ADVISOR Ms. Macy Dailey

Drown | Delaney Dardet 9

All the ways to pronounce my name Today my name means I’ve missed you, the sound of laughter in the back of a classroom and plastic beads against tile floor. It doesn’t always sound that way. Yesterday I whispered it to myself, a soft sigh, what have you done? I promise I am trying to say it differently, say Ilana, mean my own two hands are enough. Last weekend my name meant Dance with me! as it rolled off the tongue, coated with midnight music and skittles.

My mother says my name means I love you. That’s my favorite.

Ilana Hutzler

Yes, my name is a promise, a linked pinky, a half-heart necklace, but sometimes pronounced Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sorry. Apology sticks to the vowels like candy half-melted into the sidewalk but really, my name is five letters that were never mine to begin with. I look for them in the cracks of the pavement; I look for them between my ribs.

A Whisper in the Wind Samuel Morse

Hark to the wind, Feel its ghoulish whispers. For it-- tells lies. Think twice before befriending, Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s clever romance, unless you wish evisceration. For it-- tells lies. Say what you may and do what you do, Once it has started, there is nothing you can do. For it-- tells lies. Plutoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s grasp is just the same, For one in one, both share a name. For it-- tells lies. Both whispers of death, both pass through ever so nonchalantly as one may expect of its conspicuous evil. No, it is far from being anything like your worst nightmare as they do not take shape. It is abstract, yet ubiquitous. It takes what it must. For it-- tells lies. 12

Bubbles | Karene Hermon 13

Vague

Spencer Davimos

My mother strokes my hair and tucks a long, interrupting strand behind my ear and locks me into her embrace. This beautiful moment of family love, everlasting, is stricken by abject pain. My heart, brimming with love, deteriorates from an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty. Trees rustle in the wind, rain falls from clouds, and sunlight nourishes plants. I know all of this because nothing negates these facts. But when I see headlines with the words war, protest, or school shooting, I become unsettled. Enigmas, outliers, and anomalies are growing at exponential rates. Sadly, we cannot hinge on statistics as we did before. I look at my mom, at my dad, at the news, and the two of them again. The tragedies I read could have been our own. I grow worrisome of not knowing, and of knowing too much. Vague is when something is unclear, inexplicable, and puzzling. Examples: the unfathomable, the odds of facing tragedy, and the motive in committing evil acts. Fear from unpredictability is as identifiable as the stars in the unpolluted night sky and is also boundless. That is the only thing I know for certain. 14

Broken Hearted | Erika Temprano 15

Monster

Spencer Howe

Nothing to be seen, No time for joy, Dusk.

Darkness engulfs hope, Light is gone, and it, arrives. Slender footsteps, creaking Slowly, Approaching, my bed Looking to harm, I hid under my blankets, The monster snarled, Then It seemed to flee. I was safe, Nothing to fear,

Too bad the monster Was still under my bed.

Untitled |Delaney Dardet 17

The Abyss

Drew Delimitros

I plunge deep into the black water, the water of the unforgiving sea. Darkness engulfs me. It is instantly dry. I feel like I am choking on charcoal. I land in a new environment. The floor is wet, as if caked in a black paint. Ominous sounds surround me. There is barely any light, only a soft glisten coming from an invisible force. Walls start to move in slowly, the sea above me Gone. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t breathe. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see. I try to move, But have lost all control. Panic takes over, pure fear. I try to fight it. The darkness takes over me entirely, suffocating darkness. I inhale sharply as my eyes fly open. Breathing heavily, I sit up. Sunlight

Take your mark | Alana van Woerkom

Sister | Alana van Woerkom 20

Sinner

Emilia Velasquez

He fell from his throne, halo breaking into horns. Light among the brightness, a morning star. Evil, no one ever mourns. God wore a crown of thorns, Saying â&#x20AC;&#x153; be true to who you are.â&#x20AC;? The sinner fell from his throne, halo breaking into horns. The sinful fall, his pretty face deformed. Wounded wings, his arms now lined with scars. Evil, no one ever mourns. Desire and foolish ambition reside in his core. His affinity for trouble didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get him very far. He fell from his throne, halo breaking into horns. In his kingdom, he wanders among the ignored: Murderers, liars, thieves, he is blamed for all they are. Evil, no one ever mourns. The greatest sinner, his actions have been scorned. Is he not worthy of mercy, prayer? He was once the brightest star He fell from his throne, halo breaking into horns.

Journey Up the Hill Jessica Haykov The golden eyes were slowly closing, still. Beneath her lids was there still any shine? We watched as she was taken up the hill. Her spirit lingered, hovered like a will, And left the scent of roses’ wilting sighs. The golden eyes had slowly closed. Were still. Life for her - a whirlwind: passions! Thrills! That life is gone, so now her soul will rise. We watched as she was taken up the hill. Riding down the road can not be a thrill. Memories keep coming into mind. The golden eyes were slowly closing still. Sun sets and it is dark above the hill. She’s gone and so is the light from her eyes. We watched as she was taken up the hill.

The hooded figure’s pallor pale and ill. Eventually we had to realize, The golden eyes were slowly closing, still. We watched as she was taken up the hill.

Golden | Alana van Woerkom 23

Skull | Delaney Dardet

Afterthought

Emily Roy

They named me Emily after no one. Y? because my father thought my grandma could never spell I.E. the French spelling, what my mother wanted, Emilie. She won the battle for my middle name, Frances After William Francis Burke both senior and junior Spelled with an E or an I know how to spell my name. They told me somewhere along the line an I was switched for a Y? because an ancestor assumed Americans could never pronounce A one-syllable three-letter word meaning king. I chose Jean for myself. Confirmation robes read Of Arc, but I only thought of A knight rather than a pawn, not The unbelieved glorified by the believers, the used beatified by the user. 25

Unspoken Word

Connor Norris

I wish you would hate me, For what closure that would bring.

A half-drowned smile when we cross Drains me of any and all thoughts. And I am not one to speak on behalf, Nor do I know it for fact, But when we cross, our thoughts must be exact. Oh, if you hated me, what a spectacle it would be. How to live a life, without the forced smile in pity. I wish you would hate me, For what closure that would bring. A half-drowned smile when we cross Drains me of any and all thoughts.

And I am not one to speak on behalf, Nor do I know it for fact, But when we cross, our thoughts must be exact.

Ask Again Later | Delaney Dardet 27

Baker’s Street

Jolie Albinder

The house’s white paint chips away, Cockroaches scurry across the deck, The creaks of floorboards send chills Down backs of children skipping in the street. Weeping willows’ branches hang low, whimpering. A sign hangs upon the scratched up door, “No entering!” With a gust of wind, the door flies open. Pristine marble flooring, a crystal Chandelier decorates the foyer. The crystals’ chimes echo throughout. “How may I help you?” A quivering voice asks. The door slams shut within a second. 28

Kitchen | Joshua Koolik 29

Critique of Shakespearean Sonnets #1 Owen Seiner Thy stubborn cypher. Thy unnerving rouse. Thou art the pervasive buzz of insects: Forever heard, never understood. You Broken puzzle: hours withered by objects That simply donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t connect; yet you call Yourself a rose? A thornĂŠd rose perhaps. Celestial to behold, but so banal In content: thorn and greenery. A lapse In cosmic complexity for simple Truth to be wrapped in delicate furnishings. Yet you indulge immortality, sinful, When you are gone, your sonnet flourishes. Though, their trite triviality is fairly honest: Their lying verse provide a certain solace.

Coy | Vanessa Wildman

Sunset at 7:36

Sophia Reich

As the sun sets along the horizon, The water reflects the golden rays upon itself, While colors cast through the never-ending sky, Complete with saturated tangerine and plum pigments. The fading sun, disappearing into the night, Saying good-bye until morning arrives. The sun, now absent from sight, Making the once exuberant sky, lonely and black, but Infinite stars gaze back at me from the view above. The sand, now cold and vexing, As each grain of sand scratches between my toes. I clear my mind and listen to the crashing waves.

Niagara Falls, Ontario | Karly Burnstein

honestly, I couldn’t tell you Ilana Hutzler

there is metal foliage running down the ceiling draping the walls in my own reflection graphite on the floor a reflecting pool & I jump in and I can see everything: my own confused expression & mountains with furrowed brows and the lightless skydid you know stars are mirrors too? look up and you can see my retinas your retinas I don’t even know what retinas look like but the stars are not made of light anymore they are made of right now. are we dripping from ursa major? it’s hard to tell. the graphite is empty: we have been carved out into neon hands 34 orange on the walls

waves / no / the whole ocean on the walls black and white pictures of trees or broken windows shapeshift to shawls empty of people oops i swallowed the whole city and I still canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t find my voice

Split | Sarah Bolja

Melancholy | Joshua Koolik

Trimmed

Jake Oletsky

Hold still, this is the end, quiet now as, we begin. Trim your beard and call a friend. I quietly thought to myself. Sitting alone, the lighting from the blue and red, shining on my cold, broken face. Damnit. The rest is sorta a blur. How could it not be? Flung down to the floor, the gravel grabbing at my scars. The ones that are both emotional and physical. Some piece of metaphysical bond they always shared.

Ice Cave | Gabe Sareli 38

Tangerine

Ari Bernick

Tangerines hit the ground, The farmer turns around. Little girl takes a bite. Her smile gleaming white. Wiping sweat from this face, The farmer nods feeling grace

The Neon Lights are Enough after King Princess

Standing behind a girl in a silver tank top I think her name is Isabel and singing loud and knowing I am too tough on myself sometimes but right now I am nothing but light blue guitar chords and it’s religious/ or the opposite/ how we are free and weighed down by pink plastic earrings at the same time/ heavenly and alive/ spinning into clear minds/ absolute dancing and dancing and dancing/ absolutely on the phone with God who told me you’re just passing through my life/ but I don’t mind/ what else is there to do but wish on E minor in purple and who else is there to wish for but myself/ and trust you for no reason at all and kick a chair over/ silver and clanging and slow/ make a mess of something for the sake of it/ the sake of my missing voice and calling ourselves alive 40

Ilana Hutzler

Alchemy Pour | Vanessa Wildman 41

Static

Micah Bernstein

It’s a new experience, to say the least. I’ve heard of it before, But I never quite fully grasped it. And I doubt I’ll know for a while if I really have. It’s rather abstract. A deformity of emotion. An amalgamate if you will. The funny thing about it is, I never asked for it. I never conjured it. It just appeared. And there’s a million reasons why. But then again, It never needed reason to exist. It never needed logic. It just needed a conduit. 42

Static. That’s how I would describe it. I come in contact, And the circuit completes. Then the charge grows stronger. Every. Single. Time. And so we pass it back and forth. Over and over again. Until we part ways. So nowadays, I lay awake at night. Because I’m ecstatic for the next day. But truth be told, I’m afraid.

Storm | Alana van Woerkom

The Blue Mosque | Alana van Woerkom 44

Joy

Akshat Badgamia

Plentiful daisies and much laughter, A warm December night, all astir. Campfire scorching, family about, A very merry site with no doubt. Cold battling heat, darkness against light, A constant cycle, nothing new to sight. Moon glistening in the plain night sky, Under which folks dance to the vibrant vibe. Atmosphere packed with buzzing fireflies, Everyone cracking jokes with much delight. Glee beyond Heaven, drinking all-out, Mounds of joy, the best Christmas ever.

Caroline

Mynda Barenholtz

She walks as though she has the world Figured out. Her thoughts with the planets and the belief in infinity. Lavender perfume trailing behind leaving everyone With soft thoughts of delicate Times and half-smiles She walks alone for She knows she is in charge Of her happiness And her strong opinions For her beauty shines Through her golden hair From the intricate workings of her mind

She walks slowly For she knows life is precious And every moment matters She drives in her little blue beetle Top down listening to pulsing tirades About peach scones and strawberry fields Every memory lasting forever In tiny pixels on the world wide web

Mynda

Caroline Morrissey

Sweet Mynda’s got the stars beneath her ears, Though her eyes twinkle brighter than Orion. She talks with an unprecedented ease, So sweetly in her voice like dandelions. She pulls her hair so coolly in a bun, Plucks two long hairs to frame her saintly face, In hopes to catch the eye of some someone Whose loveliness she truly can embrace. She spends her time evading empty arrows From boys with such electrifying charm. But little does she know her love’s a sparrow That he’s not nearly worth enough to harm. She scribbles in her notebook through the hours, Drawing up the thoughts inside her head, Neatly tucking lyrics into flowers And things that no one’s ever even said. I cannot simply say there’s something better Than wrapping little mynda in my arms. I promise you I never will forget her Or let her come to any sort of harm.

Undefined Sydney Friedman Words have definitions. That is fact. Definitions that are to the point, Definitions that leave you needing more definitions. Objects were once just words. Feelings, Your nervous stomach, Your tired, broken eyes leaking tears down your face, Are just words. How strange, then, is the term undefined. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing more than a word. Words have definitions. May the irony never fade. May there never come a day when something, Anything, is left undefined. Because when that day comes, I doubt weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be ready. 48

Whether it is undefined treatment Of an ancient disease reborn, Or the feeling of loneliness After losing everyone you love To the same killer of all humanity. Humanity: as a noun, it is all of us. As a noun, it is our kindness. That is our definition,

20s | Delaney Dardet

Sign of Relief

Ally Keyes

As the tall, green grass brushes up against my feet, I hear the brisk sound of water as it ripples throughout the lake. The swift sound of the multicolored leaves descending from the large, centered tree, And the tranquil chirps settling from the birds above in sight make me feel at peace. I wander around aimlessly just as I come across a majestic, monarch butterfly that flutters past my head so beautifully. The distinct smell of freshly cut, green grass arises up into my body, And I can almost taste it. I take a seat on a bench nearby to admire the incredible beauty of nature, A new feeling sparks as if no weight is held upon my shoulders. 50

Lost | Lauren Howe 51

And Selene plunges into the Atlantic Ilana Hutzler June is ripe, which is to say I love you under the strawberry moon. Black seeds stick to my fingers like semicolons, nestle in the knuckle roads of your thumb. Fleck our lips like freckles or ants or a reminder that we are no more than grass, lip seeds / love songs / ladybugs drip down our throats. They shine like you cried on them. O green crowned glory, an offering, bite marked fragment / broken ribbed cliff forked through. We leave watercolor napkins on the back steps. 52

Orca | Samuel Morse 53

Les Dehors

Henrik Polatsek

The Outside

La nature est poubelle Je ne veux pas.

Nature is trash. I don’t want it.

Je veux être chez moi C’est très froid, dehors.

I want to be at my house It’s very cold, outside.

Toutes les choses sont ennuyeuses, Et, je veux extraire mes yeux.

Everything is annoying, And, I want to rip out my eyes.

Je veux prendre du coco, Pas voir le San Francisco!

I want to get hot chocolate, Not see San Francisco!

Je veux être chaud, Pas voir les artichauts.

I want to be warm, Not look at artichokes.

Quand je suis dehors, When I’m outside, Je veux me faire tuer par un conquistador. I want to be killed by a conquistador. 54

Paris is Always a Good Idea | Alana van Woerkom

The Lost Road | Samuel Morse

DayDreamer Haley Cisewski

who are we when the days end and turn into night when the flames of the fire fade and when the familiar faces die out who are you when it’s just me... am I just a figment of a Memory? my favorite book was you I didn’t understand you I still don’t but every once in awhile I catch myself analyzing that same old stupid book maybe out of curiosity maybe desire did I think fate would turn out in my favor? No, but I still gave in. 57

Lions | Danielle Weisfisch

Flora

Meli Borujerdi

The grass depressed Beneath the gale in delicate gusts, Briefly reflecting the scorching sunlight. Each blade singular, yet collectively, They pranced in a fashion that surrendered My pain and welcomed goodness in.

Loyalty

Ari Bernick

I wonder if you think of me alone In your palace sitting on a throne You sent some boats across a raging sea To find the lock, though, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re the one with key I wonder if you think of me alone In a kingdom crafted out of stone

Boquete, Panama | Karly Burnstein 60

Sweet Wisconsin

Haley Cisewski

The guitars strum as I drive down the country backroads, I’ve never seen the beauty in Ol’ Junction City but it holds my father’s heart Miles and miles of nothing but fields and It held him captive. I used to think it was the silence… to be able to get away from everything we’ve ever known or needed Or maybe the feeling of being free, In a ghost town where everyone knows each other and you are just another outsider. But to him, it was home The feelings of being wanted, And wanting something so bad. A dream. Just a Dream.

Rem

Charlize Cruger

(reality in Latin) Reality I’ve come to find, is never the same Between two people even though they’re both playing this game. The game of life is full of puzzles, pawns, riddles, fools, That much they can all agree to be true. But reality is never consistent Even between two who are most intimate It’s as relative as what’s true It depends heavily on you.

But they don’t understand this They think everyone sees them same way Feels the same way And this causes chaotic confusion, pitiful delusion, And something still worse Reality, The wars that it starts Are most horrific How it splits people apart Is most magnificent All the frustration in their hearts Is what drives their heads To repeat what was most maleficent Their reality Does not consider their history And so there is no mystery what causes their tragedy

Realities They’re colliding instead of combining Conflicting instead of cooperating Their reality doesn’t consider that of other beings And I know what that means It’s the beginning of the end Of their theatrical game This game of life Where no two realities are the same.

rockSalo Bendrao

Regretful Path Why are the back roads so windy? Like they want you to reconsider. As though you hadn’t shoved your belongings in your car trunk, driving through deluge and half-melted ice — and your inky tears that mixed the colors in the sky into a dull blue? Through squints, you saw stars weep behind haze and fog, whispering between sobs, “….potential, gone to seed, like tulips, given too much sun, falling over its stem.”

Spencer Davimos But the stars were inaudible. Maybe that be from the spit of the engine, ten years old, rusting quick, just like you, at age 33? Worn out, you pull over to the side of the road, settling in for the night, resting for your next day’s trip, down an undefined path, starting your drive once the dew forms on the grass.

Light Into Darkness | Lakshmi Singh 65

Who? | Dimitri Politano

I’m From...

I am from an old Canon camera Ari Bernick From Disneyland and salicylic acid I am from the restless From the willow tree, the ocean, the pansy flower that can't figure out what color it’s suppose to be. I’m from board games and hard work, from doctors, Mom and Dad. I’m from a broken Barbie doll with a plastic smile that outshines the rest. I’m from “you’re a princess”, “they’re just jealous” And with innocence in my eyes, I believed them. I’m from Abraham and Sarah who had faith, had hope I’m from the summer and the winter Smoothies and popcorn From the two different shoes my Bubbie was wearing in our family picture To the laughter The hair on my brother’s head that no one could touch In my mother’s cabinet there is a DVD Filled with old videos, A rush of happiness To fill the stillness of our home I am from these memories, That make me grip onto the roller coaster railing Waiting for more, fearing for less 67

Auxilium

Charlize Cruger

Listening to the clock time tick ticking on by, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sitting here wondering looking up at the sky, and I wonder if there is a secret place where all the answers lie. The answers to my questions, my worries, my fears and then suddenly I realized that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been asking for years. For some help, for some guidance and as I wipe away my tears, the tedious tick ticking terrorizes my ears. So I muster up the courage to look down at my sheet and at all of the words that are swimming around and I attempt to unscramble this overwhelming puzzle and that familiar feeling starts rising up from the 68

ground. Some sweat brakes My hands shake My mouth goes dry stuck on that wall its tick tick ticking timing my downfall! My vision starts to blur as I stare hard at that page and my blood starts bubbling boiling with rage! My heart races by My legs go numb I know I am done The words are meaningless the letters thoughtlessly arranged! And I hear my heart beating it sounds hopelessly deranged! Harmonic to the clock

Why can’t I get it?! Why can I never understand?! Why can’t anyone help me?! Just give me a hand? I look all around me in a desperate plea and I see all the pens moving, making a mockery of me. And I turn back to the page to give it one last try

and I focus real hard on one signal line until all of my time has tick ticked on by When my paper, still untouched, gets snatched from my sight I know that my future isn’t looking so bright and I feel like I just can’t do anything right. Oh why so complicated is my plight?! And why so lonely is my fight?!

Madame Rouge | Samuel Morse

Low Visibility | Lauren Howe

Rain

Dasha Peppler

Rain, Rain, don’t go away, because I’m lonely all these days. The sun always seems to be in my solemn company, he peaks in my ears, and he pricks my nose. I am hot. I am tired. The beach is within my reach, yet I refuse to retire to the sun. Rain, Rain, you take my pain And release my relinquished fear of time: It stopsand my wrinkled hands crisp at the ever moving wind you possess.

from living my unknown fate. Is that bad? Perhaps so. But I’d rather spend forever at 11:06 A.M with you then acknowledge my insanity in moving time and space. You are safe. But not healthy.

I am still, And I am happy. Maybe your sorcery will you stop me

The Center of the Universe I pass a rusted sign, so brown and bent I can only make out the ‘T’ and ‘s’ of Tulsa.

Caroline Morrissey

I call our first stop at a convenience store five miles east. The woman at the register jumps as I open the door. Her smile folds into lines that run from her nose to her cheeks, as if her mouth has spent more time in a grin than it ever has resting. In the evening the tips of the winter wheat turn from red to deep orange. They sway gently in the breeze to the beating 72

of the slapping bass and feet beginning to stomp. The boys I dance with smell strong of cologne, (the kind thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s probably called Suede or Mist or Dirt) and their calloused hands hurt mine when they spin me. We dig our boots with youthful festivity in dirt tread once by spur-clad cowboys, the ones my teachers say wore hip-high chaps, and winked at the married, and always had a twig of straw bouncing lazily off their lower lip. Tread on again by uprooted Cherokees looking to bury back down in soil packed in rye and cow hooves; whose backs bent under belongings seized for last trips from home.

Those my teachers left to three titular words, evoking images of five thousand miles of dirt, salty with sweat and tears. Nevermind that, the musicâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s too loud to think... 73

Into the Unknown | Natalie Berman

Growth in a Desert | Samuel Morse

Shrine | Alana van Woerkom 76

macBOOK | Salo Bendrao

Arepita Linda Sofia Alkon & Clarissa Zisman The succulent scent of the crispy crunchy arepa Reminds me of a corrupt Caracas. While my mother presses flour firmly into fluffy dough, The stove-top sizzles with salt and oil. I patiently ponder the pungent taste Of mouth-watering melted cheese That comes with a perfectly pleasant first bite. My father follows the faithful smell into the kitchen, Expecting to receive a heaping helping of hot food. We come to the radical realization that, We donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t deserve the delicious, all-knowing arepa.

Boundaries | Vanessa Wildman 79

Stregnth in Numbers Grace Hancock

Mosquitoes flit in swarms of many, Following dutifully into the spiderâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s web. Minnows race in pushy schools, Never straying from the current. And ripples chase one another In an endless pursuit. The vibrant heron stalks the weeds, Strong and independent. The turtle thrives in land and water, Delving its own path. And the oak tree, daring long ago, Stands unwavering on the shore, Towering in the sun, far from company. 80

Perspectives | Karene Hermon 81

My Grandfather’s Alzheimer’ s Spencer Davimos He was the annotations on the newspaper. He was why the jukebox was pre-set to Frank Sinatra’s album. And why the fridge was stuffed with coffee ice cream. And the collection of everyone’s laughter at the Sunday grill. He was everyone’s home. But he also was the man who died twice. The first time he died, His newspapers were filled with Questions he passed to me. Asking, “When is dinner? I’m hungry. Where am I? Who are you?” The coffee ice cream was replaced with Pureed chicken. And sometimes, we would find his Wallet lodged in the walls of the fridge. 82

But after his second death, There were no more annotations. And the weekly newspapers were given To the neighbors. The fridge was emptied out; no one Felt like eating. His most expensive wallets were “Coincidentally” claimed by Money-thirsty in-laws as a Meaningless memento. Like they missed their conversation with Him at the rehearsal dinners for Some distant relative’s wedding. No one really knows why they cried at the funeral, He was gone before he left. And then, in an instant, Everyone saw him as just another house.

Simple Sensations

Delaney Gertz

Bask in the Monterey sun, feel the boardwalk warm. Your lips move, but do you know why? A real sound is a wave that ripples, breaking its form. The clock runs on, yet mind and heart conform. Work day jargon and a Microsoft hum. Bask in the Monterey sun, feel the boardwalk warm. Yes you aim to please, you use insurance agent charm, yet itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing more than that headphone static. A real sound is a wave that ripples, breaking its form. Remember last summer: a guava sky, clear of all storm. Heaven too powerless to darken its brilliance. Bask in the Monterey sun, feel the boardwalk warm.

Files will pile high, let lingering customers swarm. Focus on laughter, the melody of the mouth. A real sound is a wave that ripples, breaking its form.

Now days turn to dark, sun and moon transform. Run once more through the wind, lie still among the sand. Bask in the Monterey sun, feel the boardwalk warm. A real sound is a wave that ripples, breaking its form.

Long Distance | Natalie Berman

Colours | Lauren Goldman 86

Tangerine

Ari Bernick

Tangerines hit the ground, The farmer turns around. Little girl takes a bite. Her smile gleaming white. Wiping sweat from this face, The farmer nods feeling grace

Farewell, My Friends

Sterling Kalogeras

Time to wake up, it’s 4:00 am. Get out of bed, brush my teeth, get ready to go. Bring snacks, water, and a blanket, too. Hurry up, or else I’ll miss the show. Walking through the grass, I’m thinking about the past. The memories that I made, I really hope that they’ll stay. We have this last morning together. And then, like them, I’ll be going on my way. I lay my blanket out, and so do the others. Someone gets out cards and we play a game. I get a little tired, and so I lie down. And the stars seemed to tell me that this day finally came.

Suddenly, the scene shifts. The author begins a new chapter. The stars go by and I see the sun rise. And in getting ready to go I become apter.

We spend the next few minutes talking and having fun. Someone leaves and we get pretty sad. But it is still not over yet And to that we sure were glad. Suddenly, the whole group gets up And we move to the pond. For the next few hours we reminisce And I realize that to them I have grown fond. Then we rise up, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time to say goodbye. I might not see them again. Why should you care about this? Because to me, a special time was then.

Jane Got Her Gun | Alana van Woerkom

Book of Life

Daniel Cohen

Born - you are given a stack of blank pages Prefaced with economics, name, and genetics. Slowly, each page fills with: Yellow children’s laughter, as soft as cotton. Waterlogged, with green mold creeping up the side. Sunshine, beaming out like the moon on a dark night. Scorched edges, trimmed and blackened with the harsh whip of fire. White, fluffy, smelly dogs bursting into their owner’s arms when they come home. Stiff, ripped pages with jagged edges smell like death with a sour taste creeping down throats. Once all adventures are complete, Pages are stacked And bound.

The love of family and friends sews the cover onto the book, And Goldstamps a title, Different for everyone, Into their hearts.

Toothpaste | Joshua Koolik

Re-built | Joshua Koolik

Poem AboutDennyYellow Gulia-Janovski The sizzling sun is spread out in the field. The stillness of the plants lets me relax, Under the sunset in the golden field. No tires screeching, no clinking metal, Just me and the silence of the field. The stillness and warmth of the sun make me sigh. The smell of natural corn reminds me of how good things are packed in each day. The taste of fresh vegetables in the fresh field is flavor-filled and tastes natural, and untouched. The city is bustling with an action unlike the field, alone, silent, yet relaxing. The sun shines on my face, providing me warmth, light, and growth.

“--”

Ben Krut

Somehow my paper’s devoid, Even though, at first I had really felt poised, I had felt like “I’m ready,” Thought I could write this slow and steady, Then at my desk I sat down Not yet ready to slowdown, Since my mind was buzzing But as I tried to write, I had absolutely nothing

Colophon The Scribbler, published annually, displays a diverse collection of literary and artistic work of Pine Crest School students. Our mission is to provide a forum and audience for emerging student writers and artists. Entries are solicited from the Upper School student body through a schoolwide call for submissions. We accept online submissions of poetry, fiction, nonfiction, art, and photography. Each year, the staff chooses a theme through popular vote. While not a requirement for publication, strong consideration may be given to pieces that demonstrate the theme. The meetings and production of the Scribbler occur outside of school hours. The current Editor-in-Chief, in consultation with the advisors, select the editors and staff annually based on applications and the previous yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s performance of duties. Students produce the Scribbler using InDesign and Photoshop. This yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s title and body fonts are set in Garamond Premier Pro. The Scribbler offers print and electronic versions of the literary magazine. Print Dynamics of Fort Lauderdale, Florida print 100 perfecttly bound copies of the magazine which the editors deliver throughout the school.