The Pendulum Staff, Front Page, Scanned Work
Clara Pakman, Stones, Scanned Work
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Editor’s Statement This year’s theme of “crumbs” represents that which has fallen through the cracks of life; pieces of a whole which are often overlooked, yet can provide much insight into the nature of the whole itself. Upon observation, a crumb may appear more striking than the whole by virtue of the stories it can tell us, even in all its simplicity. A crumb is a remnant and a reminder of something more complex than itself. The beauty of crumbs lie in their ability to represent something complete while yet remaining incomplete. At its heart, all art can be summed up in this fashion. Is a poem not an attempt to convey a greater sentiment through a simple arrangement of words? What is a painter’s vision without the brushstrokes? How is a symphony performed, if not for a dependence on each individual note? The crumb is the building block of creation, both essential and inessential to our existence. Perhaps, in essence, we are all just a conglomeration of various crumbs, gathering the new and dropping the old as we progress through the many stages of life. What we brush aside is left for others to examine, and our discarded crumbs may very well reveal more about us than we are willing to admit. What can you tell about a person from what they leave behind? Forgotten, neglected, unnoticed. A crumb can be a lost earring, a brief summer breeze, an nervous tic, a post-it note reminder, or a favorite quote. The detritus of life can be as exciting as life itself if we only take some time to examine it. So please, as you read this issue of The Pendulum, I encourage you to slow down and appreciate the beauty encapsulated in each and every crumb you encounter.
Clara Pakman, Stuff, Scanned Work
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Claire Watson, Sneaking Puppy, Photograph
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Clara Pakman, The Pendulum - Crumbs, Photograph
The Pendulum Staff
1, 5-10, 22, 31,
Fortunes
46, 60, 76-77, 85
Failenn Aselta
Ballerina
21
Kendall Boege
Be Careful What You Wish For
32
von Lilien-Brockmeyer
The City
44
Ruth Mercedes
Blue
50
Anonymous
The Rules
70
Jerry Rutigliano
The World of the
Lacrosse Sideline
Emilia
76-77
Lizzy Adamsen
Lost
12-13
Anna Raleigh
It’s time We Adddressed
This Nuisance
28-29
Rutger Zenner
List
49
Grace McKessy
Thank You So Much
For Being Inconsiderate!
64-65
5
Brian Peck
Sorry, Carl, But
14
Laura Mercedes
Red
17
Liz Fleischer
This Old Town
18
Brody Menzies
When You Look In His Room
You Might See
20
Katherine Pellegrino
Learning To Paint
21
Lily Tencic
The Sun
25
Clara Pakman
Morning
30
Clara Pakman
I Yield To A Whisper
38
Clara Pakman
Blueberries, Smudge
39
Susanna Montgomery
I Don’t Have a Favorite Color
45
Jacob Hammer
Stolen Property
46
Clara Pakman
Island Sunsets
47
Lynden Steele
Piece of Mind
51
Georgia Rosenberg
Mom’s Pillow
53
Katherine Pellegrino
Where I’m From
54
Lily Tencic
Moon Missed
58
Laura Mercedes
To My New Goldfish 61
Failenn Aselta
Bloody Murder
62
Failenn Aselta
Her Demise
62
Emily Walsh
Reflections
67
Freya Young
Ocean Perspectives
69
Jamie Ullman
Ode To Keats
74
Emma Herdig
Winter’s Touch
78
Kayleigh Bowler
Gatsby
79
Ruth Mercedes
Crumbs
80
von Lilien-Brockmeyer
The Raven’s Hymn
82
Clara Pakman
Mind and Body
87
Emilia
6
The Pendulum Staff
Miscellaneous Musings
56 90-91
The Pendulum Staff
Fortunes
Olivia Schwartz
Warning
Isabel Mezei
Bears and Butterflies 41
Katherine Pellegrino
America
6, 7, 22, 31, 46, 60, 76, 77, 85
11 63
Prose and Scanned Work
I Love You So Much...
The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes,
The Pendulum Staff
7
Claire Watson
Sneaking Puppy 4
Claire Watson
Working Pencil
Brody Menzies
Composition with Red, Blue
and Purple
16-17
Abby Johnson
Nashville
18
Abby Johnson
Circles of Confusion
20
Caitlin Neafsey
The Golden Hour
24
Danny Mezei
California Train
26-27
Danny Mezei
State Beach, California
30
Katie Stute
Just Before Sunset
38
Danny Mezei
Untitled
Amira El Hattab
Running Start
44
Sara Minuesa
Untitled
45
Sam Boston
Untitled Number 7
52-53
Abigail O’Meara
Who? Me?
55
Jacob Waldman
Suki
56
Laine Partington
Formidable
58-59
Claire Watson
Last Day Out
66-67
Kathryn McCarthy
Up or Down
71
Audrey Magnusen
Silva
74-75
Claire Watson
Midwinter Snack
80-81
Caitlin Neafsey
Reflections
83
Brody Menzies
Airplane Over Burlington
90-91
Kathryn McCarthy
Blue
93
The Pendulum Staff
Self-Portraits in Crumbs
94
The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
8
14-15
42-43
Moli Ma
The Smoker
19
Olivia Schwartz
Poison Vision
23
Kaitlin Necakov
Billie
33
Samantha Schwartz
Study of Hands
34-35
Kaitlin Necakov
All in Vain
36
Moli Ma
Still Life with Eyes
37
Ellie Lyon
The Himalayas
39
Jenna Volpitta
Bok Choy
73
Alex Staikos
Snow on Evergreens
78
Olivia Schwartz
Son of Basquiat
84
Kaitlin Necakov
Wish U Didn’t Hate Me LOL
50
Kaitlin Necakov
Trying Times
51
Kaitlin Necakov
Whatever Floats Your Boat
68
Sam Boston
Dharma Bums
86
Garrett Dalton
Cool Thing
90
Clara Pakman
Bottles
28-29
Clara Pakman
Fishbowl
61
Jenna Volpitta
Bike
79
Griffin Johnson
Doodle
98
9
The Pendulum Staff
Front Page
1
Clara Pakman
Stones
2
Clara Pakman
Stuff
3
The Pendulum Staff
Fortunes
5-10, 22, 31, 46
60, 76-77, 85
Clara Pakman
Sewing
12
Clara Pakman
Charms
13
von Lilien-Brockmeyer
Bookmarks
40
Clara Pakman
Island Sunsets
47
Clara Pakman
Post Its
48
Clara Pakman
Etc.
57
Clara Pakman
Sprinkles
64-65
von Lilien-Brockmeyer
Scattered I
72
Clara Pakman
Mind and Body
87
Scattered II
91
Emilia
Emilia
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
10
Olivia Schwartz 11
Lost While browsing through a shelf of clothing at a consignment store, I came across a seemingly ordinary brown leather purse hidden beneath a bundle of coats. The bag’s worn, faded leather intrigued me, so I cautiously unzipped it and proceeded to remove its contents... I first produced a cylindrical plastic tube from the bag which I immediately knew was lipstick. An array of delicate scratches encircled its marred plastic base and the cap didn’t quite fit on the tube.
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A small black journal with the words “Address Book” scrawled across the cover tumbled out next. I casually flipped through and noticed that its pages were well worn, containing names which were mostly crossed out. My hand grazed over four coins with gold edges and silver centers imprinted with the number 2. Freshly creased light blue paper bills which were noticeably foreign fluttered out as well. I then noticed a satin sleep mask whose fabric was torn at the corners followed by a bright MetroCard folded within a faded New York subway map, dated 2014. A series of circles and stars connected various lines between cities and stations, multiple of which were scribbled out.
A white and navy scarf with the tag still attached rolled out of the bag. Its width and thickness almost led me to believe that it was a blanket. I wondered if it was for her shoulders, her head, or simply for style. Next, a small plastic jewelry bag containing what appeared to be a lump of metal appeared underneath the scarf. After examining the entangled mass, I determined that it was a heart-shaped necklace which had been tied together. A small plastic sewing kit tumbled to the floor. It was the type you find in a hotel bathroom along with complimentary lotion and shaving razors.
Lastly, I noticed a crumpled ball of newspapers tucked away in one of the pockets of the bag. I unfolded them to find a myriad of bright markings, circling the headings of “Help Wanted� ads. Folded carefully inside one of the newspapers was a shiny slip of paper which resembled a ticket of some sort. I curiously flipped over the white slip and realized it was a receipt for an airline ticket. The receipt read Egypt Air: Gate A22, departure 5:30 pm 13 August 2016, one way. Lizzy Adamsen
Clara Pakman, Sewing (L) and Charms (R), Scanned Work
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Sorry Carl, but I kept the pencil you lent me last period You know the one you Imprinted with Teeth marks It helped Me ace the Calculus test That I heard you failed To be honest I don’t Think the pencil Would have helped Brian Peck (Inspired by William Carlos Williams)
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Claire Watson, Working Pencil, Photograph
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Brody Menzies, Composition with Red, Blue and Purple, Photograph
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Red Red was once my favorite color. Rhode Island red to be exact. Then I was tasked with drawing blood in my ambulance. I’d prep the smooth, tan or white finger with a little rub from a cushion of alcohol. Then I’d have to lie as I took the cap off the needle, telling my trusting victim that it would only hurt a bit. We’d both hear a pop from the clever device, as I squeezed their finger for blood. The soft folds of the skin would part, and a large bead of red would form. Even that was fine, there was a bit of beauty to the whole thing, making me think about bleeding rubies. Then one day I stuck someone with the needle who took blood thinners, there were no gentle drops but a cascade of red down the front of his gown and onto my gloves. Now when I think of the color, all I can sense is the smell of latex and alcohol, and the sound of the old man’s betrayed gasp as I apologized.
Laura Mercedes
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This Old Town Bones and pills and broken dolls A dead man by the post A wilted flower torn apart A piece of molded toast Those foolish children, now long gone Missed much by most For how were they supposed to know Never displease a ghost Liz Fleischer
Abby Johnson, Nashville, Photograph
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Moli Ma, The Smoker, Painting
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When You Look In His Room You Might See... When you look in his room you might see a small door. Open it. Inside you will find a tiny crawl-space attic, but lift up the floorboards And you will discover A tiny piece of wire, Wrapped into an elegant ring. It shines in the orange light of the one hissing incandescent bulb that hangs there. Just like the light in which it was born. Born in the dimly lit hallway outside of J-13 at Adirondack sleepaway camp When a moment was shared between their perishable breath And in that moment something had changed. Brody Menzies
Abby Johnson, Circles of Confusion, Photograph
20
Learning To Paint When he was 7 a boy learned to paint like his dad his mom was one of his art projects dad’s fists were the brushes a boy learned to paint like his dad his home a museum dad’s fists were the brushes mom was the canvas his home a museum where don’t touch the art wasn’t a rule mom was the canvas a portrait dad had signed his name all over Katherine Pellegrino
Ballerina Her skin radiates a delicate pink, flowery but human in its own convoluted way. She peels her back backward and lifts herself over the blistering light. Her outfit emulates a blooming field, powerful and gentle all at the same time. Her rosy eyes stare into the dark sky above. One of her slim elegant legs reaches out to the awestruck crowd. Little can they see her face covered in blush, scared, for each movement consumes her and in the moment her beautiful pink soul is exposed. Failenn Aselta
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The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
22
23
Olivia Schwartz, Poison Vision, Painting
Caitlin Neafsey, The Golden Hour, Photograph
24
Sun Warming my face And my skin To the extent That all that Heat can reach within Long tendreled fingers Reaching to the Ground Pulling out greens And long stalks Of brown Birds chirp And the sky weeps As you come To rise me From my sleep But no matter The wonder you Bring us today, I am still happy you’re 92.96 million Miles away Lily Tencic
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Danny Mezei, California Train, Photograph
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27
It’s Time We Addressed This Nuisance I would never be friends with somebody who likes plastic water bottles. These people are extremely untrustworthy. In fact, I would say that the narrow-minded folks who still use them are subhuman in a fundamental way. There are so many disadvantages of using them! First of all, the water itself tastes terrible. Why would somebody deliberately choose to drink “plasticky” water? Blegh! If people want to taste plastic so badly, why don’t they just suck on plastic shopping bags? Why is that so much more absurd than drinking out of plastic? You know, if you use one of these abominable bottles, you drink more than just water. Yeah, that’s right, you also drink tiny bits of plastic and all the chemicals they are composed of. This simply can’t be good for you! How can you drink that and not think about all the chemicals you could be consuming? When I see somebody using a plastic bottle, I can’t help but think about the nasty chemicals they are unknowingly drinking. 28
What genetic defects will that bring? Maybe the future children of plastic bottle users will have a third eyeball or perhaps thirteen toes! Why would you buy something that will give little Johnny an extra head? Even if you don’t care about the taste, or the chemicals and their effects, why buy it at all? I’m sorry, but paying for something that you can get for free is ridiculous! Invest in a reusable bottle already! Reusable bottles save you money and keep your precious water nice and cold. Can you say that about a plastic one? Nope! Nothing tastes grosser than warm plastic bottle water. Warm tap water tastes absolutely fine, so what makes plastic bottle water taste like that? $1.22 for a warm batch of chemical infested plastic-tasting water is not worth it! What is the point of paying for this “water” when you can fill up a reusable bottle free of charge, chemicals, and plastic? Speaking of paying, there’s a chance that you are just drinking disguised tap water in a fabulous plastic
vessel (especially if you like Aquafina or Dasani). That means that per gallon, it costs 2000x more than local tap water does! But please, let me know why that could possibly be worth it to you. That brings me to my last point, why pay for something you are just going to throw away and never use again? That’s like buying a phone when I need to call somebody, and then throwing it out once I hang up! Unless you have been living under a rock, you know that the world has a serious garbage problem. So if you are a decent human, you will contribute to this issue as little as possible! The first thing you can do to stop contributing is, you
guessed it, stop using these plastic demons! You better not be thinking: “but it’s recyclable!” What a lame excuse! That’s all it is, dude, an excuse for your bad habit! Over 90% of plastic is not recycled so don’t even start with that crap. So if you haven’t been paying attention, here’s the bottom line: plastic water bottles are terrible for your wallet, your health, and the earth. What can you use instead that will save you money? A reusable bottle! I promise, you won’t regret it! Anna Raleigh Clara Pakman, Bottles, Drawing
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Morning Home is the thing that burrows behind my brow That greets each groggy dawn with a dull scraping just beneath the skull Slanting an eye like a window-shade Against a golden light so pale it goes unnoticed Imbues a chirp with sweetness, slips, And frolics towards a hazy rose bloom, Rising like the nebulous steam off my honeyed mug And like the apricot brilliance of a sunbeam: Eggshell ballet dancers in sheet-like multitudes, Sliding in step at an overwhelming once Clara Pakman
Danny Mezei, State Beach, California, Photograph
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The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
31
Be Careful What You Wish For The Browns always wanted a child; however, not just any child, a perfect child. They wanted a daughter with golden curls, blue eyes, and an irresistible smile. One that was gracious, nice, athletic, intelligent, personable, mature, and most importantly always happy. Therefore, when the government approached them with the proposal of creating one for them as a test trial, they were elected knowing that their dream was coming true. She arrived on the 27th of May wrapped in a light pink snuggie and clutching a worn-down rabbit stuffed animal. She already had a full head of hair that fell below her tiny ear lobe and eyes were wide with curiosity. Even though the couple was told that she was less than a week old, she appeared to be the size and age of a one year old, causing them to briefly question the truthfulness behind the test but not too much to take away from spending time with their daughter. This problem and question became more and more evident as they realized how quickly their daughter was maturing. After a week, she began 32
to talk and waddle, riding her tricycle around the bottom floor and sounding out the Cat in the Hat before going to bed. After a month, she was already liking boys, coming home squealing in excitement when Jeremy held hands with her or when John passed a note to her in homeroom. While her parents were concerned, there was nothing they could do for she was happy, and that is all that they wanted. However after 6 months, she was ready to move out, a fully developed women. Her mother clutched her hand in despair, hoping that her baby wouldn’t leave but it was too late. She wasn’t their baby anymore, she never was. The next six months were hell for the couple, aging faster than their daughter did out of sadness. At the end of the year, they received a call from the hospital stating that their precious daughter had died from old age. When they visited her, her mother buried her head into her father’s chest as their daughter, now gouged with wrinkles, laid peacefully on the metal plank. With a kiss goodbye, the couple drove home in silence. Kendall Boege
Kaitlin Necakov, Billie, Painting
33
34
Samantha Schwartz, Studyof Hands, Painting
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36
Kaitlin Necakov, All in Vain, Painting
Moli Ma, Still Life with Eyes, Painting
37
I Yield To A Whisper I yield to a whisper, quite unlike the world Who stands despite countless impacts I fall to a breeze while the tree stands with ease Forever entwined and intact The flowers will sway in the delicate day But the sun will impeach my persistence I wonder how clouds and mist’s nebulous shrouds Manage to boast their existence Clara Pakman
Katie Stute, Just Before Sunset, Photograph
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Ellie Lyon, The Himalayas, Painting
Blueberries, Smudge Blueberries, smudge, and hickory smoke Cold night when the frost nips knives at your toes In the cavernous recesses of a hollow brain Dwell mindless echoes of a repeated name Stars cast a deep gauze over my eyelids Mouths produce sound, conversationally guided An undertone warmth persists to remain In an indigo haze, charcoal and mundane Clara Pakman
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Bookmarks, Scanned Work
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Isabel Mezei
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Danny Mezei, Untitled, Photograph
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Amira El Hattab, Running Start, Photograph
The City The hard pavement that the boys pounded their dirty sneakers upon spread across the city in a stone grid. They ran in the summer, when the sun was high in the sky, making the sidewalk hot to the touch. The stone stretched for miles in all directions, and went on forever for the running boys, who would never be able to see everything the great city had to offer. They’d try to go farther and farther each day. Past the shoe store with the funny jingle as you opened the door, past the bakery run by the intimidating man with the thick Russian accent, past the tall skyscraper where business men wearing the
same thing everyday would walk around the golden revolving doors. But, at the end of the day, when the sun had decided to lower itself back into the cold stone, the boys would walk home, barefoot on the pavement. They’d pass all the buildings, the golden doors, Russian bakeries and all, and arrive at a place where the pathway wasn’t so straight. Where small tendrils would grow between the stones, peeking out as if curious at what would come next. They’d go inside their rooms, place their sneakers by their beds, and realize: that no matter how far they went, home would always be the finish line.
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer 44
I Don’t Have A Favorite Color I don’t have a favorite color A bit like I don’t have a favorite season I’m too indecisive, too scared of commitment The red leaves of the fall would get jealous of the white snowflakes of winter The green grass of summer would envy the pink flowers of spring I can’t choose just one, though I wish I could Because then I would be able to paint my room and not want to change it 2 months later Then, I would know just one more thing about myself But, for now, I don’t have a favorite color Susanna Montgomery
Sara Minuesa, Untitled, Photograph
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Stolen Property (A True Story) I feel guilty because I am wearing your shoes that were sitting on the grass Which you probably needed to walk home today Sorry but if there is any consolation, I like them and I wear them everyday Jacob Hammer (Inspired by William Carlos Williams)
The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
46
Clara Pakman, Island Sunsets, Poetry and Scanned Work
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Clara Pakman, Post Its, Scanned Work
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List Every day I go for a bike ride or walk my dog after I finish my homework; mainly to clear my mind and to have a little time away from my nagging parents. Obviously, in Greenwich, there isn’t much going on at night but there are always a few notable sightings. While on the side of the road I always see a couple dead squirrels whose death couldn’t matter less to the sociopathic drivers who hit them. It’s usually a sad sighting, but when I’m walking my dog he tends to get a kick out of it. At this time most of the investment bankers of Greenwich are finally heading home, gradually walking while staring at their iPhones or iPads to get a little more alone time away from their wives and kids. Dog walkers are common, and almost every time I bike through Eastern Middle School I see the same couple walking their three golden retrievers; most likely their preferred version of kids. This old Japanese man is commonly
walking laps around the field and loves to stop me to wonder if he can “ask me some questions” that he apparently left at home the next time he sees me. He always forgets them. He also frequently asks me to help him learn tennis as he sees me at the public courts but never gives me any way to contact him. I occasionally see students from Greenwich High doing some “shady activities”, but I avoid interaction with them whenever possible. Sometimes this cute girl I knew from elementary school walks through here, but after seeing her a few times I still haven’t decided on a way to start a conversation or get her number. When I finally get home my mom immediately checks my eyes and gives “that look.” It’s quite unfortunate that you can’t go outside and relax without people believing that you’re doing some sort of crime. Rutger Zenner
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Kaitlin Necakov, Wish U Didn’t Hate Me LOL, Printmaking
Blue I used to imagine blue as the paint the dripped down my fence in great swathes on that day of chores for me and my sister. I used to smell the wood and feel it drying on my skin. Now when I think of it, I can’t help but see me in my navy uniform, helping the confused woman get dressed. I can’t help but smell the sweat of that summer day and feel her shame. Her skin, sagging like the sofa in the corner, is difficult to move the shirt over. She has no bra. My gloved hand is bright blue as it moved through the sea of white panties in her underwear drawer. Now when I imagine blue, it’s her in the back of the ambulance and me knowing she’s already forgotten it. Ruth Mercedes 50
Piece of Mind A simple task – it takes under three seconds A pill: half-orange, half-white I drop it in my mouth, take a sip of water, and swallow It promises, to me, some focus, less restlessness – plain order Less than three seconds – yet it has the power to make or break my day So short, so simple – making this task quite often forgotten And – as a result – my mind, an unruly mess Now, days that start without these 3 seconds never really start at all For all I will do this day is stall Lynden Steele
Kaitlin Necakov, Trying Times, Printmaking
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Mom’s Mom’s Pillow Pillow She’d leave home early I’d crawl – searching for the scent Mom’s pillow – still warm. Georgia Rosenberg
Sam Sam Boston, Boston, Untitled Untitled Number Number 7, 7, Photograph Photograph
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Where I’m From I am from tennis racquets and squash goggles from laughter and disney shows I am from long car rides to places I’ve never been and short car rides to places I always go I am from scooters and swing sets from screaming arguments and messy closets from soccer games and hide and seek that go until it’s dark I am from lemonade stands and cookies from bike rides and long runs I’m from the attention grabbers and the behind the scenes I am from the living room musicals that turn into fights from the shut up! and the speak up! the Kumon and the Kadima I am from the goodbyes and the hellos the forever and the see you soon I am from the old house past the gate the broken hammock outside the window still standing after 30 years Katherine Pellegrino
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Abigail O’Meara, Who? Me? Photograph
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I Love You So Much... I love you so much that I would walk on legos. I love you so much you turn my gray hair brown. I love you as much as Ms. Nelson loves taking phones. I love you so much that I would walk a mile in high heels to see you. I love you so much that I think about you occasionally.
The Pendulum Staff
56
Jacob Waldman, Suki, Photograph
Clara Pakman, Etc., Scanned Work 57
Moon Missed A planned happening from the past Set to be at a predetermined date Two people would look up at the same thing More than a thousand miles away I, the romantic, and You, the orchestrator Set out in the chartered dark night At different hours but still the same time Frantic feet down stairs Scuffling movements through sand I open a creaky door with hasted hands And we both look Up And above us both Is a clear night sky Lucky conditions yet Not the right time The moon Sailed quitely In another plot’s Seeking eyes Lily Tencic
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Lily Tencic
Laine Partington, Formidable, Photograph
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The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
60
To My New Goldfish, You’re much faster than the older model When you flick through the murky water Your gills don’t heave, and your eyes don’t seem to bulge Each of your scales is gold-flecked, like some dead emperor’s palace And yet, I sometimes miss the bare sided, fleshy skin of your predecessor When you die, I’m sure you won’t sink to the bottom, and settle among the stocky plants But I wasn’t young when I got you I didn’t clasp my hands protectively around your bowl And cradle you like a wounded bird I didn’t smile each time I felt you flicker against the glass, a sign of life. Laura Mercedes
Clara Pakman, Fishbowl, Drawing
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Bloody Murder Flowing through the fiery veins of my heart Racing to the end without remorse Staining the groundwork of my holes If only I could hold this shapeless martyr My hands wouldn’t be screaming bloody murder Failenn Aselta
Her Demise Empty words dripping from rosey lips Convoluted lies, hung in an abyss Broken bones and defective fretfulness Strung out hearts pulled through the mist Grim reapers biting sullen knees Sucking blood from lost morality Curtains currporting stainless purity Open wounds bleeding purposely I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you Failenn Aselta
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Katherine Pellegrino 63
Thank You So Much For Being Inconsiderate!
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I distrust anyone who leaves the last sip of milk in the fridge and I am suspicious of those who believe they are doing a human justice by “saving” me the last crushed potato chip at the bottom
weight” and can’t finish the last cookie, and I am so grateful that you are saving it for me! However, I do not think you will gain an additional pound from eating that last cookie. Believe me, it is your
of the bag. No one wants that! No one in their right mind should put things back where they belong if there isn’t enough left for the next person.
best interest to do so, because you will not want to be around me if find only one lonely oreo sitting in a pile of black crumbs.
I would personally like to thank all those who leave the butt end of the bread in the pantry and those who put the full jar of pickle juice back in the fridge. I sincerely cannot wait to make a sandwich with those amazing ingredients! Thanks so much for thinking of me! Honestly, I am an empathetic person, I get that you are “watching your
I mean is it really too much to ask? Don’t put things back if the next person can’t use them! There is nothing worse than making cereal, pouring the cinnamon toast crunch into the bowl, smelling the cinnamon, feeling your stomach grumble,
grabbing the milk from the fridge…and feeling the lightness of the carton. The act of preparing cereal should not be that unattainable. It just a bowl of cereal! Don’t put the ice cream in the freezer if there is less than one scoop left. Just don’t do it. And don’t drive around on an empty tank, pull the car into the garage and let me find it the next day once I’m running late to school. Sometimes I feel as if people are trying to ruin my day. Do you really not have two seconds of your life you can spare to think of others? I don’t understand the problem.
If I squeezed the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube I would not leave it in the bathroom. Here’s an idea! Just walk two steps down the hall, open the hall closet, and walk back to the bathroom. It’s truly just as simple as that. And if you ever leave the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom, there is a special place in hell for you. You can’t even lie to yourself or blame your laziness on someone else. You know exactly what will happen to the next person to come along. It just comes down to common courtesy and basic human decency. Despite those who are too busy to think of others, or those who are watching their figure, it is not morally acceptable to act in such a manner. Just do the right thing and stop being a jerk. Grace McKessy Clara Pakman, Sprinkles, Scanned Work
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Claire Watson, Last Day Out, Photograph
Reflections Light reflects off the gentle waves Like stars twinkling in the daylight The silence of the water sings me a melody; Sings me a memory No control makes me feel alive, Billowing sail sighing in and out, In and out Lie on the open weave and don’t feel danger Let go of the ropes and watch the sail unwravel Just to see what happens Let my fingertips flow through the clear water, My face blurred in the reflection As I sail towards the next wave Let my legs burn from the scorching sun, Feel the contrast of dry and wet fulfill me with comfort, A fresh sensation I glide through the waves into the horizon Alone But not lonely I never look back, Even at the familiar waters Where my reflections float on the surface Emily Walsh 67
Kaitlin Necakov, Whatever Floats Your Boat, Printmaking
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Ocean Perspectives Poor soul, just left on the shore lying For days Each wave pulling him closer to forgottenness Salt-soaked seaweed and wet, algid algae begin to cover him, camouflaging him From the merciless sun’s destructive UV beams and solar flares The birdbrained seagulls don’t notice Just another poor soul hidden by the waves The water dissolves his story as the world goes on The tides continue to change The plump, partially oil-slicked seagulls continue to fly No one notices, I do not understand how The trees’ branches now hang low About to snap from the weight of the ice Dark, acrid smoke ominously fumes Out of the slate-roofed houses’ chimneys The people now wander on the capricious ice, Subconsciously hoping they will not suffer a similar fate to the man, but still, no one has noticed him missing Death takes his life, but not his cloak of invisibility Remnants of the body lying at the bottom of the sea With plastic bottles, plastic bags And other human pollution Freya Young (Inspired by “Not Waving but Drowning” by Stevie Smith)
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The Rules Look both ways before crossing the street; say your prayers before you go to sleep; remember fix your hair; look in the mirror before you leave; even if I’m not watching you, God is; do what you’re told; nothing in this world is free; if you want to be rich, you better start early; we are not white; if the police pull you over, always comply, no matter what; remember you have it way better than I did growing up; do not put off until tomorrow what you can do today; what if I can do it tomorrow and it won’t affect me?; you do not want to be known as a procrastinator; always look your best in a professional environment; we are not white; never forget where you came from; chores are always done on Friday nights or Saturday mornings, never Sunday; if I’m outside, then you are too; this is how to mow the lawn; this is how to pull up weeds in the yard; this is how to lay the mulch down so the plants can grow; remember you have it way better than I did growing up; stay off of other peoples’ yards; do unto others as you would want them to do to you; never let anyone walk all over you; this education is a gift, don’t squander it; we are not white; if your friends jump off a bridge will you jump too?; be nice to everyone because you never know what opportunities will come from it; why is that?; ample amounts of opportunities can come from being nice; live for the future, not for the moment; be confident in everything you do; stand for something even if it means you stand alone; we are not white; remember you have it way better than I did growing up; it’s a cold world, make sure to bring a jacket; you can make a lot of money if you know how to play the piano; if I said that to my parents, I would have been in bigger trouble than you’re in now; we are not white. Anonymous
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Kathryn McCarthy, Up or Down, Photograph
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Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Scattered I, Scanned Work
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Jenna Volpitta, Bok Choy, Painting
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Ode To Keats Mãmãki, Fifili, Magtaka, Layaabeen, Wonder roots deep in society. From pointed rock to edited gene, We yearn – in a world of mundanity. Most distraught with Ignorance, We think we grow out of innocence. Instead, we justify through inference, Which serves us only as a hindrance. Blinding ourselves to reality, We ignore our commonality. Polarizing humanity, As we fabricate our certainty. But – Imagine a life lacking in longing; A divine existence void of all question; Not an inquiry ever to mention; To us! – all answers belonging. None but Keats did see the truth, That ultimate wisdom – the ultimate curse – Comes at a price that it is not worth; That no other gift could be any worse. To gain in the knowing Would mean but one thing: To give up enjoying To fruits of longing. Once what was longed for comes to fruition, There’s a paradigm shift without a transition: The imagination fades with the clock, Tic, it’s there… Tock, it’s not. If darkness on bright never brought you delight Then it hath succeeded in trying! For did not the wonder of possible Strewth Greatly exceed that monotonous truth? Jamie Ullman 74
Audrey Audrey Magnusen, Magnusen, Silva, Silva, Photograph Photograph
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The World of the Lacrosse Sideline Although I do enjoy the game of lacrosse, I will admit there are some aspects of the sport that are not appealing. One of these aspects would be some of the people, more specifically the parents, the sport attracts. Many different varieties of people collect themselves at the side of the field in the July heat, during my summer season club games. I will list them in the order they can be viewed across the sideline. The Normels are nice and watch the game quietly in the far left corner. Next to them is Chad’s dad, who will brag about his business successes to anyone within earshot. He will throw the occa-
sional thumbs up at Chad from the sideline but has no idea how the game’s going. The Enablars always show up late because they are driving from Long Island to the Upstate New York tournaments. They’re nice enough, but they carpool with and sit next to the Violenti’s. The Violenti’s enjoy yelling at their son Nick to kill players during the game. No one goes near them. Not even Chad’s dad to brag about the stressful day he’s had. Next is Mrs. Overbard, who sits devouring her fingers, nervous that Tom will get seriously injured. She is always prepared with a complete medical kit. Mr. Overbard stands pacing next to her with at least three backup sticks, in the event that Tom
The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
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At this point, we are at midfield where Mr. Angreed lurks. He gives the ref hell every second of every game, insulting both the ref himself and his mother. It has gotten to the point where Mrs. Angreed no longer attends tournaments out of embarrassment. The Amooseds sit and laugh at Mr. Angreed, but rarely talk themselves. The Sociali’s, who need to ensure they feel is broadcasted to their combined 24 facebook friends, don’t look up from their phones, unless they need to take a photo. To their right are Kinders who record film of the games for the team.
Prose and Scanned Work
The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes,
snaps the two backup sticks he with him on the bench. This is odd when considering the chances of Tom breaking a stick, are the same as his chances of getting put in the game (very slim).
My dad is next to them on the far right corner of the field to avoid Chad’s dad. There are some nomads in the group. The Pushi’s are very proud of their igloo cooler and travel across the sideline several times, harassing anyone and everyone in sight to have a soggy orange slice or an oddly sticky bottle of water. The Morans move from parent to parent and explain why their kid is going D1 on a full scholarship for lacrosse and offer tips regarding the recruiting process. Their son Jason hasn’t received a single call from a college coach. Mrs. Annoy is a part of a pyramid scheme and tries to sell all the mothers watching the game essential oils. Mrs. Moran is a fan of these, but no one else is. Jerry Rutigliano
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Winter’s Touch The barren ground feels frigid to the touch, And leafless trees look dead in such a stance. The snow and frost it blankets grass so much That winter’s ice spell leaves me in a trance. The Winter’s bleak, depressive feel is haunting, The frost and cold consume my spirit still. This biting nature of the wind is daunting, I suffocate within this icy chill. No birds are chirping, singing songs of cheer, Or children laughing, playing in the heat. High hopes for snow and ice to disappear, And winter’s saddening state to swiftly fleet. And yet, when warmer weather brings the sun, Those thoughts of winter’s reign are down to none. Emma Herdig
Alex Staikos, Snow on Evergreens, Painting
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Gatsby So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. What is the past What makes it gone If one were to try It would not take long To see that our memories Can feel ever so close Yet holding on to the past Is like embracing a ghost So despite one’s attempts To attain what is lost Gatsby is history All smoke and dust Kayleigh Bowler
Jenna Volpitta, Bike, Drawing
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Crumbs The first bite Pie crust Cookie dough The chorus of a song The first day of summer A puff of whipped cream The erasure > the pencil Time Froth on the surface of coffee Dew on a blade of grass The corner in your room The 1st half of Jane Eyre Ruth Mercedes
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Claire Watson, Midwinter Snack, Photograph
The Raven’s Hymn At the crest of dawn, the lonely raven wakes. The hazy light bathes her wings as she takes flight, Soaring toward the fragile tranquility, Of a world not yet in the light. Morningdew coats the fluttering petals below her, And she lands, an inky smudge against the soft leaves, Still beryl and jade in the morning air. She opens her brittle beak and starts to sing, Performing her bittersweet soliloquy to her sylvan audience. A crystalline spell, a whispering verse, A barren tale of reigns once cursed. The cadaverous willows are just wisps of echos, Their branches, nymphs dancing. They watch her melancholy symphony through their swaying limbs, With pale eyes of glass and flame, She knows they will not besmirch her, for they do not even know her name. But still she lifts her wings, to a whisper of a breeze, And takes flight once again, a soaring, wretched, thing. The sky turns peach, a coy kind of light, It catches on her wings: a dark reminiscent of the night. She drifts off into this rosedrop sky, Forgotten until she opens her mouth again, To tell her tale of days gone by, Even though what she really wants is a friend. A single feather drifts down to rest amongst the twisting roots, The last vestige of a raven once there. Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer 82
Caitlin Neafsey, Reflection, Photograph
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Olivia Schwartz, Son of Basquiat, Painting
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The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Prose and Scanned Work
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Sam Boston, Dharma Bums, Digital Work
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Clara Pakman, Mind and Body, Poetry and Scanned Work
Miscellaneous Musings
That wink in the hall might not mean anything or maybe it matters
Americans attest airplanes aren’t absolutely astounding, although Australians assert adversely. Accordingly, authorities argue about an absurd altercation. 88
Vlad violently vapes vanilla vaccinations.
Brody Menzies, Airplane Over Burlington, Photograph
The teeny tiny topless theology teacher threw ten tortured turtles through Tommy’s twiggy thin thighs thinking that they’d transform to talkative toucans that’d tell tall tales ‘til they taught Tommy to talk thoroughly.
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Garrett Dalton, Cool Thing, Digital Work
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Scanned Work
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Scattered II,
Clara Pakman
Georgia Rosenberg
Olivia Schwartz
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
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Ruth Mercedes
Brody Menzies
Jack Laibe
Lily Tencic
Laura Mercedes
Mr. Flachsbart
Failenn Aselta
Liz Fleischer
Lynden Steele
Ms. Yankura
Kathryn McCarthy, Blue, Photograph
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Faculty Advisor for Literature:
Editor:
Stephen Flachsbart
Clara Pakman The editor serves as the club’s student leader
Mr. Flachs is the heart and soul of this club
Rounding up writers and poetry readers
He turns the room into an artistic hub
to edit the grammar in each paragraph of pieces submitted to our little staff.
through his true litmag genius, and his knowledge of sources
She leads the discussions at Pendulum time, welcoming discourse on structure and rhyme,
(He steals work from his creative writing courses). His critical eye guides our expeditions
and makes the decisions, beyond any doubt,
Into the analysis of our submissions
of what to accept, and what to throw out.
And his critical ear, a consistent prose-eater,
She encourages entries through many a process – town meeting announcements, writing prompt contests –
Will identify flaws in the finest of meter.
in hopes of displaying the talented groups
Flachs is the reason The Pendulum thrives,
of literary prowess here at St. Luke’s.
Now if he could only handle Google Drive.
Flachs put it well in a saying we’ll keep: Clara’s “the border collie” leading “the sheep.”
Faculty Advisor for Art: Jeorge Yankura
Layout Designer: Clara Pakman
An InDesign expert, Illustrator pro,
The layout designer oversees visuals
A Photoshop wonder, and boy, does it show!
making sure artwork’s arranged and initialed
Take a quick look at the litmag’s aesthetics –
in such a fashion as to ensure The Pendulum gleams with aesthetic allure. She reviews the design, considers the theme, and attempts to convey it in the extreme. She does all she can, though the dues must be paid: She’d be lost without Ms. Yankura’s aid!
Isn’t the layout downright poetic? It’s all thanks to Ms. Y! She’s got it down to a science! How would we survive, if not for her guidance? She works without tiring, both day and nighttime To ensure that we publish before the deadline. She’s brimming with talent and motivity We’re hopeless without her creativity!
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Technical Notes:
typeface was specifically created for contemporary Hebrew business communications. The Pendulum
The fonts used in this volume of The Pendulum
staff was attracted to the shape and crisp nature
include Playfair Display Italic for headers and
of the letters in this type family, which allows for
titles, and Adobe Hebrew Regular for text bodies
ease of readability by the viewer.
and page numbers. The Pendulum was created using Adobe In Design Playfair Display is a serif-style typeface from the
from the Adobe Creative Cloud.
Playfair Project, led by Claus Eggers Sørensen, and is inspired by both the Scotch Roman type-
The 2018 edition of The Pendulum was printed
faces and similar designs of John Baskerville, both
with a Kodak NexPress 2500 Digital Produc-
from the Eighteenth Century. First released in
tion Color Press, at Impression Point Printing
2011, this typeface features relatively consistent
by Robert La Banca. It uses Enhanced Dry Ink
vertical height in both capital and lower case
that produces a consistently high image quality,
letters, making it ideal for printed material. The
providing vibrant colors, consistent spot color
bold bodily shape and delicate hairlines make this
matching, smooth flat field and gradients, and the
typeface easy on the eyes and attractive for the
unique ability to match the ink gloss level to the
reader’s experience.
substrate being printed. The paper used is Accent
Opaque 80# for cover and text.
Adobe Hebrew was created in 2004-2005 by John Hudson of Tiro Typeworks. This serif-style
The Pendulum Staff, Fortunes, Scanned Work
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Griffin Johnson, Doodle, Drawing
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