The Pendulum 2022
Volume XXXII
St. Luke’s School 377 North Wilton Road New Canaan, CT 06840 203.966.5612 pendulum@stlukesct.org Cover Artwork by Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Digital Painting Artwork on this page by Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Digital Painting
“Untitled,” Kiley Galvin, Digital Photograph
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Editors’ Statement Liz Fleischer and Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer Art is versatile. It can be made of cold tones, images that send a chill up your spine, or the warmth one only gets when sitting next to a fire. This year, everything included in The Pendulum- words, photos, drawings, and more- has been carefully crafted to fit the theme of The Elements. Because truly, what better reflects the mercurial nature of artwork or creative writing than the elements that compose them? There is no greater art than Earth’s natural beauty, and the four elements serve to tie everything together. Earth, Fire, Air, and Water each have their own section and are paired with seasons, color schemes, and atmospheric or emotional themes. Air represents spring, with a pale color palette and a feeling of new beginnings. Next is fire, a display of passion through warm tones and hot summer sun. Following summer, of course, comes autumn: Earth is represented with greens, browns, and neutrals, and focuses on nature. The Pendulum ends with water, or winter, which encompasses the end of all things;
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Contents Cover by Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer Front Page Image by Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer Untitled Kiley Galvin
2-3
Editors’ Statement
3
Contents
4-7
Lovely and Aegh Liz Fleischer
5
The Lad, Sk8er G1rl and Devious Little Creature
Liz Fleischer
6
Greenie Liz Fleischer
7
Lilith Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
8
Goddess Of The Hearth Macy Millones
8
Air Clouds On Clouds On Clouds
Sloan Barker
Waiting For Spring
Spencer’s Advisory
Sky Boy Liz Fleischer Blue Flower Ella Miller Breakthrough Jacqueline Cecil Magnolia Abigail Thomas
11 12 12 12 13 14
The Difference Between
15 Want And Need Lena Olbrys 16 Nature’s Lullaby Abigail Thomas 17 17 Untitled Sara Minuesa 18 Glass And Other Fragments Selia Sitzer 19 Looking Up Catherine Clark 20 Untitled Thomas Ross 21 The Stars Have Aligned Anonymous 22 Untitled Liz Fleischer 22 Pink Flower Ella Miller 23 Selective Jacqueline Cecil Birds On A Branch
4
Josephine DeMarco
Untitled Caitlin Neafsey
24
Time’s Arrow Liz Fleischer
25
Our Worst Enemy
26
Jacqueline Cecil
Untitled Sara Minuesa
27
Secret Passage In Seville
28
Kiley Galvin
Fire Heart On Fire Margaret Lange
31
Crickets Liz Fleischer
32
Orange Bliss Ava Weneck
32
Beach Chairs Keilan Rosow
33
After The Fire Jacqueline Cecil
34
Better Days Charlie Adams
34
The Last One OF The Year
35
The Pendulum Staff
Red Clouds Charlie Lukens
35
Untitled Cat Steele
36-37
The Smell Of Fire
Liz Fleischer
37
Twist Sarah Case
38
Cover Up Kate Hammer
39
May Ruffle Feathers Anonymous
40
Wave Sarah Case
41
Antelope Canyon
42
Anna Yavenditti
Monopoly Laurel Aronian Planet Killer
The Pendulum Staff
43 44-45
Horseshoe Canyon Kate Hammer
44-45
Max’s Tax Laurel Aronian
46
The Distorted Windshield
Laurel Aronian
47
Queen Of Spades
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
48
““Lovely” and Aegh,” Liz Fleischer, Ink on Paper
5
Earth Untitled Kiley Galvin
51
Sunset Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
52
History Liz Fleischer
52
By The Back Lake
53
Catherine Clark
Clear View Macy Owsley
54-55
The Fall Myles Sead
55
A Peculiar Recipe Liz Fleischer
56-60
Fears Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
57
The Empresssssss
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
58
Pick A Patch Of Pumpkins
Liz Fleischer
60
Bye Bye Ouchies
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
61
In Admiration Of The 46
Tommy Lewis
62-63
Are You Having Fun?
Tommy Lewis
62-63
Perspective Anonymous
64-65
Liberty Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
65
Sunset Portrait Josephine DeMarco
66
It’s Better Taught Unsaid
Ainsley Birmingham
Quiet Liz Fleischer
68
The Owl Josephine DeMarco
68
Limelight Jacqueline Cecil
69
Moonlight Sonata Jacqueline Cecil
69
Untitled Caitlin Neafsey
70
“The Lad,” “Sk8er G1rl,” and “Devious Little Creature,” Liz Fleischer, Ink on Paper
6
66-67
Water Winter Glade Josephine DeMarco
73
Porcelain Liz Fleischer
74
The Violin Kate Hammer
74
Sparkling Sunset Maya Coniglio
75
A Love Song To Dead Girls
Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer
Cloud Verbier Thomas Ross
76-77 76-77
Cross On My Head From The Window Pane
Tommy Lewis
78
The Round Aviva Moss
79
Untitled Liz Fleischer
79
Rocky Shores Catherine Clark
80
Waves Myles Sead
81
A Work Of Art Aviva Moss
82-83
Stars In The Sky Thomas Ross
82-83
Untitled Myles Sead
84
Best Disguise Jacqueline Cecil
84
Gem Of The Sea
85
Abigail Thomas
Cardinal Ella Miller
85
Slick Megan Case
86-87
The Ghost Of You Anonymous
88
The City In Snow
89
Josephine DeMarco
The Pendulum Staff
90-91
Untitled Sloan Barker Acknowledgements Technical Notes Stress Chris Wearing
90-91 92 93 94
“Greenie,” Liz Fleischer, Ink on Paper
7
“Lilith,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Painting
Goddess of the Hearth Macy Millones It’s with fiery desire and withering scorn that I look upon his face And with a supple gait that I move past him into empty space For I have assumed the most delicate spot in this earthly sphere Located between spitting pits of lies that only the heavens can hear His transparency is evident in his whimpering decree As he effortlessly secretes the most baseless plea: “Forgive me, Hestia, for what you have heard, Life without you is like the air without its bird.” With his words trailing in the wind as I stepped I waded through an ocean of the tears I had wept. 8
Air
“Clouds On Clouds On Clouds,” Sloan Barker, Digital Photograph
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Waiting For Spring Spencer’s Advisory Blizzard passing through A fire blazing strongly Spring is coming soon
“Sky Boy,” Liz Fleischer, Ink on Paper
“Blue Flower,” Ella Miller, Print
12
“Breakthrough,” Jacqueline Cecil, Digital Photograph
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“Magnolia,” Abigail Thomas, Digital Photograph
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The Difference Between Want And Need (Inspired by Emily Dickinson) Lena Olbrys By the ones who know the hunger A constant ache A deep, dark pit inside Never really being filled Growing larger and eating away Keeping them up at night Hearing the words of others But not really listening Never being good enough for themselves Despite what others say Constantly wondering what could be better Never celebrating They win but feel like they lost Only working Creating a false reality Where all their accomplishments disappear Thinking only of their failures Losing the people they care about the most Because those people don’t care as much as they do They don’t expect people to stay anymore But it’s still like a punch to the gut when they leave Feeling lost and alone Isolated In clouded, twisted thoughts Because no one else really understands What it’s like 15
Nature’s Lullaby Abigail Thomas Over creeks and fallen logs, through bushes and rocks. A glimpse of sunlight in the distance, all lead to the clearing ahead. The sun makes the grass glow, with Daisies and Lily of the Nile blanket the meadow. Sounds of songbirds flutter in the warm breeze. The wistful sound of blowing leaves and laughter. The meadow more alive than it was without them. Their love nourishing the orchids; bringing peace to the land. A shimmer hiding on the border of the shadows below the ivy covered trees. Like hundreds of tiny diamonds reflecting rainbow streams. The sweet sound of a lullaby flying with the butterflies. Anyone could be happy here; Wisteria and all.
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“Birds On A Branch,” Josephine DeMarco, Digital Drawing
“Untitled,” Sara Minuesa, Digital Photograph
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Glass And Other Fragments Selia Sitzer Had you been a clandestine aberration, Why do I not remember you as a scare? No, It was not just you. It was The stars; The moon; The sky You evoked envy in the stars Because they knew That they had absolutely nothing On you. They may be mounds of fire, But you were an explosion As you crashed onto the pavement So loud, so unlike me But so, so free The moon looked down Her eyes filled with fret
Though I didn’t notice I didn’t think he cared. The sky is vast and important A fact everyone can see. I’m not sure why I thought you would shatter Into a million little pieces. Five was enough to leave you scattered. I picked up three And treated you like royalty Just as I expected You were sharper than silver Stronger than plastic And gave me what The stars; The moon; The sky Could not My never ending catharsis
The sky was also there
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“Looking Up,” Catherine Clark, Digital Photograph
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“Untitled,” Thomas Ross, Digital Photograph
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The Stars Have Aligned Anonymous
The stars are yet again aligned For something special The sky is empty The stadium is full For something special The crowd goes wild The stadium is full Because we can feel it in the air The crowd goes wild As the energy levels go up Because we can feel it in the air The night feels like it will never end As the energy levels go up The stars burn brighter The night feels like it will never end But the victorious joy has only just begun The stars burn brighter The sky is empty But the victorious joy has only just begun The stars are yet again aligned
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“Untitled,” Liz Fleischer, Digital Photograph
22
“Pink Flower,” Ella Miller, Print
“Selective,” Jacqueline Cecil, Digital Photograph
23
“Untitled,” Caitlin Neafsey, Digital Photograph
24
Time’s Arrow Liz Fleischer At first there was nothing. Blank, empty air, the scent of dust Time passed, and the air stilled Then water. Torrents of it, glassy and roaring, sleek and playful It yapped at the nothing, bit away harsh edges. A home for the beautiful, otters and gleaming fish Trees lean over, dipping their leaves in for just a taste Bushes creep closer, as if proximity can make them what they long to be Sipping at its lifeblood And now the water, in all its elegance, turns sickly green with lichen The otters and gleaming fish are no longer Replaced with fungi, toads, strange seven eyed bugs that make children squeal And perhaps that is why, when they come, they don’t hesitate The machines with silver teeth gnaw at the ground Sleek and quick drying cement is poured over a carpet of moss Water is slurped away through metal tubes People come and marvel at the new Stop & Shop Wonderful About time someone did the right thing
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Our Worst Enemy Jacqueline Cecil Sped up; no going back. The end of the stream, everlasting. Come back: air paper thin. The last of the wingèd On the cusp of freedom We were lost As if we were nothing But time We awoke without The flight in our minds.
“Make sure the leaves stay on the trees Don’t let them fall”,
The final return was supposed to call.
Freshness was a fetish that kissed us one last time.
The cries of nature, Humans’ crime.
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“Untitled,” Sara Minuesa, Digital Photograph
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“Secret Passage In Seville,” Kiley Galvin, Digital Photograph
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Fire
“Heart on Fire,” Margaret Lange, Colored Pencil on Paper
Crickets Liz Fleischer When the crickets come out, it’s almost possible to see your former self running through the grass, laughing over the din Your shirt would be stained with cherry juice, and you would scream, trying to make a sound more powerful than their chirp Swimmers ear and sunburns Summers used to be a lot brighter, didn’t they?
“Orange Bliss,” Ava Weneck, Print
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“Beach Chairs,” Keilan Rosow, Digital Photograph
33
“After the Fire,” Jacqueline Cecil, Digital Photograph
“Better Days,” Charlie Adams, Digital Photograph
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The Last One Of The Year The Pendulum Staff Last one of the year The last time we can feel it On our faces & smell the intoxicating Wood & embers fading in the pit Last time that we will ever get to share Our secrets with each other, our despair After we fade from each other The only ones to ever know is the pit You think it’s not but it is for me It’s the last rage, rant, & reciprocation of us Like the embers, hopefully, you’ll fly back And the pit will be waiting I can’t say that I’ll be back Maybe I want to forget the pain But I know that your ok with it I know it’s my last one... Maybe “Red Clouds,” Charlie Lukens, Digital Photograph
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The Smell Of Fire Liz Fleischer The smell of fire is considerably different when it’s imbued with the scent of burning pages. A smokey, almost campfire like feel. Comforting, as if, in their final moments on earth, the books wanted to give us one last thing. Plastic protective binders are blackened, the novels they covered ashy and smoldering. They failed their task. A sooty chair is tipped over, half of it gone. Every so often I spy a book that seems to have escaped the most egregious harms. Devil in the White City survived with a half charred cover. John Krakauers Into the Wild, hidden between two shelves, is covered in ash, but virtually untouched. Those two are put aside, though for what, no one can say. In the back, a few books are still in the process of burning, small and shockingly bright fires that curl the edges of their pages up like little tails, before dissolving away. Some are stamped out, others permitted to burn themselves into nothing.
“Untitled,” Cat Steele, Digital Photograph
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“Twist,” Sarah Case, Digital Photograph
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Cover Up Kate Hammer Roses are red,
I’m not going to continue the facade
violets are blue,
that not everyone is struggling.
generic much
Like you did, reading this page.
like me or you. I’ve come to the conclusion that Loving parents
life is not a series of juvenile rhymes
praise, “You are the
people cling onto to make themselves feel safe
smartest I’ve raised”. Their love for you
The world is frightening,
a burning blaze.
stressful, saddening.
You disagree and you may think
Looking at the world
they are on the brink.
the bias
About to lose
the death,
a smoke screen they choose.
the arguing, the power grabs,
The Life You
is perfect. not
are I am
reality not
is,
perfect.
not perfect.
Plastered like that is In there you are
with obnoxious rhymes paint trying to cover a hideous wallpaper no longer in style.
the self inflicted pain, I think I prefer the rhymes. Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve chosen to cover that ugly wallpaper, What about you?
mind may be thoughts not supposed to think.
There That you
your
may be parts of your body don’t appreciate.
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May Ruffle Feathers
(Based Upon A Special Story) By Anonymous Like a phoenix, He rose from the ashes Molten snow falling from his back Looks of shock encapsulating him From every angle Oh, how they cried. Why were they not elated, At his impromptu resurgence? He had brought them love, joy, and Moments of Celebration Why now, When he loved them most Were they cowering away? He couldn’t sing, That must be why. They must be confused They were used to his Alto, his chirp His little hums
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His melody Was so precious How had they ever coped without it? Oh yes, he recalls How upset they were By his departure They pushed his corpse Into the darkness That was so lonely Yet so loud Filled with screams And pleas for death They called it “protocol” Because that dark hole Had committed the worst of sins But it was not a cruel hole Just a boy Who missed his glee And he was not a phoenix Just a bird Who wished to sing
“Wave,” Sarah Case, Digital Photograph
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“Antelope Canyon,” Anna Yavenditti , Digital Photograph
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Monopoly Laurel Aronian Here, where the world is quiet; I lean out the back of the pickup truck. The wind messes up my matted-down hair, But all alone, I do not care. Here, where the world is quiet; I listen to Natasha-Pierre, No One Else grasps my happiness, Or sees the trees beneath a pink sunset. Then, I wanted things I couldn’t obtain, They ripped at my childhood like a split sea net, I wanted to feel as free as before, But suddenly, life lacking lust was a bore. The silence was punctured by whistling noise, Life became complicated and tied me to her, A person who lied to me month after month, Why do I trust other people so much? Here, where the world is quiet; The camp is abandoned and the masks are a crutch, They got me into the country club, Through berry bushes and biting bugs. Here, where the world is quiet; I play Monopoly while the rain outside gushes, We watch the trees fall and cities collapse, Safely inside of our haunted shacks. Then, I return to the hillside again, Anticipating what can’t be obtained in my grasp, The longing sets in and the months fly by, The following summer, still unsatisfied. 43
Planet Killer The Pendulum Staff Logs and warmth were two things I was accustomed to throughout my childhood
44
It was only when heat on earth indicated the end that I had lost my admiration for fire
The glow brought my cat to the carpet and my dog downstairs If only we knew the smoke was not a joke, we would be able to breathe again
For that beautiful siren I would sit by in the waning hours makes forests cry and burns the petals of flowers
“Horseshoe Canyon,” Kate Hammer, Digital Photograph
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Max’s Tax Laurel Aronian The white-capped mountains bleached Orange beneath, like snow through ski goggles. In December; trees are only green from radiation, The Galaga patterns behind the moon, And stars, too large and dark in the mauve sky. The endless line of street signs, Spiraling into the black like fractals, Forevermore. The red taxes on the dashboard are enveloped Into darkness and swallowed Up in the distorted windshield; I can make anything happen Through this photograph.
But it was May and Max Tax was past, And Jack was mad, so we played Duran Duran. Even though we listened to wolves, the mountains in the sky were just Refractions of light. I remember seeing a line in that smog and Thought the world Was ending. The green grass and yellow signs should have been a comfort but I knew that even after The summer things would be the same. Though it was warm outside, The smell of hay and grass filling my nose, The heavy clouds letting loose Just made me realize I would Never be Here Again
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“The Distorted Windshield,” Laurel Aronian, Digital Photograph
47
“Queen of Spades,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Painting
48
Earth
“Untitled,” Kiley Galvin, Digital Photograph
51
“Sunset,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Digital Drawing
History Liz Fleischer I know you from scraped knees and bandages Throwing rocks into a pond and seeing who could make the biggest splash Art class and drinking grape juice at your table And I still know you Can trace that same table Know the grooves and dents This one, where I banged my elbow I see it when I close my eyes Sticking pencils into your dad’s mahogany teakwood candle The air always smelled a bit cozier when it was alight There is no me without you 52
“By The Back Lake,” Catherine Clark, Digital Photograph
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The Fall Myles Sead The crisp air burns my lungs as I breathe A pain so familiar a kinship of enemies The weight of the leaves brings the tree to it’s unclothed demise A striking dream of orange and red swirling around me The heat of the sun beaming down to my crown is a joyful pain One of a royally rusted yellow coated with spots of a pasty brown gold A song of change and a face of pure air that appears as if it was always there But when it fades and leaves…you know it’s gone
“Clear View,” Macy Owsley, DigitalPhotograph
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A Peculiar Recipe Liz Fleischer Half a dash of freckles Seven whiskers from seven cats One page from your favorite book A strand of frayed yarn Look under your bed, whatever you see first, add Two cups strawberry shampoo Buy a pomegranate and leave it outside for a week. Add what remains. A page from your old yearbook, doodled over and torn Two moths, preferably still alive Three teaspoons ground glass Close your eyes and reach into your spice drawer. Pull out five spices. Eight spider legs (can be substituted with a moth wing)
pantry again. Put the freckles to the side, but keep watch on them They like to jump when no one is looking. Take your book and rip it Yes, tear the page out You must I know it’s your childhood favorite, I know that its mere scent reminds you of holidays and warm sheets, of staring at the washing machine as it spins. But you must Good. Add it to the bottom of your bowl The whiskers can be easily acquired. I needn’t bother walking you through that. What kind of idiot doesn’t have seven cats on hand? First, acquire a bowl If you’ve done it right up to this point, put Preferably a sturdy one, metal and round your hand in your left pocket. It will shake as you stir it, but ignore that Your yarn will be in there. To find the freckles, look in the back of If you’ve done something wrong… your pantry Well I’m afraid the situation is now out of All the way back my hands. A little more Place the yarn with the freckles. There you go. They will get along nicely, though the Bet you didn’t even know you had that freckles may bite at first. space. Now go up the stairs and into your room Scoop them up, quickly, and take as many If your room is on the first floor, a set of as you need. stairs will appear, leading you there anyYou will not return to this part of your way 56
Look around for a second, with a newfound disgust Then, in an instant, the feeling will disappear Poke your head under the bed Don’t worry, the creatures that reside there have been warned to stay away Grab the first object you see and run
You may sneak a bite If you prepared, your pomegranate should be ready Go outside and pick it up. You’ll know it’s ready when there’s a small emerald in the middle On rare occasions, you will instead find a note
As you leave, you’ll see a shadow behind you Do not look back You’ll always enter your room with a slight apprehension after this The strawberry shampoo will be where it always is, in your fridge
Read it if you wish, but be ready for consequences The thing that wrote the note is not your friend Place the pomegranate in the bowl and mix it with the book page and shampoo until you get a paste
“Fears,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Drawing
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“The Empresssssss,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Digital Drawing
Put it in the microwave, but do not turn it on Now go retrieve your yearbook for me It can be from any year, but odd numbers work best Turn to the page with your picture and stare at it Turn to the page with your best friend’s picture and stare at it Turn to the page with your enemy and draw a red slash over their eyes You will know which page to put in Retrieve your paste from the microwave It will have turned bright pink and might smoke slightly 58
This is to be expected. Wrap it in your yearbook page and place it back down Find the moths in a closet, or huddling close to a lamp outside. Take two. If they are related, all the better If they are foes then you must restart Smash the window nearest to a forest and take the glass from there If anything else comes through the now open window, consider it a gift If this “gift” tries to maul you, consider it a bad gift Grind up the glass using either a blender or your teeth
No matter which you chose, both your blender and your teeth will break during this process My apologies Take your spices If you chose ginger, stop what you are doing and never attempt this recipe again
Good, good Now, be quick Reach down and pull away the old floorboard No, your eyes are not deceiving you Unless you see something other than a writhing mass of spiders If so, please go to a doctor
You may also want to move a bit to the right Immediately To those of you left, mix your spices Put in as much, or as little, as you deem necessary But don’t over indulge Oh, look at that. You haven’t added nearly enough And what on earth are you doing now? That’s far too much No no no, stop, you’ve done enough damage I suppose it’ll do Great job Now I need you to go to your kitchen pantry Do you see that floorboard? The one that creaks when you walk on it? The one that you swear something wrong with? Yes Please steel yourself Are you ready? Have you taken a deep breath? Grounded yourself?
Who knows what this could mean for your health Wonderful Now please reach your hand into the spider pit You don’t want to? Ah but you have to The spiders will be very upset if you don’t comply It will only feel odd at first When they begin their ascent Soon you won’t mind And the spiders will be so very happy with their new home So happy, in fact, that they will gift you one leg each You lucky thing! Millions of spider legs, and for such a small price Here’s the fun part Choose your favorite six Put them aside Now find the one that repulses you the most The one that fills you with a hatred so confusingly deep you could choke 59
That one? That’s the one you dislike? Interesting. Now let it dissolve onto your tongue If it tastes like sour cherries, you will find the legs you need on page thirty seven of the last book you’ve read If it tastes like sour apples, they will appear, tied in a knot, under your pillow And if it tastes at all sweet, then you may continue with six.
The results will be different, but only if you look closely Mash the legs into the mixture, using all the force you can Think about that one incident Yes, that one Good, now the batter will be done in no time
“Pick a Patch of Pumpkins,” Liz Fleischer, Ink on Paper
60
“Bye Bye Ouchies,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Painting
61
In Admiration of the 46 Tommy Lewis
A constant hum Emanates a high Driving deeper into the night My trojan horse Reaches the hilltop We stare at the valley of lights The end of the road Came hours late We were never good with time The 46 Through the darkest moments Never failed to shine
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R.I.P. the 45 Yet we still have Rip For darts to throw And cards to flip Flannels and bottle caps Conversations are pure The windows are transparent But undoubtedly secure Isolated from the world In a beautiful mess For 48 hours The house will not rest Fire touches the skin Assuaging withdrawals As Sam Rasmussen speaks on The windows and walls Hazy eyes refuse to close Sleep only wastes the night So we pluck steel strings And gaze at red light Last glance from the driveway The road is ahead Another retreat To burn in my head
“Are You Having Fun?” Tommy Lewis, Digital Photograph
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Perspective Anonymous
Friday, October 15, 2021 5:13 PM my head is full of not yet splintered wood a whisper of sunlight creeps in from the barn doors flung wide open curves across my face and his the cremello the new guy the weirdo creepy Casper gently as possible, I slide the saddle onto his back instant outrage, he clashes his teeth against the crossties frantically shuffles back and forth so I can no longer reach him looks around wildly, shifting as far away from me as possible his fearful eyes are the palest blue, not yet dark and heavy with understanding struck through the pupil with a brilliant streak of cobalt it’s just a saddle he’s so dramatic
64
so scared i back away, but not so far that he can’t still see me feet planted, eerily calm like the bit of dusty sunlight i look him in the eyes “the world is not ending” he remains with the same fearful gaze unchanged, but I don’t the bit of sunlight, the one that curved around my face and his, widens, now free of dust stretching over my shaking hands, his wild eyes “the world is not ending” i say it again, to myself this time my eyes are heavy with understanding, a suffocating brown unlike his my throat is raw and fragile, it was a long day yet it is also soothed by the words flowing from my lungs the world is not ending.
it’s just a saddle once I secure it, it will stay for a while this saddle will fall heavy on his back weighing him down he will do things that he does not want to do
my head is full of not yet splintered wood and Casper’s? even more than mine but the saddle will come off the world is not ending.
but the saddle will come off there will be marks, and they will fade this too shall pass the world is not ending and it is just a saddle
this, I understand him, not yet
“Liberty,” Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer, Drawing
65
“Sunset Portrait” Josephine DeMarco, Painting
It’s Better Taught Unsaid Ainsley Birmingham I wish I could tell the story, but all I know is mine. The leaves were falling as I walked beneath, glancing at the candle,
66
Ash spread across your hands, while I hold the cold wax, knowing the realization would come, even when I denied my own. Questioning what I knew, since you lit my inspiration. Boiling within me, the questions unanswered, when all I wanted was words. Turning my shoulder, the crack of my back, as my ribcage turns, the swift footprints left behind me, with no one by their side. I glance up at the spiral staircase, with the faint shadow of all that you taught me. The reflection of the calm lake you once said was true but was truly breaking waves frozen in time. Since the rock, that molded my back, had skipped into the ocean, I aligned my posture to fit your role, swaying my way into the roses.
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Quiet Liz Fleischer She talked to everyone she met, laughed at their jokes, remembered the name of the dog they had in fourth grade. The kind of girl a teacher would tell to be quiet but always lightly, because her voice made the room a little bit better. She was loud, in her speech, in her gestures, in the bright colors she always wore. It was like she lived her life screaming, and she wasn’t liked as much as she was noticed. She was in debate club, drama club, anything that let her mouth work faster than her brain. Then she’d leave the building. Talk to the bus driver on the way home, compliment the boy sitting across from her, bite her fingernails as her stop grew closer. If she had the chance, she would
68
stop by her neighbors house, offer to rake their leaves, or mow their lawn, or take care of their son who she hadn’t seen in years. Then, upon receiving rejection in the form of frowns and raised eyebrows, she would dash back through the trimmed leaf wall that, as her neighbors pointed out, was supposed to separate them from each other, and into her own yard. She would enter through the backdoor, using the spare key hidden in an empty flower pot, and take off her shoes, but not her socks, before bolting up the stairs. Inside her room, she made herself comfy in the corner of her closet. Her door didn’t have a lock, but if she was very very quiet, sometimes they would forget she existed.
“The Owl,” Josephine DeMarco, Digital Drawing
“Limelight,” Jacqueline Cecil, Digital Photograph
Moonlight Sonata Jacqueline Cecil In the bathroom there is a window. Four feet, four inches high. The silhouettes of plants project Onto the curtain by moonlight. Although it’s quaint and not quite Unusual, water drips into the sink. With each drop, a bit of debris Falls into a fortunate neighbor’s ashtray. A creature patiently occupies the corner Of a wall; its legs, feared by many And admired by few, embrace a drop of
Water which glides along its silky web. Suddenly, something falls. A spell is cast Which breaks when the door opens.The Lavender plant leans toward the window Reaching for its last glimpse of moonlight As the curtain closes. The faucet turns off, Silence enters the bathroom. What’s left Of the pot on the floor shivers and The plants grow cold; the night is falling, please remember to pick it up.
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“Untitled” Caitlin Neafsey, Digital Photograph
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Water
“Winter Glade,” Josephine DeMarco, Oil Pastel on Paper
Porcelain Liz Fleischer You, you with your soft edges, large and warm. We compliment each other. Or so I think on good days. On bad days I think I’ll tear you apart. Ravage you with my smooth, cold, exterior. If I broke, the shrapnel of my body would destroy you. I’m hard angles and pale porcelain, you, a collection of wool and down. How did something as lovely as you end up with something as harsh as me? But I know you. Know your intricacies, your frayed edges and graying color. And you know me. Know that I may be cold but by god I am fragile. But when you’re here, wrapped around me, providing the warmth I so desperately crave I feel I could drop a thousand feet and still land safely.
The Violin Kate Hammer You played the pain away, expressed your sorrows. You splashed joy near you with a bow and string. Notes vibrating, spreading like rays of sun. Like a songbird in the dead of winter, you played among all the carnage and death. Almost like you would never sing again. Then the next day you never woke from sleep. Your violin was laid right next to you, collecting the dirt from your surroundings. And just like that you and your song died. And your songs, well, they were long forgotten.
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“Sparkling Sunset,” Maya Coniglio, Digital Photograph
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A Love Song To Dead Girls Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer Would you care to dream breathing or sleep prettyIs stepping on shards worth the sharpness of pain If you get to feel the thrill of bleeding life, The joy of marring white, red. Or perhaps just Stay, sheets silk, to see the red behind eyelids. A mere Marionette ‘cross the mortal stage, Liquid garnets spill far from porcelain limbs. Life is not in her painted visage nor her Fragile arms, but rather in the thin strings Which keep her afloat and carry her false act. Delicate white lace sewn to pale pink silk, Both yellowed as they near their certain demise; They with their wearer turn to nothing but dust. There is beauty in fading so soon, my dear, To meet with the maw of the jackal ‘fore rot.
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His teeth close softly, do you push them harder? Is he salvation or does he call the end? If slumber is just Death with a timid hand, I’d rather like to be carried in long sleep Next to your body cold, Death’s hand gripped tighter. I pray you never wake, stop lashes’ flutter, Grow chill, your frame, and stay lovely your glass face, For it’s better to sleep as a doll than wake As a human. To live and therein decayWhy be soil when a withered rose beckons? There is a beautiful delicacy In the way her petals crumble to the touch. And a subtle melancholia graces The pale glass of eyes, mind of numbing grey. A perpetual state of fragile being, Living without the ugliness of breathing. Consummate your marriage to life, dead girl, And leave it, pretty, while you still can.
“Cloud Verbier,” Thomas Ross, Digital Photograph
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“Cross On My Head From The Window Pane,” Tommy Lewis, Painting
The Round (Inspired by Stanley Kunitz) Aviva Moss
They float above my head, A cloud that serves as a reminder Of what must be done.
Light splashed this morning, Into my room. It illuminated the unfolded laundry On the floor, The stack of cups In the corner. I opened my eyes to this brightness And started yet another day. There seems to be no end To the piles that must be tackled; The little boxes That I must varigate.
There is no time for comfort, Joy is few and far between And I am blanketed in gloom. I go to bed painted with the promise of A fresh start, A new day, Until the light splashes into my room, And illuminates all the darkness.
“Untitled,” Liz Fleischer, Ink on Paper
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“Rocky Shores,” Catherine Clark, Digital Photograph
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Waves Myles Sead I can feel it yanking me in and out Dragging me to the surface Harder to go further Every second getting longer But they reach and pull you back to life They know you every time Not easy to swim out It grounds you, shakes you Bringing everything it’s got until… All of a sudden the waves will calm again You will never know the storm You’ll see the tides before The water sloshing But it stops the world And you’re stuck in the middle Staring in blank space until you feel the burn of the sun As it sets the waves relax You hardly notice them anymore Time goes on and on All things known, fade You miss the shaking of the waves The ones you knew and knew you too So you make your own…
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A Work Of Art Aviva Moss I admire the blank canvas and what it could be Things to be created with joy. A beautiful work of art, this I guarantee My inspiration employed. Things to be created with joy My materials endless. My inspiration employed Collection of supplies tremendous.
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My materials endless I work until I’m done Collection of supplies tremendous Time passes quickly, raising the sun. I work until I’m done I admire the finished piece. Time passes quickly, rising the sun Oh, how my happiness has increased. I treasure the finished piece I admire the blank canvas and what it could be. Oh, how my happiness has increased A beautiful work of art, this I guarantee.
“Stars In The Sky,” Thomas Ross, Digital Photograph
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Untitled Myles Sead The strong current rocks us back and forth Into a constant tale of will or won’t Of joy and pain Fluctuating between a transparent past and a foggy present We like to think the boat is breaking, Out of our control and sinking slowly Into the shaky and spacious waters. It stays perfectly intact No icebergs were hit The only weight is the past carried on with us We’re the ones sinking The boat stays up We’ll beat on in our own directions Down a path that brings us joy One morning as the sun rises We’ll see the reflection of someone new as we look in the water
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“Best Disguise,” Jacqueline Cecil, Digital Photograph
“Gem Of The Sea,” Abigail Thomas, Watercolor Painting
“Cardinal,” Ella Miller, Linoleum Print
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Untitled Anonymous Let your feet, toes, and ankles come to rest The toil of the day washing away into the covers Let your head rest upon a pillow, And watch your thoughts float by Drifting as clouds in the sky
Let your lungs relax In deep, hold, and out again Let them happen as they do Let your arms come to a stop, lay them by your sides Grip your fingers, hard as you can Then let them fall, not lifeless, but relaxed Content with their day’s work
“Slick,” Megan Case, Digital Photograph
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The Ghost Of You Anonymous I say goodbye to the morning dew Through a wistful song, Holding tight to the ghost of you. It’s you that I never truly outgrew And knowing it’s been my fate all along, I say goodbye to the morning dew. Seeing your face was long overdue So I do what I must, because you’re gone, Holding tight to the ghost of you. Even though it was my blood you drew, And in your games, I was simply a pawn I say goodbye to the morning dew. I can’t lie and say I don’t love you. Oh, I yearn for you, but I think it’s wrong, Holding tight to the ghost of you. I don’t care if my feelings are misconstruedTogether is where we belong. So, I say goodbye to the morning dew, Holding tight to the ghost of you.
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“The City In Snow,” Josephine DeMarco, Digital Painting
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The Pendulum Staff Editors: Liz Fleischer and Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer Literary Advisors: Anna Birinyi and Austin Sanchez-Moran Art Advisor: Jeorge Yankura
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Jacqueline Cecil Josephine DeMarco Matthew Seale Myles Sead Kathryn Howe Drew Donati John Rosseel Leela Sharma Abigail Thomas Ginny Caceres
“Untitled,” Sloan Barker, Digital Photograph
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Acknowledgements
Editors: Liz Fleischer and Emilia von Lilien-Brockmeyer The editors are the heads of the Pendulum staff and oversee all activity within the magazine. They lead weekly staff meetings and facilitate discussions about artistic and written submissions. Editors work closely with both the English and Art departments to seek out and archive work for publication. They have final authority on the acceptance of all submissions, and coordinate voting on each piece. They also encourage the broader Upper School community to participate by submitting their work, on an individual level and by publicizing and facilitating periodic themed contests. Faculty Advisors for Literature: Anna Birinyi and Austin Sanchez-Moran The faculty advisors for literature serve various roles. They set a tone for
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what is “good,” analyze literature, advise the staff about all written works, and promote an environment conducive to constructive criticism. They also provide the staff with a variety of student works from classes Faculty Advisor for Art: Jeorge Yankura The faculty advisor for art guides the staff on all visual matters. She facilitates discussion on theme, lending an essential knowledge of how to create and translate our theme visually into our finished product. As a teacher of photography and digital design, she encourages her students to submit work, helping fill holes in the magazine that might otherwise be left empty. She also is extremely involved in the ultimate layout of the magazine, supervising and enabling its final development. She sees the magazine to its completion, and without her stewardship, we would all be lost souls wandering endlessly in the desert.
Technical Notes
The fonts used in this volume of The Pendulum include Playfair Display Italic Bold for headers and titles, Adobe He-
communications. The Pendulum staff was attracted to the shape and crisp nature of the letters in this type family, which al-
brew Regular for text bodies and page numbers, and Adobe Hebrew Italic for individual artwork attributions.
lows for ease of readability by the viewer.
Playfair Display is a serif-style typeface from the Playfair Project, led by Claus Eggers Sørensen, and is inspired by both the Scotch Roman typefaces and similar designs of John Baskerville, both from the Eighteenth Century. First released in 2011, this typeface features relatively consistent vertical height in both capital and lower case letters, making it ideal for printed material. The bold bodily shape and delicate hairlines make this typeface easy on the eyes and attractive for the reader’s experience. Adobe Hebrew was created in 2004-2005 by John Hudson of Tiro Typeworks. This serif-style typeface was specifically created for contemporary Hebrew business
The Pendulum was created using Adobe InDesign from the Adobe Creative Cloud. The 2022 edition of The Pendulum was printed with a Kodak NexPress ZX 3300 Digital Production Color Press, at Impression Point Printing in Norwalk, Connecticut, by alumni parent Robert La Banca. It uses Enhanced Dry Ink that produces a consistently high image quality, providing vibrant colors, consistent spot color matching, smooth flat field and gradients, and the unique ability to match the ink gloss level to the substrate being printed. The paper used is Accent Opaque 80# for cover and text, and Glama Natural Clear Paper in 29# Bond Translucent Vellum for pages 9, 29, 49 and 71.
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“Stress,” Chris Wearing, Digital Design
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