The Stratford Middle School Creative Arts Magazine Issue 1 - June 2010
Front row: Dhanush Venkatesh, Mia Guarnieri, Samantha Wu second row: Vivek Thangam, Snigdha Banda, Priyanka Patel, Rajashree Bhattacharya, Pavithra Margabandu Back row: Mrs. Castagna, Stuti Vishwabhan
The first Creative Writing Club of Stratford Middle School is proud to present their first magazine of June 2010. Thanks to our principal, Ms. Schwartz, for encouraging us to do this. Thank you to Mrs. Castagna for intitiating the club. Thanks to all the contributors of this Stratford first.
Stratford Middle School * 1718 Andover Lane * San Jose, CA 95124 Www.stratfordschools.com
Table of Contents Poetry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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‚Peace‛ by Riya Dange ‚School‛ by Dhanush Venkatesh ‚Food‛ by Vivek Tangam ‚Space‛ by Stuti Vishwabhan ‚I Am Space‛ by Vivek Thangam ‚Music‛ by Pavithra Margabandu ‚Who Am I?‛ by Dhanush Venkatesh ‚Kids‛ by Stuti Vishwabhan ‚The Path to Success‛ by Vinifred Li
Short Stories
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4—7
‚My Pet Dragon‛ by Amie Schneider . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 ‚Street Bird, Take Flight‛ by Rajashree Bhattacharya . . . . . . . 5 ‚Patrick Henry Who?‛ by Anuv Gupta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Essays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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‚True Leaders‛ by Stuti Viswahban ‚Private vs. Public‛ by Snigdha Banda
Spanish Sensations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ‚Life and Death‛ by Raquel Bryant (back cover) ‚Dark Waters‛ by Shagun Patel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ‚The Lonely Puppy‛ by Winifred Li . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 ‚Wild and Fiery Flowers‛ by Vienna Wang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ‚Calm and Peaceful Flowers‛ by Vienna Wang (front cover) ‚Fresh Fruit in a Bowl‛ by Winifred Li . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ‚Eating Grapes‛ by Vivian Roan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ‚Flower Vine‛ by Nirali Rahul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ‚Desert‛ by Lieza Chan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12 ‚Aqua Palm‛ by Eric Rosenberg . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12
Poetry Corner Peace
Food
By Riya Dange 7th grade
By Vivek Thangam 6th grade
Not a sound stirs the air, Save the chirping of birds here and there. The world is holding its breath, Like visitors beside a bed of death.
What is food Is it broccoli and Brussels sprouts placed on your plate Or is it ice cream and pizza for your favorite date The water in the streams is still, The steaming carrots; the boiling of eggs. The trees don’t budge an inch. Lines of meat hung up on some pegs. The wind sweeps gently over every hill, Everyone’s cooking a delicious meal. And gives nothing a reason to flinch. The colors and taste must appeal. You know the food is not bad This is nature at its best; When it soon becomes a fad; The view makes you want to stop and rest. The food adorns the plate But no, we must keep hiking on, Marking an awesome date. Or else our group will long be gone. Eat up the chow! Finish it now! THE PATH TO SUCCESS WOW! by Winifred Li r Supe d r a h test math
School
5th grade In the forest of green, There are sounds of chirping birds, Flowers and leaves grow, Nature comes and surrounds me, My destiny approaches.
By Dhanush Venkatesh 6th grade
Pencils in my pocket and gum under the desk Today we are having a really hard test. Slamming of lockers and closing of doors I don’t know if I can stand this anymore Students and kids all running at once Getting to a class they know they will flunk On the other hand, we have teachers Not ordinary, nor boring, but crazy and wild Wishing that they were still a child From 10:00 to 1:00 the time flies by Students who are hoping to stay alive At the end of the day they slouch on home Having the energy of a stone The day is over, all is right But the terrible process
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Kids
By Stuti Vishwabhan 6th grade What are kids? We are pretty neat, We like to eat a nice little treat, Sometimes we’re adorable and very cute, Sometimes we are mischievous and a disgrace to you, We don’t like doing any work, Or paying attention, Instead we are found in a room of detention, Embarrassed by parents, Not listening to them, We throw a little tantrum Then listen to FM, We are quite interesting And mostly curious. Although today may not be bliss, One day we’ll come and give you a kiss, When we grow up we'll make you proud, But for now we are kids, Who are crazy and loud, That’s what kids are!
Poetry Corner Who Am I? Dhanush Venkatesh 6th grade Many have accomplished in me, many have failed in me I am not 1, 2 or 3 beings, but more than you can count I have everything you want, and everything to see I am more than you can imagine, and many more to be I create and destroy, and can never seem to stop; I make beautiful sights and horrible things, With a plink, a splatter and a plop; Some think I’m small while others think I’m big I expand boundaries every day I am light but also darkness The truth behind me is concealed; Some hate me, some love me, And refer to me as more than one; None has ever touched me nor will they ever; I’m beyond imagination, beyond the best man’s skill I contain danger and love, tension and fun; I am the heaviest thing in existence, Yet, float with the ease of a feather; I’m in you and you’re in me, Though, far out of your reach Together, we will always be.
Music
By Pavithra Margabandu 6th grade What does music mean to me? It makes me go around and around, It makes me go up and down, I dance till my mom says no, I dance when everyone says, ‚Go, Go!‛ The audience waits till I make my move, They watch when I get my groove, I listen to music every day, With homework or at play, The radio is my kind of place, Listening makes my heart race; Music makes me happier, It takes away all barriers, This is what music means to me!!!
I Am Space By Vivek Thangam 6th grade
SPACE By Stuti Vishwabhan 6th grade
I am filled with galaxies and stars, Planets, including a very red Mars, Asteroids and Comets fly by once in a while, Traveling around me for millions of miles, Boom! , Big Bang , I thank it for this whole entire world, Shining bright in the night, the stars Surround you in the complete darkness, On the other hand, I give you clear brightness, I made this universe for you, Look to see how I am really blue, In the daytime I reveal the sun, At nighttime I unravel the moon when day is done, I surround you day and night, To you I must be a very beautiful sight.
I am more than single Yet, only one can control me; I can give more than your wildest dreams, Yet, you have the better it seems. I have power over the unlimited Yet, in doing so, have limited you. I am full of destruction, Yet, the domain of placation. I provide the means of prosperity, Yet, have shown life’s disparity; In me there is many a substation Nonetheless, I can be moved without the slightest realization Though I appear too small to see, I am all around you and me.
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Short Stories MY PET DRAGON By Amie Schneider 5th grade
It was a warm, sunny day, in the beginning of summer break and I woke up reluctantly, seeing the sun shining on the floor. I lay still for a second resting on my comfy bed. Suddenly, I jumped up It was the day that I was going to get my new puppy! I got dressed as quickly as I could and sprinted to the kitchen. I even ate my least favorite breakfast with unwilling big bites. Then, I pulled my parents away from the computer and rushed them into the car. ‚Faster, faster,‛ I urged. When we got to the pet store, I looked around curiously at all the dogs. I got to a puppy that intrigued me. He looked at me with delicate eyes, whimpering lonely sad sounds. I could tell it wanted a home and unlike others, it wanted to get out of its cage. I called my parents over and they told me that I could buy the dog. I was so-o-o happy that I almost broke out in tears! One of the workers came over, unlocked the cage, and handed me the puppy.
Jumping up, I hurried to tell my parents about the scales. They just said to wait a few days and see what would happen. Those ‘few days came and my puppy had turned into a real dragon. I talked to my parents again and they decided to take him to the pet store. We hurried to the owner and he looked up the dog’s parents on the internet. There it was – his dad was a dragon. The owner seemed calm about it as he said, ‚There is nothing to worry about. This sort of thing does happen.‛ Then he gave us instructions on how to care for a dragon and we headed happily home.
He started licking me right away, its warm tongue scratched like fire. I think it was just hot in the cage. I hugged my new puppy all the way home, thinking hard what to name it. Then it hit me – its tongue was warm like fire. ‚Dragon,‛ I whispered. ‚Dragon is your name.‛ The next day, I woke Dragon up from his red fluffy bed and hugged him hard until I noticed something unusual about him. He had something like red shiny circles on his back. They almost looked like scales.
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The Lonely Puppy by Winifred LI
Street Bird, Take Flight Rajashree Bhattacharya
M ira stopped dead in her tracks. Did she really hear the voice of Quamar, or was it just the wind whipping in through the open door behind her? She waited, not daring to move. There it was again, ‚Choose the green door, choose the green door, choose the green door…‛ The echo seemed to swoop around her and disappear in the rush of wind. Had it really come to this? Did Quamar finally achieve this level of control over her, that she could hear his voice even when she knew that he was miles away? Mira shook off the fear that had paralyzed her and returned to her task. The sudden gust of air behind reminded her that the door was open. Closing it, Mira turned away and surveyed her surroundings. Quamar may have sent her to this shop with a mission, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look for something to keep for herself. Directly in front of her was the clerk’s desk, covered in papers filled with lines of thick black scratches. Mira quickly shuffled through the papers, scavenging for items. Pocketing a small, scruffy, embroidered handkerchief, she replaced the papers in the same position as they were in before. Mira turned her dark eyes toward the display cases where the shopkeeper worked. The pretty bracelets and money were stowed in locked boxes, but a few trinkets were left outside. Mira swiftly filled her pockets with them. Maybe she could get a couple of coins for the stones in the street market. She hovered over the bracelets kept in the boxes. The locks would be easy to break, but... ******** Suddenly, dusk was descending in a dark cloud, and she was rummaging through the bazaar waste for food. Luck smiled on her when she found a half bowl of noodles in a dirty cup. Happily, she sat right on the spot to devour her dinner. The trash behind her gave no warning— Quamar was silent in his movements. Swiftly,
he snatched the noodles from her and held them high, out of her reach. ‚No eating. You ain’t done your share this night,‛ Quamar scolded as he began to eat her noodles. Mira couldn’t move. Her arms and legs felt frozen. But her mouth, always too open for her own good, blurted, ‚Give tha’ back! I found it!‛ Quickly, Mira shut her traitorous tongue, but it was too late. A hard slap hit her across her cheeks. ‚I found it!’ ‛ whined Quamar, his features contorted into a grotesque imitation of her. And then he was serious. ‚Did you find that necklace I wanted? Ha! You couldn’t fetch me a piece of trash from this dump. You’re useless - don’t know why I let you join. You should’a learned by now, rat. I’m in charge. I get pickings. You pick them. ‛ He sent another punch her way. Mira flinched, but suddenly, he stayed his hand. Instead, he roughly grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. ‚You know what, rat? I g’t something for you. Maybe I’ll let you try again, heh? You want some food, you have to work for the gang… I’ve got this eye on somethin’ that keeper on Graymead Lane. Go in his house and you’ll see some doors. Keeper’s got a big house, see? Choose the green door. In it ther’s some statues. Litl’e gold ones, pretty like, you know? Bring ‘em to me, maybe you get your food, eh? Now scoot, rat. Make sure no one knows you there. I don’t want the Guard on me. Keeper’s not going to know you there, right, rat?‛ Mira nodded vigorously. She knew better than to believe his promises of food, but maybe he wouldn’t hit her if she got his statues. Getting up, she turned and ran, not daring to look back. Now, Mira cursed Quamar with all she had to curse with. Mira had never wanted to be a street girl, let alone a gang girl. Now she was **********
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both, and less than two years had passed since her faded memories of little dolls and a bed to sleep on! She had lost all that. She was on the street, lost, confused, scared. Bullies were everywhere, hitting her, cutting her, laughing at her. And then came Quamar, with his promises of food, warmth, and friends. Oh, Mira had thought a little blood would be nothing, a trifle to pay for food. But, down here, in the alleyways was a world hidden by a façade of prospering businesses. The streets were a different country, and the laws that governed its people were not based on the public good, but were the binding blood contracts, the dutiful obedience of servant to master. Mira had never received those promised goodies which had catered so well to her six-year old mind. Instead, Mira herself had catered to Quamar’s every whim, along with other children like her. She fought other gang children because Quamar told her to. She didn’t know why. She only knew the pain of a knife piercing her skin and slicing her arm. On impulse, Mira checked the scars from that first gang battle. Right between the raw pink slices was a smaller, darker cut. Mira’s blood initiation scar brought her back to her mission. She checked the window for a shopkeeper returning home. How long had she been staring, transfixed, at the locked bracelets. Quamar’s words swam back to her again, ‚No one knows you there, no one knows you there, no one knows you there…‛ With a sigh, Mira let the bracelets go. The shopkeeper would certainly notice if his prized bracelets were stolen. Turning to the hallway behind the display cases, Mira spotted a staircase leading up to the second floor of the building. She walked up the stairs, savoring the wealth that showed in the smooth wood banister. When was the last time she had felt such well-crafted wood? Her gang’s dugout was a dirty hole in the side
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of a building, it’s only wood the splintered remains of a hardwood floor. Mira stepped through the first green door she saw, into the family temple. One large gold statue, the family deity, took up most of the altar, while little statues littered the ground before it. Mira picked up a couple of the smaller statues and headed out, down the stairs. In the main room, Mira stopped and looked at the clerk’s desk. She took out the handkerchief she had stolen, uncrumpling it in her hand. Only now, she realized that the napkin was actually quite clean. While it was wrinkled and disheveled, there were no stains on it, no hint of the ink that should have splattered it if it belonged to a clerk. Looking at it in the dim moonlight, Mira saw small characters running along the edges of the handkerchief. Over the past two years, Mira had forgotten how to read, but she could remember her mother holding tight to her father’s handkerchief when he was away. She knew these characters meant something to that clerk. Knowing that she would probably lose some coins even scruffy embroidered napkins were worth something - Mira set the napkin back down on the desk, attempting to smooth it as she did so. She smiled thinly. The clerk would not be unhappy the next day. Mira turned to leave, and found herself right in front of an elderly woman dressed in her nightclothes, holding a cane as she stood. ‚Good job, girl. Clerk’s wife gave that to him…ain’t gonna do him good if it’s gone.‛ The woman smiled as she spoke, her face reminding Mira of her own grandmother. The soothing old voice calmed Mira’s racing heart. As she began to think rationally again, she realized that she should run. But, that
voice, so tender… Mira found herself unable to move, hypnotized. The woman held out her hand. ‚Come on lass-give those statues back now. My grandson’s deity’s there, he’ll cry without it.‛ That mention of statues jolted Mira out of her stupor. She quickly stuttered, ‚Can’t ma’am, he’ll hurt me!‛ before turning and bolting. Trembling, she flew out the door, stumbling in her haste to get away from the grandma. She barely knew where she ran, except that it was away, far away. Somehow, Mira found herself back at her gang hide-out. She collapsed onto one of the rags that was her bed. Trembling, Mira took out the statues she had stolen and set them out. Searching through them, she noticed a little gold cat playing with a ball. It was Saela, the children’s deity. Mira smiled as she thought about the little wooden Saela she used to carry everywhere with her. Gently, she stroked Saela’s back, then set the statue back with the others. Mira heard a few of her gang mates coming toward the hide-out. Quickly, she stuffed the statues back in her pockets and lay down, pretending to sleep. She didn’t want to give up Saela yet. She’d wait until morning to give Quamar his prizes. To be continued . . .
ICK R T A P RY’S N E H T? WHA
by Anuv Gupta 5th grade
“Bam, bam, bam!‛ The hammer pounded on the podium, and Patrick Henry began. ‚It is in vain, my foolhardy sirs, to extenuate this grimly inferior matter. Why do we hold this summit? Optimistic gentlemen cry, ‘Peace! Peace!’ We must conquer the British!‛ However, they will thwart our plans!! We must denounce them! Abolish them! Why? Because we loathe them! They tax us and punish us with the Intolerable Acts. Those are monstrous acts and taxes! Why don’t we fight?! I do know what course others may take, but still mine is, ‘Give me liberty or give me -’ what? Nobody is listening? Oh well. Now, as I was saying, ‘Give me liberty or give me -’ oh never mind. At this Patrick Henry stomped off the platform.
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ESSAYS True Leaders By Stuti Vishwabhan 6th grade Who are true heroes of the world that we praise, even today? Many, such as Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Mahatma Gandhi, Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, and Martin Luther King, had one special aspect they excelled in, leadership. Leadership is one quality that is especially significant in life. It is when one person creates a path that can change the world, forever. A leader is one who is willing to put others first; it is a person who serves. For example, one great leader that shows these qualities is Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln fought hard to abolish slavery, putting the slaves’ needs before his own needs. He created the Emancipation Proclamation, which ended slavery in the Confederate States of America. Lincoln is one of the many leaders who changed this very world, today. Another leader known as Mahatma Gandhi, fought for world peace. We still remember him as the one who created justice, as the one who destroyed violence, as the one who gifted peace upon us for eternity. Leaders such as Abraham Lincoln and Mahatma Gandhi will never be forgotten. Leaders are yet again people who shall be celebrated even after their many faithful years of fighting for a cause that leaves us in curiosity and wonder. The qualities that make a true leader are endless; it is his or her attitude, pure confidence, their own way of knowing, the way they serve, and their leadership. True leaders never give up and will sacrifice their lives for any cause, whatsoever. Leaders will remain in our hearts forever and shall never escape our memory.
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Private vs. Public? By Snigdha Banda 6th grade Should it be private or public? Every parent comes to a point in their life when they must send their children off to school. That moment arrives when their eyes are full of tears as they see their adorable children walk off into the school. But, what type of school is it? Is it a school where children are laid back and carefree or is it a school for which you have to pay $1000 or more. For preschool and prekindergarten, most parents send their child to a public school and then enroll their child in a private school for elementary. Other parents want their child to grow up in a stringent ambience and send their children to a private school. There are pros and cons for both of these decisions. For preschool and prekindergarten public schools are great, but, they may be corrupted. Although public schools are free, they could lay a poor foundation for your child. You have to decide which is more important, your child’s future or your budget? Now let’s move on to private schools. Private schools can prepare a great future for your child, but of course you have to pay for this. While the academics are great, these schools can seem stringent. Each family must decide which environment is best for their child. So what do you want- your child to have a successful future, or for you to have more money? Is it going to a public school or private school? Good luck deciding!
SPANISH SENSANTIONS
Akaash Venkat 6th grade
Hana DeClerck 6th grade
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ART GALLERY Flower Vine by Nirali Rahul 8th grade
Wild and Fiery Flowers by Vienna Wang 5th grade
Dark Waters
Eating Grapes
by Shagun Patel 7th grade
By Vivian Roan 7th grade
Aqua Palm By Eric Rosenberg 8tth grade
7UP By Angela So 8th grade
Desert by Lieza Chan 8th grade
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Fresh Fruit in a Bowl by Winifred Li 5th grade
Priyanka Panda , one of our writers and editors, is in eighth grade. She likes to swim and write in her free time. She has always enjoyed creative writing and would like to continue on with it in high school and beyond. Perhaps, in the future, she might get published and become a part-time author.
Rajashree Bhattacharya, one of our writers, is in eighth grade. She is excited to have a poem published in the Celebration of Poets anthology. She hopes to continue writing for other publications.
Samantha Wu, another writer and editor for our magazine, is in eighth grade. She has enjoyed being a part of the writing club and hopes to come back and help next year.
Mia Guarnieri, Chief Editor, enjoyed writing and working on the magazine layout.
Snigdha Banda, a sixth grader, has enthusiastically as a writer and editor contributed to this magazine.
Dhanush Venkatesh, a sixth grader, is excited to have one of his poems published in Celebration of Poets anthology.
. Stuti Vishwabha, writer and editor, is in 6th grade and recently got published in “Celebration of Poets Anthology.�
Vivek Thangam, a sixth grader, enjoys playing chess and writing poetry.
Come join our creative writing team
Pavithra Margabandu writer and editor, is in sixth grade.
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