The New Currency 2010-2012
Table of Contents
Untitled
Gwen Baptiste
Hand Study
Luke Beaulieu
Huckleberry Finn Poem
Marielle Sabbag
Walking up the Stairs
Melissa Duffy
Paper Cut
Caitlin McKee
Epilogue to Cormac McCarthy's The Road
Jonas Whitney
Eyes Eyes Eyes
Caroline Dababneh
Sunflower
Tina Li
Ribs of the Earth
Andrew Downing
York Beach
Meaghan Coughlin
My Brother
Luke Beaulieu
Untitled
Gwen Baptiste
Carl Fredricksen
Marielle Sabbag
Universe
Laura White
New Year's Fireworks
Marielle Sabbag
What is What if?
Caroline Dababneh
Me, Myself, and I
Antonio DeGirolamo
French Cathedral
Peter Satterthwaite
In This Room
Gwen Baptiste
The Girl
Antonio DeGirolamo
Koalas
Tina Li
That Empty Feelin'
Antonio DeGirolamo
Sycamore Street
Carla Hauck
Pencils
Marielle Sabbag
The Formidable
Carla Hauck
Thwarting Walls of Stone and Ice
Gwen Baptiste
Untitled
Elizabeth Yuu
Stuffed Animals
Tina Li
Morals
Carla Hauck
Pianissimo
Anna Teixeira
Boats Against the Current
Laura White
Russell
Marielle Sabbag
Dream
Gwen Baptiste
Summer's Day at the Pond
Carla Hauck
Adirondack Evening Paint-by-Number
Laura White
Untitled
Matt LeBlanc
Momma's Apple Pies
Carla Hauck
The Goonies
Marielle Sabbag
Afternoon April, Musing?
Gwen Baptiste
The Box
Carla Hauck
Let's All Go Together
Marielle Sabbag
Familiar Tune
Caroline Dababneh
Untitled
Doug Lane
Disney Land
Marielle Sabbag
A Summer Snack
Carla Hauck
Lakeside Village Paint-by-Number
Laura White
Knowing By
Aashi Jhota
Watching
Carla Hauck
Snow White DVD cover
Marielle Sabbag
The Meaning of TEAM
Nicole Algeri
Moving Day
Carla Hauck
Shells
Marielle Sabbag
Backwards
Caroline Dababneh
Serpent
Micke McCarthy
The Light in the Distance
Carla Hauck
CORALINE
Marielle Sabbag
Forever
Laura White
Autumn
Carla Hauck
The Brave Little Toaster
Marielle Sabbag
Slightly Out of Control
Victoria Perez
Jane Gallagher symbol
Marielle Sabbag
Future
Marielle Sabbag
Otters
Caroline Dababneh
Taking Chances
Melissa Duffy
Sonnet I
Peter Satterthwaite
Carl and Russell
Marielle Sabbag
Gwen Baptiste
Hand Study
Luke Beaulieu
Huckleberry Finn Poem
Marielle Sabbag
Walking up the Stairs
Melissa Duffy
Paper Cut
Caitlin McKee
Epilogue to Cormac McCarthy's The Road
Jonas Whitney
Eyes Eyes Eyes
Caroline Dababneh
Sunflower
Tina Li
Ribs of the Earth
Andrew Downing
York Beach
Meaghan Coughlin
My Brother
Luke Beaulieu
Untitled
Gwen Baptiste
Carl Fredricksen
Marielle Sabbag
Universe
Laura White
New Year's Fireworks
Marielle Sabbag
What is What if?
Caroline Dababneh
Me, Myself, and I
Antonio DeGirolamo
French Cathedral
Peter Satterthwaite
In This Room
Gwen Baptiste
The Girl
Antonio DeGirolamo
Koalas
Tina Li
That Empty Feelin'
Antonio DeGirolamo
Sycamore Street
Carla Hauck
Pencils
Marielle Sabbag
The Formidable
Carla Hauck
Thwarting Walls of Stone and Ice
Gwen Baptiste
Untitled
Elizabeth Yuu
Stuffed Animals
Tina Li
Morals
Carla Hauck
Pianissimo
Anna Teixeira
Boats Against the Current
Laura White
Russell
Marielle Sabbag
Dream
Gwen Baptiste
Summer's Day at the Pond
Carla Hauck
Adirondack Evening Paint-by-Number
Laura White
Untitled
Matt LeBlanc
Momma's Apple Pies
Carla Hauck
The Goonies
Marielle Sabbag
Afternoon April, Musing?
Gwen Baptiste
The Box
Carla Hauck
Let's All Go Together
Marielle Sabbag
Familiar Tune
Caroline Dababneh
Untitled
Doug Lane
Disney Land
Marielle Sabbag
A Summer Snack
Carla Hauck
Lakeside Village Paint-by-Number
Laura White
Knowing By
Aashi Jhota
Watching
Carla Hauck
Snow White DVD cover
Marielle Sabbag
The Meaning of TEAM
Nicole Algeri
Moving Day
Carla Hauck
Shells
Marielle Sabbag
Backwards
Caroline Dababneh
Serpent
Micke McCarthy
The Light in the Distance
Carla Hauck
CORALINE
Marielle Sabbag
Forever
Laura White
Autumn
Carla Hauck
The Brave Little Toaster
Marielle Sabbag
Slightly Out of Control
Victoria Perez
Jane Gallagher symbol
Marielle Sabbag
Future
Marielle Sabbag
Otters
Caroline Dababneh
Taking Chances
Melissa Duffy
Sonnet I
Peter Satterthwaite
Carl and Russell
Marielle Sabbag
Untitled
Sitting in the deep
Vast the ever chaos
I have watched them
Two by two they had fallen
Lithe bodies healing lancing scars
creating their own heat
Burning new scars into waiting flesh
It is not enough
it was never, enough
Deny that which is most blatant
Roaring flames are never subtle in their gestures
nor ice need be great to feel its chill
Everyone of them
damning their lives away
Creating their perditions with their sacrilege against self
fight the inexorable
Salute certain death, blanketed in ignorant vehemence
Not one of those pairs,
not one soul set made whole
rest, love they have had it stolen
They made not a statue of gold
gilded, and peel away to nothingness
Ashes left untouched
I writhe in the mound, calling out my despair
This betrayal of our race
Not one finds happiness
I roll in their abandoned and blackened hopes
The feel of all that is denied hardened in my throat
Dreading each suffered breath
I am labored
Hard pressed startling white sings in desperate cadence with black
Tainting white music with trembling hands
Not one of them finds it
I bare it to you
I am painted with their loss
And I trickle for what I never had
-Gwen Baptiste '12
Vast the ever chaos
I have watched them
Two by two they had fallen
Lithe bodies healing lancing scars
creating their own heat
Burning new scars into waiting flesh
It is not enough
it was never, enough
Deny that which is most blatant
Roaring flames are never subtle in their gestures
nor ice need be great to feel its chill
Everyone of them
damning their lives away
Creating their perditions with their sacrilege against self
fight the inexorable
Salute certain death, blanketed in ignorant vehemence
Not one of those pairs,
not one soul set made whole
rest, love they have had it stolen
They made not a statue of gold
gilded, and peel away to nothingness
Ashes left untouched
I writhe in the mound, calling out my despair
This betrayal of our race
Not one finds happiness
I roll in their abandoned and blackened hopes
The feel of all that is denied hardened in my throat
Dreading each suffered breath
I am labored
Hard pressed startling white sings in desperate cadence with black
Tainting white music with trembling hands
Not one of them finds it
I bare it to you
I am painted with their loss
And I trickle for what I never had
-Gwen Baptiste '12
Hand Study
-Luke Beaulieu '13
Huckleberry Finn
Huckleberry Finn, you come here right now! You’s in big trouble!
Ugh! Why can’t you behave Huck?
Can’t you tell the truth for once?
King and Duke treated himself to Huck’s bed saying he was of royalty.
Luckily Huck liked sleeping under the stars.
Eat whatever you can find Huck, you’re on the run.
Be good to old, Jim now, I’m just trying to keep you safe.
Easy! It’s easier to steal than ask.
Rivers go a long way. The Mississippi is a long river.
Robbers are on that steamboat. Let’s not go on.
Yes! We’re going on an adventure.
Fine Jim, I’ll keep you safe and we’ll sail down the river to Cairo.
I wonder how I would’ve felt if I did break my promise to Jim.
Nights were safer to travel along the river.
No more workin’ for Jim. Jim’s a free man!
-Marielle Sabbag, '14
Ugh! Why can’t you behave Huck?
Can’t you tell the truth for once?
King and Duke treated himself to Huck’s bed saying he was of royalty.
Luckily Huck liked sleeping under the stars.
Eat whatever you can find Huck, you’re on the run.
Be good to old, Jim now, I’m just trying to keep you safe.
Easy! It’s easier to steal than ask.
Rivers go a long way. The Mississippi is a long river.
Robbers are on that steamboat. Let’s not go on.
Yes! We’re going on an adventure.
Fine Jim, I’ll keep you safe and we’ll sail down the river to Cairo.
I wonder how I would’ve felt if I did break my promise to Jim.
Nights were safer to travel along the river.
No more workin’ for Jim. Jim’s a free man!
-Marielle Sabbag, '14
Walking up the stairs
My father dropped me off early today on the first day of school. Very few of my classmates are here and so I’m awkwardly walking up and down the hallway in search of the best looking and most popular person I can talk to while I wait for the bell to ring.
Oh Yay! Becca Taylor is already here! I haven’t seen her all summer. Although, I occasionally did creep on her Facebook page to see what she was up to; she went to the beach a lot. Gosh, she looks so pretty. She must have worked so hard, spending hours outside to perfect that beautiful, pumpkin tan. And WOW; in her hair, what is that? Twigs? Yes, she has twigs in her hair! Oh and some leaves and grass too. Wow. I wonder where she got that done. It looks kind of weird, but if Becca Taylor wears her hair like that, then it’ll look pretty soon enough.
“Oh my god, Becca!” I say walking over to her locker, as if she was a close friend I hadn’t seen in months. However, I’m a little worried she may not even know who I am.
“Hey…” She replies, barely making eye contact. I didn’t realize that she’s texting on her phone; otherwise I probably would have left her alone. I really want this year to be different though, and so hopefully she’ll avert her focus to me so I can be her maid of honour in ten years.
“I love your hair,” I enthusiastically add while brushing a few strands with my shaky fingers.
“Thanks….” Still, she doesn’t look up…
I’m a little nervous now but…
Excellent! I see a freshmen boy walking down the empty hallway. Now that I’m a sophomore I’m finally allowed to crap on them.
“Hey do you see that freshmen?” I whisper to Becca, “Look how slow he’s walking!”
“Is he?”
“Hey are you….A TURTLE?” I holler to the kid. As I’m laughing, he turns around and looks puzzled for a few split seconds before he moves on. He wasn’t really moving that slow, but I thought that if by pointing it out, maybe it would appear differently.
“Turtle?” Becca snickers at me.
“Yeah….because turtles are slow.”
She rolls her eyes icily. Maybe she has a pet turtle? I’m getting the sense that Becca doesn’t talk much, but I think it’s just her personality. Over the summer I wrote, “hhaaapppppyyy biiiiirthdayyyy!!:DDD” on her wall and she only commented, “o.”
“So….” I say, trying to make her feel more comfortable, “I’m so hot!” This was actually really true rather than me trying to make small talk. In fact, I was so hot that as I was walking up the main staircase a few minutes ago, my sweaty foot rubbed against my sticky, rubber flip flops and made a toot noise. It was so embarrassing because right next to me was Johnny James; an incredibly hot senior and captain of the football, baseball, basketball, wrestling, hockey, soccer and track team. Instinctively he looked over at me when he heard what sounded like me “cutting the cheese.” Of course, it was then a must for me to walk by his locker and purposely make the noise again so he’d know that it was just the shoes. It didn’t really work though, but I did see him chuckle a little bit; he so wants me.
-Melissa Duffy, '14
Oh Yay! Becca Taylor is already here! I haven’t seen her all summer. Although, I occasionally did creep on her Facebook page to see what she was up to; she went to the beach a lot. Gosh, she looks so pretty. She must have worked so hard, spending hours outside to perfect that beautiful, pumpkin tan. And WOW; in her hair, what is that? Twigs? Yes, she has twigs in her hair! Oh and some leaves and grass too. Wow. I wonder where she got that done. It looks kind of weird, but if Becca Taylor wears her hair like that, then it’ll look pretty soon enough.
“Oh my god, Becca!” I say walking over to her locker, as if she was a close friend I hadn’t seen in months. However, I’m a little worried she may not even know who I am.
“Hey…” She replies, barely making eye contact. I didn’t realize that she’s texting on her phone; otherwise I probably would have left her alone. I really want this year to be different though, and so hopefully she’ll avert her focus to me so I can be her maid of honour in ten years.
“I love your hair,” I enthusiastically add while brushing a few strands with my shaky fingers.
“Thanks….” Still, she doesn’t look up…
I’m a little nervous now but…
Excellent! I see a freshmen boy walking down the empty hallway. Now that I’m a sophomore I’m finally allowed to crap on them.
“Hey do you see that freshmen?” I whisper to Becca, “Look how slow he’s walking!”
“Is he?”
“Hey are you….A TURTLE?” I holler to the kid. As I’m laughing, he turns around and looks puzzled for a few split seconds before he moves on. He wasn’t really moving that slow, but I thought that if by pointing it out, maybe it would appear differently.
“Turtle?” Becca snickers at me.
“Yeah….because turtles are slow.”
She rolls her eyes icily. Maybe she has a pet turtle? I’m getting the sense that Becca doesn’t talk much, but I think it’s just her personality. Over the summer I wrote, “hhaaapppppyyy biiiiirthdayyyy!!:DDD” on her wall and she only commented, “o.”
“So….” I say, trying to make her feel more comfortable, “I’m so hot!” This was actually really true rather than me trying to make small talk. In fact, I was so hot that as I was walking up the main staircase a few minutes ago, my sweaty foot rubbed against my sticky, rubber flip flops and made a toot noise. It was so embarrassing because right next to me was Johnny James; an incredibly hot senior and captain of the football, baseball, basketball, wrestling, hockey, soccer and track team. Instinctively he looked over at me when he heard what sounded like me “cutting the cheese.” Of course, it was then a must for me to walk by his locker and purposely make the noise again so he’d know that it was just the shoes. It didn’t really work though, but I did see him chuckle a little bit; he so wants me.
-Melissa Duffy, '14
Paper Cut
-Caitlin McKee, '13
Epilogue to Cormac McCarthy's The Road
The little girl blended in well with the mountain scenery. Skin of dirt and clothes of hardened gray stone. Her eyes were filled with the bleakness of the surroundings. She had not spoken in the duration of his stay.
Life had been turned around for the boy. The days of heading south were over. Without a purpose, he felt more lost than ever, even with his new home. He continued to talk to his Papa dutifully, day after day.
What now Papa?
I know.
The fire.
Is this my home forever?
There’s food and a cabin.
A boy and girl.
You’d like it here.
• • •
On hunting day the boy hugged the man before he left walking into the woods. Alone again, the boy sat down in one of the cobbled together chairs outside of the little log cabin. His eyes closed. Soon, an unfamiliar voice presented itself behind him.
Who do ya talk to?
Although inquisitive and non-threatening, the voice caused the boy to instinctively leap forward out of the chair, tripping over himself. He ended up on his back aiming the pistol at the figure above his feet. It was the girl. She hadn’t moved except to tilt her head ever so slightly to the left. A pause filled with the hard breaths of the boy ensued. He lowered the gun slowly and stood up.
Who doya talk to?
Don’t scare me like that.
We can all hear you.
What?
Talking.
Ok.
Who is it?
That I talk to?
Ma told me I shouldn’t ask you.
Why?
I dunno.
It’s Papa.
Where’s he?
He’s waiting.
Oh, ok.
With that the girl displayed a fleeting grin across her face, turned tail, and disappeared into the trees. The boy knew not what to think of her. She had been a ghost to him, present but missing something.
When the man returned he brought five of the trout from the far-away stream. The meat was stripped from the fish and the remaining placed in a pot, destined to be boiled into soup. In a ring around the fire, five mouths enjoyed the tender meat.
• • •
What now Papa?
How do I carry the fire?
I need you here.
• • •
The boy became more and more restless and yearned for an adventure. The day to day life in his new family had become a bore, everything the same from week to week. With permission from the man and woman, he decided to venture out on his own and look for anything useful. The first step was finding the road. Fortunately, the man knew what direction it was in, as the boy had forgotten the way. He packed his pistol, a pocket knife, and a pack of food and water for a week.
The air was comfortably warm, good for traveling. The boy went slowly, finding the road within a day and a half of leaving. He decided to head back north and check any place he came across. Setting off at a quick pace, he stopped, and thought better of not marking the road. With the pocket knife he had taken, a large slash was hacked into the trunk of a tree on the side of the road. He walked down the road a bit and was able to spot the tree without much effort. Satisfied, the boy resumed his journey.
As he reached the crest of a particularly steep section of roadway, a truck appeared driving in his direction around a bend in the road below. Immediately running in the opposite direction, he heard the truck’s engine rev as it climbed the hill. Thoughts were flying through the boy’s head, where he could hide, what he might have to do. Frantically, he ran into the woods to the side of the road, and just kept on running until he had to sit down and rest. He took a swig from a jar of water in his pack and ate some of the fish.
Unable to sleep that night, the boy sat propped up against the trunk of a tree with the pistol gripped tightly in his hands. All night long he kept hearing men creeping through the woods looking for him. He didn’t know if his one bullet should be used on someone that should happen to find him, or if he would be better off using it on himself. That was the first night since the death of his father that the boy didn’t speak to him.
At dawn, the boy made his way carefully back to the road. He met no living being along the way. The truck was parked right next to where had stood a few hours ago. He saw a man asleep with his feet on the dash. Before moving, he checked for any others that could be around. The man in the truck appeared to be alone, but a plume of smoke could be seen in a distant valley. The boy felt a spike of adrenaline as he realized where the bad men had gone.
• • •
What to do, what to do! Without much thought, it was back to the cabin. Instead of going back to his mark, the boy just headed straight for the smoke as fast as he could. Being sleep-deprived and frantic, he stumbled and tripped, and got many cuts and bruises. As he neared the smoke, he was anxious, but knew that caution was crucial for survival. Carefully, he looked at the cabin and the fire. Something long and thin was cooking over the fire, and there were three bodies lying in the dirt. Two large figures and one small. One of them was missing an arm. The boy turned away and his face grew hot. He felt sick as he realized what had happened.
He knew that he brought the bad people to his new family. It was all his fault. Why did he have to go explore? His thoughts were interrupted by two large men that walked out from the cabin to the fire. Anger welled up in the boy and he aimed the pistol the closest of them.
Don’t waste it.
The boy was so upset that he didn’t notice or care that someone had come up behind him. It was the girl again. Her face and eyes were red instead of the usual grey. She attempted to control her sobbing and talk to the boy.
You… you only have one.
I don’t care. They killed them.
You have a gun?
No.
They should die.
I know, but … we need to go.
Another wave of tears washed down the girl’s face. The boy’s anger dissolved and was replaced with sadness and despair.
Let’s go.
Where?
To the road.
The trip was undergone in complete silence. When they reached it, it was already dark. The whole time, the boy had been thinking of the sleeping man in the truck.
Let’s go north.
To what?
There’s a truck.
When the truck came into sight, they flanked it and approached on the driver’s side. The man was still sleeping in the truck, waiting for his pals to come back with their booty. He had his feet up on the dash and his head slumped over on the side window. The boy walked to the truck, pistol in hand. He gingerly placed the barrel of the gun to the window, an inch from the man’s head.
The girl said nothing, kneeled down, stuck both index fingers in her ears, closed her eyes, and clenched her jaws. The boy also kneeled, holding the gun to the window above his head. A pause.
I’m sorry Papa.
BANG
A sharp crack echoed as the pistol flew away from the truck and clinked on the pavement. A few shards of broken glass fell. Nothing happened, no one moved. The boy slowly stood up and the girl looked over. He pulled the handle of the door and a body slumped onto the ground with a thud. Both of them burst into tears. After a few minutes they both knew that the other men would be on the way.
Still with tears wetting their faces, they climbed into the truck. The steering wheel was warm and slick from the blood. The boy tried every button until he found the key that turned the truck’s engine over. Somehow it started and the gas tank read half full. Closing the door, the boy stepped on the pedals, finding the gas. They drove. No place in mind. No plan. Just riding down the road.
What now?
Am I still carrying the fire?
-Jonas Whitney '13
Life had been turned around for the boy. The days of heading south were over. Without a purpose, he felt more lost than ever, even with his new home. He continued to talk to his Papa dutifully, day after day.
What now Papa?
I know.
The fire.
Is this my home forever?
There’s food and a cabin.
A boy and girl.
You’d like it here.
• • •
On hunting day the boy hugged the man before he left walking into the woods. Alone again, the boy sat down in one of the cobbled together chairs outside of the little log cabin. His eyes closed. Soon, an unfamiliar voice presented itself behind him.
Who do ya talk to?
Although inquisitive and non-threatening, the voice caused the boy to instinctively leap forward out of the chair, tripping over himself. He ended up on his back aiming the pistol at the figure above his feet. It was the girl. She hadn’t moved except to tilt her head ever so slightly to the left. A pause filled with the hard breaths of the boy ensued. He lowered the gun slowly and stood up.
Who doya talk to?
Don’t scare me like that.
We can all hear you.
What?
Talking.
Ok.
Who is it?
That I talk to?
Ma told me I shouldn’t ask you.
Why?
I dunno.
It’s Papa.
Where’s he?
He’s waiting.
Oh, ok.
With that the girl displayed a fleeting grin across her face, turned tail, and disappeared into the trees. The boy knew not what to think of her. She had been a ghost to him, present but missing something.
When the man returned he brought five of the trout from the far-away stream. The meat was stripped from the fish and the remaining placed in a pot, destined to be boiled into soup. In a ring around the fire, five mouths enjoyed the tender meat.
• • •
What now Papa?
How do I carry the fire?
I need you here.
• • •
The boy became more and more restless and yearned for an adventure. The day to day life in his new family had become a bore, everything the same from week to week. With permission from the man and woman, he decided to venture out on his own and look for anything useful. The first step was finding the road. Fortunately, the man knew what direction it was in, as the boy had forgotten the way. He packed his pistol, a pocket knife, and a pack of food and water for a week.
The air was comfortably warm, good for traveling. The boy went slowly, finding the road within a day and a half of leaving. He decided to head back north and check any place he came across. Setting off at a quick pace, he stopped, and thought better of not marking the road. With the pocket knife he had taken, a large slash was hacked into the trunk of a tree on the side of the road. He walked down the road a bit and was able to spot the tree without much effort. Satisfied, the boy resumed his journey.
As he reached the crest of a particularly steep section of roadway, a truck appeared driving in his direction around a bend in the road below. Immediately running in the opposite direction, he heard the truck’s engine rev as it climbed the hill. Thoughts were flying through the boy’s head, where he could hide, what he might have to do. Frantically, he ran into the woods to the side of the road, and just kept on running until he had to sit down and rest. He took a swig from a jar of water in his pack and ate some of the fish.
Unable to sleep that night, the boy sat propped up against the trunk of a tree with the pistol gripped tightly in his hands. All night long he kept hearing men creeping through the woods looking for him. He didn’t know if his one bullet should be used on someone that should happen to find him, or if he would be better off using it on himself. That was the first night since the death of his father that the boy didn’t speak to him.
At dawn, the boy made his way carefully back to the road. He met no living being along the way. The truck was parked right next to where had stood a few hours ago. He saw a man asleep with his feet on the dash. Before moving, he checked for any others that could be around. The man in the truck appeared to be alone, but a plume of smoke could be seen in a distant valley. The boy felt a spike of adrenaline as he realized where the bad men had gone.
• • •
What to do, what to do! Without much thought, it was back to the cabin. Instead of going back to his mark, the boy just headed straight for the smoke as fast as he could. Being sleep-deprived and frantic, he stumbled and tripped, and got many cuts and bruises. As he neared the smoke, he was anxious, but knew that caution was crucial for survival. Carefully, he looked at the cabin and the fire. Something long and thin was cooking over the fire, and there were three bodies lying in the dirt. Two large figures and one small. One of them was missing an arm. The boy turned away and his face grew hot. He felt sick as he realized what had happened.
He knew that he brought the bad people to his new family. It was all his fault. Why did he have to go explore? His thoughts were interrupted by two large men that walked out from the cabin to the fire. Anger welled up in the boy and he aimed the pistol the closest of them.
Don’t waste it.
The boy was so upset that he didn’t notice or care that someone had come up behind him. It was the girl again. Her face and eyes were red instead of the usual grey. She attempted to control her sobbing and talk to the boy.
You… you only have one.
I don’t care. They killed them.
You have a gun?
No.
They should die.
I know, but … we need to go.
Another wave of tears washed down the girl’s face. The boy’s anger dissolved and was replaced with sadness and despair.
Let’s go.
Where?
To the road.
The trip was undergone in complete silence. When they reached it, it was already dark. The whole time, the boy had been thinking of the sleeping man in the truck.
Let’s go north.
To what?
There’s a truck.
When the truck came into sight, they flanked it and approached on the driver’s side. The man was still sleeping in the truck, waiting for his pals to come back with their booty. He had his feet up on the dash and his head slumped over on the side window. The boy walked to the truck, pistol in hand. He gingerly placed the barrel of the gun to the window, an inch from the man’s head.
The girl said nothing, kneeled down, stuck both index fingers in her ears, closed her eyes, and clenched her jaws. The boy also kneeled, holding the gun to the window above his head. A pause.
I’m sorry Papa.
BANG
A sharp crack echoed as the pistol flew away from the truck and clinked on the pavement. A few shards of broken glass fell. Nothing happened, no one moved. The boy slowly stood up and the girl looked over. He pulled the handle of the door and a body slumped onto the ground with a thud. Both of them burst into tears. After a few minutes they both knew that the other men would be on the way.
Still with tears wetting their faces, they climbed into the truck. The steering wheel was warm and slick from the blood. The boy tried every button until he found the key that turned the truck’s engine over. Somehow it started and the gas tank read half full. Closing the door, the boy stepped on the pedals, finding the gas. They drove. No place in mind. No plan. Just riding down the road.
What now?
Am I still carrying the fire?
-Jonas Whitney '13
Eyes eyes eyes
All hell just broke loose.
That 9-year-old girl is staring at her shoes.
The man in the corner silently weeps.
Every other is trying to understand the madness
and find sanity in every hidden space imaginable.
You and me – we'll be calm,
always,
at least on the outside.
-Caroline Dababneh, '13
Ribs of the Earth
There will be a time,
When all humans die,
The womb will be Hell’s gate.
When all is dust,
In an enfeebled place,
The womb will be an entrance to a world of hate.
The tracks I have made,
Will be planted in the earth,
But will any see them?
The diseased roots has struck the birth.
The gone and lost,
Will find themselves guided into the throat of the world,
And ask why God he has betrayed us,
While they are consumed by the their own hate.
What will be left, when the world is a shell?
The wind will no longer blow,
The earth will no longer quake,
What will be left for us,
In Hell’s wake?
Will there be hate?
That has consumed all?
Only malice will flow through the bones,
In mother earth’s gall.
When bones turn to dust,
And dust to air,
And air to a distant memory,
What will there be,
Except the lost and the damned,
A vestige to the greatest journey.
For whether you are the highest God,
Or the tiniest flea,
Mother earth is you and me.
Nations, splendors, a ball of dust
-Andrew Downing, ‘13
When all humans die,
The womb will be Hell’s gate.
When all is dust,
In an enfeebled place,
The womb will be an entrance to a world of hate.
The tracks I have made,
Will be planted in the earth,
But will any see them?
The diseased roots has struck the birth.
The gone and lost,
Will find themselves guided into the throat of the world,
And ask why God he has betrayed us,
While they are consumed by the their own hate.
What will be left, when the world is a shell?
The wind will no longer blow,
The earth will no longer quake,
What will be left for us,
In Hell’s wake?
Will there be hate?
That has consumed all?
Only malice will flow through the bones,
In mother earth’s gall.
When bones turn to dust,
And dust to air,
And air to a distant memory,
What will there be,
Except the lost and the damned,
A vestige to the greatest journey.
For whether you are the highest God,
Or the tiniest flea,
Mother earth is you and me.
Nations, splendors, a ball of dust
-Andrew Downing, ‘13
York Beach
Every summer I walk across the gritty sand,
the broken seashells, the smooth rocks
Every summer I struggle to carry beach bags
that are stuffed too full, coolers with too many drinks
Every summer I rush into the cool ocean waters,
armed with a boogie board, without hesitation
Every summer I stare out into the distance,
wondering what is on the other side of the sea
Every summer I tear through the grass,
running toward the pond where the frogs croak
Every summer I wait for the special days
when we go to York Beach
-Meaghan Coughlin, '13
Every summer I walk across the gritty sand,
the broken seashells, the smooth rocks
Every summer I struggle to carry beach bags
that are stuffed too full, coolers with too many drinks
Every summer I rush into the cool ocean waters,
armed with a boogie board, without hesitation
Every summer I stare out into the distance,
wondering what is on the other side of the sea
Every summer I tear through the grass,
running toward the pond where the frogs croak
Every summer I wait for the special days
when we go to York Beach
-Meaghan Coughlin, '13
Untitled
I have oft considered it,
Swallowing the colorful drops of poison
So shiny and heaping with artificiality
A handful of the American flag
Emulsifying my organs as I drift into unconscious,
When delirium replaces the marrow of my bones,
And its porous surface fills itself with unbridled loneliness
I remember the fool’s gold ripping through,
Tiny stutters on a mucky canvas,
Blurred vision, battered mind,
a screaming head
Hot legs, hot pelvis, hot arms and shoulders
And then the nouveau chill took hold of my left
Firm grip, it held
and plunged it into numbness
I slept, and prayed I should never wake
But I woke; I have been waking ever since
More stormy minds, more hazy days
Filled with longing of every imagining
I am, do not dispute, a needy, pitiful creature
Hedonistic, emotional sadomasochist
Say the words
Call me filth, bury me in it
Inconsiderate
Why, thank you for your kindness,
Egotistical
Now really, you woo me
The black when she’s the light
Oh! How you stir me
I love you,
What’s this nonsense you’re speaking, everyone tells lies
Don’t, you didn’t hurt me
Shut your mouth, petulance speaking!
You’re perfect
Now you wound me, shut them up!
Take the knife and drive it deep
Take the acid, be plentiful and no need for shyness
I don’t care for it anymore,
I want the blackness
The death of the physical
A chance to rest, to be at peace
All of you tell lies,
you know nothing about me
the child not meant to be
who’d leave despite a mother’s plea
unthinking and dead, a walking abhorrence
It is no confession for I am the poetry,
I, who court Death
My incestuous lover
I’ll swallow her, and lie in wait
Until my body turns with the wind
And goes with it as a scattered dust
-Gwen Baptiste, '12
Swallowing the colorful drops of poison
So shiny and heaping with artificiality
A handful of the American flag
Emulsifying my organs as I drift into unconscious,
When delirium replaces the marrow of my bones,
And its porous surface fills itself with unbridled loneliness
I remember the fool’s gold ripping through,
Tiny stutters on a mucky canvas,
Blurred vision, battered mind,
a screaming head
Hot legs, hot pelvis, hot arms and shoulders
And then the nouveau chill took hold of my left
Firm grip, it held
and plunged it into numbness
I slept, and prayed I should never wake
But I woke; I have been waking ever since
More stormy minds, more hazy days
Filled with longing of every imagining
I am, do not dispute, a needy, pitiful creature
Hedonistic, emotional sadomasochist
Say the words
Call me filth, bury me in it
Inconsiderate
Why, thank you for your kindness,
Egotistical
Now really, you woo me
The black when she’s the light
Oh! How you stir me
I love you,
What’s this nonsense you’re speaking, everyone tells lies
Don’t, you didn’t hurt me
Shut your mouth, petulance speaking!
You’re perfect
Now you wound me, shut them up!
Take the knife and drive it deep
Take the acid, be plentiful and no need for shyness
I don’t care for it anymore,
I want the blackness
The death of the physical
A chance to rest, to be at peace
All of you tell lies,
you know nothing about me
the child not meant to be
who’d leave despite a mother’s plea
unthinking and dead, a walking abhorrence
It is no confession for I am the poetry,
I, who court Death
My incestuous lover
I’ll swallow her, and lie in wait
Until my body turns with the wind
And goes with it as a scattered dust
-Gwen Baptiste, '12
Carl Fredricksen
Universe
Here I lean back into the gentle arms of galaxies,
Spirals dizzying my sight,
The soft space and freedom
Caressing my skin.
Here I find my head swimming in thoughts unspoken,
Vast and dark,
Little stars flickering in a galaxy far away,
The Emptiness and Everything slowly
Drowning me:
Those thoughts of todo y totalmente and
Antimatter and
The color of your eyes.
Here I gladly drift
As a plank of wood from a pirate ship,
Sunken in the sea,
Would much like to drift,
Bobbing slowly down this stream of time
And space,
Without a care in the Universe but
To keep those thoughts
Caged safely inside my spiraling
Galaxy
And never let them free,
Lest they echo back to you
In your own little planet and something
Breaks
From the reverberating sound.
That wouldn’t do.
We can’t have our orbits collide through the
Intergalactic void;
We can’t have your world come crashing down,
And sideways,
And backwards.
It just isn’t right.
Your planet has a gravitational pull much
Stronger than mine
And I don’t think your astronauts could handle the
Weightlessness.
Here I float, approaching an all-consuming black hole in
Deafening Silence,
The words too loud for me to hear
Or say.
-Laura White, '13
New Year's Fireworks
What is What if?
Virtually any time a frown cannot seem to find its way off your face,
remember what goes along with the smile
that has appeared to have run away.
Remember the days your hair curled just the right way,
the cups of coffee that made you feel whole inside,
the times you looked in the mirror and the light shined
through perfectly
and it made you feel beautiful.
The car rides with the stereo blasting.
You felt infinite, didn't you?
The days you truly believed
you could move the stars,
or at least touch them.
The bed sheets from out of the dryer you waited to curl up into.
The songs that left you
questioning what you thought you knew
and finding comfort in the surprises that have yet to knock on your door
and grace you with their presence.
Remember and be no longer afraid of the made-up monster
whether it be under your bed
or inside of your head.
-Caroline Dababneh, '13
Me, Myself, and I
I am proud of being who I am. The kid who wakes up to fresh-brewed coffee, and his family..
Before I realized that I could care less what people thought of me,
I was always the kid that got made fun of or the kid that no one wanted to sit with at lunch,
or the kid that no one wanted on their wiffle ball team during recess.
But I have grown to be who I am today from those awkward moments in my life.
I realized that I don’t need friends to be happy. I can make myself happy. I am my only friend, and I am ok with that.
-Antonio DeGirolamo, '13
Before I realized that I could care less what people thought of me,
I was always the kid that got made fun of or the kid that no one wanted to sit with at lunch,
or the kid that no one wanted on their wiffle ball team during recess.
But I have grown to be who I am today from those awkward moments in my life.
I realized that I don’t need friends to be happy. I can make myself happy. I am my only friend, and I am ok with that.
-Antonio DeGirolamo, '13
In This Room
In this room, among your peace
I find it here,
Ensconced in it, and thus in you
Quiet murmuring,
hold the wind, howling
Still bodies carrying bowed heads
Delicatessens crumbling amid your fingers
Falling away from importance
Far from your blatant critique,
Your quiet command
I ask myself why here
Someplace I should not be
But it is quiet…
And there is peace
It is yours, emanating from you
You command it and I watch in reverie
Admiration can always be found in my eyes
I thank you with my eyes,
Any and every chance I gain
For this room,
For the fullness of emotions allowed to shine here
The smell of wind, a simple thing
The overhanging trees I love to see
Many thanks for it
I can breathe hear,
I’m allowed to breathe here
I have permission,
to be here
Among inconsistent whirring thoughts
Steady steps around comforts
Here is the open window again,
The one you first threw open for me
Though a door it once was
I find myself flying back here for it
Through the window left just ajar
Though…
I can’t say what it is
But I still thank you, for the unknown
The unexplainable tranquility and undeserved kindness
It’s always been here, in this room
Hidden from my dampened senses
It’s yours, and let it remain so
Let it stay here,
In this room
-Gwen Baptiste '12
I find it here,
Ensconced in it, and thus in you
Quiet murmuring,
hold the wind, howling
Still bodies carrying bowed heads
Delicatessens crumbling amid your fingers
Falling away from importance
Far from your blatant critique,
Your quiet command
I ask myself why here
Someplace I should not be
But it is quiet…
And there is peace
It is yours, emanating from you
You command it and I watch in reverie
Admiration can always be found in my eyes
I thank you with my eyes,
Any and every chance I gain
For this room,
For the fullness of emotions allowed to shine here
The smell of wind, a simple thing
The overhanging trees I love to see
Many thanks for it
I can breathe hear,
I’m allowed to breathe here
I have permission,
to be here
Among inconsistent whirring thoughts
Steady steps around comforts
Here is the open window again,
The one you first threw open for me
Though a door it once was
I find myself flying back here for it
Through the window left just ajar
Though…
I can’t say what it is
But I still thank you, for the unknown
The unexplainable tranquility and undeserved kindness
It’s always been here, in this room
Hidden from my dampened senses
It’s yours, and let it remain so
Let it stay here,
In this room
-Gwen Baptiste '12
The Girl
Whenever I am with you I get butterflies. The kind of butterflies that make you smile like the sun on a hot summer day.
The kind of butterflies that give you the feeling of never wanting the day to end. I get those feelings when I am only with you.
It's like my sweet escape from reality. When I look into your eyes, I feel like I am looking into the eyes of an angel.
The sight of your smile could be seen from a mile away, your long brown hair flowing in the wind, makes me glad that you are mine.
-Antonio DeGirolamo, '13
The kind of butterflies that give you the feeling of never wanting the day to end. I get those feelings when I am only with you.
It's like my sweet escape from reality. When I look into your eyes, I feel like I am looking into the eyes of an angel.
The sight of your smile could be seen from a mile away, your long brown hair flowing in the wind, makes me glad that you are mine.
-Antonio DeGirolamo, '13
That Empty Feelin'
I hate that empty feeling, the feeling that makes you all depressed and all.
The feeling that makes you just want to break down in tears. This feeling only got worse when we found out you were gone.
This empty feeling was in everyone’s heart. I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder why? Why did you? Why does everything always seem to happen to my family? The quiet tearful day fills the heads of our family. Fills my head. And will always be there until I see you again someday.
Someday this day will come.
- Antonio DeGirolamo, '13
The feeling that makes you just want to break down in tears. This feeling only got worse when we found out you were gone.
This empty feeling was in everyone’s heart. I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder why? Why did you? Why does everything always seem to happen to my family? The quiet tearful day fills the heads of our family. Fills my head. And will always be there until I see you again someday.
Someday this day will come.
- Antonio DeGirolamo, '13
Sycamore Street
Pedals whirr as the start line approaches,
Pumping fast for a three year old.
Grandpa's voice, like thunder, announces
“Here she comes, the fastest tricycle rider on the planet”.
Brisk spring air fills my lungs.
Thick perfume from grandma's blooming garden
Lingers in the air.
One sycamore stands
Cooling black pavement with lush boughs.
There I meet mother and run
Hand-in-hand
Back to the house on Sycamore street.
-Carla Hauck '13
Pedals whirr as the start line approaches,
Pumping fast for a three year old.
Grandpa's voice, like thunder, announces
“Here she comes, the fastest tricycle rider on the planet”.
Brisk spring air fills my lungs.
Thick perfume from grandma's blooming garden
Lingers in the air.
One sycamore stands
Cooling black pavement with lush boughs.
There I meet mother and run
Hand-in-hand
Back to the house on Sycamore street.
-Carla Hauck '13
PENCILS
How would the world ever be without you?
You make me feel better,
You put my imagination to paper,
How important you are to me,
Writing, Drawing, stories,
You make me feel happy,
Wherever would I be without you?
You’re important to writers all around,
You can write so much,
Even my imagination,
Write the unique thoughts of my imagination.
You’ll erase anything unimportant,
How could we ever think up words?
You’re the best friend to all artists,
PENCIL,
Never break apart,
Never leave the world,
Stay here in my hand,
Where you can enjoy the words that you make.
-Marielle Sabbag, '14
You make me feel better,
You put my imagination to paper,
How important you are to me,
Writing, Drawing, stories,
You make me feel happy,
Wherever would I be without you?
You’re important to writers all around,
You can write so much,
Even my imagination,
Write the unique thoughts of my imagination.
You’ll erase anything unimportant,
How could we ever think up words?
You’re the best friend to all artists,
PENCIL,
Never break apart,
Never leave the world,
Stay here in my hand,
Where you can enjoy the words that you make.
-Marielle Sabbag, '14
The Formidable
Let her glide
Upon the surf...
Like ghastly specters
Cloaked in black.
Let her splice
Through white waters...
Like cacophonous screams
Dead at night.
-Carla Hauck '13
Upon the surf...
Like ghastly specters
Cloaked in black.
Let her splice
Through white waters...
Like cacophonous screams
Dead at night.
-Carla Hauck '13
Thwarting Walls of Stone and Ice
I think of two years
that in it, a desperation unheard of did quietly build
‘til it flew up in my heart, with do they name it
a reckless abandon?
So skillfully I crafted, my artful wall
pushing against your arctic gate
a pressure so fierce
only known because of the cracks it brought
slammed down my ornate design
and your delicious cold highlighted the flowing blood in me
I felt each racking blow,
every individual thrust, your silent strength, such resilience
leaving me shuddering with want, laid to bare
so easily I fear, you bore my own heart to me
and yet your gate still stood, the slightest of cracks
your invisibility, so shrouded in the ice, my eyes struggle to see it
And closer to today, though the year gone past it had begun
the moaning of the weakening way
slipping in to beat the drum of my ear
I turned my vision again and there they were
and to my surprise, how wide they grew
and to look but twice, mossy wood replaced steel grey!
To press my hand against it,
Oh what a grandiose display!
You there beneath my hands, the whole of your heart bare
The moaning of brun so loud now, the cold upswept by heat
my heart the head of the orange branding iron
I screamed to the stars and the moon and to you, oh for the pain!
And the age old tree the merciful winds ripped away
In shock, there we stood
no wood, nor ice
nor rock, nor steel
Just your face and those eyes,
wide with fear, the twinkling of tears
I did not say it then, the true meaning of that day
We did not feel the gasoline in which we were so drenched,
but it crawled up our legs,
kissing the bases of our spines, dripping through to the ends of our hair
until one day we truly began to see through open eyes,
looked upon each other,
And we had been set ablaze.
-Gwen Baptiste '12
that in it, a desperation unheard of did quietly build
‘til it flew up in my heart, with do they name it
a reckless abandon?
So skillfully I crafted, my artful wall
pushing against your arctic gate
a pressure so fierce
only known because of the cracks it brought
slammed down my ornate design
and your delicious cold highlighted the flowing blood in me
I felt each racking blow,
every individual thrust, your silent strength, such resilience
leaving me shuddering with want, laid to bare
so easily I fear, you bore my own heart to me
and yet your gate still stood, the slightest of cracks
your invisibility, so shrouded in the ice, my eyes struggle to see it
And closer to today, though the year gone past it had begun
the moaning of the weakening way
slipping in to beat the drum of my ear
I turned my vision again and there they were
and to my surprise, how wide they grew
and to look but twice, mossy wood replaced steel grey!
To press my hand against it,
Oh what a grandiose display!
You there beneath my hands, the whole of your heart bare
The moaning of brun so loud now, the cold upswept by heat
my heart the head of the orange branding iron
I screamed to the stars and the moon and to you, oh for the pain!
And the age old tree the merciful winds ripped away
In shock, there we stood
no wood, nor ice
nor rock, nor steel
Just your face and those eyes,
wide with fear, the twinkling of tears
I did not say it then, the true meaning of that day
We did not feel the gasoline in which we were so drenched,
but it crawled up our legs,
kissing the bases of our spines, dripping through to the ends of our hair
until one day we truly began to see through open eyes,
looked upon each other,
And we had been set ablaze.
-Gwen Baptiste '12
Untitled
At times I blame myself,
What can I say? It's easy to do
But, my parents taught me wrong
I'm not at fault
I will not be the reason
I will not show responsibility
I will not show compassion
Never again will I open my heart
To care is not my problem
This body and soul are my only concern
Call me wrong, but the smile you see
is not for you, It's for me.
-Elizabeth Yuu '12
What can I say? It's easy to do
But, my parents taught me wrong
I'm not at fault
I will not be the reason
I will not show responsibility
I will not show compassion
Never again will I open my heart
To care is not my problem
This body and soul are my only concern
Call me wrong, but the smile you see
is not for you, It's for me.
-Elizabeth Yuu '12
Future
I'm not ready to graduate. I don't know what I want to do or where I want go. There's this big empty space that I can't seem to fill in my head. Why can't life be easy? Why can't the answers to your problems be right in front of you? I want to do something though, but I'm not sure if I could succeed. I want to inspire people, something I could never do before, only I don't know how. Everytime I read something I wish I could be the person who lived through it or the one who made it up. My Grandfather always told me to be who I want to be. I know how to do this but... I think I would like to inspire by... writing my imagination to paper. I think I know what I want to do. I'm going to write and inspire from my heart and graduate into the future.
- Marielle Sabbag, '14
- Marielle Sabbag, '14
Morals
A blade of grass
A tree a boulder
A masterpiece,
We can all learn from.
-Carla Hauck '13
A tree a boulder
A masterpiece,
We can all learn from.
-Carla Hauck '13
Pianissimo
“White or black, Mr. Miller?” Delicate fingers carefully place each piece in its place. The white queen encroaches slightly on her bishop's square. The careful, roving eye corrects the imperfection.
“White.” The board grates on the gleaming wood as it is turned; a wince. “Have I disturbed you in some way, Mr. Hayes?”
“Not at all. My preference tends toward white, as well, but no matter. Black will be quite sufficient.”
“Very well. Shall we begin?” A regal nod is the only response received. It is quite sufficient. Calloused fingers carefully move a white pawn one space forward, then another. “Rumor has it that you excel at chess.”
“I have been told that my skill is... unparalleled.” The gleam of teeth. “But you are undoubtedly a skilled player yourself, are you not?”
A pause, as the other scrutinizes the board. The queen glides swiftly; a knight is removed. “I have some little talent. Of course, my skill is undoubtedly less than that of the greatest chess player England has seen for a century.”
“Is that what I am called now?” A soft chuckle. The quiet clink of the pieces. “Check.”
“That, among other things.” Eyes meet over the board. A single glance is spared for the white king. He moves carefully out of the path of the black bishop. The game continues. “I must congratulate you for your recent defeat of Matthews. He, in a position of power...”
“Matthews is quite... crude, I must agree.” A white pawn advances. “His recent accusations have been rather unpleasant.”
“Not to mention belittling.” Lips twitch in a near approximation of smile. The black knight soars over a pawn. “For him, of course.”
“Of course. Coincidentally, he was never a good chess player.” The quiet rustle of fabric and the gentle clink of the pieces are the only sounds for some time. Then: “I hear that you, yourself, are quite the rising star in politics.”
A slight smile. “So I have been told.” The black bishop slides two squares. “Checkmate.”
The word seems to echo in the room. The other leans over the board and says softly, “So it is.” The white king topples; it hits the board with a crack that echoes through the room. Pale fingers lift it. A single white line now mars the glass figure.
“I apologize.” The chair is pushed back. “I will have to purchase a replacement for you.”
“Do not trouble yourself. I was getting rather tired of this set.” The white king is rotated slowly. “Almost anticlimactic, isn't it?”
There is no answer. The white king falls from slackened fingers, shatters upon contact with the heartless stone. Quiet footsteps, and the only indications that there were ever occupants of the room are the broken pieces and the chess set.
-Anna Teixeira '13
“White.” The board grates on the gleaming wood as it is turned; a wince. “Have I disturbed you in some way, Mr. Hayes?”
“Not at all. My preference tends toward white, as well, but no matter. Black will be quite sufficient.”
“Very well. Shall we begin?” A regal nod is the only response received. It is quite sufficient. Calloused fingers carefully move a white pawn one space forward, then another. “Rumor has it that you excel at chess.”
“I have been told that my skill is... unparalleled.” The gleam of teeth. “But you are undoubtedly a skilled player yourself, are you not?”
A pause, as the other scrutinizes the board. The queen glides swiftly; a knight is removed. “I have some little talent. Of course, my skill is undoubtedly less than that of the greatest chess player England has seen for a century.”
“Is that what I am called now?” A soft chuckle. The quiet clink of the pieces. “Check.”
“That, among other things.” Eyes meet over the board. A single glance is spared for the white king. He moves carefully out of the path of the black bishop. The game continues. “I must congratulate you for your recent defeat of Matthews. He, in a position of power...”
“Matthews is quite... crude, I must agree.” A white pawn advances. “His recent accusations have been rather unpleasant.”
“Not to mention belittling.” Lips twitch in a near approximation of smile. The black knight soars over a pawn. “For him, of course.”
“Of course. Coincidentally, he was never a good chess player.” The quiet rustle of fabric and the gentle clink of the pieces are the only sounds for some time. Then: “I hear that you, yourself, are quite the rising star in politics.”
A slight smile. “So I have been told.” The black bishop slides two squares. “Checkmate.”
The word seems to echo in the room. The other leans over the board and says softly, “So it is.” The white king topples; it hits the board with a crack that echoes through the room. Pale fingers lift it. A single white line now mars the glass figure.
“I apologize.” The chair is pushed back. “I will have to purchase a replacement for you.”
“Do not trouble yourself. I was getting rather tired of this set.” The white king is rotated slowly. “Almost anticlimactic, isn't it?”
There is no answer. The white king falls from slackened fingers, shatters upon contact with the heartless stone. Quiet footsteps, and the only indications that there were ever occupants of the room are the broken pieces and the chess set.
-Anna Teixeira '13
Boats Against the Current
The Great Gatsby Quilt Square by Laura White '13
I remember, long ago
When we sailed as chose
'Til the last red petal fell
From our glassy rose.
We were as green as we were blind,
Dreaming, hoping we would find
The Straw to break our camel's back,
Crack the walls containing fact.
But now it seems to me, my dear,
Walls are closing in so near
Trapping me alone, far from
Our own island in the sun.
In misery, I grab an oar,
Paddle swiftly to our shore,
And smile though I shiver
Because I hear your laughter.
The sun is red, the sea is blue
The sky is ever dark'ning;
Yet on I strive through endless black
Toward the light, my darling.
Is that your boat so far away?
That massive gall'eon soars.
Or is it my imagination
That you parallel my course?
In either case, I'm sure, my dove,
Our roads will twine together:
A meeting at the barr'ier's foot
Climbing to forever.
My heart is singing out its song
Across the violent waves,
A-fishing in this stream of time
For echoes of our love.
And so I go a-rowing
In my boat for one
T'ward the green on the horizon
Before the setting sun.
-Laura White '13
When we sailed as chose
'Til the last red petal fell
From our glassy rose.
We were as green as we were blind,
Dreaming, hoping we would find
The Straw to break our camel's back,
Crack the walls containing fact.
But now it seems to me, my dear,
Walls are closing in so near
Trapping me alone, far from
Our own island in the sun.
In misery, I grab an oar,
Paddle swiftly to our shore,
And smile though I shiver
Because I hear your laughter.
The sun is red, the sea is blue
The sky is ever dark'ning;
Yet on I strive through endless black
Toward the light, my darling.
Is that your boat so far away?
That massive gall'eon soars.
Or is it my imagination
That you parallel my course?
In either case, I'm sure, my dove,
Our roads will twine together:
A meeting at the barr'ier's foot
Climbing to forever.
My heart is singing out its song
Across the violent waves,
A-fishing in this stream of time
For echoes of our love.
And so I go a-rowing
In my boat for one
T'ward the green on the horizon
Before the setting sun.
-Laura White '13
Russell
Dream
A dream
Where hands are drifting
Over arching bridges
Kissing planes and concave places
Inviting heat between the spaces
Where we are fusing
I’d live in you
In all consuming joy
Consummating the worshiping of you
You can’t imagine my exaltation
My complete and utter yield to you,
But you’ll understand the butterfly
Licking at your skin
Tonguing the nectar of your flower
My open lotus, your scent alluring
Playing about the remnants of the sun
And loving them
One at a time
Blow air to raise you
Catch at me darling
Listen for my song to you
I love you
I love you
I chant inaudibly on your skin
I’m taken with you,
In all ways, I praise you
Every blemish among your petals
I kiss them even fiercer
Twitter lightly, but strum you fervently
Watch you bow, like a well loved cello
The hum of you resounds in and through me
Though it is you who play me
Releasing a chasm of blue
Staining my wings such violent, cosmic blue
The one to give them colour,
Darling, Darling
You…
Bite back these dreams of you
-Gwen Baptiste '12
Where hands are drifting
Over arching bridges
Kissing planes and concave places
Inviting heat between the spaces
Where we are fusing
I’d live in you
In all consuming joy
Consummating the worshiping of you
You can’t imagine my exaltation
My complete and utter yield to you,
But you’ll understand the butterfly
Licking at your skin
Tonguing the nectar of your flower
My open lotus, your scent alluring
Playing about the remnants of the sun
And loving them
One at a time
Blow air to raise you
Catch at me darling
Listen for my song to you
I love you
I love you
I chant inaudibly on your skin
I’m taken with you,
In all ways, I praise you
Every blemish among your petals
I kiss them even fiercer
Twitter lightly, but strum you fervently
Watch you bow, like a well loved cello
The hum of you resounds in and through me
Though it is you who play me
Releasing a chasm of blue
Staining my wings such violent, cosmic blue
The one to give them colour,
Darling, Darling
You…
Bite back these dreams of you
-Gwen Baptiste '12
Summer's Day at the Pond
A faint ripple disturbs the water,
Where a smooth pebble plopped.
A loud rustle disturbs the air,
Where a climbing tree shook.
The birds, now aroused, twitter violently,
And the fish, now shaken, scatter.
-Carla Hauck '13
Where a smooth pebble plopped.
A loud rustle disturbs the air,
Where a climbing tree shook.
The birds, now aroused, twitter violently,
And the fish, now shaken, scatter.
-Carla Hauck '13
Untitled
If I were something that you wanted,
I would want myself.
Always lacking eyes that see honesty
and haunted by mere reflections
Imprisoned by the fear of confessing to all of the horrors
That otherwise do not exist.
Iced over by seclusion.
In dire need of an embrace to learn my own worth.
-Matt LeBlanc '11
I would want myself.
Always lacking eyes that see honesty
and haunted by mere reflections
Imprisoned by the fear of confessing to all of the horrors
That otherwise do not exist.
Iced over by seclusion.
In dire need of an embrace to learn my own worth.
-Matt LeBlanc '11
Momma's Apple Pies
Russel's Orchard, I remember you.
Crisp October breeze tugged at my hair and nipped my nose
The sweet smell of apples swirled in the air
Clashing with the stench of a nearby pig sty.
I remember your fresh forbidden fruit
Enticingly red, similar to the falling leaves
An instigator that hung high above my head
Like the devil on my shoulder,
Begging me to take a bite.
Momma's hand was warm when we walked
Back to the car, with a bag bigger than me.
It was full to the brim and apples tumbled out
Like little water droplets that fell from my swing when it rained.
Sweet homemade apple pie, I remember you.
Momma's hands carefully pinched the sides in
Like the ribbon she tied into a prefect bow on my dress.
You were the blanket wrapped around me
In that cold little house on the marsh.
Momma and I waited to eat it
On that old porch, the one we don't have anymore.
-Carla Hauck '13
Russel's Orchard, I remember you.
Crisp October breeze tugged at my hair and nipped my nose
The sweet smell of apples swirled in the air
Clashing with the stench of a nearby pig sty.
I remember your fresh forbidden fruit
Enticingly red, similar to the falling leaves
An instigator that hung high above my head
Like the devil on my shoulder,
Begging me to take a bite.
Momma's hand was warm when we walked
Back to the car, with a bag bigger than me.
It was full to the brim and apples tumbled out
Like little water droplets that fell from my swing when it rained.
Sweet homemade apple pie, I remember you.
Momma's hands carefully pinched the sides in
Like the ribbon she tied into a prefect bow on my dress.
You were the blanket wrapped around me
In that cold little house on the marsh.
Momma and I waited to eat it
On that old porch, the one we don't have anymore.
-Carla Hauck '13
Afternoon April, Musing?
It is at last time to begin again,
To let go of the long held breath that was my tension
To take of the fruit of nature, from which I did separate
The soft heat of the air, the lucid green of the leaves
I catch the ethereal fragrance of the trees
And though few miles separate us, the butterfly on my heart is warmed by molten gold
And she glows and aches, and there in it are you
And the yellow and gold of delicate wings on my chest
in my heart, my body
on my skin, and through to penetrate
It is you
When I cannot touch you, I kiss her wings,
and hope the throb swells in your chest and heart at it
that the place where the butterfly on your chest does lay,
that it flares with essence and memory of me
I am awake again
All the while preceding,
I had walked in a dream unawares
And somewhere upon the light spotted greens
2 butterflies, of yellow and untouched by human reflected sky,
do dance and flutter with the life of our glittering flames
-Gwen Baptiste, '12
To let go of the long held breath that was my tension
To take of the fruit of nature, from which I did separate
The soft heat of the air, the lucid green of the leaves
I catch the ethereal fragrance of the trees
And though few miles separate us, the butterfly on my heart is warmed by molten gold
And she glows and aches, and there in it are you
And the yellow and gold of delicate wings on my chest
in my heart, my body
on my skin, and through to penetrate
It is you
When I cannot touch you, I kiss her wings,
and hope the throb swells in your chest and heart at it
that the place where the butterfly on your chest does lay,
that it flares with essence and memory of me
I am awake again
All the while preceding,
I had walked in a dream unawares
And somewhere upon the light spotted greens
2 butterflies, of yellow and untouched by human reflected sky,
do dance and flutter with the life of our glittering flames
-Gwen Baptiste, '12
The Box
Rough, work worn hands
Caress an oak box,
Smooth and dark;
Shining in the light.
A lock with only one key
A key belonging to the bearer
Inside, a steady beat
-Carla Hauck '13
Let's All Go Together
Familiar Tune
I am your favorite song.
You know my words by heart.
You find yourself subconsciously singing along,
and tapping your fingers on your hip to the beat.
But like all comforts,
new songs, seemingly more exciting and relatable at the time,
swoop in and take my place.
You forget I'm even there anymore,
no matter how well you knew me.
I am left on the shelf like an old rag doll,
over and over,
never knowing for how long,
or if you're ever even coming back.
Then out of nowhere,
you return, and I'm there exactly how you left me,
waiting and waiting and waiting.
I will always be waiting
for you to come back and sing along again.
I will always wait.
-Caroline Dababneh '13
You know my words by heart.
You find yourself subconsciously singing along,
and tapping your fingers on your hip to the beat.
But like all comforts,
new songs, seemingly more exciting and relatable at the time,
swoop in and take my place.
You forget I'm even there anymore,
no matter how well you knew me.
I am left on the shelf like an old rag doll,
over and over,
never knowing for how long,
or if you're ever even coming back.
Then out of nowhere,
you return, and I'm there exactly how you left me,
waiting and waiting and waiting.
I will always be waiting
for you to come back and sing along again.
I will always wait.
-Caroline Dababneh '13
Untitled
3:47 a.m. and I’m still wide awake
The journey to the bathroom seems like the only escape
Bent over at the sink, I calmly take a drink
When I’m done, I look on up to see what really made me come
Out from the prison that I’m living
The ghost within
The side that dies within us nearly every single night
But not tonight
No, not tonight
No, she was left behind
Left with nothing anymore except for worthless time
Waiting for sleep is an old widow that is waiting to die
Ready to move on ahead, ready to say goodbye
And wilt away into a place that she doesn’t understand
Where she won’t know what’s next until she’s already there
When there is no more future, one looks to the past
With so many memories, but how’d it happen so fast?
A sharp gasp
Stuck in my room- it’s a trap
Between a life lived and what’s next, there’s a gap
A gap of time to reflect
With sorrow and regret
Or bittersweet smiles depending on how it was lived
A vicious circle of thoughts
Looped again and again
A one-way track that gets stuck in the head
And cannot be unlodged no matter how she tries
A longing glance at the sky
Head in her hands and she cries
Deep sighs
All she can ask is why
Why, oh why, is it taking so long for me to die?
And in this shade of purple I can barely see
But I can clearly see the widow staring back at me
‘Cause she can memorize and demoralize
Any lost soul gazing at her longing eyes
It’s a somber sight when I look on up
And she’s the one that I see in my reflection
In the mirror above the sink
Feel like the missing link
Lost in time, I exist only in theory
An overwhelming feeling- grief at its core
Please just end it now; I can’t endure any more
Her presence is haunting- always lurking and daunting
Both she and I want my bed to act as a coffin
So we can lay to rest
So we can escape and forget
How long it took to be rewarded for our patience
And now out from the bathroom
To my bed I will creep
For both our sakes please, I just want to go to sleep.
-Doug Lane
The journey to the bathroom seems like the only escape
Bent over at the sink, I calmly take a drink
When I’m done, I look on up to see what really made me come
Out from the prison that I’m living
The ghost within
The side that dies within us nearly every single night
But not tonight
No, not tonight
No, she was left behind
Left with nothing anymore except for worthless time
Waiting for sleep is an old widow that is waiting to die
Ready to move on ahead, ready to say goodbye
And wilt away into a place that she doesn’t understand
Where she won’t know what’s next until she’s already there
When there is no more future, one looks to the past
With so many memories, but how’d it happen so fast?
A sharp gasp
Stuck in my room- it’s a trap
Between a life lived and what’s next, there’s a gap
A gap of time to reflect
With sorrow and regret
Or bittersweet smiles depending on how it was lived
A vicious circle of thoughts
Looped again and again
A one-way track that gets stuck in the head
And cannot be unlodged no matter how she tries
A longing glance at the sky
Head in her hands and she cries
Deep sighs
All she can ask is why
Why, oh why, is it taking so long for me to die?
And in this shade of purple I can barely see
But I can clearly see the widow staring back at me
‘Cause she can memorize and demoralize
Any lost soul gazing at her longing eyes
It’s a somber sight when I look on up
And she’s the one that I see in my reflection
In the mirror above the sink
Feel like the missing link
Lost in time, I exist only in theory
An overwhelming feeling- grief at its core
Please just end it now; I can’t endure any more
Her presence is haunting- always lurking and daunting
Both she and I want my bed to act as a coffin
So we can lay to rest
So we can escape and forget
How long it took to be rewarded for our patience
And now out from the bathroom
To my bed I will creep
For both our sakes please, I just want to go to sleep.
-Doug Lane
A Summer Snack
A peerless pear tree
Swaying flamboyantly in the breeze,
At her feet a field
Shaded by lush foliage,
Two dark-skinned children
Sauntering down the trodden path,
Two pairs of work worn hands,
And two hollow stomachs.
-Carla Hauck '13
Swaying flamboyantly in the breeze,
At her feet a field
Shaded by lush foliage,
Two dark-skinned children
Sauntering down the trodden path,
Two pairs of work worn hands,
And two hollow stomachs.
-Carla Hauck '13
Knowing by
As my heart beats
My body heaves
And the warmer I get
The more happiness I beget
As much I try to give faith a chance
Something inside me does push me ahead
Everyday I think
About how good things get
But I lay back knowing
I need to find my true ways.
- Aashi Jhota '13
As my heart beats
My body heaves
And the warmer I get
The more happiness I beget
As much I try to give faith a chance
Something inside me does push me ahead
Everyday I think
About how good things get
But I lay back knowing
I need to find my true ways.
- Aashi Jhota '13
Watching
As I sat and watched,
I grew impatient,
But I kept sitting and watching;
Nothing happened.
-Carla Hauck '13
I grew impatient,
But I kept sitting and watching;
Nothing happened.
-Carla Hauck '13
Snow White cover
The Meaning of TEAM
The letters T E A M mean more to me
Than just the word TEAM
But Together Everyone Achieves More
Whether it’s winning or losing, it’s as a TEAM
Whether it’s laughing or crying, it’s as a TEAM
Through the good times, and the bad times
Through the championships and the last places
Through the pain and the sweat
Your TEAM is there
Desire
Want
Trust
Love
Passion
That’s what TEAM means to me.
The letters T E A M mean more to me
Than just the word TEAM
But Together Everyone Achieves More
Whether it’s winning or losing, it’s as a TEAM
Whether it’s laughing or crying, it’s as a TEAM
Through the good times, and the bad times
Through the championships and the last places
Through the pain and the sweat
Your TEAM is there
Desire
Want
Trust
Love
Passion
That’s what TEAM means to me.
- Nicole Algeri '13
Moving Day
Up the long, steep drive
Parking on our portion,
Oh, it was a sight to see.
On a long, hot day,
A seat pulled out
Of a fairly new
Van colored blue,
Two girls sat.
Sarah with the
Frizzy brown hair,
Emily with the
Sun-bleached hair,
Both pale-skinned,
Eating a PB&J.
So many boxes in the back
The urge to unpack did lack.
Leaping out, I grabbed
A cage full of puppies,
And –thump, thump –thump, thump
Two sets of footsteps
On hot, rocky cement
“Can we help?”
They asked.
Now at the door
An exotic looking woman,
A rather burly man,
And a baby boy,
Taking first steps.
“I think I like them.”
I told myself.
-Carla Hauck '13
Backwards
The human race is far
too concerned
with having exactly
what we've been spared of.
In the cold, we need a
warm cup of coffee.
When the rain pours,
all we demand is sunshine.
Perhaps that is precisely the reason
why we've trained ourselves
to never settle
for the love we've been handed,
instead of merely noticing the fact
that we've been handed any
in the first place.
-Caroline Dababneh '13
too concerned
with having exactly
what we've been spared of.
In the cold, we need a
warm cup of coffee.
When the rain pours,
all we demand is sunshine.
Perhaps that is precisely the reason
why we've trained ourselves
to never settle
for the love we've been handed,
instead of merely noticing the fact
that we've been handed any
in the first place.
-Caroline Dababneh '13
Serpent
Sweet tyranny oh! Siren of the sea,
shivering blanket of treachery and deceit.
Though tempting and lovely her gait seems to be,
Death! The cost of hunting such beauty.
Under the deep blue sea she boils her scheme,
oysters and shells complete her grim.
Sorcery and dark magic below the shore,
luring sailors to the ocean floor.
With such beauty she possesses and countenance to offer,
who would not fall for her little trap door?
She'll have your heart and a little bit more,
wicked sea serpent! Cerulean sea ghoul!
So beware of this little game she plays,
you might fall as her helpless prey.
For such splendour is not that easy to behold,
but a price that costs more than gold.
-Michael McCarthy '11
The Light in the Distance
A sea of memories,
Each a salted drop of water.
A flickering light on the vast horizon,
So distant we know not what it is.
Something everyone wants;
To get to the light.
You cannot reach it by boat or plane,
Nor by any means of transportation other than yourself.
Monsters lurk-
In the sky,
In the water.
After time
The monsters do die,
Only when we stop believing in them.
-Carla Hauck '13
CORALINE
-Marielle Sabbag, '14
Forever
As you stand on the edge of forever, poised at the precipice of a rocky ledge, you have two choices:
You can fall forever, or you can fly forever.
I honestly believe. We can make it happen.
When Katrina hit, when Haiti collapsed, when the towers crumbled, when heroes were murdered, we reached out thousands of hands to pull the world back up on their feet. All around us we see hatred, and mean, nasty people, and conceited, arrogant rich kids who don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.
But there is good. There is love. We just have to believe that- and simply by believing, we’re halfway there. If we change our attitudes, if we come into a situation believing people are good, we can hardly ever go wrong. When we believe love has forsaken us, that humans are born to be cruel, THAT is when we are truly lost.
When you create instead of destroy, when you smile instead of frown, when you love instead of hate- that opens up your world to so many more possibilities! It’s comforting to think that, instead of being all alone in the world, with no one to back you up, you actually have millions of people that all want to see the best in people, to love, to do good in the world- in this spirit, they all support you in whatever you do.
So when you’re ready to fall or fly, remember this. And remember you have the wings of the world on your shoulders; all you have to do is jump.
-Laura White '13
You can fall forever, or you can fly forever.
I honestly believe. We can make it happen.
When Katrina hit, when Haiti collapsed, when the towers crumbled, when heroes were murdered, we reached out thousands of hands to pull the world back up on their feet. All around us we see hatred, and mean, nasty people, and conceited, arrogant rich kids who don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.
But there is good. There is love. We just have to believe that- and simply by believing, we’re halfway there. If we change our attitudes, if we come into a situation believing people are good, we can hardly ever go wrong. When we believe love has forsaken us, that humans are born to be cruel, THAT is when we are truly lost.
When you create instead of destroy, when you smile instead of frown, when you love instead of hate- that opens up your world to so many more possibilities! It’s comforting to think that, instead of being all alone in the world, with no one to back you up, you actually have millions of people that all want to see the best in people, to love, to do good in the world- in this spirit, they all support you in whatever you do.
So when you’re ready to fall or fly, remember this. And remember you have the wings of the world on your shoulders; all you have to do is jump.
-Laura White '13
Autumn
Acoustics of the season
They change.
From birds and waves,
To crunching and silence.
Colors of the season
They change.
From emerald
To ruby.
White to black.
Living to dead.
- Carla Hauck '13
They change.
From birds and waves,
To crunching and silence.
Colors of the season
They change.
From emerald
To ruby.
White to black.
Living to dead.
- Carla Hauck '13
Slightly Out of Control
The sharp stab of a pen
Continuing into a line,
Deep, almost to the breaking
Point.
Ripping through the paper
To the hard surface underneath,
Crashing through to destroy another,
The relinquishing of ink,
Black, deep-ingrained
Rips across the page
But the rips,
So ugly,
Ruining the perfect picture of slightly
Out of control,
Utterly unusable
But;
Nonetheless, therapeutic.
-Victoria Perez '11
Continuing into a line,
Deep, almost to the breaking
Point.
Ripping through the paper
To the hard surface underneath,
Crashing through to destroy another,
The relinquishing of ink,
Black, deep-ingrained
Rips across the page
But the rips,
So ugly,
Ruining the perfect picture of slightly
Out of control,
Utterly unusable
But;
Nonetheless, therapeutic.
-Victoria Perez '11
Jane Gallagher Symbol
Otters
Hold my hand while we sleep,
so you never drift too far.
-Caroline Dababneh '13
so you never drift too far.
-Caroline Dababneh '13
Taking Chances
I’m…
Bare in front of a crowd
Shivering in the Arctic
Roped to the tracks,
Praying to god I’m strong enough to break free.
It could be
this is normal,
for this is all so new.
I’ve only ever been a child,
cozy and sheltered.
Maybe I need this,
taking chances.
I hope the train doesn’t crush me
but if it does…
This is just a metaphor.
Physically, I’ll survive it.
-Melissa Duffy '14
Bare in front of a crowd
Shivering in the Arctic
Roped to the tracks,
Praying to god I’m strong enough to break free.
It could be
this is normal,
for this is all so new.
I’ve only ever been a child,
cozy and sheltered.
Maybe I need this,
taking chances.
I hope the train doesn’t crush me
but if it does…
This is just a metaphor.
Physically, I’ll survive it.
-Melissa Duffy '14
Sonnet I
Oh, love is such a fickle, wavering thing,
How swiftly do these fleeting feelings go!
But, then again, hot passion’s ebb and flow
Has mountains moved, and lent weak lovers wings.
This natural force, so earthy yet so fine
Cannot and will not by strong man be tamed.
Though man may think by it he can’t be claimed
He’s gripped by fervent love, like Cupid blind.
As in a roiling sea, stout men are thrown
This way and that by surging arduous swells
All powerless to fight, resist, or yell,
For when in love, one’s mind is not one’s own.
Although its course can change, and won’t persist
Love’s timely tide one can’t hope to resist.
-Peter Satterthwaite '15
How swiftly do these fleeting feelings go!
But, then again, hot passion’s ebb and flow
Has mountains moved, and lent weak lovers wings.
This natural force, so earthy yet so fine
Cannot and will not by strong man be tamed.
Though man may think by it he can’t be claimed
He’s gripped by fervent love, like Cupid blind.
As in a roiling sea, stout men are thrown
This way and that by surging arduous swells
All powerless to fight, resist, or yell,
For when in love, one’s mind is not one’s own.
Although its course can change, and won’t persist
Love’s timely tide one can’t hope to resist.
-Peter Satterthwaite '15