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Dear Ale

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Sincer Mic

EditorsKeith Boratko ’12 • Jeremy Campbell ’12 • Xuanxu Chen ’12Jihad Harkeem ’12 • Landon Kost ’12 • Mike Pumphret ’13

Manuel Barnes ’12Keith Boratko ’12Preston Farrow ’13Landon Kost ’12Mike Pumphret ’13Alex Cheffer ’13Zoher Ghogawala ’13

HippocreneThe Arts and Literary Magazine

of Avon Old Farms School

2011 – 2012

Jihad Harkeem ’12Ramsey Heitmann ’15Jackie Jiuhua Chen ’15Dan Kinek ’12Jack Lahey ’12Bray O’Connor ’15Paul Rakoczy ’12Dan Ryan ’13

Writers

Artists & PhotographersRobert Barker ’12Jeremy Campbell ’12Joshua Fidanque ’14Patrick Fricke ’14Stephen Guglielmo ’15Matt Hahn ’15Jihad Harkeem ’12Ricky Hu ’12

Samuel Kim ’14Colin Lenfest ’14Devin Mckenna ’15Krit Pranich ’12Jed Robinson ’12Lane Valimont ’13Jake Whitty ’15

Cover by: Jihad Harkeem ’12

AdvisorsAndy Arcand ’93Seshu BadrinathGraham Callaghan ’95

Bradford CarpenterMichael DembicerGail Laferrière

Avon o ld FArmss c h o o l

—Jihad Harkeem ’12

3

Breathe

I step in. The weight lifts off me like a backpack falling off my shoulders and onto the ground. I hear nothing. As if the world has plugged my ears with cotton. The crackling shift of dirt under my cleats sends shivers through my body. I do not hear my teammates; I do not hear the fans. All I hear is the steady pounding of my heart and the breath that exits my mouth- Like God has muted my life and enhanced every movement so that even a whisper can be mistaken for a scream. I hear the squeak of the catcher’s shin guards as he gives the signal to the pitcher. As I set myself, I anticipate the ball. The missile comes near me. I hear the hiss of broken air behind the lacing of the leather sphere. My bat screams by, the ring of it cutting through the air is annoyingly beautiful. The bat meets the ball with such force, that a sonic boom is produced. I drop the still ringing bat. The tiny scream of metal meeting dirt enchants my body. The sound of my breath amplifies as if it was put against a microphone. My heart races. Adrenaline takes over my body. Everything goes in slow motion. Each stride becomes a struggle to advance to the bag. As my foot slams on the base, I hear only one thing. “SAFE!” Now the hearing returns…. Until the next pitch.

—Mike Pumphret ’13

Moving On

Can’t you see the changes?The friendships shrinking,the new locations across the globe,and the difficultiesas the angry storm pounds the heart.

The warmed weather pondersbut you still cannot believe that one day your life will be gone.Poof! Vanished.

It is like a stoneskipping across the water with a splash andas the stone sinksit is gone in a flash.

I need to change.It is time to move on. I must meet new peoplenot like the ones I met in first grade.

I said good bye to that old me. I said good byeto that old life.Goodbye, goodbye.Goodbye forever.

—Dan Kinek ’12

5

—Jihad Harkeem ’12

—Samuel Kim ’14

7

Rumors

Once released,they spread like contamination constantly changing, and moving faster.

As the rumor becomes updated with new information,it becomes strongerand bigger.

Using its strength,it strikes the target.As speculation rises,and chatter begins,

the rumor pushes,more forcefully attacking,and dominatingthe victim.

When the rumor becomes old and weak,it trades places with a new one,and continues,like a never-ending record.

—Dan Ryan ’13

Who Will Hear You? (Mixing Dickinson’s “Going to Heaven” with Emerson’s “Self-

Reliance”)

Always the soul hears an admonition in such lines—Let the subject be what it may.Indeed, I’m too astonished—To think of answering you!To believe your own thought—To believe that what is true for you—In your private heart is true for all menI’m glad I don’t believe it—For it would stop my breath—Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his.How dim it sounds!And yet it will be doneElse tomorrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense—Precisely what we have thought and felt all the time

—Alex Cheffer ’13

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—Colin Lenfest ’14

Shoot me – please?

The only holiday that isn’t nationally observed. It’s almost like a week-long Halloween, but for the fashionable crowd. No longer candy, costumes, and pageants, but now champagne… costumes, and shows – fashion shows. Outfits are planned long before the first day – and trust me, for some they are considered costumes. Men in womenswear, women in menswear; it never matters who it’s for because fashion is sexless – or unisex. Men following in the footsteps of Kanye West, but instead of a Céline blouse, they may be in an Alexander Wang maxi dress. Women in the likes of the Man Repeller (surprisingly not repelling men).

They’re all dying to be shot – no flash, because it’s bright enough outside.

Some travel solo, owning the sidewalks with their blood red soles. Others travel by the two’s, with matching feral furs. They say they’re here for the shows, but I think it’s just a cover. If they were just here for the shows, they wouldn’t be doing laps around Lincoln Center waiting to be seen by some photographer with a renowned blog.

They’re all dying to be shot – full body, because each and every piece of this outfit must be seen.

Peaked lapels decorated in floral Lanvin lapel pins. Lovely lace revealing just enough skins of ostrich and alligator limited edition Hermès Birkin bags. The unfortunate ones who have yet to get their own settle for a homely PS1 by Proenza Schouler in either neon green, yellow, or red; go, slow, stop.

They’re all dying to be shot – get a profile so I seem a bit more artsy; l want to be Mary Kate, not Ashley.

They say that they look like skeletons, but I really don’t see it. All skin and bones, and no shorter than five feet nine inches. Hovering over the runway in heels and themed garments. Some more elegant… some minimalistic… some grungy, and some chic.

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—Colin Lenfest ’14

The look of death painted on their faces. No longer are they dying to be shot, for they’ve been brutally murdered. Each and every time they reach the end of the runway, they lose an ounce of their blood red souls. Bright. White. Flash. Bang. I’m surprised they’re all still alive, because they definitely don’t look it.

Everyone in the stands are captivated by these macabre maidens garnished in everything from prêt-a-porter to haute couture. Each show drastically different, but essentially the same.

Some would kill for a ticket.

—Jihad Harkeem ’12

—Lane Valimont ’13

13

Remember the History

Remember the history,For those who wander in history, Tell stories about historyBuild nations and countries without leaving a name. For those who fight for freedom and justice until their last breath, but leave a blank grave stone.For those who use sweat and blood To build their dreams and transform them from floating clouds, to unmoving stone. The indestructible, the unstoppable.Remember the history.People who work day and night and day, the firefighter, the construc-tion worker, The woman who just tries to feed her children. Their hands are covered with dirt and scars, yet they are the most beau-tiful hands I have ever seen. Remember the history.During the darkest ages of time,People lie to each other, cheat on each other, fight each other, and kill each other. Those lonely babies sitting on ruins, naked. You can see their bones through their skin, but you can’t see their cry-ing soul. Remember the history.Our ancestors use their deaths to teach us lessons.The mistakes they made are already enough, and we don’t need repeti-tion in our generation.Because I believe not only I will remember the history, But all of us will.

—Jackie Jiuhua Chen ’15

—Jeremy Campbell ’12

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my life

my life is a deskthere are many things on it but they do not have anything to do with each otherthese objects areunorganizedconfusingcontradicting

my life has love and angerpeace and violencepassivity and aggressionit has no overlying theme

my life is a sailboat with a set course but no captainit is several stories side by sideit is a play with too many plotsit is certainty mixed with confusion

—Landon Kost ’12

Hunt of the White Stag

Swiftly it turned

then twisted and bolted again

trying to avoid them

Them

with their spears and bows

They would never relent

until it was theirs

Chased from all angles

it seemed there was no escape

then suddenly it vanished

like a ghost, but

not dead

the stag remains free

until they come again

—Paul Rakoczy ’12

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—Devin McKenna ’15

The Negro Speaks of Rivers(Remix ft. Walt Whitman)

I am a river: an ancient river, the

blood in my veins,

My soul has grown rooted in this earth,

I’ve bathed in the Euphrates while—

humanity remained infantile,

Built huts on the Congo, the jungle

lulling me to sleep,

I’ve seen the days pass over the Nile, I

erected the pyramids,

I’ve seen Lincoln free the slaves, I watched

The dark night be illuminated by the

golden sun,

My soul is a bottomless river, deeper than

the darkest abyss

—Jack Lahey ’12

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—Joshua Fidanque ’14

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—Ricky Hu ’12

A Happy Moment

The blue sky swirled between the cloudsThe light shimmering through the trees surrounding meThe refreshingly dirty jeans and my blistering fingersGave me a blissful sensationThat at this momentRight nowI had nothing to worry aboutNo schoolNo stressNo workJust the smooth shovel in my hand, the sod, and the sunThe clouds waltzed together changing shapeAnd I was one of themInfluenced by the slightest brush of velocityAbsorbing the sunlight at its most radiant But the moment would soon move onThe clouds would dance out in front of the sunChanging the light from a glowing white to a pastel greyAnd I realized that right thenThe moment slipped awaySicknesses came backDebt piled upAssignments still remained outstandingAnd the carefree happy-go-lucky momentWill never come back.

—Keith Boratko ’12

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—Matt Hahn ’15

—Patrick Fricke ’14

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Questions on Leaves

How come leaves turn cherry red, citrus orange, and lemon yellow in the fall?Why do leaves stay forest, lime, and office green during the spring and summer?Why do leaves fall graciously down instead floating graciously up?Why do beautiful leaves disappear when white snow arrives?How come insects feast on leaves?I have tried acorns before and they are absolutely awful,do leaves taste good?Why do both tropical plants and forest plants have leaves?Did you know some leaves are poisonous like poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac?I won’t jump into a leaf pile because there are many blood sucking tics,would you?They say money doesn’t grow on trees,what if leaves became our new currency?I like the look of sugar maples and oaks,is there an ideal leaf?I enjoy cruising on my skateboard in my driveway,how come when I ride over the brown leaves they crackle?There are so many leaves,can someone find my leaf blower?

—Bray O’Connor ’15

An Ode to the Brighter Things (Revised)

This, my friends, is an ode to the brighter things

An ode to glistening meadows, you seem to only see in dreams

An ode to swaying rivers, blessed by the mid-day sunlight

An ode to life, and its beautiful way

This is an ode to the brighter things

An ode to a new born baby, who has a shining life ahead

An ode to all the animals, who sleep soundly during a night’s harsh

winds

An ode to life, and its beautiful way

This can only be an ode to the brighter things

An ode to a fighting policeman, working a night’s discomforts to a halt

An ode to the struggling mother, who continues to fight though the

odds are bearing down on her

An ode to life, and its beautiful way

This is an ode to anything that is bright

An ode to the sun that sheds light on everything that is dark

An ode to your heart, which keeps beating when things get tough

This is an ode to life, and its beautiful way

—Ramsey Heitmann ’15

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—Robert Barker ’12

Lessons

Water flowing from the highest point on the mountain

Drought in the Sahara

A flower blooming on an early spring morning

The fallen leaves stalk the ground under the freezing snow

Today’s the oldest you have ever been

Today’s the youngest you’ll ever be

The clueless baby face

Wisdom fading away in a deathbed

Decisions

Regrets

Memories

Lessons

—Zoher Ghogawala ’13

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—Stephen Guglielmo ’15

—Jake Whitty ’15

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—Manuel Barnes ’12

5111a

He did a front one and a half pike.

not too good,but not too badit brought him to a score of 252.

I was at 232just 20 points away from reclaiming second.

“Now for Jihad’s final dive:5111a…front dive with one half twist – straight,” correct.

I adjust the fulcrum, I’m going off forward

—Jed Robinson ’12

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so five and a half it is.

lineup. exhale.look at the end of the board exhale.

one. two. three.

I’m ready.

one.two. three.

I’m in the air.I know that I can do it.

I can do it.

I’m in the air I can do it – I set for the dive.

I bring my arms together and begin to twist.My taut body in a straight line twirls in the air.I’m doing it, well.

My hands break the water and the cool sensationenvelopes my entire body. I don’t know what to think.

I resurface – no scores.I look at my coach – she shakes her head.

“Incorrect dive” blared over the loudspeaker in the announcers neutral,monotone voice.

I failed.

—Jihad Harkeem ’12

—Jeremy Campbell ’12

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Your Personal Home Run Record

I wondered if I would vacation for the month. I grew up a huge baseball fan. It was the first time that I was actually misbehaving in public.I drowned myself in so much whiskey, beer, and Italian sausage.But that’s the beauty of baseball, isn’t it?I actually completely forgot that I am famous.I began to laugh and talk romantically about the game.“When a player hits a home run,The baseball is flung into an abyss of an enigma and screams!”So great.“It travels so far that only rarely is one caught in the bleachers.Where do these balls go?Where do all these wins get encased?Are they in a heavenly baseball landFloating around for playersWho pass to acknowledge?Or do theyDisappear?.”We can discover truth. It only matters if you’ve changed the game.And nobody likes the game that they’ve won over and over again to change.Sometimes I don’t even realize I’ve won,Because the stadium is either cheering or screaming so loudIt doesn’t even matter.Every win like this is an important as the next. Because you are changing the way people thinkYour life achievements are working toward the greatest accessory of all time:Nerve.So,Wear your wins around your neck, And look up,Rather than look down at all of your home runs.

—Keith Boratko ’12

Typical Summer Day

Start at the pointy end and work your way to the back; here is a bucket and mop and I expect this boat to be spotless; don’t forget about polishing the railings as well the polish is in the shop; before you start cleaning remove all the used dive tanks and put filled ones in replace of the used ones; as well the BCDs, regulators, masks, fins, dirty towels and all of the other gear needs to come off and be brought to the rinse take; washed, hug up and then put away by fin size, mask color, wet suit size, as well as all of the other gear, then don’t forget to reapply your sunscreen in this hot sun, once finished with taking care of yourself get twenty clean towels and bring them down to the dive boat and then you can begin cleaning; remember not to get the radio wet up top though and down in the head it smells really bad so could you clean it up a bit and let it air out, keep your head up because I might need you to get gear for the afternoon dive costumers or give a boat rental briefing or its possible to have some kayak rentals or who knows the hobie cat might need rigging to be sent out, you can get started on what I have just told you though. Do you think if I get everything done I can go out on the afternoon dive with you guys? Ha-ha that is a good one; where should I begin first off you are just an open water diver if you were to come out you would need to be at least a rescue diver and you are far from that, furthermore if you were to come out on the dive who would stay and man the shop, pull the rental boat out of the water clean them and put them away, hose down the road so that there was no sand and it looked spotless, as well the customers don’t check themselves out; if that was the case I highly doubt they would pay; when they don’t pay how do you expect me to pay for your so called work; sorry I did not mean that it’s just that you have been working here for three years and I would be shooting myself in the foot if I left one of the girls; just because they can’t do the physical labor like you can as well your experience would help with answering the customers questions more thoroughly, as well you know how hard the job market is right know on the island; which would make it in your best interest to just get these tasks down; while I have my lunch and a smoke and answer a couple of emails. You know what I am tired of doing all of the manual intense labor while you just go out diving and don’t even bother help cleaning up the boat, I am done. What wait hold on a second if you leave then who is going to clean the boat, take

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—Jihad Harkeem ’12

care of the gear, clean up this place, pull boat out of the water, help get the kayaks, rig the hobie cat, give boat briefings and take care of the shop when we take the afternoon dive out? I don’t know, maybe you should have thought about that before you started barking orders while you just sat off and watched me work.

—Preston Farrow ’13

—Joshua Fidanque ’14

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—Krit Pranich ’12

—Lane Valimont ’13

—Matt Hahn ’15

—Patrick Fricke ’14

A Letter to A Friend

Dear Alex,

I still can’t believe it. I remember the time you showed me the music you recorded, and you told me that if I told anyone about it, you’d beat the crap out of me. I remember how you were a little weary showing me this music you recorded, and I thought it sounded absolutely professional. I seriously was amazed, and it truly breaks my heart you were shy about it. I love you man, I really feel if you stayed in Pelican your senior year, we would have been much closer. I really wish you didn’t move out. You were my first true friend at Avon; I remember how we met. We met in the infirmary getting our allergy shots, and we would talk for hours, about everything. I remember you met my grandparents and parents, the day after I got in a fight with someone and I had a huge black eye. You were one of the very few people that didn’t give me hell for it. I remember that one night in Pelican; I was on the phone with my ex-girlfriend, screaming at the top of my lungs. You were the only other person in the dorm and you came running, concerned. You were there for me, Alex. You were there for me with an open mind and you cheered me up that night. You always had a way of bringing people to tranquility; to just chill and relax. It’s really hitting me now that you died. I remember sitting in your room in the duplexes listening to “Only The Good Die Young,” and how you said you used to put that song on full blast and do your homework. It scares me how, sometimes, life is unpleasantly ironic like that. I miss talking to you. You had such an open mind and respected what everyone had to say. You were such an understanding person and a great and loyal friend. I wish we kept in touch when you went away to college. It truly breaks my heart that I’ll never see you again. However, I’ll see you on the other side, my friend. May God bless your sweet soul.

Sincerely, Michael A. Nicolia ’12