7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

1/57

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

2/57

To contradict is to imply the opposite or to be inconsistent. People are al-ways contradicting themselves with their actions and words. At times, peopleclose themselves from the world; they hide their emotions and attempt to live inisolation. Other times, they come alive and choose to interact with other people.The artists and writers featured in this publication show us an inconsistency inthe lives we live. They show us the solitary feelings we all harbor within as wellas the love and joy we get out of being with other people. Through the emotionsand thoughts expressed in these works, we are not only able to view a part of their

lives but also fnd out a little more about our own.--Rupal S. Desai, for the Calliope Staff

1

I See the Light

Anam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

3/57

Table of ContentsIntroduction Rupal DesaiI See the Light Anam MerchantTable of ContentsArt Index

Isolaion Anam MerchantFrom a Cub to a Lion Sobia MujtabaCrying Monkey Arina DurmicSinger Anam MerchantLasting Impression Michelle AbrahamViolet Arina DurmicCountdown Glenwin EbreoCollage of Love Elizabeth LunguMisadventures Michelle AbrahamIsolation Anam MerchantMeet Me on Asphalt Mountain Chris BirnbaumForest Faisal WarsaniLight and Dark Lili Lule

Lights Alexis BenitezSpeech and Silence Leontyne WanFishman Jenna MormelsteinMixed Emotions Danelle DayeConfused Marom BenzakenLove? Elana GaraySmile Anna Anna HershinowThe Stars Maya RothmanMusic in the Clouds Stella GellarA New Life Shahzmeen HussainTransform Mike EcklundThe Real Dreams Shahzmeen Hussain

Grandma Jean Maya RothmanWaiting Alexa JasenofThe Winds Shahzmeen HussainWood Chips Maria PaleologosHeres to the Girl Sobia MujtabaMali Mali GorovoyBook Anam MerchantBooks Samantha NordstedtThe Queen of the Bowling Alley Samantha NordstedtChicago Arina DurmicAmerica Sing Too I Jordan Spiwak

Rock On Anam MerchantThoughts on Alberto Giacomettis... Yuliya Yukhvidin and Jason WooOcean Anam MerchantI Love You Vi-vien Bui

Interaction Anam MerchantAn April Sight Shahzmeen HussainWhite Flowers Arina DurmicI Am Chris Birnbaum

11

2-345

6-76789

1011

12-1313141516

161717

18-191920202121222324252526262727

28-2929

30-313132

3233333435363637

Calliope2013

*Text/authors are in bold fontImages/artists in regular font

2

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

4/57

3

Working Men Jungha SukA Rare Silence Hussain KhemaniSushi and Noodles Ginel LumpkinThe Greatest Day He Never Had David PaykinWatchful Eyes Arina DurmicThe Woman Waiting Kate AndrewWaiting Joshua StirbuI Dont Wait for Anyone Paul Regacho

Light at the End Elizabeth LunguNo Good Yetunde OdunlamiRibbon Dance Luca Ferniz

Jacket Scott HirschHorizon DoriHofman

Dreaming of Breaking Through Leontyne WanCloudy Day Veran PatelPrincess Lauren Burrell

A Flower in Hiding Fionn Reid

Shark Fin Alice Montague

Shark Fin Alice Montague

Mayan Root Lili Lule

Collage of Children Shay Brandon

Wings Lianne Coballes

Masked Men Kevin Luc

I Am Tabula Rasa Christopher Birnbaum

Wait for me, Grandpa Judy CabaelStaircase Maia SepiashviliI Am Andre JallohFace Clouds Sarah Lewin

Anger Michelle Tanaka

Welder Lianne Coballes

Calliope Staf Page

3738-39

394040414142

424343

44

44

45

45

46

47

48

48

4949

50

50

51

52

53

54

545555

56

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

5/57

4 Calliope2012

ART INDEXFRONT COVER

Contradiction Serena Hocharoen Acrylic

I See the Light Anam Merchant Photography

ISOLATIONIsolation Anam Merchant PhotographyCrying Monkey Arina Durmic PhotographySinger Anam Merchant Photography

Violet Arina Durmic PhotograpyCollage of Love Elizabeth Lungu Digital ArtIsolation Anam Merchant PhotograpyForest Faisal Warsani AcrylicLights Alexis Benitez Digital ArtFishman Jenna Mormelstein Mixed MoneyConfused Marom Benzaken Charcoal

Smile Anna Anna Hershinow CharcoalMusic in the Clouds Stella Gellar CharcoalTransform Mike Ecklund WatercolorWaiting Alexa Jasenof Watercolor and Marker

Wood Chips Maria Paleologos PhotographyMali Mali Gorovy CharcoalBook Anam Merchant PhotographyChicago Arina Durmic PhotographyRock On Anam Merchant PhotographyOcean Anam Merchant Digital/Graphic Art

INTERACTIONInteraction Anam Merchant PhotographyWhite Flowers Arina Durmic PhotographyWorking Men Jungha Suk Mixed MediaSushi and Noodles Ginel Lumpkin Watercolor and Marker

Watchful Eyes Arina Durmic PhotographyWaiting Joshua Stirbu PhotographyLight at the End Elizabeth Lungu PhotographyRibbon Dance Luca Ferniz Watercolor and MarkerHorizon Dori Hoffman AcrylicCloudy Day Veran Patel PhotographyPrincess Lauren Burrell Watercolor

Shark Fin Alice Montague PencilCollage of Children Shay Brandon Digital ArtMasked Men Kevin Luc PhotographyStaircase Maia Sepiashvili PhotographyFace Clouds Sarah Lewin CharcoalWelder Lianne Coballes Watercolor and Marker

BACK COVERGeisha Anna Poloz Acrylic

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

6/57

5

ISOLATION

Anam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

7/57

6 Calliope2013

From a Cub to a Lion It was August 21st, 2012. For others this day was an average day. For me, it was a night-mare. This day determined your well-being for the rest of your life. It decided if you were going tobe a good student, or if you could get around the school quickly. For others, it was a day lled withsmiles, laughter, and new beginnings. But for me, it was a day lled with tears, sadness, and fear.Thiswas my rst day of high school.

My nervousness started when I woke up around six o-clock in the morning to start gettingready. While brushing my teeth, my hands were shaking a lot like maracas and nding the rightshirt to wear was impossible because I was so indecisive. Throughout the morning, I kept think-ing about how the day would go, if I would forget my locker combination or get lost. I was freakingout. Instead of enjoying my time getting ready, I kept having thoughts about the what ifs. Like,what if I sat next to the wrong person and that ended up being my assigned seat? What if I got lostand ended up going to the wrong class? All these assumptions got to my head, but to calm myselfdown I decied to listen to Pandora to help me at least enjoy the morning.

After eating cereal, unplugging my phone, and putting my shoes on, it was nally time formy rst car ride to school. While outside, my sister and I took pictures to remember this amazing

moment. Both of us were grinning from ear to ear and my sister was actually very excited - butnot me. I kept on the fakest smile I could fake and I was dying inside. I felt like an actor that hadto act a certain way but just wanted to escape everything and let my real feelings out. Meanwhile,my sister and I posed with our hands on our hips and took some pictures with us just smiling. Inmy mind, instead of enjoying these things, I was shocked. I was shocked at how I managed to staycalm and worry-free this whole time. I didnt let out a single cry or sigh of nervousness. I was actu-ally ready for high school.

I jumped to that conclusion way too quickly as I look back now. As soon as I said goodbyeto my parents, they quickly gave me a huge hug and wished me the best. They both looked veryexcited for me. My parents last child was going to high school and they were ecstatic. Afterwards, Ithen sat in the car with my siblings and began to cry. Tears rolling down my cheeks like the Niagra

Falls and I was freaking out. I, Sobia Mujtaba, was going to high school. The little baby that

MonkeyArina Durmic

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

8/57

7

learned how to read at the age of fve and learned to tie shoes at eight, was growing up. In mymind, I didnt want to. I didnt want to have to complain about nals or participate in North vs.West debates. I just wanted to stay in middle school, the place where I was very calm and comfort-able. But not anymore, now I was a cub placed with lions. Whether I liked it or not, I had to growup.

My thoughts were soon interrupted by my brother noticing me crying. He then told me thatI shouldnt freak out because high schoolo was an amazing experience for everyone and sometimes

it was the best four years of your life. To comfor me even more, he turned on Call Me Maybe,knowing that it was my favorite song from the summer. After a couple of minutes, I started to feelcalm and peaceful. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shouldrs and I could just relax. Inally knew I was ready for high school and I could do it.

As soon as we reached Niles North, my heart sank. The moment I envisioned over one hun-dred times over the summer was nally happening. I didnt know if I was ready or not, but I knewI had to do it. I had to go to high school and try to do my best. I said goodbye to my brother andhe then drove off. The last thing he said to me before he left was, You can do this, I believe in youmore than anything.

As I was walking towards the school, a million butteries were in my stomach and tearsbegan to form in my eyes. Every step I was taking towards the pavement was both memorableand historical. At that very moment, many thoughts began to form in my head. One of the bestthoughts tha tI realized was that change is okay. It might seem like a horrible thing to some people,but its worth it. It allows you to take risks and chances. It lets you go out of your comfort zone andtry something new. You know whats great about it? It lets you become a stronger person. Changeis the thing that makes you become the person you never thought that you could be. The momentthat triggered the change was walking through the front door of my new school, feeling as con-dent as ever. Finally, I believed in myself and knew that the move from middle school to highschool was going to be ne. After so long, I was now a high schooler, and a Viking.

--Sobia Mujtaba

SingerAnam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

9/57

8 Calliope2013

Lasting ImpressionI walk through the musty hallway of the old library brightly decorated by inspirational post-

ers and childrens artwork. The names that are spelled out in an array of colored styrofoam let-ters and other crafty decor ll the ofce doors with personality. Mrs. Gibsons plain, wooden doorencompasses her personality too.

I read her name for the hundredth time on the gray, slightly askew rectangle pasted on thedoor and for the hundredth time, the knot in my stomach tightens. I knock on the textured, trans-lucent glass and wait. The door creaks just an inch open, a sound that reminds me of the way shemoves. Without formal invitation, I reluctantly enter the drab territory of Mrs. Gibson. I hold themug lled to the top with black coffee, no milk no sugar, just the way she prefers it. She parts herpursed lips as if to speak, revealing her lipstick-stained teeth. She dabs at the accumulating salivathat sits on the narrow crevices where the ends of her pencil-thin lips meet with her scaly tongue.She glares in my direction for a second and to my relief, does not make eye contact. She takes aloud, gurgling sip, furrows her brow, and turns away from me. She says nothing, busying herself byskimming her long, bony nger along the edges of a thousand I am always polite, always respectful.Yet not once does she thank me for the coffee. Nor does she take time out of her arrogant trance

to acknowledge me and the work that Ive done for her. After I organize her les by color and date,she glances at them, turns around and says, nothins done right less you do it yourself.

She is waving a feather duster at the highest shelf she can reach. I want to offer my help,but I remember the other times when my help was rejected. Besides, I seldom speak around her,afraid of her possible, scornful response. I muster the courage to speak in her detestable presence.Uh, Mrs. Gibson, I begin, my voice hoarse, would you mind signing this to verify that I spentthe summer volunteering here? She looks at me now, her eyes burning holes through mine. Shesquints at the paper in my hand and spins around to return to her work. Ill get to it if I get to it,she replies, completely brushing off my request like the dust that oats in the air of the already-clogged room. Though this thoroughly upsets me, I hold my tongue and ultimately a hundred

loathsome comments.Its my last day here, and I waltz into the library for the rst time with a sense of jubilance.As I make my rounds holding the bland coffee in one hand and greeting librarians with the other,I nally make it to the all too familiar hallway. In front of Mrs. Gibsons door, her colleagues worktogether to haul the old paper les out of the ofce and replace them with a new computer. Mrs.Gibson failed to give me notice on her retirement. Again, the rage I put to rest just one night beforecreeps up inside me, blackening my gleeful mood.

I cautiously enter the once dark, dungeon-like ofce. Streams of light ow into the roomfrom windows I never knew existed. On the mahogany desk lay a letter addressed to me in Mrs.Gibsons crooked handwriting lled with words that, to this day, warm my heart.

--Michelle Abraham

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

10/57

9Violet

Arina Durmic

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

11/57

10 Calliope2013

CountdownThe year has begun to come to a closeWith heat rising and focus waning in the classroom3:23

Four years wrapped up and owers in bloomAnd now real life begins for us allWe no longer own these hallsOf subjects we loved and teachers we loathedAnd memories of friendships ignited and silencedThe clock ticksGone are the days of strict schedulesAnd hand-holding and homeThe students cheer as the fnal bell ringsWelcome college, goodbye childhood

--Glenwin Ebreo

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

12/57

11Collage of LoveElizabeth Lungu

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

13/57

12 Calliope2013

Misadventures

Kyle, a tall and muscular boy for his age, picks at the frazzled, white strands of his rippedblue jeans. His dads frayed high school baseball cap tips forward, forcing his sweaty blonde hairto press against his forehead. Hurry up! Someones gonna hear us! We sprint to the shed, grayin the moonlight, that bewildered us for months. We run, neck and neck, tripping on patches ofindented land embedded in the green hillside. We nally make it and simultaneously look back to-

ward the yellow street light, panting. After what seems like an eternity, we look at each other andlaugh. Weve made it further than we ever have. Kyle readjusts his cap and disappears behind thepeeling white wall of the shed. He reappears seconds later with a rusty, once-silver crowbar. Thistime, hes prepared and I admire his genius thinking. Though I know hes never used one before,he reassures me, and himself, that hes capable. Ive seen it done a bazillion times. He holds thepadlock in one hand and positions the crowbar underneath for (***missing text)

A summer is not complete without Kyle and I getting each other in some sort of mischie-vous adventure. We have been inseparable ever since the day we met at a go-away camp in Min-nesota. Even after just four days of friendship, we managed to sneak away from our cabins andcounselors, undetected, to go and catch golden-tipped reies. Three years later, our schemesbecame more adventuresome and undetectable. During the summer months, phone calls consist-

ing of the words, Theyve done it again, nearly became routine between my parents and his. Thisbecame true after the rst time we tried to make our way down to the shed. Nancy, Kyles mother,somehow caught us and the lecture began. As we sat receiving spiels on behavior and safety fromour parents, Kyle and I would look at each other and silently plot our next (***missing text)

The lock, having been exposed to an eternity of harsh winters and blistering summers,snaps open with minimal effort on Kyles end of the crowbar. He looks at me and a pang of ner-vousness overcomes us both. He slowly begins sliding the shed door and I stop him. Maybe wejust shouldnt. He glares back at me with a look that says, Really? Weve worked hard for this!I let go of his arm, an dhe nishes dragging the door until it is completely ajar, ready for us todiscover its long-kept secret. I fumble for the ashlight thats attached to my belt loop. I detach it

and shine the narrow, white into the dark mass before us. In the middle, sits a massive John Deeretractor. It had once been vibrantly green with jet black tires, and a singing, healthy engine. Now,it sits untouched and brown, with tires worn and gray. Kyle smiles, showing his slightly crookedteeth, and says slyly, Do you think it still works?

All year long I wait. I wait in the stuffy classrooms with shrill-voiced teachers, day dream-ing about that better place. As I stand waiting, I long for the frigid, winter wind to whisk me awayto that place where the temperature and people are warm. I can remember the all-too-excitingsummer Kyle and I commited to learning the ways of the farm. I can remember Kyle triumphantlyhopping off his fathers tractor having mastered every aspect. Its my turn now, and I sit on thevinyl seat knowing my legs will stick to it in the heat. As I begin, I can hear Bill say, Good. Liftyour foot off the cluth. Slowly now. No, not like that, like this, and he patiently models the correct

technique. He swiftly holds the clutch to the oor and kicks the tractor in low gear. He lifts his footoff the clutch slowly and the engine hums happily. Now take the wheel. Remember, keep yourfoot off the clutch and steer. Just like that. See? You got it!

We feel our way in the darkness to the seat of the tractor. I shine the narrow, white light onthe controls, and we both gasp and smile. The keys sit untouched in the ignition. Without hesita-tion, Kyle grabs the key heaad and turns it. Like a lion standing guard of its prey, the

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

14/57

13

engine roars to life. We both jump as the initial vibration shakes our bodies, and the realization ofhow loud it actually is frightens us. Kyle instinctually grabs my arm as he practices what his fathertaught us just one year ago. We are in motion and head straight for Kyles house. My fear clouds myvision, and all I can see is straight ahead completely missing Bill, running full speed in our direc-tion. I snap out of my paralyzed trance and realize that Kyle is no longer sitting next to me. Billleaps onto the tractor next to me and powers down the machine. He sprints to his son who is writh-ing in pain, and I realize that he has broken his arm.

Our mischievous schemes had come to an end, but our desires could never do the same. Whymust we grow up if all that awaits ur is losing the chance to do what we enjoy the most?

--Michelle Abraham

IsolationAnam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

15/57

14 Calliope2013

Meet me on Asphalt MountainThis story jumps around in time. Deal with it.

Meet me on asphalt mountainThe black volcanic looking rocks that come from retired driveways.Partyboy the train thats passing by and divulge all your secrets to me while trying not to be seen.When we grow tired of the industrial view we will run down the side that the bulldozer has at-tened out.

There are trees growing out sideways on the upslope of the mountain.Nature taking back land that really always belonged to her.

On our journey up we enter the shallow forest that quickly rides and then subsequently drops intowhat once was an open eld but now is a construction zone.We both cut our forearms on the top on the fence.I still have a scar there.We silently crawled through the shoulder high wheatgrass past the sleeping machinery over thesewage vent and up to the fence with the bend in it.A crooked tree, not over thirty years old, bent beyond reason in front of the sharp fence,drooping from the human weight of the people who have come before us. We stand atop the tree at

the bend and hop the fence. A wire hangs like a snake in the grass. I trip, my face ends an inch fromthe sharp gravel walkway. We walk under the train bridge nad into the mountain rainge. Beyondsome barricades is the toxic pond before us. We dont go near it, instead we turn towards the tow-ering black monolith and climb.

--Chris Birnbaum

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

16/57

15

ForestFaisal Warsani

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

17/57

Light and DarkAs strong as darkness seems,

so too is the light.It hides between the seams,

lingers in our dreams,

but overcomes the evil, always so bright.No matter the pain,or inner fright,

the light will keep us saneall throughout the night.

--Lili Lule

16 Calliope2013

LightsAlexis Benitez

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

18/57

17

Speech and SilenceTalking it out?What good will that ever do?Talking is what brings the liars to lie.Talking is what makes us betray.Talking is what people mistake for action.Because talking simply isnt enoughIt brings out the worst in us

And maybe if we would all just be quietFor once the world would be a happier placeWhere people convey meaning through their eyesTheir smilesAnd nothing else is neededBecause on your face it shows

But its not just the talkersIts those who dont speak as wellThose who are silent when someone is in danger

The ones who choke at the most important timesIts the people that are too afraid to speakBecause there are some thingsThat you can only convey with wordsFor although silence can be peacefulSometimes words move us to a greater future

--Leontyne Wan

FishmanJenna Mormelstein

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

19/57

18 Calliope2013

Mixed EmotionsThere you go, yelling again

These paper thin walls cant keep the sound of your voice from seeping into my consciousness

Addressed by you as the little lying...Whichever word you choose to go after this

And accused of something thus again that I didnt commit

You dont care, dont bother to listenBut make assumptions to which I fall victim

Bashing me as if I actually did what you said I did, but I didnt, could you listen?As my eyes glistenYoure internally wishing

Tears start owing like water from the mouth of the river

Satised yet?

Didnt think so...

Proceed to tell me how I act like Im dyslextic, even though I have a grade point average higherthan a 3.0I lack mental commonsenseAs you say

Im just like my mother

Worthless

And longing for the pity of others, Ill end up like her

Homeless

Only problem is shes a 38-year-old woman and Im a 17-year-old girl

So do you plan on putting me out on the street like you did to her when she was 18 years old?

I guess the intellectual difference between you and me showsIm more mature

So now that Im not crying or fearing your words you revert, from verbal threats, to physical at-tacksYoure still attempting to degrade my worth thats left

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

20/57

19

But you fail to realize that part of me died long ago with my dignityand the last tears to touch my cheek

Now Im just an inhuman carcass that feels no painNo emotionBut everyday question the very means of my existenceBut some things just dont have an answer, right?

Like how you can look me in the eyes and tell me that what I call abuse, you callLove

--Danelle Daye

ConfusedMarom Benzaken

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

21/57

20 Calliope2013

Love?It comes and goes when it pleases.

It smiles when my heart broke.It laughed as my heart broke down piece by piece.

Its nothing now, my heart turned into dustand was blown away into the world along with other broken hearts.

Thats what love did to me.It persuades me saying Ill fnd happiness.

The one thing love didnt mentionwas the pain when he leaves.

I pushed love off my roof and watched it break.I heard it scream as it fell.

Since then love didnt come.I won or I thought I did.It somehow came back.

It smiles again because Im under its spell and I cant break free from it this time.

Its a lot stronger than last time.My heart came back, I can hear it beat.Love is winning over me.

Im falling deeper and deeper.Love wins this time.

--Elana Garay

Smile AnnaAnna Hershinow

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

22/57

21

The StarsI see the stars in the sky and I feel that Im reaching.Its pitch black and I hear them preaching.I want to break free, but I feel my arms shaking, then breaking.Tiny pieces left behind as Im moving closer to the stars above.It gets cold than warm. Is it them following? Yes.The black turns to light and I see them coming.Arms wide, brittle and dry from the cold.Im almost there as Ifeel them grabbing me, pulling me.Their arms covered in dirt and grim. Now I smell the mold.Then a release and Im free.Now among the stars happy once more. I am again a star among stars once more.

--Maya Rothman

Music in the CloudsStella Gellar

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

23/57

22 Calliope2013

A New LifeIndeed our lives begin when we open our eyes to this world. But when do we really open oureyes? When do our lives really begin? Where and how? When do we really start living? Change iswhat triggers the beginning of a life, and a change was bound to come in mine. It was ve years ago;I was 12 years old. It was around the 2nd of December, the year 2007. I can still feel the chilly airfrom that night; it still gives me goosebumps. I suppose it was mere fear, but more excitment. Ner-vousness, maybe, but it felt more like death and birth at the same time: leaving one world adn fallinginto another. Perhaps, a better one.

In a hurried manner, I was grabbing everything important and throwing it into my personalbox. My dad had put orders on us. We were moving out that night; everything needed to be cleared

out and cleaned up. Being in such a hurry, we didnt have much time to sort out the trash from ev-erything we needed to our new house.

We are not coming back to get anything left, so make sure to grab everything you need. Thetrucks outside so when youre done with your own boxes, put them outside for the movers to takethem, said my dad. He was denitely a loving father, but he could be a complete boss with his fam-ily too.

I was tired, I remember. All that packing had exhausted me. That was the rst time we weremoving since I was born in that house. In fact, my dad was born in that house also. It was my Grand-mas. We lived in a joint family. One part of the house was ours and another was my grandparents.My older brother was seventeen years old so he helped with moving the heavier stuff. My mom tookcare of the nal cleaning. Then we said our byes to my Grandma for now; wed be back for certain

though. I looked back at our bedroom, the one I shared with my two sisters. I would miss the child-hood days, but I knew what was lying ahead of me was bound to be good for me.

We drove to our new house with all our stuff; it was about forty minute drive. The moverstruck followed our car. We reached there by two in the morning, and the best part about that wasthat we were all too tired to go to school or work the next morning. That is pretty much when my lifereally took off, a little after midnight on a random, chilly night in December in the midst of a beauti-ful place, almost like a dreamland. I closed my eyes and inhaled in this sight. Then I exhaled slowlyas I opened my eyes dramatically. In this beautiful darkness, I was born again.

--Shahzmeen Hussain

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

24/57

23

TransformMike Ecklund

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

25/57

24 Calliope2013

The Real DreamsI was sixteen when all my dreams came trueNot quite dreams and not quite allBut they were dreams that I wouldnt dare to dream at all.Trust me I didnt want them toCuas then Id have nothing to look forward to

It was for temporary blissI was living in a palace and Id met my princeI guess life was over then, or had it just begun?Oh but wait I had other dreamsThe dreams that Id actually dreamedI wanted it so bad, the freedom to live.The other part of meI just had to waitA while, as long as it tookFor me to get to the highest point of success

Then I would have the powerTo go out andSee and live and breathe a different airThen I would have the power to explore and write about theBeautiful places I would see and the things that I would learnI would see life through every sight, and thenI would write about what life meant to meWhat was to live for and die for.And maybe then, at last, my real dreams would come true.

I promise to make all things right,

To heal you, protect you,Give you your life backMake you feel againWith a touch,Maybe a tender kissHelp you love againAnd youll see tearsNot merely as water dropletsBut as crystals of joy

I want to be the bright moon,The beautiful heart,In your darkened soulThe way youre the sparkIn my spiritless life.Come claim your moonThat youve been afraid ofDeep down, you know you crave this love.

But until then what do I do?Move on thinkingThat you wont return?Or never lose hope thatYou will save me, take me awaySo far away,Where the stars twinkle

And the moon shines.Or maybe even farther away,Where there is no endTo us or even our love,Where there is no endTo our world.

--Shahzmeen Hussain

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

26/57

25

Grandma JeanGrandma Jean, I was wondering what you thought of me.I wanted to know if you were proud of me, for what Ive done, and what I want to do.Grandma Jean, I want you to tell me you love me,to hold me like I wish you could have.

I want you to say you are happy with my life,but wish I didnt make the studpid mistakes that I did.I want you to tell me I can do better, and that I have better qualities than I tink of myself.Grandma Jean, I long for you.I cant miss you, though I wish I could.Grandma, how are you?What is it like there?I want you to tell me all your secrets, and everything that happened.I want to know you without having to ask ridiculous questions,from people that knew you in you rprime, and in your lows.Grandma Jean, let me know that Ill be alright,

that everything I do has a meaning, and that it wont go to waste.Grandma, please tell me everything is okay.

--Maya Rothman

WaitingAlexa Jasenof

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

27/57

26 Calliope2013

The WindsWinds of joy and also pain,Blow by me and make me insane.Difcult they are, they want me to move on,But I live in a trance and think about the bygones.You never know what life can give you,

Storms and sunshine or rains and dew.But still the winds ask me to move on,Ask me to live every moment of dusk and dawn.The sweltering heat and the darkness in my mind,What do I live for, who do I nd?Its like a hole is punched through my heart,I wanna shatter, I wanna rip apart.Now the winds want me to stay so still,They tell me to stay so tillThe day when my happiness will begin.So I leave the past and all the bygones,

And so I trust the winds, and so I move on

--Shahzmeen Hussain

Wood ChipsMaria Paleologos

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

28/57

27

Heres to the girlTo the girl whose mother spends hours preparing dinner...Please eat.To the girl who jealously stares at her classmates body, wishing it was hers...Please stop looking.To the girl who avoids looking at herself in the mirror...

Please take a glance at your beauty.To the girl who is her own punching bag...Please surrender your gloves.To the girl who feels her parents dont care for her...Please know they love you more than anything.To the girl who believes she will be single forever...Please dont lose hope.To all the girls struggling,Please be brave, strong, and dont give up.

--Sobia Mujtaba

MaliMali Gorovoy

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

29/57

28 Calliope2013

BookAnam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

30/57

29

Books

We sit upon our shelves,Holding our secrets and pasts,

Awaiting someone to open us and listen.

Oh, we have many things to tell,We have seen many lives,And had many adventures.

We call out,Illustrating our innermost meanings,

Hoping to catch someones eye.

But as time goes on,And the world changes,

We are forgotten.

We sit gathering dust now.Our descriptions are no use.

We are thought too bland and boring.

It is only the older people who give us thought.Recalling back to their youth,

With heroes and villians.

One day we will be forgotten,Bur our tales will not.

They will wait to be told or read once more.

So all we can do is wait.

--Samantha Nordstedt

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

31/57

30 Calliope2013

The Queen of the Bowling Alley

He was new to the nightlife, but the town was not. As he walked down the block to the barnext to the bowling alley, the music got louder. It was the music of laughter, falling pins, and beerbottles hitting the wooden bar. The corner store, taqueria, ower shop, bowling alley, bondsman of-ce, and bar; thats what the town was made of. He moved here so that he could nd himself in thissimple, run-down, and deserted. It consisted of a population of four hundred and seventy citizens

and its easy to be the best of the best in a pool of ve hundred. Instead of a city where thousandsof sh were powerful swimmers who could ght the current, a town of ve hundred was unlikely toeven have one.

He didnt leave behind much. He played on a minor league baseball team that was thebest of the city. And he was the best player. But he wanted more, naturally. He wanted the majorleagues, the lights, the popularity, the money, and most importantly, the fame. So he took leave. Heleft, saying hed be back, but knowing he wouldnt until he found something better and greater. Hewas a failure to himself; he was sure he was a failure to everyone in his life.

The few cars that passed by honked and skidded, making torn pieces of advertisements andtrash y up for a brief moment. He walked down the street, watching the utter of discarded pro-

motions that had not even been given a second glance. The bowling alley was just ahead, and underthe glowing neon lights he could see a few drunken men smoking cigarettes outside the door. How-ever a few feet away from them, was the woman that caught his eye.

She stood in plastic hot pink heels that made her seem three inches taller than she was. Shewore an orange sequined skirt that wrapped around her waist so tightly that the folds in her skinwere visible through the thin cloth. It was only a foot long. On her upper body rested a black tanktop with the crystal word, sexy. The tank top did not cover the extent of her stomach, as the bottomportion spilled over the waistline of the skirt. She had on a pink furry vest made of faux fur withglitter thread. Around her neck was a feathered boa that sashayed as she shifted her weight fromone hip to the next.

As he got closer he began to notice that she was smoking a cigar, taking long drags and exhal-

ing a great deal of smoke into the night air. He saw that in her ears she wore two gold hoop earringswith the diameter the same size as a can of peas. Her hair was all done up, curled, and hair sprayedso much so that in the slight gust of wind, not a strand moved. Her face was plastered with blueeyeshadow, red lipstick, and some sort of powder that turned the pigment of her skin a light bronzeshade.

He noticed that he was not the only one staring. The men smoking near the door kept glanc-ing in her direction, and as men walked in and out of the bar and the bowling alley, she capturedtheir attentions. He kept his gaze on the chewed gum and cigarette butts on the sidewalk as hewalked by her and into the bar that was connected to the alley. Inside, there was little light. Theman made his way to the bar, where he ordered a Jack and Coke. Watching the bartender poor thedark liquids into the glass, he wondered why the woman outside drew so much attention to herself.It was clear she was a regular, so she knew the type of company shed have at the alley. All the menseemed to either know her on a friendly basis or want to. It was also clear that she put everythingshe had into getting all dolled up for this one night. She had outdone herself, smothering her face inmakeup and trying to t into clothes that had likely been in her closet since she was nine.He wondered why anyone would want to have that be the one thing they got excited about duringthe week: getting dressed up for the bowling alley.

He paid the bartender four dollars.

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

32/57

31

He wondered why someone would even get up in the morning if that was all they had to livefor. What a life.

It wasnt until two in the morning that the man got up to leave; he had run his tab up tohigh. He braced himself to wander out into the dead of the night to walk back to his temporary butnot temporary home. As he turned to walk past the adjoining bowling alley, three men stumbledout onto the street. Two were large, while the other was a meek boy. The boy had glasses that keptsliding and skin as pale as snow. The other two men were much bigger than the boy, whose head

was about the size of their sts.Cmon leave me alone.Get outta here kid, this place isnt for you.The boy pushed his glasses back up. But I love to bowl, why cant I just borrow a lane?Get goin now or else well bring ya back to the toilets.The two men spun on their heels and pushed back through the door. When the door swung

open the man glanced at the interior of the alley. On top of one of the high-top tables, sat thewoman who was outside, surrounded by dark shapes sitting around her, trying to inch closer.

The door closed and the man looked at the boy. He was a sad sight. The boy began to walkdown the opposite direction of the street, and staring after him the man realized why. He lookedback at the door of the alley, and then at the boy again. Hands in his pockets, he put his head downand smiled to himself.

The woman who got all dressed up for one day a week was not living a sad life. She washappy. Because in her world, which consisted of a bowling alley, a bar, a taqueria, a corner store, aower shop, a bondsman ofce, and a dirty street, was still hers. She was the queen of her world.She was the queen of the bowling alley. And relatively, that was better than being the loser of thebowling alley, who was currently walking away from his dreams.

When the man returned to hit motel, he called his manager and left a message on the ma-chine.

Ay Bobby. Im comin home.

-- Samantha Nordstedt

ChicagoArina Durmic

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

33/57

32 Calliope2013

America Sing Too IAmerica sing too II too sing AmericaBut oh how hard it is to remain sane, during times, full of hysteriaOil prices are upThe economy is downSoldiers risking their lives to be blown from beneath the groundWhile back in the capital politicians are running amuck, covering up corruption, with much luckThose living in poverty barely getting any supportI never though, racism could be considered a sportIt all makes, my mind contortHow they drop bombs and wage these warsThen curse scriptures like some, constrictors biting to get their pictures up in ForbesThen pollute the shores of others, and claim it was an accidentIm sitting here asking where our countries true passion wentCuz lately all I hear are lies

Lately all I see are guysWho spend campaign money on cars, watches, and memorabiliaMan what type of stuff is that?And the government says were the ones that dont know how to act pleaseI bet I know more about, how to bring peaceThan these lame snakes with namesakes that got them their degreesI too sing America! My whole life I have sang her song!Whether the song was full of joy, laughter, or struggles that were prolongedSo until the day I die Ill gladly chant and wont be shy that,I too sing AmericaNow America...

sing to I

--Jordan Spiwak

Rock OnAnam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

34/57

33

Thoughts on Alberto Giacomettis Walking Man

People speak, people sleepThe man just walks

People play, people pretendThe man just walks

Life ceases, life beginsThe man just walks

Bombs drop, cities falThe man just walks

The world continuesMaybe

Maybe notMan will walk

--Yuliya Yukhvidin

Man, walking aloneBanished from cultural norms

Searching for purpose.

--Jason Woo

OceanAnam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

35/57

34 Calliope2013

I Love YouI love you was not taboo in my household.My father whispered it between kisses as he tucked me into bed

And my mother doled it out as many times as she gave me candy:Not often, but enough for me to be familiar with the sweetness.Until one day, when I had thrown in her face disappointment #3234890.The argument was over but the tears had not yet dried

And, in an attempt to smooth things over, it rolled of my tongue:I love you.

I opened my palms and stretched my ngers wide,Ready to catch her afrmation o funconditional affection.But I was left empty-handed, and the rst time she said show meReminded me of the inexplicable taste of orange juice after toothpaste.Slowly, the words faded from our vocabulary.It oated behind me as I shut the door on the way out;It escaped through the open window I used to lean out of at night.

When I mustereed up the courage to say it again,Show me was a sucker punch to the gut of someone

Who had just tatken off a bulletproof vest.In desperation, I tried again and again

And every time she told me to show my lovewas a splash of ice-cold water in my face.

Eventually, the untimely breakfast OJTurned into green tea: bitter at rst, but it was an accquired taste.I reluctantly drank it as I observed

And saw how my mother showed her love.It peeked out from behind the wisps of hair that fell out of her bun

As she chopped and stirred and julienned all dayFor the meal we would nish in twenty minutes later that night;

It meandered down her cheek along with her tears -But only when she thought we werent looking.

And when she yelled, the harsh words were like grenades,Detonating on my artfully painted perception of love.

Yet love still tumbled out from her mouth,Often lost in the chaotic nature of verbal welfare,

And when I found it I would cling on for dear life.

So I sipped my tea silently and one sleepless night,The night that required two teabags for a ghting chanceIn the war against my heavyweight eyelids,I looked up from my calculus book

And saw my mother look at me worridly and sayI love you.But she was wasting her breath; I knew her wordsEven before they escaped from her lips,

As they were entangled in her tousled hairThough I knew she had not slept a wink;

As they were furrowed deepWithin the wrinkles of concern between her eyebrows;As they were entertwined between the ngersThat tightly grasped a mug of teaTo keep me awake for another hour. --Vi-Vien Bui

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

36/57

35

INTERACTION

Anam Merchant

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

37/57

36 Calliope2013

An April SightMemories still fresh from an early April morning,Time ies by like a long yawning.

Yesterday feels like a dream Id dreamed,Or maybe a nightmare wherein Id screamed.All Im sure about is the April that just passed,Wish the beautiful April would just lastForever and ever untilI understood that for then life wasnt making haste.And maybe I could go back to a wonderful April morning,When the day started with a smile after a long yawn.Wish, for once, life wouldnt move on,And Id daydream on an April afternoon.Wish time would stand still,

And let me do the wonderful things untilThe beautiful April evenings ended.Then Id go to bed in peace on an April night,Hoping to dream a dream of another April sight.

--Shahzmeen Hussain

White FlowersArina Durmic

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

38/57

37

I AMI am in production

the writers still havent agreed on the main character

let alone the theme or even a general storyline.But the director keeps on lmingand the actors keep on acting,and they try out various roles but never feel quite rightbecause the best character would be the one who left the stage long agoleaving the bad replacements to pick upand misinterpret the characters habits and mannerisms.

Ill never be a nished product,not til the day I diebut Im trying to have better scenes and better character development.

But in order to maintain moraleI cant keep comparing my behind-the-scenes with everyones highlight reel.

--Chris Birnbaum

Working MenJungha Suk

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

39/57

38 Calliope2013

A Day of Silence

Theres a rare silence that engulfs my apartment as I wake up peacefully after abusing thenight hours. A thin beam of light protrudes into my room and gazes upon handfuls of clothes onthe oor. I leave the shades to rest there, allowing my room to bask in short dusk. My blanket keepsme warm until I feel ready to actually leave my safe space. The silence is my second blanket, one Idont get to use often in the morning.

My feet peel out of my blanket and land on the oor. I stretch my back mindlessly analyz-ing the clock. Its noon-ish as far as I can tell as the clock seems blurred. I walk to the bathroom toperform my morning ritual: sit on the toilet and reect on what I have to do today, what I dreamt,whats upcoming, and how long itll take for me to truly wake up. I remember what my mom saidthe night before.

Why are you still up? Dont you have school tomorrow?No. Dont worry. You should be asleep though, I responded.The silence this morning only exists because my parents have work. My sister is out getting

an education for some nursing-related profession. I never bother to ask her what she studies; Inever get a straight answer. Nobody else is home. I can relax. I just need a break from all the racketthat goes on in life. I need to satisfy my basic instincts stemming from the ID. Today - my day off -is that day where I can dumb down life and only tend to my needs.

I used to have these days on Saturdays and Sundays when my mom was busy bringing homethe turkey-bacon (we dont eat pork), and while my step-dad was running errands. My sister wouldbe doing random things that I didnt ask about. I knew her daily schedule always made mine looklazy. When my mom got a new work schedule and ended up being off on the weekends, somehowso did everybody else. An apartment isnt made for four loud people.

Hollywood and pop culture wants us to believe that when a teenager has an empty place,a party is destined to happen. Screw you,Project X. Its complete bull. Who needs all that noise,

trouble, interactions, and random crap? A day to myself is devoted to the basics. Everybody needs aday like this to themselves to just recuperate from all the hecticness of life.

I hop off the toilet and into the shower nally waking myself up. Later I step out and turnmy head to a man in the bathroom with stubble growing. A razor lies on the bathroom sink ready tobe used. It shall lie there till the next day awaiting the mans stubble. As will my toothbrush... actu-ally, nevermind Ill brush my teeth. Not doing so would haunt me for the rest of the day.

I proceed to the kitchen still not fully dressed. The silence allows me to do so. Nobody is tell-ing me to put a shirt on. I scavenge for a clean bowl and a clean spoon. Before throwing my cerealinto my bowl, I put two eggs and water in a pot on the stove and allow to them to boil. Today, Ihave time to make a good breakfast with my favorite cereal: Cocoa Dyno-Bites.

The silence is now accompanied by the sound of boiling water and humming. The clock stillseems blurred as time has lost all meaning on this day of solitude. Awaiting breakfast to be ready,I break out into soft song and terrible dance moves that are not meant for others eyes. Once mybreakfast is ready I chow down while watching anything thats on T.V. My mother calls asking mewhat Ive done so far.

I woke up.And?Im pretty sure I took a dump and had some breakfast. Not at the same time though.

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

40/57

39

Did you take your vitamins? What about your medicine? Whatd you eat? Do you havehomework? Do you have any plans for today? Can you do the dishes? Can you clean your room?There are clothes everywhere.

I mumble something that she takes as a satisfactory answer. I hang up and mumble to my-self something along the lines of Maybe later. Probably not. The dishes I barely use? The clothesin my room that belong to my sister? Oh yeah, thats denitely my responsibility.

Minutes later, Im lying down in my bed curled up enjoying the nothings that ll the apart-ment. Reality starts to slip away as my imagination and subconscious take control. Once I awaken,a thought races through my head: when do my family members have days off to themselves? Theclothes scattered all around my room seem to await my next move. The clock teases me notify-ing me of how many hours I have left to myself. I recall the dishes I was asked to do and grasp myhead in mild frustration. What a bother.

Hours later, my mom comes home looking exhausted. She strolls into the kitchen maintain-ing a pleased look on her face. She then prepares herself for the warzone shes expecting to ndin my room. My door, already ajar, grows further open as my mother walks in slowly. Her mouthis even more open than my door as shock has consumed her. She sees me lying down in my bed. I

mumble something that she takes as a sarcastic remark. Im just hoping she gets a day off like I didtoday soon.

--Hussain Khemani

Sushi and NoodlesGinel Lumpkin

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

41/57

40 Calliope2013

The Greatest Day He Never Had His strong hazel eyes gazed over the reach of the mountainous plains. His dream felt like aglorious reality. As he looked to one side, he found the oak trees lined up one by one like childrenwaiting patiently for lunch to be served. On the other side, he spotted a descending valley with astream running down through the middle. He started taking another, cautious step forward hop-

ing that this wouldnt be the moment that he awoke and entered back into reality. He looked downto see his worn and battered shoes from long journeys across the mountains. They were mod-est shoes. They did not brag or boast, but were humble and simple. His focus was interrupted bybirds ying past him chirping harmoniously without a care in the world. He recollected his favor-ite novel about a boy coming of age in an adventurous and unpredictable world. Reading novelstakes him back to his childhood where kids did not concern themselves about what assignmentor project they needed to cram for, but rather basked in the glory of youth and worried about whowould be king of the monkey cars that day. Rubbing his weary eyes, he looked down at his peachyskin. He recalled scraping his arms when diving for the game-winning slice against Niles West inthe decisive last match that would decide the fate of the entire teams performance. It wasnt the

idea of winning the match that gave him the adrenaline rush, but the excitement of high intensity,fast-paced play from both teams. They left everything on the court that day. In recalling this spe-cial event in his life, he realized that he didnt want this dream to end. He walked faster. He didntwant to have an ordinary life. He wanted to constantly be on an adventure, and live an exciting lifethat was inconsistent in nature. He picked up the pace to a jog. This was the life he wanted, andhe knew that if he could gather enough focus and willpower, he could stay in this state of uncon-scious bliss forever. He was now in a full sprint towards the smooth, sandy beach. A luminouslight had advanced from behind. He spurred forward reaching out to the boundary of the beach.He couldnt be more than ten feet from it. The wraithlike light penetrated his skin, and just likethat, it was over.

--David Paykin

Watchful EyesArina Durmic

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

42/57

41

The Woman Waiting The snow falls silently on the cold night, giving the woman standing by the streetlight agentle cold feeling. Her hands are wrapped into wool mittens and the same to her neck with abrown striped scarf. She puts her hands into her pockets. The wind slightly hits her but her hairdoes not move as the hat on her head forbids it to.

She seems to be waiting, staring into the distance down the road as the snow falls upon theground. Her brown hair that covers her shoulders is speckled with the snowakes, giving her thelook of an angel. Her brown eyes continue to stare into the distance as cars pass by her and thelight post on the corner.

The snow continues to fall and wafts at her face. She neither notices nor cares as she con-tinues to wait. She pulls back her brown trench coat to reveal a watch. Glancing at the time shelooks down the road again, expecting what she has been waiting for, for a long time.

Minutes pass. She stands there unmoving, looking down at her feet.

Soon a bus appears with a screeching halt, disturbing the peace the woman had been usedto in the past as she was waiting. She lifts up the brown suitcase and takes the rst step towardsthe bus. With a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face, she disappears.

The snow continues to fall.

--Kate Andrew

WaitingJoshua Stirbu

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

43/57

42 Calliope2013

Dawn to duskConstantly running,

Even when youre asleep.

Im just an idea.In respect to your eyesMy numbers changing

When you look at meI may slow down or speed upThe rate at which I move my hands.

People consider me as an enemy

Some say Im helpfulFew ask what I am

I dont wait for anyoneNor stop for even a split second.

I have to keep going.

Im unstoppableDifferent all over the worldDifferent for each person

Use me wiselyFor I dont do refundsA minute past is a minute lost

I dont exist.You make me real.Time is up.

I Dont Wait for Anyone

--Paul Regacho

Light at the EndElizabeth Lungu

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

44/57

43

I wish to capture every kiss.I wonder does he know he lls me with bliss.

His hands t mine like a perfect glove.I just cant stop getting enough of his love.His smile is permanent in my brain.Without him I might go insane.Hes no good, a comment I put aside.But then I realized his love was wide.It was wide enough for many girls to t.The love I had for him became unlit.He played me like a fool.I tried to stay calm and keep my cool.

Hes not worth it for me to cry over.But I hope he knows he just lost his lucky clover.

No Good

--Yetunde Odunlami

Ribbon DanceLuca Ferniz

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

45/57

44 Calliope2013

Your leather jacket hangs in my roomThe only thing left after your doomYou went out like a normal night

You went out without a fright

The phone rang and mom picked answered itHer eyes teared when the news hit

They said it happened at impactThe guy was drunk too in fact

He didnt care one bitNo care for the teen he hit

Brother no longer hereLeft a hole in moms heart with a sharp spear

She dropped the phone and walked awayThis was no doubt the worst day

Your funeral is here as we gather roundAll the tears are heard with crying sound

You are lowered and you disappearFor a brother Ill never see to bring more cheer

I sit here in quiet while you made racketThe only thing to remember you is this leather jacket

Jacket

--Scott Hirsch

HorizonDori Hoffman

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

46/57

45

Dreaming of Breaking ThroughI want to be freeBut I like a world with boundariesI wish for independenceBut Im frightened of change

I want to be freeI want to taste, touch and feel the worldAnd see what I can doBut I feel myself onlyHolding back a part of meWatching the fear enveloping meAnd sinking in deeper

--Leontyne Wan

Cloudy DayVeran Patel

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

47/57

46 Calliope2013

PrincessLauren Burrell

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

48/57

47

A Flower In Hiding

Sometimes you look in the mirror and cringe at what you see.

Its not that you think youre ugly. Its not your face thats the problem.

Its the rest of you.

You run your hands down the sides of your body and frown at how straight it all is. Youre allangles and lines and you absolutelyhate it. You know its weird to feel this way, but what you want iscurves. Curves and rounded edges and softness. You dont want to be a rectangle, you want to be anhourglass, a pear, an apple, anything!

Butyourenot.Youreateverywhere,anditsuncomfortable.Itsuncomfortablebecauseyouknow youll never look good in the clothes you want to wear. You could never pull off a pretty summerdress or a cute pleated skirt with knee-high socks. All you can wear are jeans and t-shirts. You dontfeel good about yourself when you wear jeans and t-shirts. Its uncomfortable.

And now that you look at your face, maybe you arent as okay with it as you thought you were.Its too square-shaped. Your jaw is too sharp and your lips are too thin. Your eyebrows arent exactlythick, but theyre somehowlarge and they make you look as though youre perpetually angry aboutsomething. You dont look right. You hate it. Youre not beautiful. You look too tough to be beautiful.

You dont want to be like this. You want to look how you feel.

But you dont look how you feel.

Because you look like Russell.

But you feel like Rose.

--Fionn Reid

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

49/57

48 Calliope2013

Shark Fin--Alice Montague

Innitepres

sure

fromever

ywhich

way,

nevertrulyha

ving

asay

.

Aloneso

deep,

neverasle

ep.

Solely

tryin

gto

survive

,

living

tokill

,

dyingto

thrive.

Behaving

exact

lyasthey

sho

uld,

sosad

tobe

misunde

rstood

.

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

50/57

49

Mayan RootI am one thousand years old

light skinned like Ive bathed in acidsweet mouthed, suckled on capulines,born of aloe and cacti.

You worshipped me, once,shaped your daughters heads like mineforced their eyes to see me,and named a thousand lives for power,praying, each night,until the whitened monsters came for you to.

I would have given you paradise,nurturing you, my children, my life and lightbecause I gave you the day,not the shadows of Ix Chelbeloved as she may be, my lover of the night.

This yearning pain, like needles and nopalis sacred, still, still like the dying brushof jaguars in the forest,when you, the prey, hide away in jade,

sheath yourself in obsidian, lick up the bloodI ask of you.

I loved you, long ago, before your skin turned yellowand the taste of the language I gave to you curdled in your mouth,when you built my house on waterand returned me to your lifeas it was years ago.

--Lili Lule

Collage of Children

Shay Brandon

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

51/57

50 Calliope2013

Wingsrocketing to the skyying highhappy dayshappy lies

nally shotdown to the groundhitting the cold truthlying therenot knowing whats inside

Trying to y uponly to noticethat youre chained to the ground

Not knowing what to dostanding there in a dazein a hazesitting therein that blazing hellListening to the liesTo comfort you inside

Finally, youre set freeyou leave when youget the chanceying high in the skybut instead

of yng with white wingsshiningTheyve turned black like your soulSlowly dying

--Lianne Coballes

Masked MenKevin Luc

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

52/57

51

I am Tabula RasaBehind my frontal lobea little man starves to deathHe has gone through his whole lifesettling for mediocrity by his standards.thusly, he has developed a self destructive pro-

crastination habit

I hear the little man call out to mebegging for me to focus harderbut I dont listen to him anymore,I am cold to his callshe cant save me anymore.I am beyond his control,I am a translucent peach,I have transcended his productive claws.I am free,

and I am lost.

But that man is getting strongereating the half rotting fruit of my minds wisheskeeping his belly barely full

and soon he will take the reigns

if

I dont strike him down again

But theres another man in my headof a different positionHes got a different volition than mine.He is infatuated with my deathHe is the voice of my demonsHe is my addictionsand he most denitely has the control of mybeing

He is the boy I used to beFull of hate and confusion and ignoranceand loneliness

But Im a man now and I have a current cam-paign against himthere will no longer be my existential emotionaexperiencecrying on the inside and shielded stone eyes ou

No one can knowno one will hear you

they see only the old youthe man you are pretending to beyou liar you cheatyou deserve no loveno love

no lovemore time on a screenthan with the real methe one who loves

the one who wishes to not only pleaselike I used to care aboutbut be pleased

Im tired of other peoples thought being myownI am not your mirrorI am tabula rasaI AM A NEW MANI am free

wish I believed thatwish I had the strengthwish I had the faith to trust a higher powerto give me the next step on the path,but I cant even see my hand in front of my faceand the only voice that I can hear is the old meand he has an ideaand I cant stop listening;can I?

--Christopher Birnbaum

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

53/57

52 Calliope2013

Maghintay Ka Para Sa Akin, Lolo(Wait for me, Grandpa)You told me to be strong, because everything would be okay.I just listened to you, holding back the words I wanted to say.I wanted to break down and cry when I held your hand,

But the thought of you seeing my weakness was something I could not stand.Seventy years old on April 4, 2006.Together we celebrated.Before I left, I told you Id be back in three days.So, please wait.

Deceased on April 7, 2006.You didnt give me the chance to say I love you or thank you.What was I supposed do without you? I had no clue.I guess Ill take the chance to say it now, hoping that youll hear me somehow.Thank you for looking for me when I was ve years old when you thought I was lost.

Thank you for driving me to and from school, sun, rain, or frost.Thank you for coming home from the hospital during those times when you werent in the best condi-tion.Thank you for giving the battle your all, for not giving in.Thank for teaching me how to sing.Thank you for everything.It haunts me everyday to know that I was a few hours late.Why Lolo? Why couldnt you just wait?

I had known we were heading towards the end of a well fought battle.

But when I found out that we lost, I remained in denial.NO NO NO! WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?I yelled at Mommy with no ounce of strength remaining.All the tears I held back for so long were released.I was broken, how could you leave me?I will never forget that day.The day you couldnt wait.

Its been years now, and Ive come to accept that youre never going to be here.Well see each other again, and then you can make things clear.Then, I can tell you face to face everything I wanted to say.

One day.But for now, we wait.

--Judy Cabae

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

54/57

53

StaircaseMaia Sepiashvili

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

55/57

I AmI am here.I am everywhere every place youve ever been.I have waited, every face you ever saw, I have worn

And used to my delight.I have not one name but thousands.

I come on the wings of an epidemicsthe screech of a massacre, the bleeding thunder of a war or even the destruction of the

slaughter.

I devour the bodies of the sick along with the hopes of the mother,and the laughter of the child

with your cries you invite me inToday I will be the father that left homeThe next day your mother that will walk away and leave you on the street for anyone to claim.Or even your friend who told your dirty secrets,

who knows I might work though you.Im the dream you feared was real coming to life.

Im the voice in the back of your mind forcing you to choose right from wrong,

All of these are my gift to you. I love you in my own wayI AM NOT DEATH!No. Death looks to me with sorrow in his eyesand ask why? Why do you do the things you do? I answer, I do what you are too SOFT to doI AM NOT SOME FASHIONABLE MONSTERS WITH A TAIL AND HORNS PAINTED RED THATTAKES YOU DOWN UNDER ON PAST SINS.

No end is swift under my watch.I am peace destroyed and eyes forcedopen the ragged ring around your neck.

The devil on your shoulder,the dark cold rainy days that seem to have no end.

Im that last bottle of beer and the fatal needle in your vein,I am the secret wish for others I am the secret wish for you.I dont have one name, but THOUSANDS. You, my friend, may call me.......Agony

--Andre Jalloh

54 Calliope2013

Face CloudsSarah Lewin

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

56/57

55

AngerRed, hot, steamingIt overcomes youSometimes it arrives without warning

It feeds off your happinessBeware of getting too closeYou will make it worse

Frustrated, annoyed, uncontrollableIt hides itself within youand appears when something doesnt go you way

Its different in everyoneSome learn how to control itbut others cant

Contagious, upsetting, killerWhen it enters the roomeverything becomes weak and it conquers all

It may ruin a moodor start an argumentbut everyone knows its no good

--Michelle Tanaka

WelderLianne Coballes

7/28/2019 Calliope 2013

57/57

Calliope 2013- ContradictionsEditor-in-Chief: Rupal S. Desai

Associate Editors: Michelle Jacob and Michelle LinAssistant Editor: Basil AliasGeneral Staff: Lianne Coballes, Hannah Kamm, Jonathan Marks, Sara Morrison, FionnReid, Emily Roman, and Leontyne WanFaculty Adviser: Charles PrattTechnical Adviser: Ivan SilverbergFront Cover Art: Serena HocharoenBack Cover Art: Anna Poloz

Special thanks to:Mr. Charles Pratt, for his patient encouragement, and for giving us food.Mr. Ivan Silverberg, for his technical assistance.

Ms. Lori Real, Ms. Deanna Sortino, and Ms. Amy Zwikel for their artistic support.The Niles North English Department for their support.Mr. Tony Bradburn and Dr. Ryan McTague, for their consideration.The inspiring students of Niles North High School for their creative submissions.

STATEMENT OF POLICYSubmissions for Calliope 201s were reviewed anonymously by magazine staff members. All entrieswere evaluated on the criteria of quality, style, and content. Submissions were accepted for consider-ation from August 2012 through April 2013. We regret that some submissions could not be used be-cause of time and space limitations. We also regret that some photos and artwork might suffer a loss

in quality due to the conversion from color to black and white.

Calliope, named for the Greek muse of epic poetry, is the art and literary magazine created, designed,and published by the students of Niles North High School in Skokie, Illinois.

The magazine was created on Apple computers using Microsoft Word, Adobe InDesign 3.0, andAdobe PhotoShop 7.0. Title font is 24-point Apple Chancery. Text font is 12-point Georgia.

The magazine was printed by Sons Enterprises, Inc. of Skokie, Illinois.

HOW TO SUBMITThis is your magazine. Students who wish to contribute to Calliope 2014 may submit original pieces ofart, photography, prose, and poetry via submissions boxes located in The Point and the IRC. You canalso give submissions to your English or art teacher for forwarding. Generally, we accept submissions