Scribe 2013, Middle School Literary Magazine

Scribe

BROOKLYN FRIENDS

MIDDLE SCHOOL 2013

ScribeEvery year, the Brooklyn Friends Middle School celebrates writing andthe creative arts through the publication of Scribe. We encourage students

in all classes to submit their writing for publication, and works from every grade

are represented. Many of our seventh and eighth graders submitted their work to

the Scholastic Writing Awards competition; pieces by the students selected for

recognition are included in Scribe as well.

This year, we are pleased to publish poetry and song lyrics inspired by the Pi Daycelebration as a way to highlight the connection between writing and mathematics.We encourage all students to continue writing and creating, and we look forward toyour submissions next year.

We also wish to thank the Brooklyn Friends School English faculty for their contin-ued support of creative writing in and out of the classroom: Laurice Hwang, TiciaVreeland, Tony Soll, Erin Mansur, Mo Yusuf, Julie Innis, and Sarah Schlein

Rachel Mazor, Scribe faculty advisorTina Piccolo, Scribe art advisorMartha Haakmat, Head of Middle School

Cover: Jessica Israel, grade 8

Cosi McConnell, grade 8

SPRING, Hildagard Gabel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2

THE SOUND OF SPRING, Alydia Wells . . . . . . . 3

FALLING, Maxine Simons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

INDEFINITELY, Anna Werther . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

I AM ME, Michaela Guy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

GREATER, Manya Capoluongo . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

GRENDEL’S PERSPECTIVE,Annika Heegaard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .6

STALLING, Will Popalisky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7

A FRIEND, Kennedy White . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7

INNOCENCE, Alexander Castro . . . . . . . . . . . . .8

TIME, Isabella Robinson-Cloete . . . . . . . . . . . 8

ROUTE 63, Sophia Lipkin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9

SNOWFLAKE, Hannah Berman. . . . . . . . . . . . .10

GOODBYE, Milly Berman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

SPRING POEM, Stella Belt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

SING MY NAME, Sabina Marino. . . . . . . . . . . 12

WHAT IS RIGHT, Claudius Agrippa. . . . . . . . 13

LIFE IS LIKE GYMNASTICS, Amanda Becker. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14

ALL IN MY HEAD, Lily Ives. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15

LAST PERIOD, Benjamin Barrett . . . . . . . . . .16

BASEBALL, Jackson Wald. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16

THE PI-POCALYPSE, Jessica Israel and Hannah Berman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .16

PI DAY SONG, Cameron Winter. . . . . . . . . . . 17

SWIMMING, Betsy Allen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

HATE, Lucy Henderson Smith . . . . . . . . . . . 19

AUTUMN, Tyler Roberts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Contents

Sam Feuerlicht, grade 5

Scribe 1

2 Brooklyn Friends School

SpringHildagard Gabel, grade 8

Fuzzy buds unfold from stiff branches, soaked

with the cool droplets of rain that fall endlessly, so it seems, from the cotton skies.

It is the time of the year,

perhaps the only time, when

dull grey doesn’t suffocate the living, breathing, throbbing of green.

Tiny shoots, new to the world, burst from the concrete with hopes

of growing tall. Not even the most foul-hearted humans, the coldest creatures,

can shoot down their slight smiles, or the glints in their eyes when they look out their

dark constricting rooms and see life.

And though the plants will lose their vibrant green,

their vivacity and youth, and people will go back to

their dreary lives, forgetting the three-leafed miracles they witnessed, they are young

now, carefree and naive.

It is nature’s warm reminder that no amount of

brick, dust, or glass, will smother the might

of their strength, their perseverance, infinitely greater than their size.

Sarah Popalisky, grade 7

The Sound of SpringAlydia Wells, grade 6

Scribe 3

Alydia Wells, grade 6

The sound of spring

is a beautiful thingas birds may singandsounds of church bells ring a spring songKids’ sneakers ping on the groundas spring break creeps into school day boundsThe sun rises and falls with glory to beholdandas I watch through the window atop my houseI watch the city spring aboutas cars run byand people play aboutbut when the rain begins to fall the rain drops start to call“It’s spring it’s spring the flowers are coming out having a blast in the sounds of spring

always a treat when spring begins.”

FallingMaxine Simons, grade 6

down,

down,

Down,I gounder the earthandunder the snowinto the darknessthere is no lightwhere I am falling it is always nightthere is no happinessonly painwhere i am falling i have nothing to gainall i can do isfallfallfallfalling


IndefinitelyAnna Werther, grade 8

When I’m older, I’ll have no room to be happy in. Happiness is never pure. Miseryalways finds its way into the cracks of every joyous moment. It follows you, holds

the despair over your head like a rain cloud. Always dripping down, as peers scoop themup and toss them right back at you.

I’ll have a room where I can be upset in. The walls will be the colors of my jeans, withripped patches that have worn through over time. The floor the same as the walls, soyou can’t see where the room ends. My memories will be in that room. The memoriesthat make me sad, that help my distress emerge in a wave of anger and tears I had beenholding back for years. A room where on the walls, there are pictures of times that I re-gret, in an ultimate loop in my mind.

But then I think to myself, I was young then. I didn’t know that my sentiment could bepermanently damaged from storms of violence and enmity. And after a while, thosethings don’t matter to me so much. The become a small portion of my heartache, beat-ing at a rhythm that is trying to push out all the demons of my past. My heart does notalways acknowledge my mind, which knows that those things will be with me indefi-nitely.

Maalik Dunkley, grade 8

I Am MeMichaela Guy, grade 7

Scribe 5

I am a Warrior

I am strong

I am here to prove

That size and gender

Don’t prove anything

I am a princessI am strong of heart and mindI know I have a voiceI stand up for what is importantI know I am beautiful because I am strong

I am meI am not youI am not herI will never be youI will never be her

I am who I am

I am me

GreaterManya Capoluongo, grade 7

What makes her greater than me?

Is it the fact that she's airbrushed astonishingly?

What makes her better than I?

Is it the fact that her face tells a lie?

Is that who I want to be?

No.

That’s anything

But me.

Tess Noble Strohm, grade 8

Grendel’s PerspectiveAnnika Heegaard, grade 6

It was dark out, and it was time. As I slithered out of my dark fen, I made sure to checkmy thoughts for evil. “Good,” I thought, filled with evil. For evil was all I knew. I kept on

slithering ‘til I got to the end of my fen. I crossed the forest and picked up a snack or two.Some deer, rabbits, frogs, and more. “Yum,” I thought, “A midnight snack.” Little did Iknow that my huge snack would come soon. I crossed the end of the forest but wasstopped by a pile of soldiers blocking it. “Easy,” I thought, “No problem at all.” I pickedup seven men in my third arm, nine in my sixth arm and the rest in my second arm. Idropped them one by one into my mouth and gulped them down. Of course, a few wokeup while I picked them up, but so what, another snack. As I crossed over their remains, Isaw the hall. My favorite hall. The hall of Heorot.

I looked at the hall and smiled. This hall inspired me todo bad. All of a sudden, I picked up a piece of ground cov-ered in ants and threw it into my mouth. Good. I slitheredto the castle where men slept everywhere. The usual kindof men. The ones that thought they were strong enoughto defeat me. But one man caught my eye. I took a deeplook at him. I could tell that he was the leader. And Icould tell he was awake. But I wasn’t intimidated becausehe had no sword. “No sword,” I thought, “No chance.”But before I took chances with this leader, I had to havean energy boost. I picked up around 14 men and stuffedthem in my mouths. And then all of a sudden this leaderstood up.

I glared at him, and smiled for his death (and my lunch). I thought about how it would befun to have a little bit of an obstacle every once in awhile. But I was wrong. I was defi-nitely wrong. Until then, all I knew was evil, all I heard was evil, and everything I saw wasevil. So when he used his weird thing called “light,” I started to forget my evil. As hegrabbed me, his fingered jabbed into me. “OWWWW!” I screamed. But I couldn’t givehim strength by showing him my weakness. So I picked up my arm, which he was hang-ing onto, and swung it around. I screamed in horror, for no one had gotten this farthrough me. He started saying something about “light,” but I couldn’t hear him becauseof the pain I was in.

Suddenly, he let go. I started to breathe, but not the regular type of breathing. I got upand screamed, for he had taken off my fourth arm. I slithered to my fen where mymother sat. I yelled at the moon, for my mother and I both knew I would perish. “Theyshall pay,” my mother hissed. I smiled. But a happy smile. I had never done it before, butthis leader’s light had shaken me. My mother was in horror. I had been happy. She tookher arm and wrapped it around my neck. I was struggling for my breath, but as child ofCain, I deserved no life. My 11 eyes started to close with death, and as they did, my evilmother smiled. But not a happy, kind, caring smile – an evil smile.


Willa Siegmund, grade 5

Stalling is not doing your work

It is not stalling if you do your work

Stalling is drinking a can of Dr Pepper

Don’t drink the Dr Pepper

Stalling is putting on a jacketwhen you’re cold

Don’t put on a jacket

Stalling is thinking deep thoughts

it is not stalling if you focus

Stalling is looking into space

Look at your paper and just do it

Stalling is asking random questions

Come on focus

Stalling is drawing on your paper

Stop stalling and do your homework!!

A FriendKennedy White, grade 5

Will we change?I am scaredI dread the day that may comeThe day she turns her back and says you’re not welcomedThe day she says she has new friendsThe day she says we need to take a breakShe doesn’t realize she’s making a mistakeAll the memoriesAll the funny stories we haveJust go down the toiletIt hasn’t happened yetBut I am scared it willI have heard about middle schoolAnd how it changes friendshipsI am scared it will happen somedayAll of our dreams thrown awayLike riding the subway by ourselvesAnd making our own decisionsMaybe I should stop and calm downmaybe put my frown upside downAll I should be saying is that this will not happen

She is my friend

Our friendship will never end

StallingWill Popalisky, grade 7

Scribe 7

Nova Snyder, grade 5

Isabel Schoeman, grade 5


InnocenceAlexander Castro, grade 8

Innocence

is there such a thing in this world

where can it be found?

in a flower or a little girl

Those things don’t last forever

Innocence the one thing thatis unreachable as well as unteachable

Innocence

is there such a thing..........

TimeIsabella Robinson-Cloete, grade 5

Time is shortwe normally don’t think about what we dowith timeyou could do goodyou could do badyou could have funyou could be boredIf you see there are so many thingsyou could do with timeWhen you try time flies byTime makes you feel different ways sometimes

sometimes it’s goodsometimes it’s badsometimes it’s longsometime it’s fast

No matterhow it makes you feelTIME IS TIMEand that is that Lily Edelman, grade 5

Claire Stohlman, grade 7

Scribe 9

Route 63Sophia Lipkin, grade 7

REGIONAL SILVER KEY, SCHOLASTIC WRITING AWARDS

If you were to be traveling by car down the dirt anddust road of Route 63 in Rominly, Maine (Which is atiny little town that possibly no one has ever heard of,

and if you ask any other person about Rominly,they will tell you that there is no such a place and tostop dreaming and to look out of your head,as they did to young Morgan Prince,several years after this story takes place)

and you happened to look out your window at thebuttercup yellow house with a black roof andwhite trim,you would have seen a little girl,no more than five, swinging on her swing set at the side of the house,a blank glazed look in her eyes.

If you happened to have the windows down at that same moment, you would have heardthe creaking of the swing set, and the barking of the dog, and the clucking of thechickens from the backyard.

But only if you looked very closely could you see what that girl could.

And if, several days later, you were to be passing through a town near Rominly, and youwere to look at a newspaper, you would have seen an article about a young local girlmissing, disappeared out of her own yard.

And if you were to read that article, they never once mentioned Rominly. But youprobably would wonder if it was the same little girl.

It was.

They called her Wind. And as you probably are right now, you would wonder whereshe went.

And what happened to the tiny little town of Rominly.

Jonah Sollins-Devlin, grade 6

It is

Fa l l i n g

slowly.

It winks at the sun, sparkling

joyously, flirting.

It is a star, a celebrity

The cameras flash

as it

f

l

o

a

t

s

downwards

It doesn’t know it will hit the ground

and become one with everything else

All it knows is that it is falling

and it is enjoying the ride

SnowflakeHannah Berman, grade 8

REGIONAL SILVER KEY, SCHOLASTIC WRITING AWARDS


Jessica Israel, grade 8

Scribe 11

GoodbyeMilly Berman, grade 5

I rub the da-zi-bao* so it sticks better. I think about when I was little, and my dad wouldpick me up and twirl me around. I feel like I am twirling in the air, my lunchbox bumpingat my side. The big red letters blur together with my tears, and block my vision. All I see isred. I feel faint. Is it too late to take it down?

“How could you do this to me?” my father screams shakily through the haze. Somethingbumps against my hip. A lunchbox? The world spins crazily around me. I look down andwipe my eyes, so my father will not see the tears.

“If I don’t leave you, they will hurt me too! I don’t care any-more. I just can’t take it,” my voice trembles. I turn nerv-ously to face him. His usually bright green eyes look dull andlifeless. They are red from crying. They remind me of the redink on my da-zi-bao. “Please...just listen...”

“Don’t. You hurt me. Is it my fault that they target me? Is itmy fault that my wife’s father committed suicide? I did noth-ing! You are saving yourself,” he shrieks. He plants his footon the ground, and pivots to face away from me.

“Please! Just listen! I didn’t mean...”

“I know exactly what you meant. It says what you meant right there,” he points, “‘My fatheris a monster.’ Yes. I’m the monster.” He says without turning around. His back fades intothe fog, and I hear his walking stick clapping against the cold stone.

I turn to the da-zi-bao, crying. The world is blurred. I press my back against the stone walland slide down. My whole body is shaking. Behind my closed eyelids, I see him. His deeppurple robe flying around him. His friendly eyes, closed with laughter. His laugh. Hishands, holding my hands.

Why did I do this to him? I can’t undo it. I have to. I have to...

I stand up, forcing my eyes to open. Tears have glued them shut. I reach out my handsblindly, fierce red ink leading me to the da-zi-bao. “My Father is a Monster.” I fumble withthe edges of the paper.

A loud ripping sound cuts through the air, clean and refreshing. Another rip. The weighton my chest lifts, a little. I tear it clumsily off the wall. Someone is laughing, far away. I ripit more. My vision starts to clear. Rip. The da-zi-bao is in unreadable pieces, scattered onthe ground. I can see clearly, and I can breathe freely. I can tell, now, that the laughing wasme. I can laugh! I start to dance, and I twirl around. Twirl like my father used to. My heartsinks.

I can’t turn back the clock. But I can try to repair what happened.

*A da-zi-bao is a propaganda poster from the Cultural Revolution in China (1966), used to humili-ate people who had done wrong.

Christopher Klein, grade 6

To reach up and grasp

these veils of blue breeze

wed to skypudding

and holding rings

with tiny hands.

and how lovely it is

to drown in the tastes of

being.

how lovely it is,

to

drown

again.

Sing My NameSabina Marino, grade 7

REGIONAL SILVER KEY, SCHOLASTICWRITING AWARDS

If I die, Sing My Name

Sing it Loud

And sing it clear

Like a flame

Make them cry

So I’ll hear their wails from up high

Your soft singing

in their ear

Will surely make their eyes tear

And when their tears come rolling down

like the seven seas

Make them drown

Spring PoemStella Belt, grade 7HONORABLE MENTION, SCHOLASTICWRITING AWARDS


Anthony Hohn, grade 7

Hasanti Kelly, grade 7

My tears drip onto the hard wooden floor

The one I most loved lives no more

I am alone in this silent house

with no company, not even a mouse

Her heavenly scent still lingers in the air

It reminds me of her eyes, and her beautiful hair

But the stench of her blood also burdens the air

Reminding me of her death and my despair

When I came home and found her there

her wrists were slashed and blood was everywhere

I cried for all my wrong doings that had led to her death

How she had suffered until her last breath

So now I go out into the night

To find a tree with height

to do what is right

my legs swinging left, right, left, right

What Is RightClaudius Agrippa, grade 8

Scribe 13

Hildagard Gabel, grade 8


Life Is Like GymnasticsAmanda Becker, grade 7REGIONAL GOLD KEY, SCHOLASTIC WRITING AWARDS

You can I

P L F

and STICKor

FA

L

L

You canCHOOSE to be STRONGor you can choose to not toYou can live on the

E D G E

Or play itSafe

You can

B RU Y

Your Painor just

C

O

L

L

A

P

S

E You can be JUDGEDBut youhaveCHOICES

Anna Sawyer, grade 7

Scribe 15

All in My HeadLily Ives, grade 8

There is no such thing as too muchmusic, and there is not a day that

goes by when I do not hear a note. Ihave even fallen asleep to my favoritesongs while my phone was on shuf-fle. Subconsciously, I take notice ofthe way the songs refer to the way Iexperience the rocky mountains oflife the most. They sink into my headfrom my headphones and evendeeper into my dreams. They controlme, I control them. Images from thepast are projected in my head andthey are on replay. Every mistake,every regret, and every word left un-said burns my mind. What seems tobe infinite dark emotions flow in andsync themselves with my mood. Justas easily as they come, they go, replac-ing one another with a different tem-per. But it is not the song that makesme have these feelings. It is I whoturns on these songs to make me dra-matically better or dramaticallyworse. Why do I do that? Is it becauseI thrive on having an outlet to spill allmy emotions out to? Well, music is infact my most dependable outlet, andthe best part is I do not even have totalk; the lyrics substitute for my weakand shaky voice. My head is in theclouds. The clouds are in my head. Iam floating away, dancing alone, andsimply being with the rest of the skyand my headphones. I never stopmoving, and my play list is endless.But when I wake up to silence, I stop.My endless play list has finished. Itwas all in my head.

Nora Slovak, grade 5


In honor of Pi Day (March 14, or 3.14), students performed songs about Pi and wrote“Pi-Kus.” A “Pi-Ku” is similar to a haiku, except that the number of syllables per line isdetermined by the digits of Pi (3.14159...) Below are some examples of the work sharedduring the Pi Day celebration.

Last PeriodBenjamin Barrett, grade 7

Clock so slow

Time

Go by and fly

Please

Do not freeze for me

Hurry up, Clock, before I break you!

π

BaseballJackson Wald, grade 7

The baseball

Thrown

Straight towards your head

SMACK!

You slowly fall down

People gather, women, scream, I run and run

π

The Pi-PocalypseJessie Israel and Hannah Berman, grade 8

It’s coming

the

PI-POCALYPSE

Pies

Will fall from the sky

Save your families before too late!

Pi Day Poetry

Hunter Marrero

, grade 7

π

Pi Day Song (lyrics)Cameron Winter, grade 5

VERSE 1:

It’s the mathematical constant that’s a ratio

Of circumference to diameter of a circular O

You can’t use a ruler or a piece of string

You'll need a supercomputer and years of training

Leonard Euler got right into pi

In the works that he published in 1749

And the polygon era in 250 B.C.(E)

Was lead by none other than Archimedes

CHORUS: 3.1415926538979323846264338327950288419716

VERSE 2:

Pecan, apple, blueberries,

I even taste good when I’m stuffed with peas

Key lime, lemon, rhubarb,

I’m even delicious when I’m filled with lard,

I’m not even ashamed that I make you fat –

Bacon and egg pie, resist that.

And ol’ pizza pie is always a hit,

But if eat too much your heart’ll stop for a bit

(Repeat chorus)

VERSE 3:

I’m an Indian boy who was on a boat,

Until it sunk and I was le afloat

But I didn't realize ’til a day or more,

I was stuck with a tiger thousand miles from shore

So I lost all my food, to a giant whale

And almost didn’t live to tell the tale

Yep, the boy with scraggly hair, it’s me,

Don’t mean to boast, but we won an Oscar for cinematographyplus Ang Lee

(Repeat chorus)

3.14159 at's pi!

Scribe 17

Cailean Murphy, grade 6

Rowan Ives, grade 6

Charice Lawrence, grade 6

As I jump into the water

I feel myself plummeting

The air pushing upwards as I go down

I hit the water and feel the coldness wash over me

I reach the bottom and feel the tiled floor against myfeet

I push myself to the surface and

Take a deep breath

My hands act as paddles, pulling me through thewater

Fingers pressed tightly together

I pull the water backwards

As I propel myself forward

My head comes up again

I can hear talking and laughing

I take a deep breath and

Duck back under

The sound of talk and laughter is

muted

As if pulled away from me

My mind goes blank

All thoughts directed on the cool water

I touch the wall lightly and flip over

I am aware of every muscle straining

As I come towards the finish line

My arms make graceful circles

My feet pushing me forward

I touch the wall

It is over

SwimmingBetsy Allen, grade 5


Lily Ives, grade 8

aer Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

Let me not to the hatred of true minds

Reject impediments. Hate is not hate

That forgives, accepts, and binds,

But bends the other and doesn’t wait.

O yes, they will never help

one another, but create tempests to shake.

All the way to the stars they will yelp

Until the end. From each other they will gladly take.

Hate’s life’s fool, evil and mean,

rude and horrid, without love.

Hate changes each other and sets life’s scene,

And never ends. Unlike love it will remove

your hopes and dreams. Because it has happened

Before and will again. And at one point, everyone has hated.

HateLucy Henderson Smith, grade 7REGIONAL SILVER KEY, SCHOLASTIC WRITING AWARDS

Scribe 19

Niamh Henchy, grade 7

Autumn in New York is one of

the more complicated seasons.

Gone are the days of flip-flops

and tank tops and steaming heat.

Here are the days of rain, leaves

falling, catwalks and fur coats,

November elections and

popular votes.

The beginning of slow trains

and the morning lag, and the

return of boys who let their

khakis sag.

Leaves fly off the trees like

clothes on Black Friday. All the

birds and squirrels prepare for

their coming winter hideaway.

Autumn is like the infancy of

the seasons, it grows up fast

and doesn't care about

explanations or reasons.

But just like a baby autumn

leaves. It turns and grows. And

Grows. And Grows.

AutumnTyler Roberts, grade 8

REGIONAL SILVER KEY, SCHOLASTICWRITING AWARDS


Helen Lipsky, grade 6

Brooklyn Friends SchoolMission Statement

Guided by the Quaker belief that there is a Divine Light in everyone, Brooklyn Friends

School cultivates an intellectually ambitious and diverse community that celebrates

each individual's gifts. We challenge our students to value and embrace difference as

they develop critical thinking skills and apply their knowledge and intelligence both in

and out of the classroom. In this rich learning environment, we inspire all members of

our community to voice their convictions, to discover and pursue their passions, and to

seek truth. Our graduates are compassionate, curious, and confident global citizens

who let their lives speak in the spirit of leadership and service.

Maalik Dunkley, grade 8

BROOKLYN FRIENDS SCHOOL375 Pearl Street

Brooklyn, New York 11201

718.852.1029www.brooklynfriends.org

Julian Strauss-Biro, grade 8

Documents

Scribe 2013, Middle School Literary Magazine