“I think someday I’ll be a poet,”she mused aloud one day.

He shook his head and laughed and said,“Whenever were you not?”

1Epigraph by Diana ChenCover Art by Laura Siciliano

The ScribblerCo-Editors in Chief Samuel Drucker

Jaime Halberstam

Layout Editors Joseph May

Alina Edep

Arts Editor Alana Steinberg

Sponsor Kate Peters

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Callie Leone

Table of ContentsClockwork Heart Drew Doughty

Invisible Jewels Anonymous

A Strange Illustration Gabriella Mayer

A Lost Lover’s LoveAmman Bhasin

You Anonymous

Your Sweet FaceSara Jo Battat

Rose’s RoseJaime Halberstam

Prep School ParodyAnonymous

Snow’s Feelings Alexis Chestnov

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The Senses Troy Gonzales

“Cry” Diana Chen

Reading Dickens Diana Chen

Two Points on the Spectrum Gabriella Mayer

The Closed Room Zahra Markatia

All - but not One Sammy Krouse

PerceptionAllison Belette

At the Met Seeing Madame Charpentier by Auguste Renoir Alexis Chestnov

No Vacancy Nakura Stout

I’m Sorry. I Think.Diana Chen

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My First Love Emily Kidd

WendyKate Edelson

Peace Starlite Stromer

Conformity Louis Browne

To Wake to Hear the Ocean NoiseAlex Evenson

DreamsSeren Nurgun

Founder’s Council Visual ArtsAward FeatureDani Pendergast

A Glance from Mars Zachary Gittleman

An Unnecessary Apology Allison Samowitz

Tugged Ivy Kilpatrick

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A Collaborative Effort Nakura Stout, Diana Chen, and Kate Edelson

The World Spun ‘Round Her Fragile Form Nicole Baptista

Kaleidoscope Eyes Nakura Stout

The Persistence of Memory Maddie Skimming

Life’s Requirements Alexis Chestnov

The Way of the Leaves Jake Pagano

Yin and Yang of a Fox Holly Goldberg

The DogBlair Bosshardt

A Dog’s Best FriendSavanna Gornisiewicz

The FelineMax Gittleman

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Lilith Louis Browne

Firebird Drew Doughty

The Dull HouseRyan Wexler

The Infant Anonymous

Fallen Emily Kidd

Dimples Kate Edelson

The Sun Jessica Pancer

A Woods that Burns so Lovely Drew Doughty

People in Glass Houses... Nakura Stout

Life Through Pearl’s Eyes Carter Helschien

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Fire Anonymous

The Lord’s Resistance Army Angela Cureton

Dear Silver Tongue Diana Chen

Side by Side Lea Stempel

Where the Truth Lies Theodore Jackson

Dear Imaginary FriendDiana Chen

A Strain of FlingHolly Goldberg

CourageAnna Sze

The Wish of Dreams Lea Stempel

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Clockwork HeartDrew Doughty

There is a sound that the Seconds hate and Minutes fearThere is a girl that Time servesA girl that Time has known, for quite a whileWith blood dripping hair and pale fire eyesHer schedule is preciseNever stopping on the hourlate or early never existsonly all that is now

Minutes and Seconds all containedUnruly they arefor wanting to fleeBut she is the masterkeeping time in rhyme and rhythm in space

Entranced by such a soundMiss Pied Piper led them astraySpiraling down through gears and grindsWhere menacing hands pointed and laughedLaughed with a sound that haunted them allResonating in the solace of her mindfrom the round shaped heart held in redA place where hands twist and contortand numbers dance with TimeTickTockClockwork Heart

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Jillian Samowitz

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Invisible Jewels A little down the road and to the right, The house towers, admiring the night.Sitting lofty in its humble stance,Alas, unworthy of a second glance.To all but itself, inconsequential,Although it thinks itself influential.

Decrepit, decaying, windows swaying;Invisible jewels it is displaying.In the distance, the carillon playing,It sits quietly fraying and greying.

Grasping for a poise it cannot attain,Its attempts to impress are all in vain.It knows it is just ahead of the game,With time the houses will all be same.

At sight of passerby, shoulders pulled back,Masked in shades of dark - the night pitch black.But he smiles, for the night is almost gone,And the darkest hour is just before the dawn.

Anonymous

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Peng Kuai

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A Strange IllustrationGabriella Mayer

I illustrated the strange picture,The one you see in that small pocket of your brain.The solemn blue, the child’s cry.The wearied red of a fire’s silver eye.The opportunity of the glorified white.The lines black of an unanimated humanity.The royal Purple crown that donned they and our sacred heads.

The animals running toward the river,they wait for they don’t know where the Well is.The child of Midway sings softly as he’s carried to the River where he dies.I draw these images, these images of sorrow.

The man with the hair of fireFalls to his knees as news of his lost Beloved becomesRecognized. No one recognizes the Man. They don’t know it’s someoneHigher Than Anyone Will Ever Be.My son was poor, but then he was hired by a lost man to gain happiness in the lost hopes of the Universe. He succeeded, but then the lost mantook his life while I watched the wound become prominent.I draw these images, these images of chances.I said to him “What have you done? Ripping throughSilk and Cotton with a dry paintbrush, a brush so red!”Though he and I knew he would not say more.

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I trembled and scratched his face, a deep wound withMy Diamond Ring.I draw these images, these images of a person’s grief of Somebody Loved.

The kinder saint was brought home by the river,he was almost dead before he was rescued;Never would you think of a personal suffering far greater: the images he saw burned his eyes.He jumped intothe river and seeked a cure for his near-blindness. A medicine man wasbrought to the house in which He reigned andgot relieved of a previous sin.I draw these images, these images of redemption.

I draw these imagesfor the world to glance at andgain sympathy since most have been through it.It may bring up many things harsh butat least a person’s emotions shall be developed and used when a Tzaddik churns in a person’s bones.

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A Lost Lover’s LoveAmman Bhasin

A little glance from her makes my heart jump,Sometimes I think her beauty makes me blind,The very thought of her makes my heart thump,Her smile makes thoughts disappear in my mind.I think her heart does not beat as mine does,As she dreams of another in her sleep,Which throws my thoughts into a complex buzz,So deep is the pain that it makes me weep.But her beauty will never fade for me,Love will remain eternal in my soul,She gracefully rises like the sea,Forever in my heart will be a hole. I will love her always but she isn’t mine But with age she will get better like wine.16

Andrea Levy

You are not the only One,I hate being Alone too.I will never leave Your sideMy Mind didn’t change, so I still cry-The further I drift, the closer I feel,The more able it is to become real.Your eyes glisten like the Stars in the sky,A distance away from You and II keep thinking of You -

Anonymous

You

Maddie Smoot

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Your Sweet FaceSara Jo Battat

The sun fell gently upon your sweet faceAs your gorgeous green eyes had glistenedI miss the old way my heart used to race.And now I wish that you would have listened.

Listened to the advice I would give youListened when I pleaded for you to stayListened to the ways that I had loved youBut you did not listen and had to pay

Why did you have to leave home to go fight?Did you not think you had a chance to die?I know you thought that what you did was rightBut now you are gone, in the grave you lie

My last memory is of your picture of graceWhere the sun fell gently upon your face

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Patricia Reyes

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Rose’s RoseJaime Halberstam

You passed me and I tried to smile at you. I tried in the best way I could to lift the stubborn corners of my mouth into that greeting you always offered me. I knew you could see me, but I couldn’t muster even the faintest hint of happiness. Seeing you in a black box, held up by strong men clad in even blacker shades, broke the gates to a deluge of emotion. I endlessly searched for building blocks to construct a façade for my younger cousin, to tell her everything was okay. Her kind, innocent eyes looked into mine, searching for an answer. It took unimaginable strength to stop my face from purveying the pain I felt. I loved my grandmother, Rose. My belief that she was the embodiment of the ideal of humankind was no personal opinion; it was fervently agreed upon by anybody she spoke to, even those with whom her exchanges were brief. She magnificently and gracefully turned every stum-bling block into a stepping-stone. Her words, so perfectly chosen, so sincere, were alarming in their simple beauty.

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Danielle Coller

The recipient of her sagacity always left the conversation with something valuable learned. The image of her angelic face is still emblazoned in my mind unspoiled by the pass-ing of time, as fresh as yesterday. Behind the withered exterior and the glasses perched on her nose, her face was magnificently carved. What may have been considered beauty in her youth was now considered serenity. The peaceful set of her eyes never failed to soothe whoever needed soothing. Her delicate skin was impervi-ous to troubles and resilient in the face of defeat. But that same wonderful skin is now limp and non-elastic. That same chuckle which used to stay always ready and waiting under her tongue has gone into the abyss and mystery of afterlife. That sparkle in her eye has indefinitely lent its light to the stars in the sky. The silence that used to be our favorite means of communication now hangs tensely in the air. And so I stood there, staring. Staring at the re-mains of what used to be the paragon of all mankind. But if I’ve learned anything from my grandmother it is that the physical is frivolous. I loved my grandmother for who she was – not for the skin and bones that her soul called home. And thus I paid my respects to the coffin as a mere ritual. I knew that the most sincere thank you I could give her was not by formality of ceremony, but rather by nurturing the seeds of wisdom she planted within me and hoping that one day they will flourish to a Rose remotely as beautiful as hers.

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Prep School ParodyAnonymous

Mommy kissed me goodbye as I hopped out of my car seat, my tummy full of butterflies but my heart throb-bing with excitement. As I skipped towards my classroom, my teacher welcomed me with scolding words- prep school students, she said, are never on time. One must be early in order to avoid shaming both themselves and their families before the whole school community. Confused and bewil-dered, I entered the classroom as the teacher introduced me, “Your classmate has finally arrived,” pointing at me to further embarrass and reprimand me. As I precariously settled myself in a chair, I noticed the little girl next to me. Her hair, in two neat french braids was pulled far off her face, which was very pale—had she never played in the sun?!—with deepset, all-knowing brown eyes. Her oxford shirt was buttoned all the way to the top button and her socks rose to her mid-calves. The teacher began distributing a worksheet. Concerned, I reminded myself that Mommy had assured me I was very smart for my age, being able to read small words and write out my name. Unfortunately, the worksheet had big, big words. By the time I finished reading the instructions, a young boy was already turning in his completed worksheet. I looked down. The paper read, “What college would you like to attend?” For goodness sake- the first graders looked huge to me! College? Were my parents supposed to teach me this? In a fit of internal confusion, I looked to the paper of the girl next to me. She had neatly printed, in small handwriting, “Princeton,” next to choice 1.

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Finally! A word that looked familiar- just like “prin-cess” in my favorite fairy tales. Hurriedly, I scrawled my new-found alma mater on the worksheet. By the time I finished, however, the wise girl had turned in her paper as well. Look-ing up, I saw the entire class staring at me, waiting for me to finish. With no one to turn to, I left choices 2 and 3 blank. Walking up to the teacher, I handed in my paper as well. Her eyes scanned the paper and then quickly turned to me. Her mouth curled into a sad, condescending smile, and her eyes seem to laugh at me with patronizing glory. “I don’t know about that,” she said wistfully. Crumpling down into my cold chair, I thought, “I just want to be a princess!”

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Louis Browne

Snow’s FeelingsAlexis Chestnov

The reoccurring chill runs down my shivering spineYet with the simple beauty of the air, I smileThe sky is grey, hollow, and seemingly hauntingBut with the ground covered, there is nothing to fearThe steps I take go further into the unknownStill at every pulse, my footsteps become lighterThe dead, bare, solemn trees tower over my headAmidst the vast, empty, snow-covered ground, I pauseI breathe - an inhale so bitterly cold, I quakeI seem to be more relaxed than ever beforeIronic, with how scathingly cold winter isFor I, I see depth in the heart of snow’s meaningThe frost beneath my feet represents all courageIt was no fear of falling, no single desireIt is as it is, as it wants, and as it feelsIt knows no enemy, it knows no brutal fiendI aspire to be like the chilly winter snowRemaining peaceful - an ideal state of beingAnd so I gaze, with a chill running down spineYet I smile, for there is the beauty of snow

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Keeli O’Brien

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The SensesTroy Gonzales

“‘Faith’ is a fine inventionFor Gentlemen who see!

But Microscopes are prudentIn an Emergency!”- Emily Dickinson

The one who said that faith was fineFor Gentlemen who seeCondoned the other senses four - Oh, silly Emily!

For fellows who can hear The world is wide and free! But so, so few can truly hearTheir own stupidity!

It’s not enough to see and hearTheir wonders of the earth - So savor smell and taste, they twoEnsure a lack of dearth

Of savory and pungent thingsTo be enjoyed for now!But of the most important?You may already know...

The missing link? The odd one out - The final one, it’s trueThe only one all round the frameConveyed from me to you.

Perhaps it’s better left unsaidDespite its palpable might.Embrace them all, hear the call,As it fades into the night!

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Estrella Levy

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Reading DickensDiana Chen

I once read Charles Dickens’ work, but all I understood was the ghastly number of words he could cram into one sentence, stuffed full of various appositive phrases and adjective phrases with colorful (and, more often, drab) words that painted a pic-ture of revolution and discontent, absolute phrases contribut-ing to the sense of unease permeating the novel, seeping into the very pages of a not so worn paperback through participle phrases and other literary devices that elongated endless en-treaties, each expecting the reader’s undivided attention as al-literation, imagery, and so much more pulled the gaze of those who had not been daunted by the sheer size of a single sentence, a section of speech spanning several lines to half a page.

“Cry,” you said,and the sky opened up.

Heavy drops pelteda tin rooftop andechoes filled a tiny room,the music inthe middle of a stormthat gave hope to a frightened child.The music of god,she thought in awe,not because she didn’t know better,but because she knew better than us.

You said, “Cry,”and the sky washed away tears.

Diana Chen“Cry”

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Savannah Kennelly

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Two Points on the Spectrum Gabriella Mayer

I’ve brought the flowers you needed to woo your lover.That dress you made out of Tory Burch and BCBG bags, dull and bright The flowers you picked are lying on that bag, too bad they’re already dead.

Red and Black paper hanging like a curtain next to the three-col-ored lamp. The skeleton deserves to die with flowers in his hands. A plastic grave is held up on the balcony, the little white balcony. The flowers you picked are lying on that bag, too bad they’re already dead.

Deliver to me your colorful soul, I’ve wandered too longin the dark.I’m The Boy Who Knew Too Much, living a Life In CartoonMotion.

What’s The Origin of Love? Light, color, music. Soul.Is there nowhere my heart will end up?It ought to stay togetherThose rooms two floors apart, three if the ICI.Come together and we’ll pick up our brushes as we dance.

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Two Points on the Spectrum

Byrne Hollander

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The Closed RoomZahra Markatia

The Closed Room - with its Bright Darkness -Corners - filled with Wonders - Such mysery - it attracts - Yes -And it inspires Her -

Familiar voices - and soundsHeard - from the Other Room -Sitting - In her Dull White Gown -She Listens - just Listens -

Words and Thoughts dash about the Room - From Mind to Ink - they flow - Those not used - in the air they loom -Waiting - just Waiting their turn -

Alana Steinberg32

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Stephanie Rosner

Sammy Krouse

So slowly the group approached me,All imperfection shunned!Each member moved so Smooth and Silkily,That I sat watching - stunned!

I felt them so entrancing - like a painting - full of Tone,just watching them advancing,I see All - but not One.

When I start seeing each feature -as they move into view,and I see each single creature,my Thoughts are misconstrued!

For though they seemed Angelic -Perfection in Existence -my Thoughts were psychedelic,distorted by Distance.

All - but not One

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Andrea Levy

PerceptionAllison Belette

A Shadow - across the HallWithout Identity - A first Perception - of TerrorThough - Harmless nonetheless

A Mountain - truly a Mole HillHyperbolic image - not understoodA Thought - never contemplatedDefined by Self

A Figment of - ImaginationAre Shadows - in your line - of Vision?Certain Variation - within - the MindA mountain - vainly climbed

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Sharon Rozencwaig

Louis Browne

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At the Met Seeing Madame Charpentier by Auguste Renoir

Alexis Chestnov

I gaze upon a family posing,Exchanging looks with each other.Madame Charpentier admires her family. Her gown, so silky, her poise goes unnoticed.Her arm, a barricade for her children beneath.Her son’s eyes twinkle like the North StarAs he smiles upon his sister.She stares lightly at her beloved mother.The children wear an innocent blue,And have the same lengthy, golden locks.They enjoy the company of the family dog,His long, black and white furEchoes the dress of Madame Charpentier.All is calm and warm, reflecting the surroundings.I bask in the orange and gold colors,And I am soothed and comfortable.I gaze toward my mother and smile,Reflecting Madame Charpentier’s family.

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Pierre-Auguste Renoir

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No Vacancy Nakura Stout

Dancing with passionWith vigor, with loveWe express our every emotionEvery thought and every painIt pours from our soulsAnd onto the dance floorThe studio air filled with dreamsHopes and desperations Fluttering through the airAs our hearts cover the groundOccupying any empty spaceThe music has not already claimed

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Lexi Warman

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I’m Sorry. I Think.Diana Chen

(I did it again; I said what wasn’t supposed to be said.)

My strange,my weird,my awkwardwas showing.

(And it often does at often the wrong times.)

Did it unnerve youor unsettle you?Discombobulateor disconcert you?

(I ask because you all had that look on your faces.)

I should have ignored it;I should have kept silent.I should have said zilch;I should have said nothing.

(But I bet you were thinking the exact same thing.)

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Megan Smith

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My First LoveEmily Kidd

I love math. Hate numbers. Love math. Or more ac-curately, I love math class. I haven’t learned one theorem, formula, or stupid acronym all year and the worst part is it doesn’t even bother me. I’m in love and believe me, I’m gagging as I write these words, but it’s true. I’m hopelessly in love. I tried to deny it at first, I even tried to fix it. I began completely avoiding all aphrodisiacs and I even stopped reading Jane Austen, but finally, I had to admit it: I’d been hit by the pointy stick of that dumb, proverbial cherub. Don’t get me wrong, love is beautiful and I might actually be all for this relationship thing if there was a mutual second half involved. Yes, I am another cliché, just one more woe begotten tale of unrequited love. My story’s the usual: he’s hot, I’m not. It’s not like I’m a freak show or anything, I just kinda blend in. As for him, he’s smart and funny and, though I can’t believe I consider it an attribute, he has the cutest ear piercing. Well, here I am in math, writing love poems in pink gel pen. The very rude -and possibly illiterate- girl who sits in front of me is twirling her hair in my face and he’s being sickeningly irresistible. Suddenly, an ear-piercing ring resonates loudly throughout the school and we all file into the football field. I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the fresh air or the fact that I look unusually pretty today or maybe because the last circle our teacher drew looked oddly like a heart but right then, I go up to him. “I think you’re cool and I think maybe if we spent some time together, you might find me cool too.”

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I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and my heart thumping out of my chest, but I don’t run away. I’ve gotta see this thing through. He’s shocked, as are his friends. He shrugs and giggles and though his words are practically indecipherable, I manage to catch the phrase: “Nah man.” Nah man? I’ve just thrown myself out there and the best you can do is ‘nah man’? As you can imagine, I want to rip someone’s head off, and I have most decidedly fallen out of love and right into hatred. I get back to the classroom and I don’t even know what to do. There’s his name, in my hands, written over and over in swirly cursive. There’s his face, across the room, laughing insidiously, and to top it all off there’s some spoiled brat’s hair swirling in my face! I don’t even know what happens next but somehow I find myself with scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. Now, I know I should be upset but actually, I feel great. That was just the release I needed to get over my first love. Besides, it’s not like it’s my hair.

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Emma Wu

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Mother’s lipstick on your cheek,

Father’s stern words echoing in your head,

Put away the costumes,

Time to put your brothers to bed,

Fake swords on the floor,

Plastic gold coins under your feet,

They say it’s time to grow up-

You have new restrictions to meet,

But stories make you fly

Even without the pixie dust,

So throw away their expectations,

It’s the outcasts you must trust

WendyKate Edelson

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Alana Steinberg

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Peace. Happiness and Free Spirits flowing like fresh lemonade on a summer’s day. but the Harsh winds, the Cold skies, the raining Tears and Strong thunderous words make the Peace run away.It Hides. Afraid of standing up for itself. Fear that trying to change everything to make peace, may make the storm worse.It shuts its mouth and hides under its blanket, but the storm is so Powerful. Peace can’t help but Try to make a difference and Try to change this Miserable feeling surrounding its life.It stands in the rain and Screams!“I Can’t Take This! Stop Fighting! Stop the Harsh, Mean, Stormy Weather! Why does it Always have to be so Miserable All the Time! Why Can’t We be Friends and Everyone be Happy!” …but it does not work…The Rain keeps falling, the thunder keeps yelling and the winds sweep Peace away.It is broken. With all the pressure from the clouds, the rain, the thunder, the cold, wet damp, miserable skies, it starts to give up. …Peace is Alone. no one feels the same way. no one desires the same thing.no one cares about the same thing. no one wants to fight for it.Peace. slowly peace dies away, sickened by all the misery.it starts to blend into the life of uniformity,it spirals into a deep depression.Dismal, Dark, Hurting, Harsh, Crying, Critical, Stress, Somber, Mourning, Nothing but Depression…Pain. the new peace. “no one agrees with me, they Want all the Drama, the Pain, the Fighting, the Yelling, the Cursing, the behavior I have been Trying

PeaceStarlite Stromer

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to stop Will Not Go Away. I have Tried to stop them and they just Won’t Stop. so the best way to keep peace is just to Blend in and Keep the Misery Alive.” peace starts to Weep. Months Pass, Peace is Gone.Hope. Joy. They come to Comfort peace.Wondering why peace has Given Up. “no one will Listen, they just Yell and Complain and Stay Miser-able. I am Tired of trying to glue, and mend, and fix all of their problems just so they can find new ones. there is Too Much Drama in the World.” at that moment Hope and Joy gave the Most Important advice to peace.“If thats the case then Stop Trying to Fix THEIR Problems, it is Not YOUR Job, if they Want to be Miserable, walking around Causing Drama and Hating Life, that is THEIR Problem. Stay Peaceful, Stay Happy, Be Yourself. Do Not Surround Yourself With Hate. Surround Yourself With joy” Peace Revealed itself from under the covers.Peace is Back.Gave Joy and Hope a very thankful hug. They Strode, Tall and Proud, outside in the storm. Thunder Started Yelling its Harsh Words,The Rain kept Pouring Dismal and Dismayed. Peace Wanted to Help,Joy whispered with fresh spirits “do not worry, Only They Can Change Themselves.” Hope hugged Peace and warmly responded “they Always pour out their Tears onto the ground, the Harsh Words that the Thun-der Screams upsets them, but They Don’t Change. it seems like they Enjoy Having the Drama, the Pain, the Misery.”no matter How Much the Thunder, the Cold, the Damp, the Rain showered their feelings around Peace, it understood that it Could Not Control Them, Peace can only Prevent Itself from being Sucked back into the Black Hole of Misery. Peace, Joy, Hope are in their Own World, Free from the harsh winds, the cold skies, the raining tears and the strong thunder.

I enter;

My feet tap the floor as I follow.

I kneel;

My head bows like the rest.

I think,

As the rest of them pray. I pray, That others think. I see- him look down upon me. I know- I should have faith, but Sometimes I don’t . I cannot- Follow blindly. I won’t Conform

Conformity Louis Browne

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Keeli O’Brien

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To Wake to Hear the Ocean Noise

Alex Evenson

To wake to hear the ocean noiseThe smashing of the waves.Birds - screeching - out their starvation,Next to the sea - the graves.

Quicker than a flash - darkness - comes.Creatures start to scurryThe life on the beach is now gone.All god’s creatures hurry.

Hoping the storm will pass by soon,So the fun can begin.All hopes are - high - in good spirit,The storm will stay within.

“Dreams”Seren Nurgun

“Dreams” appear to those who wait,Sleep for an Eternity-For when thine Eyes open, All is better than Reality.

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Ale

x Fi

sher

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Dani PendergastFounders Council 2012

Dani Pendergast, Class of 2013, is the recipient of this year’s Founder’s Council Award for Visual Arts.

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Founders Council 2012

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A Glance from MarsZachary Gittleman

Oh how the solar system looks from here,I am so jealous of that blue planet,With all its life and water over there.All I am near is this massive gas jet,Twisting and turning ‘bout a godly storm,Unlike the blue marble which sits in peace,Its temper’tures so darn lovely and warm,If it cared to it would just sit and cease.But its inhabitants are so occupied,Fighting wars and bringing hostility.It seems as though, they have already died,For their continuous futility.Oh how I love to watch that sphere go roun’A pity those squatters will make it drown.

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Sharon Rozencwaig

Allison Samowitz

Nothing is gained from sympathy.It is futile to trouble and wail for the ones who have lost.There is no need to send false security,condolences,apologies, excuses, forgivenesses, pardons, pities, commiserations, precautions, and “I’m sorrys”Empathy is unneeded to the deceased, the mourners, the fallen, the broken, the weak, the luckless, the failures, The fools, the downtrodden, the heartless, and the weary, It is all just vacant dribble. They know you will go in your car and travel upon your familiar asphalt path.And they know you will turn off the engine and reach for your house keys. They know you will open the door and plop down in your familiar seat. And they know you will watch the television and brainwash yourself with dancing lights.They know you will be able to unsee and unfeel what they cannot shake away. Only feel for yourself, who will not know the feelings at all, Until you too have gone through it all.

An Unnecessary Apology

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TuggedIvy Kilpatrick

With words that rhymeFrom time to timeYou get the many exaggerationsAnd many takeWhat is really fakeAnd turn it into realizationsIt becomes the truthIt becomes literalWhen truly it was basically a lieTo evoke the feelTo tug at the stringsMake you laugh, or even cryPoems become fantasyThey become a dreamLike a movie that wishes to suck you inBut the snap backThe revelationCan come from nowhere except withinSo if you’re strongYou won’t fall victimOr maybe you will, they all doAnd because of that fact aloneYou just mightFeel, be tugged, and cry too

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Carolyn Chaney

The air was still with piercing silence. The sky was an empty gray canvas just waiting for a breath of color to bring the world to life. -Nakura Stout

I dared not breathe for fear that I would ruin something with such great potential, but you touched my heart and I could not help the sigh that left my lips. -Diana Chen

And a sigh was all it took to set the world on fire, for that one simple breath lit the match of color that ignited a flame of passion. -Nakura Stout

A flame that swept through the planet, turning dull, bland gray into vivid splashes of colors, of reds and oranges and yellows, of greens and blues and violets, of emotions painted across the sky. -Diana Chen

And the seas stretched out with longing to be a part of that blur of light; the waters reached for the shores

A Collaborative Effort

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hoping, like the flame, to ignite, to raise their tides and squash the burning, and join the painted scene. The foam set aglow with the joy of color, and the waves began to wean. -Kate Edelson

Like the sea, the land grew hungry with the desire to bloom and blossom with color. And blossom it did, into flourishing brilliance. Expansive lands of grass and root pushed forth their hands of branch and chute. The trees, they answered my divine sigh, budding their flowers and baring their fruit. The meadows of daisies, marigolds, posies and all other petalled earthly gems shone their best in a heavenly display of all earthly delight they had to offer. Even the deserts longed to be one with the spectacle of harmonious hues. Having no flower, no fruit to offer, the dead lands took pride in golden glory; the luscious sands of age embraced, yet reflected the burning fury of the sun’s blonde stare. -Nakura Stout

And in this newfound wonder in awe we stood together. All across the world we were bound by the color of this weather, this hurricane of hues, this tsunami that stained the earth. It was a second Renaissance, a true reawakening and rebirth. -Diana Chen

65

The World Spun ‘Round Her Fragile Form

Nicole Baptista

The World spun ‘round her fragile form-- Gaze on the Horizon -

Ominous visions lead the Storm -Fear of - Life - sets the tone

Kaleidoscope EyesWe’re staring into the sunWith glitter in our eyesAnd watches on our anklesBecause telling timeWon’t matter where we areIt never did matter, butWe often pretend it doesChecking every minute or soFor something that will never comeLittle did we knowThe time had come and goneYet all the while, with sparkling visionWe blinked through the colorsNever noticing a thing

66

Nakura Stout

The Persistence of MemoryMaddie Skimming

Tick tockThe heart’s clock is tickingTime is of the essenceAnts swarm to the clock rotting fleshClocks limp with drooping handsTime bends and blends togetherFaded memories diminish as we try to hold onMemories come and go of their own free willThey are not, but realRather a blown-up past reality

Salvador Dali

67

Life’s RequirementsAlexis Chestnov

Sing and dance to the rhythm aroundMove to the beat of Mother Nature’s groundDo not lock up your mind and fade awayBe the light in the room on the darkest daysOpen your eyes, experience, and seeBe happy and proud- confidence is keyBelieve in yourself, trust your heartAccept what is around you- every partEmbrace situations and hope for the bestTry your hardest to learn from life’s testExperience, travel, enjoy, and have funTake a deep breath, let your course runListen and watch from all angles and learnThink of love, dream, and do what you yearnSmile and laugh and make every day well spentLife is a gift, live it to its full extent

Samantha Breakstone68

69

My way of life has been forever changed by this contaminated corrupted city.I was sucked into the city life with the colossal constricted buildings overshadowing the people below.I hear the vrooms and horns of cars, the screams of people going insane, the thumping on the stairs of people rushing to the subway, the subway screeching to a halt.I hear the airplanes flying overhead creating a sonic boom, the non-stop chatter on the sidewalks of the city, the muttering of the foreign dialect, the continuous flow of consumers flooding the store.I can’t find true happiness while living a life in a corrupt, crowded, controlling city.I take a walk through the woods embracing the pure nature around me.I am hearing the chirps of the birds, the wind blowing through the trees, and the sound of squirrels arguing over their winter surplus, and the silent, calm, collected woods.I smell a beautiful smell of the fire, just-extinguished, of an unseen camper. I take a step and leave behind a footprint, a small mark that shows I have been there.While walking through the woods, the leaves change from green to orange.I look at the leaves where they try to leave by touching the sun.But as time will tell they will return back to where they belong.

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself, with collabo-ration from Hannah Veale, Alex Evenson, David Goldstein, Zachary Kahan, Viraj Kulhari, Matthew Gerrard and Joel Levy.

The Way of the LeavesJake Pagano

Yin and Yang of a FoxHolly Goldberg

Oh, why is the fox always called so sly,Though he runs away quickly and acts so shy?Perhaps maybe he is much like a young lad;Nobody can make certain if he’s blissful or sad.

His tail flickers like a light bulb near its death,Exactly like the orange flame of a candleWhile the wind exhales a delicate breath.Such a playful, bold youth’s familiar to scandal?

Always portrayed as the trickster or thief,Yet his fur is as soft as an expensive fleece.His eyes are smooth and dark like marble.Does he use them to spy? Or only to marvel?

The fox is a predator, that can’t be denied.His sleek, smooth body bends with the grass,And slender, light paws allow him to glide;Must they be the same paws that supposedly harass?

Holly Goldberg

70

71

On the couch I reside, paws in place

Tucked under my nestled nose, soft, warm fur

As I dream of rabbits, or squirrels, to chase

Bouncing, tempting thoughts of running wild stir.

Or dream even of bones, some meaty treat

Of which my beloved master may bring;

Bacon, kibbles, something tasty to eat

But the brutal realization does sting,

As I realize while lying on my chair

That master is gone, once again, all day,

And while I sit alone, heart in despair

Wishing that master could stay home and play,

I can do nothing more than simply wait,

And hope to be loved on another date.

The DogBlair Bosshardt

A Dog’s Best FriendSavanna Gornisiewicz

Of all the toys and games outside,It’s me who his desire calls.Though I try and try to hide;Why can’t he just chew some tennis balls?Chew and tear and bite and rip,Prada, Sperrys, Coach or Vans,Eventually all that’s left is doggy spit!Though it goes against my owner’s plans,There is nothing left to doBut wait for the dog to grow upAnd hopefully leave me to be a shoe.Then one day, mature, a civilized pup,He sleeps and doesn’t want to play.And I wait hopefully and lonely, in the closet all day.

Laura Siciliano72

73

Bryn Berkowitz

The FelineMax Gittleman

When I come to thee I am so blessed,My master to this day I cannot repay.Thou bringest my milk putting me to rest,Your overindulgence brings my decay.Idleness overtakes the lazy days,Indolence is my spiritual calling.Lethargy rules like the sun’s summer rays,Indifference leads to my greater stalling.But thou adores me like mother to child,Though I stare ahead not seeming to care.My “charming pleasantness” ever beguiled,A fleeting look of contentment so rare.But in the end you’re my unfurry cat,You see rejection when I see a spat.

74

Emily Slatkow

75

Jillian Samowitz

76

LilithLouis Browne

There is a turquoise tint to a room while she perfects a sharp edge with her eyeliner,and the air sends waves as her silk-like robe falls to the ground.

A zipper closes a lust-inducing device that wraps around her feminine frame.The hostile cuff of a heel in the entrance to her syndicate of victims would be the last alarm for potential casualties. With a fair white complexion, dark lips, and auburn eyes that seared; her beauty was a weapon of razor-like caliber, which brushed the subconscious of each person in her wake, and left a pool of blood trailing in her path. She had nothing to hide, except her intentions. As her bril-liant smile propelled onlookers into fits of modesty, she con-tinued on into the room. Her eyes sent bullets flying. Revenge was the kerosene that lit her passionate fire, and as she acquainted herself with the thought of ending his life; she knew, she was, to die for.

77

Andrea Levy

FirebirdDrew Doughty

Flames twirling wildly in a sea of skysmoking tail and bright fire eyeswith feathered flamesalight the worldcasted gaze to scorch the earthbut dare not landfor swords in hands awaitFirebird, Firebirdthe day bids gonethis world is finished‘tis ending of songon greater destinationsits spirit spreadsto bring light and warmthor ashes and dread

78

Flames twirling wildly in a sea of skysmoking tail and bright fire eyeswith feathered flamesalight the worldcasted gaze to scorch the earthbut dare not landfor swords in hands awaitFirebird, Firebirdthe day bids gonethis world is finished‘tis ending of songon greater destinationsits spirit spreadsto bring light and warmthor ashes and dread

Dani Pendergast

79

The Dull HouseRyan Wexler

The walls are coveredWith white paintNone are yellowOr red with yellowOr yellow with greenOr green with blueThey are all but the sameWithout fantastical paintingsOr mural masterpiecesMen are not goingTo imagine the impossible‘Cept for the childFull of joy and wonderChases elephantsUnder blue moons

Based on Wallace Stevens’ poem, Dillusionment of ten o’clock

80

Le Martin

81

The Infant Anonymous

Darkest night in February, I’d call morose but not as scary,Scary as the feeling that I will fall to a rather unfortunate fate.Mulling over the bleak and blank prognosis of my cancer,I try to sleep but am unable; the drugs have left me quite unstable,Insomnia - not solely for fear of falling fatal to fate,But also for out the door a piercing cry begins to pulsate“An infant likely wailing, for all this environment can create, It’s likely soon to dissipate.”

Ah, yes, I do recall, this was exactly six months from the fall,That there had been a finding of a deadly rather unamusing trait.I sadly wished my end would come; these days drag on like a funeral drumDrumming, tapping, counting, humming, keeping track of my ill fate.Each second making it harder to look back into a pleasant state.In which I simply was just without that which I prognosticate.Now I rarely do celebrate.

I hear again the harsh, high wail; I restrain from taking action towards the gale,It crosses me through, since the disturbance will grow, not abate,And I alone am the one and only one here to quell the cry,“Pardon me, sir, but that cry created, you must now dissipate!Your blatant intent is sent and now a disturbance you create,”I continue to hear the ingrate.It is now me the child does mock, watching the draining of my stock,“Quiet your infernal voice and the sound you do create”Now contrary to abation, it reaches a decibelic incarnation.

82

This child’s piercing cry has made it impossible to tolerateThis lame, loud, proud, prudent protrudence, carrying the sounds of freight I think it will never abate.Though I now look upon the babe, although against it I outgrabe,No matter how much I tried, the child ignored my attempts to elucidateOnly more: harsh, piercing, rash, chilling, nearly killing me to hear it,It mocks me, my cancer, my demise, doom, destruction, and hateI just sit and wait, patiently for my time to arrive at the gate, though, I wait.

83Louis Browne

FallenEmily Kidd

It was cold,The spiteful wind sent shivers deep within my soul.It blew away all warmth within me,and stole my merriment as well.I spoke, Though what words I gave herremains as irrelevant now as then.She heard nothing.She was gone long before she fell.I knew.There was much I didn’t understand,nor had ever, but this I knew;She would leave and I could do nothing.That remains my irreconcilable regret.It was quick, yet slow.It all seems so hazy nowbut for that moment.She drifted back, inch by inch,so slow I could almost grab her.Only I didn’t.I couldn’t, she kept slipping away.And then we both fell,her to the light and I to the dark.

84

DimplesKate Edelson

It’s as if the sun reached down to kiss you,As gently as she could,A gusty whisper, with more breath than lip,Afraid to burn you where you stood,She might have tentatively leaned towards you,Almost scared to close her eyes,For if she came too close to you,My dear, you’d surely fry,And as her exhale brushed your cheeks,It was barely an embrace,But she left two slight-yet-audible dentsOn both sides of your face

Mirella Cardoso

85

86

The SunJessica Pancer

When I come out, the day can start anew.My light appears to start the humans’ days.When storms conclude they signal my debut.No light bulb’s shine can try outshining rays.I cannot gleam forever through the night.My duties cease when moon reveals its face.I start the workday, not the party site.I wish to stop the dark and crazy chase.It leads to eerie acts I never see,Can never shine the path to show the now.Replacing darkness, stealth and secrets’ spree,To show the truth the next day I vow. I blind the eyes, but help the heart to view That light can never truly say, adieu.

Drew Doughty

Somewhere in this dying lightI found my truthBeyond the measures of starsighing whispersSnowflakes begin ablazeWith wild ashes danceFaintly does the heart respondBeating in the momentlike the river’s song of endlessnessPassing through eternitySwimming in foreverThis fragrance that smells a sickly sweetFrom all the flowers left behindThey do not know of a long timeThough fed by secondsThey smell of fear and decayWilting in their forgotten melodyof a woods that burns so lovely

A Woods that Burns so Lovely

87

People in Glass Houses...

Life Through Pearl’s Eyes

Nakura Stout

The sun has set on this lonely townThe lights go out in every other homeExcept for in my ownAs their rooms grow dimmerMine light up and the night beginsAs they can gaze right inAt all the fun they’ve been missingThere’s a light show and the music is loudIt’s like nothing they’ve ever seenAll are invited, free of chargeCome right in, on one conditionThere shall be no stones

Carter Helschien

Pearl saw her mother standing with the man,The very same that covers his chest with his hand,Hester beckons for her to come near,Yet she mustn’t move, so much fearWhy is it that her mother bears no A?Perhaps the Black Man took it away?She crosses slowly, ever so wary,Her mother loses patiences; “Pearl, don’t tarry!”She comes to her mother but the man bends close,Oh no he wouldn’t, couldn’t; this Pearl fears mostShe wants to run, this is her only wish,Yet she can’t escape, and must accept the kiss

88

Lexi Warman

89

FireAnonymous

My eyes stingIs it smoke or tears?Hell’s where sky meets the ground.Are these facts?Or frivolous fears?This silence is so loud.I can’t standthis hellborn heat.It chills me to the bone.My body feelsso incomplete.Is this skin my own?I spew up bloodand poison airinsides out and outsides gone.You think it’s done,up more flames flare.The catastrophe loves on.What a smell,human flesh and fear.Burns my nose like acid.I wish I wereso far from herea peace calm and placid.Splash of water,sound of hope,as flames flick up higher.One last chance.I pray to God;Please save me from this fire.

90

Alana Steinberg

91

The Lord’s Resistance Army

Angela CuretonBlack eyes do follow,At night - they can be seenBorrowed from their families.Stolen from communities.Babies - children - They are forever young.

Their cries, echo throughThe solemn night.White light, nice and bright light,Blazes a path - a sojourner’s torch for Dirt black faces, Pure black facesInvisible - Forgotten Faces -They are forever young.

Fruitless battles blazing,Baby boys must bearThe burden - father couldn’t bearEbony bones broken and bent - Broken, before their timeBrought into battle -Forever Young.

Booming -Little Rambo in the woodsTheir hands are tied - forced to kill usForced to bleed us Booming - Voices, controllingToo many forever young.

92

Angela Cureton

Blinking - Breathing - heart BeatingCeased - Blood - blood lost and gainedBrushed maddeningly across canvasSpirits crushed - Dreams misguidedImaginations twisted - These were Forever Young - Forever and Never -Never Young.

93

Brianna Blais-Billie

Dear Silver TongueDiana Chen

It was the day thick molasses seemed to coat my throat.

As I tried to turn my garble into coherent words, I barely succeeded and then only in forcing out a harsh litany of nouns and verbs and adjectives all crashing together in a coarse cacophony. Frustrated, I glared at the words. Until I heard you speak.

Your voice wove itself through the air the way a bubbling brook twists and trips through the trees.It ebbed and flowed gently, yet remained strong.You followed the streams of thought, bending and turning with the landscape of subtext and punctuation, reconciling words with tones in a harmony that danced right off your tongue.

Entranced, I caught every syllable and breath,And I understood how the cobra is caught by the charmer’s song.But you did not read forever, and as I heard the final diminuendo, as you let your voice drift off into the painful silence,I made a decision guided by a newfound love:I was going to write you a poem that never ends.

Sincerely,Addicted to Your Voice

P.S. Please read aloud and then repeat and repeat and repeat.

94

Alec Bloch

95

Side by SideLea Stempel

We stand side by sideAnd sometimes back to back,But always togetherThat is the fact.

We are together,But apart.We stand side by side,But we part.

The distance betweenOur shoulders increased.People filed inAnd some deceased.

In the corner of our eyesThe comfort lied,Because we stood side by side.Or was it back to back?

I wish I could say,But I no longer see your face.Was it ever there?In the corner of my eye?

Was it just in my mind?So far away,Your features drifted away.The comfort gone away.

We stood side by sideAnd sometimes back to back,But always together. That was the fact.96

Where the Truth LiesTheodore Jackson

Question the reality of your existenceOr question the existence of your realityIs everything around you a palpable truthOr just a projection of the life you wish you hadNext time you go to sleep, where will you be?Will you be in another world unrecognizable by conscious thoughtOr will you wake up in the same environment you always believed to be realWho are you? What are you? Where are you?All I know is I am alive.

97

Samantha Johnson

Dear Imaginary Friend,I believe your name was Shannon.That’s right, because I named my favorite stuffed doll after you,and you were named Shannon becausemy big sister had a real best friend named Shannon.Not that you weren’t my real friend.Actually, I think you may have been my only real friend.

The people I met - the bullies and teachers and “friends” - disappeared from my mind when I disappeared from town to town.U-Haul trailers (painted with fish and birds and once a big blue ship)preceded only by a day where suddenly our rooms were in boxes,whisked me away to new places in a time before Facebook.But no matter what, as we sat in the back of my dad’s red truck,I would talk, and you would always listen.

I suppose home was where our family was,but Mom worked hard in our little clinic every dayand Dad was doing business God knows where.As for us kids, well, I was just the sweet, quiet middle child.Yeah, I guess home was where the family was,but more importantly, you were there, too.

Then one day we walked into another empty house,and Dad says, “We bought it; this is ours.”Suddenly, home was a house with a pool and a deck.Home had a wild garden we’d explore,

Diana Chen

98

our own secret garden in the backyard. Home was an address worth remembering,a phone number I could call my own.

Armed with the promise of permanence,but still the new kid as usual,I played with you for a year at school.Then the summer passed and I was still there.I made five friends at school, and suddenlyrecess became adventures on the monkey barswith girls who talked a lot,as I began to listen.

Eventually, I forgot my play-dates with you,and I talked with kids who gave their opinions,who would call me right or wrong.Eventually, I’d learn to hold my own against those who talked back.And eventually, once more I’d come home to boxes.But when I sat in the back of my dad’s red truckon the way to a new home, not five miles away,it was a journey I made alone.

I’m sorry that I left you in a gardenby a crumbling birdbath among wild bushes. I’m sorry that I never said, “Good-bye.”So, let me now say, “Thank you”for lending an earuntil I was ready to talk to the world,for holding my handuntil I was ready to walk on my own.

Sincerely,One Who Forgot But Never Stopped Believing

99

The unbloomed rosebud, concealed true ingreen,Daubed with suspense and mystery.Will it be deep crimson, cerise or pale?All loom the rose that will bloom to full scale.

Yet roses so tight leave no room for breeze,Unlike salt-rimmed petals of blooms near seas.Fluorescent sunshine dust stains those whoplayBy the coast fling, where wild hibiscus sway.

Sandy, steamy gale and erratic gustsGuide Cupid astray; shores flourish in lust.Laying a hibiscus behind thy ear;How tranquil and calm to clutch nothing dear--

Till floral gnats crawl, nip, and creepEmbedding thy head and marring thy keep.

Impressive illusion, Pan’s blithe’s enoughTo live oneself sure alone in the rough?

A Strain of FlingHolly Goldberg

100

101

Beatrix Walter

If you want to know what courage isJust ask the friend we shared,For I know that she’s still with usThough it seems she isn’t there.

And, yes, she knew what courage is.You could see it in her stanceAs she faced her greatest enemyWithout a backwards glance. Think of how she greetedThe birth of each new dayWith such determined gallantryAs she kept her fears at bay. Remember for a momentThe smile upon her faceWhere self-pity never surfaced,Not even the faintest trace.

Think of her tenacityAs she savored everydayAnd shared her relentless energyWith those she met along the way. How she mothered my sister and IWith such devotion and such care--Love to last our lifetimesIs the legacy we’ll share. Remember how supportiveAnd nurturing a wife;

CourageAnna Sze

102

She truly was the perfect brideTo adorn my father’s life. And when it came to friendshipHer spirit overflowedWith her exuberant love of funAnd compassion a la mode. Determination as a colleagueWas certainly her rule.Each task she undertookWas such an asset to our school. So when you call upon your courageAnd find it isn’t thereJust ask my mom to bolster you,For she had so much to share. Yes, ask her in the darknessOf a quiet, lonely nightWhen you discover demonsThat sadly you must fight. I know you’ll discover herJust waiting patientlyTo buoy you up and comfort youAnd light the way, so you can see.

Then soon the dark of night will pass,And your courage will be foundAs you’re inspired by my mother,Who now is heaven bound.

103

The Wish of DreamsLea Stempel

I begged myself to go back to the dream,The fairy tale that played in front of closed eyes,Continued to slip as the world awakened me.

It dangled before my eyesAnd my heart skipped at my mind’s lies.The rope pulled the peace awayAll I could do was stay.

I wished for eternity,I got finite.The scene was unreal.But how could it be false,When it was perfection?

A creation.That was all it was.I could not bring it backNo feelings were thereIt was not real, But could I not wish?

I willed myself to dream,Because even if to other eyes I must remain unseen,I will wish for a life filled with such dreams.

For even as I wake,I could make myself believeThat once I had experienced loving eyes on me.Who would not wish for such a dream?

104

Anastasia Novak

105