Mandala - Santa Barbara Middle School

Santa Barbara Middle School
2014/15 & 2015/16
MANDALA
PHOTO BY ALICIA LOPEZ
WHAT IS GRATITUDE?
GRATITUDE IS UNCONDITIONAL LOVE OF FAMILY
THE RUSH OF COLD OCEAN WATER AT DAWN
SUNSET ON CAMPUS WHEN YOU SEE
ALL THE LIGHTS OF SANTA BARBARA
THE MOMENT WHEN THERE ARE NO
WORDS TO DESCRIBE YOUR FEELINGS
A DELICIOUS MEAL WHEN YOU THINK
YOU’RE GOING TO DIE OF HUNGER
WHEN THE LOVE IS SO GREAT YOU CAN’T
HOLD BACK THE TEARS
THINKING BACK TO A TIME YOU THOUGHT YOU
COULDN’T DO IT—AND DID IT ANYWAY
Mandala Student Bios
My name is Calo Gore. I am 13 years old. I like to play
video games because they are fun, and they help me
forget about homework. But that doesn’t mean I don’t
do my homework. I also like music. I love to play the piano and I can sing. I like the piano because I would like to
be a musician when I am older. I would also like to make
music for movies and video games. I performed “Paint It
Black” by the Rolling Stones at Songfest this year.
Hi, my name is Grace Xinia Johnson. I am thirteen and in
7th grade. This is my second year at Middle School and
I love it! One of my favorite things to do is play volleyball. I
also really like music. I have played piano for seven years. I
started guitar last fall. I also love to sing. I write and compose
my own songs as well as do covers. I have a little sister,
Mary, in 6th grade. She is one of my best friends and I love
her! I have a dog named Nalu--he is SO adorable! He is
a five-year-old golden retriver who is playful and fun. I love
the beach, and especially love swimming. I love to travel and
I have been all over the world (South Africa, Argentina,
Spain, Nicaragua, Guatamala, Costa Rica). Someday I
would like to travel to Australia. I love spending time with
my family and friends especially on holidays. In school I
love geography and biology. In the future I would probobly
like to be either a professional volleybal player or a marine
biologist. I personally love to learn, and I hope you enjoyed
learning about me!
My name is Marley Rosebud Jacobs; I am 14 years old. I
like to play sports. One of my favorite sports is basketball,
probably because my dad’s side of the family (my cousins)
all play or have played club basketball and really enjoyed it.
I have a brother who gets on my nerves, but he’s my brother
so I have to try not to be mean to him. I have a fat “sealchicken” dog. We call him that because he is round like a
seal and has short thin chicken legs. His name is Rocky.
I also have a cat, and she hates people so theres nothing
much else to say about her except her name is Kittles. I like
to ride horses, and I recently started leasing a horse we call
Clandi. His real name is Clandestine, and he looks like a
snowflake.
Hi my name is Emmett. I like to shred the gnar, and
I like to raise the bar. I also like to play ping pong,
and my last name is Ehrnstein which is pretty long. I
love my sister she is the key. She and I have always
lived in SB. I have a dog named Bo, and he is like
my bro. I also have a bunny named Ollie. I can’t wait
for San Francisco where I’ll ride the trolley. I like
to have playdates with my mates. I have Instagram,
and I love my whole family. I love math, and I’m on the
path to glory. Nothing’s “gonna” stop me from tellin’
my story.
My name is Madison McKinley Oriskovich.
I fell in love with riding horses when I was 4,
and I have ridden ever since. I ride crosscounty. I also play volleyball. I am the middle
blocker on my team. I have a wicked jump.
What also helps me is my height. I am about
5’7”. My family contains my mom, my dad,
and my brother James. He went to Middle
School for 7th and 8th grade. I would not be
here if it weren’t for him.
I am Kasey Sierra Connors. My parents named me after
the Sierra Nevada mountain range. I like the outdoors. I
love cats. I have two cats named Sugar and Moonlight, a
dog named Roxy, and a rabbit called Dr. Bunny Foofoo.
At home I like to play with my dog. I also like to read with
my cats. My bunny likes to hop around to see us. In my
backyard there is a fig tree that I have been climbing since I
was little. My family goes backpacking a lot. We have gone
since I was three. When I was in 3rd grade, my family went
to Germany to see our extended family. We like to ski in
the mountains. I like the school trips. I love Middle School.
Gratitude
By Grace Johnson
Today there have been lovely
things I never saw before:
The crashing ocean waves
making salty sea foam;
The endless road of train tracks;
The bright colors of swimsuits
as people run into the blistering
cold water;
The never-ending shape of the
morning doughnuts;
The pleasantness of the cheese pizza;
The thrill on people’s faces as
they catch a wave and surf it all
the way in to shore;
The black and white keys on the
piano melting together to make
beautiful sounds;
My friend’s feet jumping from
rock to rock;
A rainbow in the spout of a
whale;
Sunlight through blue and
balloons.
The Golden moment turned Dark
By Julian Bacon
When a moment so perfect is passed by
Does it feel as if a door was slammed in your face
Or an eagle swooped down and stole it from right under
Your nose?
Do you pursue it or just watch it fade away
Like a gust of wind that blows
It to the depths and spray
Of the ocean’s woes?
Or does it simply vanish?
What is Gratitude?
By Luke Wechsler
The splash of the cool ocean on a hot summer’s day.
Thankful for the food on my plate — cheesy pasta, piping hot pizza, and juicy steak
The moment of acceptance
Feeling like I belong here.
Supportive friends
Ability to be thankful for everything — the crack of a baseball bat, surfing waves, and living a life
of freedom
Having family to be with me and support me.
Having the outdoors and the desire to enjoy it!
This is Gratitude!
Skyler Storm
My Haiku
By Alex Moosbrugger
Vibrant waters,
The yellow lily pad floats,
In the stagnant lake,
Brown rocks,
Magnified color,
By standing water above.
Mountain peaks,
surrounded by blue,
And white clouds
Green grass sprouts,
Foliage rising from pond,
A living ecosystem.
Cold engulfs two feet,
Slippery underwater rocks,
Body makes large splash
Ami Hammond
Nicole Figueroa
Helena McGinnes
How To Live the Fullest Life
By Sophia DiPadova
Hold yourself in the same light you shine on other people; comparison will kill you; hold
people’s hands tighter even if your palms become sweaty; stretch your lips just slightly more
and smile the brightest, outshine the people you envy; envy yourself; always do better than
your best; tell your parents you love them; they need that; guard your heart with shining
knives; make sure not to let people come too close; you could break; stay up late working on
papers, the computer whirring and warm against your legs; strive for things you want; always
do better than your best; people’s opinions are not yours, do not treat them like they are; eat
healthy, but do not let other people dictate what you eat; hold your head high and your heart
higher but let your mind soar to the greatest heights; believe you can; take risks, tell them
you’re head over heels in love; cut off the person making you unhappy; go on the trip you’ve
spent years planning on sleepless nights during the summer; but remember always do better
than your best; learn from not only teachers, but your peers; be a teacher and tell others what
you’ve always needed to hear; I said I don’t care about the way your hair looks or if you think
you’re overweight; if you don’t like it change it, you have the power; when you’re camping, sleep
outside and tell the stars you love them; trace the constellations with your fingers and let the
moonlight caress you and the earth hold you; it’s okay to be sad but know that there has to be a
down before an up; try harder, strive for greatness and always do better than your best; don’t
tell yourself you love something when you don’t, someone will see through you, now is better
than never always; study now, love now and never say can’t, we all know you can. Do you?
Like a spark entering
My brain, the craving occurs.
The spark pushes me to work hard.
It comes with a cost that
I must fulfill it to be the best.
The spark burns inside like a little sun.
But there is one thing, the final guard,
Before I can let my spark burn bright.
I need the knowledge,
To fulfill my quest.
By Gus Gonzalez
Photos by Marley Jacobs
O Me! O Life!
My Version
By Anya O’Connor
O Me! O Life! of the questions that need good answers,
Of endless battles between student and teacher, country and country,
Of myself always being my harshest judge, (for who more humble than I, and yet who more vain?)
Of feet that keep walking, knowing but not caring, that it’s the climb, not the destination,
Of people with money, watching their years slip away as they guard their icy hearts,
Of people on the streets, grasping for warmth but being shunned by society,
The question, what will I contribute to class and what will I bring to the world?
Answer.
My optimism, my readiness to learn and grow,
And my desire to do good and stand up for what I believe.
Coco Esselier Norton
Tobias Cole
Kayaks, Caves, and Sea Lions
By Emma Beth Permé
I grip the sides of the kayak and climb unsteadily into it. Addie jumps in behind me, and we shove away
from the Vision. I hate being in the front. Addie and I slowly drift towards where the others are rafting up in
the middle of the rocky cove. We pull up alongside Eli and Ben’s kayak and grab onto it. We become part of the
floating mass of boats as it drifts slowly closer and closer to the rocks. Brian hurriedly explains our route, and
then we break and furiously backpaddle away from the jagged cliffs. Addie and I sync our paddles and take off
for the point. Suddenly, we are blindsided by a red kayak slamming into us. Eli and Ben bump us again. Addie’s
paddle shoots upward, drowning the perpetrators in a tsunami of salt water. We grab their kayak and use it
to launch ourselves forward, while simultaneously shoving them backwards. Their cries of soaked protest are
drowned out by the waves and we fall in line directly behind Brian as he rounds the point. Out of the protected
cove, the wind hits us like a cannon blast. Choppy swells catch the kayak and tosses it high in the air, before
plunging it back down into the water, submerging its bow. We dig our paddles in and fight the driving wind.
Brian leads us up the coast past towering sea cliffs and rocky outcroppings. Just when fighting the surf is in
danger of becoming tiresome, Brian pulls into a shallow inlet. Addie and I grab the kayak next to us, and they in
turn grab the one next to them until we have once again become a colorful floating mass of polyethylene.
“Alright!,” Brian yells over the sound of the pounding surf. “I’m gonna check it out.” He disappears
into a comparatively small opening in the cliff face. Jim follows him. We watch the cave entrance carefully for
their return. The waves are batting us back and forth, rolling under us, or through us. We are barely a mild
inconvenience for the ocean. Our raft is drifting dangerously close to the cave, and Brian and Jim have been in
that cave for way too long. At last, the red bow of Brian’s kayak appears out of the entrance.
“The opening is a little narrow,” he calls. “But once you get inside it opens up bigger than the Vision.”
Addie shoves our kayak away from the others and towards Brian. Naturally we are the first ones through. Brian
grabs our stern and shoves us through an uncomfortably small crevasse. The surge comes and pushes us into
the cave. We duck beneath a low rock ledge and we are inside. The sound of the wind and surf vanish, along
with the light. The cave opens into a beautiful chasm with wet rock walls and a high ceiling. The water glows a
beautiful iridescent blue and throws exquisite patterns on the walls. The air is beautiful and smells of ancient
stone, freshwater springs, and the spray of a faraway ocean. A thin layer of fog fills the whole room. The only
sound is the lapping of the water on the far back wall. One by one the others come in and paddle to us. There
are murmurs of astonishment at the incredible sight. None of us had ever seen anything like it. The farther back
we go, the deeper the darkness. Flashlight beams dance over the water’s surface and up the walls. Brian’s voice
echoes.
“Let me hear your best coyote howl.”
“Aawwwwoooooooohhhhhhhh!”
The noise of twenty voices fills the space and collides off the walls and ceiling until there are not twenty
coyotes, but twenty thousand. Their voices linger and echo and at last fade away, long after we have fallen silent.
The winds have grown stronger and the swells larger. Every stroke seems harder and more painful as we battle
our way up the coast. Addie’s voice keeps my strokes synced to hers. One, two; one, two; one, two. Up the coast.
We pause for a moment at a large, shallow cave (more of a hollow) and listen to the unique sound of the swells
Emma Voigt
“It sounds like a mountain breathing,” Brian remarks. It does.
After decades of struggling through the sea that couldn’t care less if our arms break and our kayaks flip
or not, Brian turns off into another protected inlet. The entrance to the Painted Cave is streaked with beautiful
yellows, reds, whites, and browns - all mineral stripes. The cave is named for them - nature’s watercolor. The entrance to the cave is unbelievably high. The cave is far bigger than any cave has a right to be. Its noble neck looms
over us as we drift inside and ancient; invisible eyes watch us from the rock. Springs trickle down to the sea and
delicate fern leaves hang from the ceiling. The water is clearer than crystal and smoother than glass. Our kayaks
glide silently through it, cutting a rippling path. The cave is growing narrower, and not too far ahead, a family of
sea lions is sleeping, floating peacefully, each with one flipper extended above the water. We are quite close. I can
see them. I can hear them. Their barks fill the enormous cave with a tangible cloud of sound. It presses in from
all sides, echoing around us; it sounds both distant and frighteningly close. The barks overlap and intertwine like
the wails of departed Chumash souls. That cannot all be from one family of napping sea lions. We are almost
worrisomely close to the lions. They are becoming anxious, popping their heads up and giving us the eye. Their
barks have a more urgent tone and some have begun to dive beneath the surface and disappear. We drift carefully
by them. They are so close I can see the individual wet hairs on their noses. We slowly paddle our way deeper in.
The wails are growing louder and I begin to smell them. We pass through an archway beyond which is total darkness. Once inside, Brian switches on his flashlight, barely illuminating an almost circular chamber. The walls are
wet and no daylight penetrates the globe. The barking has become deafening. The stench is incredible. Not bad,
just extremely strong. My eyes are watering. “Keep away from the walls,” Brian whispers.
Jim’s flashlight reaches the far wall. Caught in its beam is a writhing mass of sea lion bodies. They
shift at our approach. Hundreds of them, all piled on rocks at the back of the chamber. Some sit with their
noses in the air like royalty or sentinels. As we come close, they turn and look at us. Some bark warnings and invisible splashes echo around the room. But many stay right where they are. We sit there watching them for a long time. Finally when the tide has pushed us a little too close, Brian calls backpedal, and
we turn our kayaks and head for the the circle of light and back into our last day on Santa Cruz Island.
The Island Fox’s Jungle of Trash
By Wilson Sherman
There is something about being on an island that makes you feel microscopic and enormous at the same time. The ground is lighter on your feet, and the world doesn’t seem so insurmountably daunting. Yet at the same time, seeing how wild and unexplored the earth is reminds
you that you are only a grain of sand. Being on an undeveloped island, you suddenly feel this
great urge to explore everything you see and beyond, you don’t just want to explore, you need
to explore, you have a responsibility for exploring that can’t be ignored. When you run on the
islands, there are no boundaries. Any hill you see you can get to the top of. I experienced this as
I climbed over sand dunes, scanning the sand for treasures like Chumash arrowheads. Unfortunately I was finding mostly bits of plastic, which I would pick up and put in my back pocket.
Suddenly, I notice something irregular - a tiny canyon the size of a silver dollar breaking the
smooth and predictable pattern of the untouched sand. I look closely and see that it is a tiny paw
print, most likely from an island fox. I notice another one, about 6 inches away, and another one,
and another one! As I tracked the tiny indents in the otherwise untouched sand, I became the
fox. I hear a snap as I step on one of the many tiny white seal bones that cover the beach. My
footprints dab splashes of color onto the untouched canvas of the sand. As I follow the little paw
prints up a steep cliff of sand, I cause an avalanche that builds upon itself. I am amazed that the
fox scaled the same cliff, and left every grain of sand in its place.
All of the sudden, the prints I have been following disappear, as I reach the base of a
mountain of rock and leave the soft sandy playground. I can no longer follow the fox’s every
step, but I know where he went. I chase my instincts up the reddish mountain, shaped by the
wind to appear evil and daunting in the most beautiful way. About halfway up, I pause to pull
a small pricker out of my ankle. I stop for a moment to look at the plant life that surrounds me.
I see a tiny pink flower, so delicate and vulnerable to clumsy human feet, like a ballerina in a
world of bulldozers. I feel a pang of guilt as I look back at the path of destruction I have tread,
running through this museum of china with a hammer, disturbing this serene island.
I look back at the gentle dunes, and see my friends, like busy ants leaving their own
footprints. I notice something else too, the little pixels of unnaturally bright pinks and oranges
bruising the picturesque sandy hills, covered with plants that complement the cloudy sky. These
little specs are footprints from my species more permanent than the indents from my flip-flops.
The little specs of bright colors are pieces of plastic and Styrofoam like the ones in my back
pocket. Seeing as my school and I are the only ones to ever land on this beach, it is likely that
these fragments of disregarded material made it to this beach on their own - stowaways of the
wind and the currents. I see my peers collecting the garbage and collecting it in trash bags. Every year the ninth graders at SBMS come to this beach on the backside of Santa Rosa to clean up
the human debris that returns to haunt the beach. I wish we didn’t have to clean up the beach so
often, the few flip flop flattened flowers seem a worthy price for this task.
Lauren Ewers
A Dusty Ledge
By Evan Sherman
Two sandwiches, one orange, and two water bottles. Two wheels, one bike, and two gloves. Fifty-two
people, one school, and a plan. A plan to bike, a plan to laugh, a plan to share responsibility. Our trip only beginning, we set out on our bikes; the sun at our backs, we rode. Past the field, past the barn, past the angry cows. We
rode past the flower shop, the bridge, the school, the Rite-Aid, and through a vineyard and out the back. A park, many wheels, many smiles, morning light, and the smell of jasmine.
So far in the thirteen years that I have been alive, you would think that I would have more to write about.
I’ve done plenty that could be written about, but looking back, very little of it would fit under ‘life-changing.’ Up
until last year, I wouldn’t have anything to write about at all for this assignment. However it isn’t last year, so I’m
going to write about a ride on Ojai BOBs.
Santa Barbara Middle School had just started, and we were on our second trip of the year. We were a few
days into the trip and were headed into a particularly long ride through the city. It was probably our easiest ride
yet, and everyone was breezing through it with warm determination. We stopped at a shady park in which we
had Nutella-covered strawberries. Like any lunch-stop should, this one had an overwhelming amount of daisy
chains, smiles and chocolate smeared faces. We made John SB a crown of daisies before taking off and continuing our journey. The sun started to break through the clouds and we were off yet again. Gloves tightened, helmets
fastened, we rode over the curb and into the road.
As we rode our bikes up towards the mountains, the hills we encountered grew steeper. Slowly but
surely, our ride grew more difficult, each pedal taking longer than the last; we neared the top. With the peak of
the mountain in sight we weren’t going to walk; we would make it to the top. Powered by our own motivational
words we were pulled to the top of the mountain. Smiles threatening to split our faces, we had made it. The dusty
ledge was nowhere near as shady as we would have hoped it to be, but it didn’t matter. Overlooking the city, the
scent of orange blossoms strong in the air; I smiled. The people we had been in camp being seemed far different
from who we were now. Now we were friends. Now we were motivational speakers. Now we were tree huggers
and mountain climbers. Joking about the little people walking far below us, we broke out our remaining snacks,
sharing with those who had finished theirs back at the park. Pouring some water on our heads, we got back
on our bikes and coasted down the hill. Enjoying the cool breeze in our hair, we raced far faster than Whitney
would have liked. On the ride home, we made an impressive effort to screech ‘Call Me Maybe’ the entire ride
back. Ignoring the cars who rolled up their windows as we passed, we made it back safe and sound. We finally
stopped ‘singing’ as we rolled into camp. Our voices lost, coated in dust, we finished our ride. Past the Rite-Aid,
the school, the barn, the flower shop, the angry cows, and across the field and over the bridge. We were home.
This ride wasn’t my favorite of all the trip rides, but it was the first ride in which I felt like I belonged at
SBMS. Something between attempting to braid John’s hair, to the pitch perfect choir of a Middle School Trip,
suddenly made it all click. I had been accepted into Santa Barbara Middle School for a reason. Whether it was
because I needed it or because it needed me, I was here. And I knew that I would do my best whether it be to
share my water or to show up to all of the amazing opportunities SBMS has given me, I knew I would make it
worth it. I was ready for many more adventures to come in my years at Santa Barbara Middle School. Whether
they were on campus or off, I would do my best to approach them with the same “wait to go” attitude as I had before. This ride wasn’t really a life changing moment by itself, but it led to many more trips and many more rides,
all of which combined would and will be a very memorable part of my life. Thank you Santa Barbara Middle
School.
Ojai BOBs
By Peter Tebbe
Today has been a very difficult day.
Some friends have been made,
some have been lost.
The only thing that matters
is that I stay true to myself.
I need to make friends with myself
before I try to be with other people.
Trying too hard,
not being myself,
failing to be a friend,
not trying in class,
has hurt me.
I am a very quiet person
who is a complicated friend.
That is why it is so special
to be with the friends I have.
Antonia Bazzani
Helena McGinnes
Taking a Dive into Paradise
By Nicole Figeroa
“Just jump!!!” I hear Eva scream from the bottom of our front deck. I can hear notes from Riptide by
Vance Joy, from this morning playing back in my mind. I jitter with excitement as I feel the thick piece of metal
warming up my feet. Here I stand on the bow of the Vision. I stand between the anchor and another little piece
of metal as I prepare to take this jump. I step closer to the edge, standing ten feet over the ocean, about to jump
off our boat, our “floating classroom” for the week.
When I finish debating over whether it is worth it to go into the ocean and get my hair wet again, I
finally prepare to jump in the water, this time for real. So I look down at the ocean and count down to jump in.
3.....2......1: “AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” I scream to myself. I feel like I am on a rollercoaster!
When I reach the water, just before completely sinking in, I am in a moment where I feel as if I was walking on water. For a split-second, the sea turns into concrete, and I am simply standing on top of the ocean. The
frigid and icy cold water soon fills up my body as I sink down deep underneath, leaving my blurry, salty, and
open eyes a view of many sea creatures. I am surrounded by the deep blue sea I know too well. The sea is filled
with hundreds of neon orange garibaldi, spiny sea urchins, and of course the majestic glistening sea kelp. The
frigid and icy cold water fills up my body as I continue to take a glimpse at this clear paradise.
Before going back down again, I come up for air to see the beautiful ridge of Anacapa Island. Seagulls and
pelicans glide gloriously through the channel, and the happy and inviting sun heats my freezing skin.
Before going back to our boat, I decide to look down into the ocean one more time for hidden treasures.
I dive down again, not too deep, to once again see garabaldis swimming under my feet and the brittle stars we
learned about earlier in school explore the ocean as well.
As I dive back up, the others and I briskly swim back to the front of the boat, holding a new and amazing experience. We all dry off, and head off to the galley to meet our other friends and colleagues for a delicious
lunch of macaroni and cheese, sauteed broccoli salad, and toasty-warm homemade bread waiting just for us.
Food has never tasted this good.
Not many hours later, our entire ninth grade family and class is gazing up at the sky that is currently filled
with beaming stars and a radiant crescent moon that illuminates the dark, gloomy night. As I lay there, next to
many of my best friends, I think about how weird it is that in one moment you are having an experience and in
the next one you are only looking back at it, remembering it almost as if it was a dream. Soon this will only be
a dream, I picture. Sometimes, I tell myself, memories can be so clear that you remember them exactly the way
they were for the rest of your life. Sometimes in life, when you come across these memories, you are able to go
back to those memories and feel almost as if you were still there. The sky continues to darken as we continue to
look up at the beauty within it.
As I retreat to my bunk and continue to leisurely ponder the mysteries of life, I tell myself that if I am
lucky enough, this day will be one of the memories that I am able to keep forever, and look back at many decades
from now.
Crimson Red
By Devan Randolph
I take a breath, inhaling the blues and greys of the ocean. Emerging like a bullet shooting out
from a gun, my wrinkly hand rough from the salt, touches my wet forehead. My fingers trace
over a bump that is the size of a golf ball. Slowly, I bring my shaky hand back into the sea. My
blue eye like a dragonfly’s wing, still not focused, turns to see waves chasing me. I dunk under,
inhaling more colors of the ice cold ocean. My hand finds itself back on my slick forehead, but
this time coming back down to my eyesight quicker than before. My eyes, feeling as if they are
lifting weights, look at my old grandma hands, which are crimson red like a pomegranate seed
running down my hand into the deep sea. Tears of salt sting my rosy cheeks as they leak from
my eyes. Touching my forehead, more crimson red falls out. It makes a path way down my head,
over my eye, onto my chin and finishing into the blues and greens of the ocean like a river rushing through rapids. I am now blind from this crimson red. I spin in circles like a washing machine trying to find my little sister, Hayden. I can only see her through a sliver. My frigid hands
dabbing my sticky head. I feel like a piece of shattered glass. I breathe in again. My piercing silent
scream comes out of my mouth, everything inside of me not able to move. My heart forgot how
to work. The only thing able to work is the crimson red dropping into the ocean. My dad’s heavy
voice grabs me and makes a pathway to him. His scared voice whispers in my ear, “It’s going to
be okay.” I put those few words on repeat like listening to my favorite song again and again. It’s
going to be okay!
Mary Johnson
Los Libros de Espanol
de clase de Wren
Opportunities Pass By
By Nico Peluso
Opportunities will rush by you
You try to take them
Try to grab them
They fade to the tips of your fingers
And vanish.
And when they vanish
Do you wait,
Like a man in a cage?
Or do you break the cage?
Does the opportunity fracture your mind?
Or is it forgotten.
Like the motivation.
To grab them.
Rocks
By Morgan Bacon
We had been planning on the trip for weeks. It was finally time to take the boat out to the islands. The
water glistened with the sunlight and the fish swam below. All colors and sizes they swam in schools
and alone though the ocean. The constant sway of the boat and the warmth of the sunlight on my skin
almost made me fall asleep. There was not a cloud in the sky, and I could just watch the vast expanse of
intense blue stretch to the corners of my vision. The water was blueish and clear, and I could see down
to the bottom of the ocean. The wind on my face made me feel invincible. It went through my hair and
it stung my cheeks. The ocean spray coming from the front of the boat made me refreshed and ready
to jump in. Finally we had arrived. The two islands stood in front of us like two mighty statues ready to
defend the castle behind it. The coral started to become a brighter color. The pink sand started to rise out
of the ocean and when we touched it, it shifted. The air had the scent of BBQ because there were many
people partying and grilling hotdogs and hamburgers on the beach. To the right of the island there was a
little trail heading around the left side.
There were many people going up the
trail, presumably to go jumping off the
rocks at the back of the island. There
was salt sitting in warm pools in the
sun along the stark black rocky trail
around the island. At the back, there
were three more trails. They led to 20,
then 40, then 60 foot jumps into the
ocean. When there was a high tide the
little spot was a washing machine. The
waves would roll in turbulently throwing everything around, then roll out.
Luckily today it was peaceful and we
could jump into the water safely. The
first time I jumped, it felt as if time
stopped. I could see everything happening, but very slowly. I could feel the
wind rushing onto my lungs, and my
heartbeat rising at the adrenaline rushing to my brain. Finally I hit the water
and everything returned to normal.
Aleppo
By Bram Collins
The once great buildings turned to rubble,
The shells drop blowing homes to the ground.
The trucks drive through, 50 cals on the back and causing trouble.
People running from stray bullets, bouncing up and down.
The homemade mortars explode while firing,
The AK’s barrels smoking from use,
People falling on the ground yelling and writhing.
And the people who try to escape this madness face much abuse.
The three factions clash with hate,
Each one fighting for control,
And yet all they do is obliterate.
Crushing the people’s soul.
And when the fighting settles down, and peace is made between them all,
They will look at this city, Aleppo, and release their great pitfall.
Eliana Gans
(Earthquake)
By Ava Weinstein
“My heart still shakes like the Earth,” said an unnamed elderly woman. She was one of the 19,000 people
affected by the 7.8 earthquake in Nepal. She lived in a small house in the mountains where she worked in the
fields planting and harvesting rice. On May 25, 2015, she woke up, ate her breakfast and headed to the fields for
a long day of work. At 11:56 A.M, the ground moved and everything in this small yet beautiful country, changed
forever.
11:50 A.M, May 25
Pemba sat down with his friend at a rickety table on the fourth floor of a nine story building in the middle
of Patan, a city in Nepal made mostly of temples, small cobbled streets and exotic smells coming out of every
doorway. Pemba was an average boy of 5’9.” He had dark hair and small intelligent eyes. He wore an orange shirt
made of a rough material that cost very little and came in abundance. His pants were brown and had holes on the
knees from falling and just over use.
Pemba and his friend were halfway done with their lunch of lentils, rice and curry when the floor shook.
They were frightened and started to head downstairs. As they left, cracks formed on the walls and ceilings.
Pemba made it to the first floor when the building collapsed around him like a house of cards. The dust rushed
up, filling the air and lungs of the frantic people scrambling away. Pemba was crushed between the ceiling and
floor, two things that once had been separate but now were one. He laid there for days, not sure if he was alive
or dead in a state that was neither conscious nor unconscious, surrounded by darkness and rubble. Finally after
many hours or days had passed, a light appeared and a strange man came to him and spoke in a calm voice,
“Little boy are you hurt?”.
“I... I don’t know,” Pemba said through his cracked and dusty lips.
It was cloudy and the air smelled of rain. Pemba inhaled, and as he was carried out from under the building, he
started to cry.
“Why are you crying?” one of the men carrying him asked, “I forgot what it felt like to be alive,” Pemba
whispered and fell asleep.
Pemba was rescued after six days stuck under a slab of cement, having nothing to eat except for a stick of
butter he had found. He was dehydrated and tired with surprisingly few injuries. When he arrived at the hospital
every newspaper in the world clamored to hear the story of the 15-year-old boy who survived an earthquake in
which 9,000 people had perished.
Olivia Powell
. . .
11:53 AM, May 25
Dr. Bhagwati Rai was walking down the hall of the three story hospital in the middle of Kathmandu when the
building shook. She bit down on her tongue and blood filled her mouth, and she spat to get the taste of blood off
her lips. When she looked around she saw the petrified expressions on the faces of the other doctors and nurses.
Soon the people started to arrive in a constant flow like water from a broken dam. She and her fellow doctors followed a procedure at first, but the wounded came in too fast and died too soon. Their injuries ranged
from a broken leg to missing limbs. Frantic mothers and fathers ran through the hospital, searching for their
children, hoping that their worst fear would not come true.
Dr Bhagwati Rai wandered outside the hospital. She walked covered in sweat and the warm blood of
countless numbers of men, women and children, looking at the clouds that lay over the city like a blanket. The
buildings lying in the street, reduced to nothing but rubble. She heard babies crying in the streets, motherless. In
a trance, she walked to where her apartment should have been, but once she got there, all she found was a hand
and a pile of rubble. She sunk to her knees and finally after days of relentless work, fell asleep.
. . .
Humans have different reactions to a natural disaster than a man-made one. When a man-made disaster occurs,
we are disgusted. However, when a natural disaster similar to the earthquake in Nepal happens, humans get
scared. We forget that we are not indestructible. We are at the mercy of nature and we will never know when one
of its disasters will tear our lives apart.
9/11
By Elias Bazan
On a clear fall morning in September, New Yorkers were heading to their jobs and schools. People were walking, taking the bus, riding the subway, and drinking coffee. The sun was rising over the city, its light reflected off
of the shiny skyscrapers that stood above everything else. The street vendors were pulling their carts out to the
streets. The businessmen were grabbing bagels from their favorite stores. All of the taxi cabs were stuck in morning traffic. It was just another Tuesday morning in the city until two planes changed course and headed to New
York.
As the planes approached the passengers were terrified. In economy, people mistakenly thought that there was a
medical emergency in business class. Business class was filled with mace and pepper spray, forcing people to go
into the economy cabin. “We have some planes. Just stay quiet, and you’ll be ok. We are returning to the airport,”
said one of the hijackers on American Airlines Flight 11.
The hijackers aboard American Airlines flight 11 crashed into floors 93 through 99 of the North Tower of the
World Trade Center, sending a tremor through all of the neighboring buildings. The evil the hijackers showed
was horrible and frightening. No one had ever seen anything like it. Outside the towers, people saw countless
sheets of paper raining down to the ground. The sound of sirens drowned out any competing noise. Squadrons of
firefighters rushed to the tower. People sprinted down the stairs, pushing and shoving, doing anything to escape.
Firefighters bravely rushed into the building to help anyone and everyone that they could see. Policemen backed
people away from the scene, and ambulances skidded to a halt near the tower. Scared people on the upper floors
called their loved ones to talk to them one last time, knowing there was no way out.
In the South Tower there was mass confusion as to what was happening. No one really knew how much danger
they were in. Some decided to evacuate even though they were instructed to stay inside. They were told that the
South Tower was secure and to go back to their offices.
Inside United Airlines Flight 175 events were similar as what happened aboard Flight 11. Flight 175’s last transmission was at 8:42 AM, after they heard a suspicious transmission, which turned out to be from Flight 11. The
hijackers used knives and mace to take over the cockpit. They killed both pilots and claimed they had a bomb
on board. Peter Hanson, who was travelling with his wife and two-year-old daughter, called his father, Lee, to let
him know what was happening.
“I think they’re taking over the cockpit. An attendant has been stabbed and someone else up front may
have been killed. The plane is making strange moves. Call United Airlines.”
Peter then made a second call to his father.
“It’s getting bad, Dad. A stewardess was stabbed. They seem to have knives and mace. They said they have
a bomb. People are throwing up and getting sick. The plane is making jerky movements. I don’t think the pilot
is flying the plane. I think we are going down. I think they intend to go to Chicago or some place and fly into a
building. Don’t worry, Dad. If it happens, it’ll be very fast. My God. My God.”
The call ended abruptly as Lee Hanson heard someone scream. He turned on the television to watch as
Flight 175 crashed into the South Tower at 9:03 AM, 17 minutes after the first plane.
Ten thousand people were in the process of evacuating when Flight 175 crashed into the 75th - 85th floors of the
South Tower. Anyone waiting for the express elevator on those floors were killed by the 2,000 degree fireball that
erupted. Women running down the stairs abandoned their high heels like trash and descended over 1,000 steps
to safety.
Hundreds and hundreds of firefighters arrived on the scene to do whatever they could to pull people out of the
tower. Inhabitant tried to flee from the war zone that was New York. Some people ran across the Brooklyn Bridge
while others fled by boat. Almost an hour after the plane struck the South Tower, the entire building collapsed in
seconds without any warning. A huge cloud shot through the surrounding blocks imprinting the taste of ash and
dust into everyone’s mouth. About 30 minutes later the North tower collapsed, 102 minutes after it was hit.
September 11th was the biggest terrorist attack in American history. George Bush declared war on terror,
starting with al Qaeda. That day in New York, 2,996 people died, 343 of them were firefighters. 9/11 was the first
time Americans actually felt threatened by evil. The only other attack on American soil was Pearl Harbor, but
that was an attack on the military. 9/11 was an attack on innocent American citizens. Every year on September
11th, we commemorate those who died, and every day we strive to make sure that such a tragedy never happens
again.
Poisoned Parks
By Kenzie Tarpening
A place where youthful imagination is sparked and
dreams are endless. I would go to parks on a sunny
day, zero clouds darkened the sky and my mind.
My worlds were created there. My innocence ran free,
free of arguments, free of questions. I skipped
through obstacles, smelling the fun from the other
children playing. Even the railing on the structure was
friendly, it wouldn’t give me splinters. I think it knew better.
I always wanted to go at night. I saw those big kids
laughing and jumping around, mostly just being loud.
It looked so fun, I wondered what games they played
and if I knew them. It looked like they brought food,
or at least drink. I wondered what they were drinking.
They seemed to like it though, it must have been
sweet and tasty. It made them laugh, laugh out loud. I
wanted to join them, play the games that they did.
My mom said no. I didn’t know why. They were just
doing the same things as me, just when it’s dark, I would say.
My mom wouldn’t respond any differently. No, she said.
Back then, my innocence was like tree limbs, wrapping
me up, protecting me. Innocence frees you from
temptation. I wish still my tree limbs were about me,
covering me. Those older kids, who I wanted to join
in their play, who I wanted to join in their drinking,
little did I know, they drank poison. They drank
poison at my park. They poisoned my dreams, my
fantasies. They poisoned my innocence. A place I
used to go, to be a child, with the railings that spared
me of splinters, that held the worlds I built inside my
mind, the park. The poisoned park.
My Big Moment
By Sam Fenton
I was in the first grade, my second year of going to my elementary school, Monte Vista. I was excited to
be in the first grade because of the play they held last year, “The Rainforest In The Rain.” I loved the pretty lights,
with the bright plastic green trees and bushes. It featured a hurt toucan that wanted to fly again and her monkey
friend. So, when the time came around, we picked our characters. “Sam, you will be the anteater, who narrates
the story and introduces the play.” “CRAP!!!” I thought. I couldn’t believe that I got the anteater, out of all things!
Oh the embarrassment I would have to go through, I was so scared. I prayed that I might be able to get out of it.
Somehow, somehow…
I woke up one morning on a fine day of school. The birds were tweeting, the cat was purring, and I was
ready to go. I arrived at school on my bike at 8:00 and went to go play with my friends.
“Hi Sam!” my friend Marco said. “Want to play handball?”
“Sure.”
We played handball for a half hour, finding more friends along the way. “DING DING DING DING!”
Time for class. I sat in my Math class, annoyed at how boring it is compared to play. Then, recess! I was happy
about this because afterwards it was P.E, and P.E was actually a fun class. So, the day progressed, with the bell just
a few minutes away. “DING DING DING DING!!!” God I hated that. Okay, time for P.E, yahoo! I was running
the upper part of my school for P.E. doing our daily warm-ups. I was running around a bench when all of a sudden, my leg started to hurt. I sat down on the bench for a little while, then went and told the teacher my leg was
hurting. I then stopped running and sat out until everyone was done with their warm ups.
Once I got home, I didn’t tell my parents my leg was hurting, because I didn’t want to possibly go to the
hospital for nothing. Sadly, they found out anyway. I was little, so I don’t really remember too much of it, but
they told me that when I was riding my scooter, I would just fall down out of nowhere, along with me limping.
After a little while, I finally admitted that my leg was hurting. My family then decided I should go see a doctor.
We went down to the clinic and waited until we were able to see one. The doctor took some x-rays of my leg so
he could tell us the news. He then took my parents to a side of the room, me on another, and said, “Your son, has
cancer. I’m so sorry.” After my parents told me, I really didn’t know what that was, but I was in for a rough ride of
nine months in the hospital with barely any time at home.
It was my seventh birthday, and I was in bed at the City Of Hope cancer treatment hospital. The door
opened, and two nurses and one doctor came in with presents. I was not very happy about being in a hospital for
nine months, and I especially wasn’t too happy with the doctors and nurses. I hid under my covers, hoping they’d
go away. They tried to pull them away, but I wouldn’t let them. So, they left and it was just me and my mom. I
then opened my presents. A basketball and a Nerf Gun. Meh.
It was the big day. The day the doctors would take the tumor out. The doctors led me and my family to
the room and sat me down on the bed. They then placed a mask over my face, and within seconds, I was asleep.
I awoke drowsy and confused, not exactly knowing what was going on. I then went back to sleep.
I awoke back in a hospital room with my leg hung up (with my body still attached, don’t worry) on a cast
that was connected to the ceiling. The doctor who did the surgery on my leg and my parents were in there with
me.
“Try moving your foot, Sam” the doctor said anxiously. I was half asleep as my parents, the doctor and
I watched my little foot wiggle around. I was still pretty tired, so I went to sleep. I woke up a while later to find
that I was all alone in the dark. I was sitting there for about 20 minutes when a nurse walked into the room. With
her, she had another little kid that was a patient as well. I was thinking to myself, you honestly think you can just
come in here and barge in while I’m too tired to tell you to get out?! The nurse said to the kid, “This is Sam, he
just finished his treatment.”
Then they left and I could have my silence once again. Let me tell you this though, I didn’t have to be the
anteater in the play.
I was pretty lucky for what it was though. It could’ve been leukemia, the terminal kind, or brain cancer.
Also, it didn’t spread, so that was good. I have learned from cancer to not take life for granted, because it can be
gone in the blink of an eye.
Ami Hammond
Olivia Powell
My Big Moment
By Elias Bazan
The biggest change in my life has to be when my brother was born. Before that I was the center of my parents’
attention. After my brother was born, I became way less important. Ever since then, I’ve been the more reliable
child and my brother gets to do whatever he wants without being punished. I have to do the laundry and help
out whenever I’m needed, and my brother gets to sit around and play his video games. There are some upsides to
it as well. I would be so bored if I were an only child. I would have no one to fight with, yell at, or tell what to do.
He can also be sort of fun to hang out with if I am super bored. If my parents take us to a dinner with people we
don’t know I usually just watch my brother to see if he will do anything stupid. But the worst thing about having a little brother is being in the car with him. He always wants me to play cards with him but I don’t want to
because I know he will lose at least ten cards. If I pull out my computer to do something, he will try and steal it
from me so that he can play some game. If he sees my phone he will try to guess the password to go through all
my stuff but he just ends up disabling my phone and I get really angry with him. I also hate when he brings his
friends over because they are super energetic and super loud, which is like the opposite of me. They will stay up
super late talking, and I have to go into his room and tell them to shut up so that I can go to sleep. One time, I
woke up and heard some whispering coming from above me. I went upstairs and found that they were trying to
play Xbox at two in the morning. I told them that they were being super loud and went back to sleep.
Lauren Ewers
Lauren Ewers
My Big Moment: All Grown Up
By Koby Skinner
All the kicking and screaming...all the hard work...saying no to friends... for 8 years…all for 3 hours of
fame…
It all started 8 years ago, when I went to my first day of Sunday School at B’nai B’rith here in Santa Barbara. I was five years old and did not want to use the bathrooms because they were sandy and smelled weird. I
remember listening to the teachers read books. However, I only began learning Jewish words and culture in the
third grade. We learned basic words like “shalom,” which means peace. People also use “shalom” when they are
greeting each other. In addition, I learned words such as “ima” which means mom and “aba” which means dad.
Class lasted for two and a half hours; it was long. Did I mention that I never wanted to go? I remember saying:
“Mom, please don’t make me go!”
“No, you have to go. It’s important.”
I would kick and scream about how dull it was and how we never learned anything. Every Sunday, I
would go through the same tantrum. Some Sundays, my mom would actually let me miss school. In fourth
grade, I started going to Hebrew school on Wednesdays, as well as Sundays. I threw even more fits because now
I had to go for two and a half more hours. I began to learn more prayers and roots of the Hebrew words. Even
though fourth grade was the year I went the least amount of times, it was also the year when I truly started to
learn the Hebrew language. I thought it was genuinely humdrum. I was a reluctant Jew.
In fifth and sixth grade however, I realized the classes were very important. I stopped kicking and
screaming. I started to learn trope (singing melody) and the prayers for my bar mitzvah. The Cantor (the musical
religious leader) tested us on the trope sounds to see if we knew them. I was fairly nervous about this because he
said he would not let us have a bar mitzvah if we failed. Later, I learned that he said that just to scare us. The class
practiced and practiced the prayers and all the trope until we knew them by heart. Even though I practiced for
so long, I still needed a tutor to help with my prayers and reading my Torah portion. In the seventh grade, I had
a tutor for an entire year to learn everything I needed to know for my bar mitzvah. Every Monday, I would go to
my tutor and study with her for an hour before school. Every day, I would study for 15 to 30 minutes after school.
On Thursdays, I would meet with the Cantor to see how I was coming along. My friends would always ask if I
wanted to play, but I would always have to say “no” because I needed to study.
The day finally came when I was to become a bar mitzvah. June 13th, 2015 is a day I will never forget.
I got up, got dressed, and went to temple an hour before the service in order to take pictures. I went into the
sanctuary and saw all my friends and family come in and take seats. I started to get nervous. I became even more
nervous when my friends sat in the front row. The Cantor called me up, and I started to sing and lead the service.
Time flew by. All of the sudden, it was time to read from the Torah and I got nervous all over again. The Rabbi
unrolled the Torah and my family and friends sang a blessing. The Cantor showed me where I would start chanting. At this point, I started sweating because I was so nervous. All of a sudden, the room got very quiet. I felt like
I was an astronaut leaping out into the dark galaxy. Once I touched the Torah, my nerves calmed. It started off
smoothly, but in the middle of the section, I stuttered a little bit which didn’t help my nerves. I fixed my stutter
and finished my Torah section. My nerves finally calmed down, but I still had to read more in Hebrew.
The Haftorah is much harder then the Torah, because it’s a different type of melody and chant. The Haftorah is rather short so it evens out. At last it was time for the English portion of the service and I delivered my
Devar Torah (my sermon). It was so close to the end of the service that I began to get excited. My sermon was a
six-page speech explaining and raising questions about my Torah portion. Even though I was speaking English, I
still felt a ton of pressure.
During my sermon, I asked three questions. One of them was “Why did the Israelites have so much
faith in G-d before arriving in Canaan but once they got there, they all lost their faith except Caleb and Joshua?”
People responded and I realized I was actually teaching the congregation. I was proud of myself.
All the hard work and determination in becoming a bar mitzvah is more than just achieving three hours
of fame. It is a way to become part of the congregation, an adult in the eyes of the Jewish faith. Upon reflection, I
can honestly say, without a doubt, that the eight years were worth it. Shalom.
Camille Cheng
Golden Birthday
By Alicia Lopez
November 5, 2000, is when I was born. Today, is my birthday, but not just any birthday; it is my golden
birthday. It’s November 5, 2005 and I am turning five! The air has a crispness in it, and it smells like fresh cut
grass. My cousins, tios,tias, abuelos, abuelas, second cousins, third cousins are all here sitting at the table with
me. “Tag you’re it!!” I say to my cousin while I run as fast as my little feet can take me. I am so concentrated
with the game of tag that I don’t even notice what is happening in the corner of the park. All of a sudden I hear
a loud noise and I look to the road. My cousin Angel gets excited and says, “Oohh is it a motorcycle?” She’s so
funny. When she grows up, she wants to be a beautiful girl, and she wants to be taken away from her mom by a
handsome guy on a motorcycle. “I don’t think so,” I said to her with a little giggle in my voice. My other cousin
says, “I know what it is, it’s a race car!” We all stare at the road for a long time waiting for that sound to come
out of hiding. My Tia Eva yells, “What are you guys looking at?” “A motorcycle! No, it’s a race car!” my cousins
say shouting back arguing. I turn around and see a humongous castle that’s filled with so much air it looks like
it could fly away. I run swiftly to the castle with my frilly socks bouncing with each step I take. I jump in the
castle and see an obstacle course inside. I roll up my sleeves and climb the first obstacle. In between punching bags and jumping over walls that seem like mountains, I get to the last obstacle - this long slide that looks
5,000 miles long. I take a couple steps back, run fast, sit and fly down the slide like a plane minutes before it
takes flight. Everyone cheers for me and starts singing the birthday song in Spanish. Feliz cumpleaños a ti, feliz
cumpleaños a ti, feliz cumpleaños querida Alicia feliz cumpleaños a ti. I blow out my candles and make a wish.
I wish… I wish… I wish...
Antonia Fields
Fear
By Jack Cantin
It was pitch black, and I was afraid. I quickly stumble over to my night light to flick it on. The faint, weak
glow of the light gives me a sense of security. I was young, and I was afraid of the dark. I’ve had lots of unfortunate situations as a kid in the dark. I’ve tripped, stubbed my toe. I’ve even had a rather scary encounter with my
cat, who hissed and tried to scratch me as if a demon from the depths of the underworld. Everything had been
culminating in this brewing pot of the darkness. All my fears, every time that light went off, came to life. The stories my friends told me on the school bus came to be, in vivid detail. But I knew that I had to conquer this fear,
and so I did. It wasn’t easy. It was probably the least expected thing you’d think to do to face something like this.
It was like jumping off the high dive. But this time, I knew how to swim. I turned off the light, and went to bed.
Simple as that, yet so hard to even fathom doing. And it was gone. I woke up fine, unscathed and unharmed. All
the dark monsters, disappeared as if they were never there. And they weren’t. This taught me an excellent lesson
about fear and overcoming it. Sometimes, looking it straight in the eye and not letting it phase you is the cure to
the nasty disease known as fear.
Hooked
By Alicia Lopez
I always get so excited when Elyse assigns a writing assignment
Well, a creative one at least
But this one was different
I could write stories about things I did and describe how it tasted and how it felt
But when the time came around to write poems I was stuck
No I was stuck on one style…. rhyming
How the heck am I going to be able to write a poem that has so many rhyming words but not make it sound like
“the cat found a bat then got glue on her shoe” I was pretty sure anything I wrote would sound like Dr. Seuss
went through a washing machine three times over
So I did a little research on my own
And found something amazing in my opinion
I found slam poetry and open word poetry
I listened to all the slam poems and open word poems I could get my cold little fingers on
I loved the way you could tell a story but in an almost lyrical way that didn’t involve rhyming and didn’t sound
like any old story.
And then my brain started to flood with words ideas stereotypes body image what when where how why
But not just any old word my mind started to flip words like a quarter rotating in the air with everyone calling
out their money for heads tails
I started to get bored with the normality of colors
I needed more
I needed to describe something so boring as blue to a sapphire rain stone that sparkled like little children’s
dreams
I was hooked
And now I can’t stop
No I won’t stop
It’s like when you’re underwater and you’re just coming up for that fresh breath of air just to remember how
much your lungs loved to taste it
I realized that I loved what I was creating just as much as I loved air
No I loved it more
I am hooked
Today I experienced love
At least I think I did
People tell me it’s supposed to feel like a zing like everything is perfect like everything fits a perfect puzzle piece
But how can something make you feel like you’re floating yet sinking at the same time
Like your heart is a flame that constantly is being blown out
Like you want to scream with joy but someone keeps putting their hand over your mouth silencing you
Telling you you’re beautiful as its pointing out all your imperfections.
how can something that’s smells so sweet taste so sour.
something so warm to the touch have a core that is cold
How can something make me rise lift above the clouds shove me down then let me get back up just to kick me in
the stomach.
Today I experienced love
At least I think I did.
No Better Way to Kill
By Jordan Bollag
Rivers
By Elias Bazan
There is no better way to kill
The icy water runs down the valley.
the natural urge to learn than school
Over branches and under rocks.
Cram in information than disgorge it,
Fish swim through to reach the sea,
it raises only fools
Where they will be set free.
Tools who expect the questions
Visitors play in the rushing waters,
to be given to them
and others sleep or set up camp.
Rather than thinking critically,
Guitars are played and steaks are made,
we are taught to be rigidly confined
While the river goes out to sea.
Defined by a system that takes away
the love of learning
And replaces it with what?
Cuz we haven’t learned what money is
How it functions
The stock market
Taxes
No we just stay on task with quadratic equations
And not worry about how the economy functions
How do we parent, get a job, or might I say dare to change the world
That’s what we want to learn
But what we learn, we cram in then disgorge
There is no better way to kill
the natural urge to learn than school
Zenzelé Yossem-Guy
MY CHOICE
Freya Phillips
GRADE FIVE
Stephanie McPhee
The first look into her eyes
But I will never see them open
Her small hand in mine
But her bones will be broken
Grade five.
Girls and pasta
A definitive cluster of moments strung across a glimmering body of water.
A flickering chandelier coupled with someone to run
to when the lights left.
Her giggle her laugh
But her mouth will stay closed
My lovely little calf
She’ll lay there defenseless, exposed
And yet if she breathed
She would inhale to cry in hunger
If she were to see
It would be the weeping of her mother
And maybe in her hands I’d see those forced against me
Hands of the man that stole my life, and her from me
So why not find a family
Why not find a mother that can feed her
Why not find a father that can protect her
Because what if they don’t feed her
What if they don’t protect her
And what if they create a mirror image of the home
I was raised in
So I will end it now
When she cannot feel
When she is nothing but cells
Has Never have the chance to feel pain
So I will give her the chance to live on only in my mind
Where she is happy
Where she is loved
And protected
And the decision will be mine
I am woman
And this is my child
In my body
Made of me
I should decide
I can decide
And I will decide
Grade five; year ten.
When my words came, she ate them.
Devoured the birthday cake that was my truth.
All of the sudden
Her tummy topped, toppled like jenga blocks
Wish on my candles for me
because I am lost.
Grade five; year ten.
She distanced like a truck driving
into the distance.
Whispering all the way.
The words I heard screamed
I’m not worthy
I don’t deserve better than those who don’t deserve me
Before, we had matching makeup.
And when I cried I
shattered mine.
Eyes became glued still
I didn’t move
still when eyes brushed like knotted hair
we meet again.
Grade five; year eleven.
Girl and pasta
You Can’t Even Be Native Anymore
By Casmali Lopez
You can’t even be native anymore
i’m sore and bored with this state
the fates indifferent to the wake of
western civilisation
You know they got away scot free
so police i’ma pop you before you pop me
that’s the mentality
just ask warrior woman
she got sick of being on her knees
and instead of watching another of hers bleed
she lashed out
cuz we know too many mothers
who have watched their kids drink a 40 and od
and now sanity leaves drowned again it smothers the
problem
and rather than solve em it repeats
historical trauma defeats attempts of building what isn’t
there
How would you have fared?
But that something is gone
eaten like the happy meal
they get when they don’t have money for anything better
but just like that
filling you with shit
the land a product of our culture
man, we like vultures
eating destroying and performing our duties
this social contract is the boat we are all on
and its sinking
and im thinking
you can’t even be native anymore
because we were with the land
so without the land we are just bland reminders
of the land that’s now dead
what it coulda been
what it shoulda been
like a child with a slit wrist
Any better? I doubt it
but these are just the degenerates right?
Those that try can get out and fly
But would you?
Or would you ride with warrior woman
Who wants to die fighting
going out standing
defining herself
You can’t even be native anymore
i’m sore and bored with this state
the fates indifferent to the wake of
western civilisation
cuz there is no immunization
like a parasite that makes it so I cant take flight
so I fight, an unwinnable battle
no saddle to soften this ride
the tides cant and wont turn
unlike the record that keeps me alive
as I strive to identify with something
Emma Hammond
Lamont Stiff
Me.
They swear they’re not racist, but every time they see a ebony skinned person creeping along in the shadows in
the dark of midnight, with dry hands roughened with calluses tucked deep away into his dark hoodie, they save
themself the trouble and cross the street.
They swear they’re not a racist, but whenever they think of a black person, the one thing thing that doesn’t come
to mind is a nice tall businessman in a suit, shoulders stepped back and chest flung forward, bright white smile
perfectly aligned over a strong chiseled chin.
They swear they not a racist, but they’ll willingly call black people “the whitest person I know” if they don’t conform and fit perfectly into a simple 2x2 jigsaw puzzle of stereotypes.
They swear they’re not a racist, but if they get trapped in an elevator alone, with a black person? Atheists become
Christian, hearts pounding while praying to God that nothing happens to them, as they tightly hold onto their
purse, perspiration breaking through their forehead.
They swear they’re not a racist, but society gives them presets that a black people is supposed to neatly conform
to, they are just a link in a tired cycle that goes back generations, back to before when MLK Jr. was thinking of
ways to bring the peace, just as a bullet entered his head and made it explode into pieces.
A cycle that, like an unmotivated bicycle wheel slowly plods through generations, teaching lessons and inspiring
new forms of systematic oppression.
They are just a small weave in the institutional racism that blankets the entire country.
Sometimes I wanna just wanna say screw it, I’ll comply with what they want, become another fatherless gangbanger selling crack on the side, taking shot after shot after shot then popping shots, as a body gets hauled off
from being ripped apart by a sawed off.
But I will not, I swear I will break this cycle with the strength of a thousands words from Malcolm, with the careful thinking of Martin, with the stubbornness of Rosa.
I can’t wait until the day they stop seeing me as criminal, and start seeing me as… me.
Ava Gosselin
Leaving
By Nicole Figueroa
I never want this year to end. I never want this year to end. I never want this year to end. The classrooms
at the high school seem to be calling my name just as the doors at SBMS seem to be telling me to hurry away.
But sometimes, when I miss my best friends, I’ll flash forward to summer: swimming with jellies early in the
morning, having friends over to make macaroni, and going to bed with the stars over my head.
Now, it’s not just all of them leaving, going away to another school, now it’s me too. And I’m not the sun
anymore, I’m the earth. I’m the planet that’s changing and turning. Now, it’s me too, and after this I don’t know
if I will be the same person. Because whether I decide to come back or not, here at SBMS, some of the people at
school with me, the ones I glide by everyday, I might never see them again. But hopefully if things are meant to
be that way, then we will all come together once again, and things will be more than just a reunion.
A Friend
By Lucian Cravens
Left to be caught and naught to be fought
The person whom I strive, and not derived, is better than luck and sure is not stuck
But I will not give up
Hands down the insane part of thee, but she sure knows how to glow
And I don’t know how to show it
My friend says there’s hope; I must sit by and cope, not a message sent for days
Will I start to decay?
Heathen fought yet not yet kind?
But I don’t want the love to be a stem
Because I want it to be me, not for she
But I do not give up, even though she said go
because they have not seen the true self I could have been
But hope, hope!
It is still possible, for that time when her feelings shined
Up and down like a hilly ride, side by side with the one who is strived
But is it as friends? Have I made amends?
Do I go ahead and send? But last time all it did was offend
So I shall sit, and be a friend
A friend until the time that she moves first
Or when I can shine and not care even when all I am is a friend.
An Empty Shell
By Jack
Why is it that humans do the things we do?
Six billion trees die a year, and we let it happen
Three hundred thousand animals die to climate change
That we’ve only helped to cause
We should be the children of mother Earth,
Yet instead we are like a parasite,
Leaving it an empty shell of its old beauty
Like a hive mind, we view pointless reality television
While people in the third world die of disease
DIsease we have the cure for, but fail to act
Humans are like babies
We busy ourselves with the most trivial things,
Blind and ignorant to the world around us
The world is dying,
And we continue to let it happen
Lauren Ewers