Herringbone

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S: Herringbone 2012

FC: Herringbone

1: Herringbone Literary and Art Magazine Portsmouth High School 2012 Editor: Eileen Korney Staff: Brianna Carlone Shannon Donnelly Margeaux Sippell Joanna Sokolowska Advisor: Mrs. Sarah Hunicke Contributors: Ryan Ake Kendall Bauer Julie Bisbano Sydney Bulpett Brianna Carlone Natalia Cop Shannon Donnelly Elena Guerreira Labrador Caroline Herter Becca Johnson Maryssa Kneeland Eileen Korney Leah Kossak Brianna Lee Clarissa Lincoln Caprice Nelson Ben Riley Kelsey Severa Chrissy Sieben Margeaux Sippell Joanna Sokolowska Megan Steen Jake Whitmarsh Haley Yaw Front cover design by Shannon Donnelly, Grade 12

2: Hunter Brokaw, Grade 9

3: "The Shadow of the Night" by Margeaux Sippell, Grade 9 Frequently we saw the face framed in the frosted glass, And through the night it blinked and winked the secrets of its past. Always we ignored what stared back at us all along, But by the break of morning, the shadow of the night was gone. Not just once but several times, we’d slip into a dream, Not just of earth but all mankind, it so surreally seemed. It’s here behind the curtain that one gray figure had drawn, But by the break of daylight, the shadow of the night was gone. Stoic and unchangeable, our nemesis had shown, That just behind ambition is that truth we’ve always known. Directly in position to deface the soul alone, What one may count as charity another daren’t loan. Latching onto pictures over which we love to fawn, Attempting to strike genius as we reach into beyond; We realized that the haunting face was but another pawn, And soon enough the shadow of that gruesome night had gone. | Becca Johnson, Grade 12

4: Caroline Herter, Grade 12 | Untitled, by Elena Guerreira Labrador Grade 11 Because it is you, fleeting and ethereal spirit, who I long for, who I yearn. Because it is you, grandiose lighting, the biggest of the storms that encroach my heart. Because it is you, huge flash of light, who makes me smile when I do not have any motive to do it. Because it is you, manly soul, who inspires me each day, who ordains my brain “do not kill her today, wait until I can touch her”. Because it is you, with who I will die, with who I will live.

5: Sydney Bulpett, Grade 12 | Ryan Ake, Grade 12 | Kelsey Severa, Grade 9

6: The weeping willow was not always blue. Started out a happy seed, No complaints, no troubles, just new. And he had no purpose but to shade, Travelers passing through. He reflects on the pond in front of him, not much else to do. The weeping willow creates the dew That coats those fallen leaves, the ones the harsh wind blew. He searches for those scissors, the ones he threw After his long hair kept growing, way after a seed Should continue to, and now he cannot see past the shade, The curtain of vines hiding what once he knew. Oh willow, Oh willow, way past brand new, Your eyes started crying, making that dew. Wishing for color, shades Of life, but all you’ll ever be is blue. Left alone a single seed, You are sad and with hope you are through. Willow, Willow, it’s not you that has threw Away your happiness, your knowledge of things you once knew. It is that sick gardener, who proceeds To plant trees like you- it gives him a sick sense of happiness it do. He does it so those weary travelers have trees, sweet cool shade, Because they are happy in the damp dark, happy through and through. Willow, Willow, why share your shade? I thought by now you’d be through, And you should be through with being blue. All your life you have been alone, and you knew, Knew there was something you could do. But you started out a lonely seed. | Oh Willow, my Willow you must concede. Realize you’re broken, turned into a shade, A ghost, and horribly misconstrued. You should undo All the bad brought unto you, undo through and through. Because dear Willow, you and I always knew. We knew and now you are gonna turn sky blue. I trimmed your long hair, it was something we always wanted to do, and with those long vines we threw, threw them into that dark desolate shade. You are a new seed Willow, bright blue. | "Branch Out" by Brianna Carlone, Grade 10 | Kendall Bauer, Grade 12

7: Haley Yaw, Grade 11 | Brianna Lee, Grade 12 | Ryan Ake, Grade 12

8: Haley Yaw, Grade 11 | Kendall Bauer, Grade 12 | Shannon Donnelly, Grade 12

9: Once there was a voice that soaked up sunlight, Once there was a voice that drank in rain. Once there was a girl who willed away her fears, And answered back with harmonies she prayed. Here, she vowed to never stop her searching, To find the hooded one behind the call. Never will she stray from this decision To create something deeper than us all. Close above the rippling world stood watching Several stirring stars that wished her well. Hanging by their strings, they whispered heavier things Above her head as silent raindrops fell. This she noted, smiling at the sky Shouting, “Voices louder still than I, Know that I am stronger, by and by And follow me wherever I may lie.” At this, the clouds above began to cheer, And waking hooded one from broken ear Told him of the passions of the world Until his hand found that of spoken girl. Following, two melodies entwined, Complimenting each with silent rhyme. Once, a seldom voice encountered love Once, it learned to trust in those above. | "Once" by Margeaux Sippell, Grade 9 | Maryssa Kneeland, Grade 11 | Eileen Korney, Grade 12

10: Chrissy Sieben, Grade 11 | Haley Yaw, Grade 11 | Natalia Cop, Grade 12

11: Brianna Lee, Grade 12 | Eileen Korney, Grade 12 | Kelsey Severa, Grade 9

12: Chrissy Sieben, Grade 11 | Sydney Bulpett, Grade 12

13: SUVs and minivans parked up and down the stretch of Rock Harbor Road bumper to bumper. License plates varied from Massachusetts, Vermont, and Texas; however the groups emerging from these vehicles all trooped down the same path to the beach. They all lugged blankets and chairs and pulled children in wagons. An ice cream truck's tinkling ring sounded in the distance and arrived at the scene, fully aware of the jackpot in profits it would make tonight. On the beach, makeshift camps were created by spectators, and their children with glow stick necklaces and bracelets scurried around on the disappearing sandbar. Families sat in tight-knit circles, talking and laughing. Someone would point out a white streak across the sky in excitement, but it would only be the emission of a plane highlighted by the diminishing sunlight. Gradually, the twilight grew dimmer and the number of mosquitoes multiplied. The application of OFF! on my bare skin felt like a cool jet, and it tasted bitter when I accidentally licked my lips. Its tangy scent enveloped our temporary community, and we were all soon enclosed in pitch-blackness. A sharp whistling pierced the night air and a silence rippled over the crowd. I craned my neck skyward, and through the darkness there rose a shooting star that defied gravity. At its peak erupted a shower of golden streamers, followed by a boom and sizzle. Among the cheering spectators, drunken college students hollered and babies in strollers howled. Another spark emerged from the darkness. Something electric spiraled among the stars overhead but quickly vanished, followed by twinkling green diamonds that caused eyes to blink and ears to pop. Combinations of reds, whites, and blues illuminated the heavens. Two squealing rockets raced each other to achieve a greater altitude until they collided, painting a rainbow in the night sky. Purple feathers unfurled, followed by their defiant rumble. | Gradually the pace of the explosives increased, and their vitality strengthened. The sky thickened with smoke due to the consecutive firings. Through this gray fog, monstrous shadows created by new combustions loomed. Silver arches twisted and flashed and transitioned to different gradients on the color spectrum. The tumult bounced down my throat and echoed within my ribcage and chest. And then—it was over. The pattering of hands clapping was almost inaudible compared to the previous stampede of sound waves. Nearby a man stomped out his cigarette, and its red glow faded in the sand underfoot. Behind me a toddler whined in protest, insisting that he was not ready to go home. I knew that the two remaining months of summer would leave me unready to let go of its brilliant light and invigorating thunder. | Fireworks by Eileen Korney, Grade 12 | Sydney Bulpett, Grade 12

14: Shannon Donnelly, Grade 12 | Clarissa Lincoln, Grade 10

15: Faces in mirrors. Mirrors what we all see. Seeing hides what we can be. Becoming confident. Confidence makes us strong. Strength gives us belief. Believing can never be wrong. Wrong is an opinion. Opinions only matter from whom we care the most. Most deserve to be treated well. Well, if they treat us the same. Same as in equal and caring. Selfless for us to see. See what we can be. | "Mirrors" by Megan Steen, Grade 10 | Caroline Herter, Grade 12 | Haley Yaw, Grade 11

16: Chrissy Sieben, Grade 11 | Caprice Nelson, Grade 12 | Ryan Ake, Grade 12

17: Caroline Herter, Grade 12 | Natalia Cop, Grade 12 | Eileen Korney, Grade 12

18: "The Stuff of Dreams" by Margeaux Sippell, Grade 9 Listen close and question what befell The love that grew with every passing bell; While second thoughts themselves are bitter sweet I’m faced with resolution or defeat. I’ve never leaned so closely to the edge Hold out my arms to keep my eyes looking ahead, One hand suspended in the air filling with sound The other parallel to unforgiving ground. The voices say, “This is the stuff of dreams,” I whisper all I know in between screams I long to find the words within the signs Though glad am I to read between the lines. Shall I describe to you the rushing that I hear? Your presence leaves behind sweet music in my ears If you could read the raging nonsense in my head What words would leave your lips that haven’t yet been said? You make believe to hide your heart Yet in our sorrow, love can start Why burden me with such rare fate, While leaving me alone to wait? To all the world, say “hushaby,” I’ll look at you through starry eyes Though time contends to halt our love Leave all the rest to stars above. | Brianna Lee, Grade 12

19: Ben Riley, Grade 12 | Jake Whitmarsh, Grade 10 | Ryan Ake, Grade 12

20: "No-tox" by Julie Bisbano, English Department My face falls, tucks in and my chin doubles like a goddess in triplicate, rolls fat-fingered folly of festering bee-stings, but, I can’t Botox my forehead – cover lines that were earned by one frown after another, furrows carved into the earth of my brow The oily skin of sun-kissed summer browns and the wonder of my age doubles. I see the divots pocked and carved crater pores that hold nail-torn rolls of scraped skin. They so earned every tear’s salty sting. All those times that crying brought stinging tears to my glossy-eyed youth and my brow creased in consternation or fury and Iearned that it was possible for pain to double even when my heart felt like it could no longer hold the rolls of those stinging tears that can sear and carve a face like topography is carved with rivers. I can’t bring myself to let it sting with needles prodding the fleshy rolls only to puncture the ballooning memories from my brow. How can I look in the mirror and remember the double faces of my youth – one afraid, one overconfident -- earning experience that I can wear and show I learned. Show on this face, these pursed lips, carved by the downed drinks in triples and doubles the dragged cigarettes whose smoke stings these yellowed eyes and stained fingers brown thick and plumped fingers pinch tobacco and roll | perfect cylinders neat as a sleeping roll ready for camping and showing what I’ve earned for everyone to see, here on my brow an artistic creation of pen and knife carved by each terror, horror, trauma, that stings the heart as well as the face – each a mirror of doubles. Carved into my brow, the memories I have, the experiences I’ve had, knowledge I’ve earned, all that stings and has stung, all that rocks and will roll me into old age. My heart and brain and of course my chin, doubles. | Shannon Donnelly, Grade 12

21: Caprice Nelson, Grade 12 | Ben Riley, Grade 12 | Leah Kossak, Grade 12

22: Eileen Korney, Grade 12 | Becca Johnson, Grade 12 | Maryssa Kneeland, Grade 11

23: "Stark" by Brianna Carlone, Grade 10 Waking up in darkness is dying before you have a chance to live. Bleary eyes peering in the black searching for that demon who woke you up. Ears straining to hear any sound in the bleak quiet. Or was that scream just in your head? Fingers speaking in tongues to monsters and shadows, lusting after your soul. Bermuda Triangle, losing yourself to rumored madness and along with him The vast Mind, swallowing up memories, replacing them with fate. I try to fall asleep with thoughts of the future as I “blow” -the synthesized powder Of relief that has the knack to Go up my nose like cold glass and then make me whole again. Alice who is forever going down that rabbit hole, Mind trying to shut down its mad racing, “The trampoline blew away” though I thought it was sturdy enough to survive weak puffs, that purple elasticity. Setting the alarm for light but instead left Craving yet again the salty tang of fresh morning dew. Eyes drowning themselves in a splash of cold water, Purging themselves of the black and white of my film noir, Attempting to blade through my neutral skin, In the tragic hope of revitalizing. Waking up in darkness is dying before you have a chance to live. Fog clouding through the nozzle of chrome nuzzling my cranium-forever gray. | Haley Yaw, Grade 11

24: Joanna Sokolowska, Grade 9

25: "Likable Recyclables" by Shannon Donnelly, Grade 12

26: "13 Different Ways to View People" by Megan Steen, Grade 10 I A filled desk in the room. A face among many. Seen, but quickly thrown aside. Just one among many. II A flash of remembrance. Possibly a name. Cataloged somewhere. Still unimportant. III A name to a face. To a person. What they are and no Understanding Of who they are. IV A personality to a person. The name comes easily. But things still lay To be interpreted. V Words flow. Inspections are hidden Across the room To see what they are. VI It’s not a what, anymore But a who. | VII Smiles, Laughs And memories Standing side by side. VIII Dependence on each other Yet still standing With a gap to whisper. IX Whisper without space Not touching But barely. X Trust to be caught When you trip and fall XI Protecting one another From falling too far. But still expect to Fall alone. XII No dragging them Under But falling next to you. XIII Hands held against all harm. Take the blows as one And stand together Tall and strong. | Caprice Nelson, Grade 12

27: 13 Different Ways to View People I A filled desk in the room. A face among many. Seen, but quickly thrown aside. Just one among many. II A flash of remembrance. Possibly a name. Cataloged somewhere. Still unimportant. III A name to a face. To a person. What they are and no Understanding Of who they are. IV A personality to a person. The name comes easily. But things still lay To be interpreted. V Words flow. Inspections are hidden Across the room To see what they are. VI It’s not a what, anymore But a who. VII Smiles, Laughs And memories Standing side by side. VIII Dependence on each other Yet still standing With a gap to whisper. IX Whisper without space Not touching But barely. X Trust to be caught When you trip and fall XI Protecting one another From falling too far. But still expect to Fall alone. XII No dragging them Under But falling next to you. XIII Hands held against all harm. Take the blows as one And stand together Tall and strong. | Leah Kossak, Grade 12 | Ben Riley, Grade 12

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  • Title: Herringbone
  • Literary & Art Magazine Portsmouth High School 2012
  • Tags: poetry, art, photography, lit mag
  • Published: about 2 years ago