’13
Poetry & Prose
Artwork
Argain, Darcy....................54, 60
DeLeonibus, Ashley.................6, 11
Belton, Lynee....................62-63
Gansler, Will.............................cover, 18-19
Burris, Taylor.....................28
Goldberg, Zoe..........................12-13
Cantral, Lily........................24-25
Goldstone, Simone..................55
Acknowledgments
Chellman, Jack...................8-9, 23, 33-35, 46-48 Jansa, Annika............................63 Chiazor, Jindu....................4, 26-27, 65
Kim, Esther...............................15, 21, 36, 50-51
Dyer, JD..............................52-53
Laetsch, Jonathan.....................9, 39
Goldstone, Simone*.........42-43
Mackenzie, Robyn....................61
Hidge, Kaylah...................45
Muse, Monique.........................44
Hoffman, Taylor................7
Oechsler, Amy...........................29, 59, 68
Holland, Jonathan.............57
Ratner, Moriah..........................5, 31, 42-43, 56, 67
Jackson, Brittany................40-41, 58, 66
Rucker, Yasmin..........................16
Knopes, Henry...................17
Schuble, Justin...........................22, 32
Mitchell, Brian....................64
Sussman, Nick...........................35, 49
Peacock, Julia......................38
Wu, Minnie.................................25
Shaw, Nailah.......................30 Wang, James*.....................14 Wood, Zach........................10, 20, 37
*Contest winners
Cover art by Will Gansler ’15
Our deepest thanks and appreciation go, first of all, to the students whose submissions fill our pages; we are indebted to you for all of your wonderful artwork and literary pieces. Thank you also to Kerry Hosmer, Emily Lugo, Jack Kinder, Molly Chehak, Esty Foster, Amanda Lombardo, Brad Kosegarten, Laura Heninger, Cory Cramer, Deb Donoghue, Maire O’Neill, Lily Gillette, and Louisa Morris for directing student contributions our way. Inspiring students to explore the arts is essential to the progress of Logos. A special thanks is extended to Mrs. Lombardo for her leadership and support as our faculty advisor this year.
Editor-in-Chief:
Darcy Argain
Senior Editor: Esther Kim Staff: Lily Cantral Zach Wood Faculty Advisors: Amanda Lombardo
*** It is our great pleasure to dedicate the 2013 edition of Logos to Mr. Esty Foster. Throughout the year, Mr. Foster has helped countless students communicate effectively through his work with the Academic Center’s Writing Lab. Most importantly, he has empowered students to believe in themselves as confident writers and thinkers. On behalf of the Bullis community, we thank Mr. Foster for his patient encouragement and his steadfast support of writers at Bullis.
Background image by Gaby McIntosh ‘14
You Are Love You are love You are trust With you, lust is not a must You are love You are free You are everything I strive to be You are love You are rare With you, I find a way to care You are love You are true But most importantly, you are you.
Jindu Chiazor ‘14
Moriah Ratner ‘14
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Beauty What does beauty mean to you? Is it inner, is it outer? Is it makeup and powder? Is it planting seeds and flowers? Beauty is a virtue That is taken for granted Do you have long hair and blue eyes? Do you volunteer every weekend? People to want to believe inner beauty is most important But in real life You judge someone in 5 seconds So tell me in these few seconds As I stare at you from head to toe What is your inner beauty? But no one asks this question Not even in the world state Everyone is beautiful there With high buildings, soma, and mass production And if you’re not You’re an outcast You stick out like cellulite
Ashley DeLeonibus‘14
So step into my shop We have tricks and tips to make you… One of us Taylor Hoffman ‘15
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In Rooms of Dark Virginia filled her aging world with light, Through eyes that only saw the room as dark, And with one hundred years accumulated might, She lit her life with wisdom as her spark. Though time had blurred Our definition of the right, Virginia cleared Our heart with each remark. The room itself could pass without remark, Considering it housed Our guiding light. Her twisting chandelier on high would never spark, The sentiments more grander dwellings might, And gentle streets outside would long be dark, Before most urban folk would think it right.
And though her eyes and legs had lost that spark, Upon one hundred years of faithful might, Her soul still sparked with force to pierce the dark, Where noble creatures fell from what is right. And now We find it wholly worth remark, That she who lived in darkness taught the light. And so we muster might to now remark, On her whose wizened spark brought forth the right, And pointed out the light in rooms of dark. Jack Chellman ‘14
And yet Our trembling troubles seemed to right, Themselves upon Virginia’s first remark. Though misty eyes had long rejected light, Upon her soul there lingered yet a spark, To rally forth the good that humans might, Be harboring within their morals dark. Her chair was forged of solemn metals dark, And boasted wheels that slightly favored right, And perched atop her throne she could remark, On common worldly fallings from the light, As if our verdant planet’s throbbing spark, Was open wide to her unyielding might. And truly Our own youthful conscience might, Have fallen without notice into dark, Had not one aging woman shared her light, And passed it to a boy with each remark. A boy who grew to love the moral right, From lessons taught in dimming candle’s spark. Logos 8
Jonathan Laetsch ‘14 Logos 9
american GENOCIDE saturdays I be writin’, readin’ and thinkin’ bout’ a place where a deaf man can hear, a place where the poor are fed and the sick woman has a bed— is it plausible? this dream of mine, like a barren community, where the sun don’t shine when people live, but don’t know, who cares, who loves, when push comes to shove— help aint there and Wall Street don’t care— a young black boy, out on his own, the pitfalls of despair is what he calls home. life’s a shame, mickey d’s and all that kids rapt with games, but can’t play, cuz’ society’s out of battery smokin’, and drinkin’, sleepin’ with men, is the harlot who rose to fame, as her children called her name with liquor stores on every corner these streets, like conduits of self-destruction kill the man reduced to weed-munchin’— when the sun goes down, the music still blarin’, sirens be flarin’, that’s another life lost homicide or suicide i nearly loss count as thunderous rain drops couldn’t amount to the victims of american GENOCIDE!
Ashley DeLeonibus ‘14
Zach Wood ‘14
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In Memory of Cami Baruch ‘13 Logos 12
Zoe Goldberg ‘13 Moriah Ratner ‘14 Logos 13
Under the Moon A lonely bird is fanning his wings up toward the east In a tempestuous night Resisting the storm with his blood- dripping wings Dodging the hails with his tightened, shivering body His body is freezing yet his blood is warm, Flowing throughout the body and drive it to the east, the east Ten years have passed away since the night of goodbye The song of my flock still rings in my head The call from east in any trembling night We sang the song together with our tiny beaks And teased each other with our callow wings. The full moon blessed us with its light The eternal light that guided our ways of farewell that night I am flapping my wings in the sky In the most tempestuous night I have heard no songs in these ten years But am being summoned by the call of the east Resisting the storm with my blood-dripping wings Dodging the hails with my tightened, shivering body I know the home can never be reached And the destination of my Icarian journey is my fall The wind is whistling and whistling The leafless tree is swaying and swaying Lifting my head, With my last strength the familiar tune I’m singing What? The full moon do I see again The white jade glowing through the cloudy shroud The round mirror reflecting the childhood of horse plays My body is freezing yet my blood is boiling Dragging my wings to the east, the east The tempest is tearing the canopy Our world is being smashed to pieces But the moon resists Bright and big, peaceful and round No matter where we are, Its light shall we all see Its fullness shall we all wish And it shall endure For one hundred years For one thousand years James Wang ‘15
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Esther Kim ‘13
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Against Forgetting This Race In this race You cannot slow down Cannot give up Show no mercy Show no fear Show no pain Even if that’s all there is Pain Belief that there is nothing left excluding Pain Seemingly endless pain Hidden from the light Hidden in the darkness of the night In the shadows- as they all knew it would come to an end if it came to light As if the night would hide the atrocity As if night would hide their abominations Was there a belief that darkness would remove blame form themselves? But when the sun rose in the morningA mountain of evidence The bang of the guns And the ash filled air Never to be forgotten A race? But in a race, you strive for victory Where is victory in this darkness In this race toward death? Henry Knopes ‘15
Yasmin Rucker ‘14 Logos 16
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Will Gansler ‘15 Logos 19
In these Eyes
In these eyes, I see life and death, an agglomeration bereft, not of sorrow—but faith As I stare into these eyes I feel distorted and incomplete, Torn apart, but still living, in the belly of the netherworld As its body trembles, my mind caving in, like thin ice—hysteria In these eyes, I see trauma and innocence, an imponderable struggle of inanity to the unmensch Cowering in the face of the victim, without answers, I feel guilty, forever indebted As though I caused that pain, and the poverty, of love and self-love, No longer satisfied with personal success, I wept for myself and the victim, for our world and our future. Overcome by grief, I shut my eyes and asked myself one more time: Why what’s in these eyes is not a crime? Zach Wood ‘13 Esther Kim ‘13
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And I turn my false face. I can raise you up on the gossamer wings of radiant commitment, but the effort of the climb, and perhaps the beauty of it, leaves you and your dreams in the loving hands of a hopeful Icarus. I lie to you with my false face and my mask is beautiful. And though Columbia’s torch may exalt the spirits of an expectant nation, it was the Goddess herself, despite the confident steel of that crystal gaze, who first succumbed to the lambent inconsistency of a simple spark. And I too am captivated by my display, glittering when I tremble. I admit to my absorption by the awesome majesty of my own celestial conjurings, succumbing to the whirling firestorm of itinerant stars that grace my skies before the inevitable crush of underwhelming reality. The mask clings, as do my tears. And in that dark inferno of cruel practicality, I claw half-heartedly toward the undeniable existence of light, addicted to the crimson thrill of falling again. Entranced by my own intoxicating weakness. I enjoy the privacy of a darkened visage. Yet stepping back, I find joys mocked and hopes trodden by the blinding vastness of a personal wasteland. Intoxication draining away, I am left repulsed by piercing insight and icy regret. And my false face turns from the lights of day.
Justin Schuble ‘13 Logos 22
Jack Chellman ‘14 Logos 23
I open my mouth but you stick in the headphones but... Wait. I have something to say... tell me, does my expression now match the face in my profile picture? Ask me, what happened to the girl from your page? Well if the icon shows me happy I guess that’s how I should stay, but, the only feeling you seem to see consists of colon and parentheses facing corresponding ways. Spit at me, halfhearted words you fake abbreviate gibberish you can type but can’t sayand the more I try to readjust so that I’m at your angle, it’s, “-hold on my charger is tangled” meanwhile I’m strangled my thoughts come out mangled choking in mid-air because that’s where you left me out to dangle and I just want to breathe… but the claustrophobia gets to me all the bodies face the screens and I scream but I’m left out of the scheme it seems, from this technological dream. So your friends don’t know this, and your parents don’t know this, so how many rainbow wheels will it take for somebody to notice that the happy face behind the screen is just a doped up version of someone who once was free banging on the glass the “most durable screen ever made” so why are there cracks in it? Because it’s your mind that’s the computer--storage full, And you write down the medications for your grocery list- Xanax, Ritalin, Prozac, oxybut “I do my shopping online.” Now what happens when body and mind intertwine? Chat me about the inside of my own mind, how I’m “sad all the time” but “I’m fine” is just a line you can rehearse over and over so your tongue doesn’t trip because feelings are the hurdles. people say “I’m depressed”, but don’t know the meaning of hurt because sadness is just a trend black and white Tumblr photos gave us, but what about the people who just want to give up? Vicious whispers: “they want attention”, but behind closed doors, how do you know their real intention? How can you prevent them, you see there is no prevention from reality.
Can your MacBook Air give them oxygen to breathe? But for them you already paid the online feefor twenty-nine ninety-five, you helped inhibit suicide so now you can help yourself sleep at night. Back in the middle of the room my mind is reeling, my body is freezing, but how do I refresh this page? There is no power down button and there is no blinking light to prove to you that I’m still alive… but can I save my peace of mind to a hard drive? Lily Cantral ‘15
Minnie Wu ‘15 Logos 24
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Good Morning Good Afternoon Good Night Goodbye Good morning Good afternoon Goodnight Goodbye? Old and wise mind so I ask why? Why is good a part of these greetings? I pray to God for a deeper understanding and meaning. It's not clear yet. Good morning. Not really good so it's just morning. Dark clouds cloud mind of time that's passed by. Why why. Why this morning of all mornings? Or is it all mornings Or every morning? What if this was my last morning? It sure as hell was somebody's last morning And for that I mourn. I mourn for a man this morning. Walking by out the split second of my eye. He has . . . died. A little boy waits for his father to take him to school. He hears the news And he has . . . cried And the mother. Oh what a mother. What a struggle it is to be a single mother. Pain, Misery, and Suffer. So she prays to God and She asks . . . why. Why me? Why now? Why here? No answer’s clear. Deep down inside. Deep in your soul. You search for it. And you know, it's not there. And you greet me with Good morning. I see no good thus I say Morning Good afternoon Hey pretty lady how do you do? I look deeper within to get a clue. Inside her eyes I visualize her cries. The Connection I see. It's now me and you. Not Good so it's just Afternoon I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for a girl I fiend for named Hannu. She's like a never ending candle. No matter how bad the wax burns she stays lit. But to me she shines. Shh she explodes Jehovah Jira she screams. But me I think. With these thoughts and feelings I then speak. And thus once more I then reach. Everyone can try to teach, and preach. But no answer’s clear Deep down inside. Deep in your soul. You search for it. And you know, it's not there And you greet me with Good afternoon There is no Good thus I say Afternoon. Goodnight. Still there's no Good so I say Night A boy hides through the day and finds himself at night. This boy no longer can hold it in at night This boy who tries to stay strong through the day and be a man Cries himself to sleep At night. His father may die. His only father other than the one above may die. His father who has never missed any of his football games May die. A blood clot is in his father’s brain and after his father has had this stroke. Nothing's the same. So he prays and asks why. No answers clear Deep down inside. Deep in his soul. He searches for it. And he knows, it's not there And you greet me with Goodnight There is no good thus I say Night. But do you believe in miracles. I believe in the spiritual. I believe in trust I believe in faith So still I pray So when it's my time to leave this earth. In spite of the agony and pain. In spite of the times I've cried. I believe in God. Thus when I leave and die I'll say Goodbye. Jindu Chiazor ‘14
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Divine Intervention Sticks and stones may break my bones But, words will never hurt me, Days go by and love dies, But, we all may never be free. Mornings pass and nights do fall, And thine eyes are filled with tears, Awaiting the moment of true rebirth, A rapture we all fear. Memories fade and minds age, With stories never told, The earths align with colors intertwined, Yet, all glory is not gold. Faith is broken along with hearts And makers are never made, But give me back my mind and youth, And I promise you my aid. A bond eternally broken, Tears that never fail to fall, My heart has gone and left me, But, my God always knows when to call. Taylor Burris ‘14
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Amy Oechsler ‘13
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Absent Father She walks around with a smile on her face, presenting herself so pleasantly, However, hurt remains buried inside of this young woman’s heart, Reflecting on the pain she experienced as a child. Holidays, sports events, dance recitals, and good grades He was never there They say a daughter is supposed to find the love of her father, Unfortunately she will never relate No father around to demonstrate Days and nights spent crying out of frustration As she watches her mother struggle to keep things together Too young to help provide for the family, she continued to watch They say a daughter is supposed to find the love of her father, Well he was never there. Surrounded by friends with both parents at home They could never understand how hard it is For your own father to be absent, He was never there She continued to hold her head up high Dreaming of her father’s return one day Years went on, and he never came A father is supposed to be present To help her deal with teenage problems that her mother could not solve, They say a daughter is supposed to find the love her father Although he was absent, she found love Unconditional, loyal, and true She found the love of her father in a young man They sat a daughter is supposed to find the love of her father
Moriah Ratner ‘14
But the mother was all she knew And that is the love she found in him Nailah Shaw ‘15 Logos 30
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Anemophilous They came in gentle droves of midnight starshine. Bobbing quietly in the swirling eddies of the twilit sky, the flock of glistening silver hope descended in softly murmuring pulses from the crystalline recesses of arctic space. With alien purpose the cloud fell, succumbing to the crisp night breeze as the silvery particles of promise spiraled slowly through the shadowed air. From foreign depths of a great airless temple they flew, floating through the crests and troughs of the soft sky sea as the scurrying breezes tugged the particles through the silken tide. Below, the waiting grasses of the slumbering meadow trembled solemnly with the ponderous approach of the glistening host. Lucent dewdrops heavy with glimmering darkness sparked secretly at the spectacle above them, and the drowsy creatures of the grasses rolled peacefully in their sleep in the midst of a world turned anemophilous. Though the hour was late, the nearby city still shone with the clinical lights of civilization. Buildings flashed in the sterile glare of urban enticements while shadows blanketed narrow alleyways brimming with human excess. Various unnamed forms stole quickly or proudly or lazily along winding concrete paths. Prickling pinnacles of overhanging monuments scraped at the smog above the city, and the pallid glow from lofty windowpanes cast wavering beams onto the bustling passersby. And from somewhere beyond the town, a cold wind began to blow. Billowing slowly with the wintry encouragement, the silver swarm of hope began to drift. Tiny scuttling spores moved in regal swoops and spins above the obsidian countryside, each new skirl of air sending a tendril of particles sweeping past others, each new minute bringing illumined promise closer to the whirring streets. Alien to the terrestrial landscape, the spores slid, shadowless, along the shifting currents, foreign to the earthly weight of the surrounding air. The wind picked up, and the cloud raced fleeting nocturnal birds across the moon-drenched sky. Downy wingbeats made glowing dents in the cloud while pinpricks of development blotched the pastures below. Rooftops began to bloom beneath the undulating spores, growing taller and more dense as the suburban neighborhoods turned to city blocks. The night, however, had thickened as the metropolis spread out below. Bubbling clouds of viscous shadow had clotted the normal nighttime blackness into heavy curtains of gloom, hanging in tattered shreds over the evening city. And while bobbing silver particles drifted unchallenged through the drapings of night, the fevered inhabitants of the narrow streets unconsciously felt the sickening effects of the cloying blackness. Fragile backs bent mercilessly under the blackened syrup of dusk and frantic steps became inexplicably labored as polished shoes waded in the shade. As the cloud cut sizzling passes through the nighttime hangings, it started to spread, slowly, over the city, and individual particles began to drop off from the main flock with silent purpose. They descended, still bobbing subtly on the tender currents of the air as they fell among the weeping and the laughing and the fury of the masses. In a shower of unimagined gentility, the silver spores sank soundlessly into the streets.
Justin Schuble ‘13
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Clouds of the oozing blackness rolled steadily from the upper windows of one of the buildings. A boy, long-haired not by choice but by indigent necessity, clung solemnly to the peeling windowsill, the pensive arbiter of the streets. It was with an air of tragic detachment that he occasionally flung himself to the filthy floors, waiting for the shots outside to die along with whatever victims had been claimed in the casual carnage. Books, piled in skewed stacks around the remnants of the room, called to him forlornly. Their presence both freed him from the confines of his mortal environment and enslaved him to the derision of the voices below. Snared between the flight of
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his thoughts and the gravity of his surroundings, the boy kept watch at the windowsill, silent in his aching duality. Unseen, a single shining spore coasted in on curling waves of wind and mist. To the boy gazing at the shattered skyline beyond, the dusk remained unlit by celestial lights. Yet the spore slid through the night regardless, spiraling in the gusts outside the window before scooping lazily into the dim glow of the ceiling’s single bulb. A silver salmon in glowing scales, it moved easily against the tide of the boy’s darkness and sunk, softly, into the center of his chest. Wrappings of flowing concrete night that had whirled themselves into knots around the boy’s body parted cautiously in response to the spore’s muted arrival, and the glowing particle disappeared into the maw of darkness. It was inside that the despair had taken root. Pouring coldly from dampened vines of shadowed ice, the darkness congealed with the boy’s tears and sobs and pains to form rivulets of desperation. Without pause, the spore burrowed smoothly into the tubers of the boy’s misery and began to sprout. Sterling tendrils of pure futures and peaceful present``s spun a complex weave above, below, and around the oozing lattice of black. And with a sigh of release, the boy smiled wearily and began to write.
fluttering above secret alleyways, and tall stacks of books topped with verdant emerald rings. Deep underground, the sinking particles met an unbroken wall of the inky blackness, roiling in warping bursts of jet and jade. And as the gleaming silver auras disappeared into the hopeless blackness of the city’s most basic foundation, the newborn flock gathered into a shimmering mist before fading silently into the murmuring of the clouds. Jack Chellman ‘14
In a cleaner, calmer part of the city, a large man shambled along a craggy sidewalk. Tentative smile stretched cautiously over a broad, wobbling face, the man nervously spun one of his verdant emerald rings as he tottered through the shine and shadow of the passing storefronts. Unnoticed in his façade of dignified calm, the despair bubbled in syrupy pools from between his gemstoned fingers to drip, steaming, onto the harsh pavement below. His lavish garments of topaz and jade, rustling with small velvet scratches against the clinking chains about his neck, did nothing to stem the steady hiss of darkness dribbling from between his coarse, trembling fingers. And though the ruby silks about his neck were meant to deflect the persistent memories of the boy in the remnant room he had abandoned, they instead screamed his follies and urged the flow of black. Two spores danced recklessly in the chilly air before making tentative orbits around the wealthy man. Unaware of the astral waltz around him, the man stumbled on the sidewalk and fell, embracing the alien flickers of hope as his quavering arms moved to hinder the descent. Fingers splayed against the rugged surface of the path, the steaming rivulets of hopelessness suddenly ceased their frothing; the remaining droplets hissed quietly into the earth as the man panted faintly in the evening air. Where before his thoughts had brimmed with aching despair, he swiftly gathered an unimagined dream for a brighter future. Standing, he dusted his silken sleeves, turned, and headed in a different route. Across the midnight metropolis, silver blooms unfurled with gentle brilliance in the hearts of the weary and the broken. Gossamer petals soaked in the watery beams of the evening stars shone briefly in the open air before releasing a tiny silver particle to the breezes. At the same time, the few spores which had not touched a broken soul sank soundlessly into the streets, the soil, or the rock. In the ancient depths of earth and bone they travelled, silver auras lighting the dim, dripping corners of forgotten caverns or sinking through phantom layers of fossilized life. While the buried spores dove in paths of pearly descent, newborn particles rose quickly amidst the walls of the city, passing lonely chimneys puffing with steam, curtains
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Anencephalous….. As he sits on cold cement with droplets of sweat running down the sides of his face, We stare with piercing eyes, as though his lonely soul, we despise Slumped in misery and weary of life, bereft of what we call trash, and doubled over in pain, Like predators inducing his demise, we uncaringly disdain— When homeless becomes synonymous with “insane”, I’m forced to ask myself again, “are we without brains?” Zach Wood ‘14
Esther Kim ‘13 Logos 36
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Online World
Clicking, typing, searching Our world is consumed By a world we live in, But actually live online A place where you get what you want, when you want it A place where you can have the world in front of you With the clicking of a button An entire community online With individuals behind it Blackout and your world comes tumbling down Deleting everyone one by one Is this a stable world? Everything controlled by one click A world as real as a virtual city Behind these firewalls A new society is born
Jonathan Laetsch ‘14
Julia Peacock ‘15
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We Know We know that grass is always greener on the other side
We know that everything that glitters is not always gold
That we don’t believe in our dreams so we just stay alive
That politics make us sick but act like we don’t know
We know that when the going gets tough the tough get going
We know that jokes aren’t funny unless somebody laughs
That we borrow from tomorrow without the tough really knowing
That Fema laughed at Katrina but we gave them a pass
We know that life hands us lemons so we make lemonade
We know that poverty and racism are part of the problem
That when things get sour we devour the pain
That we break barriers to make barriers and wonder how we will solve them
We know we really don’t know what we got until it’s gone
We know that being greedy is a sin, and we still prove it
That we breathe just to grieve until it leaves our lungs
That if we are selfless we are reckless so we join the movement
We know that time is of the essence, but patience is a virtue
We know that an apple a day keeps the doctor away for sure
That we live just to give things the right to be nurtured
That when we need an answer to cancer we know the cure
We know that actions speak louder than words when words aren’t spoken
We know that the bigger we are, the harder we fall
That we mend our speech to bend our speech until it is broken
That when we face defeat the concrete makes us feel like we’re small
We know that a devil we know is better than a devil we don’t
We know we can’t have our cake and eat it too
That a Jesus that wouldn’t leave us is better than one that won’t
That we tell lies to get by until we learn the truth
We know that the apple never falls to far from the tree
We know
That when we grow we fall slow and never as far as we see
So give us a break Brittany Jackson ‘13
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Untitled
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And where we stood was the root of the trees
and the unencumbered nights
and when we looked up we saw not the sky
and forever the sunbeams of laughter that sprung from our lips
but the entire universe And where we stood at the root of the trees And there in the darkest velvet of the night
feeling so small and alone
the stars bowed their heads to us
I understood we are never by ourselves
and we felt the warmth of courage tremble again And in the sky, the endless infinity of stars And when I miss you, I don’t miss the sight of you
let me know gently that you were still there
but the feel of your fingers in mine
for a universe so big, there is no other place for you to be
and the smell of your skin and soft brush of your hair And the tips of the trees show their leaves of spring And when I miss you, I don’t miss the memories
And hope as pure as alpine water fills the gap
but the unspoken knowledge that I would see you again tomorrow
from where I stand and where you are
and now tomorrow will never come And I will see you again. And where we stood at the height of the valleys hidden in that clear California heat Simone Goldstone ‘14
is where our childhood remains untouched And there lie the painless days
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Moriah Ratner ‘14
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Some things in this world that was yet to be discovered. Just sometimes they tend to fade, leaving a piece to bend in blade As they fade, they scatter pieces of there being. Into the soil, into the earth. As we grow, as we fade. 1 by 1 we will leave what we once were behind for someone else to untangle and solve. Each clue is a total mystery, for life is like a splinter. We need to collect its pieces to put it back together. As I fade into dust there will be nothing of me left behind Just a memory in your heads and the face of mine and the time Just remember me a warrior never weak We are always up and ready to do what we can to survive in this world. Our lives and our future seems to always be placed in the hands of adolescence. so 1 by 1 we fade into heaven or hell. Either you like it or not Forced into labor but I savor the labor just to survive Some people live and breathe to thrive But dying is not an option Death is the type of conception Id like to avioid People mention it likes its nothing and I just get annoyed We all think death as finally meeting our maker But I thinkn of death as “why god did you take her?” Kaylah Hodge ‘15
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Tribute to Phoebe Prince It is ironic that the sterile gleam of our chromium modernity is what hurls us toward the blood-soaked evils of our ancient past. That our whirring technology, flaring green and gold in the pale luminescence of our own adoration, is what condemns us to primitive vice. It is ironic and revolting that we lose our youths to the cruel clash of sin and science. The sultry sheen of our human corruption calls to us in every instant of existence, steaming sweet and terrible in its darkened ambrosial pool. From the depths of our souls we scoop it, stringy with pleasure and pain, catching occasionally upon some jagged shard of magnanimity or mercy as it drips from our greedy fattened fingers, yet always pulling free, to be devoured by greedy fattened mouths
It is to this hunger that we are doomed, cursed by the purply witchcraft of some eternal shadow-force behind swirling twilight curtains. Against this we fight, using each ounce of adult maturity, every atom of prudence or patience, to condense a shimmering antidote from the fine silver mist of our morality. Yet technology, perched high on an onyx pedestal of electrified authority, gives to our youths a banquet table of unjust enticement. With immoral spice the succulent fruits of our own vices glitter in dazzling hues of ruby and plum, bordered in twisting coils by the emerald wiring of modern society. To this feast the advancement of civilization invites our youths, all but begging their consumption of such delicious barbarity. And to no surprise, our children bite.
hungry for cruelty and starving for savagery.
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They sink eager teeth into the moist flesh of hidden cruelties, moving quickly past the sour skin of regret and contrition to let the juices of power and dominance roll easily across fevered flesh. Without the forethought of maturity, life’s silvery vials are untouchable. Technology gives our youths entry to a feast of poisonous power without access to the moral antidote. In the Great Hall of the modern world, our children take their fill of passion and of pain. The dripping juices of their vicious fruits stain hungry hands a viscous scarlet and bedroom walls a bloody red. With every bite, another wrist is slit, and with every silken swallow, another guest hangs themselves by those emerald wires of modern society.
Jack Chellman ‘14
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Nick Sussman ‘14 Logos 49
Esther Kim ‘13 Logos 50
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Suddenly
I remember when
Than you did to flow.
I was like ten, maybe nine…
I guess Serena will never surpass Micheal
When my last name should have been wonder And to all this I was blind. I wore tee’s so fresh and cold, I never had to wear ice. But now I got more chains hanging on me than a slave’s life. Back then I thought I’d never die like a poltergeist.
Phelps. I miss when Wealth Was more important than riches. Don’t get the difference? Well take this for instance:
I had to pop so many annoying white heads that they used to call me lice. Now in my crystal ball all I see is white faces because I got proactive, C.R.E.A.M.
Some used to want to be like Michael Jordan I used to want to be the one paying Michael Jordan, Now I got this urge to be on a track recording.
Cash Rules Everything Around Me My president is black, But who really runs this country? Gridlock! Our government is a parked car with its door open; Going nowhere fast and all our values were stolen
Because this seems to be what it takes to be black and successful. We should flood our airwaves with Black intellectuals. Instead of 2 Chainz, we need to show no chains. Finally Free Man Martin had a dream, it’s time we start believe-vein.
A long time ago
And suddenly.. it all changed before my eyes...
When you started getting paid less for serving your country,
By my surprise. JD Dyer ‘13
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“You lied” “No I didn’t” “Yes you did”
Addiction is a funny thing So are emotions Childhood dreams My father never stood up for me
Lost in space Wide, open spaces This is the man I thought I was going to marry Look at all the people it takes to make up a person
So don’t tell me you know Because trust me You don’t “It was good to hear from you too, glad you talked to him.” “I’m going to rehab baby. Sorry I disappeared. Love you.”
Darcy Argain ‘14
Simone Goldstone ‘14 Logos 54
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A Simple Four-Letter Word A simple four-letter word makes everything more complicated. Although it is the only word I can use to describe my feelings for you, And although things were more erotic before we dated I can honestly say you are more important to me than the sky is blue, My day instantly becomes better by just seeing your smile, by feeling your touch, And sometimes maybe my four letter word for you becomes too much But Hearing your laugh, and holding your hand Makes my four-letter word for you grow even more, and wish that every night I have with you would never end Now this four-letter word, it’s not something to play with It can bind you; physically and emotionally, if you don’t really mean it But if your feelings are true it makes everything so much sweeter Giving a warm heart felt hug, and a kiss on the forehead every morning to greet her This four-letter word is foreign to most, only to be heard or seen in movies But the greatest way to show this four-letter word is by your actions and simply by proving; To show how strong your four-letter word is, by laying down everything for her And while you’re with her, all your pain and sorrow simply becomes a faint blur This four-letter word never fails, it is patient, it is kind It reminds you of the exquisite girl, you just can’t get off your mind. This four-letter word is love, and its something to be proud of, But only if it’s true, as my hearts feelings are for you.
Moriah Ratner ‘14
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Jonathan Holland ‘14
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We stand, we fight, we live We starve, we take, we give We move together like heartbeats We are the future of a damaging past when together was just another word for enslavement We don’t cause danger, we cause revolution We cause hate We cause anger We cause peace, but go unrecognized We believe in being invisible but refuse to go unheard We wait our turn We listen, but never learn because speech is earned And we have not earned it So together we fight like soldiers Ready to take on the World, to progress, to dominate We are the future, Get ready Brittany Jackson ‘13
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Flores para los muertos. Crumble and fade and regrets; recriminations Blood strained pillow-slips “Her linen needs changing” Flores Death The opposite is desire Death was as close as you are Gather them up like daises Soft mournful cries Fumbling to embrace her He stares at her He still remains staring You’re not clean enough to bring in the house with my mother. Get out of here quick before I start screaming fire! Get out of here quick before I start screaming fire.
Darcy Argain ‘14
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Robyn Mackenzie ‘15
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Build Like You Play From brick to wood, foundation must be sharp And everything must be played like a harp. Not rushed, and with ease With love that must tease. Everything starts from that first note And goes swiftly like a quote. Time goes by and you’re halfway done But you never know you’re having fun. Each string is built from scratch
You’re putting everything together And nothing feels like a feather. One more measure to go As you put up the gate slow. You look up at your masterpiece And look at it like its a feast. Your audience starts to applaud As you look up to God. Lynee Belton ‘14
Sealing the bridge with the perfect latch. The way the harp is played comes from the heart Just like a bridge needs a lot of parts. With every piece of wood you’re almost done But you’re wondering what about the fun. Everything becomes so serious trying to make it strong But you’re wondering if anything is going to be wrong. So you start to worry, you start to cry Because your music is flowing by. Note by note, brick by brick Everything starts to move so quick. You rush, you rush and rush But people won’t hush. You’re doing your best to concentrate And the only thing left is the gate. Your music piece is almost over also As you start to feel sorrow. Logos 62
Annika Jansa ‘15 Logos 63
Lately I’ve Been Questioning If You See Me the Same Way Lately I've been questioning if you see me the same way As I see black and white do you see grey Stream of Consciousness: An Elysium of the Mind
As I see love and likes do you see hate. Or as I give you more truth and less lies do you see great.
At the fusion of introspection and perception - at the bond of internal and external nature - I see a
Picture me, having an epiphany of you and me.
phantasmagoria of consciousness. This panorama of my mind pulsates and intensifies until finally
Looking towards the future do you see what I see.
I, my pure self that is, fracture the fibers of reality and fall into a world of transcendental serenity
To a certain degree I wanna be with thee.
and cosmic unity. This Other World is one in which color not just exists but defines…in which the
You know we'll get past our struggles.
world is made of color. My world’s color – a mutating influx of shades that erode boundaries and
We’ll have a two person huddle where all we do is just cuddle.
finitude, that flow through space and time timelessly, shapelessly. I can’t see where shape begins,
We’ll have our own motion picture where I admire your figure.
where lines extend, or where curves wrap – but I exist in a free domain of color that abides by the
We’ll have our own loving style as I admire your smile
Supreme Truth. I’ve lost my open-eyed sense of sight, which fuels my ego and tricks me into be-
For worse or for better we’ll grow together.
lieving my subjective reality. I’ve lost that fickle, finite, and failing sight, but I’ve found omniscience
You see I'm not saying we’ll live forever.
and objective vision in an infinite stream of color-consciousness comprised of 7 billion molecules
But as our souls connect and meet. And you feel that tingle from your spine down to your feet.
of divinity, of which I am but one interconnected with the whole.
Our love will last a century. Down to our graves.
Brian Mitchell ‘14
Where our grand-children's grand-children can see the love that we made. Past a new day and age. But I don't know if that can happen. Cause lately I've been wondering if you see me the same way Jindu Chiazor ‘14
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I fell asleep to the sound of my summer heartbeat I fell asleep to the warmth of the summer’s blazing heat I fell asleep to the comfort of my summer dream I fell asleep in my thoughts as they began to sing I fell asleep and as my mind began to spread its wings I began to dream I fell asleep in those summer days and summer flings Summer sun and summer things Summer afternoons and summer nights Summer love and summer flights
Brittany Jackson ‘13
Moriah Ratner ‘14
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LOGOS (Definition):
1. The creative word, from the Greek “speech, word.”
2. Reason, that in ancient Greek philosophy is the controlling principle in the universe.
3. The divinity’s medium of communication with the human race.
Amy Oechsler ‘13
Bullis School 10601 Falls Road Potomac, MD 20854 www.bullis.org Logos 68
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