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Avon Old Farms School

Hippocrene 2013 – 2014

The Arts and Literary Magazine of Avon Old Farms School Editor–in–Chief Aidan Lehrer ’14

Literary Editors Christian DiAntonio ’15 • Brendan Nelson ’17 • Jake Rochford ’15

Writers Dylan Aron ’17 Danny Ballou ’14 Rexford Carr ’15 Carty Caruso ’14 Chris Davis ’15 Diego De Remedios ’17 Mike Dietrick ’15

Christian DiAntonio ’15 Aidan Lehrer ’14 Austin Liptrot ’15 Liyang Luo ’17 Burke Magnus ’17 Yusuf Mansoor ’15 Corey Morgan ’15

Brendan Nelson ’17 Connor Preen ’17 Jake Rochford ’15 Ethan Thompson ’16 Luke Whalen ’17 Andre Wowk ’14 Yuanchu Xie ’17

Artists & Photographers Jordan Abate ’16 Henry Allen ’15 Connor Barrett ’17 Nick Birnie ’14 Jiuhua Chen ’15 Justin Cho ’14 Arden Coleman ’16 Tristan Garland ’14

Eric Glover ’16 Stephen Guglielmo ’15 Andres Jaramillo ’17 Corey Jean-Jacques ’14 Donghee Kim ’16 Kurt Linke ’16 Orion Marco ’16 Devin McKenna ’15

Ryan McNeil ’17 Luke O’Connor ’16 John Rick ’15 Henry Schopp ’14 Young Jun Song ’16 Joseph Stallmeyer ’17 Ran Tao ’16 Zhijie Zheng ’15

Faculty Advisors Bradford Carpenter Joseph Lampe Katherine McSpadden Cover by: Andres Jaramillo ’17

Cristina Pinton Gayle Robinson Design by: Michael Dembicer

Arden Coleman ’15

Yusuf Mansoor ’15

It is May It is May and bright sunshine falls on the books. Soon I will be gone. The tall boarders who lodged here have Left already. On the pages colorless markings lie under Old formulas. It is May and the sounds of summer pierce the quiet rooms. Soon I will be there. The sounds of birds and happiness Await my arrival, But I cannot yet join in the celebration; Final exams await. It is May and the heat of the sun fills the hall. Soon I may enjoy it. The warmth comes with relaxation and peace And wonderful nothing, But I must return to the textbooks for the last preparation. What I must do has not begun.


Diego De Remedios ’17

Mi Evolución Mi evolución de cuando tenía seis años a día de hoy, has been impressive based on, my personality as a sportive y by my responsability, o eso me dicen. España comparado con Estados Unidos, es totalmente diferente por: económica, política, física y mentalmente. And all of that has been part of my evolution. Y ¿cómo es que un Europeo como yo puede decir todas estas cosas?, por que vosotros, no lo sabéis, pero en realidad, somos nosotros los que os admiramos: Which reason would my parents would’ve send me to Avon Old Farms? Porque quieren lo mejor para su hijo y a esto me refiero, Por que quieren que su hijo aprenda de los americanos., I’ve learned how to be an American. esto quiere decir que he aprendido de gente desde su interior, but not from the outside, Porque me fijaría en el exterior de una persona. ¿Por qué? That’s what I’ve learned from you guys. Curiosity is part of my evolution. Back to what I was saying: ¿Por qué? Maybe because they seem nice? Todo lo que una persona quiere ser informada de otra, está en su interior. And if you think that person es un modelo para ti y para los demás. But I’ve not just learned from you guys but also from my dad.

John Rick ’15


Jake Rochford ’15

A Letter From Wilde to Lord Bosie My heart, it yearns to feel your touch again! But, now, I sink to lowly depths of “crime.” Don’t let your tears mix in the ink of pen as you read this begging, tired rhyme; I paint and write to pass the time of day to seem like one who doesn’t need another. At night, I hold my private cabaret, where dreams are full of you and God and mother. Here my stay is long with neighbors’ squally — You burn and come in mind and loins and heart. In cell of gray and mind of melancholy, I feel you give the pink, red, blue, green art. Oh, to have a world with love so rosy — In my home, a timeless stay with Bosie.

Joseph Stallmeyer ’17


Donghee Kim ’16

Yuanchu Xie ’17

Thanksgiving Buffet

After Chris Ware’s Jimmy Corrigan and inspired by Ernest Hemingway

On a snowy Sunday in Chicago, Jimmy Corrigan knocked on his mother’s door at the Health Care Center and looked inside. There was a sofa, some fruit and a TV with Jimmy’s photo on the top. A cleaning woman who later told Jimmy that his mother had gone down to supper was wiping the wall. After a while, in the dining hall, Jimmy saw his mother sitting with another old man. There was a “Happy Thanksgiving” sign in the room, which had been decorated properly for this special day. Mrs. Corrigan and the old man were chatting while waiting for the buffet. A waitress came and served up milk. “M-Mom. H-Hi mom,” said Jimmy with his hand on his face, avoiding direct eye contact. “S-Sorry...i-if I am l-late...I-I didn’t...” Mrs. Corrigan and the old man turned back and extended their greetings to Jimmy and let him have a seat. Mrs. Corrigan introduced Jimmy to Mr. Johnson, the old man. Mr. Johnson asked Jimmy about his feet and big “crunch” before the holidays like a father talking to his son. “Jimmy, Mr. Johnson and I have something we’d like to tell you,” said Mrs. Corrigan while holding Mr. Johnson’s hand. They looked at each other and smiled without noticing Jimmy’s discomfort. In front of the buffet table, Jimmy was selecting his Thanksgiving meal. “Turkey. Stuffing.” “Green beans and cranberry, sir?” asked the waitress. Jimmy sat there with his brow furrowed as he ate a piece of pie. There was another old man sitting alone in the corner having his Thanksgiving dinner as Mrs. Corrigan imagined how wonderful their future would be.


Andre Wowk ’14

Dirt What is this dirt father? My son asks me in the garden. This brown, barren earth that I can’t seem to figure, The very sight of it spurs uncertainty. I find myself so bitterly baffled, So ignorant of something so ordinary. Intrigued, I ask myself: Is it a tool for man to use, To live and thrive upon? Perhaps it serves to nurture life, Just like the water it shares this world with. My son, think of dirt as water. Without it, you and I wouldn’t be. Without us, it would serve no purpose. And then it struck me; This dirt as we know it– It is where you, my son, and I, And all of God’s creatures, Come from and leave from, Live on and die on. Now listen to me, son: This dirt here is yours to have. What you do with it will be you’re choosing. Just remember to appreciate it fully. It is where you came from, And it will take you back.

Henry Schopp’14


Orion Marco ’16

Connor Preen ’17

Yom Kippur 1984 “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” - Winston Churchill “War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.” - General Sherman What is a person in war? What would it mean not to feel terrified or scarred by those who you thought you knew? What is a woman in war: a damaged woman or man? In the corpse ridden battlefield, on the bloodstained sand, in the rubble. What in this world as it is can war mean?


Brendan Nelson ’17

Isle of Essence A land forgotten sits at the isle’s edge Its rocky point prods the sullen sea A silent speech is carried through the trees It seems to meet the approval of the waves whose applaud swells endlessly upon the rocky shore The sky is elsewhere as is the aggregate of all things yet still they seem to leave here and there souls or remnants of a greater object than they themselves seem They fall from the ashen abyss above mute and blind yet still their essence shining on this lonely bar a berg of ice and stone a cemetery of thoughts a birth place of crisp gales on which sail the essence of our ancestors

Jiuhua Chen ’15


Nick Birnie ’14

Christian DiAntonio ’15

The Escape It was not because of you, My dear. I look up to you for assistance. It seems that you have run out of help. You brought me out of problems before. So as we walk through this one together, My heart opens and blows my Eyes out! Crumbling down, there is nothing to stop us. This time no matter how hard we try, We carry no arms to save ourselves. The effect of my shame has brought us down to the bottom. My tears mean nothing, But now, it is time to run away. No one will know what we have done.


Danny Ballou ’14

Yusuf Mansoor ’15

Almost Today I had a Calculus Test. There were questions I had never seen Except for one that was question three. Though how to finish I cannot recall. The test was done when I, now at rest, Recalled the formula for benzene, Which I had needed for chemistry; I knew nothing but that it is small. Afterwards, I remembered the list: knowledge of integers and fluorine— for these facts had, like birds, flown free from my mind; my grade will surely fall. All of the facts almost forgotten haunt me throughout the day. I am done!


Corey Morgan ’15

Dinner Time We enter the kitchen and grab a plate. The sweet air flows through the open windows causing my nose to run. My allergies have always been pretty bad, but today I’m really feeling it. We smother our plates with the hearty meal presented by my mother, excited to sit down and shut down. The food is devoured in no time, and we set our plates down to rest. Our minds are shut down, our thoughts fade into oblivion just for a while. A suburban family’s version of getting stoned, and as we sit there mindlessly, it’s somewhat pleasurable. Our motionless bodies soon seem unoccupied and inactive, but my mind begins to flow with thoughts and questions. I imagine the fields of green grass with diamonds of soft clay resting in the corners, and the melting of smooth ice with thin silver blades. The sadness of my short life always seem to ascend once I enter this trance although I think back and know my experiences add up much more pleasure than sadness. Then I head down that path, Why are the gloomy thoughts always triumphant? It doesn’t make sense so I think harder and harder. —Patrick Fricke ’14

I capture those moments of joy and relive them once more, I know this blissful moment won’t last much longer. It was almost 7:30, so I sprinted through my mind: The championships, the friends, the fun. I nearly burst with happiness and laughter, but Jeopardy started and the family was ready. I put my plate in the dishwasher and smiled, the realization had finally struck me: The opportunity to create my own happiness was right there, so I trotted back into the living room to enjoy the show.

Justin Cho ’14 21

Luke Whalen ’17

A Dagger to the Mind Is this an English paper which I see before me The empty sheet on top of my desk? Get away from me. I do thee not, and yet I see thee still. Can thou be not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight, Or art thou an actual paper which I need to do? Thou marshall’st me the way I do not want to go. My mind is racing very fast, Or else worth all the points, I need to do thee And on thy paper there are no words Which will stay the same. There shouldn’t be such a thing. It is the needy English teacher who orders me. Now o’er the one B period, school seems boring and long English papers take away from my beauty sleep. Robinson celebrates long English papers and too much memorization alarumed by the class ending, the bell, who dings his tone thus with his good timing. Towards the Hawk’s Nest thou bad and boring class; hear not my mumbles, which display my bad mood for fear my own grade in this class that I must take and move the present class from my schedule which now takes up B period. Whiles I write, I digress. Words to the heat of deeds too cold ink gives *ding* I write, and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not, Robinson, for I want to leave which tells thee I actually have to go.

Ryan McNeil ’17


Connor Barrett ’17

Aidan Lehrer ’14

The Power of Light Is this what people mean by the speed of light? I’m asking myself the very question I asked last year, Staring out into this array of racing colors then set in motion. My attempted poem begins again following a year, four years worth of memories; I was so busy focusing I just lost track. Let us begin then humbly. Light is bright, But it can also be dim. Now a little deeper— Lights are days and days are time all passing faster than I can believe. How good to stop Look out upon eternity a while And daily in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Look upon myself, reviewing the past year Reviewing even more so the past years. In the morning I rise and match again my plans against my previous ones Lots of repetition. Getting into my own rhythm, A rhythm set by the passing lights. The candles flicker in the window adding even more light than before Lights that will all blend together. We sweep the darkness out to fill it with light— To fill it with memories— Memories we look upon fondly. The colors continue to race faster and faster, And we continue to try and find a way to slow them down.


Nick Birnie ’14

Liyang Luo ’17

Me, the Buddha I sit in the middle of the garden Staring at the cherry and white flowers exquisitely fall. Though my body is corroding, It is still golden. No matter what season, No matter how heavy the rain and the snow, No matter how restlessly the wind blows, My heart is full of serenity without sorrow. People always ask me how— Because I know No temptation and intimidation can shift me— Only enlightenment can move me.


Burke Magnus ’17

Drunken Monkeys Just think about the brain for a few seconds. Buddha describes the brain as “drunken monkeys who jump, screech, and chat endlessly.” I think this is a good description of the brain, because it wanders and seems never to stop. Wondering is a point when the monkey has quieted down and focused for a second. Especially for me, because of my ADD, the “monkey” analogy is even more true. And when it calms down, it is noticeable and a more defined place of wondering. The Buddha said the only way to cope with the monkey is to meditate or sit in peace. Wondering is where you sit in curiosity and desire to know something. As humans, we wonder about things. We wonder about the sky. We wonder about what it would be like to be an ant. We wonder how different objects work, staring at them for minutes, hours. We imagine inventions that could never be possible. The sky, the animals, people, the grass, the trees—these are the things we wonder about. A child’s monkey is still wandering; the wandering helps them be smarter than adults in a way. They see things adults don’t see. For example, they can see that maybe the ants living in the outside world wouldn’t like to be sprayed with the insecticide. When I talk about wondering, I see the allusion of something I would think about as a kid. When I was a child, I used to think about other dimensions, other worlds, and other places supporting life in space. On the flip side, are there different societies within our own world? In the sea, in the air, in a cave, or even on a single leaf—these are all places I think can support life. As a child, I allowed my mind to wander into sea and into space and wonder about the life there. Children let the monkey play, and it often discovers new interests. What is wondering? Wondering is the desire to know something. That desire leads to the wondering about deeper matters, extending to even the meaning of life. Ultimately, the wondering leads to the creation of many inventions and ideas. Humans invented all the things we did by wondering.

Do you think animals ever wonder about the meaning of life? Or what it would be like to be a human? Is there a “monkey” in an actual monkey’s brain? Just like us, do animals ever sit and wonder what stars are like? Or perhaps, it is the “wondering” part of the brain that has grown humans apart from other species. To make it possible for humans to invent the wheel, then the cart, then the car. To create a super society made out of huge skyscrapers like New York or things like computers. Wondering also leads to the end of childhood. Kids wonder what it would be like to be an adult. “What if I were a grown-up?” “What if I had a job?” “What if I had a kid?” If we look back we can see ourselves always wanting to be an adult. But now I think, what’s the rush? Why become an adult when we have great lives right now with fewer responsibilities. This is one question I wished I asked myself when I was a little kid: Why grow up and lose access to the playful monkey? It is the ones who keep wondering who are successful. Steve Jobs kept on wondering. He thought about things so much that he invented a new object that changed society. The brain is a drunken monkey. When we are children this is even more true. Adults learn to cope with the monkey by locking it up. The real way to cope with the monkey in our brains is to embrace it because it is the part of the brain that sets us apart from all the other forms of life. Let your mind wander because sometimes it creates big, beautiful creations.


Tristan Garland ’14

Mike Dietrick ’15

Door Knob I could write about metaphorical doors, How opening them reveals, to us, our dreams. But how ironic would that be? A door knob does not allow us to follow our dreams. A door knob opens a door. Not a figurative door, but a literal one, A door. A door knob is usually made out of metal, Comes in all shapes and all sizes. Some stainless steel, actually, they look quite nice Depending on the color of door. Some are made of wood. Some are made of steel. Some look like crystal but they’re obviously not. Some are huge Some are tiny Some are long and straight And come off to the side a little bit And they actually fall off quite often. Door knobs don’t fulfill dreams. Effort fulfills dreams. If you want to open up new doors, Go to Home Depot. That’s a good place to find new doors. If you want to fulfill your dreams, Do literally anything else. Unless your dream is to buy a door, In which case, of course, go to town at Home Depot.


Carty Caruso ’14

I Cannot Write Poetry Often times I wonder why it is so hard to write three stanzas on the back of a card or better yet on a page. I could rhyme them in time with one another using iambs like Shakespeare once did or forgoing that scheme altogether writing like the greats who rid themselves of meter and prose who rewrote the writing of poetry right from the instant they put pen to paper. Why can I not be like them? Often times I wonder why I don’t take the time to find rhymes and climb from the sad pit of despair in which I lie. The escape of writing poetry keeps me on my toes helps flow my insecurities out of body and mind and grows my confidence each time. But I still don’t find time. Often times I wonder at my wondering. Why should I wonder while I try to slumber through insufferable nights? The dimension we live in seems easy enough to understand: three spatial directions, yet none of them show us the path to take; the fourth only serves to push us forward through space, and when I say space, I mean time, but time just keeps ticking the seconds of my life away, and I waste my time wondering. Often times I wonder, but not right now. For now I’ll allow my brain to plow along without questions or answers. For now I’ll do my work. But for all my work, and whatever else comes, Often times I will still wonder lying still in my bed.

Nick Birnie ’14


Eric Glover ’16

Ethan Thompson ’16

My aunt who My aunt who is a winter green tree filled with ornaments of pepperoni and ginger, she’s my backyard pool. Gettysburg, hot weather, and kind gestures white laces on a black canvas. My aunt who monopolizes family fun, little umbrellas in big drinks blue water to a yellow front. My aunt who followed in Hercules’s footsteps, uncle ruckus on brown slaves, bloody knuckles on soundwaves. If you fall on concrete that’s yo’ ass fault. The great American pastime— the unpayable debt— my aunt who met Paul Pierce, the apple that didn’t fall far from the tree, who is the needle stuck in hay. My aunt who I prayed for and against many odds is still living today.


Connor Preen ’17

Foiled I was frightened to the point of shaking my hands uncontrollably; sweat droplets made this apparent. A parent, perhaps coach, was cheering for my humble opponent. Oh, poignant feelings were aroused by this final clash of foils. Fouls would believe this sport was merely high speeds of both the foil and body; however, they were unaware of one key aspect. A speck of thought put into each action is required to become victorious in the ring of honour. On or off, my mind works either hugely depending on adrenaline. A drawn on line, where we move back and forth towards each other in which was a place where I gave him the first point on the board. Bored, I wasn’t, but rather testing to see if I was fencing someone who moves upon instinct or thought: I knew precisely what was needed of me to win. Ween back and forth quickly to psych him out, then counter parry to the panicked parry given almost instinctively and landed my lunge every time until the score buzzed in my opponent’s defeat.

Corey Jean-Jacques ’14


Devin McKenna ’15

Corey Morgan ’15

Why Not You? You turn your head and it passes by, but you realize your gaze isn’t focused. Zeroing in on what matters the least at the time because it’s just so damn easy. Where are these things that matter? Society pushes us to focus on work, work, and wait more work. When does it end? Is it when I’m six feet deep? Or is it when I take that small step back? Examining the panorama, I see it all, and we have been doing it wrong for years. Recall your old dreams of those exciting lives you wanted, a traveler of the world, an astronaut, a firefighter, a doctor! Why aren’t these things a reality? Because they told you it wasn’t possible? You aren’t smart enough; you aren’t strong enough; you aren’t wealthy enough; you will never amount to anything. Screw those people. Disney, Madonna, Oprah, Jordan, Ali. You should know those names because they made it. Why can’t you?


Dylan Aron ’17

Real Lies Truth is defined as being the state or quality of being true, but what is truth? Truth is anything a man may command to be real behind a booth. Anything can be true; No one will ever rue. Truth is not necessarily real. Many may feel different opinions of different religions. But they are all claimed to be true and have already flew deeply into the minds of others. As long as something is said with confidence, Many things become true with prominence. If it is hesitated, fluctuated, impersonated, even under-spectated, then, it is a lie. A lie is something that is not recognised— one that has been verified to be fake. It may seem real at first, but if it is a lie then it will soon unravel. The truth is something that has been around for a while, it may very well travel. Through time and ages, it has stuck like gravel. Lies may have started from before, during, or after your youth; Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Jiuhua Chen ’15


Christian DiAntonio ’15

Either Or You know someone is tired when they look at something distant. Away from it all, just zoned out; no attention. Or, they are just day dreaming. Using their minds creatively. Only doing what is natural. Experiencing something they never did before.

Kurt Linke ’16


Christian DiAntonio ’15

The Swim Cap on, goggles tight. I step up on the block. I am in the hands of the starter. Waiting. Heart pounding in chest. I hear the muffled shouts from the stands and deck. Focused I wait and wait and wait. Patiently. It feels like an eternity, but it hasn’t even been three seconds from the “take your mark” command. Beep! The start. I dive in legs are instantly kicking, going so fast I can’t feel them. Flip at the wall I see my opponent in the lane next to me ferocioulsy kicking the same as me. I push a little faster, try and catch up Another wall another flip With speed and grit I match my opponent. Lungs screaming and legs bawling Mind in and out of focus Last turn Final twenty-five Neck and neck One final push for victory Shoulders sore, back aching The wall is right there, just one more stroke. Touch! Done it’s over. Light fades in and out; I see the crowd cheering. Do I dare look at the board? Do I want to know the outcome? YES! I’ve done it. The swim of my life,

My oh my! In record time! All the pain and agony Paying off at the end.

Henry Allen ’15


Austin Liptrot ’15

Wrestle The head inside singles, the Petersons, the tilts, the grapples the lat Drops and mat returns All drilled with the mock horns of Jiao Dĭ employed by the Yellow Emperor to Gore Chi You. The double legs, high crotches, Jap Wizards, stand ups, sit out, jelly rolls, head and arms and Bow and arrows brazened By Greeks beaten whipped And scarred in their Spectator Olympics. As Rome devoured Greece, Their grace mashed into the sport. And Milo of Croton triumphed Over and over and over again Over every poor soul. He came to Hoist his own bronze statue to matches. Soon, Genghis Khan’s armies’ Daily spars disciplined Brutal warriors. Fortunately, those same moves survived, Passing down just as Grandpa’s fishing story, To burn the minds of Cael Sanderson and Dan Gable. Do not forgot the body of the sport. The high school athlete Stuck respecting a dying sport.

For every single one’s Calloused feet shakes hands with the Rubber substitute over a gym floor. Their eyes close and strain each’s veined Neck forcing both blades off The inviting mat. Losers Panic, their sore joints and Lacerated skin cooperate with their Tired hearts and giddy hands to comfort themselves. The sport will Never Die just as art Remains immune to time. The dirty knee, the cross face Cradle, the fireman’s throw, The navy, the cement mixer, the wrestler.

Ran Tao ’16 47

Young Jun Song ’16

Luke Whalen ’17


After Brian Doyle’s “Fishering”

In the school here in Avon there is a creature that attracts guys like candy, can turn one down like they’re nothing, and is in the habit of ferociously fighting their own species. This riveting creature is the female. Sometimes called the “girl,” or “dudette.” The female can vary in height from 4’10” to 6’4”. As I walk through the school, upperclassmen tell me that none can ever be found in Avon, and there hasn’t been one here in 50 years. I am a freshman who wanders around looking for nothing in particular, which is to say everything. In this frame of mind, I have seen many things, in venues English, Spanish, and science. While ambling in the quad, I’ve seen tours, upperclassmen pushing freshmen around, and even freshman pushing around upperclassmen. Suffice it to say that I’ve seen many graces in this school, but it was not a gift I expected to see a female. She was an MPS girl, I don’t think she’s ever seen a male before. She gave me a look that I will never forget because of the fear it brought to me. I got on my knees to show her my praise, but she did not refrain from her devil stare. After many minutes passed, the female left, and I made no attempt to follow the tracks.


Liyang Luo ’17

Dreaming He is lying on the cozy bed and staring at the empty ceiling. The boy is pondering: What if there is an earthquake taking place, tearing apart his home like a vulnerable piece of paper burned by the fierce flame? What if there is a nuclear bomb instantly dropped into the city, Demolishing the buildings and the trees— As a petty and impotent ant suddenly to be seized and killed by a gargantuan beast? He is still pondering: What if the darkness destroys everything alive, and engulfs the world, and terminates the whole universe? He turns his head to his mom nearby and stops his serial thoughts.

Justin Cho ’14


Kurt Linke ’15

Rexford Carr ’15

The Big House I remember the nights when I could barely lie down, with the creaking of the house and the gentle rustling of the breeze that seeped like fluid through the windows. There was an old picture on the wall that had three little girls in it. Each night, I would look at the painting and I would see through my eyes their movement. I was not bothered. I slept on the floor of my parents’ bedroom in a sleeping bag. My head stared down the winding structure of the building, which contained nine bedrooms, seven of which were located discreetly down a long, shadowy, narrow hallway. To my right I saw the all-white bathroom, the tiles that reflected the gleaming moonlight and created an illumination in the dark setting. I felt almost vulnerable, but at the same time there was a shield of some sort above me. The shield spread from my parents. Sounds of reassurance reminisced in my mind. Their voices told me to, “Calm down and relax.” And the bright memories taking place at church on Sunday mornings told me, “God is watching over you.” As the waves crashed ever-so lightly upon the beach outside, I eased into a sleep; Waiting, waiting, waiting for the familiar warmth of the sunrise to awaken me.


Chris Davis ’15

Chain-Link Fence I ran into a chain-link fence when I was in second grade. I was racing Joey Putnam on the playground. First one to the Big Tree wins. Although I was faster, I had a suspicion that he was gaining on me, you know, one of those feelings. . . I turned my head around to make sure I was going to win and — WHACRISSHIHHSHHIShshshsh Lights out. Nurse Rinaldi said I had to go home early that day, but I thought the cut on my shoulder was pretty cool. I wanted to show it to my friend Emily the next day. She was a third grader but she might think it was cool anyway. I would probably tell her I got it in a fight or something. She was in Mrs. Moore’s class. When my mom came to pick me up she yelled at me for not being more careful, but she always yells when she gets worried. Mom told me that if I ran into more fences like that then I would lose all my brain cells just like our next door neighbors. I told her if I ran into more fences like that Joey Putnam would always beat me to the Big Tree. I went to my room when I got home. Mostly because I liked my room, but also because that’s where my mom said to go. I looked at my cut in the mirror for a while, but it wasn’t nearly as fun to look at anymore since Nurse Rinaldi had put a Sesame Street Band-Aid on it. I took it off so that none of my friends would see it. If they saw it they would say that I watched Sesame Street, even though I didn’t. The cut didn’t look as bad now. Emily probably wouldn’t believe I got it in a fight.

When I got on the bus the next morning, nobody asked where I had been yesterday afternoon. The only thing that let me know I had been gone was the grammar worksheet that my teacher, Mrs. Bannerman, had given Kristin Sullivan to give to me. Kristin said something when she handed me the sheet, but I couldn’t understand her because she talked with a lisp on account of her braces. Mrs. Bannerman said I could finish the worksheet during SSR. I liked that idea because I hated SSR, which stands for something I can’t remember. My mom said it sounded like something about Russia, but my friend Nate said it stood for stupid stupid reading. Nate had to go to a different room during SSR because he made too much noise. Plus his special reading teacher makes him read first grade books even though I think he’s pretty smart.

Luke O’Connor ’16 55

Stephen Guglielmo ’15

Jordan Abate ’16


Jiuhua Chen ’15

Connor Preen ’17

Greatness Awaits You are bound for greatness— Greatness granted by your experience— Experience from the static past and the dynamic present. Present yourself. What you see in the reflection is potential— Potential that is developing even now. Now and always have you been able to pursue your goals. Goals are meaningless until met with action— Action that is fueled by self-determination. Determination that will imprint history forevermore. Forevermore will you remember the hardships. Hardships discovered from experiences lived by you. You have been bound for greatness.


Jake Rochford ’15

A Final Note

Pls I want ctrl Or pause/break Esc Home Insert End Delete F8

Avon Old Farms School

2013-2014 Hippocrene  

The Arts and Literary Magazine of Avon Old Farms School