Spring Perspective 2022

JOURNEY S P R I N G B O L L E S

P E R S P E C T I V E 2 0 2 2 C R E A T I V E

W R I T I N G

Dahlia Ibrahim

What Is A Journey?

A journey, by definition, is traveling from one place to another, but that’s only the literal definition. This issue of Perspective touches on emotional, mental, and physical journeys, making it clear that not all journeys may look the same, but you can always learn something, whether your journey is big or small. We hope upon reading from our journeys, whether literal or metaphorical, you can see a little bit of yourself and broaden your idea of what a journey truly is. With that, I hope you enjoy this issue of Perspective, and reading it takes you on a journey.

- Alexis Metzger '22

Artists and Writers Ava Allen '24 John Antolik '23 Katherine Asbury '24 Dylan Camarda '22 Amir Chahlavi '25 Aiden Cook '24 Ryan Goodman '24 Veronica Sippens - Groenewegen '24 Lea El Hajj '24 Sherry He '22 Dahlia Ibrahim '23 Chris Joost '24 Madeline Kaiser '24 Natalie Lusk '22 Breeland Madison '23 Emma McAdoo '22 Alexis Metzger '22 Oliva Meux '24 Nasir Naidi '24 Wesley Smith '24 Brock St. Denis '22 Emma Stasiak '22 Emily Suvoski '24 Raina Swani '24 Evan Wolpoff '24

Ava Allen

First Days Emily Suvoski

I wish for those first days, When life was simpler.

My only job was to walk the dog and take out the trash.

I would go to school, come home from school, and play with friends.

Nothing ever bothered me, and life was easy.

I only wish I had realized it then.

I wish for those first days.

My journey here was rough at times, And other times were very easy.

But where I am is not as magical As those first days.

No one knows me. I am the unknown. No matter where you look, you cannot find me. I am not to be discovered but invented. Yet no one knows how to invent me. People create me by accident without knowing it. It just appears to them out of their control. I do not have a look or sound, but everyone knows when they have created me. I am accessible to everyone and I am created all the time. I am an emotion.

Love it!

Perspective

Amir Chahlavi

Aftermath Anonymous

Say this ends in a week, a month, or two, or three.

Say we get through all of this unscathed.

No visits to the ER, no chicken soup, no oxygen.

Say we make it to the other side and can sit around a big table breaking bread, once again.

Who will we be at the end of all of this?

Who will we become when we have it all back?

Will we remember the time the world was on reset and we had the option to start over, to start new?

Say this is our one do over.

Say that you and I can make it this time.

Say that all of this is worth it.

Say you love me, even if this is it, you and me and a cup of coffee, watching a sailboat float by and that ball of fire slip behind the clouds.

Time Lea El Hajj Life is a clock, Seconds, hours, minutes, Tik, tok, Until we inevitably depart.

What I would give To lie, Still in the breath Of the earth.

With mother nature’s wind in my hair, Her birds fly without fright.

Her rough waves crash Onto the smooth, sandy, shore.

But the seconds are ticking, Baby steps only, Time melts away, And I lie frozen in space.

Aiden Cook

"Everybody's journey is different; watch mine."

- Aiden Cook

Field of Daisies Dylan Camarda Near a field of daisies, surrounded by foliage to its north, stands a gargantuan oak mighty and tall. Under the cover of night, illuminated by the pale cold embrace of a full moon, a scarlet haired woman sits in a chair by the oak, her left hand griping it, for it is a remembrance of a simpler time of love and joy, before her brother had to depart. She is in a dress which droops off the chair and into the daisies, yet flows in the brisk wind; her right arm is gone, left only with a glimmering gilded socket in its place. Her left arm is scarred with pockets of raw rotting flesh, and areas of scabs hard and grey almost resembling scales. A man wreathed in black approaches; he is clad in a black cloak, with boots of black and an ebony cowl lay upon his grizzled face; he brandishes a sword which makes it clear he isn’t here to converse. She notices him and with an upward swift motion, unbefitting of someone who rests so elegant, she is on her feet. He can see now that this affliction has ravaged her body, from her arm all the way down to her legs, patches of scar tissue, rot eating away at them. Where her feet used to be are now golden prosthetic replicas. She calmly walks a few steps then bends down to grab an armored prosthetic, which mimics a human arm, but touched by the shining metallic grace of gold. She lifts this prosthetic up to her side, and with a wrenching, fits it into the open socket emitting a metallic pop. She bends down a second time to acquire her helmet with gold and gilded wings going up it on both sides of the helmet, and a guard to protect her face which was gladiatorial in nature. She no longer resembles a delicate daisy; she is now a ferocious warrior. She says in a somber tone, “I am Malania, Blade of Miquella… And I have never known defeat.” With this declaration, she raises the prosthetic arm in the air, and with an instantaneous motion, brings down her arm to her side. A sharp turn of gears and metal shatter the tension filled silence, revealing a fivefoot-long blade. Immediately after that, she dashes forward with two horizontal strikes back and forth. The ranger narrowly evades this blow, as she shaves off treads of his cloak.

Life Ryan Goodman

A flock of birds, All following their leader, All going to the same place, All flying down the same paths.

Do you follow your leader?

Or do you choose to be an outcast?

Stay by your family?

Your flock?

Or go your own way?

Create your own path?

Brock St. Denis

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The Rain Alexis Metzger Alone, sitting in the rain, feeling the cold water fall upon your skin.

Dreaming of what could have been, the sound of gentle taps fills your ears.

Your thoughts finally have been given some background music.

When you breathe in all you can smell is fresh rainfall, that exact smell can calm you.

Suddenly, all you’re thinking about is the rain; how much rain could possibly fall from the sky? When will it stop?

When did it start?

Will it storm?

Will the rain stay calm?

Can I sit in the rain and not let my thoughts overwhelm me?

Can I appreciate the rain for what it is?

How long can I sit here in the rain all alone?

Your brain connects to the idea of the rain.

It has no thoughts; the rain can’t choose when it falls from the sky.

The rain has no concept of time, pain, or love; it feels nothing and knows nothing.

Maybe I could be more like rain.

I could know nothing and feel nothing; I could empty myself and just sit in the rain.

I could become peaceful, not having the option to overthink.

I could just fall and see where I land.

The Lit Candle Ava Allen The ocean meets the sky The sky meets the gods The animals evolving through time Will they ever cease to exist?

The moon standing, abandoned in the darkness Will it ever fall?

The stars twinkling in the night Will their lights ever disappear?

The sun, such a mystery, such a necessity Will it ever die?

A lone traveler wandering through the in-between Will he make it?

Will he survive?

Will he go beyond life’s limit?

No, the candle has been blown out I wonder what the future will look like.

Wind Guiding Me Somewhere New Olivia Meux

As the wind brushed against my face I feel a push.

A push guiding me somewhere But where is it telling me to go?

The sun piercing through the leaves As marker points for my journey.

Will the wind lead me to a new destination?

Will the numerous amounts of leaves on the ground act as landmarks?

Will the journey ever end, or will it continue forever?

Ava Allen

An Ocean Brock St. Denis

The ocean before and the ocean behind A metaphor for visions within the mind A bucket of regret, pain, and memories fake To be lost forever in this abyssal lake.

A hand on my shoulder- a comforting voice Informs me of the consequences of my metaphorical choice.

“Memories of mind made cannot be destroyed, I fear, But instead embed into the sediment here.

“Once they sink to the bottom and are swallowed by mud, They mixed with the stink, oil, and crud.

Forming something worse than mental imagery made But rather deep scars that may never fade.”

I clutch the container close to my breast, I consider the action of dropping it- lest, My choices have repercussions I cannot imagine I decide to remain, after all that has happened.

Now I Know Katherine Asbury

Life is treading water on the ocean shore.

Salty world, sweet moments.

Doesn’t always have to be challenging.

Can be as easy as you want it, Unless you’re not prepared for the piercing seashells (the inevitable).

But treading shallow water without acknowledging its sea creature victims choked by careless litter, for example, Is just as simple as sucking the value out of life, remaining blissful in ignorance.

Life is stepping on seashells.

Saying “Now I know.”

But you still can’t see the shells through the stirred-up sand.

Now I know how to avoid toxic people.

Now I know how to eat healthily.

Now I know how to study.

Now I know how to be myself (always).

But when will we know that we have truly mastered certain puzzles like these?

I haven’t stepped on that shell yet.

Ava Allen

Hello Ava Allen Looking up at the clouds Each one its own shape and size Thinking of the many things we despise The power we have allowed Are out ancestors proud?

For nowadays silence is too loud People having their happy highs Until someone says something too wise Joining a crowd A butterfly travels at its own pace Whether fast or slow It never worries about finishing the race It flies through the sunset’s afterglow It thanks mother nature for her grace And lands on a little girl’s nose, to say hello

Photo by Emma Joost

Fly Away Wesley Smith Lose track of your stance on the post Allow the person to chase you away And into the unknown

Fly away and open your experiences To be free without pressure Some go alone, while others Go joined at the wing

Fly away from the troubles At the dock From the mysterious figure Disturbing your peace

Fly away not knowing Where you’ll end And know that you’ll find Where your peace lives

The Excursion Veronica Sippens-Groenewegen I was lost in depths unimaginable to one’s eye, unable to tell the difference between here, there, or anywhere. People may say this is the point where I broke and reached the end of the parallel state of conscious. My mind drifted into the other place, located on the opposite side of where all things see straight. I was turned over towards the opposite side of the world, a region unfamiliar to the ordinary eye. The first person to reach these depths what an accomplishment, maybe this worked out for the better. My dear Mom at home longing for my return unable to move or spurn, I was her only maintenance of life a crutch she used to make it without strife. I was gone, nothing left but a photo of my dream, with a message on the back saying it’s not what it seems.

Riding the Wave Chris Joost As I sit here now I think back to All of the roads I traveled All of the times I’ve fallen All of the times I’ve been told “No” Or told what I can or can’t do I realize that had I listened To these voices or these people, I would not be here today People have doubted me my entire life Told me what I am and what I’m not As if they think they know everything But they fail to recognize my willpower, My strength, my ambition, My determination to keep going To prove them wrong and show them That I am more than what this world says I am But that time is over I reaped the benefits of my suffering I swam into deep waters And I rode the wave back to shore And told myself that the journey was worth it all

Emily Suvoski

The Beach Emily Suvoski Tire tracks track the trails of life, where we’ve been and where we’re going.

Wandering down an unknown beach, a beach of opportunity.

Tides running in and out wash away my mistakes, and the footprints we’ve left in the sand.

Only our marks of successes remain on the powder soft white ground.

Nothing is permanent, nothing stays.

We were meant to walk the beach, Wander aimlessly down a never-ending road.

Some of the things we learn stick with us but must most are blown away in the wind.

The night sky filled with stars, is the roof over our heads at night, When it is dark, and we can’t see where we’re going.

In the morning the sun comes up, Kisses our feet and moves them along as we walk, like a puppet on a string This was the road laid out for us, The one that we had to take

House of Cards Veronica Sippens-Groenewegen

Each laminate stack decked out evenly, which decided the fate of all who were there. A single play and all were silent under a deathly tension. Once you were in it was hard to get out trapped, forever in a maze of twists and turns, inside a house that always spins and spurns. Your mind the only sanctuary, but it was locked, and the key was lost, and wasn’t going to be found. If willpower surpassed you maybe by chance, a light could be found at the end of the gravitating hole. Your life is latched away, and your forced to play, and play under the monotonous tone that keeps you alive. You know the one under control, he found an advantage over you, took you for granite and quickly found your weak side. The sad part is you permitted him, you allowed him, and now observe your life, was it worth it? You are stuck forever in a glass sanctuary of complexion, maybe it’s called a house of cards.

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Ponderings (in a house in a cave) Anonymous Winter blazes outside and all is cold and dim.

But near the hearth’s warmth, A revelation stirs, burrowing and writhing, A worm in the rain asking in shock “Are you who you are?”

It will be long, that process.

The dread sets in, doubt wanders, but I must leave this cave.

So a path is charted, maps studied, and strength gathered.

Change is a game to find yourself.

A transition is a burden on a modern life.

But the calls to action do not care do not pause do not consider The truth gazes, burning, the thoughts of others.

And as I stand on the threshold piercing the blizzard For they will hate me to begin this enduring trial piercing the eyes Because I now am of love, hate, tears, joy, dread, piercing the lies my conversion truth, lies, and emergence, It pains to deny to the truth.

I am euphoric.

That Question, A symbol to admit that That the tides grow Spring will come.

I am not higher to flood the estate of hate me. that stands to abolish and imprison What to do? that truth.

One of My Wishes One of my wishes is that through all this work, The hard and treacherous climb, I could find joy.

One of my wishes is that after the crazy of the storm, And the push before the end, We will be successful.

One of my wishes is that after the strenuous, and time-consuming months. we could be rewarded.

One of my wishes is to be successful, to be glorious, and for none of my work to go unnoticed.

Ryan Goodman

The Journey Chris Joost My life has been a drive on an inconsistent path One day the road may be a smooth road But another day, a rocky trail filled with bumps and potholes.

I’ve experienced the highest of highs And the lowest of lows.

I have been proven wrong and proven others wrong.

I have hiked the highest peaks And fallen into the darkest valleys, But no matter where I go, There is always more to travel Always more to learn Always more to experience.

So, forget the map And follow the trail you desire.

For it is your choice for which roads to ride And what difference they make in your life.

A Dog's Life Aiden Cook I loved chasing the ball; I could do it all day. My owner would toss it so far and I would always chase and catch it. I have been doing it ever since I can remember, and I want to continue that trend. It has been seven years, and I chase the ball almost every day. Sometimes my owner will forget or be sleeping, but I forgive him if he remembers the food. It seemed every month he would throw the ball for me less and less and I am starting to think he does not love me anymore. Some days he would not come home, and my neighbor’s owner would stop by and feed me. I missed my owner; I could only assume he is getting another dog or maybe even a car to replace me and forget about me. I was devastated. I would now savor the short time I have left being his only pet, ever game of fetch was even better due to my attitude. He would start staying multiple nights out and coming back with less hair and weight; it is probably from playing with other dogs. He got bored of me; I cannot blame him. I would try and impress him when catching the tennis balls, but he never broke the frown on his face for months. He was much more loving during this period, so I was grateful for that. He kept on talking to me and I am not what he is saying but I’m sure it’s how much he loves me and just wants to get me a friend when he’s gone. I became content with that idea and as he was gone more and more. I was starting to get excited to have a friend who isn’t human or bald now. He even started feeding me his human food that he would eat a bite of and then give to me; it tasted so much better! He now completely stopped playing fetch but we would spend time watching TV where he would constantly fall asleep early. I enjoyed our time together.

One night while watching our favorite show, he never woke up. I barked for a day straight with no response. He’ll wake up soon, right?

Birds soaring above Searching, waiting for food.

Wondering if they must fight to survive.

Wondering if they truly must be the fittest to survive Or will there be hope To not have to attack their flock.

Will there be a friend, and ally, a stranger?

To provide assistance to the desperate flock.

Or will he be like a ghost leaving the birds Searching, waiting for food

Searching, Waiting Olivia Meux

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The Journey Veronica Sippens-Groenewegen The play, journey and theme played out evenly.

As you watched you felt one with the story, and you blended with the swirl of plot.

The chronicles unfolded within your lap, each portraying a different path, one that you can travel depending on how you rattle.

Let’s Begin shall we.

Welcome to the bottom of the earth, the place where gravity lies, the place where hundreds of species roam before your eyes.

Upwards we move, where the sky is blue, towards the land of all land, where animals and humans tend to stand.

Animals and humans two that do correlate, one rooted from the other, the other turning into one.

If you look up at the sky you may see the sun, in which all planets orbit around, and where Helios makes his round.

Remember as you journey think of the map of the sun, sea and sky upon which you can never forget.

Have we concluded our interminable journey, through this world or have we only ventured a single lap around the sun?

Dead End Evan Wolpoff It’s the end of the road A creature guards the exit With its wings outstretched, it directs you back Warning you of what is to come next You ignore the omen forcing your way past the end You exit to find nothing You are trapped in darkness The creature was right

Two Paths Wesley Smith

I entered my journey in the bright, lively woods at noon Of course, there was two paths One may lead home And the other to darkness One path you will be free And the other lost at midnight Choose the one that will be your path No matter what others will think

Hymn Of the Trees Raina Swani

Upon on the ground she was, in just a blink.

Aghast, she stood, And stared about the animals, wind, and trees.

‘What have I done wrong?’ she proclaimed.

‘Why must they point at me?’

To her home, she retreated, Howling for her mother’s hand.

Yet upon return, She failed to receive this demand.

So to sleep the girl retired, Fatigued by the day.

Unable to fathom the situation, In coil she lay.

Yet in the morning she awoke, Struck by feelings of luck.

Off to the large tree she went, To embrace her friend, the most darling duck.

Atop the tallest of the trees, A young girl sat and thought.

Her joyous nature turned to hatred, Enraged with what she hath procured.

So a young chipmunk drew its course, Glittering with jollity.

She knapped it as though a foe, And it turned back in animosity.

A kind duckling pondered these actions, And set about to view this friend.

However he too was lapsed, And unwilling to make amends.

So the stump groaned, The wind howled; The leaves blew, And the grass growled.

Yet the girl sat about in silence, Indifferent to the change.

She marked little of these threats, And for the actions she hath exchanged So abruptly she fell back, Her seat began to sink, The sky fled her sight,

The Greatest Joke Evan Wolpoff Is it all a joke?

The simplicity of the average man Working to the bone for little reward and pointless validation.

Do you hear laughing?

When man’s only desire is materialism, When millions die alone having never accomplished anything worthy of mention, When everyone is blind to reality.

It is the oldest joke, and we’re all being laughed at.

As people continue their lifelong search for meaning, Looking past the atrocities around them in order to preserve their illusion.

It’s a joke, so laugh along.

I know I am.

A Visit

Breeland Madison I visited home where shoes hang on the powerline, to remember those who filled them, where barefoot black babies run through the fire hydrant’s aim, the neighborhood kids congregated on the green box trying to look like thugs, where kids drink hose water, Kool-Aide Jammers and Hugs.

I visited home where “you not finna run in and outta my house,” where honey drippers from the candy lady cost a dollar, where tough love comes from belts, hangers, and switches— not taking their Xbox, PlayStation or Switches.

I was raised where the yellow tape and sirens fill the streets at night, the very streets the kids played on, where Black sons and daughters lose faith, where Black mothers pray their sons make it home safe, where we played basketball in driveways and streets, running fast was more important than the guns hidden in couch seats.

I visited home where I watched kids fight, and we all had to make it home before the streetlights, where no amount of poverty or uncertainty could break the kids, but I am not a kid.

Like Walking on Sand Emma Stasiak

We used to walk on solid ground A thick foundation.

A mixture of rock and clay, Ground to pieces, Added to water and stirred.

Set in a mold and hardened by those who came before us.

Unshaken by storm and war, No fire nor flood could change it, Sickness and death could not crack it.

Until it began to crumble from within.

The memory of invincible foundation fades.

Its story is told to children, Too young to understand it no longer exists, Too young to understand the ground they walk on is not solid.

It has become legend, Something once real, Now gone.

Even the illusion of it fades.

Now we walk on sand, Slipping between the grains, Our toes grasping for a hold.

Our minds searching for the words, Our hearts searching for what went wrong.

We won’t weather the storm now.

The sand blows in the wind, Stinging our eyes, Scratching at our throats, As we gasp for air.

Brown Eye Emma Mae McAdoo

Burnt coffee beans and sugar; baked with

Beautiful iris. I love you.

specks of cinnamon sprinkles and cocoa powder.

You are the sea and the storm,

A milky blanket of motherly affection comforts

The reflection and the reality.

You give me childhood once more.

cherry veins, coconut, and protein.

Take me to the days cooking crispy cookies.

A baked pupil’s perspective dilates with emotion:

Winter sledding, crashing into bitter, ancient bark,

Large in Love, soft in hardship.

Digging into the earth, slathered with mud.

The reflection, Always a youthful gaze of the world.

Salted almonds and frosting.

You lead me home.

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Lost Love Lea El Hajj

Dance With Death Alexis Metzger What’s the point of living if you’re just gonna die?

I ask myself this question all the time, Maybe more than I should.

I didn’t fear death, I invited her into my home with open arms.

I pulled out a chair and told her I wanted her to stay, I needed her to stay.

She told me you shouldn’t call for me when you’re not ready, But I was.

I was more than willing to shake hands with her and follow her out the door, I yearned to.

It seemed like the easy way out, Like I was trying to cheat life and all her beauty.

Yet, I didn’t find life beautiful.

Living was cruel, Beauty and pain shouldn’t intertwine like they always do, I shouldn’t be joyous one minute and traumatized the next.

Life is seen as a gift but none of us asked for life, How is it a gift if I never wanted it?

People tell me I’m focusing too much on the negative,

But it’s hard not to when everything is falling apart around you.

I know people love me, I know that as time goes on my life could become more beautiful, I understand.

But when agony haunts your every step the idea of death seems to follow.

I’m not saying I will chose to die in the middle of the night, I’m saying I wouldn’t mind.

I wouldn’t mind if while I was sleeping air no longer filled my lungs, If my heart just stopped beating.

I wouldn’t mind if it all just stopped, The joy, the sorrow, the in-between.

Death and I dance every morning and every afternoon, Her hands wrapped around my waist consuming every step.

She guides me pulling me close, Her warmth comes from the uncertainty.

And then she twirls me away, Not pulling me back in.

She waves goodbye and tells me she’ll see me soon, Closing the door on the way out.

Atop the Mountain Dylan Carmada Atop the mountain, Cold wind blows chilling my bones, Be gone Frostbitten.

The tall grass rustles, The fox starts to burrow, Perfect Harmony.

The lightning strikes, The thunder breaks the silence, The cycle is over.

The Mill by the River Nasir Zaidi A mill rots beside a murky river The mill, once a sturdy and prominent sight, Now lay dormant in the sun As each ray flakes a minute off its life The river, once lustrous and vogue, Now strides through the dismal plane of sludge and muck The mill craves to be seen once more And as its rusted fans screech, the river instead lay mute beside the mill One windy day, a man arrives at the site of the mill In an attempt to gain a single glance from the man, the mill violently screeches as the wind tumbles the corroded fans, Causing one to flake off into the misty depths of the mud filled river The man continues on his way, as the vicious screams of the mill and the calm waves of the clouded stream drown in the back of his mind And not once does the man care to acknowledge The mill that rots beside the murky river

Waves Amir Chahlavi

I see the waves of the lake, Moving towards the land, Trying to escape, Attempting to go someplace they have never been before, They try over and over, Rarely reaching the dry ground, But they do not give up.

Madeline Kaiser

Natalie Lusk

Where will your journey take you?

Sherry He

Meet the creative writing team

Mrs. Curran Faculty Advisor

Alexis Metzger '22

Lea El Hajj '24

Head Editor

Co-designer/editor

Veronica SippensGroenewegen '24

Ryan Goodman '24

Co-designer/editor

Co-designer/editor

Meet the rest of the creative writing family

Amir Chahlavi '25 Evan Wolpoff '24 Aiden Cook '24

Ava Allen '24

Chris Joost '24

Emily Suvoski '24 John Antolik '23

Brock St Denis '22

Wesley Smith'24

Olivia Meux '24

Dylan Camarda '22