Prairie Ridge High School Literary Magazine 2018-2019

Literary Magazine Spring 2019

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Table of Contents “The Journey to the Center of the Earth” – Hope Yeomans “The Crust” – Hope Yeomans; Section explanation – Tiffany Hudson Photograph – Molly Sullivan; Untitled poem – Anonymous Poet

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Photographs – Danielle Lobenhofer and Nathan Leali

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Photographs – Molly Sullivan and Danielle Lobenhofer; “Monument” – Jordan Tress Photograph - Danielle Lobenhofer; “Dread” – Jacob Dymek Photograph – Christa Maheras and Danielle Lobenhofer; Poem - Ariana Travis Photographs – Carter Rice; “Rainy Days on the Coast of Juneau” – Benny Wong “These Hands” – Angelina Gasparov “Eye of the Tiger” – Alex Gallardo; Photograph – Anja Trost Artwork – Heidi Goodale; “Loneliness” – Anonymous Poet Photographs – Allison Mattran and Nina Gregory; “Waikiki Dusk” – Angela Manno “Girl in the Sky” – Noelle Wittwer; Painting – Bridget Jewell Photographs – Christa Maheras “Fighter” – Caitlin Pieroni; Drawing – Grace Turskey Photographs – Danielle Lobenhofer and Christa Maheras; “Giraffe” – Ella Beu

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Artwork – Morgan Quinn; “Chessix King” – Eric Guerra; Digital Illustration – Lucy Klimkowski “Coffee for Two” – Lauren Roos; Artwork – Christa Maheras; Photograph – Payton Andrlik Photographs – Carter Rice and Danielle Lobenhofer “Beneath the Seams, Behind the Scenes” – A slam poem by Christa Maheras

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“Geometry” – Jacob Cunningham

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“From Up Here” – Morgan Tidler

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“The Core” – Hope Yeomans; Section explanation – Tiffany Hutson Artwork – Heidi Goodale; “Daydream” – Isabella Dimitriou

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“Diamonds in the Sky” – Colette Janik; “Inner Dimension” – Jacob Dymek

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Photograph – Anja Trost; “The Cool One” – Natalie Alexander Artwork – Heidi Goodale; “Lori” – Cheyenne Tan; “Shelter from the Oncoming Storm” – Benny Wong Digital Illustration – Ellie Jensen; “Untitled” – Cheyenne Tan Digital Illustrations – Lisbeth Garcia and Rosie Rojewski “Gas(sed)” – Christa Maheras; “8-1-21” – Joiya Szolomayer “Tinker Toys” – Nina Gregory; “A Counter-intuitive Argument” – Margaret Kolodzik; Digitial Illustration – Emily Wyatt Mixed Media – Kaylin Justes; “Hopeless Romantic” – Jacob Dymek; Photograph – Sydnie Innis “Yikes” and Mixed Media – Mia Coliflores; Ink and Marker – Cade Johnson; “Mysterious Future” – Jacob Dymek

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Acknowledgements

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Photograph – Hope Yeomans

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“The Mantle” – Hope Yeomans; Section explanation – Tiffany Hutson

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“The Butterfly Effect” – Claire Hogan

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Photographs – Grayce Woodruff and Kaylin Justes; “The Darkness that Came” – Greta Heinz “Withdrawn” – Talija Tiskus “Mercury” – Amelia Bis Markel; Painting – Samantha Stebbing; Artwork – Heidi Goodale and Danielle Lobenhofer

“The Reader” – Matthew Ladeau

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“Time” – Carter Rice

“Full Moon” – Jacob Dymek; “Moonlight” – Benny Wong

“Them Older People” – Jake Koffer; Photograph – Christa Maheras Photographs – Grayce Woodruff and Nathan Leali; “Bubbles” – Kaylin Justes

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Prairie Ridge High School Literary Magazine Spring 2019 Edition THE ROSTRUM – A stage for public speaking Spring 2019 – Volume XVII

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“The Crust” by Hope Yeomans

The crust is the outermost layer of the Earth, the layer we stand on and the layer we live on. Not just we as humans, but all life occurs here, from deep ocean creatures to the flying gnats. The pieces featured in the crust are those that represent the life around us and the world in which we live.

-Tiffany Hutson, Editor 4

Photograph by Molly Sullivan

An Untitled Poem By an Anonymous Poet Perfect imperfection is the way I see it But that's not the way it will ever fit Not in fairy tales or make believe games Things like that only exist in pretty picture frames But who really sees it?

Like the stain in all that fine print The holes in the truth seep out red lies Which is what holds them together Like flawless ties But when the strings come unraveled And more lies are told The truth starts to fade And memories grow old It soon will die out completely like it was never there before But in all this mess and chaos It neatly shows up on shore 5 Â

Photograph (top) by Danielle Lobenhofer

Photographs (bottom) by Nathan Leali 6 Â

(Top left) Photograph by Molly Sullivan; (Top right) “Monument” by Jordan Tress; (bottom) Photograph by Danielle Lobenhofer 7

Dread

By Jacob Dymek Dread Like a book, you’ve once read Coming to a story’s end To bring the start of something new Death of the old Birth of the new Inevitable A desolate land filled of sand The future holding an oasis Doubt and deceit sets in As the sand filled wind Clouds your vision Belief Dismay Charge forward Or Let the future slip by?

Indecision Disarray Photograph by Danielle Lobenhofer

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Photograph by Christa Maheras

Poem

By Ariana Travis Internationally we are no one, just a number We are one vote, combined with many Just note: we are no one, but yet everyone We are not free We are not a democracy We come in different packages, but yet we are still just another number 38 million and some, As we are only one, one vote, one number, one Our opinions don't matter; what we say is never heard The government does what they want and call it a democracy, they are like a flighty bird They say we are free, free to do whatever, say whatever, but, however, that is not true We are all just another number in the system, just another concern come true It doesn’t matter, it never does, not until you do something wrong, and there is an issue 9 Â

Photograph by Danielle Lobenhofer

Photograph by Carter Rice

“Rainy Days on the Coast of Juneau” by Benny Wong 10

These Hands

By Angelina Gasparov These strong hands once weak, These weak hands once strong These hands bear witness to the harshness of life, These hands have a story to tell The hands of a hopeful youth a forbidden lover an escapee that few away to a promised, unknwn place for a chance at a better life a girl who lost her dreams a woman who never forgot the dreams of her youth a singer, actress, and comedian who only performed at home a mother an individual who couldn’t raise her voice above the painful silent screams of the oppressed one who was covered beneath the water vapor blanket of her city Sofia, her once haven of hope a grandmother one who loves like no other puts others before and above hugs so tightly that instead of letting go, she squeezes out the oxygen of those she holds nearest a special brand of love that can be painful without intention one whose words can be like the fountain of youth, or like poison that you wish would just stop there is no translation to her rhyme or reason These hands soft to the touch These hands with a strong grasp These hands forgetting their youth These hands losing their use These hands, this body, that mind going further and further into emptiness That grandma is This child will be A baby Ideas, opinions, and dreams slowly losing their presence Replaced with emptiness The mind may be dying but the love stays alive Those hands who embraced my infant stature Now change roles for me to embrace her infant mind

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“Eye of the Tiger” (Digital Media)

by Alex Gallardo

Photograph by Anja Trost

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Loneliness By an Anonymous Poet The wind blows eerily through the night Alone you sat on the bed in fright Pondering all the things you said Thoughts and regrets circle in your head You gaze upon the pictures of fun And wonder what you could have done To urge them all to want to stay But alone in bed is where you lay Morning comes along with the rain And nothing can drown out the pain Unable to hope upon an empty sky The loneliness calls for you to cry Now days pass with nothing bright As if the world had blown out the light All good things appear to have fled As well as the colors that now seemed dead Dull and plain without the sun Ceased a world that no longer spun Painted with colors dark and gray All hope had been thrown away How simple it was for good to strain Not easy to once again obtain Taken by hands that won’t untie All good things have said goodbye

Artwork by Heidi Goodale

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Photograph by Allison Mattran

Photograph by Nina Gregory

“Waikiki Dusk” by Angela Manno 14

“Girl in the Sky” (Digital Media)

by Noelle Wittwer

Painting by Bridget Jewell

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Photographs by Christa Maheras

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Fighter

By Caitlin Pieroni Everyone fights their own battles, And sometimes it can’t be won.

Other times it can.

I know that.

Now. I put in hours, Hours Hours Of pain and determination.

For what?

To celebrate Cheer, Cry. To get the results I wanted Through this journey.

But. I have a plan That doesn’t play out.

I have goals That don’t always get reached.

I have learned The end destination Doesn’t mean everything.

The stops along the way Change you.

Drawing by Grace Turskey

For the good.

I get knocked down, but I’ve learned to get back up, And rise up to start over.

Again.

And that’s how I became a Fighter.

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(Top) Photograph by Danielle Lobenhofer; (Bottom Left) Photograph by Christa Maheras; (Bottom Right) “Giraffe” by Ella Beu 18

Time

By Carter Rice It's moving too fast.

Each second slips away Faster than the last Things are happening Faster than I can think Faster than I can feel High school is going by In a flash Each day I laugh with my friends Take tests Do homework But I can never think There is never any time Always rushing to and fro Doing this and that Everything is happening at once Stories on the news About wildfires in California A friend falls off something dumb And gets hurt Classes get harder and harder.

Homework takes longer and longer.

Everyone's dying.

And being born, And getting sick, And being hurt, And getting mistreated.

But then, years ago...

Then, it was different.

Wasn't it?

Wasn't it better?

Now people are saying Trans people don't exist, Women shouldn't have abortions, All Muslims are terrorists, All immigrants are evil.

Now people are saying We have ten years To get our act together Or the world will end in forty.

Climate change will flood the coasts Famine and fear will reign.

Now people are saying Is it even worth having children?

If all they'll ever know Is the end of the world? …But then, years ago...

Wasn't it different?

Wasn't it better?

Maybe.

Years ago it was quieter.

Things were slowly getting better For the oppressed.

Slowly looking up For the misjudged.

At least it felt that way Hopeful, Optimistic.

Maybe I was just a child, Blind to it all.

But then now happened.

And the future is dark, Unknown, Scary.

Now and then are so different, And yet so close to each other That they sometimes blend together.

The Now becomes the Then in an instant People become memories And then memories of memories.

A beautiful vision of sunset Is just a moment.

It ends.

It fades.

A moment is only a moment Because it ends.

Because it fades.

I was five.

The night time was dark and foreboding.

My mom heard me crying out of fear She came in and held me, Comforted me, Told me it was going to be okay.

But it was only a moment.

My best and only friend From when I was a baby until kindergarten Moved away to Texas.

The most important person in my world At that point in my short life Is now but a distant memory.

All pets and family members then That are gone now, Are just memories.

Bits and pieces of color and feeling Broken shards Worn smooth

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By the waves of time And polished Each time they are remembered So that they no longer quite fit together.

I hug my friends Knowing that it will have to end That I will have to let go That I will have to leave them there Sad, Scared, Alone.

I went to Youth Con last weekend It was the very first place I was sure I would not be judged.

There are safe spaces Everywhere else too.

But most of the time, You know there is someone Who will judge you for something.

But Con...

Con was an atmosphere Of Openness Love Compassion Empathy Safety Acceptance.

I never once felt threatened, Slighted, Insulted, Hurt, Scared.

It was unlike anything I have ever experienced.

But it, too, was only a moment.

The weekend flashed by, Filled with fun, And love, And friendship.

But come Sunday morning we had to leave.

I didn't want to leave.

I had made new friends Found my place in this beautiful new universe Where at last I could fully be myself.

And then it had to end? …What else can I do but hold them close And breathlessly sprint forever Trying to make this time last?

“The Mantle” by Hope Yeomans

The mantle is the Earth’s thickest section and makes up a whopping 84% of its volume. Hidden in this still untouched layer are some of the world’s most valued elements such as iron, aluminum, calcium, and potassium. The pieces featured in the mantle represent this flowing yet solid layer with a mixture of works that encompass these buried gems.

- Tiffany Hutson 20

“The Butterfly Effect” (Digital Media) by Claire Hogan 21

Full Moon

By Jacob Dymek Two halves Come together Making one whole Try to fill the void Through the cultivation Of another Two individuals Brought together Through their own curation Reflecting their newfound passion Through their own incandescence Like a crimson moon

“Moonlight” by Benny Wong 22

The Darkness that Came

By Greta Heinz The evil darkness came and left Like a slithering snake That was calculating and picking its prey It made a decision: We were the prey.

Photograph by Grayce Woodruff

It taunted us Tempting us to get closer Tempting us to run away Tempting us to give up Darkness engulfed the light in us Did light exist anymore?

We thought when we sat there, Deeply depressed, Hopeless And all alone in the dark

Photograph by Kaylin Justes

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Withdrawn

By Talija Tiskus We are all possessed But what is to become of those willingly impressed?

Who am I to look at a person and deem them as such?

Well, I am everybody you cradle in your clutch And simultaneously I am no one of essence.

Who are you to judge these people in your petulant silence?

You are the genuine nobody.

Who, in this unfathomably large universe, will hear your plea?

Now think long and hard: With what are you possessed that is leaving you so marred?

Have you been abducted by your adversary?

Or rather, have you been withdrawn into your own intellect, a canary Trapped, in a coal mine.

I promise you won’t see it coming.

In all probability, it has already happened.

Just the fact that you are reading this is evidence enough, but don’t be saddened.

This is a dangerous place my friend And all you have to do is think, in the end Mind the gap please, once you fall in, it’s terribly difficult to get back out Or better yet, dear, throw vigilance out the window, no doubt For who am I to tell you what’s chancy or treacherous?

Why, All you have to do Is think.

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(Top: Left to Right) Artwork by Heidi Goodale and Danielle Lobenhohfer; (Bottom: Left to Right) “Mercury” by Amelia Bis Markel; Painting by Samantha Stebbings 25

Them Older People

By Jake Koffer (From the album Portraits) Oh I know, That the tooth fairy isn’t real But I got your nose And I won’t look back If you don’t call home I find as I become an older kid I tend to miss the subtle simplicities that came with being really young. This is the chorus of the song, and I feel like it fuels my excitement for the future while not forgetting about how far I’ve come with my songwriting since I started doing it. Being an elementary school kid was very easy, and as I get older,+ I begin to anticipate the responsibilities that will follow as I grow up.

Digital Photograph by Christa Maheras

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(Top: Left to Right) Photographs by Grayce Woodruff and Nathan Leali; (Bottom) “Bubbles” by Kaylin Justes 27

The Reader

By Matthew Ladeau As you walk to the window to close the blinds, you begin to see the world anew.

The sun baked trees, which have begun to let fall their brown caked leaves, With the gentle fall breeze blowing the dying branches of the gentle giants through the air, And the calming stare of a newborn fawn, beckoning you close, closer, yet closer.

You step back, blinds wide open, and sit down next to a pile of paper.

As you take a paper from the pile, you see words on the paper, but can’t make sense of them, Force words there that aren’t, like a shadow man lurking by your bedside, and try again, to understand the scribble of words on the worn paper of a long gone age.

But as you take a peek, once more, at the world you’ve just discovered, You place the poem down, and begin to write your own.

With the soft smooth ink drip dripping to the paper placed below, You can only wonder why, but you glance again to the forgotten world, and rejoice as you strike gold, and as you write about the world that few people still know.

The world, long forgotten, yet mighty all the more, and you know what you must do.

With the words forming around your paper, and the pen beginning to slow, You’ve done it, and the reader has become the poet.

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(Top) Artwork (Ink and Marker) by Morgan Quinn; (At Right) “Chessix King”

by Eric Guerra (Bottom) Digital Illustration

by Lucy Klimkowski

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(Top) “Coffee for Two” (Digital Media) by Lauren Roos (Bottom Left) Artwork

by Christa Maheras (Bottom Right) Photograph

by Payton Andrlik 30

(Top) Photograph by Carter Rice; (Bottom) Photograph by Danielle Lobenhofer 31 Â

Beneath the Seams, Behind the Scenes A slam poem by Christa Maheras Why is that an insult Why would you take that as offensive Demotion of an idea by saying “that’s gay” Is somehow more popular than “have a good day” Seems like Classes we take are a federal fish tank You’re lassoed, enclosed, The pupils in their eyes have shrunk The seats filled with shame Desks filled, but empty The bodies just a frame Legs bounce like a spring is loose Gears are grinding Heart and brains never truce Pencils down hundred eighty minutes pass Lean over to your neighbor whisper I really hope I passed

Second Floor, foyer close This is the bathroom I loved the most.

Always so near from where I seemed to be Now I walk 10 miles just to take a pee.

They closed it down for renovation Deck the stalls with decoration Opened up just for one day I’d never be able to stay away.

Seems like I’d never be able to stay away From the fungus that grows on the walls of these halls Spotlight shines on which boy can get the most dirt in the creases of his cleats But God forbid a student athlete’s soul that deceases post-defeat I mean seriously I know the grind doesn’t stop But I don’t want the link to your buzzer beater shot So instead of the focus closing in on your three Maybe sincerely listen to fine arts symphony Seems like Marching band plays at every, single football game But no varsity player could know a marching nerd’s name Seems like Title and image come in waves, More than tidal If you wear Adidas and I wear Nike Well then I guess we’re just rivals, Act how they want, Do not wear what you like, I don’t follow those rules So I get called a dyke

Passing passing All these bodies passing by During passing periods, Why is there only one lane going up the stairs but two lanes going down?

Seems like Concrete cliques create confusion But all the smiles are illusion The kids are all depressed because of social exclusion Making room in their veins for a Zoloft infusion Hopping from prescription to prescription directs distinct delusion (Continued on page 33…)

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Seems like Therapy sessions are now extracurriculars WE’RE DESTROYING OURSELVES 16 years old having withdrawals at school Ruin lifelong friendships just to fend off a Juul WE’RE DESTROYING OURSELVES Mixing medication with Xanax Just right after, we ask, “What's next?”

WE’RE DESTROYING OURSELVES If you have no friends to watch your back Have no fear, you have Prozac But how in the world does this all hold less importance Than being inside while wearing a hat?

Seems like It’s advertised to seek authority When traumatized by great disparity We don’t trust adults because all they do is flaunt our faults The kids are falling asleep in class Little do you know they’re insomniacs So get them a pillow and tuck them in Instead of handing out detentions Like you’re Oprah Seems like We overload the cranium Pack the seats like a stadium You got 300 pages to read between today and tomorrow That’s 24 hours, 300 divided by 24 is 12.5 Just finished my homework and it was mental math Now I’ll go start and finish my science project That sadly’s due tomorrow Should have started earlier Procrastination’s friends with sorrow All these graph equations And book citations, Got me feeling hazy.

Can I go to the nurse?

Hoods are up and eyes hang low Don’t you think for a second that no one notices your Airpods and fake Yeezys Cause I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t easy To make it a day in wild white suburbia Seems like If you’re gone for a while No one cares if no one’s heard from ya Seems like We slap labels on our foreheads like we were manufactured Never made, never born Our self-being is front fractured Got a swoosh on my foot My torso’s got 3 lines Add one more to my figure And you’ve got yourself a walking dollar sign Nick has the kicks And Lucie’s got the Gucci But Garret’s got no money to get guaranteed fresh groceries We seek validation without hesitation Seems like You consider being considerate in hopes of being considered a companion But at the grand end of a grand day, your grand heart is the grand canyon WE ARE CRUMBLING

I hope ya start to notice what is really going on Cause lack of self-awareness is what keeps the cycle on repeat At the end of the day You’ll probably remember the bathroom poem But most of the messages will lead astray So god forbid I ask you a favor Save your thoughts and opinions for later, Pay more attention To what’s behind the scenes Because it’s all you only ever see At the surface of the seams.

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“Geometry” (Digital Media) by Jacob Cunningham

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“From Up Here” (Digital Media) by Morgan Tidler

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“The Core” by Hope Yeomans

The core is the most mysterious part of the planet and has been a point of fixation for decades as the world fantasized about the center of the Earth. The core consists of a liquid outer layer of iron and a solid ball of iron within it. Just as the core is the deepest, most mysterious layer, this section consists of some of the most abstract works, leaving the audience to interpret as they will.

- Tiffany Hutson 36

Artwork by Heidi Goodale

“Daydream” by Isabella Dimitriou 37

Inner Dimension

By Jacob Dymek Shifting like the sand in the woosh of the winds stride Towards an endless goal for one’s pride An everlasting journey against time Through my personal decaying desert Colors getting washed away Everything I know becoming desolate With them I become ever-changing Never knowing where I began Nothing seems familiar In my own inner dimension My own inner dementia The end of my time.

“Diamonds in the Sky” (Digital Media)

by Colette Janik

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Photograph by Anja Trost

“The Cool One” (Digital Media)

by Natalie Alexander 39

Lori

By Cheyenne Tan Bloomtime tempest, Junetime rain— I wish you do not —rise again.

Godtime peace, such peacetime nine— Would you hear that hill?

—that song of mine?

Artwork by Heidi Goodale

“Shelter from the Oncoming Storm”

by Benny Wong

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Untitled

By Cheyenne Tan —if I know you— Our pines our year turn their nimbus eyed resentment to myriad suns hidden for March.

I wish they wouldn't look there.

Should I know you?— Hanging out the wash with the cats, I imagine you wait in the house for us. I imagine you are in there. All well.

But if I know you— Our finches a dawn chirp into the bless of lilac rain, Mother, Bless you: I am alive! mother! mother! If I know you— Digital Illustration by Ellie Jensen

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Digital Illustration by Lisbeth Garcia

Digital Illustration by Rosie Rojewski

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Gas(sed)

By Christa Maheras Sinus-scratching gasoline greases creases of the cranium, Start the sparked chaos of a burning down stadium, People prep for panic like they just ran out of luck, Or the Lucky Day Lotto cha-ching sound has just struck.

Children run amok like they have no place to be, ‘Cause sometimes scarce souls have no place in society, Translucent nuisance is guaranteed a kick to the curb, Left without a voice, and left without a word.

Answerless questions seem to still be asked, Unregulated responses run the risk of being gassed.

I’m feeling pretty gassed from all the running that I’ve done, But I better catch my breath ‘cause I’ve only just begun.

“8-1-21” (Digital Illustration) by Joiya Szolomayer

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“Tinker Toys” by Nina Gregory

A Counter-intuitive Argument

By Margaret Kolodzik Don’t fear death. Hard to do, yes?

You can’t control it, you can’t stop it, and you can’t even imagine it. Death is one of the few things people have not learned to escape, one of the things that wrench control from humanity’s desperate hands.

You can’t imagine it because your brain simply can’t comprehend not existing.

People fear what they do not understand.

Death is one of those things that doesn’t have an answer. You don’t know why it happens, what comes after, or if there’s a way to avoid it. That last one was a lie.

Deep down, you know it has to happen, but why? This argument has been somewhat counter-intuitive, but before you accept something, you have to understand why you haven’t.

Digital Illustration by Emily Wyatt 44

Hopeless Romantic

By Jacob Dymek Throwing oneself away For another Hopelessness drawn through coalescence Branding the heart With their name Through some sort of desperate art A romantic left for nothing In constant search for something A frantic gasp for air that was never there

Mixed Media by Kaylin Justes

Digital Photograph

by Sydnie Innis

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Mysterious Future

By Jacob Dymek A desired future Full of mystery Awaiting to be discovered Dark Cold Cement walls A future filled with Laughs and surprise Many unknowns A puzzle I must solve What’s waiting in the dark Must be found Now alone Instantaneous deceit Blood rushing I submerge From a not so distant future In disarray

(Top) “Yikes” (Ink and Marker) by Mia Coliflores; (Bottom Left) Ink and Marker by Cade Johnson; (Bottom Right) Mixed Media by Mia Coliflores 46

Acknowledgements Editors Carsen Forte Jayden Forte Samantha Kalas Carter Rice Kaitlin Martin Molly Sullivan

Editors-in-Chief Tiffany Hutson Olivia Jewell Jannah Peterman Nathan Leali Jordan Tress

Kristen Pham, Faculty Advisor

We Extend a Very Special Thanks to: Dr. Steven Koch, Principal The District 155 Administration Mrs. Rachel Kautz, Humanities Division Leader Mr. Aaron Cummins, Art Teacher Mrs. Amy Bland, Librarian Mrs. Connie Kendall, Activities Director Mrs. Gail Penn Mrs. Karen Treadwell Mrs. Allison Petty The Prairie Ridge Humanities Division

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Photograph by Hope Yeomans 48 Â