Penumbra: Volume XXV by Robert Kuletsky

Penumbra Smithtown High School West Volume XXV

2023

Smithtown Central School District Smithtown, NY 11787 Board of Education Matthew Gribbin, President Michael Saidens, Vice President Michael Catalanotto Jerry R. Martusciello John Savoretti Stacy Ann Murphy Karen Wontrobski-Ricciardi Superintendent of Schools Mark Secaur, Ed. D Assistant Superintendent for Instruction & Administration Kevin R. Simmons, Ed. D Assistant Superintendaent for Pupil Personnel Services Daniel J. Helmes Assistant Superintendent for Personnel Neil D. Katz Assistant Superintendent for Finance & Operations Andrew R. Tobin Executive Director of Curriculum & Assessment Paul Strader II Director of English, K-12 Raina Ingoglia Smithtown High School West Principal John Coady Assistant Principals Christopher Elsesser Michael Freiberg Annemarie Freund Advisor Christopher Gunsel Special Thanks To

The English Department The Art Department The Custodial & Support Staff SHSW IT Services

Penumbra Volume XXV, 2023 Smithtown High School West Smithtown, NY 11787

Editor in Chief Stephen Jung

Cop y Editors Joey Davide Paula Ar aujo Par r a Emma Phillips Hannah Ren Aidyn Rios

Alyssa Griesman Abigail Jung Anabelle Kreitzman Isabella Spilotros Eva Supa Sydnie Vogel

Cr ystal Bullock Allison Fox Nadia Mathew Vanessa Mathew Abigail Rus

Cover Ar t Isabella Spilotros Staf f Eylin Laine z-Medr ano Matthew Nelson David Rubin Sar ah Russell Natalia Sanche z Noella Se xton Abigail Sor rells Magazine for matted using InDesign software Printed by Smithtown Centr al School District Printed on #8 paper with black and color ink Typefaces used: Footlight MT Light (10, 11, 12); Bell MT (30, 48); Per petua Titling MT (12, 14, 16, 20, 22, 24, 28 ); Monotype Cor siva (36); Imprint MT Shadow (14); Castellar (30); 100 Copies Printed Edition XXV Penumbr a encour ages the students of Smithtown High School West to e xplore their minds and hear ts and to develop their many talents. Herein lies the fr uit of their labor s as we continue to e xplore, following our thoughts to new horizons ... and beyond. Submissions are solicitied both at large and through the English De par tment’s Creative Writing cour sework. The staff of Penumbr a meets weekly, as an e xtr acur ricular club, and is responsible for selection and editing of included works.

Poetry (continued)

Poetry O, Lonely Death | Matthew Nelson

Metamorphosis | Joey Davide

Vinyl Grief | Stephen Jung

Morph | Joey Davide

The Damnation of Humanity | Aidyn Rios

Elephant | Stephen Jung

Volume I: Helplessness | Joey Davide

Evergreen | Paula Araujo Parra

In The Gutter | Stephen Jung

Land of Green | Aren Nessler

Journey Wears | Sarah Russell

Bejeweled | Joey Davide

Chains | Stephen Jung

Ronin | Stephen Jung

Intoxication | Paula Araujo Parra

Concerning Happiness | Stephen Jung

Faith Is Not Fact | Matthew Nelson

Return | Stephen Jung

Blame | Stephen Jung

My Blue Chevy Malibu | Noella Sexton

The True Heroes of Our World | Paula Araujo Parra

The Poolside | Joey Davide

Feared | Joey Davide

Lavender | Paula Araujo Parra

Twisted Love | Bella Spilotros

Universal Friend | Allison Fox

ETA?| Joey Davide

Everlasting Perserverance | Alyssa Griesman

For Those Whom I Love . . . | Sarah Russell

Porcelain Vase | Allison Fox

Rise | Paula Araujo Parra

Volume II: Escapism| Joey Davide

12 Months | Paula Araujo Parra

August Nights | Joey Davide

Aftermath | Joey Davide

Sedona, Arizona | Noella Sexton

iii

Photography

Art

City From Afar | Alyssa Griesman

Reaching | Abigail Rus | Pen

Melancholic Lake | Aren Nessler

Scarlet Midnight | Aren Nessler | Acylic Paint

Vessel of Night | Stephen Jung

Horizon Hour | Nadia Mathew | Acrylic Paint

Harbor | Sydnie Vogel

In Your Eyes | Bella Spilotros | Acrylic Paint

Coral Blossoms | David Rubin

Changing With The Seasons | Erin Kim | Acrylic Paint

Red Hands | Abigail Jung

Romanticism| Erin Kim | Goucache Paint

Shadows On The Wall | Stephen Jung

It’s Cold Out There | Erin Kim | Acrylic Paint

Sky On Fire | Aren Nessler

Just Keep Swimming | Abigail Rus| Acrylic Paint

Sweeping Chandeliers | Stephen Jung

Fading Memories| Erin Kim | Acrylic Paint

Before Time | Eva Supa

Trapped | Erin Kim | Gouache Paint

Serenity | David Rubin

Consumed | Erin Kim | Gouache Paint

Green For Luck | Stephen Jung

Lucky Spin| Bella Spilotros | Acrylic Paint

Moon Veins | Stephen Jung

Feeling Nervous | Bella Spilotros | Paper Mache

After The Rain | Stephen Jung

We Wear The Lamp | Grace Vibal | Gouache Paint

February’s Flower | Anabelle Kreitzman

Static| Grace Vibal | Digital Art

Sparkling | David Rubin

King of Nothing | Stephen Jung

Withered Loveliness | Aren Nessler

Transparen-kitty | Abigail Jung

Weight of Time | Stephen Jung

Spiralling Spectrum | Stephen Jung

Aurora In Ice | Stephen Jung

Golden Curtains | Stephen Jung

Rainbow Town | Sydnie Vogel

Black

O, Lonely Death Matthew Nelson

Death shall come on silver wings, From start to end, He pulls the strings, No god above, No hell below, O, Lonely death, He rests alone.

Vinyl Grief Stephen Jung

Cremating the night in bundles of crumpled newspaper, I wrap faded records in cellophane and ink-stained tears. The harsh wind howls menacingly as I stare at burning vinyl.

City From Afar | Alyssa Griesman | Photograph

The Damnation of Humanity Aidyn Rios

To what lengths shall they execute their rule, Those high and mighty nations standing tall? Always treating the lesser like a fool; Injustices transpiring like a squall. Greed fuels animosity and violence, This is apparent in the colonies — Brutality deemed fair by false science, By Darwinistic ideologies. Why must they indulge in their fantasies Through terror and militaristic means? Must they continue teaching fallacies To the children, the future kings and queens? Effects reverberate through space and time; Who says we’ve become any more benign?

Melancholic Lake| Aren Nessler | Photograph

Volume I: Helplessness Joey Davide A tidal wave of all their opinions Is pushing me against my very will. I wish I had a complete dominion Over their tides because my mind’s down hill. I find myself following the standard Set for how I should behave and how I Should think and feel without a meander. It’s just what I do, though I don’t know why. I flow with the current of what they say, Swimming through a sea of perpetual Critique, I’m saved all due to my display. I hope that truth is not eventual. I’m drowning and I don’t know what to do, I have to be what they want—I have to.

Reaching | Abigail Rus | Pen

Vessel of Night |Stephen Jung | Photograph

In The Gutter Stephen Jung

It’s the scraping of teeth on bone, The incessant grinding, That keeps my mind occupied.

The memory of the memory of flesh; The sweetness of sustenance, of substance, Is so far removed from me.

I gnaw too long at what cannot be. Eternity in a casing of harder-than-steel, Spongy-on-the-inside contemplation.

Journey Wears Sarah Russell

Weary traveler, Forced to be churned by the currents, Would give a kingdom to rest on one's laurels if only for a day. Bound to a life of misery, And tears, Sobs that rip themselves from the throat And flood the map. Time is cruel and only knows how to flee, There is no ability to rest, Only to stop.

Harbor| Sydnie Vogel | Photograph

Chains Stephen Jung

Ignorant of the cock’s crowing, my fetters restrain in a deep sleep. I too remain unaware of light, even as dawn breaks loud; So my chains and I remain curled in reproachable slumber.

Intoxication Paula Araujo Parra

Our home, our world, is hazardous. It becomes more intoxicated by every egoistic action we commit. In the same way, we persist to trash our oceans As though they wouldn't be the recent source of our bad omens. The same manner in which we make any flickers of light disappear among encircling darkness. I would rather spread kindness to the world, fill rooms with laughter, And be part of the cure to our sickness. Perhaps if I do, it would make up for all those who refused, for all those who gave into their voracious wildernesses.

Indeed, we are humans– it is in our nature to be self-absorbed; We are all an assortment of compassion and greed, Morals and immorals, honesty and corruption. The scales of human nature tip with the weight of our choices.

Faith Is Not Fact Matthew Nelson Understanding is a brittle thing, Yet, comprehension is malleable, So of course when things happen, We look for answers. Change is a necessary step in progress, We change with every breath we take, So naturally it seems ridiculous, That we would cling to things that we can confirm are false. A dictionary, centuries old, Would not be read in a class, So why are sermons preached as fact, From a tome written an age ago. Why is it that we erect massive structures, Dedicated to belting out phrases scrawled Before Pens, and of course Blatant Liars will indoctrinate young minds anyway. Everyday adults yell at each other, They throw slurs and insults, Not for justice or purpose, Rather over whose imaginary friend is better.

Blame Stephen Jung I cast my eyes upon the sullen street: The moon appears above a broken light. But inspiration fails me twice tonight— My mind falls into a depressive beat. I glimpse the stars in rhythm with the trees— They chant a quirky spell from their high perch. They hide behind the foliage of birch, And from their silver banisters, they tease. I watch and watch the moon and stars fly near: The day yet sleeps in some far, distant land. And I have but myself to reprimand, My soul, which bears the weight of bitter tears. Shall I begin, when daylight doth appear? Shall I rise up, and summon courage then? I cannot say, I cannot tell yet, when My heart will move from starry night, from here… Perhaps the night is not to blame for this— My misery, my countenance, my bliss.

Red

Scarlet Midnight | Aren Nessler | Acrylic Paint

The True Heroes of Our World Paula Araujo Parra

It takes real courage for an individual to persevere goodness, When the world seems to disassemble every single Building block a person topples, As though their attempts would be a construction defect That failed to fulfill its chosen fate. Only in those times is a person’s true valor exhibited, When they have all the reasons to concede defeat and yet continue conStructing the same number of bricks, No matter how long it takes them, Hoping to someday look up to the sky and see their grand edifice, The symbol of their persistence. I admire those who transformed their previous unjust backgrounds into Their major resilience. Those who never ceased to rebuild the structure. Those who have felt their souls being demolished into unbuildable pieces By the world. Those who reconstruct the same segment on a daily basis, in hopes of Being the exemplary person, we all need to Teach us how to find potential in all blueprints. To never turn our backs on a project due to its backbreaking delineation. Those without whom we would be trapped in a time of obsolete streets And insubstantial skyscrapers.

Feared Joey Davide

Some may say that my disposition is Machiavellian. I tried to change for others, but I’ll never be like them. So what’s the difference—it’s not like you could love me anyway.

Coral Blossom | David Rubin | Photograph

Twisted Love Bella Spilotros Red happens to be the color of love Either bright and powerful and strong Or dark and dull, but all the above Would never outdo her twisted love song. Her heart, no matter how evil or cruel Will beat for him, but his eyes see different Her love for him never runs out of fuel But in her eyes, he is just ignorant. She cut herself for him with shards of glass Cut, cut, cut, scars in pattern, like small bites Blood ran from her arms in a big, red mass Because his favorite color was red, right? She’s crazy, her mind changes her vision

ETA? Joey Davide I can feel my heart flutter And float, And the butterflies Escaping from my stomach. And I’m stuck In this perpetual high— Constantly moving up, With no one to drag me Back to Earth. For my heart always buys one-way tickets— Love flying out, But never in.

For Those Whom I Love With Great Difficulty: Sarah Russell Seeking comfort in you, From the pain you inflicted, Is so bizarre, It's laughable. Yet if I cried and sobbed, And told you of the hurt I felt, You would push me away as one would with an unknown animal, Who clamored into their arms. You accept no wrongdoing, No apology will grace my ears, So I will cease my attempts, And be misunderstood instead as the moody, selfish child, Which you have always seen me as.

Red Hands| Abigail Jung | Photograph

Rise Paula Araujo Parra I had been dead since birth, had been walking with my feet in the air, and had been seeing through mere blindsight. I had been wandering the earth without any sense of direction, without any sense of living, had been trapped in a world I detested. But now like a miracle I am resurrected. I have risen to a novel, joyful life I had never expected with a loud beating heart that is pushing me to stay alive, and with hope that the best is yet to arrive.

Shadows On The Wall | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Sam DeMonte

Orange

Horizon Hour | Nadia Mathew | Acrylic Paint

12 Months Paula Araujo Parra As the end of the year approaches, Evergreen trees spark brighter than stars on dark nights, And the cold weather frosts our noses, I reflect upon my life in these past 12 months. A year ago I was packing my life into boxes, Saying my last goodbyes to the mesmerizing castles of Europe, Feeling like I was departing a classic book adapted into a movie walking through the same streets as ancient rulers As though it’d be the last time I would ever do so. I was lost in fear of the unknown world that awaited me, As the hero who abandons their reality, The only life they had ever known, And is about to enter a divergent world, Exactly as I felt when I got off that plane in Europe Many years ago. Now that unknown world isn’t as novel as it once was, My soul instead welcomes unforgettable moments, Sincere friendships, captivating books, breathtaking sunsets, warm beaches, Burgundy autumn, And a life I never thought existed outside of a movie screen. Of course, just like in any movie, I have been presented with multiple obstacles, Challenges that have made me question my beliefs, And hardships that have shaped me Into a stronger person.

August Nights Joey Davide The incandescent glow of streetlights And the twinkling of fireflies Dimly illuminates their braided paths. They move quickly, Some towards, Others away, Twisting and turning in complex knots. The giggling of laughter And the sound of joyful screams— Backed by a chorus of crickets— Fills the otherwise silent air.

The red sun, which burned with passion, Has been replaced by the silver moon, The warmth of the past By the cool of the present. Their footprints blur in the fog of a life once lived, Their jubilant cries, echoed by the hollowness of now.

I sit here, watching them play, Hearing them laugh, And I wonder: When?

Aftermath Joey Davide

The fire’s incandescent glow keeps us warm In this now barren world. The fire’s pale light lets us see The endless wasteland around us.

They didn’t need their fires, For they had all they wanted. But they traded their vast world of green, Burning it away for what was underneath.

Now, The orange fire And the orange ground Are all we have left.

Sedona, Arizona. Noella Sexton

I’ve never felt the way I did In Sedona, Arizona. The air was sharp The climate pierced my spirit Yet it soothed all of my sorrows. Sunsets in Sedona Brought mango gelato And pink Jeep Tours And I am not a person Who thrives in direct sunlight But as beating as the bright star was I found my peace with no fears of tomorrow or worries from home. I would go back to Sedona, if you couldn’t tell. Anything to smell the saguaros again. Bring my soul home To Sedona, Arizona.

Yellow

Metamorphosis Joey Davide

Since I’m finally free, I thought that things would change. Emerged from my chrysalis, As a true version of me, I should be happy— I should be free.

But I’m lost And I’m scared And I’m stuck wishing for change,

For my frail wings, However mesmerizing, Cannot fight the wind. I’m blown this way and that— Helpless.

Morph Joey Davide

Twisted, and bent, and contorted, Molded into the shape they seek.

Changed myself for the will of others, Desperate for their approval and praise.

But sometimes I just can’t help but wonder: Is it worth what I got rid of?

Sky On Fire| Aren Nessler| Photograph

Elephant Stephen Jung Shadow on the horizon. Songs of flame flood the auburn sunset; Celestial censers flicker across the twilight sky. How shall I come to understand their eloquence? Elephant: Your walk has been long, ponderous, thunderous. Have you also traversed this blank ocean, This great drought of sunburned grass? They say that an elephant never forgets, Remembers all. Do you too remember the world before fire? I close my eyes as your rumbles grow distant, Filling the parchment sky With the lyrics of your ancient memory.

In Your Eyes | Bella Spilotros| Acrylic Paint

Sweeping Chandeliers| Stephen Jung| Photograph

Green

Evergreen Paula Araujo Parra Maroon is the color of love, they say But such scarlet tones in my heart Are reminders of war, Reminders of the restrictions That have held me back However, your love feels like an eternal evergreen shade As though we would’ve given rise to a forest Surrounded by a myriad of trees, Wild berries that grow more each day And breathtaking sunsets that can be seen from miles away A place to dwell as kindred spirits of the earth Life alongside you feels like summer everyday, As though the sun would never cease to shine, Nature would never lose its greenness And the world would remain brightly kaleidoscopic.

Land of Green Aren Nessler

Vibrant fields filled with culture divine I feel so much warmth in these roots of mine Crashing of the Atlantic on thousand year old stone A breathtaking place to call my home Unlike the men drinking whiskey and rum I will never grow tired of the fiddle and drum Through its beauty I could roam and roam This land is pure and feels like home.

Bejeweled Joey Davide Their glow outshines mine. But do they truly sparkle, Or is it their jewels?

Changing With The Seasons| Erin Kim| Acrylic Paint

Ronin Stephen Jung

Free— Alone in the night, I am free. Bound no more by contract or culture, I am free to roam the steep hills and the green forests. How far will I wander, what new sights shall I set my eyes upon? No lord to answer to, no master to inquire—my will is my own.

But should I set upon the mouth of destiny so brashly, so boldly? I scan the open fields for signs of danger: only the calm reflection Of the rice paddies stare blankly into the clear sky above.

Before Time| Eva Supa | Photograph

Serenity| David Rubin| Photograph

Green For Luck | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Romanticism | Erin Kim | Gouache Paint

Concerning Happiness Stephen Jung Against time, I raise my banner, Reproaching sunsets and starlit skies In brute defiance—I die, I die, I die. Nature cries in her aeolian tongue: In pear blossom dew and faintly humid breezes She pays her dues to the fainting Spring.

Blue

It’s Cold Out There | Erin Kim | Acrylic Paint

Moon Veins | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Just Keep Swimming | Abigail Rus | Acrylic Paint

Fading Memories | Erin Kim | Acrylic Paint

Trapped | Erin Kim | Gouache Paint

Return Stephen Jung That’s how we were, when we were young, When we lived for life, laughed to laugh Spending our days among the roses Trimmed cleanly of thorns. It was our Garden, our sacred place. We did not know it then, what sacred meant. But now I know what it is, To be trampled and invaded and have youth whisked away In my musings on the chrysanthemums. Since when have I last seen your face? I weary to grow old, indeed I weary to wilt and wither On my own and feel sorry by myself. When will you return, to remember with me?

Consumed | Erin Kim | Acrylic Paint

After The Rain | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Lucky Spin | Bella Spilotros | Acrylic Paint

My Blue Chevy Malibu Noella Sexton

How I love her. She holds the memories of a lifetime She is not like the Cadillacs and Mercedes Or the Dodge Chargers everybody lusts after No, she is humble and she is warm.

My periwinkle Chevrolet Malibu Is almost the physical embodiment of my great aunt, Yettie. I haven’t yet started my Blue Chevy Malibu. She hasn’t been loved in a while Much like I haven’t felt Yettie’s warm, loving embrace since last January.

Yettie left me my prized possession So I could finally put my hands on ten and two And my foot on the gas pedal, Learning how to drive. Yes, I’ve been procrastinating that dreadful, scary task. But I am finally ready to learn, Finally ready to take the wheel, For I know my destination awaits me, That only I can reach myself. How I yearn for those sweet, sunny mornings again In Yettie’s Blue Chevy Malibu.

Purple

The Poolside Joey Davide

With the reflection of the pool’s light that Fills the air, we can sit in sweet silence. I look and see you’re in my bucket hat; And in your eyes is my same misguidance.

Our feet dangle, our hands are interlocked, Our hearts beat the same, though we are still young. My once sharp stick, you have completely knobbed; Though I should be scared, my heartstrings you’ve strung.

I don’t think of the consequences when I’m with you ‘cause I leave life’s monochrome. I wish this to repeat over again: My head on your shoulder, finally home.

In the quiet lights of purple and blue, I am feeling myself fade into you.

Lavender Paula Araujo Parra My former houses were always lavender-scented With aromatic candles, fresh laundry, or air fresheners I had never once confided in anyone The significance of such aromas in my heart, The reminders of a once Quintessential, illusionary family life From then on, In the same fragrance which the last time Effected such false comforts, I had felt solitude enveloped in reminiscence Yet that similarly scented gift from your heart Is now the sole evidence I require To finally comprehend That I have found infinite residence by your side For you manage to revive My younger self once again Not to harm her, nor to pollute Her once beloved childhood aroma With your intoxicating scent, But to teach her That lavender can for once Smell like home.

February’s Flower| Anabelle Kreitzman | Photograph

Sparkling | David Rubin| Photograph

universal friend Allison Fox you float around like a leaf in the wind people pull you towards them when they need you most but push you away when you need them they say they care so much and they’re happy for your friendship but when you need something from them they turn their back on you and leave you alone. but, you’re a floater and you understand; to float is to never have a place to go to rest and seek help a home and that’s okay, you’ll always have friends— but will they have you?

White

King of Nothing | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Everlasting Perserverance Alyssa Griesman There are so many things to do, Yet the clock is ticking. There is so much I must juggle, For hours on end, day by day, week by week. I must work and work until I can not anymore, Until I fall asleep and have to repeat the cycle again. I feel exhausted and defeated, trying to hold on, As I must not give up. Yet, I wonder if I should give up, If I should throw away the mere stamina that remains Deep down just so I can heal my aching soul. Success feels so close, But almost is not close enough. This cycle of failure feels infinite, but I must not give up. I must not falter. No matter what,

Withered Loveliness | Aren Nessler | Photograph

Transparen-kitty| Abigail Jung

Porcelain Vase Paula Araujo Parra

I have given all of them influence over the growth of every Flower in my vase. Every petal, every stem and every thorn. I have created an exhibition out of pinched roses, Have brought smiles to the days of others And have survived all the blazing torches. My precious blossoms kept growing, While I was burned to the point of breaking. All the fractures on my form may seem unappealing to some, But they are reminders of all the times I remained standing Through the flames, All the times I heard my delicate porcelain crack For the sake of my roses. However, sometimes I wonder what would happen If one day I ceased. If I ceased to generate smiles, To hold water through the visible fractures, And to keep my flowers alive. Would I still be loved? Would I still be praised? Would I still be emulated? Or would I cease to exist? Would I be forgotten, like any other shattered porcelain vase? I fear the day my flowers become dry, The day they become nothing else than My failed attempts at success. It may seem like I’m complaining, But I’m merely retelling. The story of millions, Who have also struggled to subsist as subscriptions, As the ones behind mere exhibitions Of other’s favorite flowers they witness grow And are somewhat eager to witness fall. 66

Weight of Time | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Volume II: Escapism Joey Davide I often spend my days wishing that I Could be more like the things I read and see. Yearning, pleading, begging that I can try To change who I am and who I will be. I always spend my nights alone in bed, Imagining that it is not for show— I could be the person I’m in my head. Although that’s not me, they don’t have to know. My dreams are filled with lives that are not mine; However, I can always call my bluff. Sometimes the real and fake seem intertwined, But then I realize I am not enough. Within the fantasies of my cruel mind, I’ll stay, so that the truth, they will not find.

SPECTRUM

Feeling Nervous| Bella Spilotros | Paper Mache

We Wear The Lamp | Grace Vibal | Gouache Paint

Spiralling Spectrum | Stephen Jung | Photograph

Aurora In Ice | Joey Davide| Photograph

Golden Curtains| Stephen Jung | Photograph

Rainbow Town | Sydnie Vogel | Photograph

Static| Grace Vibal | Digital Art

Morgan Wellinger