Agathon 2024

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Agathon: definition, as in greek for “Good” The Agathon is The Barstow School’s literary and arts magazine. First published in 1966, the magazine comprises a year-end review of student work in short form writing (short stories and poems) and visual art (sculpture, pottery, drawing, painting, and photography.) Compiled from the 2023-2024 academic year, the 58th edition of The Agathon showcases the works of students from Kindergarten to 12th grade. This is the first printed edition in over a decade and could not have been possible without the support of Ralph Myers at Mpress.

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Thank you for giving us this opportunity.

Dear readers, It takes a village: 56 student contributors, 7 Agathon staff, 1 Mr. Holmes, innumerable Barstow faculty, support from the President of the Barstow School, and our publisher, Ralph Myers. A year of dedication and hard work has culminated in the first print edition of the Agathon in over a decade. We are so thankful for this opportunity.

We have had the utmost pleasure and privilege of seeing our vision actualized in a magazine reflecting The Barstow School’s diverse and talented creative minds, but most of all we have been honored in getting to know our community. The people of Barstow. The individuals who have made this year’s publication possible.

Our student contributors have offered us their artistic voices with intention, passion and trust. Whether in prose or paint, voice is power—power with which all change is possible. We are all the more grateful to share these voices with you with the hope and confidence that the people behind them will choose to use their voices here and beyond to effect change—in service to others and to the world.

From the staff who have worked compiling, designing and editing this magazine, a sincere thank you to our readers, contributors, and publishers for supporting the creation of the 58th edition of Barstow’s Literary and Arts Magazine: The Agathon.

Enjoy!

-Agathon Editors & Staff

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Table of Contents

Front Cover by Sean Holmes & Helton Walker (‘24).......1 Intro to Agathon by Lilly Kennedy Gregg (‘24).................2 Message from Editors.................................................................3 Table of Contents........................................................................4 The Waves by Ava Adams-Huang (‘25) Ceramic Bowl by Alexandra Huynh (‘24).............5 Come Back by Cole Mueller (‘27) Art by James Knoflicek (‘24).....................................6 Autumn Breezes by Joseph Giocondo (‘30) Dusk by Lilly Kennedy Gregg (‘24).........................7 The Watch Figure by Dorothy Buckner (‘29) All Hallows Eve by Helton Walker (‘24)................8 Mirror of History by Kat Somogie (‘25) Photo by Joel Siegel (‘25)...........................................9 Ceramic Disks by Rian Jacobs (‘24)....................................10 Vantage Point by Rachel Jacobs (‘26)..................................11 Little bottle cap by Loch Beagle (‘25) Art by Bella Paul (‘24)...............................................12 Fish to bird by Gavin Vissers (‘25) Art by Nora Thurman (‘37) ...................................13 Photo by Phoebe Martin (‘24)..............................................14 Mountain Poem by Ezra Jacobs (‘26) Art by Leilani Galles (‘24).......................................15 The God Called Dream by Dillon Dixon (‘25) Art by Leili Deshmukh (‘25)...................................16 Memories by Shria Malay (‘27) Hand-Forged Metal Rose by Sean Holmes.........17 Other Side of the Glass by Charlotte Turner (‘27)..........18 Art by Wilson Estling (‘37)....................................................19 Anatomy of a Centipede by Finn Waymire (‘27) 4 Art by Ruth Guldin (‘32)..........................................20

The Beauty of Nature by Daniel Wang (‘25) Art by Vanessa Qiu (‘34)..........................................21 Spike by Gia Khan (‘30) Art by Trevor Trieu (‘36).........................................22 Capitalism by Noora Fatima (‘26) Art by Gabe Chanos (‘33)........................................23 My Glorious Verbs by Joel Siegel (‘25) Art by Tasso Kalliris (‘33)........................................24 The Fallen Ophelia by Kevin Gill (‘25) Art by Harlow Graham (‘36)..................................25 Night Sky by Aditya Rastogi (‘27) Art by Liam Groden (‘25)........................................26 Eyes of Spring Haiku by Robert Waldeck (‘27) Ceramic Bowl by Meera Al-Rajabi (‘25)..............27 The Library by Mateo Rose (‘25) Art by Lasya Maganti (‘24)......................................28 Meadow by Alec Seidel (‘27) Ceramic Bowl by Max Moore (‘24).......................29 Ceramic Pieces by Sydney Georgie (‘25).....................30-31 A Dream’s Antonym by Duha Azaz (‘27)...........................31 Art by Abby Cardarella (‘32).................................................32 My Many Moods by Charli Williams (‘30)........................33 Ceramic Pot by Avalee Flores (‘27), Ceramic Pieces by Katherine Cheung (‘26) & Ali Wood (‘27)..........34 Military Time by Dawood Qadeer (‘24)............................35 Snowfall by Elliott Osman (‘26) Art by Lucas Shustek (‘37).......................................36 Art by Sylvia Bittel (‘34)..........................................................37 Art by Rowan Platt (‘27).........................................................38 Agathon Members by Helton Walker (‘24).......................39 Back Cover by Sean Holmes & Helton Walker (‘24)......40

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The Waves

by Ava Adams-Huang A symphony amongst nature Controlled by the moon The push and pull The dance of nature A waltz in a whirlpool a hidden orchestra on earth it all comes and goes everything comes in waves they crash in my head they crash in others swishing amongst my brain and theirs thrashing about we all see the moon and we all see the waves we all know the calm and chaotic we all know the waves that carry the sea and we all know the waves that live in our brain we all know waves. we all know.

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Come Back

by Cole Mueller When I shatter the cold and fragile air I discover a chasm between you and my idea Of you But I return again And again A fool to the sticky sweet trap Of your indulgence You reel me in I grab on Another scale wiggles loose The hook pierces my soul And I persist Another wound on my trust But I push it away You yank out the line and Recount the cold floor The tile trap and The impossibility of crossing it But you forget your strength You forget they are not your enemies You forget they have no bearing on you You tell me of the back and forth The pendulum that looms over your life You tell me it doesn’t matter That it’ll be fine Because it’s Always Fine Nothing’s wrong.

I’ll be ok.

Why are you worried?

Stop that.

Wanna get ice cream?

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Art by James Knoflicek

Autumn Breezes

by Joseph Giocondo

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I walk through the woods.

Early fall wind swims through the foliage, washing away the heat of summer.

Leaves are changing, like a chameleon, adapting to the new season.

A wild crane honks, he is the vigil of the wild.

He is poised for his cold weather migration to the south.

A frantically foraging fox burrows into the previously sun-scorched earth, searching for berries under the ground.

All is tranquil and beautiful, a majestic waterside paradise.

Time does not always move in straight lines.

The ground is frozen over.

I shiver, for the air is freezing.

It is winter.

That majestic crane is long gone, away in the south for the cold season.

The fox, vanished, probably in a hole under the ground.

Most branches are bare, their leaves are trampled and withered on the frosted land.

All traces of fall have disappeared.

ill yK

enn edy

Gregg

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The Watch Figure

by Dorothy Buckner In the dead of night, when shadows loom, I feel it watching me, in my room.

A presence cold, a whisper near, Sending shivers down my spine, I fear.

It lurks in corners, unseen by day, A silent predator, ready to prey.

Its eyes, like coals, burning bright, Haunting my dreams throughout the night.

I dare not speak its name aloud, For fear it'll come dark and proud.

But in the darkness, it beckons me near, A chilling embrace, filling me with fear.

I pray for morning's light to come, To chase away this terror, numb.

But until then, I'm trapped in its grasp, A prisoner to its sinister rasp.

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“All Hallows Eve”

by Helton Walker

Mirror of History

by Kat Somogie When did it start?

Although I ought to ask, When will it end?

If the party stops When will they If they should

If you can’t hear them When they shout Can you run? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Jo el eg Si

Can you run?

When they shout If you can’t hear them

If they should When will they If the party stops

When will it end?

Although I ought to ask, When did it start?

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Ceramic Disks by Rian Jacobs

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Vantage Point

By Rachel Jacobs Fribbling, trotting, In circles abounding, Our smidgens of forms Are so dear, yet so far.

They weep and they roar, Erupt, all propounding, They do so as schedule Makes bare who they bar.

We click and we squabble, Enwrangled, surrounding, By godlies, by froundies, By tresses of star.

For us, we’re the peasants, scavenging, scarounging, And them all the kings, and the chiefs And the tsars.

They drift and they float And they sweep up the foundlings, Who live in their castles, Their dreamy memoir.

We imagine a vastly Built ever so rounding, For us in the center, The jam in the jar.

They follow, they peer at We short-sighting groundlings, And ‘member it all In their mountains on par.

Truly? It’s facting?

We shriek, throbbing, pounding, For deep’st we know’st Our knowledge off par.

When angry, we quarrel, With teeth, steam abounding, When they do, they weep, As they know what we are.

The clouds, are our windows, From here to the bounding, Old boundary of here To the great world their from,

We’re boorish, we’re legged, We’re scraggle-pip-thounding, We’re dirty and little and thoughtless, wind-scarred.

The clouds are our windows, From here to the bounding, Old boundary of here To the great world to come.

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Little bottle cap

by Loch Beagle Little bottle cap sitting on the sidewalk Dust coated and mud caked Kicked to the side and discarded Edge fluting falling out of alignment Little bottle cap flipped over in the dirt The rain washes out the mud A chipped flower painted on the inside Forever condemned to the side of the road

by Bella Paul t r A

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Art by Nora Thurman

Fish to bird

by Gavin Vissers Fish, Scaly, Colorful Swimming, Jumping, Eating Sushi, Water, Egg, Nest Flying, Screeching, nesting, Feathery, Singing, Bird

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“The Royal Pair” by Phoebe Martin

Mountain Poem

by Ezra Jacobs Deep, shifting shades of blue, Hidden behind veils of shadows.

Bright, painful aura of light coming off of the snow.

Sharp, jagged rock face.

A mountain, strong and tall, With a cappuccino.

Art by Leilani Galles

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The God Call ed Drea m:

by Dillo n Dixo n What is this God called Drea m?

This God called Drea m who fuels our ambit ions Thro ugh adversity Thro ugh flames

Gives hope and goals What is this God called Drea m?

Rare ly appe aring in sleep Yet ever prese nt when awake

Art by Leili Deshmukh

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The God we sow whose rewa rds we reap What is this God called Drea m?

Is it some law to which we abide ?

Or an idea that, for some , starts to subsi de?

What is this God called Drea m?

Memories

by Shria Malay In the corners of my mind, dust gathers, Settling softly on the forgotten frames Of photographs, relics of another time.

Each speck a memory, a fragment of the past,

Hand-Forged Metal Rose by Sean Holmes

Whispering stories of laughter and tears, Anger and joy, like they almost feel real.

But these memories won’t stay forever.

I trace my finger over the faded faces of the past, Frozen in time, yet so alive I feel their presence.

Their smiles like echoes, lingering in the air.

Each photograph a portal, a window to the past, An escape from the everyday world.

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Other Side of the Glass

by Charlotte Turner Sometimes I wonder If the parakeets in the petco Know there’s more than just wood chips and glass.

I wonder if they look past the isles of dog food And see a pigeon staring in.

Sometimes I wonder If the pigeon outside the petco Knows there’s more than just asphalt and telephone poles.

I wonder if they look into the petco And see a parakeet staring out.

Sometimes I wonder If they look at each other Through the doors And wonder if it’s better

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On the other side of the glass.

Art by Wilson Estling 19

Anatomy of a Centipede

by Finn Waymire Art by Ruth Guldin

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cherries on top of the vanilla scoop sprinkles falling down Down down waffle cones breaking in small hands mounds of banana and rocky road cookies and cream birthday cake and cereal milk peppermint chocolate and ghost pepper blueberry and Pet Bird rust and centipede legs of rust and an exoskeleton forged from the cries of the damned welded with the Virgin Flames of greece the pendulum sways back forth back forth the gong Echos and the isochronism begins again bird eats Chilopoda Scolopendromorpha rat eats bird hawk eats Rat mouse eats hawk Scolopendra eats mouse in amaranthine succession cherries on the whipped cream of a milkshake straws held by small hands sprinkles falling down Down down

Art by Vanessa Qiu

The Beauty of Nature

by Daniel Wang ​​ fields of green, the sun portrays a gleam, In Birds sing songs, harmonizing a joyful stream Flowers bloom in colors so bright, A gift of nature's delight Underneath a sky so vast, We find the beauty that forever lasts.

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Spike

by Gia Khan Hands together Feet planted Pass it forward Hands up Feet planted Push, push, push!

Up, up, up!

The ball soars as high as a kite The round ball sees the ceiling It flies to the perfect spot in the air All eyes fall on the ball A head quickly turns to it Two special eyes lock onto the ball Run, run!

Squeak! Two special feet stop in a hurry Bend down, down, down A perfect, powerful, pretty jump is what everyone sees With an arched back, a hand flies back SMACK! The ball was hit Dive, dive, dive!

It was too late The ball slams right on the floor over the net That caterpillar has turned into a beautiful butterfly For that spike was perfect.

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Art by Trevor Trieu

Capitalism

by Noora Fatima I work how many days a week, For you, my dears, but the paycheck reeks, Of crushed souls and broken hearts, Namely mine, just to add to cart.

I have no money, Someone help, I am not talented like Michael Phelps.

I live off trinkets, my loves I adore I am a crow, feed me some corn.

Useless or not, my eyes still sparkle, Now show me the price tag, what a debacle!

I am broke and tired, I have but two dimes.

It seems better now to commit monetary crimes.

Art by Gabe Chanos

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My Glorious Verbs

by Joel Siegel

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To be or not to be, That is the question.

Shakespeare can do it, So why can’t I? Who gets to decide whether, Tis nobler in the mind to suffer Or not?

At the end of the day, We must be bellwethers amongst Hoi polloi, and use most pulchritudinous verbiage. *Sung They are am, is, are, was, were, being, been, and be

Art by Tasso Kalliris

The Fallen Ophelia

by Kevin Gill Ophelia women of genteel ma nners A maiden who died in those deep waters.

Hamlet, your love, treated yo u unjustly.

You went crazy for their lack of respect but died a death fitting your ser enity.

Sweet Ophelia, with innocenc e given, you were a rare beauty, even in demise.

Ophelia, even after your solem n death, we mourn.

Your memory lives in a mellifl uous dance.

Art by Harlow Graham

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Art by Liam Groden

Night Sky

by Aditya Rastogi When I look up at the sky, every night I cry, looking at the spectacular sight.

To my delight, the spots in the sky dance, Never fight.

They move and sing, enough to put me in a trance.

Specks in the sky deserve more than just a glance.

They compose and create together, for each other they enhance.

Makes my heart flutter like a feather.

I stay on the ground tethered.

Wishing to be there forever.

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Eyes of Spring Haiku

by Robert Waldeck Sunrise gives way to Day, flowers bloom with new hues.

Clouds turn into spring.

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Art by Lasya Maganti

The Library

by Mateo Rose

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That incredible feeling walking in Where nobody is talking in Reading a book Hidden in a nook J u s t e n j oy i n g h e r s e l f

Meadow

by Alec Seidel Thousands of tiny bells What do they wilt for?

What do they weep for?

Why they droop I’ll never know.

They say blue but they don’t look so They look purple.

Maybe they’re blue on the inside.

Maybe that’s why they look sad.

Ceramic Bowl by Max Moore

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Ceramic Pieces by Sydney Georgie

A Dream’s Antonym

by Duha Azaz The girl sat on a bench Dreaming of her home and ice cream cones Bliss surrounded her imaginary world like a Glass orb.

Shattered.

The ice cream melted, her home swept away in the wind.

Ring ring Her phone

chanted in its persistent tone

Snapping her back to Her seemingly desolate Un-dream.

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Art by Abby Cardarella

My Many Moods

By Charli Williams On blue days, I am feeling serene like a preschooler taking a nap right after a kooky day of school. It is just what you need to make your school day complete. It is just what you need.

On blue days taking naps are on your to do list. When blue days are here, it is just what you need.

On yellow days, I am feeling upbeat like a youngster going to the zoo on a hot summer day. When yellow days come it just feels like you need to have the sun beating down on you.

On yellow days you need to do just what is right for you and not for anyone else. On yellow days doing what is right for you is just what you need to do. When yellow days drive into my mind it feels like I can do anything.

On orange days, I am feeling sprightly like a cheetah hunting his prey. I am feeling powerful. Like the king of the jungle. On orange days being in charge is just what you need.

When orange colored days come around you feel like you could reach up and touch the sky.

On coral days, I am feeling affection like a newborn puppy just coming home. When coral days come around you feel like a superhero. Coral days seem to make you feel unstoppable. On coral days you know whatever you need someone will be there for you. When I feel a coral day coming I jump out of bed and paint a smile on my face.

On purple days, I am feeling melancholy like a child when they gazed their knee. When you feel like you cannot do anything. On purple days there is no way to get you out of your mournful mood. When a purple day comes around you want just howl all day long. With purple days coming along you just need to see a loyal face all day long.

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Ce ramic Po t

by Av ale e Flo re s

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Ce ram ic Piec e

by Ali Woo d

Ceramic Piece

by Kath erine Cheu ng

Military Time

by Dawood Qadeer

Steven can you cancel my three-o-clock appointment?

I am writing and missing deadlines for our product’s deployment.

I’ll follow up later, I won’t let deals pass me by, but it’s 13 at the moment and I work a nine-to-five.

Steven can you cancel my three-o-clock appointment?

I’ve had 20 meetings today and I find it’s quite annoying.

I look out of my televised windows and wonder if she still remembers me?

How much do my kids know?

When climbing the corporate ladder, when you reach the top, there’s nowhere else to go and so it’s still a dead-end job.

Steven can you honor me when I pass away?

My back, it’s really hurting and it’s worsening every day.

I’m going out into the real world because this isn’t working.

Where they call it conversation instead of more networking.

Where it’s not tactical suicide to not know what you’re doing.

To see what I’ve spent my entire life accruing.

Steven when I leave you I hope you’ll be alright, because I’m only working a single tonight.

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Snowfall

by Elliott Osman As the first snowflakes fall, All with their own unique, intricate designs, Landing on the green planes The snow increases, covering the grass.

Within homes snowmen, snow angels, and snowballs are created As the town’s people erupt into games and fun.

The first snow they have seen in years The show continued until dusk, covering the previously plowed roads.

As night turns to day the ground becomes wet, What was once a lush show filled neighborhood Is ridden with gloomy puddles and patches of mud.

As quickly as it started it has ended.

Nothing but silence filled the town The only remembrance of the day is leftover sticks and buttons Of the disappeared snowman.

Art by Lucas Shustek

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Art by Sylvia Bittel

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Art by Rowan Platt 38

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