Agathon Vol. 45

2011

AGATHON 1966 ESTD

THE

ISSUE

45

BARSTOW SCHOOL

LETTER

from the

EDITORS

Creativity. Skill. This combination can cultivate the most splendid of art and writing, but to transcend masterpiece, the artist must possess the final ingredient: courage. Audacity to think outside the box, and then the confidence to show the world. The Agathon serves as a stage for those talented virtuosos, whether they just learned how to piece sentences together or have mastered the ways of the brush. We would like to extend our gratitude to all who helped make this book possible, including:

Mrs. Knopik--Thank you for all the support and kind words through this maze of a process. We appreciate your spirit, attitude, and music selection. We owe our accomplishments to you. As always, thank you.

Staff Members--Thank you for the stories, laughs, and effort you injected into this book. Your tireless work ethic and dedicated attitude were much appreciated. We would not be where we are today without you all. We finally did it! Gold stars for you.

Student and faculty contributors--You are the ones who create this book. Without your gifted minds and talents, the Agathon would be a collection of blank pages. Your work inspires us, and we hope that you will keep inspiring us. We are all so thankful.

Mr. Race--Thank you for your wealth of knowledge. You taught us how to type on a path, use the pen tool, and create an outstanding piece of work. Your sense of humor always lifts our spirits, and for that, we thank you.

Mr. Daniel--Thank you SO MUCH for InDesign. You allowed us to carry our work outside the school and into a more creative atmosphere. Thank you also for your work with the online edition and Issuu. You are the technology god.

Robotics Team--Thank you for letting us into the school each Sunday. We promise you, we are not juvenile delinquents.

Walsworth Publishing--Thank you for taking on our project and continuing the tradition of the Agathon.

Barstow students and faculty, this is your Agathon. We hope that we will continue to inspire the minds, both young and old, featured in our book. So please, enjoy this everlasting gallery of your peers.

-Melissa Martin and Taylor Schwartz

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PUBLISHED BY Walsworth Publishing

STAFF

EDITORS Melissa Martin and Taylor Schwartz STAFF Samantha Barnett, Andrea Blatt, Aidan Coyle, Cole Dattel, Ben Denzer, Skylar Devins, Kaya LeGrand, Conor McMann, Camille O’Leary, Sarah Pourakbar, Shweta Vadlamani, David White, Kathleen White ADVISER Sarah Knopik

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ARTWORK Kingergarten Class Miles Goscha Miles Goscha Mark Luce Jordan Scott Kaya LeGrand Ben Denzer Jay Gillen Cayden Williams Samantha Barnett Samantha Barnett Conor McMann & Aidan Coyle

Kathleen White Miles Lindgren Kathleen White Soumya Avva Shannon Fleming

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PAGE 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

WRITING

Aris Vinsant Elizabeth Baughman Mark Luce Akshay Almelkar Grace Harkins Grace McGowan Taylor Phillips Ronnie Caspers Aaron Dupuis Taryn Blankenship Elizabeth Mixon Stephanie Hamaan Danny Woodhams Lisa Meada

ARTWORK Miles Goscha Kindergarten Kaya LeGrand Sonia Larbi Becky Blades Second Graders

Arju Joshi & Jordin MacKenzie

Claire Lednicky Skylar Devins Lamya Al Douri Phoebe Brous & Caleb Chang

Sage Holmes Melissa Martin Kindergarten David White

PAGE 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

WRITING Shaunak Lokre Annie Rose Watkins Aaron Dupuis Erin Bax Will Pursell Drew Gilworth Alex McDonald Alexx Graham Aaron Dupuis Jeanne Brown Alexey Ayzin Whitney Estes Aaron Dupuis

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Andy Warhol, Kindergarten Class

Gooey Hot and , Sixth t n a s n i V Aris

Driving i n a car to Ne Going to great Gra braska, ndma’s h Soon we ouse are in Tr umbull The scen t of fresh flowers fi lls my no se

in view, s i d r a y ormous As her en iveway, r d r e h o nt We pull i f the car. o t u o h s And I da kitchen r e h o t n i I sprint

And the aro I say hell ma almost puts m o to my g e to sleep . reat Gran Then I op dma. en the ov en and in In cinnam dulge on roll ga lore.

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Miles Goscha, Eleventh

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Elizabeth Baughman, Seventh When I was just as far as I could walk The wind whispered its stories to me The trees told me their tales.

The colors of the world surrounded me, And I could feel the earth.

I felt the plants growing.

I felt every blade of grass.

I felt the strong earth beneath me and I saw, I warmed to see that day, I saw the bark on the trees, with its crackling brokenness, I saw every drop of dew on each leaf with their pure loneliness.

The world showed me its simple secrets of life, And its complexity of fate.

For the first time the world spoke, And I was there to listen.

Miles Goscha, Eleventh

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Marge sends the four grandkids around to the north side of the pond. She unties the trotline from around the cottonwood sapling that shouldn’t be growing on the west side of the dam. She waits and signals Jerry, the oldest, and on three they lift.

She hears the shouts of “Seven, grandma, seven,” but Marge only sees the five treble hooks without stinkbait. The boys walk the line back around the pond, dragging the catfish through the dust. Jerry sets the seven on a stringer and drops them in a five gallon bucket, while Marge takes chicken liver from butcher paper and slithers it on the 12 empty hooks. She leaves the eight with stinkbait to see if she can prove a point to her husband. The cousins each grab a bit of the line, careful to get keep the bait off of the ground and the dangling hooks out of tanned arms. They walk the line back and set it.

On a makeshift table Marge drives a 20 penny nail through the head of each catfish and sets to cleaning them as the boys skip rocks and play guns.

Photograph and Text by Mark Luce, Faculty

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N A D R JO 12

Scott

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Artwork: Kaya LeGrand, Twelfth Text: Akshay Almelkar, Twelfth

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Taylor Phillips, Twelfth There’s a cookie crying somewhere in a jar quite far away, mourning for the melting of his once so chippy day.

There’s a cookie in a cupboard saying “dough oh dough is me,” as deflated as the raisins in his oatmeal skin should be.

There’s a cookie crying somewhere Tears well up in his ic…ing – Anticipating loneliness ‘til stale and cold he dies.

There’s a cookie crying somewhere whose tastes will never be fulfilled.

There’s a cookie crying somewhere Over milk that someone spilled.

Senioritis Ronnie Caspers, Twelfth “It’s senioritis,” they said,

“and there’s no cure.”

I’ve been so lethargic

I’ve got it for su–

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Jay Gillen, Ninth

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Make Believe

Aaron Dupuis, Tenth In a cardboard boat on a paper sea Let’s make believe just you and me You be the captain and I’ll be first mate Grab your compass and don’t be late Let’s make our master plan This map will take us to distant lands In this cardboard boat on this paper sea We’ll both live long and free

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Samantha Barnett, Eleventh

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Tex B Eli lan t by T zab ken ar yn eth s Mi hip a xon nd ,E igh th

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a nth a Sam elfth y b to , Tw Pho rnett Ba

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The Watchmen Stephanie Hamann, Eighth The snow-capped peaks continue, without end, Above the clouds they reach, larger than the Earth.

Pan’s mountains shed majesty on the land, Awake like a watchman, guarding people below As the sun bares its face, the watchmen bask in its light.

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When rain falls from heaven, their silhouette remains.

Their peaks are an adventure for the fearless, They’re the palace of nature, where wildlife dwells.

When all else seems lost, the watchmen remain, Proving hope exists in an evil, cruel world.

Aidan Coyle and Conor McMann, Eleventh

Kathleen White, Twelfth

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Looking out from the windowsill, I could see the Tokyo fish market, and sweaty men moving boxes. I could also see a warehouse below me, with a hole in the roof, where a man sat illustrating something. I wanted to call out to him, but to interject would have been to taint the beauty.

Text: Danny Woodhams, Twelfth

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Photograph: Kathleen White, Twelfth

Miles Lindgren, Fifth

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, Seventh

Squashed by Lisa Maeda

sitting right I found a tiny little frog I was scaredon the sidewalk. At first me? What if what if it jumped up on r maybe it had it was slimy and icky? O I crept closer, disease? It didn’t move. tiny little blob. my eyes fixated on the

Now, I don’t remember what color it was. I don’t even remember what it really looked like, other than the fact that it was a frog and it was small. Still, I remember bending down and staring at it. Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have gone near it.

It stood there like a human had never approached it. Its eyes were staring off at the distance, not bothering to glance at the curious young child beside it. If not already dead, then at least it was very sick and well on its way. At the young age I was at, I wasn’t aware of this so I didn’t just go away and leave it in its peace.

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called out Suddenly, my dad king away, to me. He was wal here I was. I a distance from w t of getting hated the though stood up lost, so I naturally er towards and began to tott ep I took, him. In the first st rtable lump I felt an uncomfo I lifted under my sandal.

I could. A my foot as fast as ent weak. little part of me w y had been Thankfully, nobod dirty deed. around to see the

Soumya Avva, Sixth

’t moved an inch Strangely enough, the frog still hadn ed on. Now it was even under the threat of being stepp tunately got to see squashed to the ground, and I unfor I couldn’t believe what a mashed up frog looked like.

Giant globs of tears it- I, at age 6, was an animal killer. y I had stopped so welled up in my eyes. Curious to wh d towards me slowly. abruptly, my dad paused and walke my face off and I rushed up to him, discreetly wiping Though we walked acting like nothing had happened. , something was back to the car as we normally did happy breeze, I felt different. Instead of the light and plane. the stale and controlled air of an air

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The Three Aliens and The Monster Once upon a time there lived three aliens and their mother. She told them they were old enough to move out. At the last moment she said, “Beware of the monster.” Then they were off.

The first alien was lazy. He built his house out of iron.

Along came the monster. He said, “Little alien let me come in.”

Then the alien replied, “Not under my bald head skin!”

Then the monster punched down the wall, and ate the alien.

The second alien was better than the first. He built his house out of metal.

Then the monster came in and said, “Little alien let me come in.”

The alien replied, “Not under my bald head skin.”

Then the monster punched down the wall and ate the alien in one big gulp.

The third alien was not lazy at all. he built his house out of steel.

Along came the monster. He said, “Little alien let me come in.”

The alien replied, “Not under my bald head skin.”

Then the monster tried to punch down the wall, but it made no mark. So the monster climbed down the chimney. The alien was prepared because he had set a bowl of hot water in the fire.

The monster fell right into the bowl and turned into Monster Soup. The alien was so happy and lived happily every after eating monster soup.

Artwork: Shannon Fleming, Twelfth Text: Shaunak Lokre, Fourth

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BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS

Annie Rose Watkins, Eleventh

There’s an Infection!

The people, they die.

There’s an Infection!

And ink in the sky.

They promised us virtue, They promised us life!

They swore that our bodies Would never feel strife.

My eyes, they burn, My retinae melt.

To see, not believe!

To believe is felt.

The Plague, the Plague!

Their hearts, they stop.

The blood flows thick, Through the cobbles and clots.

One syringe, and another Lay still in the street.

One mistaken step, Regretted bare feet.

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MILES GOSCHA, ELEVENTH

There’s an Infection!

My lungs, they crack.

Oxygen ceases.

I’m vomiting black.

Digits removed, Devoured by mice.

Chemicals stir, Maggots rejoice.

Cadavers fester.

Groans in the air.

Nightshade flourishes.

Nobody’s there.

There’s an infection!

No one survives.

I blame them all, It is they who have lied.

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Sinking Ship by Aaron Dupuis, Tenth Oh I sit here thinking While the ship’s ‘a sinking fast It’s all going under It’s simply not meant to last I just sit and ponder Did you ever wonder If all of life was a mistake If we are all destined to be losers and fakes But then I remember those times spent with you The words we both shared and the feelings so true And I wish for those days back, I wish for the past But I find once more, they were not meant to last So I hang my head as high waters enter the room I hold my breath in and prepare for my doom But then I see your face Clearly in front of me And I wonder if maybe it was really meant to be So I hop up and leave Yes I get off the ship I swim my way home And find my way back to you

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Kindergarten Class

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The Stereotype Erin Bax, Twelfth The stereotype sits quietly in the kitchen, Vogue in one hand, steaming café latte in the other. Her recently polished lilac fingers flip through the pages with ease.

She stops to smell the latest Gucci perfume – “the perfect gift.” Her little mind wanders.

The kitchen door opens, and she looks up coyly as her soft red lips turn up in a smile. The stereotype saunters inside, straining to loosen the blue and black tie around his neck. He gives a quick wave, grabs a beer, and moseys over to the couch.

After 30 seconds of angry searching, he finds the remote and flips past Oprah Winfrey to ESPN. “What the hell, this ref is terrible!” he shouts, almost subconsciously. The stereotype glances up timidly, takes a sip of her coffee, and glances back down.

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Sonia Larbi, Tenth

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Sanctuary Will Pursell, Ninth Hidden under the rock was I, The waves nearby crashed, they splashed and played against the rock, Each individual wave, a tiny finger, looking, searching for a way in, Ever so often finding crack here, a crack there, dousing me with Fearful water, chilling me to the very bones that carved my little Sanctuary; Hours went by, Days it seemed, Drip! Drip! Drip! The maddening sound a scourge unto my ears, the water The very essence of my seemingly endless or edification as it may be, And there I stood, sometimes cringing, sometimes standing firm; Drip! Drip!

Yet it was my duty, I had to stay, I needed to stay, for I was humanity’s Sanctuary 38

Becky Blades, Parent

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Top: Gavin Passanisi, Second Right: Nathan Francis, Second Left: Emersen MacKenzie, Second

Below: Arjun Joshi, Kindergarten Right: Jordin MacKenzie, First

White Wonderful Winter Drew Gilworth, Second

Snow falls, Animals leap.

White wonderful winter!

Grown-ups snuggle, Kids shiver.

White wonderful Winter!

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Dear Beloved Family, The war is tiresome and the battlefield is strewn with what used to be brave, fighting men. The sounds are overwhelming, the bang of muskets and clanging of bayonets come from every direction sending shivers down my spine. No matter what we do we can’t seem to make much progress toward Concord, but we still have hope. I sit in a small trench, built only hours ago, covered in dirt, sweat and who knows what else, but all I can think about is my family and then I remember why I’m fighting: for you. The Redcoats are slowly creeping toward us, but we are holding them back the best that we can. I hope you know that whenever I feel like giving up, I see all of your beautiful reflections in my sweat, which drips from all over. I miss you all, and if The note ended there; nothing else was written...

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Kieran McMann, Eighth

Claire Lednicky, Eighth

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Demeter Alexx Graham, Ninth

And so shall the body of Earth Be fruitless as My torch lit serenade to desperation Crackling through bitter wind

That I, myself Have wrought against The hours that I drift between And never change

With torch lit serenades To grief And I would die to Simply serenade the Coming of the blooms The blossoms in her wake

But, oh To lend my black-eyed Blood-red children in the barley To the shaper of dreams That I may see that smiling face In the torchlight of My serenade to her

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Skylar Devins, Ninth

Lamya Al Douri, Twelfth

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COLOR

Aaron Dupuis, Tenth Camille O’Leary, Ninth Color bleeds across the page Staining red what once was Reflection - beige Black corrupts, Perplextion; and soon consumes All that once lay in this paper tomb A troub’ling imperfection.

My double in the mirror glass Is gone from my perception.

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Pheobe Brous, Second

Caleb Chang, Second

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FATE

Je a n n e B ro w n , N in th

When I think of Fate, I think of the end, But what if it’s merely a new beginning?

Fate could simply be Destiny.

Destiny sounds more appealing than Fate.

Destiny sounds like a road that has no wrong turns, A road that always leads you on the right path.

Destiny is carefree and promising.

Sure, that sounds wonderful and blissful, But I want to deal with a challenge every once-in-a-while.

Fate sounds like having a choice.

And with that choice, there is only one right answer.

A 50% change of getting it right.

And if you don’t? You make a mistake.

What’s wrong with that?

Making mistakes is a part of Fate.

It’s a part of Destiny.

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Sage Holmes, Second

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Haiku Alexey Ayzin, Fourth

Beauty all above us For the sky holds the secret No one shall know it

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51

Ms. Ramsey’s class, Kindergarten

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Italy at Heart

Whitney Estes, Sixth

The sights, the smells are so new to me. I love the cobble stone roads as my feet click against them. Buildings tower over me. Mom grips my hand so I won’t get lost.

Smooth sauce smells fill my nose that I can almost taste. I sit down at a street corner shop, eating fresh pizza, right out of the oven, like heaven on a plate.

I go into a small, colorful shop and all I see are masks in every color, shape, and size. How do I pick from such a selection of beauty? Anticipation creeps into me as the one hanging gently on a silver hook looks me in the eyes. It has black trim and a glowing gold cover fits my face. Perfect! I hope I will wear this one day at Mardi Gras.

But good things don’t last as long as they should stay, and we have to leave. I waved goodbye to the amazing country of Italy.

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Artwork: David White, Twelfth Text: Aaron Dupuis, Tenth

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Agathon 2011