Grafton High School presents
a celebration of diverse literary pieces and art from the creative minds of talented students
The War Room 4-5 My Own Song 6-7 Cocoa Butter Kiss 8-9 October 10-11 My Youth is Yours 12-13 Having Tea With an Enemy 14-15 Called to the Office 16-17 As the Years Pass 18-19 Not All Are Silent 20-21 One Sweet World 22-23
Student Editors & Layout Designers: Molly Biebel, Sophia Didier, Angela Larson, Tyler Wolter Advisors: Ms. Tracy Brogelman & Ms. Sarah DeVinney
Art by: Mackenna Amundson Cover Art by: Joie Isaacson
Art by: Joie Isaacson
A War Room
by Luke Nitz
Beautiful music could be heard from miles away, echoing down the concrete and tile halls. The sound of yelling and laughing hid beneath the poetry of 21 Savage and Lil Uzi Vert. A beaten, stained, gray door separated 36 young men from the rest of the world. Behind that ugly door, was their home. A home strewn with dirty laundry, pads, mud, and so many shoes. The house reeked of body odor, but they were proud of it, because they earned that scent. Somehow it did not matter how often the family cleaned, how many times they sprayed air freshener, or how many times they enforced the no throwing stuff rule, the room was always trashed. It was their sanctuary, where school was no longer on school grounds. Where they could talk freely, play their songs, be themselves, without the interference of a dictatorship like administration. Each man had their own space. Some carved their names in it, so all future occupants would know whose cleats they had to fill. Some decorated with stickers, displaying their pride and love for the program, and some decorated with only their blood, sweat, and gear, knowing that they were there for business, and business only. Beyond these broken lockers lay a small hallway. A bench lined the near wall, facing a set of double doors. Once a week, the 36 brothers lined up, side by side, two by two, no longer just a group of men, but a family, to face whatever Goliath stood in front of them. When those doors opened, the music, the shouting, the laughing all stopped. Their minds returned to their lockers, all the names carved in the walls, all the sweat, and blood that painted the room. They thought of their home, their sanctuary, and knew that for the next four hours, that is what they were fighting for.
Art by: Molly Biebel
My Own Song by Molly Biebel
Feeling the music The passion within me Let it loose Nothing to lose You think I’m going to let it rest? I bellow a sound that some detest Free I’m being me In the choir I never fit So I dropped out Decided to quit I love the song But I can’t sing along I don’t belong So I carry on singing my own song
Then I remember The point of music is not to blend in So why should anyone force me to change? The voice That wasn’t my choice? No one will appreciate The beauty of a different sound Let me sing out and be proud Everyone just loves to hate The music I hold true to me Is not what I’m told to be The voice, the song that I let ring Is not the song I’m told to sing I will never ever change a thing
The voice I hear Singing high Hitting notes I’d never try With a sound so rare I sing I scare A tone so low Don’t let it show Hide it Always doubt Someone might hear So insecure
Cocoa Butter Kiss by Katelyn Lanctot
Art by Sophia De La Pasqua
For most people in the world, deodorant is a part of their daily routine. Well, unless you are a middle school boy; then you doubt the power of deodorant and rely on the power of your trusty AXE. Please stop that. Anyway, deodorant. Introduced to us at the tender age when we reach official ‘pre-teen’ status and encouraged to be used after showers, after working out, before beginning the day, really anytime you deem necessary. With so many people using deodorant, we should, as a developed society, be able to function on one or two types of deodorant- two only because of those with super sensitive skin. Alas, this is not the case, and instead we have been subject to the torture known as female deodorant. What is the difference you may ask? Well, scientifically speaking, there is no reason that these two deodorants should be marketed separately. Due to the money hungry world, however, I must peruse aisles of ‘cocoa butter kiss, with delicate sweat activated scent beads, goes on smooth, doesn’t stain clothes, washes off of clothes if you happen to get it on by accident, but also will do virtually nothing if you are a normal person who has working sweat glands’. All this I must endure in the hopes of not only finding a smell that doesn’t make my eyes water, but one that might have a chance at doing its job. Oh cocoa butter kiss, how I trusted you. How I wore my sheerest and grayest tops only to be broken hearted as you abandoned me to the wolves of daily perspiration. Yet there arises a solution, should my fragile female heart be brave enough to pursue it. I can see them now, lining the shelves in larger containers with price tags containing much smaller numbers than I am used to. Their silhouettes scream ‘MANLY’, ‘SPORTY’, and most importantly, ‘WILL ACTUALLY DO WHAT WE ADVERTISE DOING’, their labels proudly declaring they will stand up to the worst of your daily sweating. If only it was acceptable for me to abandon brands named after birds and things you whisper to your close friends to finally feel fresh and clean! If only my body could handle the ingredients packed into those other deodorants for my masculine peers! If only we could avoid gendering products as casual and frequently used as deodorant! That would be too much to ask I fear. So I will simply sit here in all my sweaty glory, the faint scent of cocoa butter kiss lingering under my arms.
October by Rebecca Simmons
october, embraced me, and as the cool air and the crisp, saturated colors of the leaves fall from the sky like raindrops on a bright, willful april day, bodies chilled all the way up their spines, vibrant, plump pumpkins find their way onto one front step of a house to another. smiles dance from face to face as children prepare for halloween, candies, costumes and laughter fill the silence, though as i walked from house to house, surrounded by the noise, i still heard silence. by the first of october my grandmother was stitched to a hospital bed her life clutched the hands of machines that kept her breathing. two weeks into october they were planning her funeral. her death remains unsolved like the lists of murder cases piling up forgotten. however, she is not forgotten. that was my last time seeing her face itâ€™s funny, i remember her suffocating slightly painful hugs hugs that took my breath away hugs that made me want to escape the embrace because it was all too tight.
â€œSolo in Yellowâ€? by: Sadie Monreal now, i realize those hugs were full of pure love compassion, empathy and everything she could possibly say to make me smile without using any words. october embraces me and i know my grandmother permits herself into the sweet candied, glazed over air that lays heavy around me the air that october brings. every year i know she imprints herself into the leaves and the wholesome scents of cider and birch she is here and always will be what october brings is her.
My Youth is Yours
by Cailyn Yang
Art by: Cassie Rice
I sit and look at the corrupted youth who are shaped into society I hear the silent sobs asking themselves who they are I see judgement against the youth who stand to be different I see prejudice in the eyes of a parent against what used to be their child I feel pity for those who dare to express difference, They will feel the wrath of conformity I observe headlining murders used as a method to silence their individuality I see our country falling apart like the families who see the ones they love dead I turn my back allowing myself back in a bubble of comfort I ignore it, until it happens to me.
Art by: Jenny Macholl
Going Out for Tea with an Enemy by Angela Larson
“It’s a beautiful day for tea! “Oh, hands down!” “Pinkies up.” Thumbs down. “Try to smile more.” I then frown. “What’s wrong with you?!” “What. Do. You. Mean?” “Are you mad at me?” “That’s quite absurd.” “Why are you mad at me?!” “It’s a beautiful day for tea!”
Called to the Office
by Gabrielle Sparapani
A blank homework quiz sat on the desk in front of me, gazing in my direction as if to tease me.
A Tuesday like all the rest, my homework incomplete and my mind drifting. It didn’t take me long to find a happy place: bright, uninterrupted sun shining down, warming my face as a small breeze pushed my hair off my shoulder. I felt the corners of my mouth bend up into a grin as I could almost taste the sweet, fresh, spring air. I was quickly pulled back into reality as the all too familiar ring of the loudspeaker echoed through the classroom. The much too enthusiastic office secretary began her scripted opening “Mr. Bergmann.” My heart was no longer in my chest as I could feel it beating in my stomach. The ringing in my ears got louder with each shallow breath I drew in. The tension in the room was so high that I was convinced the cold, unwelcoming, cinder block
walls were going to crumble. Everyone was waiting, hoping it wasn’t their name that would soon be called. I dropped my head, somehow thinking that it would help me remain unnoticed. My hands were shaking under my forehead and my legs were soon to follow. The eerie silence was broken by my ancient desk, obnoxiously squeaking each time my heel hit the ground. I waited along with everyone else, preparing for the snickers that would follow whoever’s unfortunate name would be called. I closed my eyes, attempting to find the warm spring day that had previously consumed my thoughts. My eyes fluttered open to find twenty eight of my peers looking in my direction as I heard the words I dreaded most, “Can you please send Gabi Sparapani to the office?”
Art by: Kaylie Mills
As The Years Pass
by Katelyn Lanctot
January was hailed with metallic streamers and noisy whistles Sleepy eyes fighting to stay open, Fighting to prove that they were old enough, Brave enough, Strong enough to defy the usual bedtime of 8:30 To ring in the new year And shriek as the grownups kissed And blearily shuffle up the stairs to nests of blankets that fought off the cold. Winter stretched on sluggishly through February, And soon classrooms were filled with pink and red. Hearts hung precariously from the ceiling and cupids pointed their bows across the room To the tune of “sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g”. Little hands carefully wrote out the names of their classmates on valentines, Struggling with which ones to gift to the kids they didn’t quite like, Taping boxes of sweet candy hearts to the backs of these tokens of love That at such a young age Meant way too much. The taste of birthday cake was sweet on tongues as March arrived, Slivers of wrapping paper decorating the ground The same way the metallic letters hung from the kitchen window Proclaiming ‘Happy Birthday’. Fingers were sticky with glue as leprechaun traps were delicately constructed, Baiting the characters of stories about luck and charm with golden jelly beans That ended up consumed after dinner. Patience was a virtue these hunters would acquire with age, For now they were happy to accept the prize of imagination. April rained down on sidewalks that had just begun to warm As winter slunk back into its dark den. Rivers of melted snow and ice combined With their new found neighbors of puddles and raindrops,
Racing towards sewer grates prone to trapping Training wheels on bikes and causing bloody knees. Matching umbrellas hung in the closet above matching rain boots, Their bright plastic protecting red and yellow striped socks As intense water fights waged in the puddles accompanied by shrieks and giggles. May arrived in a flurry of soft petals and allergy attacks, Hours spent traveling from one store to the next In order to find the perfect blossoms to decorate the yard. Hands and arms and occasionally faces were covered in dirt And little backs ached from a day full of planting and potting and watering, Learning that in order for something to grow, You have to care for it. June came wailing in, With the soft smell of a new baby brother wrapped preciously In a pale blue blanket and a soft hat covering his small ears. The sound of crashing waves intertwined with the smell of sunscreen, Swimsuits were worn and washed and worn again, Ice cream painted mouths and cheeks and wrists as it melted in the blazing sun, Nights were spent on blankets in the driveway Counting stars and finding constellations while the grownups Talked and made smores around a roaring fire. Blankets shielded little ears from the terror of July’s beloved explosions, The red, blue, and silver raining down into the harbor As mosquitoes were valiantly battled with bug spray and slapping hands. The swingset in the background was a tower, a palace, a jungle hideout, a ferry. Miniature princesses, dragon tamers, lost travelers, runaways, and explorerssame wooden boards day after day.
The soft blue blow up pool left patches of dead grass in the yard from constant use, Water dancing in the light as it propelled through the air from constant splashing. In a flurry of last minute vacations August appeared, Promising the arrival of a new school year. Excited hands reached for the most colorful notebooks, The box of crayons that was 64 count instead of 24, The folders that glittered and shimmered with glee. Final moments were spent watching sunsets on the dock with parents, The last dives of the summer were bravely executed Into grandma and grandpa’s glittering pool. Moments were counted down until the small adventurers would Seemingly lose the freedom that enabled them to roam the sun filled days of summer. September meant a trip to Bay Beach Amusement Park To celebrate a little sister that really wasn’t so little anymore. Amber and garnet leaves decorated the trees, Prompting family drives with no real purpose other than To revel in the changing of seasons Summer dresses and sandals slowly gave way To light up sneakers and hooded sweatshirts, Windows closed at dusk as the bitter fall wind swept in, And nightlights emitted their soft glow earlier and earlier each day. Once again candles were extinguished on top of a cake as October softly landed, This time for a little brother who was happy He wasn’t the only boy in the house anymore. Leaves were raked into leaf houses, Each master builder bragging as they raked master bedrooms, three bathrooms, And a kitchen that took up half of the yard. Halloween costumes were chosen with careful consideration, Pirates with bloody swords and fairies with sparkling face paint, Giant pumpkins decorated the porch as just inside, Ghost stories were whispered with flashlights under the storyteller’s chin
Until someone inevitably got scared and ran for mom. The smell of turkey wafted through November, Mouths watering at the thought of stuffing and potatoes and corn, Complaining about broccoli and carrots and dreaded green beans. Finger paint handprint turkeys were proudly displayed on the fridge As the last of the dying leaves released their grip Floating to greet the ground that waited for them below. Leaf houses were smaller as more weekends were spent Raking their colors into cloudy blue bags, Winter boots were taken from the shelf in the basement And rehoused on the shelf in the hallway, Gleaming eyes checking each morning for even a hint of snow. December fell as gracefully as the first snowfall, Coating the world in white and ice, Inspiring winter castles and journeys to meet the ice queen Armed only with foam swords and icicles. Paper chains hung loosely on bedroom walls, Each torn off strip promising that Christmas was fast approaching. A tall evergreen was gingerly displayed in the living room, A cacophony of ornaments ranging in size, shape, and color. Hot chocolate and cookies were devoured on Christmas morning, The floor a graveyard of wrapping paper as new toys were admired and opened. January was hailed with metallic streamers and noisy whistles And eyes that found it a bit easier to stay open. Shrieking as the grownups kissed And blearily shuffling up the stairs to nests of blankets to fight off the cold.
“RS2” by: Rebecca Simmons
Not All Are Silent by Sophia Wildermuth
I sit and bare witness to all of the sorrow and despair that never ceases to engulf and plague the seemingly innocent within society, I hear the wrenchingly bitter cries of the impoverished and underprivileged, whose painfully thin, frail bodies and hopeless eyes wander aimlessly as the more fortunate pass, never looking them in the eye, I see the tremendous mounds of food, piled high to the heavens, on the plates of those who’ll never be able to devour its entirety, all the while ignoring the grumbling stomachs of the penniless, I observe the hardworking and skillful businessman, who’s a father and a husband, yet spends late nights at the office, missing the countless milestones and celebrations while consumed in the success of his own career, I sense the longing and intense desire of disadvantaged children who crave the knowledge that education and schooling teach, while the ignorant few take their privilege for granted and don’t make it to their own graduation, I see the plastered on smiles of those who emit exuberance and aspiration, yet deep down inside they themselves are defeated and spiritless, Although I view upon these crippling, yet inevitable, impurities of society and hear the piercing wails of the needy, not all succumb to silence, I see those defiant few who rise against the oppressive and sinful nature of this world, fighting against the wicked figures of corruption and resisting the pressure to conform to the toxic ideals that torment and infect the minds around them, It’s too easy to become immune to the social ills within society, yet all it takes is for few to awaken from their naive slumber to witness the relentless evils infesting all.
Art by: Kenzie Schultz
One Sweet World by Cassie Sohr
Oh cream! Oh sweet cream of ice, Of vanilla and cocoa bean swirls, Of dough with chips of chocolate bliss Of fudgy brownies my taste buds wing Of Ben of Jerry, (What genius was bestowed upon you?) Of Vermont, where this fine confection was first created The question, O cream!, is how can thee be so delectable? Answer. All the ingredients, so different, and unique Yet together, they form a magical tub of whimsy Each person is an ingredient in the recipe of life One Sweet World
a large thank you to our club members, teacher advisors and all who submitted.
The GHS annual literary magazine: creative works of fiction, poetry, non-fiction and art created by GHS students.
Published on May 16, 2018
The GHS annual literary magazine: creative works of fiction, poetry, non-fiction and art created by GHS students.