Spring 2012 Xanadu

7/31/2019 Spring 2012 Xanadu

1/107

Xanadu2012

Words & Punctuation


2/107

Xanadu

Vol. 51Spring 2012

Walt Whitman High SchoolWest Hills Road, Huntington Station, New York

11746

Over the last ten years,Xanaduhas changed- a lot. Some of thechanges have been due to technology and some due to artistic and philo-sophical ideologies. e magazine has changed in shape and size and con-tent.Xanaduis defined by the people who have edited her and havecontributed to her content. e ladyXanadunever shares the same voice orpersonality as the year prior.

Clearly, this is the case with what you are now holding. Like somany organizations in our district,Xanadulost its budget. at said, wehave figured out clever ways of surviving and still producing award-winningproducts. We are proud of this creature.

e poets, prose writers, essayists, artisans, and photographers ofWalt Whitman fill these pages. e editors have meticulously arranged andselected the contributions. is magazine is the production of a tireless andthoughtful collective. No oneeditor worked hours on grammar of design.is magazine is the result of patience and cooperative people who trulyvalue creative expression. is magazine reflects not only a vibrant andthoughtful community, but also a dedicated crew of insightful editors whocare deeply about Walt Whitmans insightful soul.

eXanadustaff would like to thank our principal Mrs. Acker andour English Department chair Mrs. Berman for their continuing support.We would also like to thank Mrs. Latko and Mr. Pipolo for inspiring somany students. Most of the works in this magazine come from their dedica-tion to encourage creative thought.

We apologize for our inability to include all the artistic talent pre-sented to us this year. However, we would like to thank Mrs. Amakawa,

Mrs. Ponte, and Ms. Tinucci for all their support and remarkable contribu-tions.

Lastly, we would like to thank all of the musicians and volunteersfor their efforts in this wintersXanadu Fundraising Concert. ey were in-strumental in raising a large portion of the money that helped to fund thismagazine.


3/107

Julie BishopAmelia Goodman

Phil Gladkov

Michael RexArina LitarovMaryam ChoudharyFatima ChoudharyCheryl RodriguezKathryn RouseSarah RiordanJasmine YosofiElsa CheungTaylor NealJim Campbell

Gabrielle Robertson

Kyle Montemurro


4/107

Twelve Night Stay in the Hell HotelDomino DestructionLike a Pennys Worth

ree Bus Rides and a Taxi AwayWhere Im From

Somewhere...Metro CardQuadratic Formula

AwkwardBlueGrey

Envy Poeme Pangs of Jealousy

Cruel PunishmentI Am Tired

Why I Will Be the Perfect FatherIm Sorry

How to Be a Human:Waiting for James

e Living LieYour Butterfly Effect

Now You Tell Me

Defense MechanismWith My Eyes Closed

I RememberDiversity Means

e world is made up of fragmentsPunctuation Poem

Two Years ApartTrash Bags

ObserveSoul Poem

So I Put On a Face and SmiledCollision

My Mind Makes Me HesitateAnger

e Bombs had Already Been Dropped

Jackson HoffmannJackson HoffmannAlyssa VallarDjenane JeanJesus Beltran

Koren DiamondAmelia GoodmanAmelia GoodmanJon CollinsJon CollinsChris TufoChris TufoHasan HasmaniNick MendezJohn SchrammJohn SchrammElsa CheungEleni ToubanosKathryn RouseKathryn RouseGabby Ricciuti-GomesGabby Ricciuti-Gomes

Kyle MontemurroKelly CarmineNicole RaynorJulie BishopDanielle SaccenteJohn AikenTaylor NealTaylor Neal

Jasmine YosofiJeremy CirilloFrank PepeFrank PepeJoe CorbettTricia GrudensMatt Potenza

Poetry.................................................. ..Pages 6-60Prose .................................................. Pages 61-76


5/107

Pea sized eyesAnd I Still Dont Know Where Im Going

Makes Me Wonder Why We Have One At AllLove Like Art

Five More Minutes

Defensive BehaviorIn the Hands of Others

en e Light Turned Green...Killer PoetBeing Busy

IronyMother Earth

e Seasons of Mary

Fire and IceMemory

Cookie CrumbsLunes

A Walk in the ParkUnknown Number

4/29/12Would She Still Love Me If She Knew

Ill Have the Usuale World is More Important...No Teacher Left Behind

A Modest Proposal...College Essay

Nancy HoangAlex DiamondKatie GrudensFatimah ChoudharyBrooke Bifulco

Greg ApostleGreg ApostleLexy DickersonLexy DickersonHaley DeRosaHaley DeRosaTiffany HalajianSarah Riordan

Jillian KellyJohn GerardKyle MontemurroVarious PoetsPhil GladkovTaylor NealKyle HensonAlyssa Vallar

Nancy HoangSarah RiordanNikhil BartolomeoAmelia GoodmanJulie Bishop


6/107

Twelve Night Stay in the Hell Hotel

Nobody told me how much a room would cost.

I chuckled at the radiologists news

that my lung looked like a shriveled washcloth.

Four tubes and two cocktails later the chuckle had passed

through the air and faded into oblivion, its origin barelyproducing a whimper of disapproval. I had checked in.

I was frozen inside my body, able to see and hear

but not able to speak. A committee of eyes stared into mine,

looking for any indication of a good sign and hope.

I fell back into a heavy slumber until morning. I rose

to the gentle voice of the pediatric nurse. e gentle woman

brandished my life like a foil of sport. I was here to stay.

Like a lox, I lay there but I was not cured. Time

flexed its muscles and chocked me to insanity

but I could see no light. e light moved further away

and I drew hope from the eight by seven outside world.

I could have created my present but I let it create me.

Before I left for hell I should have made sure I had key.

-Jackson Hoffmann


7/107

Domino Destruction

I was sitting

in the poorly lit

dining room playing

with my late aunts dominoes.

I lined them up in an unrealistically

sophisticated formation and the black dots

stared back at me as if they were the eyes of the

terracotta soldiers. When I pushed the first piece of

faux-marble down, the fifteenth one fell but not the second.

I pushed the second one and the windows shattered behind me.

Reluctantly, I pushed the third domino and as soon as it clicked on

the wooden table I fell off of my chair like a monkey that missed the

next vine.

-Jackson Hoffmann


8/107

Like a Pennys Worth

Sometimes I feel like a penny,

its copper glow alienating itself from every other coin

as it waits in its dusty grave at the bottom of a savings jar,

buried in the shadow of other more appealing change.

-Alyssa Vallar


9/107

ree Bus Rides and a Taxi Away

Run along A warm summer afternoon

allows the days to pass without care. e

atmosphere split like a period separating twosentences. Run along, the jaded mother told

her daughter. Whistled off in the daze of her

mind as if time stood at a standstill, she sat

vacant in mere silence. Pitied among the other

mothers in the park, she bore no remorsereleasing a deliberate stare at the trio, with

murky plum circles branding her gaze,

waiting for the stranger who provided her

with the momentary closure she wishes that

she never knew, let alone be her only glue.Four years after she was gone her daughter

learned why Mommys favorite park was

three bus rides and a taxi away.

-Djenane Jean


10/107

Where Im From

For Willie Perdomo

Where Im From, the doorbell is a love letter asking to come in.

Where Im From, you can smell puppies as if theyre the only lovable

fragrance.

Where Im From, hearing wake up you have school today is another

day at the job.Where Im From, the front door tells everyone hello and goodbye.

Where Im From, sirens are an alarm clock I dont have to set.

Where Im From, the staircase is the careless peoples restroom.

Where Im From, a mothers voice and appearance says I care son

and Im here.Where Im From, made me realize I Could Do Better!

-Jesus Beltran


11/107

Somehow No Matter Where We Are

Somehow no matter where we are,were pulled next to each other

like the ocean water crawls upon the beach

during the tide, it just happens.

e force of nature is stronger than

both of us but I like it.But what happens when the force pulling us together

causes us to fall?

When what originally was pulling us together

is now making us drop...

like my pen to the ground, beneath my feetit dropped.

-Koren Diamond


12/107

Metro Card

Im empty.

Toss me on the ground.

Tear me up.

row me out.

Im drained.

eres no more use.

I understand.

Just cut me loose.

I lived close to you.

To your money, phone,

warmed by your body,

now all alone.

You gave me life,

I dedicate it to you.

But we must part,

its what people do.

-Amelia Goodman


13/107

Quadratic Formula

And we just go round and round

to find our roots

because after everything is factored out,

there lies the answer.

But what about the roots

labeled irrational?

If they go on and on

with no known pattern,

they dont have to be irrational,maybe just eccentric.

Or the imaginary roots?

ey seem real to me.

To themselves.if theyre imaginary,

they still have significance.

Lets throw away the labels

and just let them be.

-Amelia Goodman


14/107

Awkward

A Christmas ad comes on TV in November.

It makes me wonder what kind of idiot would start shopping now,until my mom walks in with bags of gifts.

Uh... like for my family, I guess.

e girl Ive been crushing on said she liked the flowers we walked by.

I said, thank you.

But nothing I know.

But yeah, I was saying um,

and everyone is once more talking over me.

I was telling a story, did I not say?

I guess not.

I sit here day after day,

but nobody knows but me.

I fade to the back, but not the very back.

My existence is apparent.

My social skills are not.

My rough exterior shows

lies to the eyes of the public

who fail to see whats inbetween the lines,who fail to see the signs that perhaps I

could fit in if someone would just spend some time,

with me.

Ill stumble over myself,

Ill mix up my words,

Ill correct your mistakesand I wont fit in,

in the hopes youll accept me all the same.

-Jon Collins


15/107

Blue

What is blue if not the sky or the ocean?

Blue is the worn jeans Ive left on the floor,

wrinkled with memories worn into its fibers.

e memories of but only a day ago,

when my soul was the same blue as those jeans.

I had a day of panic, questioning loyalty,

overcome with anxiety.

I couldnt breathe.

My face, should have turned blue

as the expression it wore.

I let out a gasp after what felt like an eternity.

Only to find dissatisfaction

still as blue as the bed I went to lay on.

Just as soft too.

Perhaps tomorrow can wash away this blue.

-Jon Collins


16/107

Grey

Greif

is as morbidly hollow

as a pitiful death in vain.

Devoid

like the bleakest morgue

at midnight.

Barren

like the deepest crater

of the dark side of the moon.

-Chris Tufo


17/107

Envy PoemFor Julie Sheehan

I envy you truly. Truly I do.Everything about me envies everything about you.My slower time around the track envies you.e way I slip on socks envies you.e most basic particles of the atoms thatform my structure envy you.My very blood envies you.

Watch yourself, for I envy you.

e bunched up wedgie I haveafter a long car ride envies you.Just like how my deodorantstick envies you.Also similar to how each follicle

of hair on my legs envy you.

Me not sending an RSVP for your party,both me unable to go and how I envy you.

My leaving before you could askfor a ride home: envy.

My fake smile while Icongratulate you: envy.My fighting the urge to trip youat the finish line: envy.How often I find myselfrandomly envying you.

e sad thing is, I dont envy you,not really.Ill be happy one dayand maybe youll find yourself

writing a poem about envying me.

-Chris Tufo


18/107

e Pangs of Jealousy

Jealousy is a cunning face

with a mouth that spits out lies,

stories of a liar, and unsmiling eyes.

Its a constant nightmare filling

the mind with insecurity.

Its a boxer throwing punches

but never finding his target.

And jealously will leave even the richest

nothing but beggars.

-Hasan Hasmani


19/107

Cruel Punishment

I am weakened by the progressive

introduction, a stampede closing in.

Hypnotic piano keys steadily

synchronize with heavy bass kicks,

luring

me like a Sirens song.

It is impossible to ignore

the torturing bliss.

I am inevitably trapped

in a prison of pure euphoria,

adoring every second spent in containment.

Where one cruel punishment ends

another one begins,

attacking

a wound that has grown worse

over the years.

My dependency on an

intangible

force is stronger than an addicts

cravings, my vice being in the form

of a wavelength.

-Nick Mendez


20/107

I Am Tired

I am not empty, I am tired.

Still soaking in your knowledge

waiting for more words to wash away my confusion.

I write for you. I write about you

while searching for that approving nod.

Imagery, personification, metaphor, paradox;

I am open like a shelf gathering these tools.

Tools destined to build something metaphysically worthy

or not so worthy.

-John Schramm


21/107

Why I Will Be the Perfect Father

Do you think youll ever instill even the smallest amount of commonsense

into the thing

you believe is the best way of living.

Can you comprehend that your criticisms

wrote the book on

How To Be a Hypocrite.

But the word hypocrite is something you never took the time to

lookup

most likely misused

millions of times by you.

So disregard statements too wordy for this simplified

silhouette of you.

Can your rational thought process invoke some rationality?

Or has your brain been blown up too many times

for blood to even consider

wasting oxygen

on something it knows you wont do anyway.

-John Schramm


22/107

Im Sorry

Humans.

We lie to and hurtthose who are dear.

Afterwards?

Easy--

we apologize.Im sorry.

Overused. Worn out.

A misconception that these two words

work magically to erase all the damage done.

ey dont.

-Elsa Cheung


23/107

How to Be a Human:

I am going to look you in the eyes

rather than my illuminated phone screen;

I am going to offer advice or comment

on your troubles and worries;

I am going to show compassion and sympathy

rather than my usual blank stare.

For once, I will be a breathing, reactive, human

not a brick wall.

For once, I will be your friend.

-Eleni Toubanos


24/107

Waiting for James

I sat uncomfortably in the corner chipping paint off of the pale whitewalls waiting for my brother, James.

is man I vaguely knew was waiting too.

He was dressed in jeans, a striped collared shirt and running sneakers.

He rushed in with a smile from coaching the schools cross countryteam and a long day of teaching math.

e man waited every day at the same time just for a timed hour longconversation with James.

ey talked about the weather, sports, feeling better or about themaze inside his head.

But he would normally just listen with his head down on the table,counting the minutes till he left.

But the man waited like he was waiting for something to change, sodetermined to see my brother and so caring and hopeful to see himbetter.

I always wondered why he waited;

he had his own family, tomorrows lesson to prepare, and his ownproblems.

But I was happy he waited every day.

I started to wait for him; we were both waiting for the same thing.

-Kathryn Rouse


25/107

e Living Lie

e unbearable weight of this lie sinks to the pit of my stomach.

I can taste it.

Its rough texture lingering,

waiting to find its way out.

But if I tell you, I might lose you.

So I let the lie live in my stomach and hide behind my teeth.

Letting it burn my throat like poison.

is lie is like a disease.

It intoxicates my mind, filling it with illusions.

I breath it, I eat it, I feel its untruthfulness.

I am it.

-Kathryn Rouse


26/107

Your Butterfly Effect

We danced,

we leapt,

we turned.

Together.

Now you continue with

your dancing,

your leaping,

and

your turning.

But I sit amongthe rubble of

my shattered existence.

completely unaware

that your simplistic rhythmdestroyed so much.

Your ripple

created a wave

that drown me in an ocean,

far too big.

-Gabby Ricciuti-Gomes


27/107

Now You Tell Me

You were the one

who changed it all.

You showed me

a different night-

not the black one

that swallows you,

but the deep navy

that holds you.

I saw things differently,

but so did you.

Now you tell me

that the night wontalways be that perfect navy.

It will in fact, swallow you

and never spit you out.

-Gabby Ricciuti-Gomes


28/107

''I made a list of things I have to rememberand a list of things I want to forget,but I see they are the same list.''- Linda Pastan

Defense Mechanism

Closing my eyes to the memory of youis like painting these iron bars sky blue.For a moment reassurance is a breeze on my cheektending to the mark of your lipsthat stings when I speak.

But when the wind rises more than my pain it does seizeand my body becomes a house of leaves.

With eyes closed my lids are fresh paintwhite enough to dress the devil to look like a saint.But they are only as thick as the first coatand my wound never dried like ink on your note.

So the best I can do is make a tint of your sinthat once smeared on my flesh made its way in.

I can shut my eyes to forget you,but Id be forgetting myself too.

- Kyle Montemurro


29/107

With My Eyes Closed

With my eyes closed, I am at peace

with myself, and my thoughts.

And then I think of you and drown

in the deep murky sea water.

I used to be able to close my eyes to

a night sky before fireworks, never knowing

what happy thought from my day I would rethink.

But youre the dirty snow on the side of my road:

disgusting, no longer pure, and distracting.

Like the black ice that no one sees,

I always slip and fall whenever

I close my eyes

and think of you.

-Kelly Carmine


30/107

I remember the vibrant purple flowers you gave me,

begging for forgiveness.

How you said you couldnt picture your life without me,

suddenly you pushed me away like the lightening bolts

that struck the dark lilac sky.

en I think to myself how

the electric purple flowers that you gave me

died the day I gave up on you.

How

the dark orchid and cranberry pink braceletthat I made for you and me, is hanging by a thread.

How

the pen I borrowed from your house died,

as I finished writing my last sentence about you.

Are the bruises that magically appeared on me

my bodys way of telling me

everything you said was nothing but lies?

Or did you actually mean everything you said?

-Nicole Raynor


31/107

Diversity Means

Diversity means the 1% milk sharing a shelf with the 2%.

Diversity means wearing brown Uggs instead of chestnut.

Diversity means eating the crust before the pizza.

Diversity means using Herbal Essence shampoo and Pantene condi-tioner.

Diversity means the Cinnamon Dolce Crme Frappuccino withoutwhipped cream.

Diversity means having an iPhone then a Blackberry.

Diversity means mixing the jacket and pants of a Juicy sweat suit.

Diversity means the blonde PTA member reading my poem, not the

brunette.

-Julie Bishop


32/107

e world is made up of fragments,

Unfinished pieces of work

Half painted pictures

Undotted Is

A song with no chorus

Breakups with no reasons

Like a pen running out of ink

So the sentence cant be

Like a microphone breaking,

So the last few words...

Like losing the box to the puzzle,

And not knowing

A waste of energy

Killed creativity.

-Danielle Saccente


33/107


34/107

Two Years Apart

You are myhow does this look?

and my late night pizza order.

You are my shared iTunes library

and my second pair of moccasins.

You are my open ears

and my honest advice.

However, you are not my closet,

my math tutor,

or my trusty alarm clock.

And there is no way you are my twin.

ere is no way we are the same.

-Taylor Neal


35/107

Trash Bags

All it took

was a second,

a few buttons pressed

a quick text sent,

to throw me away.

Discarded on the side

of a six lane highway,

I didnt even know

it was garbage pickup day.

-Taylor Neal


36/107

Observe

Observe you, the glistening moon,the roaring sounds of monsoon,

the scattered sands of dune.

I urge you to recognize soon.

Life isnt the time in between

birth and death, is nothing but a scene.

Dont get tangled in routine,

there is so much more yet unseen.

Have you woken from your slumber?

Are you still in your cage?

I urge you, look beyond the page.

Observe the world of meaning

if you wish to become a sage.

Obvserve you, the soul within,

this is who youve always been.If purity is your key

then indeed you shall win.

But it seems youre still in your box?

Discard your mental blocks!

Observe: is world of meaningis more than plain old rocks.

-Jasmine Yosofi


37/107

Soul PoemIts a lot like this old fishing net

gripped tightly in my youthful hands

while my eyes scan the familiar swamps water for anything of newparticular interest.

e woven netting has holes that are big enough to sift

through the unclear murky water of algae and dead broken reeds.

My boots suctioned to the ground by a layer of mud that I know willmake a mess

in my kitchen later,

but for now its like cement holding me in place where I need to bewhile I control my net in and out of the swamp.

I can catch anything I want.

Im hoping for the most colorful salamander

or maybe the biggest frog.

But when the water is at its most unclear I cant avoid getting themetal cans,

or candy wrappers that dont belong there caught in it.

But I can dump what doesnt belong out,

and keep on fishing.

-Jeremy Cirillo


38/107

So I Put On A Face and Smiled

You run your finger through your hair,

flinging it into my face

as if to announce your presence

but all I see is your nail polish,

pink like the artificial coloring used for cheap bubble gum.

Its been two months since we last talked, no thanks to you,

and now you just pop up next to me in the hall like nothinghappened.

You pause, and without looking up at me, you say:

We should hang sometime.

-Frank Pepe


39/107

Collision

Spending time with you is like being in a high speed chase

blazing a path which few follow

leaving confusion in our wake

all the while I am mesmerized by the passing blurs,

I hardly notice the spike strips being placed in the road.

-Frank Pepe


40/107


41/107

Anger

My honest words squeezed into her ears

Like the unwanted weeds pushing their way through

Neglected sidewalk cracks.

My mind, a cassette tape

Carefully positioned on rewind,

All of the secrets slipped out of his mouth

Now producing a pungent taste

In my mouth.

But Im just the messenger

e good friend,

e idiot.

-Tricia Grudens


42/107


43/107

Pea sized eyes of a newborn infant

that have yet to learn the difference between right and wrong,

eyes that do not see your flaws, mistakes, and wrongdoings,

but only the twisted contorted faces you make overhead

as it gives an unknowing toothless, gummy smile in return.

-Nancy Hoang


44/107

And I Still Dont Know Where Im Going

Constantly checking my e-mail account overweighs

watching that on-demand movie or getting ahead

on math homework.

Finally, the tiny red bubble appears

in my inbox. My face changes

to traffic light yellow.

Waitlisted yet again.

May is approaching faster than I realize.

-Alex Diamond


45/107


46/107

Love Like Art

It is the electric passion racing through our veins.

Using lumps of raw clay, it sculpts a lively muscle.

It spontaneously splashes color

to achieve just the right tint of blush in frigid air.

Etching enchanted stares into marble, it captures the

silvery glow in the blackened pupil.

It shades the negative space,

darkening into the ideal texture of warmth.

It possesses the brush,

twirling the spectrum of emotions in a breeze of wind.

It is the bond between master and masterpiece.

-Fatimah Choudhary


47/107

Five More Minutes

I hope when youre old and gray

Perhaps in the future one day, youll see

at in midst of the waves that splashed upon me

Nothing was brighter than those days spent with you at sea.

Captured in the refreshment of the sound,And lit under the sparkle of the sun

We sailed for miles, into the glimmering depths of endless navy.

A line cast, and we drift for a while.

My existence is you and the sea,

It is in every part of me.Right from wrong, at every shift of the tide,

I can see myself through my fathers eyes.

Lessons are learned through those summer days:

When all we do is be.

Time sails too swift under that sun.

Five more minutes till we head back in,

But remember,

Anchor your heart by the sea,

And youll never lose me.

-Brooke Bifulco


48/107


49/107

In the Hands of Others

As I write the words onto the page,I stare and wonder

what it is like to be the lead

of the yellow #2 pencil

that is so easily overlooked.

Controlled by the mind of the master who wields it around.

My innocent essence,

sharpened,

then dulled

as it is scripted onto the paper.My substance,

easily transformed into artfully crafted mosaics,

or into poorly drawn doodles,

depending on whose hands hold me.

My mistakes,

able to be erased,

as are my achievements.

Insightful inscriptions,

turned into nothing more than shavings

swept off the paper,

and onto the filthy floor.

-Greg Apostle


50/107

en e Light Turned Green and My Bus DroveAway

is homeless woman throws her empty Poland Spring

water bottle onto the sidewalk.

It rolls down the ramp but gets caught in that divide

between sidewalk and road.

I watch as she struggles to the bottle, picks it up

and sets it down where no one could step on it.

-Lexy Dickerson


51/107

Killer Poet

Sometimes listening to your poetry

Is like being hit with an avalanche of emotion.

e frozen snow covers me,Suffocates me,

Blinds me

Until I cant find my way free.

-Lexy Dickerson


52/107

Being Busy

We havent spoken to one another but I dont feel distant from you.

With all the times I can replay its almost like you havent left at all.

But there are things youre told you have to do.

Keep busy, itll help you not miss me.

-Haley DeRosa


53/107


54/107

Mother Earth

Dear Mother Earth,

e place of our birth

So kind and loving

So serene and forgiving

Always ready and willing

To give without taking

So patient without gripe

Making certain all are ripe

Never selfish nor overzealous

Always humble without being jealous.

Dear Mother Earth,

Your time has come to retire

And let your children take hire

Our time has come to repay your deed

And not be lured by our lust and greed

We must strive to find the cure

To help keep you fresh and pure

We can no longer afford to watch you bleed

As we need to care for you in your time of need

We must save you from despair

For without you we will all be bare.

-Tiffany Halajian


55/107


56/107

Fire and Ice

Mr. Frost thinks the world will end in fire?

He should open his eyes a little wider.

With poverty, war, depression, and illness

to say the world will end in fire makes him an optimist.

Seeing the world in black and white

makes Mr. Frost not so bright.

-Jillian Kelly


57/107

Memory

ere isnt really anything,to say about my past,and the reason mainly for that,is because I dont remember.

Seriously, this is the truth.I truly dont remember at all,

not even the good times.But the real truth is,I really dont wantto remember.

My life is full of regrets,but also filled with good times.Its like theres a special lock,

and this lock comes with a price.

Anything I want to forget,gets locked away,but unfortunately for me--a good memory gets locked as well.

en time passes,days, weeks, months, and even yearssoon the lock cracks and eventually leaks.

But for some strange reason,only the bad times get out.en once again,

Im filled with regrets,that I locked away long ago.

I should learn to remember.

-John Gerard


58/107

Cookie Crumbs

Fell into the armpit of my Grandfathers chair

as I navigated an innocent world,where smoke stacks were cloud makersand concrete protected worms.My young mind turned what it couldnt understandinto what it could bear to comprehend.Even then, deep within, I knew it was easier to pretend.So thats what I did.

I quickly swept the evidence,the crumbs rejected by my mouth,in between the cushions before my mother could see.e comfort of the chair swallowed meand I fell asleep,unconscious of the fact that one daymy world would crumble.

I slept for a long time.I was six.

-Kyle Montemurro


59/107

I wish tosing indefinitely in your mind,

driving you insane.

-Alyssa Vallar

Sour grapes dontTaste good but somehow people

Love red wine.

-Matt Potenza

Earth and grassTake over my mind from

Six feet under.-Nancy Hoang

I am theCity goer during rush hour

Standing alone.-Frank Pepe

Her excitement isLike a child at DisneyScreaming in pain.

-Jacqueline McAllister

You are theSeatbelt inside of my car,

Inconvenient and restricting.

-Tricia Grudens

I will bee soft baby blanket that

Burns your skin.

-Alex Diamond

Falling stars areSo tranquil, so at peaceAs they burn.

-Joe Corbett

Lunes

e lune is more flexible than its ancestor, the Haiku. It is eleven wordsarranged in three/five/three with the third line disrupting the implied

scene in the first two lines. e shorter third line helps snap off surprises.e following lunes were gathered from a Spring Creative Writing class.


60/107


61/107


62/107

A Walk in the Park

He put the finishing brush strokes on the stretched canvas. e highlightabove the lip, the shadow under his nose, and then he signed it using hisfull name. He heard their footsteps coming up the stairs as he was finishingthe painting and he heard them as they broke down the hinges on his door.He kneeled down and put his hands on his head, saving them the wordsthey were about to shout through their helmets. He faced his beautiful workand even some of the soulless guards were mesmerized by it, even if only forfractions of a second. He stared into his own painted eyes, the eyes of a much

more energetic and charismatic man, a man who had died 25 years ago.* * *

at Sunday we played chess in the park. It was spring, but thetables were still cold from winter.

What if youre wrong? I asked.

Im not wrong, what makes you think Im wrong? He de-

fended himself as if he was wrong, like a child would when confronted.

Check. You dont think ahead Allen. You couldve taken myqueen if you moved your bishop here. And what if you get arrested?

And what reason would they have to arrest me?

eyll find any reason, or make one up if they cant.

Youre just paranoid.I wasnt paranoid. He was just ignorant. He had his spirit and

it outweighed the head on his shoulders. He still had better posturethan me though; I wonder what outweighed my head.

He fiddled with the rook and spontaneously moved his queeninstead.

Im not allowed to display my art anymore. What the hell kindof country do we live in? I got a four-figure fine and they told me I haveto close down the gallery and they took my work. ey took my work,Jim. Seriously. I dont want to live like this anymore. I have to do some-thing.


63/107


64/107

Nobody went outside anymore. e streets were empty. Every-thing was grey. e only thing that played on the television was thenews. e city was as dead as the trees whose limbs no longer reachedup, but trailed down.

I recieved a package in the mail. I knew it was from Allen; itwas wrapped very poorly. I was reluctant to open it, but nervous as well.It was a painting. I knew this before I opened it. I could smell the oiland turpentine. It was a painting of me, playing chess. He had attacheda photograph behind it, one that I didnt recall him taking. It must havebeen from when we were in the university together. I was astonished bythe lack of detail in the photograph that he had snuck into the painting.

I turned it over.

To an old friend,

I thought ahead like you always told me, so I sent you thispainting. Tell the wife I said hello. Well be playing chess soon.

I saw Allen on the news the next week.

- Phil Gladkov


65/107

Unknown Number

He didnt have a cell phone so once again she found herselflying on her ugly blue carpet that made her legs entirely too itchy. Justwaiting. Ill stay mad, she thought to herself. Keep that disappointedlook in your eye and anger in your voice. Her thoughts faintly spiltout of her mouth, just loud enough to hear. Maybe if she heard herselfsay it, she could do it.

Move on, her friends told her. Youre too good for that.But where could she move? She was stuck, on a beautiful Sat-

urday afternoon, waiting for someone to care. e new Adele CD wasnow playing for the third time---a sure sign that she needed some se-rious help.

Eventually, her phone played the same, generic ring-tone thatcame preset to the stupid thing. Unknown number, of course.

Hey babe, he whispered, in a way she assumed was meantto sound romantic, but really made her ready to gag. Ill be at your

house in a minute. Wait outside.Okay, she replied, hanging up before he could get anotherword in.

When she answered the door, he leaned in to kiss her, thestench of cigarettes radiating from his clothes, being exhaled into theair with every breath he took.

She turned her cheek before he could reach her lips and asked,

How was your night?Oh, you know, he replied, as if nothing was wrong. e

usual.His eyes were bloodshot, pupils still dilated, like he hadnt

slept for days. She let out a sigh, reminding herself way too much ofher mother.

Youre not addicted, now looking directly into his hazel eyes,

hoping for reassurance, right?No, he said, avoiding her desperate glance, I can stop

whenever I want.

-Taylor Neal


66/107


67/107

Would She Still Love Me If She Knew

I never actually stopped. I mean, I did for a while, just not as

long as everyone thinks. Two weeks after I got out of rehab I was flip-ping through my history book when I found my old stash tucked be-tween the pages of the World War II in America unit. is was the lastbit of contraband my mom had apparently missed when she combedthrough my room like C.S.I. the day before she sent me away. And justlike that, I was back to my old ways as if the last four months of my lifewere completely erased.

But in the eyes of my mom, and to the rest of the world I sup-pose, today was my 100th day sober.

Im so proud of you, Maci. is is a remarkable achievement.anks Mom, I whimpered in reply, trying to hide my guilt

behind a fake smile. Every day she repeated the same countdown, andevery day I had to swallow her praise like a poison that ate away at theinside of my stomach. But my uneasiness was a small price to pay for

the warm words from my mom. For once, I was her golden child.You know how proud I am of you right? Youre so strong and

determined andI know Mom, I got it, I interrupted. As annoying as her re-

dundancy was, I didnt want to give it up.Im just so happy for you, she said as she handed me a small

box. It opened up to a stunning ring, silver like the gray hairs she says

I gave her, and encompassing my sapphire birthstone were the engravedwords Pure mind. Pure body. Pure soul.

is is for you, so whenever you have doubts you can look atyour hand and be reminded of how proud you should be, she said astears began to blanket her eyes. Well, try it on!

e pain in my stomach was almost too much to bear. It wasscreaming at me to confess, but still I stood there speechless. I put onthe perfect ring, scrunching my face as if it was too tight.

Im sorry, Mom, I said. It just doesnt fit.

-Alyssa Vallar


68/107

Ill Have the Usual

Hi, Im good, I say to the receptionist at Davids Salon as Iwalk in, ignoring her uninterested how are you, as I take a look at myusual seat, empty and waiting for me.

You can go sit in the chair and wait for your stylist, the re-ceptionist says as I take my seat in the high chair, three chairs downfrom the front window next to the left wall, whose vanity I know well.e faint hum of the radio plays behind sounds of small-talk and hairmixtures spritzing in the air. e familiar feel of the leather underneathmy hands and the three conditioner bottles under the mirror, as always,reminds me I will walk out looking great.

Why dont we try something new? Maybe some layers? Orbangs! Your facial structure is perfect for bangs, says this new girlyshrilly voice from behind me. e voices owner rests her hands on my

shoulders and I know she can feel my body go rigid.

No.

Personally, I think bangs bring out the hues of a persons eyes,the stylist declares. And yours have these golden flecks, like your hair!

We both know whats best for my hair.

David has been doing the same routine on my hair for years.And its worked: two inches off the bottom, nothing less nothing more,in a U-cut with a blowout.

Oh.

Where is David? I know his shifts, and today is Friday. Henever takes off Friday; its his best tip day. I would know. Im his besttipper.

Not anymore, she says as a salon cape materializes out ofnowhere and pulls my body back into the seat by my neck. Lets trysome bangs and then we can discuss a nice tip. David always said youwere a heavy tipper.


69/107

e talking had stopped and I could hear the sound of some-

thing falling lightly on my back. What I imagined to be wide toothedcomb brushing through my hair turned out to be her fingers. Staringoff into the mirror at nothing in particular, her pale pink painted fin-gernails run through my hair, tendrils falling off her hand and back intoits usual position. Funny, he always made sure he was the one to cutyour hair.

Well we can discuss Davids nice tip once he comes out anddoes wonders with those swift little fingers of his. ank you for keepingme busy since he is clearly late. Where is he? Playing hooky?

David died last week.

e sound of the radio couldnt be any fainter. And all small-talk seems to have ceased along with the hair suggestions from this newhair stylist. Off her reflection in Davids mirror, her name tag readsMadison.

Two inches off the bottom then?

ats fine.

Oh, and you dont have to tip me.

-Nancy Hoang

- Phil Gladkov


70/107


71/107

to forget. Regrettably, Ms. Smith got her license taken away about amonth ago, so she wont be able to contribute to the movement.chin-chilla.

To protect these revolutionaries from getting ticketed for their

valiant efforts, a committee has been formed to get a bill passed thatmakes using turn signals optional in the state of New York. Wemade it optional, says Ferrari, because we understand that manyNew Yorkers are not as dedicated to the cause as we are. Others ex-pressed their annoyance with fellow citizens who claim the movementis unsafe. ats ridiculous! fumed a passionate supporter. Whatcould be more safe for our parents, our children, our pets than a fu-

ture with less waste? I expressed profound agreement with the sup-porter who was so gracious as to allow me to play with her pet. Yetmore proof that these are good, generous people. To assist with writ-ing the bill, local congressmen have walked away from less importantissues, like school budgeting, to focus on this movement. One NewYork state representative explained, School budgeting is a problemthat only affects students, while this is an idea that could help every-

one. I know that kids are the future, but they need that future to beless wasteful. I have to admit, it was reassuring to see that our con-gressmen have their priorities straight.

e ink Before You Blink movement is taking greatstrides in acquiring new members and getting its message out to thepublic. Ferrari says she is putting together a program that will visitDrivers Ed lecture classes in high schools to educate new drivers. Wewant our roads to be filled with drivers who know the environment ismore important than the person driving behind them, explained Fer-rari.

So the next time youre driving and the person in front of youdoesnt signal when he turns, dont give him the middle finger. Givehim a thumbs up. After all, that person could just be a conscientiouscitizen trying to make a better place for us all. What areyou doing?

-Sarah Riordan


72/107

No Teacher Left Behind

In our world today, standardized tests play a major role inhigh school education. What a great thing! Now AP students willhave the ability to write like a dummy. But at least I can be certainthat such important, useful test taking skills will be of great value tome as I go out into the real world. Especially when I am at the gro-cery store. en I will finally find application for all of those uselessmath problems. Perhaps the sad part is that no one challenges thequestions being asked. Only in a math problem, can Sally buy 74cantaloupes and have no one ask What the hell is wrong with her?Truthfully, standardized tests have little/no basis in reality, but merelyoffer a convenient (and flawed) way of quantifying human intellect,which is an abstract concept that should not be assigned a grade. Pe-riod.

Although most students are opposed to tests such as the SAT,ACT, Regents exams, etc., almost no one questions what is actually

being tested. Are we really testing the kids? Or rather, the ability ofthe teachers that prepared them? But dont get me wrong, everyteacher is a great teacher. I would never be so bold as to imply thatany teacher could be better or worse than the rest. is concept isconsistent throughout most professions. In fact, aside from doctors,lawyers, scientists, engineers, writers, musicians, and athletes, andmost other jobs, people treat all employees as having equal skill levels.

(Are we seeing the pattern here folks?)Perhaps there is, in fact, an easier, more efficient alternative totesting students. Why not test the teachers directly? Now, Im awarethat this concept may be too radical for some of you. In fact, whydont you go take a short break and come back when you are ready tobe more open-minded. After a 5 minute break you will have 40 min-utes to complete the second portion of the exam. Okay, now that

were back and ready to go, Ill continue: So why not test the teachers?Lets get the politicians on board with this as well. We will call it theNo Teachers Left Behind Act. Educators will come in under a securetesting environment with heavy security rivaling that of airports. Wewouldnt want any of them cheating, now would we?


73/107


74/107

A Modest Proposal to the Continuous Perplexity ofSelecting a Suitable Republican Candidate to Runin the 2012 Election

It is a distressing object to those involved in our countrys pol-itics, or literate enough to keep up with the 2012 election, to see theRepublican candidacy slowly circle around the toilet. First, we haveNewt Gingrich, 68-year-old man, former Speaker of the House, andfour-year-runner-up to the praised, renowned title of Smartest Manto Walk the Face of the World Ever in the Universes History. Next,

voted Most Willing to Publicly Post His Birth Certificate At AnyTime or Place in high school, and serious PETA activist on the side,we have Mitt Romney, worth $85 to $264 million, or as he likes toput it too rich to care about anyone, but not rich enough to buy myway to the presidency...yet. In the other corner, we have Ron Paul,graduate of the Derek Zoolander Center For Children Who Can'tRead Good And Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too, weigh-

ing in at a sturdy 58 pounds of lean mean, racist machine.I think it can be agreed by all parties, these candidates are all

ready to run the world, however Americas politics needs more viablecandidates to be thrown into the race. I propose a contest. e Super-PAC American Supremacy (funded by the pooled donations of allRepublicans) will host a contest of children in the eighth grade inevery school across America. As the Republican candidates constantlyfight for the younger demographics vote, studies have shown it wouldbe easier to simply elect a young candidate. First, anyone who has lessthan $500 in his or her (but lets be real, its going to be a his)piggy-bank is disqualified. is way, we can judge the candidatesability to get America out of the crises that that damned Obama builtus by checking their financial history of their 14-year-old lives. No-tice, we count the time spent as a fetus as time alive; fetuses are hu-mans too! Abortion is the most savage form of murder!! Womenshouldnt have a choice for control over their lives!!! Women belong inthe kitchen!!!! Next, anyone who can succeed in doing at least 4 pull-ups is disqualified; who do they think they are? Completing a pull-upis a mere plebeian activity.


75/107

Now comes the fun part: each child participates in the popu-lar television game showAre You Smarter than a Fifth Grader?. Anyonewho turns out to be smarter than a fifth grader is disqualified. Wewant our candidates to connect to their supporters in America---how

can we expect a connection if they are rudely pronouncing theirknowledge as if they are some kind of college-educated liberal? isshould narrow the possibilities down to about 100 eighth graders ineach of the 12 districts of America (refer to the popular novel-series,e Hunger Games for the proper divisions--but more likely just seethe movie or read the Wikipedia plot summary). In each district,twelve boys and ten girls will be chosen from the 100 pre-determined

eighth graders. Like the book series, these children will compete tothe death, and only one will come out alive. is winner will benamed the new Republican Candidate. However, if this winner turnsout to be female, we will start from the beginning and try again untilthe winner is male--the last thing we want is to have a female presi-dent. What would we do every month when that womans menstrualcycle turns her into an unpredictable monster? Women were created

with these debilitating handicaps because men are clearly supposed tomaintain control. If a man wants to spread his seed, nothing shouldstand in his way--thus the basis of our anti-birth control beliefs.

My modest proposal will solve all of the Republican Partysproblems. We will no longer need to watch the fumbling, bumblingMitt Romney try to connect to the Republican voter-base. Ron Paulwill be able to take his much-needed daily nap without being inter-rupted by useless debates. Newt Gingrich can go back to high schoolto learn some rudimentary knowledge, and perhaps find a fourth wifewhile hes there. e eighth-grader will be able to get the younger de-mographic vote and will already be a step up from the candidates inthe race now. Help us save the country while we still can! Elect ourpre-pubescent eighth grade boy candidate in the 2012 election asAmericas president!

-Amelia Goodman


76/107

College Essay

Writers block is not a cold I commonly catch. For some rea-

son when the topic of college essay came up, I started sneezing,blowing my nose, and panicking. I tried every angle I could write myessay on; my telemarketing job, my quirky personality, my parentsdivorce -- everything. I could squeak out an introduction, but afterthat, not even chicken soup could cure my cold.

I think it is the sheer weight of this essay that stops me in mytracks. My whole educational life has been filled with the phrases

Colleges look for this, or You need that to get into college. Youneed to write a creative, witty, world-changing essay to get into anamazing university. Or donate a kidney. And have amazing grades.en donate the other kidney.

I felt as if I was selling myself, which was in a way true. A col-lege essay is the way my personality and character are revealed. I

could not fill my essay with inspirational quotes or an impossiblycomplex poem that coincidentally coincides with a life-changing mo-ment in my existence. While that would be very impressive, its notme. I am serious when I have to be, but when it comes to puttingforth my personality, I want to be fun.

Reading this essay, you are probably thinking, is girl keepstalking about what she is not, so how do I know who she is? You are

right. I love to have fun. I love to hang out with my friends. I love toeat my weight in nachos. But also, I want to go to a fantastic univer-sity where I will truly find my place. I work very hard in school. Itake challenging courses, I study, and every morning I eat SAT vocab-ulary for breakfast. I am the president of the National English HonorSociety, editor of Xanadu (a literary magazine), and the secretary ofWorld Language Honor Society. Sticking to commitments is very im-portant to me and it is rare that I deviate from that philosophy.


77/107


78/107


79/107


80/107


81/107

"He saw all these forms and faces in athousand relationships to each other, allhelping each other, loving, hating, destroyingeach other and become newly born. Each one

of them was mortal, a passionate, painfulexample of all that was transitory. Yet none ofthem died, they only changed, were alwaysreborn, continually had a new face: only timestood between one face and another."

- Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

If you want me again look for me under yourboot soles.

- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass


82/107

Christine Roche


83/107


84/107

Victoria Cancel


85/107


86/107


87/107

Tiffany Ronquillo


88/107


89/107

Phil Gladkov


90/107

Kyle Montemurro


91/107


92/107

Lindsey Nyman


93/107


94/107


95/107

Alexa Roccanova


96/107


97/107


98/107

Top Right:Below:Bottom Right:


99/107


100/107

Ingrid Cuadra


101/107

Sydnea Hamilton


102/107


103/107

Alexandra Dukes


104/107


105/107

Phil Gladkov


106/107


107/107

Xanadu

Documents

Spring 2012 Xanadu