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Scribe 2016

Rutherford High School’sLiterary Magazine

Advisor: Mrs. DougardEditor: Noelle Lemaire

A special thanks to Mrs. Drewes for her technical help and to Demetri Brown for his contributions and commitment to Scribe over the past 4 years!

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Table of ContentsTitle Author Page

The Sea of Hums Demetri Brown 4I Could Draw That Hallie Schiller 5New; Sun Ciara Kelly 6Real Me Noelle Lemaire 6 Maps Morgan Sherlock 7Build then Subside Jillian Davis 8Winter in the Hamptons John Iadeluca 9Maureen and Willow... Madison Rolon 10The Door Demetri Brown 11Reserve JennaBaffuto 12I Used to Be Sophie Passaro 13 I Used to Be Jesse Madden 14Confession Madalyn Reynoso 15My Dearest Night Emma Savitsky 16Life’s a Lie Jillian Davis 17Band Practice Reina Vergara 18Picking Me to Pieces Hallie Schiller 19 Stories ToriMarino 20TheTrueHomelessMan DemetriBrown 21TheRealWorld CarolineMcCarthy 22Untitled RusselGomez-Martinez 23PiecesofMe JessicaSkinner 24Untitled MarcusNelson 25

Table of ContentsArtist Page

Kailyn Mendonca Cover JessicaClancy 4,8,17,23,25LaurenVivirito 6,14,15,20Hallie Schiller 9, 13 Salma Harfouche 11

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The Sea of Hums—Demetri Brown

Of that poor boy lost in a Sea of HumsSweet turned bitter is what he’s becomeIf destruction only is what it sendsWho knows if this heart shall ever mendBoth Love and Joy have become rottenFrom the heart of a soul long since forgotten

As for the boy lost in the Sea of HumsWho knows what his heart's becomePerhaps it is best to leave it wornThan to prevent it further from being tornIf a lesson is learned from each mistakeJust how many times can one thing break?

And that poor boy lost in the Sea of HumsHis time of trials has just begunHe searches endlessly for one to loveBut he only finds the grey stars aboveWill no one come to aid his questWill the beating of his heart be put to rest?

As a tired soul this boy becomesHe remains drifting within the Sea of HumsConsumed by what he has feared the mostThe boy is no more than a withered hopeAnd a withered hope is what shall remainAs that boy is forgotten once again

I Could Draw That — Hallie Schiller

It’s difficult To explainWhy I can draw thatBut they can’t

It’s difficultTo explainTo the one who feelsOutThat they’ve always beenin

And with my nosePressed up againstThat glassMy eyes knowEvery.Minute.Detail.So wellI could sketch it in my sleep

And it’s difficultTo explainWith spoken wordsGiven no timeTo conjure up My mental battle strategy

It’s difficult To explain thatNo.I can’t justDo.I can’t justKnow.

It’s difficultTo explainThat even whenI look inI am out

And with my nosePressed up againstThat weak, flimsy glassThey all would ratherScatterOr close the blinds

So it’s difficultTo explainWhy I can’t Why I won’tFightFor that spot

It’s difficultTo explainThat I wouldn’t fit

It’s difficultTo explainThat I don’t want it

I could draw thatBecause I can seeEverything

I can draw thatBecause the outsideIs so much clearerThan the in

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New

New seasons beginBuds sprout from beneath the groundNew light shines above

Sun

Sunshine kisses kidsHeat hits on the playgroundSunburn stings pale skin

—Ciara Kelly

Real Me—Noelle Lemaire

I seem confident and bold but really I am insecure. I seem loud and outspoken but really I am shy and timid. I seem to know what I want but really I am contradicting.I seem to be happy with change but really I am afraid of the future.

Maps —Morgan Sherlock

People always throw ideas at you Pressures swell and immobilize you;they can make you feel obligated to follow throughYou constantly believe that your future is already set, and like handprints in cement, they will stay there forever. Destiny is defined as the predetermined course of events which are usually inevitable or irresistibleSometimes, we are so consumed by driving ourselves forward that we fail to realize that the car is still in parkIf anything, that is a moment in which we have the opportunity to recognize that we have control and can take the wheel into our own hands.Destiny is not predetermined, as many people may believeWe are solely what we allow ourselves to be.Anyone can be great, or anyone can hit the gas pedal far too quickly for their own good and wind up crashing over and over againEveryone has taken a wrong turn here and thereor run out of fuel in the middle of nowhereBut the key is to take it slow, everything in moderationBe aware of your surroundings because sometimes life will switch gears without consentand all you have to do is ride with it.

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Build Then Subside—Jillian Davis

“I have a dream,” he said.Freedom, Prosperity, EQUALITYWas what he hoped for.Each step was a raindrop into a puddle Creating a ripple through the nation.Millions of listeners joined his side.Bricks shattered windows,Churches were set aflame,Policemen tried to break them,But it was to no avail.

Freedom, Prosperity, EQUALITY.There was no stripping him of that hope,That dream.“I have a dream,” he said.The only thing that could stop that,Was a bullet.

Winter in the Hamptons — John Iadeluca

Winter in the Hamptons is unlike any otherIt is barren but beautiful

Threaded frost encompasses the sandDrizzling over the ghost town

What is usually a bridge for famed athletes and superstarsEvaporates to a silent chill

People settle down and retire for the seasonAnd hibernate next to burning fires

What is revealed as a result is your inner selfThe snow falls as you are given time to contemplate

And look back on life with contentmentSatisfied with what you’ve been given

Wind blows deep and waves pour softlyFalling to the ground, making sand frosty

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Maureen and Willow and Hanschen and Alexander and Illana and—Madison Rolon

Drenched in dark foggy ambiguity,

Receiving dense restrictive repression,

Slowly revealed from gained acuity.

Innate chronological succession.

Revelation does not arrive alone,

Roof tops are deceiving, shouts are tempting.

But when filthy wrong assumptions are thrown,

The fog though lonely seems more accepting.

Reclamation of what once was hidden,

Would not include these ripples of disgrace,

If being abnormal wasn’t forbidden.

Who decides what’s normal in the first place?

All is well and good on paper,

But not saying the words is always safer.

The Door—Demetri Brown

We awoke before the first ray of light shone in the sky.We were impossibly punctual but surprisingly patient.We waited for the door to our destiny to open.And sat in silence, just the two of usUncertain of whether or not the door would ever even open.Yet we still waited, biding our time with writing and televisionAnd we both knew that one day, that door would open.

An unlikely partitioner lends his hand butThis is not the way we were expected to open the door.Regardless, we are here now, thanks to him.Our dreams have been realized.Our goals have been attained,And our purpose has been fulfilled.

We have become the best that we could possibly be,

But what do we do now?

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Reserve—Jenna Baffuto

It was the first nice day of winter.

Winter isn't normally warm.

But this day was.

As the sun was shining down

we soak it up as much as we can.

We could hear the water rushing from the tiny streams.

So we decided to hike.

Go out of our comfort zone.

We had never hiked before

So this was new to us.

We saw the most beautiful sights.

The sky was the most beautiful shades of blue.

The leaves had just fallen.

they were beautiful shades of reds and oranges.

And when we got to the top, it was just the wildest feeling.

We sat and stared for a while.

I felt so at peace and calm at the top.

I felt as though everything was so small and unimportant.

I felt happy.

“I Used to Be”

—Sophie Passaro

I used to be ahead,

Smart and clever,

Always pulling and stretching

Every dream to its perfect, tangible form.

The cause of intellectual envy,

Of moral respect, and feminine dignity.

But as the society surrounding me collapsed,

As safe friends morphed into judgemental strangers,

And a jobless family lived in empty pockets,

I am frozen.

With the same encouraging thoughts

Now a haunting reminder of lost potential

Of an exhausted mind, jumping the walls

To succeed, only to be suspended;

Never to start or end again.

I used to be ahead,

But now I’m frozen.

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“I Used To Be” —Jesse Madden

I used to be able to write poems.

They were joyful and comical.

But I’ve begun to struggle.

I am lost.

Confused as what to put down.

And where it should go.

No longer can I even rhyme.

It’s as if I’m always pressed for time.

Now, hey look I’ve regained my skill!

Man this poem was such a thrill!

Confession-Madalyn Reynoso

When I had decided to let you in

I didn’t expect to be your teacher.

Given the task to cut through your thick skin

Was a challenge because I was weaker

In the search for my very own doctor

Someone to fix all the thoughts in my head

Break the silence and fill it with laughter

But along came my own student instead

Months passed until I finally realized

You were not something I could simply fix

And trying was bringing my own demise

But along the way I learned my own tricks

I stand here now I’ve moved on and progressed

It’s because of you and that I confess.

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My Dearest Night —Emma Savitsky

Night beckons to me;"Come sleep," She callsYet She leaves me every morning,Nothing but a trace of Her darknessHanging right beneath my eyes

Twas it wise to envision our heroes as if they were not haunted-Or doth this make us fools?The clanging of my imperfectionThumps consistently between my earsCoinciding with the twelve chimes of midnightSignifying Her return

I do not care for Sunrise; He's a rather selfish guyHe cometh when He pleases,Uninvited, unannouncedInterrupting daily visitsFrom my dearest, sweetest NightWith bitter, hated daybreak,And His overly ambitious light

Oh, the violent, cool perfectionOf my ever-pleasant NightThe void of blackness,Dark as crows, is waiting;Please don't leave me for the light

I drag my body, cold and lifeless,Through another never-ending Day of sunHer arrival's all that keeps me going-Fantasies shine so much brighterWhen that orb of gas is finally done

So, please, my dearest Night,Stay alive for one more day;Promise me the splendorOf the deep, aphotic kiss that is your presenceUntil everything just melts away

Life’s a Lie—Jillian Davis

I gawk at the model in amazement,Noticing her “true” perfection and style.With her in mind I hit the pavement,Forcing myself to go that extra mile.

No matter how many times I am told,“If only you can see yourself through my eyes,You are perfect with beauty you uphold.”Those pictures we see are just filled with lies.

Yet, I don’t stand alone with this feeling.Others try to cover up what’s inside.This lasts no matter how unappealing We live a life of someone else to get by.

But instead of hiding ourselves like a chore,We need to remember that less is more.

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Band Practice —Reina Vergara

I was just sitting in band practice yesterday and we were listening to Prince, which is the show we will be doing. I was watching as everyone was consumed into the music. The drummers beating their sticks against their thighs, the guitarists playing their unplugged guitars, people dancing, people smiling, heads are swaying. We are completely oblivious to the outside world because here we are. It seems as if the air was made up of more than carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen in the room. We were breathing in the music. It soaked our brains and filled our souls. It pumped through our hearts and was swallowed into our lungs. The world stopped for a moment, and for that moment, we were united, bonding over a simple rhythm that shook our minds and made things simpler for a while.It’s my favorite place to be. It’s like another planet, a paradise, my own personal island where I escape my reality. It keeps me sane. It’s the one place I feel I belong. Nothing bad can reach me once I’m there. My head is in the clouds and the clouds are playing music and it’s beautiful. It’s heaven. And the people there feel the same way. We sit and we just talk about the music when we’re not making it. Nothing’s better than a room full of people talking about the same thing with that same glow in their eyes. None of us can explain the way the music makes us really feel but we all understand. But no one on the outside does.I look around the room, the guitarist playing his solo, his eyes closed, his body and fingers moving with the music as he’s swept away in the melody. The energy he gives off is shot to everyone in the room and suddenly we’re all knowing exactly what the soloist is saying and feeling, without him saying a word. And we smile because we feel it too as the chills trickle through our bodies. And the drummer pounds on the drums, the rhythm placed in the perfect places to only make the song build even more. And then it all dies down, leaving that all in the background as a voice rises above it all. And a voice like that can make a man cry I tell you. You don’t have to sing a crazy note, or a difficult run, you just have to feel it. You have to have control. Listen to the lyrics and understand the story you’re singing. And let go. Become vulnerable and leave it in the song. Make people understand the way you’re feeling, in hopes that someone out there will be forever at ease at the thought that someone understands.That’s the power of music. It’s indescribable. I can sit here and pretend like I know how to but you can’t describe a feeling like that. It makes me feel so happy, like the kind of happiness someone lives for, someone dies for, someone spends a lifetime searching for. It’s the greatest thing on this earth, in the universe. It brings me up so high, and yet I feel like I can’t possibly fall down. It’s just amazing. A beautiful melody telling me terrible things. It makes pain seem like a beautiful thing. It gives emotions a sound, and that’s why we love it so much. It brings us back to memories we wish we could relive. And we do relive them, through the music. It saves us. So as we are crying in our room because no one understands, or we don’t even understand, we turn on the music because at least the music un-derstands, and knows exactly what to say to wipe off the tears and bring a glow to any crooked smile.So as we all sit in practice, for a moment, we are one, oblivious to everything else but the alluring melody. And although we can’t describe to you what music is, we can simply try to show you. Just close your eyes and become so in-tuned with your mind and soul and listen. I mean really listen. From the cords, to the soloist, to the drums, to the keys, to the horn section, to the singer who blissfully weeps in a way that gets under your skin and makes the hairs on your body stand. Because that is music.

Picking Me to Pieces-Hallie Schiller

Picking me to piecesPecking at all the partsI’ve protectedBut cannot preserve anymore

I didn’t hear you approachBecause of the buzzing in my earsThe silence you were afraid to broachHad already been overcome by my fears

I feel exposedI am exposedMy soul exposed to the windMy heart exposed to the crowd

I didn’t sense the warningWhen they all drew nearAlready they were mourningSomething brought them here

I’m hollowed outOh, follow meI’ll help you findThe hallway to empty

I didn’t think it would be youTo feast on me so directlyLike the shadows teach one to doOh so expertly

The luggage I now carryIs mere fragments of beforeYou’ve dragged my soul awayLeaving behind haggard eyes

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Stories—Tori Marino

Everyone has a story to tell

Sometimes it's sad,

Sometime just happy,

And sometimes it's both.

But no matter which it is

It belongs to that person

And that person alone.

There are some people who have many

And others who have few.

My story is my own,

I choose how I share,

I choose who I share it with.

Everyone has a story to tell

You just have to listen close enough.

The True Homeless Man —Demetri Brown

"We may live out of the trash that you discard on the street,"Said that old man with a family behind him that had spoken to me,"But it is you who is truly homeless, young man, not me."And for a second he paused and he looked me dead in the eye.I had no response for him except for a "Why?"That man chuckled before he began his disclosure."It is simply because your heart has no closure.There is a darkness inside you and it yearns for compassionBut you just stand there alone and refuse to take action.You have greed in your heart; you're only filled with rageIf the stock market crashes and you never get paid.You are surrounded by wealth but you are far from rich.It's almost as if your joy was cast aside in a ditch.And I'll say it once more," He added, "This time listen closely.We may live out of the trash that you discard on the streetBut you are the true homeless man, not me."

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The Real World—Caroline McCarthy

the roads were like old friendswe’d run up to meet themas if nothing bad ever happened.the days were like hourswere lost but we found themand to think someday we’ll tell stories of now.

of when we were youngand we were dumbliving in this town humdrum.we don’t know what is to comeand it’s hard to care right nowsince we don’t know how to make it stop. life before was controlledlife before was artificialbecause they left us out of the know.

we used to stopsmell the roseswatch as a petal opens and closes.now we embrace young wild and freeit’s hard to care right now when we don’t know howto slow down the clock, the cars, the nights.right now we live for the minuteand it’s vividright?

i want to be out theresomewhere under the starswith fast cars outlaws and wild hearts. i want to know something more than this little townwhere the smallest shriek is heard as loud.i want my heart broken,and to be torn aparti want to live in the Real World.

Untitled —-Russel Gomez-Martinez

Light is linear but undefinedMoving from place to place with mightWith no one to put up a fightIntimidating the light is when people think light will come to themAllow me to brighten your mind, as I know that if you want lightYou have to fightkeep it closeAnd hold it tightbecause it is the onlyThe only thing you have to brighten the night!Yet light will not stayif you cage it awayIt will continue to fade and fadeUntil you share it with the ones who need itUntil then the lights continue to fadeAnd you can no longer be called humane.

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Untitled—Marcus Nelson

You stand on the edge of something But it cannot take formlike tomorrowonly less sweet

I sit on paper with a candle burningThe Wax can hold its shapewith a light that stretches outwardand peace holds the warmth close to me

They can walk among usspeak like us, talk like ustalk with usBut there is distance betweenthem and each other

We hold within us somethingmalleablesoft to the touch and slow to respondto Grasp it would mean to have never know itAnd I myself have never never meant to feel a little

Pieces of Me—Jessica Skinner

Pieces scatter the bedroom floor,You look around, and close the door,

Attempting to feel whole again,Hurry up, it’s half past ten,

Piece yourself together, Even just for one more day,

Shove the pieces into place,Forcing them to stay,

The pieces are not perfect,They do not even fit,

The edges are all fraying,They even start to split,

People do not notice, As if it doesn’t matter,

With a choice between truth and image,You’ve chosen the latter.