breakthrough 2011

II ss ss uu ee :: TT hh ee FF ii rr ss tt

H e r i t a g e H i g h S c h o o l

L i t e r a r y a n d A r t J o u r n a l

B r e a k t h r o u g h

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Title Author Page

Concrete poetry Kathryn Pharis 4

The Struggle Akeem Christian 4

I Wish To Make-Out with Your Face

(Before The Tide Comes)

Elaina Nicholson 5

Concrete poetry Emily Dixon 5

Initials in a Tree Adam Green 6

Historical Fiction Alexis Pernal 7

Art Nathaniel Farrell 11

Photo Nathaniel Farrell 12

Art Casey Malloy 13

Where I’m From Sean Conway 13

Father Andrew Ramos 13

Untitled Valeria Martinez 14

Art Alexis Shapiro 14

But What If Keri Zubek 15

Art Diamond Cockrell 15

Stubborn Grandmother Shane Fransz 16

Fear Thomas Ferguson 16

Untitled Thomas Ferguson 17

Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca Luis Antunez Leon 17


Heaven’s Gate Stephanie Taylor 18


Art Sydney Shea 20

Blue Eyes Morgan Kupec 21


A Beat Jayden Cromier 22

Untitled anonymous 23

Besos Que Encarnan Valeria Martinez 23

Trouble-Some Gary Walsh 24

Untitled Valeria Martinez 25

Highway 36 Alexis Shapiro 25

Art Anthony Arredondo 25

Home Jacqueline Sinnott 26

Blood is not Thicker Morgan Kupec 27

Colors of Us Morgan Kupec 28


Where I’m From Cassandra Lee 29

art Pongsri Phokamon 29

I Remember… Miai Jones 30


That is why we lost… Miai Jones 31


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My Life Story Kassandra Paz 31

My Name Patrika Simmonds 32

A Woman Like Me Lyndsie Wood 32

Art by Crystal Cockling 32

Piojos and Patitas Sybil Deriso 33


Concrete poetry Nicole Torres 34

I Am From… Cortize Dismuke 34


Where I’m From Peter Puiles 36

You Move Me (a collaborative poem by

many students)

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Abuse by Kitrina Nelson 38


We Stand Kayla Daynea Saboor 39

Tough Henry Schmidt 39

Art Anthony Arredondo 40

Notice by Jessica Romero 40

Summer Time Kaitlynn Santiago 41


Untitled David Gray Taylor 42

Art Josh Stidham 42

Art Timothy Holland 43

Moving Megan Warner 44

Art Frank Shaffroth 44

Hero Vernie Wade 45

Art Akaina Willa 45

A Song Suzette Desty 46

A-Z Story Lyndsie Wood 47

Concrete poetry Hannah Kendrick 47

Saturday Morning Cartoons Stephanie Taylor 48

We All Make Mistakes Jamiqua Willett 49


Art Emily Dixon 50


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The Struggle

by Akeem Christian

If I pull, you pull harder

Whenever I mess up you’re there to tell me things are alright

If I’m wrong you’ll still have my back

That’s why it hurts when I lie in your face

Over and over again

You’re like a kung fu teacher watching my every move

So when I’m not doing what I need to help you

You’re like the police in my rear view mirror

That warns me when I’m speeding

It seem that every time I’m down your right beside me to pick me up

Telling me about how great I am and how much talent I have

I mean to say what we have is a bundle and without you mom it’s a big struggle.

Concrete poetry by Kathryn Pharis


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I Wish To Make-Out with Your Face (Before The Tide Comes)

by Elaina Nicholson

I want to kiss you here on this beach, with the golden grains scorching the undersides of our tan feet. I want to kiss you before the tide comes and the cool saltwater envelopes our hot limbs as it reaches our bodies. I want to kiss you before the tide has a chance to return to its home once more, but not before seizing your inhibitions in a firm hold within the confines of its beautifully crafted waves.

Concrete poetry by Emily Dixon


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Initials in a Tree

by Adam Green

She is walking away

When there is still too much to say

Why do I fall for it every time

This can’t be happening to me

She cut me to ribbons and taught me to drown

Have her name tattooed on top of my heart

I keep running into the fire

when there’s nothing left to save

My whole world is falling apart

I’m trying to fly with broken wings

Unable to see a world unseen

Falling into the shadow of death

I can’t find something that isn’t real

Since love is a fantasy meant for those

who cannot see

Never you and me

Just wanna go home today

To the place our dreams were laid

Chop down that old oak tree

It still has the initials of you and me

Who knew a tree could lie

Unless tonight was forever

It’s always one step forward

and two steps back

Up all night with insomniac

Don’t wanna sleep, then I’ll see her eyes

The ones which hypnotize

It’s one step forward two steps back

Can’t feel a thing but ice in my soul

They said there’d be a light

She was my first love

And first to go

Which means she was my worst love

And worst to walk away

Chop down that old oak tree

With the initials of you and me

Who’d know that a tree would lie

I’ve opened my eyes for the first time

No longer deceived by the lies

Need someone to tie the ribbons together

And teach me to breathe

She cut me to ribbons

and taught me to drown

Have her name tattooed

on top of my heart

I need a lover

who won’t drive me crazy


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Historical Fiction

by Alexis Pernal

On the day of June 30, 1944 my entire family was ripped apart. My parents,

and sweet baby sister were murdered on this day by the German SS guards. They

spared my life to send me to work in a concentration camp named Auschwitz. They

took everything from me. My family, my clothes, my life, and even my name. Since I

wasn't too young or too old the people there had decided I would be a good worker.

I was made into a slave at the simple age of 16. I had been refused even the dignity

of being called by my birth name, Anastazia, they called me Anne. I hated that name

more than almost anything. Thankfully others in the camp understood and called me

by my true name.

At first it took me weeks to utter a word to anyone outside from needed

conversation. It wasn't some sort of protest; I just simply could find no reason to

speak. I was depressed. My family had been killed. I had been forced to leave my

lovely home in Poland to come here and work as a slave to the savage people who

had murdered my family, along with thousands of others I guessed. Not only did I

not want to speak, I did not want to live. I knew that an escape attempt would surely

cost me my life, and I could not even tell you how many times the thoughts crossed

my mind. To just run through the camp, try to jump the fence, and then be shot

down ending everything. I would be free from this hell on earth, from this prison,

this depression. Free to join my family again.

On my third week of life at the camp my sister had came to me in a dream.

“Be a survivor. You can get through this Anastazia. Do not injure yourself my

dear sister. Stay there and you can be freed one day. Stay there so when you make it

home to Poland. Tell the people around the world: neighbors, friends, even

strangers, explain to them the horror here. Expose the German people. Do not take

our death sitting down. I love you big sister. Stay strong.”

That was all she had said to me before she turned to mist. I awoke in a sweat.


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Could I do that? Could I stay here, and be strong? It didn't matter if I could or could

not. I knew that I would.

The next day a boy that looked about my age was stationed next to me in the

work farm. He had smiled at me when the guard led him next to me. I just held his

gaze. Finally when the guard walked off to the distance he spoke.

“You are Anastazia?” He said smoothly. I just nodded.

“You are young. I am 16. You are the same?” He said again. I just nodded this

time making eye contact.

“Are you the only one of your family here?” He asked with a bit of caution.

This had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

“What do you want with me?” I snarled at him threw my teeth. He looked as

if he expected this reaction, and then his face switched to being apologetic.

“ I did not mean to offend you. I simply am trying to get to know you. I think

you are the most beautiful girl here. Seeing you from time to time simply puts a

smile on my face. I am Aleksander. I just simply wanted to see if you would open up

to me. I want to help you make your time here well. Time here can pass quickly if

you have a friend.” He stated looking up at me with the most genuine smile I think I

have ever seen. That smile made my heart jump. I smiled in return.

“We are friends then. I apologize for snapping at you Aleksander.” I said

grinning. Little did I know that just then began my first true love.

At first we would only see each other maybe once a week, then it progressed

to a few times a week, and currently we were trying to find excuses to be near each

other every minute of every day. We talked about everything, past, present, future,

family, friends, home. Over time feelings started to develop. Then when we shared

our first kiss, and something electrifying went through my body. Feelings flooded my

veins, my nervous system was at its height. I never knew how people could tell if

they were in love, but if I had to guess, I would say it had something to do with that

feeling from true love's kiss.

More and more time had passed and I found myself completely head over


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heels in love with Aleksander. Then as fate would have it, he fell ill. The depression

returned, and this time it had felt even worse than before. It was October when he

was sent to the sick barracks. I fell back into my original patter of silence. Then I broke

my silence to take a girl there. I needed someone to confide in, all these emotions

inside of me dying to be let out were going to cause me to commit suicide.

Her name was Suzel. She lived in the same barrack as I, and she was a year

older than me. We became fast friends. Then one day, after months of forming our

friendship I decided to tell her everything about Aleksander and I. Her response shook

me.

“You'll get to see him soon. I have heard word from other camps of

liberation!” Her eyes lit up and then she continued, glancing around to see if anyone

was listening in.

“The allies are going to rescue us. They have been taking over death camps all

over, and freed all the prisoners. They have even given them food, clothing, water,

and returned each to their home land. I heard that they are to arrive in Auschwitz any

day now! We will be free soon Anastazia! You and Aleksander can live out your own

happy life. Everything will be okay!” She finished out of breath, since the excitement

of her story had caused her to speak faster than ever. It took a few minutes to form a

reply in my head.

“We will be free. We can live our lives. Aleksander and I shall be married!”

Then with that, we went to sleep. I like to think that she was dreaming of life as a free

person, because that is what I was dreaming of that very night.

A week passed and we had come to January. One night after we had all

gathered ourselves for bed inside the barrack I was startled by screaming and loud

bangs. Some were yelling in German, and others were yelling in Polish.

“You cannot take her! She did nothing wrong! Oh please leave her be! She is

just a young girl!” I heard a woman yelling from near the entrance to the barrack.

“We will not take her anywhere. We will dispose of her right here to teach you

filth a lesson!” A SS officer shouted. We were all to gather outside the barrack.


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“This girl here has spoken of foolish things, she has spoken against the Third

Reich! It is a unforgivable crime! Let this stupid girls foolishness be a warning to all!”

The German officer yelled while another held a girl by her short, curly blonde hair.

This is when I realized it was Suzel they had in their grasps.

“No! You cannot do this to her! Leave her! Please!” I heard myself scream. An

officer came to approach me.

“You would want to join this girl? Fine then. You can.” He said while grabbing

me.

“NO! Leave her. She knows nothing of me, or who I am. She knows nothing of

the crimes I’ve committed. Leave her please.” Suzel yelled probably using the last bit

of energy.

“Fine then. Kill the blonde.” The officer said while releasing me. Then right

there in the middle of the night, in front of most of the camp they shot Suzel in the

head. She dropped down with a great thud. I vowed that I would make it out of

there alive. The liberation was coming, and I would not let the story f my family and

Suzel go untold.

It was January 25, 1945 when the released Aleksander from the sick ward. He

was completely healthy again, and I was beyond happy to see him. For the next two

nights he slept by my side. Then on the morning of January 27, 1945 our lives were

changed forever.

We awoke to the sounds of shots being fired, and screaming. Some English,

some French, some German. Different languages being used all over the camp. It

was a frenzy. German officers hiding, or fighting to the death. Prisoners being loaded

onto buses by the allies. While some weren't being released by the officers. It was

there last acts of defending their beliefs I suppose.

This was it. Liberation. I looked at Aleksander, having explained everything

about Suzel and what she told me in the past two days he knew it too. We were free.

We broke into a sprint towards the nearest bus that was taking prisoners. I was

grabbed from Aleksander's arms, and into the grip of the German officer that had


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murder Suzel in the previous weeks. He held me in front of him with a gun to my

head.

“IF ANYONE COMES NEAR ME, I KILL THE GIRL. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.” He

shouted towards the directions of the ally soldiers walking towards them. They all

froze. I started to cry. It was all I can do. I looked towards Aleksander and saw him

start to cry too. This was it, on the day of our supposed freedom, I would meet my

demise. I cried more than I ever cried in my life. With blurred vision I could see

Aleksander talking to an ally soldier trying to save me. Was it all a wasted effort? It

had to be, I thought to myself.

“I love you Aleksander! I love you more than I have ever loved anything. Go

from here! Save yourself. Just promise me to tell the stories of me, Anastazia and my

family! Don't let anyone forget about what had happened here. Don't let the story of

me, and Suzel go untold! Tell the world! I love you!” I yelled in between sobs.

“QUIET!” The SS officer yelled, while holding the gun to my temple. Then

came a loud bang. Then everything went black. I opened my eyes and when my

vision focused I awoke in the arms of Aleksander in the back of an ally bus heading

Art by Nathaniel Farrell


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somewhere that wasn't here.

“What happened? I'm not dead!” I yelled to Aleksander as he smiled.

“This United States soldier saved your life.” He said while motioning to a man

in uniform. He then continued.

“While you were speaking to me the officer released the trigger for a moment,

and the soldier, his name is James, seen that. He moved up behind him quickly and

shot him in the head. He killed him, and with the noise of the shot you fainted. I love

you.” Aleksander explained and then hugged me.

“Thank you.” I said to the soldier.

“Just doing my job.” He said with a smile.

"I am going to tell you my story,” I said to him, “It involves me, my family, my

dear Aleksander, and my dear friend Suzel. After I tell you this story you will promise

to bring it back with you to your home land. Let this story be heard, and let no one

ever forget what happened here.” I said to him.

“I'll tell it to the world miss.” He said honestly.

“It all started on the day of June 30, 1944. That was the day I was sent here,

and my life was forever altered.....”

As I finished my story, I was gripping Aleksander's hand. Every person on that bus that

hadn't been at Auschwitz was in tears. At that moment I knew that no one would ever

forget about us, the survivors of the German death camp at Auschwitz.

Photo by Nathaniel Farrell


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Father

by Andrew Ramos

F unny at times

A nnonying most of the time T aught me right H opes for my best E ncourages me R eminds of who I am in life

Where I’m From

by Sean Conway

I am from the north

from snowy winters and warm summers

I am from the water of the back yard river

blue, shining, and warm from a hot summer’s day

I am from the pine trees

the tall oak trees

whose branches are covered by fresh snow

as if the two were one

I’m from quads and snowmobiles

from Arctic Cat and Suzuki

I’m from the hard workers

and the do-it-alls

from don’t-quit and keep-trying

I’m from the one who watches us

with a big wooden cross

and the Sunday nights we would spend together

with a warm meal on the table

I’m from the Conway and Gerity branch

good food and strong beer

the many accomplishments they made

in their lives

from owning a business to being successful

leaving big shoes to fill for the following generations

In my house we’d always play

Monopoly on the weekends

having fun till the end of the day

I am from great memories

still fresh in my mind

everything leading to what I am today.

Art by Casey Malloy


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Art by Alexis

Shapiro

Untitled

by Valeria Martinez

Solo una Mirada y me encari~e , un beso y me enamore,los sue~os que me persigen por las

noches gritando tu nombre en voz alta. Contigo es cmo un alcoiriz ,al fin de el se encuentra

el amor guerdado que siempre me has tenido y mi amor ,te quiero decir que nunca abran

due~o de mis besos que no seas tu , ya que eres la luz de mi vivir.dejame seguir con esta

felicida antes que esta agonia me destruya./ poco a poco te vas a cercando ese perfume que

me va enloqueciendo…

Nunca seras mio pero ya me perteneces y en mis suenos eres el principe rojo de mi Corazon

ya que el azul lo tiene todo el mundo. Tu eres unico y eres perfecto sabes que no importa lo

que diga la gente siempre sere tu alma gemela y la media naranja de tu Corazon…te amo mi

amor!

By valeria y cindy


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But What If

by Keri Zubek

They say the eyes are the window to your soul

But what if -

the window is shut tight, with the curtains pulled

and the lights go dull?

Are you able to see something that's

closed off by boundaries?

They say those who are close at heart

know more from a desolate stare

than tear-streaked confessions

But what if -

you block out what you don't want,

you shut out those who bring you down?

How are you supposed to hear that

call for help, that is in desperate need of answers?

Stress, hatred, broken heart, confusion, depression

all rolled up into one huge blood-soaked cocoon

Wounds that go deep enough to scar -

with no one to bring a band aid

How are you supposed to remain sane,

when your cry for help remains out in

the open?

Emotions dance and prowl about in your

mind, hungry for sedation

Your soul becomes a jigsaw puzzle

the kind that you get from a garage sale

the most important pieces are missing

It doesn't matter if you know what

the finished picture is,

If no one's there to see it -

how will we know what's there?

Art by Diamond Cockrell


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Stubborn Grandmother

by Shane Fransz

She can have bad nights

She watches the news and how the world fights

These images pound in her head like a hammer on a nail.

She is even afraid to check her mail

But in the morning she wakes to find

All of last night’s memories clear from her mind

She gets in her car and heads to the grocery store

She's been going there for 20 years but still fry's to ente through the exit door

She comes to the checkout line

The cashier rings her up, and tells her the fine

The sweet old lady casually says

"I don't know where my money is"

The grocers assistant points "maybe in your bag"

As he reaches his hand over with slight lag

She has the flashbacks of last night’s acts

So She let out a yelp and said "get back"

She is frightened he might try to rob her

She grabs her scarf with a look of somber

She points it at the boy who was filled with terror

She pulls the trigger but doesn't remember.

Fear

by Thomas Ferguson

The feeling of insecurity

is definitely not a sign of being of peace at mind

you feel for your life, when you are out alone at night

When you are in fear, it is like walking beside Satan

and him leading the way to nothing but sorrow…

God has tried to make you have no fear but,

all you can feel is all your tears…


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Untitled

by Thomas Ferguson

They say that life is beautiful,

An everything is beautiful..

How can you believe that when you are watching people slowly die inside,

As they say they want to end their life..

How can it be so beautiful,

It’s only beautiful when you’re a heartless freak

All they see is every ones sorrow,

And they just can’t wait to see it again tomorrow…

Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca

by Luis Antunez Leon

Cultivo una rosa blanca,

En julio como en enero.

Para el amigo sincero

Que me da su mano franka .

Y para el cruel que me arranka

El corazon con que vivo

Caldos de orugas cultivo

Cultivo una rosa blanca.



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Heaven’s Gate

by Stephanie Taylor

PLANET ABOUT TO BE RECYCLED YOUR ONLY CHANCE TO SURVIVE: LEAVE WITH US

verything is in its own cycle; from the water cycle and nitrogen cycle to the

cycle of life. Each day millions of babies are being born, just as millions of

people are dying. According to Heaven Gate, Earth is nearing the ending of its

cycle. The Earth is coming to an end and is about to be “refurbished”. You may think this

is another Mayan calendar, 2012, world ending paranoia, however the religion of

Heaven’s Gate will really throw you for a loop when you realize it has more of an

extraterrestrial, a.k.a “fallen angel” twist.

As opposed to the Mayan calendar confusion, this religion is not about the world

ending completely, just a fresh start for another set of civilization to form and grow.

Also, these Heaven’s Gate followers believe not that 2012 is the ending date for the

Earth and its inhabitants, but rather that in 1997, close to 2000 years after Christ came

to the Earth, that the ending was almost upon them. It seems that that idea was blown

out of the water as we still sit here today and the Earth has yet to be “refurbished”. That

is not the only point of this religion that I find fault with. There are also many ideas

mentioned that leave me with more questions than answers.

To me, this religion is closely connected with the Christian, Muslim, and Jewish

religions and this is also mentioned several times. They believe that there is one God

and He gave birth to everything, therefore He is known as the “Father”. They believe

that Jesus came to the Earth 2000 years ago and before leaving said that he would

return. Where Heaven’s Gate loses me is where “Do” claims to be Jesus’ reincarnate and

his fellow students are Jesus’s Disciples’ reincarnates from 2000 years ago. To add on to

this, Do claims that he did not come back to Earth alone to offer the “Truth” but that in

the early 1970’s God himself came back to Earth in the form of an adult female, called

“Ti”, to help both Do and his disciples lose their human attributes of their new bodies;

Then Ti returned to heaven in 1985. This leads me to the first of my many questions: If

E


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God could send Jesus to the Earth the first time without coming to Earth himself, why

the need to come the second time to “help” them into their new bodies? Are they

claiming God is not so powerful now, that he can’t do what needs to be done from

heaven? Also, Do claims that he cannot give names for both himself and God, yet did he

not just do so by calling himself Do and God Ti? This is just the tip of the iceberg; the

weirder, more confusing stuff is on its way.

The whole goal for this religion is to prepare for the Evolutionary Level above

humans, or the Kingdom of Heaven. In doing so, you must lose all human attributes such

as human desires, thinking, and behaviors. If

you do this you will be saved from the end of

this world as we know it. If you don’t quite

reach this goal yet believe and seek the

Evolutionary Level above humans, you will also

be saved from the refurbishing of the world.

This is where Heaven’s Gate loses me a second

time. When you leave this world you will be

issued a “Next Level Body”, which all in all, looks

like an extraterrestrial, or alien. Then you will be

put aboard a space craft to do experiments for

the Lord as he wishes along with other Next

Level, for lack of a better term, People that he

assigns to you. If the Lord is the God above all, why does he need you to do experiments

for him? Doesn’t he already know everything and the result that each experiment will

yield? In addition, if you’re automatically sent to a spaceship when you die or get your

Next Level Body, do you ever actually meet God or ever see Heaven? Why then is the

religion called “Heaven’s Gate”?

The clincher point that really just blows my mind is the idea that no one has

souls until they believe in this religion. You are there by rewarded a soul when you

become a believer. That’s too much for me; no one has souls but Heaven’s gate



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followers? I have a soul, and yet I don’t believe in this phony religion. It sounds to me

like a bunch of anti-social, stoned men and women from the 70’s that mixed up their

Sunday school class lessons, the idea of aliens, and the ending of the world in 2000

paranoia, into an enormous Heaven’s Gate mess. Do mentions that both He and his

followers were ready for non-believers and critics of them and their beliefs. While I

would not like to be called a critic, I am most definitely not a believer of the Heaven’s

Gate religion.

Art by Sydney Shea


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Sometimes I wonder

why do I hold onto this invisible rope?

There is nothing left,

you left, dropt like a pair of old shoes,

I have been,

wishing, hoping, holding onto an invisible rope

like a mime

I create my own world to hide from

the truth

that is you’re gone.

Like the wind, a deep summer breeze

that burns my skin.

I, a mime

hold onto my invisible rope

for a glimpse of hope

when you come back,

I try not to blink

because if I do

you will be gone

once again, like you always are.

I hold onto the second I get

they give me hope and build

Blue Eyes

by Morgan Kupec

my invisible rope

but this rope cannot

catch me when I fall

when you leave I crash,

fall apart and burn.

I want you to come back

and I cannot understand why,

this invisible rope

keeps me filled with hope

that next time you will stay.

Stay with me ‘till the end of

time is up

I will be gone

in the blink of an eye,

like you were.

You are now the mime holding onto

this invisible rope with the hope

that I will return.

And I shall, but not for longer than a blink

of your pretty little

blue eyes.


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A Beat

by Jayden Cromier

A red velvet case With a heart beating a steady pace Inside it weeps Outside it beats With thorns wrapped in a heavy lace



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Untitled

by anonymous

I'm scared to move on because

I'm worried that the second

I'm happy with someone else,

you'll pop up and ruin it.

Ruin it by telling me that you want me,

and that you're sorry and the you like me

" kinda a lot "

and that you miss me

" kinda a lot "

I'm worried that I'll so confused because

I'll be happy with him, but of course I want you,

and that will make me start crying all the time,

end up losing the best relationship I ever had

just to have you get bored again and move onto some other girl

The worst part about all of this?

I can see you doing it, because you want me hooked

You want me to make you my priority

when I am only an option

an option you'll probably

never take

Besos Que Encarnan

by Valeria Martinez

Beso sobre beso

tu piel encarna la belleza

tu piel pide mil caricias

suave sobre suave

tu cuerpo para amar

tu alma para sentir

tierna sobre bella

¿cómo no desearte?


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Trouble-Some

by Gary Walsh

Through rough times we had

I surely didn’t mean to make you mad

Please if you give me one last chance

You’ll see I’ve been honest all along

So let’s have a dance

Because I’ll always be right and never wrong

Please, just take my hand

And let’s dance to the beat

Because this will make our friendship much more grand

As we sway our feet hand in hand

I will never let you go

Because without you, I shall not grow

Stay with me, in this bottomless never

Because you will always be my one and forever.

Untitled

by Valeria Martinez

En el paraíso de tus ojos,

me pierdo porque estoy perdido,

en la paz de tus labios,

me encuentro porque estoy contigo,

en el universo de tu alma,

vivo con mil sentidos,

en ti, vivo amándote.


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Highway 36

by Alexis Shapiro

Two lanes two west. We aren't in Kansas, anymore. Drosphilia buzzes, one inch long, across a field of one yard. Try your luck, roll the dice. Six and six, a fortunate pair. Torah says, the Light of Creation shines with the degree of a perfect star. Here comes the fly again, fast and dangerous like the Hindenberg, in NJ not NV. The NV that gave our flag another perfect star. Chug an entire barrel, become our leader, and become the kryptonite. Come experience Bill's collection and chug another barrel, for 216 hours, that feels like just nine.

Afterward, come cruise around the square of NV. Another barrel for double the drinking age. Now let's double back west and two lanes east. We aren't in Kansas, anymore.

Art by Anthony Arredondo


26

Home

by Jacqueline Sinnott

It once was a beautiful place Filled with people, love and life Inspiration by inspiration, But now it’s sad to see it these days Death, violence, hearts filled with hate I really want to fix it but I am a bit too late

Poverty, everywhere you look Turned out to be a place of death It’s like a scary storybook

This is my background The place where I’m from For the first decade of my life

Death, Around every corner, People have died in my arms here, This place reminds me of so many bad memories

But it’s where my family lives their short lives Not being with them is a hard thing to do But going back is something I will never even think of Life as it is, is a constant reminder of my past life

The thing I truly hate the most My old house My old friends My old family My old life

That old inspiration, The good life... Torn from my heart, Cut out with a knife.

Detroit is still my home A place I can go, When I have nowhere else to go Though it’s hard to survive day-to-day life But it’s a choice Live or die?


27

Blood is not Thicker

by Morgan Kupec

People ask me why I am so cold why the blood running through my veins runs as cold as the water under the ice sheets of lake Michigan on a deep winter day. I’ll tell you, blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker than ice cold water for the children left by their mother so she can be off on vacations with a stranger, late night dinners and hotel weekends with children left alone at home. Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker for the son and daughter waiting to watch a movie with their father, just one second, is all they ask for, but the draw of the plant is too strong. He sits outside in the garage, hours, hours pass by, they still wait. Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker for the daughter whose mother is so consumed with work and other problems that they barely even talk. Her brother calls from jail and her mom jumps to the phone. They talk very long, but the girl can’t even get a ‘Hi, how was your day?’ Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker for the son who is beaten and bruised, not my fists or throws into the walls, but by his father’s harsh stabbing drunken words. He calls him names, tells him he is not worthy, worthless. He doesn’t cry or wince, but scars build up from the inside out. His heart is becoming a stone. Blood is not thicker than water. Blood is not thicker, So ice cluttered water runs through my veins and makes me as cold as the world around me.


28

Colors of Us

by Morgan Kupec

Red is for the danger I didn’t see in your eyes.

The beauty of the fire that burns in my mind.

Orange is for the desire I will always hold for you.

The endurance of my optimism hoping you see me the way I see you.

Yellow is for the cowardice you can’t seem to lose

to show me how you feel, that you love me too.

The electric curiosity I feel when we touch.

Green is for the youth I’ve spent waiting for you.

The nature of my hope that won’t allow me to let go.

Blue is for the cold mass my heart has turned into.

The true magic I find when I kiss you.

Purple is for the passion I hope we will one day find.

The rage and the sympathy I feel when you make me cry.

Gray is for the old feelings that return

when my mess of a mind can’t control my hearts burn.



29

Where I’m From

by Cassandra Lee

I am from the fields of grass, from big backyards and small woods, I am from the grass in the backyard. (free, swaying, moving with the wind.) I am from the maple trees, the big oak trees, tall and graceful, climbing up the branches, till’ my arms are sore and I’m up high. I’m from home cooking and baseballs, from Faron and Cindi. I’m from the daddy’s girls, and the momma’s boys, from hush up and go play. I’m from now I lay me, Lord as my shepard, I shall not want and be thankful, reciting verses of the Word by heart. I’m from Lee and Hardison’s tree, mashed potatoes and barbeques, from the scar on my papa’s chest, from the bullet of childhood restlessness, to the scar on my daddy’s stomach from work. I am from memories surrounding me like air, of being in the big backyards of my families, sitting on the porch, having big country get-togethers on cool evenings, till’ the sun sets and a new chapter begins.

Art by Pongsri Phokamon


30

I Remember…

by Miai Jones

I remember that morning That morning we were at the beach We wrote our initials in the sand In the sand with a heart around it.

The smiles we shared at the cook out The cook out where we first met My mind racing with thoughts I knew I was in danger trusting a stranger

A stranger with my heart My heart took a leap A leap of faith Are you willing to take the leap?



31

That is why we lost…

by Miai Jones

…the war you really had to go They say " God Choose You" But why? Why were you chosen? Chosen to follow in the footsteps of death across enemy lines you fought for me my everyday freedom the freedom most take for granted? But why I still have to ask? Why were you chosen to fight for something that obviously doesn’t matter in our country Freedom... That is not lived to the fullest? The war might almost be over but now you’re gone with the tears I shed for you for what? People not to live life to the fullest? Not living our life to the fullest " That... That is why we lost."

My Life Story

by Kassandra Paz

My life story has been good so far.

It has also been bad.

It’s like a rollercoaster ride.

It goes up & down.

But why should I scream?

This is my theme park


32

My Name

by Patrika Simmonds

Today, my name is Colorful

Yesterday, it was Dull

Tomorrow, it will be as lively as

The birds chirping in the morning

My family thinks my name is Unique

My friends think it Clueless like a fish

Surely, my name is anything…….

I want it to be.

A Woman Like Me

by Lyndsie Wood

Sensitive, Heart-felt and Brave

Loving, Playful and Well-Behaved

Insightful, Friendly, Never to Stray

Sure to stick by you Day-after-Day

Appreciative, Exciting, and very Nice

Confident and Honest, Never Shy

Mature, Clever, and Willing to Sacrifice

One Who Lives Life Right and always

Precise

Strong, Intelligent, and oh so Funny

Unique, Caring, with a mind set free

Outgoing, Selfless, and a Little silly

All the words to describe a woman like me

Art by Crystal Cockling


33

Piojos and Patitas

by Sybil Deriso

“Ven pa’ca!

Let me check for piojos”

The familiar spanglish warms me

Like fresh eggs and chorizo in the morning.

Mi abuela spoils me

With her actions of love

Romantic love can be bough, but not love among family.

Like a mother robin shelters her pollitos,

So does la familia look out for one another

Without asking for anything in return.

The roots of this love run deep

Unconditional and not selfish

The love my grandmother shows me could fill los oceanos.

“Give me your patitas”

She loves it when I let her crack my toes

And so do I.



34

I Am From…

by Cortize Dismuke

I am from safety pins

from CO2 and carbon-dioxide

I am from the gum under the bleachers

I am from the coordinate bush,

the dance crew

whose swift movement arms I remember

as if they were my own

I’m from Vinella and WristWatch

from Bluebunny and Cassio,

I’m from the gossips-about-its

and the go-on-about-its

from take in and let out.

I’m from respect your elders

and one book I can read myself

I’m from wings and thinkgs,

fried chicken and strong beer,

from the leg my aunt lost

to the amputation

the breast my aunt gave to keep her life.

Under my dresser was a flower

spilling old memories

a bit of missed hearts

to swiftly hide mixed emotions

I am from these memories

captured as I wondered

creatively, from the family tree.

Concrete poetry by Nicole Torres


35



36

Where I’m From

by Peter Puiles

I am from projects

from marijuana and cancer sticks

I am from the wind that blows to destinations

Glistening, thick,

tastes like caramel syrup

I am from the big city, the Red Apple

whose annoying voices I remember like yesterday.

I’m from the Italian Icees and Ralph Lauren Polo

from Manhattan to Queens

I’m from the gang-banging to the drug addicts

I’m from he who just tries to survive in this world

and hundreds of kids in this lonely world with no direction

I’ from 6th Avenue D., Spanish foods and strong marijuana

from the trials that my grandparents went through with me

to the mature successful life I have now.

Under all the circumstance there is still

this kid that came from nothing and everything negative

now a positive feeling comes from all the accomplishments

from the streets to the young man I turned out to be


37

You Move Me

(a collaborative poem by many students)

You move me like…

good friends on a Saturday night, like

classical music and learning to read

and when I was little

catching fireflies and telling ghost stories by bonfires

You move me like

sweet, cold lemonade on a hot summer day

like football games in the rain and

mama’s red velvet cake

licorice

One time you took a big breath and said three little words

when all the stuff didn’t matter and everyone was innocent

back when my parents were happily married

and time didn’t move

You move me like

Christmas morning

and Michael Jackson’s moonwalk

like my sister teaching me to tie my shoes

the love of the moon for the ocean

fire dancing across a field

wind moving a sailboat on the ocean

and God

That is how you move me.

I once stopped to look at you

cause I never did, never really saw you for you,

and you caught me…smiled, and carried on

You move me like that memory

of the first picture I colored that made the refrigerator door

like those afternoons watching Gunsmoke with my grandpa

You move me like

the bell ringing at 3:30, Hip hop that speaks, worship,

and the first note my 52 year old trumpet ever played,

like the strum of a guitar, tattoos, basketball, new shoes, silence,

lemon pepper chicken, sunrises and sunsets.

you most definitely move me


38

Abuse

by Kitrina Nelson

when i see cropped ears on a dog i think about fighting when i see bones on a horse i think about starvation when i see cats pancaked to the road i think about neglect through the fighting, hunger and neglect i see nothing but abuse to the companions of life i hope and pray that one day the world will change its ways and stop all of this and let the animals find love and peace i would be happier than a lost leprechaun on a rainy day i wish i could be superman and save the day with a day with a swing of my hair and a smile on my face recognize all this hate and preach till its love to save the helpless animals and stop this abuse



39

We Stand

by Kayla Daynea Saboor

we stand not hand in hand

but face to face

exchanging expressions of anxiety

three times too long

you’ve missed me, I know

but second times the trickiest.

I’m not flirting with you,

I’m dancing with danger

and all of his marvelous mannerisms

and, love, I’m not all that you think I am

but if it makes you happy, I can fake it.

we stand not hand in hand

but face to face

exchanging words of worry

like two rocks in the desert

we sit and we wait

but patience

is not something we both possess

I need an answer

you need me to refocus

so we can stand not only

hand in hand

and face

to face

but also

heart to heart

Tough

by Henry Schmidt

What is tough? Life’s tough. Homework’s

tough. Your older bully of a brother—he’s

pretty tough. But the toughest thing is

growing up. To mature into an adult, to set

friend and material things aside and step

into the adult world. To deal with all of

life’s problems on your own, no more

asking mom and dad for the solution. As a

kid, we really don’t know what awaits us as

an adult. All we know is that someday we’ll

be the ones remembering the good ole

days and talking about the new episode of

Law and Order and all the problems our

parents and their generation created are

now are problems. To me—that’s tough.


40

Notice

by Jessica Romero

Days can pass you by and you’ll never notice

notice the girl sitting alone, or the boy surrounded by his friends

you’ll never notice the sadness in her eyes or the force he uses just to smile

you’ll never notice the bruises on his back,

or the scars on her arm

you’ll never notice because you don’t care

Art by Anthony Arredondo


41

Summer Time

by Kaitlynn Santiago

No school, summer time

Wild parties, late nights

Were on the beach, in our bikini's

With our crazy friends, soaking up the sun

Daisy dukes, and flipflops

Don't forget them tanktops

Joy riding, here we come Warped Tour

Dancing crazy, its hardcore!

Insane rides,

Amusement Parks

Fresh cookouts

Hot dogs, and Hamburgers,

Sweet tea too

It's 4th of July

Look at the fireworks

In the sky

Pretty flowers

Blooming out of dirt

Green hoses,

Use the cold water

Slipping slides and

Big sprinklers

Lay out on your

Lawn chair

Layout get tan

Rub tanning oil on your body

Holla at some shawties

It's Summer of 2011

Let’s live it up

And have a sweet,

fun time!



42

Art by Josh Stidham

Untitled

by David Gray Taylor

The respect deserved has turned into dust

She has won the race and persevered

But her hard work is nothing but a shadow

Like moss on a stone

Or rust on metal

Her life earnings are covered up

Hidden away, never to return…

She creates an image

Draws up a map

And finds a way to be loved again

If only she had a friend.

So she cries herself to sleep

Lets the warm side of the pillow comfort her….


43

Art by Timothy Holland


44 Art by Frank Shaffroth

Moving

by Megan Warner

Moving to a place where you don’t know anyone except for your relatives meeting new people and knowing you’re not going to see your old friends.

Moving everyone’s different they all sound different

Everyone’s looks at you like you’re strange While you look back at them thinking the same. Moving to a place where you feel isn’t home because you can’t always be yourself and deep down you just want to come out of your shell

Moving away from your friends that you spent the last two and half years with starting over fresh with a new set of people leaving all old memories behind like that last party you went to and had a really good time.

Moving Moving to a place where you’re alone.


45

Hero

by Vernie Wade

You used to be my hero.

I wanted to be just like you:

funny and charismatic

and always able to lift me up

when I was sad,

but I was wrong.

When I had two paths to take,

you told me to take the opposite of left.

I said right?

you said wrong.

You said choose the path they don't

give you in school.

Then I realized what a monster you were,

a demon under your stupid lies.

You tried

to prove that drugs were good

that it would make me strong,

well, now look, you're gone.

You used to be my hero,

but you didn't believe in me.

I can be strong on my own.

I don't need to choose

your path.

You told me to go the opposite of left.

I said right?

you said wrong.

Well, I say wrong

'cause I can go

wherever I want.

I will be strong.

I want to be

just like me,

I want to be

the way I am,

I want to go

wherever I choose,

And I will because

I'm my own hero.

Art by Akaina Willa


46

A Song

by Suzette Desty

when I was young

there used to be a song

my mother sand and took all the pain

away

scabbed knees, fearful dreams,

anything

tears streaked face,

she sang the tears away

and the swells died down in my eyes.

“I’ll always be there, whenever you’re scared…just hold my hand and believe”

her voice so calm, Sleeping Beauty could not compare

the song that silenced that world’s pain for just

a..second.

no hate in one’s heart could withstand

no pain could remain

no day would brighten


the words collide

create this small, yet exploding passion inside

safety and comfort surrounds the words.

they settle warmly in the bottom of your soul

my children will know the meaning of these words

they will hear it when they’re scared

so they can know that no matter how cold the world is

they’re loved

no matter how lonely they get, they’ll know:


no matter what, or where

just think of this song.

and I’ll be there


47

A-Z Story

by Lyndsie Wood

Anytime I feel down, bored, or upset in anyway, I can pick up my guitar and

escape. Besides singing, my favorite thing to do is play guitar. Certain things inspire

me to write music and lyrics. Day by day I play. Everytime I pick up my guitar the

world around me disappears. First guitar: from my grandpa and mom on Christmas.

Granted, I was only twelve at the time, but I had ambition to learn how to play. He—

my grandpa—has been playing his whole life. I have been playing my Indiana Scout

for about six years. Just because a person is young doesn’t mean they don’t have

talent. Kids at that age can do a lot if they put their minds to it. Like I did, playing

guitar was a hidden talent of mine.

My most prized possession is my guitar “Bluie. No one is ever allowed to

touch him. People sometimes ask me to play but I have a little stage fright. Quitting

once I get started playing is impossible. Right after I put my guitar down I feel a

sudden relief. Sometimes I can sit for hours playing my guitar. Today I will probably

go home and play too. Undeniably , guitar is my passion. Very enjoyable .When I am

a little older I hope to do something with my guitar. Years in the future I will still be

playing Zeal state of mind is what I have when it comes to playing my guitar.

Concrete poetry by Hannah Kendrick


48

Saturday Morning Cartoons

by Stephanie Taylor

Crawling out of my bed,

Donned in my favorite ten-sizes too large t-shirt,

My toes touch the cool floor.

I wander into the living room,

The floor occupied by many blankets,

Pillows, and my lump of a brother.

The couch is claimed by my father.

I stare at him with wide, adoring eyes,

Still clutching my soft, worn out teddy bear.

He tilts his head down to look at me

And his lips curve up at the ends.

He scoots back and lifts the warm blanket

And I crawl in, my back pressed to his chest,

Only my eyes peer above the blanket’s hem.

I see coyotes running off cliffs

After chasing too fast of a bird,

Ducks with lisps, and feuding cats and mice.

Slowly my eyes closed,

The last image being that of some silly rabbit.

Content, I sigh as the feel of soft

Laughter rocks me to sleep.


49

We All Make Mistakes by Jamiqua Willett

I’ m happy living life everything is going right.

Then darkness comes and takes my sun away.

But I start to think that everybody makes mistakes.

Sometimes they say it’s a risk that you did not take.

But some risks are mistakes.

You can’t take it back

But mistakes are sometime the features you lack.

Then there comes that one word

What can I do? What should I say?

I then remember in my head that everybody makes mistakes.



50

Art by Emily Dixon


51

Join Panther Pause to be part of the

Literary Magazine team.

See Mrs. Spychalsky for more information.

breakthrough 2011

Documents

art nathaniel farrell

art diamond cockrell

i t e r

t h r o u g h

art alexis shapiro

art anthony arredondo

art emily dixon

g e h i g h s c h o