Litmag December 2012

Litmag December 2012

AcknowledgementsBergen County Technical Schools Board of Education

William Connelly, PresidentJason Kim, Vice President

Marie E. La Testa, Board Member,William J. Meisner Ed.D., Board Member

Robert M. Gilmartin, Superintendent

Bergen County Technical Schools AdministrationDr. Howard Lerner, Superintendent

Andrea Sheridan, Assistant SuperintendentRichard Panicucci, Assistant Superintendent

John Susino, Board SecretaryThomas Klemm, Director of Human Resources

Bergen County ExecutiveKathleen A. Donovan

Campus AdministrationRussell Davis, Principal

Raymond Bath, Vice PrincipalDavid Niedosik, Dean of Academics

Board of Chosen FreeholdersJohn D. MitcellJohn A. Felice

Maura DeNicolaJohn Driscoll, Jr.

David L. GanzRobert G. Hermansen

Joan M. Voss

Table of Contentsuntitled... Talia Green

Sunset... Ji-Sung Kim

Winter’s Wood... Anne Li

The Words That Used to Come Easy to Me... Max Lauring

untitled... Gaby Marraro

Imagine-Flowers... Monica Muznik

untitled... Mika Thomas

Sensory... Monica Muznik

I Felt the Rain Thump... Alejandra Torres

The Corridor of Broken Hearts... David Maginley

Anchored Defeat... Talia Green

October Bleak... Anne Li

My Favorite Time of Year... Melissa Gandhi

Cover Art... Camellia Carbonaro

Photography.... Melissa Gandhi

Illustrations.... Helen Sakharova

UntitledTalia Green

Just for a moment, I’m once again found

My feet momentarily touching the ground

Been more than forever since shoved from cloud nine

A lie that you beautifully shoved passed the line

If just for a moment, before you reply,

Regret to confess my heart’s still in the sky

There it remains, on the stand side our bed

Along with the promise of bliss in my head

I guess I was blind from the fog of our love

Or faint from no oxygen miles above

I guess the light shining around us was fake

Bound by the halo you took time to make

Guess I’m momentarily trapped by your spell

Forging a heaven that’s clearly a hell

In settings somehow just a breath from sun’s shine

Fooling my eyes on exquisite cloud nine

Through years since I’ve fallen, I’ve morphed to a soul

That’s practically soulless, a vapid black hole

Is now momentarily filled in my chest

But solitude’s pain is, in truth, for the best

‘Cause, moments ago, when I saw my reflection

I realized that I now decide my direction

I don’t need your lies to protect my frail youth

From this moment on, I’m defined by the truth

Your ice walls are crumbling, melting at last

But now I have vanished, the moment has passed

And you’ll walk this earth with a tear in your eye

And each moment wonder and glance at the sky

SunsetJi-Sung Kim

Walking next to the setting sun,

the sun called out to me

“Come, weary traveler,

Come, old child”

“Embrace me,” it cried

“Bask in my warmth

and quench your sleep

your hopes; your dreams”

“Rest those tired bones

Leave your worries

Forget your sadness;

your long lost love”

So laying my hopes beside me,

I sat in the sunset glow,

resting these bones

next to the setting sun.

Winter’s Wood Anne Li

Trees that beckon as they recede,

Framing an entrance to the woods’ lair.

They ask me to join that beautiful realm,

Oblivious to the dimming air.

They hummed with life that was to come,

As I drank in scents of earth and leaves.

Taking in branches and bare gray trunks,

Yearning to stay and be one with these trees.

I turned to go, but, oh! beauty still!

For I bent and beheld upon the ground

One of you sisters fallen in death

With her grace untouched and sound.

She’d given life to shades of gold,

And tan, and brown so dark.

These shell-scooped shelves, whose tops were cream,

Grew dearly from her bark.

I reluctantly saw the sky less bright,

For I’d have stayed if I’d but could.

And watched the last of sunset’s light

Fade form winters’ wood.

The Words That Used to Come Easy To MeMax Lauring

The words used to come so easily to me

They blossomed patiently, waiting to be picked

But now they deceive me and always have me tricked

We laughed and danced together and cooperated naturally

But now I can’t take it any more as we always disagree


Lost like a blind-folded blind man

The tragedy that suddenly began

Memories of brilliance and harmony

Now memories of afflicted debris


You have become a plague of derision

No longer waiting to be summoned

The spark of inspiration and ardency

Has now rotted away and turned ugly.


They are choppy and serrated

Apathetic like a balloon deflated

Once a reservoir replete with ingenuity

Drowned and suffocated, polluted undersea


One time I even poured them into the palm of my hand

And watched as they graciously glided through my very fingers grand

Beleaguered by effluent language that once agreed

But that was when the words used to come easy to me

UntitledGaby Marraro

no date, no name attachedwalkinghand in hand with ablankname taga shirtwhere the letters have been erasedand the shoeswith the impression of a finger nailwhere the logo was etched offtransparent pavementlooking downat the safety pinthat took myself down with it2: thirty 2so i let it gounjustifiedbut i didn’t hear it drop, i thinkforgivenby no oneby enoughhelloblankblankxxxxxxxxxblankthe way it should bedoes anybody have the time?not the answers?

Imagine-- FlowersMonica Muznik

humans as flowers

My olive colored vines seeking to meet your full green luscious leaves

to touch such a beauty with vines without end my vines intermingle with yours together, inseperable - positively thigmotropictwirling around each otherso naturally

oh, how we could sneak underneath the brush or up into the sky together,

no explanation is needed of why two plants should be so affectionate

We know though, before our roots are torn up and before the drought, the encounter was real

evidence cannot depict a sensation, it’s natural to decay and morph, time will recreate itself and two vines may once again touch

UntitledMika Thomas

“From which it stands, one nation,Under God, indivisible, with liberty And justice for all.” And sit, knowing tomorrow we will stand, recite, and sit the same.And, now that I think of itwith such devout, almost religious repetition, should follow inculcation,That would breed credibility for this falsity, turning this statement of “liberty” into truthMaking us feel like we have achieved equality,Basically morphing reality into a simple case of mind over matter,Belief over fact.Doesn’t all of that make sense? Is it not a simple summation of our nature?But, recall that the foundation of this nation was to reach equalityAnd slowly we approach it, but not quite there, almost asymptote to liberty.And some parts of the country closer than others, but the progress of the wholeIs many times more significant than that of a single pieceWhich is a notion the name of our country implies,The country made from the silver threaded needles, sewing on bright white starswith the shining, unifying, notion of “equality,But are these needles justIf they will not let her sew a dress for her partnerShortly after mending her own?Then they could go out together and face the publicLooking well-kept and much like princesses.The notion of equality lent her false hope of protection from judgmentDerision and God cling to her skin like perfume, like the one she

and her lover wearAnd she hears the snapping of cheap threads,That distinct popping sound,That reminds one of rethreading the needle and, starting again. Because once tested the needles rusted, and no longer sewed the country togetherThe notion of marriage equality ripping thread and creating large holes in the fabric

Sensory Monica Muznik

Touching hands, arms, legs,

intertwined wrapped up together

senses gone wild

two entities but one in the moment

loneliness left and warmth was welcomed

the night begins to end.

Darkness crashes in and is compiled in the mind

the mirror tells the tale

wrinkles and splotches appear

raining but indoors, a cloth is needed

but the cause is internal

expressed outwardly incapable of being understood.

I Felt the Rain ThumpAlejandra Torres

I felt the Rain Thump on my roof -- as the World DiedThe Pitter-Patter rang in my Ears --Just as Everyone’s Fear rang in the streets --Prayers and Curses -- fell with the Drops

Rhythmically and Steadily -- with a Purpose --Cried the skies -- and Buildings Toppled overCracks in the Earth -- Cracks in the HeavensHungry Death was at its Highest

My house Tumbled -- the Neighbors yelledCars crashed -- Explosions ignited --The ground Trembled -- the Last ambulances Wailed --All Droned out by the Rain

The Rain continued -- Beating Hard and Strong --Between the Pain and Death and Blood --And then the World gasped for one Last Breath --And the Blue strived for one Last Tear --

The Corridor of Broken Hearts David Maginley

Noise slowly descended as I rose. A corridor stood before me, fresh from the scene.

Echoes of lost footsteps rang through the night as I plunged into the darkness.

Every thrice step, I looked toward my shadow whose heartbeat bore its way.

Longing for what would come next, I slowly halted, sound pierced my heart again.

A sleazy giggle dispersed as I turned to look, a voluptuous silhouette deceived my eyes.

Womanly curves who craved my touch.

Sorrow hit me as the silhouette turned into a duo.

A hand slid down its side, caressing a full, luscious hip.

Oh how I desired for that to be me! Oh how I begged for that to be me!

Reality collapsed into my head. I collapsed with grief, noticing the sacred shadows dispersed.

My rhythm had to continue, the pace regulated.

Mimics of spoken pleasure struck my ears with pain, each time revealing nothing.

Oh how I craved to scream! Oh how I pleaded to bellow!

Silenced words escaped my mouth.

Finally, I reached a barren lodge; an eternal dusk engulfed me as I wept.

Oh how I wanted to sleep! Oh how I demanded to rest!

The dreams of the corridor forever haunt me.

Suffering is its only gift, sharp and serrated as a rogue’s knife.

As I lay here drunk with emotion, the corridor wreaks havoc on those who bear courage to withhold its power.

Anchored DefeatTalia Green

Beige foam fading from the sea’s rich tealStrokes with pity the sun-burnt sand,Off-white ash pierced by the anchor of defeatAnd stained by the wrecked stern bleeding,Crimson spreading rapidly across a shore’s murdered hope.Tired heels of a broken peopleMark the ash only to be forever erasedBy shaming waves.Helmets fall, swords clatter to rockAnd he sinks to sliced knees, mourning man’s prideAnd his arms curl ‘round the waist of a woman,Cheek buried in her chests emanating warmthOf which the ash between his toes are void.Empty of men, he cries.Empty of men.Three hundred tears rust the iron Binding his shattered ankles to his past And his past to the anchor Six hundred more, nine hundred again Until the remnants of lost men are sealed by rust.Two fingers of a father The forearm of a son The embrace of miscellaneous gore Around the waist of a mourning wifeSpeared to the rust of the anchor And to the flickering memory Of the time when men had understoodHow to be victorious

October BleakAnne Li

The house next door has plastic bonesthat dance with hollow grins.The spirit of Halloween pervadesin crooked gravestones, cotton spider webs.But this here house has faerie bones,in pots from Easters past.Happy rabbits lie in preserved neglect,Stained butterfliesnow rods of iron black.Watering cans are brokenand bleached bone white by past suns.They told me that Halloweenwas a terror holiday.So then the ghouls of ancient,Blood;But not the chillingwhispers of yesterday.

My Favorite Time of the YearMelissa Gandhi

There was no one on the streets of Time Square, but my three idiotic friends and me. A strong Nor’easter was bringing in an immense amount of snow right before the holidays. My friends and I just got out of work and were throwing snowballs at one another. I, personally, love this time of the year. Everyone is joyous; there are Christmas decorations everywhere, bright lights, and it’s just so beautiful.

A strong wind blew in, and Chad threw a snowball right at Ty’s face. We all started to throw snowballs right at Ty, until he started to throw some back and chase us. We all ran into the crowded, Misty’s coffee shop, laughing, and that’s when I saw her.

She was beautiful. She had short blonde hair with black tips and her eyes were like the color of new leaves on a tree. It was love at first sight, and I knew I had to know her name.

‘Earth to Brad. Hello? Anyone home?” Josh snapped in front of my face, knocking me right back to reality.

“Where were you lost, huh, bud?” asked Ty, as all three them tried to figure out where I was looking before.

“Oh, man. I got ya! Brad’s got a crush on the blondie over there!” cooed Chad.

Before I could even deny any of it, Ty put a hot chocolate in my hand, and all three of them pushed me towards the table she was sitting at. I stumbled over my own feet, and looked over at my friends, who were dying of laughter. She looked up at me and shook her head, and got back to her book.

Mark of Athena, read the cover.

“Alright, not only is she gorgeous, but has an amazing choice in books. She’s like my soul mate!” I thought in my head.

“Um, excuse me. Do you mind if I take a seat?” I asked, nervously.

“Sure, go for it,” she replied, going back to her book.

“I’m Brad, what’s your name?”

“Can’t you see I’m reading?”

“Right, sorry,” I said, feeling the awkwardness. I slumped down in my seat, and looked over at my friends. Each one of them had a girl under their arms, even Chad. I couldn’t be alone, so I stayed in that exact seat, sipped my hot cocoa, and admired the beauty of the girl seating across from me.

About twenty minutes later, she lifted her head, and closed her book, and said, “Sorry about being so rude, I just wanted to finish the book. My name is Janet. You’re Brad, right?”

“Yes, I am Brad, and it’s wonderful meeting you Janet.” I replied as I kissed the back of her hand.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need to go, my ride is waiting outside.”

And she ran off before I could even get her number. I sat back, sighed, and drank my now cold hot cocoa.

For the next couple of days, my friends continued to ridicule me about Janet. I shook it off, but I was desperate to see her again. However, I had no idea where to start looking for her. I went to Misty’s Coffee Shop at the same time she and I met, everyday, since that day, but she never showed up.

It was Christmas Eve, and I realized I hadn’t done any of my shopping yet, so I headed over to Macy’s, hoping to find something gift worthy.

I headed over to electronics and found Halo 4 and Black Ops 2 for Ty and Chad. I just had to find something for Josh now. And as I was walking over to the next aisle, looking at the items, I bumped into someone.

“I am so sorry, let me help you with that,” I said as I bent down to pick up the dropped items.

“It’s okay,” I heard, and she bent down too. We bumped heads and looked into each other’s eyes.

“Janet?” I laughed.

“Brad? Oh my goodness,” Janet replied.

“I’m so sorry about this.”

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey. Do you want to get some coffee after we pay for all this stuff?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes.

“Oh… I don’t know…” she started, but I cut her off and said, “Oh, come on. It will pay back for being so rude to me at Misty’s.”

“Oh, alright. If you insist.”

We paid and ran out into the streets, holding hands and our bags. It was snowing lightly outside. Janet ran onto the street and spun around with her hands out, sticking out her tongue to catch the falling snowflakes. I copied her, I felt like a child, again. We bumped into one another, yet again, but this time, I held her in a strong embrace, laughing.

We ran into Misty’s Coffee Shop, and I stopped her in the doorway. I pointed above. She saw the mistletoe, and giggled, and shook her head. I held her tight around her waist in one arm, and her face in the other, and whispered, “We have to, it’s a rule,” as I kissed her softly.

The Litmag Staff would like to extend a very sincere Thank You to Mrs. Villanova and Mrs. DiAmico-King for all their help and guidance in producing this December 2012 issue of BCA Litmag. We could not have done it

without their support and advice.

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Litmag December 2012