Volume 1, June 2016 - mercyhs.com · Our Lady of Mercy School for Young Women ... You, my friend, never judge.-Grace Kurzweil Artwork: ... Because there is one secret you will never

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Volume 1, June 2016

Our Lady of Mercy School for Young Women

1437 Blossom Road

Rochester, New York 14610

Artwork: Katherine Barber

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Staff Letter

Dear Readers,

In this issue, you will be drawn into beautiful artwork, photos, and poetry. We are proud to bring

you the first edition of Mercy’s Middle School magazine which will captivate your soul and trap your

mind. This work of art is sure to instill inspiration within you, and we hope to see your pieces in next

year’s issue. A special thank you to all of our contributors who have made their voices heard through

this magazine, to everyone who bought a flower and/or goodie bag on Valentine’s Day to support The

Voice, to Mrs. Jauch and the staff of Mercedes for their help and advice, to Mrs. Whipple for our

dress down day, and to Ms. Wunder for all her help and support. This all would not have been possible

without Mrs. Good. She is the person to whom we can turn to thank for introducing this club to the

Middle School, and if it weren’t for her, students’ minds would still be oblivious to the inspiration, crea-

tivity, and talent within them. Thank you to Mrs. Good and to everyone who has made The Voice of Mer-

cy Middle magazine possible! Enjoy our first edition!

Signed,

Julia Pelletier, Editor in Chief Mrs. Good, Moderator

Katherine Barber Jasmine Nichols Lily Greco

Mackenzie Yaddaw Leah Sisson Anna Mae Schinsing

Rachel Gargan Paige McKenna Laura Giugno

Grace Kurzweil Adrianna Atmosfera Juliana Falcon

Mary Rion Maheen Ahmed Ashley Brandt

Artwork: Mrs. Good, Paige & Mr. G

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Artwork: Cordelia Donner

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Simile

Lindy Lemay……………………….6

Draw Me a Picture

Patricia Motlhankana……………....7

Infinity

Rachel Gargan…………….……….8

Eternal Bloom

Mackenzie Yaddaw………………..9

A World of White

Grace Kurzweil…………………….10

The Fox and the Trees

Grace Kurzweil………………….…11

O Pioneers! I See From Afar

Grace Kurzweil……………………..12-13

To My Closet Door

Grace Kurzweil…………………….14

Volcano

Mallory Sullivan…………………...15

Crumbled

Anonymous……………………..….17

By the Midnight Tree

Adrianna Atmosfera……………......18

Hope Is Always There

Lindsey Hassett…………………….19

Calling for You

Katie Thrasher……………………...20

Masks

Laura Giugno………………………21

Dreams

Mary Rion………………………….22

A Roaring Flame

Mary Rion……………………….…23

I’m Just a Girl

Mary Rion………………………….24

Hide And Seek

Mary Rion……………………….…25

Time

Laura Giugno……………………....26

Simile

Lindy Lemay……………………….27

Who We Are

Laura Giugno……………………....28

Oak Tree

Ally Farnand………………………..30

Her

Olivia Evangelista…...……………..32

Unplanned

Tricia Dini…………………….…....33

Paper and Pens

Adrianna Atmosferra……………….34

Simile

Adrianna Atmosferra…………...…..35

Society’s Princess

Anonymous………………………...36

Song For Souls

Anonymous…………….…………..37

Human

Leah Sisson………...…….………...38

Shining Stars

Julia Pelletier……………………….39

When We Were Younger

Julia Pelletier…………...…………...40

The Place

Julia Pelletier…………..………..…..41

Poetry & Prose

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Katherine Barber…….Front & Back Covers

Katherine Barber…………… ……... 1

Mrs. Good, Paige & Mr. G………… 2

Cordelia Donner……………………. 3

Alyssa Vonhold……………………. 5

Lindy Lemay……………………….. 6

Rachel Gargan……………………... 8

Sydney Laniak/Mackenzie Yaddaw.. 9


Alyssa Vonhold……………….…… 11

Sydney Laniak……………………... 12

Grace Kurzweil……………………. 14


Mackenzie Yaddaw………………… 16

Leah Sisson………………………… 17-20

Julia, Paige & Laura……………….. 21

Rachel Gargan……………………... 22-23

Paige McKenna…………………... 24

Sydney Laniak……………………... 25

Grace Kurzweil/Julia Pelletier……... 26

Lindy Lemay………………………. 27

Chansocphentra Salcido…………… 29


Rachel Gargan……………………... 33-34

Mackenzie Yaddaw/Julia Pelletier… 35

Paige McKenna/Julia Pelletier……... 36

Julia Pelletier………………………. 37

Mackenzie Yaddaw/Julia Pelletier…. 38


Sydney Laniak/Mackenzie Yaddaw.. 40

Leah Sisson………………………… 41-42

Grace Kurzweil…………………….. 43



Lily Greco…………………………. 47



Anna Mae Schinsing…...……..…… 50-51


Alyssa Vonhold……………………. 53

Tricia Dini…………………………. 55

Sydney Laniak……………………... 56-57

Clare Talty…………………………. 58

Finding Trust

Anonymous……..………………….42

Someone Who

Anonymous………………………...43

Life is an Oyster

Reilly Refermat…………………….44-45

The Real Me

Lily Greco………………………….. 46

The Ocean

Lily Greco………….……………….47

Right There

Anna Mae Schinsing………………..49

Toys On a Shelf

Lillian LeStrange…………………...51

Never

Jasmine Nichols……………………52

Death

Jasmine Nichols…………………….53

I Am From

Joy Smith…………………………..54

Artwork

Artwork: Alyssa Vonhold

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Artwork & Simile: Lindy LeMay

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DRAW ME A PICTURE

Draw me a picture. A picture that would make me smile, A picture that would make me laugh

Until I lose my voice. Draw me a picture,

Of flowers. Flowers of different colors

Red, yellow, green, blue, orange, pink. Draw me a picture.

Draw me a picture that shows freedom. A picture with no sadness, A picture with no sorrow, A picture with no pain, A picture with no death.

Draw me a picture With happiness

And a better life. Can you draw me that picture?

- Patricia Motlhankana

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Artwork: Rachel Gargan

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Artwork: Sydney Laniak & Mackenzie Yaddaw

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A World of White

Blowing, the wind tosses the leaves across the land;

Howling, its sound fills every space.

Menacing, the clouds build up overhead.

Watching, the sky waits to strike.

Swirling, the snow pounds thickly down,

Smothering everything in its way.

Subsiding, the storm begrudgingly retreats,

Leaving Earth under a blanket of white.

Grinning, snowmen rise up out of the snow;

Waving, they greet us with jolly sights.

Winking its bright eyes, the sun sinks from view.

Twinkling, the stars now shine steadily overhead,

Highlighting the soft white snow crystals below.

- Grace Kurzweil Artwork: Rachel Gargan

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The Fox and the Trees

A red fox slinks through the forest

His eyes darting from tree to tree

Seeing everything around him.

The fox’s pair of slim ears twitch,

And his four white feet skim the ground,

A bushy tail trailing behind.

The trees sway and whisper

As they proudly wave their branches.

Green and yellow and red leaves

Flutter gallantly down to the fresh grass.

The birch bark curls into thin layers

And drifts through the air.

The forest is alive with sounds

And the sly fox twitches his ears to listen

As it steals through the thick, dewy grass.

Trees and grass and creatures

All mingle together as one.

- Grace Kurzweil


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Artwork Melissa Cook

O Pioneers! I See From Afar

O Pioneers! I see from afar

Amidst your fields of gray.

You endlessly toil

Without a sign of strife,

But never with reward.

O Pioneers! for you

No rain will fall:

No clouds will gather,

The land left

Dry as a desert.

O Pioneers! why does the sun

Beat down on you so?

Generations go by

And you make a brave stand

Yet never have you seen

But one blade of grass.

O Pioneers! save your land,

For it shall come back to reward you.

It will bear good fruit,

And the trees will dance

As the river flows smoothly by.

O Pioneers! how well you have come

For now the land

Abides by your will.

No more shall you perish

No more shall your crops fall

Under the Sun’s greedy eye.

Rejoice, for you are free

And every breeze

Brings word of your triumph.

- Grace Kurzweil

Artwork: Sydney Laniak

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Explanation of the poem: On the first line of every stanza, I begin with the title of my inde-pendent reading book, O Pioneers!. If we exam-

ine this title, we can imagine, even without reading it, a struggle to survive in a new land and a strong sense of hope. While reading this novel, the author, Willa Cather, gives the read-er an idea of how life would have been for pio-neers by having us travel with the Bergson family to dry and dusty land where their crops won’t grow and no rain will revive the fields. My poem, O Pioneers! I See From Afar, tells of

the relentless sun beating down upon the pio-neers as they work hard to make a living out of fields that are “left dry as a desert.” The pio-neers must keep undying faith in their land, even when it seems as though nothing could ever rescue it. After Mr. Bergson dies, his daughter, Alexandra, his three sons, and his wife must struggle alone to survive. However, after many years, their struggle finally comes to an end. They find good land, a promising fu-ture, and a renewed faith in the land. Overall, this poem summarizes the hopes and fears and the smiles and tears of a strong pioneer

family.

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To My Closet Door

Hello, my comrade, my closet door! When you were young and first arrived, You were just plain and wooden. Hung on the wall, Paint shining in the light; A barrier between my room and my toys. Your latch once fit securely in its space, Opening and closing noiselessly. Now your paint flakes to the floor, Leaving patches of bare wood on your surface. You lean, Crooked, Your hinges coming off the wall And your bottom edge scrapes My floor. You’re the Dobby of my bedroom, dear door! You hold my hooks full of clothes, Hide my mess in a matter of minutes, And provide a handy, secret hiding place. You listen as I whisper to you, Asking you what to wear.

You, my friend, never judge.

- Grace Kurzweil

Artwork: Grace Kurzweil

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Hanging Tree Poems Inspirational Poetry lesson taught by Julia Pelletier and inspired by Suzanne

Collins’ original poem from The Hunger Games

Artwork: Mackenzie Yaddaw

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Artwork: Leah Sisson


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Artwork: Julia, Paige & Laura

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I’m Just a Girl

I'm just a girl. I hide how I really feel.

I smile and laugh, Then scream and cry.

I wish I was someone different Because I'm just a girl.

I have always wondered Am I any good?

What good can I do? What good will I do?

I'm just a girl. I don't have magical powers

Or super strength.

I have knowledge, creativity, athleticism, Compassion, and courage,

And if that's what a girl is, Then I'm fine with being,

Just a girl.

- Mary Rion

Artwork: Paige McKenna

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Hide and Seek

This game is different

From most you have seen

You don't need a partner

Or a group of three

It's only me

Hiding from myself

And seeking

My reality

Wondering where I'm

Meant to be

This game is one word

Or possibly three

This game is

Life

Also known as

Hide and seek

- Mary Rion


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Time

Memories fade as we age

Normal days disappear

Important days become blurry

Tastes change

Times change

We change

Until we can barely recognize ourselves

We grasp at the wisps

The past

The memories

The unfulfilled hopes

The unfinished dreams

Time keeps moving forward

But we stay

Stuck in the past

Too afraid to move on

To see what is in the present

To look into tomorrow

We will never get to see the wonders of the future

If we stay trapped in the past

-Laura Giugno

Artwork: Grace Kurzweil/Julia Pelletier

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Masks

Artwork & Simile: Lindy LeMay

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Who We Are

Some say we are only

DNA, blood, muscle, bone

And maybe they are right

Some believe in fate

Our choices are predetermined

What does it matter what we do

it has already been decided

Others believe we are superior

More advanced than other species

And maybe we are

But maybe we just want to, need to, believe this

We need to be in control

Is that who we are?

Living in fear of losing control

Losing safety, happiness, love

But I don’t think that’s all we are

We are so much more

Love, hate, fear, and hope

We choose who we are

-Laura Giugno

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Oak Tree Sadness was everywhere.

In the room, on people’s grim faces, but most of all, in their hearts. My family endeavored to keep their spirits up, with grief and pain etched on their faces. I was afraid. I didn’t know what was waiting for me in that dark, eerie, back room. I didn’t understand every thing yet. I hated being the clueless one.

I slowly crept to the room. The shadows on the wall seemed to swallow me up, which didn’t help my worries which were churning around in my stomach like a vicious storm at sea. My uncles were gathered around a bed, includ- ing my father. No. This wasn’t her. What happened to that sweet, lively woman I knew and loved? What happened to her cheerful smile and heartwarming laugh? Where was it? For a moment, I stood there. I was just a child. Children are so weak and innocent. They should never be bur- dened with horrible pain.

I had never experienced anything like this. I just stood there, frozen in the doorframe. I was flabbergasted. I am never the one to remain speechless. Today was far different. My words got caught in my throat, as if someone had opened my mouth and shoved the words back down. My grandmother was resting on a hospital bed. She looked so pale, as white as the moon, and fragile, like a piece of precious china. Her sparkly eyes were closed shut. Her mouth hung open, striving for each minuscule breath,

struggling to stay here. To stay with us. My grandfather grasped her hand under the several blankets and smiled a sad smile at me. Grandpa held my hand, for winter had bitten my hands raw. We exchanged a few benign words. I looked everywhere else in the room, ex-cept at Grandma’s face. The rim of Grandpa’s glasses, the snowflakes gently falling outside the frost-covered window, the pain of my fingernails digging into my palm, ordering me not to cry. No. I can’t let Grandma see me like this. I needed to be strong for her. I lost myself when my curiosity pleaded for another glance at my grandmother. My gaze stayed there, focusing on every key detail of her face, searing it into my brain forever because I might not see it again. In general, I’m a complete joker, trying to fit a corny joke in every time silence tries to speak. But I couldn’t now. Not when I saw this.

Silence spoke loudly, making all of us look down at our feet and close our mouths, as if it was sewing our lips together with metal thread and a very dull, painful needle. My father told me I didn’t have to be in there. I could go back in the living room with my other aunts and uncles. I refused his offer and didn’t move a muscle. It didn’t matter that I was the only child in the room. I had to stay.

As my uncles spoke solemnly to each other, I couldn’t help but study my dad. He looked so sad, so broken up inside and out, and it pained me even more to see that. It was as if someone had grabbed a ten-pound hammer and smashed my father’s heart into diminutive scraps of nothingness. He was usually as strong as an oak tree, maybe even stronger. Now my father was more broken than a cracked, dismantled mirror. I was a natural fountain, sensitive to every little thing that came my way. I absolutely hated change. But who had helped me to embrace my feelings and emotions my entire life? My family. Now it was my turn. I needed to be the strong one, for everyone, even if I am a child. Someone had to step up to the plate. Someone had to keep light and keep hope up and remind them of what my grandmother would want. She’d want us to remember her, forever and always. She wouldn’t want us to be neck-deep in an ocean of grief. My grandmoth-er would want us to keep living for her. My family just had to remember that, always. But I had to remember something, too: I had to learn my grandmother possibly wouldn’t make it out of this and to accept that. I couldn’t be too positive about this, because if she did go, I’d be let down, maybe even more than my fa-ther. I wanted to stay firm and strong for everyone, just as they had for me at one time or another. I wanted to be my own strong oak tree. And when my grandmother does go, she’s going to a better place. A place where not only will she be perfectly safe by the grace of God, but where we’ll also know she’s watching us from above and waiting patiently for us to reunite together, for the last and enteral time. I promise, Grandma, I will do my best to take care of our family, and I will see you again.

May this writing be in honor of Teresa Farnand who passed away earlier today on January 20, 2016.

~Ally Farnand

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Artwork: Chansocphentra Salcido

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Her

She stands on the pure white steps with a light smile on her face, her eyes reveal-ing the kind emotions within her. Her cheekbones sharpening with her smile, white

teeth reflecting happiness.

The sun shines down, casting rays like morning snow falling softly. There are no clouds present, only the vast blue of the sky.

Her long, golden hair shimmers as it floats in the cool breeze, rippling like waves on a still morning, flowing like water off smooth rocks.

The dress she wears is like a white moonbeam, giving off a glow that would light the darkest parts of the night. It flows along, touching her bare feet and tickling

them. It does not define her figure, yet moves as to hide her full beauty, encasing her in white.

When she moves, I catch a slight glimpse of soft, downy feathers fluttering. As she rises, I see them unfurling from their folded position, pushing light away from around her massive shape. They extend to their full power, shadowing down

against the willing sun.

She takes a step towards me and reaches out, flapping them ever so gently. I feel shielded from the fear and despair. My worries float away, my doubts fade. I feel

safe.

She beckons me to her. I follow her up the pure white steps, towards the shining sun and away from everything behind me.

I follow the Angel to hope.

~Olivia Evangelista

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- Adrianna Atmosfera

Artwork: Mackenzie Yaddaw/Julia Pelletier

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Artwork: Paige McKenna/Julia Pelletier

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Artwork: Julia Pelletier

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Artwork Joyce Ding Artwork: Mackenzie Yaddaw/Julia Pelletier

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Artwork: Sydney Laniak/Mackenzie Yaddaw

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Finding Trust

Anyone normal could be your best friend;

Who you tell all your secrets,

Who you partner with in gym,

Who is the best friend a girl could have,

Except when she isn’t;

Because there is one secret you will never be able to tell her;

Because even if you did, she wouldn’t know what it was,

Because even if it’s someone else’s fault, you will never tell a soul that secret again;

Because sometimes souls are not trustworthy,

Because sometimes souls betray you;

Because sometimes souls can hurt you;

Because even by ignoring all that, you still can’t tell her,

Because normal people’s views on you change, a lot;

Because if you do something stupid, they’ll just decide you’re more mentally impaired than you claim,

Because they’ll treat you differently,

Because you can’t stand the idea of being looked at as different.

And yet none of this matters anymore,

Because I found a new confidante,

One that I now trust,

Who is the same as me,

Yet completely different.

For she has a different view that I now call my own;

She taught me to embrace it.

- Anonymous


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Someone Who...

Anyone normal wouldn’t believe how good it feels to have someone who knows

Who knows how it feels when the prying eyes won’t leave the back of your neck

Who knows how it feels when you do something impulsive that isn’t your fault

Who knows that even if you don’t breathe a word about not being okay, you aren’t

Who knows how it feels when people call you stupid

Anyone normal wouldn’t believe how good it feels

To have someone who goes through the same things that you do

Who goes through the friends that think you’re mental

Who goes through the “concerned” doctors

Who goes through the people you once called friends revealing your secrets

Who goes through the times you want to crawl into your shell and hide from yourself

Anyone normal wouldn’t believe how good it feels to have someone who gets you

Who gets you even when you start sobbing in the middle of class over poetry

Who gets you even when you do something impulsive because you just broke out of the

holds of your medication

Who gets you even after you have an emotional breakdown

Who gets you even when they add another thing to your long list of diagnoses

Who gets you because even when everything is messed up in your head, everything is

right in your heart

Who gets you, and it, both, together

Which is an extraordinary thing

So hold onto that someone

For you will never find anyone like them again

-Anonymous

Artwork: Grace Kurzweil

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Artwork Elaina Trapani

One metaphor for life is that life is an oyster in the sea. This

metaphor explains so much about life. Have you ever heard the ex-

pression, “The world is your Oyster”? Well, that expression explains

that the world has so much to offer, if you have the courage to ex-

plore the wonders of it. An oyster in the sea represents a very simi-

lar meaning. Oysters are grouped in many ways and have families

that live in different habitats, just like we as humans are all unique

and have family in places all over the world. We might be very close

to family, or not as close, but we all share similarities as well as dif-

ferences throughout life. Oysters are rough on the outside and re-

semble how we may be when we are having a bad day and how life

can be tough at times. They are hard to get open at times-almost

secretive to the things they hold in their hearts. Just like an oyster,

we can meet people in life, or even be an introvert ourselves, afraid

to be out there-out of our shell in the calm water and into the world

beyond that comfort. An oyster is not an exotic color, inside nor

out, but if you can peel back all of the layers that it wants to hide

behind, you might be lucky to find a stunning pearl. The pearl rep-

resents those amazing moments in life, or even one special moment

that you can appreciate and keep hold of along the journey of the

oyster’s bumpy shell. It might be getting into your top college, get-

ting proposed to, or just holding the door for someone and seeing

that smile broaden across their face. There are many things an oys-

ter can represent in life, but the important thing is to learn as

much as you can by opening your shell, peeling back the layers of

who you are and discovering that wondrous pearl. The spiritual,

meaningful, and physical aspects of an oyster describe how beauti-

ful life can really be in the metaphor, “Life is an Oyster in the Sea”.

-Reilly Refermat

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The Real Me

Most people know me, but not very well.

I wonder if it’s because they only know the outside,

or maybe because I don’t talk to them.

It doesn’t matter either way, based on what I’ve seen.

All that people see in me is an Autistic freak.

The real me is shy, sensitive, and kind.

The real me is funny, sassy, and geeky.

The real me likes to sing with all my might.

The real me also likes to write.

Before you start making conclusions,

Know that I’m still a human.

Use your eyes so you can see,

the person who is, the real me.

-Lily Greco


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The Ocean

Hear the quiet of the ocean.

How peaceful and calm.

What a world of happiness with the ocean in my palm.

Oh the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh

On the beach of sand.

While I’m at the shore,

She greets me with her hand.

How I sigh, sigh, sigh

Because I want to dive in.

But the light is getting dim.

To the endlessness of her song.

Oh the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh,

swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.

Oh the calmness and happiness of the swoosh.

Poem & Picture by Lily Greco, inspired by a parody of Edgar Allen Poe’s poem

“The Bells”.

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Right There

There! Right there! You don’t see it?

I don’t know how you don’t see it!

It's so obvious, it’s right in front of you!

Well, this is what it looks like,

because you are clearly refusing to see it.

It is bright and it shows feeling;

Some days it's hard to see,

Other days it’s brighter than the sun.

I agree it’s not easy to find,

but it’s there.

Your light.

Your spirit is always right there.

- Anna Mae Schinsing

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Artwork: Anna Mae Schinsing

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Toys on A Shelf

little girl all by herself

sitting on the swing set

because there are no toys on the shelf

they took them away and threw them out

they say she’s a creature

and that there’s no doubt

but what they don’t know

is that she’s got more than just the toys

on the poor little shelf

- Lillian LeStrange

Artwork: Anna Mae Schinsing

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Death

The moment of truth It decides our life

We have no control

They died We can't do anything But hide in our souls And remember them

We lost them

Never will we hear them laugh Never will we hear them speak

Nothing we can do

We remember And we crawl deeper into the unknown

Our soul Tears falling, dreams dying

Creating our fate

A force takes over The force of death

It surrounds us, creating fear It forces us to face it

-Jasmine Nichols


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I am from... I am from Rochester, New York I am from baths in the sink I am from boo boos caused by climbing the apple tree I am from taking extraordinary trips to fascinating places I am from Grandma and Grandpa’s house every Sunday I am from turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes all the time I am from Frisbee in the backyard with daddy I am from mom’s delicious pound and 7up cake I am from mom's famous cooking I am from sitting on dad’s lap listening to smooth jazz I am from picking goods with mom and dad from our veggie garden I am from sitting together as a family eating dinner I am from finding love notes from mom in my lunchbox I am from Elmo, Cookie Monster, and Big Bird I am from spending quality time with Grandma I am from brushing grandma’s soft long silver hair I am from a musical family I am from writing poems and then having to bring them to an end.

-Joy Smith

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Artwork: Tricia Dini

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“A poem begins as a lump in the

throat, a sense of wrong,

a homesickness, a lovesickness.”

― Robert Frost

Artwork: Clare Talty

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Documents

Volume 1, June 2016 - mercyhs.com · Our Lady of Mercy School for Young Women ... You, my friend, never judge.-Grace Kurzweil Artwork: ... Because there is one secret you will never