TAYLORIAN_IMPRINT '09

2
TAYLORIAN
© 2009 Printed & Published by THS Publications

A NOTE FROM THE DESK OF …
May 2009
Dear Patron,
Thank you for selecting and reading the Taylorian. This publication
is created through the contributions of some of our schools
very best writers and artists. In the pages that follow, you will
find a variety of genres and a wide range of thoughts, opinions,
and emotions. Each piece has deep meaning to its author, and I
challenge you to find that meaning, and or relate to it in your own
way.
On behalf of the Taylor High School staff and community, I want
to thank the students and sponsors whose efforts have made this
edition of the Taylorian possible.
Happy reading,
David Kendler
Principal
James E. Taylor High School
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 3

4
TAYLORIAN
James E. Taylor High School is privileged to have benefactors who support all its academic
and co-curricular and extra-curricular activities. The production and publication of the Art and
Literary Magazine—TAYLORIAN—is not an exception in this area of considerate patronage.
The editorial team would like to acknowledge the institution of four levels of sponsorship that
have been established for its benefit. Benefactors who have supported the production and pub-
lication of TAYLORIAN by donating either monetarily in the quadruple, triple, double digits
ranges or by offering their valuable time in the rigorous endeavor of raising funds are classi-
fied as Visionary Level, Platinum Level, Gold Level, and Silver Level sponsors. We consider
it an honor to list the names of those who have opened their hearts to encourage and inspire the
production of such a collective display of burgeoning talent.
Visionary Level Sponsors
Mr. & Mrs. A. P. Simon
Platinum Level Sponsors
Mrs. Lynn Mumby
Gold Level Sponsors
Mrs. Jacqueline Eckardt
Mrs. Martha Clark
Mrs. Soheir Consolino
Silver Level Sponsors
All those who bought
Taylorian: Roundup ’08

Dear Friend,
Foreword
Once again it is my distinct privilege to offer you the product of James E. Taylor High School’s
eclectic and talented student body. Without the ever flowing and abundant imagination, this endeavor
would not have come to fruition.
At this time, one must acknowledge that imagination by itself cannot find succor if it is not
nurtured and nourished by benevolent benefactors who go out of their way to furnish the funds to
make such a long lasting memento of youthful aspirations. We are happy to dedicate this magazine
to all our visionary sponsors who helped fund and make possible the production of the second volume
of the TAYLORIAN—IMPRINT ‘09.
However, none of the above would be possible without the encouraging endorsement by the administration,
especially Principal Kendler and English Department Chair Ms. O’Neal along with
all those others whose approbation made this year’s editorial team more resolved in accomplishing
its task. Without this support, such a compilation could not have materialized; we are very grateful
for being favored with such confidence.
Being a collective enterprise, much accolade goes to those students who not only showed the interest
and industriousness to garner funds by selling secret valentines but also with concerted effort
helped in the final compilation of the magazine. Without each of their help, this endeavor would
have been futile.
So, dear reader, herein lie the tangible outcome of mind and matter, a collaboration of which
generates various artistic creations of words and pictures. Do allow your mind to engage in and
your eyes to enjoy the myriad talents and relish the bounty that these pages hold. Here’s wishing
you an enjoyable reading!
Sincerely,
Rachel Mathews
Faculty Editor
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 5

6
Editorial
May 15, 2009
Dear Taylor High School,
TAYLORIAN
Our school’s spirit and creative potential is so profound and great that I knew that it cannot go by unappreciated.
The Taylorian is an embodiment of this spirit and potential through art and literature produced
by the students.
All the entries in this magazine are results of our student body’s creative genius and hard work. The
content of this year’s Taylorian: Imprint ’09 is not only the product of the hard work of students but the
effort of our faculty members to educate and open the minds of every student they come across. In all,
everything you will read or see is the outcome of an entire school representing a highly intellectual and
artistically brilliant society.
I hope you thoroughly enjoy this year’s edition of the Taylorian and that you will take in everything it
has to offer.
Sincerely,
Kruthica Krishnan
EDITORIAL TEAM
CHIEF STUDENT EDITOR Kruthica Krishnan
ASSISTANT EDITOR — ART Lauren Fischer
ASSISTANT EDITOR — GRAPHICS Andrew Nelson
ASSISTANT EDITOR — COVER ART Veronica Cook
ASSISTANT EDITOR — COVER DESIGN Brandon Brown
ASSISTANT EDITOR — CONTENT Yarden Kessler
ASSISTANT EDITOR — FUND RAISER Mariyia Wilson
ASSISTANT EDITOR — FUND RAISER Christina Rios
ASSISTANT EDITOR — FUNDS RAISER Alex Chargos
ASSISTANT EDITOR — LITERATURE Rachel Sayers
ASSISTANT EDITOR — LITERATURE Molly Pinkerton

CONTENTS
MISDIRECTION Andrew Nelson 10
TWO FACED Jenny Lee 11
HOUSTON ROCKETS Adi Sundararajan 12
EYE OF THE BEHOLDER Ivy Kim 13
LET’S TALK ABOUT.. Brandon Jones 14
WISH Di Lu 15
ESCAPE TO A PARADISE LOST Catherine Harris 16
DANDELION Cindy Munoz 17
BECAUSE THEY ARE KIDS Ivy Kim 18
UNTITLED D N 19
SELF PORTRAIT Marlo Weekley 20
TRAVELING FINGERTIPS Bianca Zampieri 21
JUST SO Mariyia Wilson 22
THE SENSE IN SILENCE Allison Whitton 23
THE ABSURDITY OF AMERICA Michael Petty 24
BAND NIGHT James Royal 25
REFLECTING Guanyuan Chung 26
ELEGY FOR WORK ETHIC Nicole Cordner 27
START AND SELECT Justin Tsuei 28
‘09 Miguel Curo 28
DEFINITION OF ONE’S SELF Tim Wallace 28
SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW... Leigh Anne Castles 29
DEAD SPACE Bobbie Begbie 30
SENIOR YEAR Janna Proehl 30
HER WORDS Angelica Calderon 31
MY LOVE Durgesh Das 32
EXEMPTIONS Rachel Sayers 32
THE SWELLS Andrew Snyder 32
ASPIRATIONS Christina Boemio 33
FOOTBALL GAMES Allison Knowles 33
ACQUAINTED WITH THE KNIGHT Marshal Bond 34
MELODIOUS RELEASE? Anonymous 34
ACQUAINTED WITH HALLOWEEN Amanda Priest 35
CLASSMATES A D 36
THE AIM WAS SLEEP N K 36
THE FLY D C 37
THE HUMOR OF WEAKNESS Eric Cho 38
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 7

8
TAYLORIAN
IT’S TIME Maiya Perich 39
THE COLLEGE NIGHTMARE Emily Brickey 39
TIME John Fowler 40
CHRISTINA AND I Gonash Haghshenas 40
THE TEST THAT WAS TAKEN K H 41
FACING THE STORM Katy Chiara 42
KINDNESS Patrick Yee 42
TEDDY BEAR Katie Silliman 43
THE SAIYANS Adam Strauss 43
MY DOG IS REALLY AWESOME Kara Ramer 44
GUIDE Sheila Tuldanes 45
IRISH OBSERVATIONS Kelsey Roberts 46
FAILED Lauren Fischer 47
THE TWELFTH YEAR: THE END OF A JOURNEY Nicole Della Longa 49
STANDING OUTSIDE ON A RAINY DAY Stephen Pan 49
THE TREE Saundra Nguyen 50
THE APPLICATION Nikhita Garg 51
DO NOT BITE CONTENTEDLY INTO THAT KRISPY KREME Samantha Darnell 52
I CRYAS THE SUN TURNS ITS BACK ON ME Trevor pederson 53
I HEAR NAILS HAMMERED Saurabh Pande 53
RHYTHM AND CONTEXT Ronnie Roy 54
68 YEARS Nicole Glenn 55
TROPHY SON Anonymous 56
MILES TO GO BEFORE I SCORE Charles Freehill 56
I SENSED SOMEONE SCREAM Tim Moreno 57
UNFAIR TRIALS Kara Schuberth 58
MY GRANDFATHER Camilo Perez 59
MY SOUL Mohammad-Ali Shaikh 60
THE ART OF STARCRAFT James Choi 61
WAITING Ivy Kim 62
END OF MISERY Caroline Schaffer 63
MY CAT’S MIND Melinda Ng 64
LIVING WITHOUT Molly Pinkerton 65
I SAW A CURSOR ON THE SCREEN Abbie Corbett 65
MAPLE TREES Mary Ji 66
APPLICATION FRENZY Hillary Walker 67
BEEMER POEM Eiman Siddiqui 68
THE CHOICE I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN Tristian De Leon 69
THE WASTED LIFE Katie Vaziri 70

PATH Jaesang Yoo 71
THE ULTIMATE ALL-PURPOSE-EXCUSE STORY Patrick Yee 73
MUSICAL MIRROR Teresa Wagner 73
LADYBUG Cassie Edmondson 74
RETURNING HOME LATE ONE DARK NIGHT Travis Heuszal 75
ALANNA Lauren Fischer 76
ROAD OF FLOWERS Zia Zhu 77
PEACE Hasoon “Joe” Nayef 78
FACES OF TIME Angelica Calderon 79
BULLETPROOF WEEKS Bianca Zampieri 80
THE HOMEWORK Mohammad Ali 81
REPLICANT Emily Spradely 82
LOVE CONQUERS JulieAnne Lenzssch 83
LIFE? Andrei Bucur 84
MY TELEVISION’S GLOW Rebecca Rochman 85
I HEARD A MUSICAL IN MY BRAIN Laura Smolik 86
STARBUCKS Ivy Kim 87
CROCS Paola Finol 88
SHATTERED Kelly Hannah 89
TRANSITIONS Christy Pyle 90
NOBODY GIRL Natalie Rodriguez 91
RELEASE Natalie Vargas 93
I’M FREE Ashli Vernon 94
LOCKER 2012 Patrick Yee 95
ELEGY FOR MY HOTWHEELS Prasannah Rajendran 97
Power of a well–thought out word either written or spoken...
"Words are alive. Cut them and they bleed."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
Omar Khayyam — Rubaiyat
A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.
Proverbs 15: 1 — The Bible
Your words define you!
RM
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 9

10
By Andrew Nelson
If we fall, we all fall, and we fall alone.
We need everything for everyone, and nothing for ourselves.
Are we like Faust for accepting human rights over your divine principals?
We mustn't accept your inverted democracy, lest into distortion we delve.
TAYLORIAN
We are granted the freedom to starve,
Granted freedom to wallow in poverty.
We must be true Americans and accept our freedoms
At whatever the cost to our liberty.
m i s d i r e c t i o n
We know how a modern human ought to live,
But the larger action conceals the smaller.
We accept what we see as reality
And the subtle Influencer furnishes the filter.
What you do, what the media reports,
Reports far more than it reveals
Our minds, now outfitted with the v-chip (standard)
May learn how to properly live, according to your ideals

Name: Jenny Lee
Medium: Mixed media
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola
GOLD SEAL AWARD
TWO FACED
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 11

12
TAYLORIAN
By: Adi Sundararajan
Rockets, Rockets soaring as high as the sky
Showing the NBA who is fly,
What immortal coach or GM
Dare make a team as good as them?
In what ingenious mind
Let Ron Artest and Yao Ming combined?
How far dare they aspire?
No Championship, only fuel to their fire!
On what shoulder and what dream
Could carry this team?
And when injuries begin to bleed
Who will come through in this time of need?
T-Mac, another first round exit?
Did you think he would quit?
Haters can leave,
It’s time we start to believe!
When the confetti and banners begin to fall,
And when we finally win it all,
Will that be the end?
Or just the beginning, a Ming Dynasty we start to defend?
Rockets, Rockets soaring as high as the sky
Showing the NBA who is fly,
What immortal coach or GM
Dare make a team as good as them?

GOLD SEAL AWARD
EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
IVY KIM
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 13

14
Let’s Talk About….
By Brandon Jones
I felt a tingling in my tummy,
‘Twas bouncing to and fro
My father said “lets have a talk”
In my Mind I Thought “Oh No!”
And when we both were seated
He looked me in the eye
The 9 words which came out his mouth
They made me want to die
TAYLORIAN
“When a man and woman are in love”
My mind is a sharp curve
“There's a special way they show that love”
My dad sounds like a perv
“Look at this doll her name is Sue
And this is Bobby here,
Now watch them as they kiss and touch”
The vomit is so near
The sex talk is a dreaded thing
But it’s something we all must do
But dad’s a little premature
For I am only two

Name: Di Lu
Medium: Oil paints
WISH
Background: This was my 17 th birthday, my first birthday in America. I drew
this picture to commemorate the birthday and the strong heart which helped
me endure the hard times of loneliness. I colored the background very dark and
made the candles very bright, implying that there are some wishes even in the
dark. I limited my colors to allow the main object stand out from the frame.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 15

16
TAYLORIAN
Escape to a Paradise Lost
By Catherine Harris
Wind whispers softly through the rushes,
Water gurgles quietly in a stream;
Although the image is quite luscious,
I accept it exists only in my dream.
I step as quietly as a shadow
As my feet alight the white silky sand;
I stop for a moment in the still meadow
To examine the treasure within my hand.
The crisp pages open, a crinkly delight;
My eyes drink in the awaited indulgence
From the tangible world I take flight
In a river of words and elegance.
Foreign and loud, a voice intrudes on my heaven
“Miss Harris, if you please, answer number seven!”

Artist: Cindy Munoz
Medium: Paint and ink
DANDELION
Background: I used cool colors to represent the mood of relaxation and wonder. I incorporated
a boy blowing a dandelion as if wishing or hoping. This boy is looking at the
horizon while blowing the weed; he is looking for something about to come, as if something
he cannot yet see. The process was to place the figure where it would lead the
viewer to see the picture in its entirety, as if a point of intrigue.
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 17

18
TAYLORIAN
BECAUSE THEY ARE KIDS
Ivy Kim

Untitled
By D N
“ Pale pink color you have
Makes you look weak.”
“But it suits me,
Does it not?”
“…. ...You’re so small.
I look down on you.”
“But I look better small,
Do I not?”
“Do you not care to be seen weak?
Do you not care to be looked down?”
“I admit. I am weak. I am small.
I admit that I am a flower
Because there are flower lovers
who will shield me for I am weak
and who will hold me up high.
You be you, and one who truly loves you
will do the same and all the more. Cherish
yourself until to be cherished by him.”
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 19

20
Name: Marlo Weekley
Medium: oil paint
TAYLORIAN
SELF PORTRAIT
Background: My process included first choosing a color palette, and
then choosing negative space. This self-portrait is part of a series of
similar pieces including a headshot as the subject matter, and another
similar painting style. This oil painting is from life and has a limited
amount of detail, but my concept is fooling the eye to see detail where
mostly solid shapes exist.

Traveling Fingertips
The way your fingers curl around
My waist and between the spaces
In my hand as we twirl, I in my gown,
By Bianca Zampieri
Across the floor, following the traces
Of past heels and untied laces.
The stars in the sky above us shine
Through the glass ceiling as joyous
Gods, smiling at our fingers intertwined,
Bestow upon our dance their generous
Gift of music and song, us delirious.
I, the sun hidden behind the rain, you,
The only one willing to wait for me.
Your whispers in my ear last true
On my heart, always smiling, Marie,
Untuck your wings and you are free.
Raising my eyes to meet the green
Of yours, endless oceans of love,
Which have led me to this scene
Of grace and beauty, where the dove
Sings each note with perfection above
Our waltzing figures to the dancing
Treetops surrounding the palace wall.
Floating across the floor, glancing
Around the room, I see none at the ball
In as strong of love as you and I at all.
The orchestra plays the final note
Of the evening as we glide to a stop.
Your fingers trace the curve of my throat
And move up my cheek to the top
Of my lips and slowly down the drop
Of my chin back up to the blush
Rising to my face, which you kissed
With the smile from the rosebush
Where you, at first, nervously missed
And tried again in the thickening mist.
The reminder of the moment
Brought a giggle to my curved lips.
A glass slipper, in all this enchantment,
Seemed believable as I lost my grips
On reality, dissolved by traveling fingertips.
Your hand caresses the edge
Of my face. I lean into the palm
Of your hand, ready at the ledge
To fall deeper and farther into the calm,
Far from their touch, close to your realm.
I followed your shadow outside
Into the night’s air, where rules failed
To apply. Tenderly, I felt your arm glide,
Wrap around my hips. Sharply, I inhaled,
Your touch leaving my heart unveiled.
My fingers found their way
Up the length of your arm to the bend
Of your elbow and shoulder. Stay,
My eyes pleaded with you. Pretend.
Kissing his lips, I knew he did not intend
To remain with me. How could he
When I, a princess with my fate before
Me, and him, a traveler, interweave
Only to become a tragic romance. He tore
My hand away. Marie, you deserve more.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 21

22
Artist: Mariyia Wilson
Medium: Mixed Media.
TAYLORIAN
JUST SO
Description: Many people see themselves as one thing, but to me, I see myself as
tired offset and something unique; this painting I have done depicts this.

The Sense in Silence
By Allison Whitton
The world in silence has a simple grace
As people move with ease from place to place;
Wondering about the silence of night.
Like deer dancing with delicate delight
Without a sound appreciation soars,
As you can now hear waves cresting Timor.
The hush; not death, but life through survival
Used by John Proctor to save a rival
As did the conductors of the rail road,
Where the gift was arduously bestowed.
A worth much greater than any device
This silence is two times a paradise,
Because the silence found in inner peace
Is ever revered like the Golden Fleece.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 23

24
The Absurdity of America.
By Michael Petty
America is a nation borne of not neces-
sity nor idealism, but of absurdity. It has been
with us our entire lives, and will very likely
outlive many generations; but it is not a nega-
tive feature, this oddness, this eccentric prop-
erty that is America. Were it not for the abso-
lutely bonkers ideas, the crazy people, the out-
right madness of our nation as a whole, we
wouldn’t be here.
The very existence of our continent was
an absurd notion in its time, when everyone
undeniably KNEW that the world was a flat
plane, when everyone knew that far out in any
direction were all sorts of demons, dragons,
ogres and the like, and that eventually one
would ride into the Mare Tenebroso, the Sea of
Darkness, and be lost over the edge of the
world. But one foolish man with a dream and
three ships stunned the world when a lookout
shouted “Land!” – The Indies? Oh no, dear
Columbus, merely the Bahamas. It’s fitting
that we were an accidental discovery, really.
And the myths! Oh the silliness contained in
them is laughable – or is it? Echoes of the leg-
ends of those times can still be heard today –
El Dorado, the Seven Cities of Gold, they re-
main in world folklore in the phrase – “In
TAYLORIAN
America, the streets are paved with gold”.
Jumping forward a slight bit, who
would have thought our nation would be
founded on an absurdity, on laughable and ri-
diculous ideas. Who could have dreamt in the
midst of the French and Indian war that less
than two decades later we would be rebelling
against raised taxes used to pay for our de-
fense, that we would be angered over a procla-
mation that attempted to prevent conflict with
the natives? What madman could have be-
lieved that we, a feeble colony, would succeed
in a battle for freedom against the world’s
most powerful military fighting force, with
thousands of professional hessian soldiers and
the navy that was the envy of all Nations? And
what fantasy could have driven us to seek out
the French, our longtime enemy, to defeat our
masters. Principles and Ideals?
Our most revered document, the Consti-
tution, the backbone of American liberty, the
fount of the American Dream, even that won-
drous parchment is absurd. Thomas Jefferson
wrote, “All men are created equal”; the consti-
tution implicitly disagrees however, since cer-
tain peoples can be imported and held in bond-
age or labor. Liberty for all was the order of
the day, as long as “all” were white, landown-
ing, and men.

Today, we are wackier than ever. We
want to make up for past crimes. We want to
make minorities feel like they are included,
and not discriminated against. To do this we
pass laws, promulgate policies, implement
“solutions” that implicitly (if not explicitly)
discriminate and force the issue of differences
in race and gender to the forefront of life. Jobs
want the most qualified based on merit, unless
they need another black woman to meet the
required quota. Colleges look at more than
numbers and scores, they look at ethnic back-
ground. Racism is official taboo, and the mi-
nority wields absurd power over the majority.
We really want to get healthy and stop
being obese, but it’s just too darn hard. So
while health books and workout tapes sell like
crazy, seats also get wider. We cater to the
problem rather than solving it. Wall Street
threw the economy into disarray. The logical
solution is to let them fail and essentially clean
out and reboot the system – but in America,
that’s not quite the way we do things. Instead
we give them obscene amounts of money with
0 oversight, and say “fix it please”
But I think this strangeness is what
makes us, well, us. Were it not for our long
and storied history of absurdity, we wouldn’t
be so unique. In a time when all other nations
were monarchies, we were thought of as a
“strange experiment”. Books were written just
about how different things were (Democracy
in America comes to mind). And I hope we
stay that way because, really, if everything
made sense, we’d be a pretty boring place.
***********************
Band Night
By James Royal
T'was the night before the big state contest,
The band took the field hoping to resolve
The question, which band in the state is best?
Any doubt they had, they hoped to dissolve.
Beneath the glow of the tall metal trees
With dignified Tubas shining like stars,
And woeful Trumpets buzzing like little bees,
The Directors became powerful czars.
The obnoxious drum line is a heart,
The Saxophones form the rhythm and soul,
The body is what the brass hope to impart
In this centaur under Hannah’s control.
The question, “Too much talent in Texas?”
Will be answered in the show tomorrow;
With sound dancing as fast as a Lexus
The trophy will be ours to borrow.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 25

26
TAYLORIAN
Reflecting
Rosy cheeks inflamed under the summer sun,
She frolicked across the lush grass worry-free.
He walked towards her with a bashful grin,
While her best friend frantically administered the cootie-shot.
The boundary was obvious, everything was contagious.
Distance ensured security; that was how things were.
At fourteen she noticed his presence,
His smile dazzled and shook her heart.
One day he lifted her onto cloud nine
Yet only a few months after she came crashing down.
At twenty-two she thought she had it all,
Blindfolded by his promises and adoration.
But roses still have thorns that wound
The ones that touch them the most.
At twenty-seven she became skeptical
Of every smile, of every word.
A lioness on guard, she watched,
As they shuffled in and out of her life.
Dogwood blossomed and the peaches ripened,
Then the maples yellowed and trees stood bare.
Back at home where she spent her carefree days,
She saw him again with the same bashful smile.
Approached him without any syringes,
She said hello and he said hi.
Together they walked on the road of life,
Through misfortunes and fulfillments.
At last she sits alone like a withered queen,
Her wrinkled face looking through the glass window,
Waiting for the day of union with him in heaven.
By Guanyuan Chung

Elegy for Work Ethic
By Nicole Cordner
I remember my determination, strong and unwavering as Mrs. Mathews;
And my efforts, a steady pervasive presence;
And how, once motivated into work, my pencil jumped for me,
And I basked in the pleasure of my endeavors,
A manatee, grazing, lying in the water,
Her snores rocking the fish and boats.
The sheep counted with her;
The waves, their movements became nothing.
And true happiness arose in the naptime of the year.
Oh, when she tried working, she dove down into deep depression,
Even a father could not find her;
Hitting her head against the desk,
Forgetting the world around her.
My envelope, you are not here,
Waiting like an ancient, slowing the productivity.
The visions of freedom cannot motivate me,
Nor graduation, months from today’s work.
If only I could awaken you from this apathy,
My destroyed intelligence, my falling blossom.
Over this report card I utter the sounds of a senior:
I, with no care in this matter,
Neither freshman nor junior.
This work completed with great effort in the final
weeks of high school
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 27

28
‘09
WHEN I think of the last four years past
The good times, flew a fast flight
The bad times, the past our plight
Unnoticed, life went by too fast
Time only worked against our will
Moving us forward, resistance in vain
Although we are older, wiser, I still feel pain
Much unaccomplished and left to fulfill
We leave different than how we came
Parting like Moses and the Red Sea
TAYLORIAN
By Miguel Curo
Friends and classmates leave to travel very, very far
But in this time, we have become closer, the same
For I can say with joy, and know you’ll agree
S-E-N-I-O-R.
(Senior, Senior, Senior)
Start and Select
By: Justin Tsuei
A love of gaming, it comes from the mind.
The more one plays them the more one will find
That a game can often serve as a muse,
Or teach a few lessons that one can use.
To be great you must have reflexes like,
A ninja, even when someone yells PSYCHE
A hero may be just pixels and lines,
But the emotions we feel show some signs,
That the writers are good, they’re really skilled.
So are the enemies, you just got killed.
In all seriousness, a game is more,
Than what most people give it credit for.
A monitor is not just a flat screen,
But a window into the vast unseen.
Definition of One’s Self
By Tim Wallace
When they look, they don’t understand,
Staring past something oh so grand,
Like blind people, they cannot see,
But this is where I make my stand.
The color black, what makes me, me,
Perceived as lonely, usually,
Represents overall power,
And is what allowed Poe to be.
Personal strength is my tower,
Growing in stature, hour by hour,
They can think whatever they might,
But when confronted, they cower.
Being unique is not a plight,
But is in fact what I think’s right,
Hopefully you can see the light,
Hopefully you can see the light.

LEIGH ANNE CASTLES
That morning she awoke,
The morning of her wedding,
She was afraid she would choke
But she still rose from her blue bedding.
As she prepared for the event,
She found out she had no pearls,
So quick like a bunny she went
To the store with her favorite girls.
The purchased white pearls were perfect
So she went back to her house;
She donned her mother’s lacy dress with respect
While still remaining a mouse.
As she continued to prepare
Her grandmother brought a gift:
Her grandmother’s beautiful blue flower for her hair
Was sure to give her blue spirits a lift.
The items spoke to her and she heard,
As they were parts of her she knew,
And though it seems quite absurd,
Her items and her life: old, new, borrowed, and blue.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 29

30
Dead Space
By Bobby Begbie
Where are we going to go?
Here we drift without sound
For in this shattered tomb found
A hidden problem beginning to show
And from their folly led to grow;
Amid the ballet of metal and gas and broken lives
We venture forth to preserve our time
And I, like a wheel, to meet my past.
My tools through disaster are bent
To purposes beyond any design
What once through repair was spent
Through weary work benign
Are now my means to circumvent
And against our fate align.
TAYLORIAN
Senior Year
By:: Janna Proehl
In my senior year, I grew weary
And worn out through and through
Always sighing — sighing — anytime
That I had work to do —
I dreamt of wide, blue oceans,
A silver swirling sea —
Always dreaming — dreaming anytime
I needed somewhere to be —
My life grew like a worn-out recording
To which I always sang along
My heart was a balloon, sinking,
Still waiting — for dawn to song,
My homework spun just like a top,
My eyesight, dimmed to gray,
And soon, I found, within the hour
My mind, gently, had begun to stray —
A field of flowers, smelling sweet
And I spin around, and around —
My freedom rings, across the hills,
My heart lifts off the ground —

Her Words
Angelica Calderon
The cool, crisp air flushes cheeks, rose and tender;
Like the bees that sting; the venom that infects,
And spreads; the tires’ rotations accelerating faster,
Clandestine eyes painted porcelain and taut,
What rain’s acidity does to the soul,
That liquid salinity does to the heart,
It withers away the dam of the mind;
Inundations of emotions leak through the cracks,
And turning around, she whispers to me.
And I, staring at the window, entranced,
At the drops of water racing downward,
As a metronome ticks back and forth,
I sit with myself, alone, in thought,
I am a machine of time, an hour glass,
Recalling when she was at my side, I, a child,
Singing sweet lullabies as I lay there, motionless;
The doctors suturing my wounds with hands of magic.
But that has passed, and as we sit, side-by-side,
Roles reversed, deep down I know the truth of her despair,
My mother, more often than not laced with joy,
Her eyes now dull, and I gaze into the dark heavens,
And with this news, I know, things will never be the same.
======================================================
“Listen. To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to
acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration
we mortals really know.”
Barbara Kingsolver—Poisonwood Bible
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 31

32
MY LOVE
By Durgesh Das
Never has there been a charmer like me,
With gold plated teeth and star studded personality.
With the Bimmer, the Lexus, the Porsche, and the Benz
With you in my life, I don’t just want to be friends.
Give this Romeo a chance and in time you will see
Why my heart cannot stop saying we were meant to be.
I speak the truth, I ain’t no con,
I’ll take you shopping ‘til your feet hurting in Milan.
I can’t get you out of my mind,
Because a girl like you is so hard to find.
Anything your heart desires is only a touch away,
What I would do for you is truly hard to convey.
The sight of you is enticingly divine,
Shakespeare’s love ain’t got nothing on mine.
TAYLORIAN
The Swells
Andrew Snyder
Exemptions
By Rachel Sayers
There is something I want so dear,
And the loss of it I do lament,
For it has filled me up with fear.
Pity me, I can’t exempt.
Blood clots, bronchitis, and pneumonia.
It’s not my fault I’m sick.
Of taking tests I have a phobia.
A different life I’d like to pick.
These tests want to kill me.
They’re as hard as a rock.
I say, “Golly gee,”
“God, you make my life suck!”
Exemptions are a clump of gold,
But all I have is pyrite.
To hope I can no longer hold.
There are no exemptions in sight.
Fear the edge from the swells-
The edge!
What a typhoon of confusion their drum pledges!
How they roll, roll, roll,
In the dicey affair of height!
While the guitar that tolls
All the seven, dream to call
In a distal light, they cry as if in delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of runic rhyme, all in time
To the roar that so gloriously swells
From the riff, riff, riff, riff
Riff, riff, riff-
From the swinging and the sprinkling of the swell.

Football Games
By Allison Knowles
Whenever I go to the football games,
I always see the people walking up the
Bleachers so high and steep like mountain lanes.
The fans wonder: does our team have the key?
Will our team win by a long shot or not?
Will they take us to the playoffs this spring?
Or will they fall by not playing so hot.
Can this season be just a small, small fling?
Dressed in blue and white they run on the field,
Ready to take the fierce opponent down.
As fans we cheer them on with our eyes peeled,
So much excitement, it’s making us drown,
Aspirations
By Christina Boemio
As I wonder through the endless reality
A set of goals and ambitions ahead
Having a clear mentality
Like some sort of lucid spread
My thoughts running away from me
As my hopes slowly rise
My mind on a sprinting spree
There’s a small glisten in my eyes
My parents’ words are in my thoughts
Special sentences they dearly stated
In mind, the many obstacles I have fought
Similar to a picture that has never faded
Following the footsteps of Martin Luther King
Lecturing my hopes and dreams
To one day be able to sing
On top of a foundation of beams
Our boys playing hard, we hope for the best;
The bleachers are packed with fans screaming loud,
The score is tied; our team is put to test.
One minute is left, please team make us proud!
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 33

34
ACQUAINTED WITH THE KNIGHT
By: Marshal Bond
I have now been acquainted with a knight.
I have walked in him — and on a whim.
I have now distressed the gritty knight.
I have now caused him. Though, the
greatest pain.
I have passed by his mother’s bedroom suite
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have felt bad for stepping on his feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to yell at me or make me fry;
And so I went to see the injured knight,
And after he called me a wise‐guy
Proclaimed that I, after that I might,
Now have been acquainted with a knight.
TAYLORIAN
Melodious Release?
The looming measures intimidate
They signal my impending downfall
The key modulates to one I hate
I cannot imagine worse a fate
Than improvisation at all.
Anonymous
To start my career, I had no nerve
I was scared, I was shy, I refused
To give improv the chance it deserved
I threw up my arms and then reserved
My sax for classical, not the blues.
Now I embrace, exalt, explore
The clever process of creation
Like a curious child I do adore
To strive for better, and to implore
Which groove, what funk, it’s my elation.
My sax is now an outlet for me,
A tool to express my emotions
It croons minor for melancholy
And shouts be-bop for jubilee
Jazz is my ultimate devotion.

Acquainted with Halloween
By Amanda Priest
I have been one acquainted with Halloween.
I have walked among haunted houses—And back among lanes.
I have passed neighbors who’s rather my teeth be clean.
I have looked upon witches and running up the drive.
And encountered rabid werewolves
Howling at the night.
I have stood still and stopped the children’s feat.
Far away another prospective, lonely house,
Lying in wake down the street.
And as I approach the lonely home,
The lights are off and it appears deserted,
I turn back and continue to roam.
Pillowcase filled to the brim with candy,
I have been one acquainted with Halloween.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 35

36
Classmates
As I make my way to class
I look around and see
All the people whom I pass
Who hardly notice me.
TAYLORIAN
By A D
I see among them many features
Which will bring them much success.
There are doctors, lawyers, teachers,
And futures full of happiness.
The sea of people in this school
Will travel far and wide,
Like leaves in autumn when it’s cool
And the wind is strong outside.
But now the bell is ringing
Telling me it’s time,
With its constant singing,
For me to stop my rhyme.
The Aim Was Sleep
Most students sleep less than six hours a night.
Insomnia is like the newest fad.
Weight gain and high blood pressure are a few results,
Proving chronic sleep deprivation is VERY bad.
Falling asleep in class happens often.
And leaves teachers in a bad mood.
It’s really something silly that students can’t help,
Unless the teacher brings them food.
By NK

The zombies, walking black and hushed aren’t conscious.
And under these conditions, they can’t succeed.
In-class work becomes impossible and slow,
Especially when Mrs. Mathews calls on Silliman to popcorn read.
So tell those neurotransmitters to go rest now,
And let them stop running through your brain.
For if you do not get enough sleep,
You will most definitely go insane.
*****************************************
The Fly…
By D C
I’ve tolerated a fly,
Of great jubilance and glee.
Constantly mocking, mocking, till it seemed
That a flush of my volatile excitement became free.
And as I looked around,
Books and magazines lusciously grinned and bid me,
With glamorous aura and voluptuous appeal,
To use them to end a presumed stymie.
And then I ecstatically caressed a book,
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller,
And like a grim reaper
Plunged my scythe for the finale of the thriller.
Even after my gruesome punishment,
Those mockeries endlessly emit from the dead fly,
And those mockeries, such tenacious rascals,
Never dry nor die.
And then my violent ecstasy subsidizes,
And I pondered and pondered,
And finally came to realize a point;
A fly wastefully squandered.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 37

38
TAYLORIAN
The Humor Of Weakness
I didn’t stand, no, I never stood
For my beliefs, never took an oath, by
It was something that delayed the good Eric
I never could, never would, but should Cho
It was there only to mildly loath
I don’t fit into circles, I’m a square
Took the serious like a game
Already knew that life wasn’t fair
Was it weakness to show that I care?
And all the while, I was still to blame
I know this is really d e p r e s s i n g
But the weakness is now evident
It’s this simple fact I am stressing
It’s by this poem I’m confessing
I’m ‘emo’, but...Poe set a precedent
Weakness is so temporary, sir
It’s subject to the humor or joke
Not worth the gold, perfume, or the myrrh
Not worth any time, money, or fur
But dealing with it just leaves us ‘b ro_ke’
…………………………………………………………….
“And my problem was that I always tried to go in everyone's
way but my own. I have also been called one thing and
then another while no one really wished to hear what I
called myself. So after years of trying to adopt the opinions
of others I finally rebelled. I am an invisible man.”
Ralph Ellison—Invisible Man

It’s Time
I cannot find the urge to push along;
All day I sit and feed my hungry light
While months go by and still my seat prolonged,
I feel as if the time will pass in fright.
Eight and ten years have now passed me by
And time has come for me to choose a path.
May I be told which way my future lie
So life cannot extend to me her wrath.
Time is cruel to make me wish to go
For I no longer can just sit and wait.
I have sweat and pushed so that I know
That I will make a match with dreaded fate.
My coming lies in the hands of few
And I am all too ready for the new.
The College Nightmare
Whenever student Sally strutted down the hall,
All the other students found themselves envying her,
She was brilliant, she was like Cinderella at the call,
Princeton University was her dream, but all of the colleges wanted her.
She always made the highest grades on tests in the class,
Her studies always appeared to be effortless,
She was always the first to finish an assignment, never the last,
And the teachers loved her the best.
She was the shinning star of her family,
She was the light in the darkness, in her they placed all their hope,
Little did they know there was about to be a calamity,
Everyone said that she was accepted for sure, they were not afraid to boast.
Sally only applied to one college, sure that she would get in,
Her Cinderella moment never came, she was an Ugly Stepsister instead,
Princeton rejected her, she was more confident than she should have been,
Now she works at the local Wal-Mart, and the highlight of her day is bed.
Maiya Perich
By Emily Brickey
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 39

40
TAYLORIAN
Time
John Fowler
The chimes can be heard near and far,
And it does not cease for me!
And it bears for infinity regardless of who we are,
Despite our desperate, dire plea,
It never gives back, it always keeps,
Precious seconds forever lost,
Like a vacuum perpetually deep
In which it has no cost.
Ticking sometimes painfully long,
And other times simply too fast!
And there is no change in the rhythm of the song,
It soon becomes the past;
Our life becomes a trip
The trials may push us far,
When in the eng we lose our grip
Time goes on regardless of who we are
Christina And I
As I wander through a cold life
I look for the warmth, for the light
I find Christina, around The corner bend
With her clothes fitting the trend
She fills me with joy and brings meaning to my life
But one terrible day, a ogre named Cassie comes along
She takes away my dear Chrissy Cat
And leaves me with nothing in the winter cold
As Christina struggles to unite with me again
She finds that there I am lost in eternity
The sadness overwhelms her soul
And she feels that there is nothing to live for
By Gonash Haghshenas

The Test That Was Taken
By -Kasula Hibasm
I sat down at my desk the night before
To study for my history test,
And yes, I realized there was much more
That I could be doing that wasn’t a bore,
But like a straight– A student, I had to do my best.
I opened my book so the studying could start,
Yet I could not concentrate on the subject.
My eyes began to dance, dash, and dart,
Just alternating from part to part,
But what happened next I did not expect.
Out of the page, the words began flying,
And they mocked me as I struggles to focus
But who could with Washington and Lincoln pointing and laughing.
So I stepped back for I could do nothing,
Surely this was only my mind playing hocus pocus.
The next day I didn’t know what to do,
Obviously my lack of knowledge was not mistaken:
Out of thirty questions I only knew two.
But I had no choice, that part I knew,
For that was the test that was taken.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 41

42
Facing the Storm
By Katy Chiara
Thunder and deep fog,
And running out of time!
And may the skies be clear of this bog
When I free myself of this slime,
But such rolling clouds do not cease their violent
fits,
Actions only causing me trouble,
Defenses weakening with each of their hits
Making my despair double.
Mist and heavy dark rain,
And blocking out my eyes!
And free me from this hellish storm enclosing on my
brain
When I begin to realize,
For though my mind lay full of lies,
The storm in my ears too,
I hope to see through St. Lucy’s eyes
And choose what’s good and true.
TAYLORIAN
Kindness
By Patrick Yee
Take the time to flash a smile
To erase a frown as long as a mile
Sympathy fades in a fleeting moment
But encouraging words last a while
All it takes is one kind comment
That doesn’ t even cost a cent
So why not give it a try
No soul’s sadness stays hell-bent
Allow ridicule and scorn no reply
They are toxins that must die
Bid unhappy haunts adieu
So from the soul escapes a jubilant sigh
Now and then someone may hurt you
But for sure there is hurting too
To be able to apologize is a virtue
And that is what kindness holds true
“One fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.”
William Shakespeare—Romeo and Juliet

Teddy Bear By Katie Silliman
Teddy! Teddy! Fluffy and sweet
Lying underneath my sheet,
What would I ever do
If I was separated from you?
Why would you ever leave me?
Would you rather climb a tree?
Would you rather just run wild
As if you were a naughty child?
Do you desire daily dancing,
Instead of your usual bed-resting?
Perhaps you want to go out and conquer;
Do you dream about Alexander?
When hard times fall,
And I lose my gall;
How could I possibly survive
When the sun begins to dive?
Even though I am almost grown,
Could I still call you my very own?
You are a rock that I have clung to,
But what of five years from now? Or 72?
Teddy! Teddy! Fluffy and sweet
Lying underneath my sheet,
What will I ever do
When I am separated from you?
The Saiyans
By Adam Strauss
On the planet earth three men stood in a field
Like titans, their stances showed no fear,
Two wore armor but one used no equipment as a
shield
He knew the end may be drawing near.
And then one side threw insults
And then the other side did the same,
But then to get the desired results
Vegeta called that one unarmored man out by
his name;
“Kakarot, let’s see what you can do”
Igniting the degree of his anger to match that of
an erupting volcano
And this induced Nappa to mockingly utter an
“oooooooo”
But Vegeta began to lose his sense of bravado…
As the parched pebbles protruded from the
ground as if sent from the devil
Vegeta was forced to clench his hand
Because when Nappa inquired as to Kararot’s
power level
Vegeta’s only response was, “It’s over ninethousand!”
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 43

44
TAYLORIAN
My Dog Is Really Awesome
By Kara Ramer
My dog is really awesome; furry and fun,
Friendly and fast, he makes my day;
Like a bright ray of sunshine, you might say.
He likes to eat even more than he likes to run.
He’s always there to greet me when the day is done;
He is still youthful at heart even though his face is turning gray,
And even though he is old, he still loves to play.
When it comes to being cute, he is second to none.
He is a happy guy; his tail always wags when he is glad;
His eyes are two big discs, round and bright as can be,
And I have to say he’s the best dog I’ve ever had.
He’s a great dog, I think you’ll agree.
Even though when he chews up my stuff I get mad,
I still feel so lucky that he belongs to me.

Name: Sheila Tuldanes
Medium: white charcoal
GUIDE
Background: This artwork is one of my concentration pieces and it emphasizes
the importance of family relationship. With the charcoal, I
wanted it to appear simple yet still have the idea of how a family takes
care of each other.
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 45

46
TAYLORIAN
Irish Observations
The Millennium Spire monument, which is essentially a 100-foot sewing needle
in the middle of Dublin, is affectionately known by the locals as the “Stiffy by
the Liffy.”
One should really learn the lyrics to “Danny Boy” and “When Irish Eyes are
smiling” before leaving. No matter where you go throughout the country, someone
is bound to make you sing one or the other at some point.
The Irish love a gaudy St. Patrick’s Day hat just as much as the next American.
Europe is very liberal with the drinking age. I don’t turn 18 for another 6
months, but no one ever asked me how old I was when I would go to the bar and
ask for a pint. In America, our drinking age is a mandatory rule. In Europe, it’s
more of a guideline there to make everyone appear responsible.
By Kelsey Roberts
You really have to love potatoes if you come here. You will be served at least one kind with every meal.
If you’re on a tour, make friends with your bus driver. He is the one that handles your luggage, after
all.
Take off your hoodie before going through airport security. If you don’t, they will pat you down in front
of everyone; plus, you’ll have no shoes on. So just take it off and put it
in that plastic bin the security guard hands you. You know, the one that
smells like feet and has other people’s hair in it.
There is a statue in Dublin of the somewhat real Molly Malone. If this
statue is any indication, she wasn’t just selling cockles and mussels.
The bosoms on this thing are huge. Like, Pamela Anderson, practical
joke huge. Dubliners call her “The Tart with the Cart.” Alive alive-O indeed.
Don’t wear anything orange in the southern part of Ireland unless it is
some sort of accessory which can be easily removed, like a scarf. No
one will jump you or anything, this isn’t 1975. You will, however, be the
recipient of a few dirty looks.
It doesn’t matter how physically attractive an Irishman is. When he
starts talking, you will immediately fall in love with him.
The Irish are bawdy, naughty little people. They have dirty nicknames
for everything! It must be that whole repressive Catholicism thing.
No one will pinch you if you don’t wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. Pretty much everyone does wear
green, but if you take part in the festivities sans-shamrocks, no one will bother you. Unless they’re drunk,
that is.

F a i l e d
Something is yelling at you from a tube baring sheets.
You watch the cyclone of water demolish all;
From the viewing pane of glass.
A cyclical tumble of stains grasping to
Evaporate, dissipate, absolve from the truth.
Undertakers could not hide your truths,
They’d do all and fail their job to oblige
Your every command and whimper and grunts.
The bleach fails on doing its job
And you continually watch that pane of suds
Of that very circular pane of a guesstimated inch.
You’ll be down, down syndrome.
There’s a placebo in the air trying to break you,
Acting as a medication, a new wife, a new life.
And you will break the stare.
A turn to the left and a woman sits, many women sit:
Droned in, as spectators for the cobra’s hourly feeding.
Each watching their pane, their individual pane of mistake
And truths which they dare not confess to.
They will all break their stare for an altercation.
There’s a buzzing to sound to the right
And the vigor of a woman ripping fabrics to insert
To the adjacent storage unit known as a dryer.
A state of awe is placed, on us spectators;
The change enters the machine and time is allowed.
There are those baskets on wheels, scattered throughout,
And sparse, with women as predators claiming their land.
The buzzers will go off in unison and a pounce will begin.
And you sit there, solely, watching the coloured stains,
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 47

48
TAYLORIAN
Sift through the darkened water of soot and sod.
You’re a child, wore than one at times,
With the stitching of diapers sewn permanently to flesh
To mark your status, your handicap, your crutch.
You’ll break that trance, that degraded state of your body
For the hum of a Negro woman, melodically folding.
Wouldn’t it be lovely to hum along side her— silly you know?
You’re a child, wore than one at times,
With the stitching of diapers sewn permanently to flesh
To mark your status, your handicap, your crutch.
You’ll break that trance, that degraded state of your body
For the hum of a Negro woman, melodically folding.
Wouldn’t it be lovely to hum along side her— silly you know?
Bet so lovely, and you’d be happy, yes happy
For a solid moment, free from those stained and soiled
Sheets that were ruined from that of another,
And from the temporary disease and trance, would be music.
A solid clamor of your unforgiving voice, that only knows
How to react with an exerted pressure from above,
With those sheets resting underneath.
You’ll make some trite gestural pass of sound,
From the hum of a Negro woman, melodically folding.
L a u r e n F i s ch er

The Twelfth Year: The End of a Journey
By Nicole Della Longa
The final chapter of high school
Has arrived with such a squall;
I, like Caesar, feel such a fool
To think it could never befall.
Many boastful benefits
Are earned with a senior title;
This given label elicits
Authority most vital.
But now as I reminisce
Upon the journey I have taken,
I realize the friendships I’ll miss
That can never be shaken.
And as the graduation aroma
Intensifies throughout the year,
I can almost hear that beloved diploma
Screaming “Freedom!” in my ear.
Standing Outside on a Rainy Day
By Steven Pan
Though the rain falls on my face constantly,
At no other place would I rather stand
The gentle caress of droplets soothe me;
Soft splashes allow my thoughts to expand.
My past comes to mind, the things that I’ve done,
What I have not done, the deeds I regret.
Like a curtain the clouds cover the sun,
Blocking out hope that I will just forget.
Even so I feel peace and remain calm.
The rain is a blanket, warming the heart;
The wind whimsically whistles a psalm:
Go with God and from prior sadness depart
My mistakes and desires do cause me pain,
Procuring guilt, child of the Accuser.
But my sins and sorrows are washed by rain;
As Churchill I “shall never surrender.”
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 49

50
TAYLORIAN
The Tree
By Saundra Nguyen
The clouds appear; the light retreats.
The shadows now command the streets.
The rain, first steady, begins to fall,
Each drop like a small cannon ball.
Under attack the ants then scatter.
They are no match for this pitter patter.
Against this enemy, they can only run,
Awaiting their savior, the shining sun.
The sky then flashes black and white;
The sudden change distorts the sight.
A loud roar follows shortly after:
The darkness and its ambiguous laughter.
A tree stands alone upon a hill,
Swayed by the wind, against its will.
It holds its ground against the squall.
It will not fall, it will not fall.
The lightning, angry, attacks the plant,
But strike it down? No it can’t.
The raindrops stop and no longer descend,
The tree has won, in the end.
The light appears; the clouds retreat.
The sun now commands the streets.
The warmth spreads along the ground,
What was lost can now be found

The Application
Deadline, deadline, drawing near
Before you know it’ll be here.
What student young or old
Could resist its iron-like hold?
By Nikhita Garg
In what hour of day or night
Does one stay up to finish it right?
At which juncture does one cease caring?
And begin the period of long despairing?
And what essay or resume
Could save one from being a college’s prey?
Oh, writing you feels like show and tell.
Or a preview of Dante’s nine circles of hell.
Why Diablo? Why demon?
For what do you prevent them from being free men?
What valuables do you require?
Is it one’s soul that you wish to acquire?
When the students finally submit their papers,
Will dreams of the Ivy Halls turn into mere vapors?
Did they spark a fire of their destruction?
Did they just end the time of their instruction?
Deadline, deadline, drawing near
Before you know it’ll be here.
What student young or old
Could resist its iron-like hold?
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 51

52
TAYLORIAN
Do not bite contently into that Krispy Kreme
By: Samantha Darnell
Do not bite contently into that Krispy Kreme
It tastes like heaven but deceives
Fight, fight against junk food’s powerful regime.
Although most choose food based on taste and convenience
As food is meant to be enjoyed, take care and
Do not bite contently into that Krispy Kreme
Good men think happy taste buds equal a happy heart
Ignore “beware of poison” signs regarding trans fat, sugar, but
Fight, fight against junk food’s powerful regime.
Fast food lovers whose car is their dinner table
Feel the effects of high fructose corn syrup, the Satan of food.
Do not bite contently into that Krispy Kreme.
Concerned health nuts condemn such fake food
Real fuel is not processed in Paraguay or packaged in Pennsylvania.
Fight, fight against junk food’s powerful regime.
So you, my friends, take hold of your health
Eat food out of the hands of Mother Nature, not Wendy or Ronald.
Fight, fight against junk food’s powerful regime.
Do not bite contently into that Krispy Kreme.

I Cry as the Sun Turns its Back on Me
By Trevor W. Pedersen
I cry as the sun turns its back on me.
All hope is lost though it is only morning.
One Wrong I misspoke and said to she,
Now all wrath I have, I take out on me.
Our self-made failures tear relentlessly
At ourselves more than any other cruelty
That any man can make balefully.
We alone can wreck absolutely,
That, which lies within; make a casualty
Of our own will to fight Life’s brutality.
I cry, as she turns away, in mourning.
All feelings remain for her, lovely she.
One mistake I made - Gone without warning.
Now all is lost; Now my unmaking.
I Hear Nails Hammered
By Saurabh Pande
I hear nails hammered, the varied pounding I hear;
Those of love—each one hammering theirs, as it should be, heartbreaking and strong;
The carpenter hammering his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The widowed wife hammering hers, as she makes ready for procession;
The children hammering what belongs to them in their heart—the fear hammering on the pale faced deck;
The friends hammering as they sit under rain—the family hammering as they stand;
The priest’s hammering on his way in the morning,
Or at the noon intermission, or at the sundown;
The mournful singing of the mother—or of the widowed wife at a grave—or of the children—each hammering
what belongs to them, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—At night, the memories of a young fellow, robust, friendly.
The funeral hammering, with open mouths, their strong heartbroken tears.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 53

54
Rhythm and Context
TAYLORIAN
While context and meaning do matter a lot,
The rhythm and flow should not be forgot.
When you’re telling the story of how you went to school,
Keeping the texture of details is tool,
But leaving out similes and metaphors is tough,
And with no rhythm, it sounds too rough.
Rough as the landing from a 30 foot fall,
So without your elements, you don’t have it all.
Only a poem as flowing as a rat’s singing,
Sans symbolization of a story’s bringing.
And although depth and thought is of great purpose,
Your language can’t have the denseness of a tortoise.
Using rhythm and meter does influence your story,
So next time use them, don’t make it so boring.
By Ronnie Roy

Name: Nicole Glenn
Medium: Pencil
68 YEARS
Background: I did this piece in mechanical pencil originally but once I was introduced to the
ebony pencil, my piece completely changed. I achieved major contrast, which really helped
and made the process more fulfilling because this picture began to pop rather than stay dull
and fade into the background. But, being Nicole Glenn, I will never be completely happy
with any piece and this drawing is merely the beginning and I plan to continue with art and
hopefully improve.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 55

56
“Trophy Son”
I auction off my hours,
I sacrifice my glee,
I rarely ever sleep,
What’s in it for me?
Indeed, you will like it
Indeed, you will cheer
Indeed, you will praise
Indeed, one more year.
You exploit the collateral,
The only reason I haven’t left,
Which you dangle off a balcony,
An act crueler than the theft.
Hence I dance with a grin,
A forced smirk with each stride,
Although I don’t miss a step,
My bleeding foot I can’t hide.
And with all this I am average,
And with all this I’m a speck,
And with all this I’m the value,
Of that worthless monthly check.
TAYLORIAN
Anonymous
And with all this I am sinking,
And with all this I’m a dead,
And with all this I’m as disposable,
As the pictures next to your bed.
This may be all imagined,
If so, to what degree?
Did you not leave? Did you not abandon?
What’s in it for me?
So I pose in that frame like a statue,
A trophy for your guests to see,
Yet I’m the only one not smiling,
What’s in it for me?
Miles To Go Before I Score
By Charles Freehill
Making past the dark and distant goal
The field I’ am on I‘ v e played before
Though last I was here my mood was sore
Memories of which drive my soul
To achieve victory and everything more
My teammates must think it queer
To persist for hope without it near
Between the clock and a losing score
The hardest game of the year
The looks of defeat upon their faces
Cannot keep up with my growing paces.
The only sounds that are heard
Are the pounding footsteps of growing chasers
The goal is envied, dark and distant
But my need to score remains consistent
And opposers to beat before I score
And opposers to beat before I score
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
“ W e live, as we dream--alone. . .”
Joseph Conrad—Heart of Darkness
“ I am never afraid of what I know. ”
Anna Sewall —Black Beauty

I Sensed Someone Scream
By Timoteo Samuel Moreno Correal Calderon de Duque
I sensed someone scream
From far, far away.
I didn't know what to do right then,
Nor do I, still today.
I still recall that moment,
In which I felt such surprise.
As an antelope grazing in perilous fields,
Before hearing of its demise.
I sensed someone scream
From far, far away.
What was I to do right then but
Try to look okay
Meditating the past and future
But hardly of the present,
I realized something had been missing,
Something rather pleasant.
I sensed someone scream
Quite close to me this time.
The one who’d been screaming all along,
Was me, an imprisoned mime.
“Who, then, shall open this glass box?” I say,
In which I am enclosed?
Where liberation is the only key,
To stop me from my final doze….
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 57

58
TAYLORIAN
Unfair Trials
By: Kara Schuberth
My heart was ripped from my chest
And my eyes were sodden with tears
As her dad told me it was for the best.
I was attacked by my worst fears
The hospital room became my own personal tomb
My spirit was crushed by the news I was forced to hear.
I chose to see her in intensive care,
Laying in bed she looked like a broken doll.
Only the Lamb could conquer my gloom.
She suddenly seemed so small.
I picked up my cross to conquer this test,
The serpent toyed with my anguish, but I would not fall.
Her life was untimely put to rest,
As I was struggling to feel blessed.

“My Grandfather”
By Camilo Perez
My Grandfather was not wealthy or young:
His brow was a vast sea of creases,
His hands, monstrous coarse affairs, sung
Sad songs about the past and its pieces.
From the start, he worked his way up in life,
Like an ant digging a tunnel through wet earth;
From building railroads, through sweat and strife
He rose above those he previously gave worth.
Yet even as he neared the last of his days,
And Atropos readied her abhorred shears,
His youthful eyes shone with clear crystal rays
And showed his courage, which never disappears.
And even as he sinks into the ground
I thank you, God, for the time he was around.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 59

60
TAYLORIAN
My Soul
For the past three years,
I had wondered why I joined band
8 hours a week was the time I spent with my peers
And because of that, I became tanned
Today, I now know that my tan
Doesn’t rep all that internal and external strife.
But instead, it signifies this clan
Which has molded my current life
The long, tedious rehearsals after school
Made me think that there would be no end.
But one thing that got me through practice, warm or cool
Was spending time with my friends
During my first year in bad in the 9th grade
I thought I had entered a living hell.
I didn’t have many friends to sit with in the shade,
And I couldn’t play my instrument very well
Despite these minor setbacks,
I decided to stay in band for a few more years.
And because I decided to stay in this pack
I have met people that I now consider very dear
By: Mohammad-Ali Shaikh
Like artists,
they have painted who I have become
And even though some weren’t the smartest
Meeting my friends still signified the stage when school became fun
Sometimes I wonder about the number of free afternoons
I would have if I didn’t join band.
But like Neil Armstrong landing on the moon,
My life took of 3 years ago, signifying a giant leap for man.

The Art of Starcraft
I play Starcraft all day everyday,
Yes, Terran is my favorite race
By James Choi
Though Protoss and Zerg are okay,
Though my units die and swiftly decay,
I replace them by extracting vaspine case
By creating command center for money,
Because of lack of proximity to minerals,
And just as bees extract flowers for honey,
I sap and destroy units and buildings many,
With my never-ending supplies of materials,
However, at times come a mortal case,
Which, I’m helpless to avoid
With a tank that is an elephant in size,
I try and try to attack with swift pace,
Inside a damp and cold feel of maze.
But when a time comes to reveal
That rocks breathe and flowers drink,
I’m quick to comprehend the real deal
And that I’m a player who doesn’t stink,
But a player who at times saves and kills.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 61

62
TAYLORIAN
WAITING
IVY KIM

End of Misery
By Caroline Shaffer
This is the source of my misery
The pressure, the stress, the frustration,
Slowly freezes me like the chill of winter’s breath.
I’m supposed to be the pride of this great nation?
The sun seems to set and never rise,
From me is expected the best.
Youth is slowly slipping away,
As I repeatedly try to rise above the rest.
We are given one chance in this life,
To make the most of our circumstances.
“Do not worry about tomorrow,
For tomorrow will worry about itself,” is what my stance is
The Son is a beacon of light in dark places.
Evil will see no victory,
Because my God watches over,
His eternal peace becomes all I see.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 63

64
My Cat’s Mind
TAYLORIAN
When it comes to being normal, my cat is the worst;
I think he believes himself to be part dog-
He drinks from the toilet– or your glass– to quench his thirst,
And when you call his name, he comes at a jog.
Other cats shun playtime, preferring a nap,
But Snowball prefers to play games with you;
If he wants more attention, he’ll spring into your lap
And won’t go away until you play a minute or two.
Most cats are smart; that my cat is not is easy to tell-
He runs into windows, doors, and walls;
I think it has to do with being blown from a French horn bell;
If walls could talk, their laughter would ring through the halls.
Though my poor pet’s not the sharpest tool in the shed
I’m still glad it’s him at night who curls up at the foot of my bed.
By Melinda Ng

Living Without
By Molly Pinkerton
You cannot live without the heart;
The whole is naught without the part.
Or so they told him day by day
As he learned to walk and play.
But soon he read of cities old,
Long destroyed and now grown cold.
Men who loved seemed only to find
Helen did not improve her time.
So every day he lived his life,
Careful to avoid the strife
Of common hurts from common foes,
Hurts that weaken and pain that shows.
Friends were like sheep, and for his sake;
They remained only to fill a break.
And when they left, he did not cry,
He say no use or reason why.
He went on, forever the same,
Alone always with a heart tame.
He watched the hordes of wanting men,
And never did he want for them.
So when each day turned into night,
And he reached to turn off the light,
He never felt scared or small,
Sad, wrong or anything at all.
I Saw a Cursor on the Screen
By Abbie Corbett
I saw a cursor on the screen
And flashing mouses too,
Blank screen in the application,
But not long ‘til it is due.
The letters, official transcripts
Essays and test scores are sent,
Like bricks on the pathway to life
Not sure of this torment.
Parents are obnoxious pests who
Nag me all days and nights,
Do this, do that is all they say
Applications only cause us
fights.
Little recognition to the many
Early submitted plea,
Only waiting, waiting ‘til they
Finally see that they agree
I am worthy of their fine school,
And they want me to go
Make my parents proud of me,
Begin the college show.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 65

66
TAYLORIAN
Maple Trees
By Mari Ji
A column of maple trees along the road,
Orange, red, yellow leaves floating in the air;
The nearby creek with shining water flowed,
Birds with winter jackets chirping and fair;
Children’s silvery laughter ring through the wood,
I, with my heavy heart, walk toward a place;
A melancholy, sad place named Rosewood,
The gloomy house that the mind cannot erase;
An ancient, grubby door stands before me,
The past appears and holds my heart firmly;
Past memories fly by, dark and stormy,
Happiness exists, but touches briefly;
I slowly open the door and he is there,
We embrace and hearts have no more despair.

Application Frenzy
By: Hillary Walker
She knew she couldn’t avoid it any further,
That inevitable stack of apps,
Which jeered and sneered at her lack of fervor
And which will dictate her life’s map.
These were her personal Herculean labors
To be surmounted for admission to the Ivies.
Thus, her pen is her steady saber
As she races headfirst into the college frenzy.
As fast as lightning, she sped from start to end
Easily regurgitating SAT scores and a résumé,
Ferociously flying with fierce determination to send
In her application and supplemental essay.
The dreary months of winter dragged on
As she eagerly awaited the decision with hope,
Constantly checking her mailbox each dawn.
Finally, in flourishing April, it came: her fat envelope.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 67

68
TAYLORIAN
Beemer Poem
By Eiman Siddiqui
Beemer Beemer. driving with bright light,
On the highways of the night;
What precision tools or machines.
Can carve thee’s perfect chasis?
In the distant German Greens.
Flowing irons in the to make It lean?
Oh what a power have we made?
The mechanics craft, the engineers trade?
And what a beautiful piece of art,
can make me go to 60 from the start?
while the meters curves around.
what thrust? What sound?
What wipers? For the rain?,
Driving in the fastest lane?
How the traction? Keeps close to the road.
Dare to change to the S Mode?
When the man throws down the black and white
The BMW wins the Grand Prix fight:
How can you beat the perfect car?
Those who made the silver star?
Beemer Beemer. driving with bright light,
On the highways of the night;
What precision tools or machines.
Can carve thee’s perfect chasis?

Two thoughts appeared in my mind
And sadly I could only act on one
And being a student I sighed
and thought of one as much as I could abide
To plan , and to think of a poem to write on paper
Then thought of the other, so my mind stays smooth
And perhaps this is the best of the cues
Because it was what I called “Busting a move”
And since with this choice all I had to do
Was sit around and wait until I see Mrs. Mathews
And in the morning I had to speak, no less
In reciting my poem there was no turning back
Oh, busting a move was just a mess
Yet, knowing this was my one chance to success
My mind would soon turn black
I should be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere time and time hence:
Two choices appeared in my mind, and I-
I took the simpler one to travel by
And otherwise would have made all the difference
By Tristian De Leon
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 69

70
TAYLORIAN
The Wasted Life
As a child you learn to sing, to dance, to hold
You learn to smile, to laugh, to love your mind
And those actions get blurred as you get old
You start being judged by others and find they are not kind
For all you do matters not if it’s not what the public has told
One more puff, just one more blow
Once your high, you fear being low
To give a wink
To show some skin
Why is it appealing to live in sin?
You smile and flirt without a care
Your mind is free, your bodies bare
You strive to be like your peers
To act older then they think
To be allowed just one more drink
It’s fun to grow when you have nothing to fear
So laughter fills your eyes and you have another beer
What will you say when your life has gone away
And when a gaping hole
Is the inevitable, irreversible toll?
I warn you now, for the potential you have can be tainted,
Follow yourself, be your age
Don’t treat others like they’re sainted
Lock up your purity within a cage
Forget the world and enjoy who you are
Be a beach, be an ocean, and be a star
Follow your mind like a child, be on par
For destruction in always in style
But the ones who win are those not lost in the pile
By Katie Vaziri

Path
By Jaesang Yoo
Life is like walking the dark forest
All started from identical path
But all got different path to get the end of best
‘All struggle to get fame
But some felt failure`s wrath
At the end, all regret for their past in mess
And want second chance in some day
But there is no turning back in path
Because the path to the end
Is like one-way
Meeting wet, rough path can be challenging
But do not cease to move
Rather, seek for bright ending
Because it is the only evidence
That you are alive
To the travelers who seek for the end:
While existing in the path,
Give the best that all you can give
Be kind and loving to all around
For they may be gone tomorrow
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 71

72
The Ultimate All-Purpose-Excuse Story!
By Patrick Yee
It all started out like any normal day.
Until I stepped out of my third class of the
day. From the moment I saw a group of darkmasked
ninjas wielding plastic swords and
manual books titled “Ninja’s Beginner Recipes
FOR DUMMIES,” I knew something was
wrong. Immediately dropping my books, I
dashed down the hall, dodging multiple barrages
of paper shurikens, or throwing stars.
Many bewildered students fell under the merciless
attacks. I remember one who stood on
wobbly knees and finally barfed on his shirt as
an unintended paper shuriken struck his cheek;
another wet his pants as he saw a toy blade
sweep 6 feet away from his face.
Ignoring the chaos around me, I fled
past the next corner while protecting myself
with the crowd of students. However, while I
ran past the corner, my shoe stepped on a
fallen paper shuriken and I slipped as I tried to
flee. I turned myself while falling to catch
sight of my dark assailants. With the few precious
seconds remaining, I pressed a secret
button under my watch. I never anticipated
that I would have to resort to such drastic
measures, but the time had come as I uttered
the sacred words. “Mr. Rice requesting
backup!” Suddenly, a group of warriors in
Spartan costumes equipped with plastic
shields and paper spears rushed out of the
boy’s restroom and barricaded me from the
dumbstruck ninjas.
Sensei Mathews, apparently the leader,
emerged at the head of the small army and ex-
TAYLORIAN
claimed:" We fight…For Life after AP!” As
the two groups engaged in slap fights, I took
the opportunity to escape. But, it was too late;
the worst incident in my high school history
happened- the warning bell rang and I was
fifty feet from my next class! Taking the shortest
route possible, I ran toward my Creative
Writing class, which was right down the corner.
However, I noticed the strangeness of
the emptiness of the hallway and walked with
a more cautious approach. Suddenly, a pencil
whistled through the air. Fortunately, I was
able to dodge this fearsome assault by moving
an inch to the left as the pencil struck a wall
ten feet away. From around the corner, my
greatest enemy, Mr. Fadlen appeared with his
famous broken toy lightsaber. “You may have
gotten past my ninjas, but not me!” he said,
laughing am evil laugh.
As I drew my own crippled blue lightsaber,
I remembered my Jedi master’s words:
“May the Vitamin C of oranges be with you.”
As we prepared to smash each other with broken
lightsabers, I thought of a brilliant plan.
Pointing toward the other end of the hallway, I
cried “Look! A distraction!” Darth Fadlen,
eyes wide, ran down the hallway. “Where?”
he asked. I only ignored him and dashed in
the other direction. When I reached the doorway,
I had 3 seconds to enter through the closing
door. Executing a Splinter Cell diving
somersault, I passed into the classroom-three
seconds after the tardy bell. When prompted
for the reason, I replied “I was chased by ninjas
and Darth Fadlen!”

Artist: Teresa Wagner
Medium: Marker
MUSICAL MIRROR
Background: Radial plan developed around the play Sweeney Todd. I wanted to portray
the meaning of the lyrics through pictures and boldness. The musical has a
deeper meaning which I hope I portrayed effectively with the use of a sharpie.
Instructor: Ms. Theresa Brewer
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 73

74
TAYLORIAN
Ladybug
By Cassie Edmondson
Whenever Ladybug would scurry past the other bugs,
They would all stop and stare, envying her elegance and grace;
Her high class got her invited to all the social events held on the rugs,
She was well-known and could fly at an unbelievably quick pace.
Though she was indeed a bug, similar to the rest in shape and size,
The others marveled at how poised and composed she was;
Conversations revealed her to be unbelievably wise,
Even a quick “Hello!” from her left the others in an exciting buzz.
The others admired her beautiful spots and her red shell that shined,
They dreamed of having her life for one day;
The others often compared themselves to her and whined,
Longing to be her, some how, some way.
All the bugs continued their regular strolls through the grass,
But in the back of their minds it was Ladybug that they wished they were;
Once bright, sunny morning they stared as she walked past,
But unfortunately someone’s shoe came down and crushed her.

BY: TRAVIS HEUSZEL
We three came home late one dark night,
I heard a noise that gave me fright,
I searched for the commotion,
Grab’d my bat in case of a fight.
I went quite quick in my motion,
With fear flooding my emotion,
Expecting a murder of men,
And a fight of great proportion.
First through my ramshackled kitchen,
Then onward through to the lit den,
Like a cat I kept pursuing,
Then cornering this girl of ten
There she sat silently sleeping,
Our Goldilocks is just something,
We three bears have to keep bearing,
We three bears have to keep bearing.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 75

76
Name: Lauren Fischer
Medium: Mixed media on canvas
TAYLORIAN
ALANNA
Background: This piece is part of my portfolio for AP Studio. I am
working with experimental media and combinations and such. I’m
trying to keep it simple yet visually complex.
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola

Name: Zia Zhu
ROAD OF FLOWERS
Medium: Palette knife painting done on canvas
Background: The image is that of an abandoned path overgrown with plants that
sprouted in spring, and a little girl picking wild flowers. To show depth, I added
a thin layer of dark colors on the background. In the foreground, I used thick
paint for the wild plants and stones on the road to obtain a 3D feel. The unkempt
plants and bright colors represent the vivacity of the plant
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 77

78
P E A C E
TAYLORIAN
War, so foreboding
Like watching a shinning white sun fall
Setting across the ocean
Slowly fading all
Darker it’s getting
As it sets across the bay
Losing its colors so slowly
Causing night to lay
A dark blanket of blackness
Covers the land with ease
Then blinding all beings
From the world they tease
By Hasoon “Joe” Nayef
Then it rises to the skies
Where it was shinning bright with light each day
Falling and rising up
Atop the rising bay

FACES OF TIME
Name: Angelica Calderon
Medium: Pen, ink & water color
Background: It represents a fear of growing old. (In part of a concentration/
portfolio for AP Studio)
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 79

80
Artist: Bianca Zampieri.
TAYLORIAN
BULLETPROOF WEEKS
Medium: Mixed Media – acrylic paint, spray paint, colored string, pencil, sharpie, and a cat cage.
Background: Imagine wanting to desperately escape, run from everything around you, but you are
held back. You feel tied down to someone, tangled by them in the world around you, without any
chance of breaking the thread holding you to them. The inevitable loss of leaving them would plague
you as your feet hit the ground, heading away from everything you have ever known. You cannot
leave. Simple as that. And as complicated as that. Each connecting string you want greatly to break,
but the pain of each cut would hurt more than staying where you are. So you do exactly that. Break
the strings. Leave. Because you know if you cannot withstand the pain, then they will never be able
to either.
After all, you never did cut that final thread.
Instructor: Ms. Theresa Brewer

The Homework
By. Mohammad Ehsan Ali
Homework, Homework sitting right
On my desk, in my sight
What totally terrible teacher of mine,
Could keep my pastime so confined?
In what distant place or peak
Were you made quite so bleak?
For what reason are you required?
Work at home is not desired
If you are Wisdom I want none,
When you appear I have no fun
And when you’re assigned on Friday night
My Sunday evening is no delight
Why the anguish? Why the grief?
You are almost never brief
What’s the point? You’re always sloppy
I have to go fast when I copy
Like bad weather to my weekend plans,
You make me want to run like the Gingerbread Man
As God as my witness, I must confess
Each night spend studying is a night of stress
Homework, Homework sitting right
On my desk, in my sight
What totally terrible teacher of mine,
Could keep my pastime so confined?
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 81

82
Artist: Emily Spradely
TAYLORIAN
REPLICANT
Medium: Mixed media; pen, highlighter, marker, colored pencils.
Background: My concept was to use as many textures as possible while exploring
different ways to manipulate the body.
Instructor: Ms. Nancy Viola

“I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and
the food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at
the pen and I thought, what the hell am I grabbing this
for? Why am I trying to become what I don't want to be .
. . when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute
I say I know who I am.”
Love Conquers
A choice I have before me,
One of love and one of friendship
You both, I do see
My heart let it be free,
This choice will cause an unhealing rip.
The joy I feel when with thee,
It makes me want to fly.
But the pain engulfs; my soul will plea
I wish I could flee, flutter, and be free
Still without you I will cry.
Arthur Miller—Death of a Salesman
With you my mind is steady
But my heart, my own sanctuary, is always lonely.
Your profound emotions are not petty
However for this I will never be ready.
For you I feel friendship only
My choice it has been made,
My heart fragile as china will break.
Away with him I will wade
Without my constant, I am afraid.
Now my heart is full; but for my loss it will ache.
By JulieAnne Lenzsch
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 83

84
Artist: Andrei Bucur
TAYLORIAN
LIFE?
Medium: wood, acrylic, ink
Background: This piece represents a pivotal point in my life, in which I am forced to
take a stand on a certain issue and also questioning what I thought I believed was
right. The topic of abortion is very important to me; it will always be for the rest of my
life. I chose a black and white color scheme to represent two sides of abortion, with
black ink written in Old English text, containing quotes about life. The table was salvaged
and I used it for my broken mirror piece which holds together my canvas of the
hand reaching out for an answer.
Instructor: Ms. Adina Reeves

My Television’s Glow
by Rebecca Rochman
My Television shows are nothing like the world.
Such drama and intensity invade the soul
That I never know how the plot will be unfurled.
Until finally my heart is left a gaping and dark hole.
Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill, Grey’s Anatomy, and such
I flip through the TV guide night after night
Until deciding what to watch has become unbearably too much
That finally choosing has taken all of my might.
The Television’s glaringly, glimmering glow brings life
Just as turning the power off brings demise
One day you want to stab my soul with a knife
While on other days you treat me to a lovingly gentle surprise.
And yet, despite our ups and downs together,
I’d watch you my television in any weather.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 85

86
I HEARD A MUSICAL IN MY BRAIN
By Laura Smolik
I heard a musical in my brain
And dancers, leap and twirl,
Kept spinning, spinning, till they looked
Like a hair with curl.
And when they were all still,
A new song was sung
Kept singing, singing, till I heard
The breath escape her lungs.
And then I saw the curtain close,
And cover up the stage
When from behind the grand drape,
Came a scream of rage
As all the audience were a heart,
And Being nut a flute,
And I and sorrow some strange switch
Screaming, became, mute.
And then the curtain rose, at last,
And I saw through and through—
And felt nothing from their façade,
And clapping, unmoved— left-
TAYLORIAN
“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life,
or whether that station will be held by anybody else,
these pages must show.”
Charles Dickens—David Copperfield

STARBUCKS
Ivy Kim
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 87

88
Crocs
By: Paola Finol
TAYLORIAN
Crocs! Crocs! Fiery fright
In the streets you fill with blight
What deluded night or day
Could shape thy dreadful deadly way?
What possible labor or game
Sculpted the structure of my bane?
From what surface did thou hail?
Thy material are mined from fail
Entrepreneur prone to loiter
How can thou then embroider?
When accomplished is thy task
What dread gain? And what dread mask?
What the freak? What the heck?
In what sweatshop was the wreck?
What the poor? What dread child
Who truly must’ve been beguiled
When displayed on world’s stage
Half of those took to rage
Are you blind to good sight?
Plastic shoes are not alright
Crocs! Crocs! Fiery fright
In the streets you fill with blight
What deluded night or day
Dare shape thy dreadful deadly way?

Name: Kelly Hannah
SHATTERED
Medium: wooden, blue background with smaller boxes inside casted leg and foot with dead flowers
Background: this piece is very personal to me. I have been facing many problems this year with
coming out of my shell and being myself around other people. That’s why I chose the song shattered
by A.O.R. its about being shattered and crushed and that’s how I have been feeling. So I did
this project the way I did to come out of my shell. I wanted to paint it blue because it’s my favorite
color and it helps me be more myself. The broken glass represents me being shattered. The smaller
boxes are the smaller feelings I have been feeling and the flowers are my unity because I usually
use them in all my pieces.
Instructor: Mrs. Adina Reeves
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 89

90
TAYLORIAN
TRANSITIONS
RANSITIONS
I have been one to see the end of fall. By:
I have seen snow sparkle like endless jewels. Christy
As the trees rest, time continues to stall. Pyle
Another life has become a slow crawl.
I have been one to see the end of fall.
I have watched snow melt and transform to pools.
I have seen new flowers push through frozen ground
And felt Earth warming with Sun as a tool.
But then begins to slow with fading light.
I hear the next season’s annual call
And everything recedes back in spite.
I have felt the heat rise and soon surround
Me as the days grow longer than the nights.
I have witnessed life blooming all around.

Name: Natalie Rodriguez
Medium: Wood, acrylic, wood burning
NOBODY GIRL— FRONT
Background: Nobody Girl is the title of a Ryan Adams song that inspired the design
of my sculpture. The wood burning is a side view of a woman with a plum blossom
tattooed on her left side. The simplicity and natural beauty is my unity throughout
my piece. The colors were chosen to combine with the nature concept. The vine
work was engraved into the sculpture with a wood burner as well as the woman.
This art piece shows the growth of a woman and the natural beauty along the way.
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 91

92
Name: Natalie Rodriguez
Medium: Wood, acrylic, wood burning
TAYLORIAN
NOBODY GIRL— BACK
Background: Nobody Girl is the title of a Ryan Adams song that inspired the design
of my sculpture. The wood burning is a side view of a woman with a plum blossom
tattooed on her left side. The simplicity and natural beauty is my unity throughout my
piece. The colors were chosen to combine with the nature concept. The vine work
was engraved into the sculpture with a wood burner as well as the woman. This art
piece shows the growth of a woman and the natural beauty along the way.
Instructor: Mrs. Nancy Viola

Name: Natalie Vargas
Medium: Acrylic on canvas; mixed media
RELEASE
Background: The original assignment was to try to imitate the example set by Rodrigo Aguilera. He used fine string
to conceal segments then color each different to finally unite it as one peace. I used string using straight lines to
suggest my irritated mood. I used a complementary color scheme and a slight change of tone throughout the whole
piece. This maintains my cause united while not forgetting the feeling of frustration and the release of the aftermath.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 93

94
Name: Ashli Vernon
TAYLORIAN
I’M FREE
Medium: Mix media, with a blue background fading into purple, attached is a plastered piece, and ink.
Background: This piece was inspired by a death close to my heart. My father died in July, and this
piece was a healing process for me. I choose to do a tree coming out of a suitcase, which would symbolize
him packed and on to heaven. The tree is where he was buried next to, which he loved trees as
well. I wrote text on the background, and I painted the background blue which was his favorite color.
With that color there I faded into purple. I added a picture of us when we first met and it’s the only
picture of the two of us.
Instructor: Ms. Theresa Brewer

Locker 2012
By Patrick Yee
There is a legend of an old locker at Taylor High
that most have not heard of. A mysterious locker appears
every year at certain times of the day. It defies the numbering
system and simply takes over a single locker space a
year. Some say it is an abomination due to evil forces at
work. Others say it is a locker with magical qualities. Some
even say it is a conspiracy plotted by several faculty members
who have come together and formed the “Torture Students”
society. No one knows for certain the origins of this
locker or the reason it was created, but one thing is for certain:
it brings great misfortune to the student who uses it
every year.
“Accidents” have been reported to several teachers,
who were bewildered by the power of the locker.
One anonymous student recalls seeing a terrible
image of a teacher being found inside the locker. She
claims she took it to the teacher himself, who was confused
and terrified by the image’s powerful quality. The next day,
the teacher was walking through a grocery store when suddenly
he sneezed in the face of a three-year-old child, who
collapsed after his face turned blue. A kid from the school
happened to capture this image on his camera and released
it to various people in the school. Upon investigation, the
image the kid took on his camera was an exact match of the
picture the girl found in the locker.
One teacher who wishes his name to be undisclosed
claimed to have seen the evil locker at work. He retells
his story of that one fateful day when he was walking
down the math hallway during B lunch. He noticed a student
that was opening the combination to a locker, but he
didn’t pay too much attention and just walked on by. A few
seconds after he walked by the student, he heard the rusty
sound of the locker opening mixed with a scream of terror.
Startled, he turned around, and he could not believe the
sight in his eyes. He saw the student lying unconscious on
the ground. However, the student had sustained deep and
long scratches through his body and several bite marks on
his skin as well. That wasn’t the most surprising of the student’s
new features. It appeared to the teacher that the boy
had suddenly grown a huge afro in the colors of blue and
white.
Both teachers confirmed that upon closer inspection
of the locker, the locker number would read 2012.
Many more “accidents” were reported, but none have been
as eerie and mysterious as the next case.
In the year of 2009, the locker caused the most
mayhem. A student (let’s call him Patrick) mysteriously
disappeared after one period and was never found. Patrick,
right before his disappearance, was reported to have been
recorded by a security camera. The film that taped his sudden
disappearance has mysteriously disappeared, but according
to the accounts of those who watched the film in
order to determine Patrick’s location, Patrick had just
opened the locker. Suddenly, the expression on his face
turned into one of surprise before it twisted in horror at an
unseen sight within the locker. At this moment, the tape
burned up by itself and further footage of Patrick was lost
forever. Ever since that day, eerie sounds and bright lights
emitted from the locker at midnight for the rest of the
school year. When an investigation of the paranormal behaviors
of the lockers was finally launched, investigators
reported voices and sounds that haunted their dreams. No
matter what method they used, the locker refused to budge
whenever they tried to open it. The investigation was disbanded
soon after, and for unknown reasons, some investigators
fell ill with unidentified diseases within a week
while others disappeared without a trace.
No one has been able to solve this mystery, but
theories have risen after a new piece of information was
found. Three months after Patrick’s disappearance, a note
in the exact same handwriting of Patrick was found when
the locker opened itself. After a brave soul extracted the
taped note from the locker (the “brave soul” probably was
forced after losing to a game of rock paper scissors) and
turned it into the proper school officials, the note was delivered
to the person it was addressed to: me.
I was in my fourth period English class when I received
the cursed note. If it was any ordinary note, I would
have taken it without a thought to its importance. However,
this was not the case. As the messenger with the note in his
gloved hand approached me with the note, I trembled and
dropped the homework that I was copying from a friend.
He left the note on my desk and ran out the door with a joyful
expression on his face, as if a burden had been lifted
from his shoulders. My hands shook wildly as I turned the
note over. As it slowly settled back onto the table, I noticed
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 95

96
something stunning. It was blank. Except for the tiny handwriting
at the top of it: “To: The only student wearing all
black in fourth period Mathew’s class on April 20, 2009.
From: .” So, that was how I was stuck
with a cursed note that was blank. “At least,” I thought, “it
couldn’t get any worse than this.” Later that day, it did.
I was sitting in English class ten minutes later
when the same messenger came in with the darkest of expressions
on his face. In his hand was another note. This
time, the note was blank too and I was confused as ever.
Suddenly, the lights of the classroom turned off and everything
after was chaos. You could never tell what people
could be doing when the lights are off, after all. Homework
exchanged? Sharpened pencils flying? Shoe mugging?
Black market Yu-gi-oh card sales? These are all examples
of crimes taking effect when lights turn off in classrooms.
Luckily, the lights turned on after two minutes. But unluckily,
writing appeared on the second note that was delivered
to me two minutes ago. “Read the previous note on April
26, 2009 under the light of Locker 2012 at midnight. Your
entrance will be arranged. You will come…no matter
what.” And so, I did.
That night when I arrived at the school, the doors
were already open. When I walked in, they slowly closed.
My heart beat faster and faster as I looked around the dark
hallways and stairs. I felt that I was being watched through
the darkness that I could not see through. Inevitably, an
eerie light appeared and led me through the school. My feet
moved on their own as I was led to Locker 2012. “I guess
I’ll have to do what I came to do” I thought. Retrieving the
crumpled note from my pocket, I opened the locker with
my other hand. The locker fluttered open effortlessly and
light flooded through it. I turned around and put the note in
the light. Then I read it slowly and carefully.
“Don’t dismiss this warning and think I am an idiot. I am
just as sane as you are, if you are sane at all by now, and
the truth may be hard to absorb. I am speaking now from
the future.
Turn by turn, I will lead you to the truth behind my disappearance.
There are many things I am prohibited to speak
of, especially occurrences that people are not supposed to
know yet, however I can send a small message.
TAYLORIAN
Around the time I was thought to have disappeared, I was
actually curious about the mysterious power of Locker
2012. That day that I “disappeared,” I stared intently into
the locker when suddenly a dark face twisted in horror met
my eyes. Something reached out from the locker, grabbed
me, and pulled me into the locker. I am forbidden to say
what happened after this, but Locker 2012 turns out to be a
time/dimensional-warp machine. I, who have mastered its
power, have traveled now through different dimensions and
timelines. Creatures of darkness such as “ghosts” and supernatural
occurrences are still pretty low right now and
there is not much I can say after that. However, the small
message I promised can be found if you now read the first
word of each of the three paragraphs.”
I should have heeded the warning, but I didn’t. The gruesome
sight that clouded my eyes will always haunt my
nightmares and I do not wish to disclose a description of it.
I do not wish the misfortunes from Locker 2012 to befall
any other students if they will see such a sight. However,
all I can say is that it smelled like candy.

I remember the flames, the red-orange stickers,
The gray roads paved with hardened plastic.
The two lonely cars, one white and one red,
Passing swiftly through the spongy carwash.
Elegy for my Hotwheels
By Prasannah Rajendran
That one fateful day when my bundle of joy arrived,
I slaved away like a little dwarf
Not 1, not 2, but 8 hours without a stop.
A small child, not resting one moment.
Every piece, every sticker, was stuck together with such care,
You would never believe that it was done by a child.
And every day after school, I arrived excitedly
Expecting to play a game of car racing.
Mind you, I loved this track set more than any Barbie doll,
Not even the most beautiful dress or long flowing hair,
Could tear me away from this imaginary world,
Of roads and signs that came to life in my mind.
Then one unfortunate winter like a cold wind he came,
Meant to break me away from my beloved bauble.
My cousin, a year younger than me, stupid boy,
Fell in love with my amazing and merry little trinket.
“I want it” he told his dear aunt, my mother,
“I want one just like it, right now!”
“Right now?” she asked him sweetly with worry,
“I can try to find it” she said, “but if I can’t you can have this one”
My sweet, childish face contorted and grimaced,
What more could he want? What more could he need?
If it’s a toy he wanted, he already had many,
Just open the closet door and wait for the avalanche.
But we looked and looked and we could not find it,
For it was a once-in-a-lifetime special edition Christmas track set,
So, my mother told the bawling child, “The more you give, the more you get”
When I saw his happy smile, I ran away screaming, “I hate you, Mom!”
8 years after this incident, last fall,
I began to remember this terrible catastrophe.
My mother apologized again and again, as well she should,
And decided she would buy me a real car after all.
TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 97

98
TAYLORIAN
In harvesting a natural resource from a
mother lode of youthful aspirations, we hope
this was a cornucopia of imagination. In
continuing to garner an ever present renew-
able asset—the mind of students; sons and
daughters; today’s youth, tomorrow’s lead-
ers—we welcome accolade, suggestions, cri-
tiques, and any other form of benevolence
from those who enjoy such creativity. Your
response would allow us to take Taylorian to
another year and beyond.

TAYLOR HIGH SCHOOL MAGAZINE 99

100
TAYLORIAN