Apple Picking and Peace, Love, and Graffiti

Apple Picking

In the style of Galway Kinnell’s “Blackberry Eating”
By Gabrielle Young

I love to get lost in mid-September,

in the giant, organized orchard seas,

to pick apples for my lunches,

the outer skins waxy, a punishment

earned for harboring poisoned seeds

within their cores; and as I stand among them

plucking fruits off of the trees, the ripest apples

descend into my woven basket,

as words sometimes do, certain youthful words

like plop or jewel,

few lettered, single-syllable drops

which I rub, chomp on, and carefully savor

in the hugged, sugary, grandmother tongue

of apple -- picking in mid-September.

 

Peace, Love, and Graffiti by Joey Desmone

Expanse of Nothing and A Really Big Bowl

A Really Big Bowl by Izzy Acevedo

Expanse of Nothing

By Allison Gould

Coasting along black ripples

in an expanse of nothingness

Searching for a destination

or for nothing at all

Reminiscing the past

Projecting the future

Realizing the present

Everything is a speck

in this expansive universe

Everyone is a minuscule grain of sand

in the hourglass of existence

Whipping winds, persistent all around

and lashing at your feet

Wondering how Mother Nature

could be so cruel

Yet, still reminiscing the past

Projecting the future

Realizing the present

Everything is connected

in this unforgiving universe

Everyone is a fundamental cog

in the machine of existence

Watching the stars and

constellations being formed

Trudging forward in search

of wonder or of liberation

Reminiscing the past

Projecting the future

Realizing the present

Everything is on a unique path

in this extraordinary universe

Everyone is a spark of light

in the perpetuity of existence

Witnessing the starkness of destruction

before our time came

Questioning the forces that tore apart

the land piece by piece

Now, deeply reminiscing the past

Projecting the future

Realizing the present

Everything is weak and bends

and conforms to this constricting universe

Everyone is going to live and change

and disappear from existence

Reaching havens after hours

of anticipation and longing

Meeting a disappointment you  

never thought was possible

Forgetting the past

Overlooking the future

Living in the present

Nothing is what it seems

in this universe

No one is going to live up

to our expectations of existence

Tapestry Publication

Hi, everyone!
We accepted an overwhelming number of great art and writing submissions this year at Tapestry. As a result, we are extending our publication of these stellar pieces to the Tapestry blog! Make sure to visit often over the next few weeks to see which pieces have been published!

The authors and artists who will be featured are (alphabetical by last name):

• Izzy Acevedo
• Hansen Bursic
• Alexis Buzzato
• Joseph Desmone
• Joseph Desmone
• Madeline Doerr
• Allison Gould
• David Han
• Elizabeth Kauma
• Jordyn Koontz
• Julia Lynch
• Hannah Mueller
• Mary Clare O'Connor
• Anna Paviglianiti
• Sophie Rodosky
• Margot Savin
• Nina Stumpf
• Katherine Teele
• Gabrielle Young

Publication

Hello Artists and Writers!

Thank you to all who submitted to the Tapestry magazine this year.  There were a large number of submissions, and we enjoyed reviewing each and every piece.

We are pleased to announce the students whose work will be published in the 

2015-16 Tapestry Literary Arts Magazine:

Izzy Acevedo

Eli Berman

Lydia Beyer

Maria Burns

Hansen Bursic

Alexis Buzzatto

Sally Dean

Joseph Desmone

Madeleine Doerr

Anaȉs Foss

Shahmir Ghafoor

David Han

Jess Hertzberg

Annie Hirsch

Elizabeth Kauma

Julia Lynch

Josh Manuel

Hannah Mueller

Nina Mulroy

Mary Clare O’Connor

Jasmine Pabla

Emma Paulini

Helen Paulini

Anna Paviglianiti

Kristen Rabbitt

Sophie Rodosky

Iris Schaitkin

Sarah Schanwald

Heather Snowball

Thomas Swigon

Paris Szalla

Maya Weis

Chloe Yofan

Gabi Young

Bailey Yousem

Congratulations!

We would also like to invite ALL students --whether or not your work was accepted this year-- to the Tapestry Publication Party on Tuesday, May 17 from 3:30-5 pm at the Hartwood Cafe (3400 Harts Run Rd, Glenshaw, PA 15116).

Join us for a casual open mic, light refreshments, and a fun atmosphere as we celebrate the publication of the book.

Everyone is welcome -- students, teachers, family, friends...

Hope to see you there :)

Thank you again!

Tapestry Senior Staff

Why Write?

Why Write? 
by Emma Paulini

Write because emotions flow.  Sometimes, they're are so volatile that they explode, ultimately transforming into specks of stardust.  They need to be transformed into words on a page. Blank, new, beautiful, and shattering. Ordinary or mundane.  Write because you can -- because you have a voice and the right for the world to hear it.  Or for only a select few or no one at all, whatever you choose.  Write to fill pages that can be all for yourself, so when you look back, you know you hold truth in your hands.  Your words deserve their part in your life and the world, simply because they are present -- if not already spilling from your fingertips, then shimmering below the surface like the ocean refracting light when the right wave hits.  Keep writing to tap into the wonders of the mind, and the ebb and flow of the universe.  Then, you will know there is more than simple existence.  Your words will spark you truly alive.

Happy Valentine's Week!

Happy Valentine’s Week!  Enjoy these colorful watercolor paintings that I found on the internet. :)  It’s hard to believe the top picture is a painting!  It really looks like a silver/holographic heart ballon.  And I love the fun colors of the bottom two pictures.  Have a great week - and a good long weekend too!

~Helen

Spirit-Krakens.

Here's an excerpt of a short story written by our very own Stephen Polcyn:

    I could hear a strange wailing sound coming from the next room when I wiggled my way through the window, foolishly left open by one of the entitled little gargoyle spawn of the house’s owner. I had been eyeing the house as a potential target for a while, as despite the kids’ uncultured and frankly obnoxious ways, their parents were well-placed in a major corporation. Needless to say, they had accumulated quite a bit of wealth over the years, and I, being a man of high principle, needed to redistribute that hoard a bit. I’d taken the past few weeks to scout out the premises, and figured out where the cash and gold was kept with the help of my trusty pair of hunting binoculars. It never failed to amuse me to see my future quarry, the animals they were, feeding from the corporate trough, through that pair of optics

    Finally, I got my body over the window sill, and slithered down onto the car-decorated rug. No doubt this was the male brat’s room. As I stood up, I realized I could still hear the wailing through the wall, and it was beginning to rattle my nerves. It was shrill and had a distinct note of despair in it, not unlike those movie scenes when the character raises their face to the sky and cries out against some great tragedy that has befallen them. This wasn’t the first time I hadn’t been the only one home while working though; it just meant I had to be a bit more careful if I wanted to avoid wasting my clever chemical concoctions. Figuring out those brews was about the only thing useful my chemistry degree ever got me - it certainly never convinced someone to hire me. The wailing continued unabated though, with no drop in intensity. It was really becoming quite irritating, and I knew my ears would be ringing for hours afterwards with echoes of its piercing tone. More importantly though, it was ruining my concentration. I could hardly focus on my route to the safe when my brain was too busy trying to filter out that horrible screech, so I was really left with no other option - eliminate the creator of the sound. While there were many options to choose from to effect an elimination, I always started with non-lethal. This was to be a short snatch anyway, so it was unlikely she would wake before I had wiggled back out the window. I padded softly across the plush carpet to the door frame, and selected a small, greenish glass orb from my inside coat pocket, and weighed it in my hand. Then I spun around the door frame into the hall, hefted the sphere, began to bring my arm forward, and...

    ...froze.

It's a little bit confusing, a little weird, a little crazy. In the words of the story's immortal author, "they have spirit-krakens." Needless to say, it gets intense.

If you want to read the entire story, its uploaded here.