NEW PROFILES
NEW WORK ON BARE: Winter / Spring 2025
A Miraculous Comeback
John Kowalski / 11
fiction
​​Through the practice sessions and qualifying John Goop battled with the other drivers on track. Not only battling with the other drivers, Goop fought the car. “The five time world champion really struggled with the car on the track during qualifying.” The sports broadcaster announced to the viewers at home. The circuit, Spa-Francorchamps usually suited Goop’s skills as a driver.
The long straights and difficult corners of the track fit Goop’s aggressive and quick driving style. This particular weekend the track's fickle and unpredictable weather seemed relatively tame. It was a rather dry race weekend considering the track being in the mountainous forest of Belgium.
Goop who had previously qualified on pole position the past four years was now starting position 17 on the grid, three places from last. Goop had voiced his concerns about the car to his race engineer about the car’s faulty suspension. The team looked over the car and checked the data from the three practice sessions on Friday. “None of that mattered now. Just focus on getting into the top 10 and earning points for the team.” Goop told himself as he focused on the five starting lights. “Lights out and away we go at the Belgium Grand Prix” The Broadcaster announced.
​
Lap after lap the drivers screamed around the race track at a blistering pace. Their engines roaring as they narrowly passed each other. Goop now nearing the points after his first pit stop. “Now with new tires I can really attack these next drivers” Goop told himself. Then on lap thirty three with just eleven laps to go there was a massive crash. Multiple cars involved flung debris all over the main straight. The yellow caution flags came out and so did the safety car. “Goop just focus on a smooth drive. We will have a podium for this weekend and it will secure points for the team.”Goop’s engineer told him over the radio. Goop had been in this situation for what felt like hundreds of times in his lengthy career. “Something felt off,” Goop told himself. The safety car left the track and the race resumed. Lap after lap everything was going smooth, until Goop’s arch rival and ex teammate, Cornelius Hornburg.
​
Their battles had been intense and ferocious, not only on the track but off the track. Growing up the two had been best friends. They were always teammates until one race at this very track. Hornburg made a dirty racing move to Goop to go for the win, causing Goop to crash. From that race forward they hated each other.
​
In the closing laps of the race Goop felt his car’s suspension begin to fail. He saw Hornburg closing on his mirrors. Down to the last lap Goop’s car falling apart and he is barely holding onto the lead. Hornburg closes in as the final corners approach. Goop felt the car struggling, the suspension failing. All of the sudden he saw Hornburg setting up the same overtake, the same dirty move from all those years ago. He dove down the inside trying to slingshot his way around the final corner for the victory, trying to crash Goop’s car out in the process. Except Goop knew how to defend it this time. Hornburg tried to dive down the inside, attacking the weakened suspension of Goop’s car. Goop defended with perfect accuracy, weaving his car to just keep it narrowly in front of Hornburg. With his perfect defense Hornburg tried one last ditch attempt to win the race causing him to crash in the last corner. Goop’s car limped to victory, a miraculous comeback.
Classroom Chains
Aizik Gentile / 11
poetry
​
In rows they sit, dreams tied in chains,
A bell's command, their hopes constrained.
The clock ticks on, a silent dread,
Where passion's flame is left unfed.
The system molds, but leaves them cold,
Young minds conform, their thoughts controlled.
In halls of learning, hearts decay,
As spirits wilt and fade away.
The tests, the grades, a ruthless grind,
That sharpens fear and dulls the mind.
Creativity is lost, suppressed,
As rigid rules replace what's best.
They yearn to break the bars they face,
To find their voice, to set the pace.
Yet every day, they're told to yield,
Their wild ambitions slowly sealed.
The world outside, a distant call,
Yet here they're taught to fear the fall.
In place of growth, they’re told to bend,
And so the light begins to end.
But in the cracks, rebellion stirs,
A whisper grows, a truth that purrs.
For even chains can’t bind the soul,
That seeks the fire, that craves the whole.
So may they rise, these captive hearts,
And break the mold, reclaim their arts.
For school may try to dim the flame,
But human spirit holds no shame.
Darryl / 10
Rory Geygan
A Walk Through Parsons Ave. / 1
Joe Lehner / 12
A Walk Through Parsons Ave. / 2
Joe Lehner / 12
Paradox
John D
poetry
The weight we choose to bear,
The truth unspoken, yet ever present,
Each waking hour a muted confession,
Each breath a missed opportunity.
We lose sleep wrestling with ourselves,
Each thought a sharp whisper,
Cutting through the fabric of who we pretend to be,
A clash of reality and the façade we wear.
We are the paradox,
A soul lost within itself,
Dancing between the labels,
In search of our true identity.
Goodbye, ft. Egghead and Macaroni Man
Reagan Jaglowski / 12
The Box
Duncan Blakeman / 11
fiction
The sun had been shining down on the pasture with intensity, it was mid june and it was the perfect day to be outside. Philip and Janice were playing outside while their father was working on the field. They had always gone into the field to play. But they weren't allowed to go in while their father worked. Their father had been working for a while now, on his green tractor. It was loud, but it was the perfect day to work.
​
Philip and Janice never liked the loud churning of the tractor.
Philip said “When do you think he will be done out there?”
Janice replied “he’s been out there for a while now, I don't think he'll be out for much longer. I wonder why he’s been out there for so long.”
“It’s probably nothing, we should go on the swings, I am dying of this heat.”
The two children went to the swings. With each swing they got higher and higher, while the cool breeze of the swings flowed onto them.
They could see their father in the field at the heights.
Janice said “I see pa!”
Philip replied “So can I!”
Although they were happy they could see their father, something was off to them. They had noticed their father had abruptly stopped in the middle of the field. A warm breeze suddenly struck them and the bright sun was covered by clouds.
Philip said “What’s happening, I wonder what's going on out there.”
Both of their looks intensified as they were searching for answers. Then their father vanished from their view.
Janice said “Where did he go?, what happened?”
Philip replied “He was just there a second ago! Where is he?”
The childrens looks became more frantic as they were searching for answers.
“It was like he disappeared!” Janice said
“We need to find him!” philip replied
The children jumped out the their swings with distraught. They began to run, to the strong stocks of corn.
“Are we close?” Philip asked
“Just a little more” Janice said, as they frantically ran through the stocks
They had reached their destination, and as they approached the green tractor, there was no trace of their father. However when they rounded the corner they found something peculiar. A bulky cube, made of metal, sitting beside the tractor, in the middle of the field, with nobody in sight.
Along This Lonely Road
Lillian Griffin / 9
poetry
As I walk along
This lonely road
I am being followed
Invisible specters
Trail behind me
Dropping ghostly
They are of my past
And haunt my path
But I no longer
Claim them
For as I walk along this lonely road
I am ever-changing
Their footsteps fade
Into emptiness
As they trail behind me
Ghosts join
And ghosts die
The number is ever-changing
And when I dream
My lonely dreams
I am greeted by new faces
I haven’t met them yet,
But I see them in new places
And one day soon
My dreamy ghosts
Will someday walk behind me
Dropping feathers
And extinguishing the embers
Of what I could have been
But forever
Will I be forced to walk
My little,
Lonely road.
Unaccompanied,
But never,
Ever alone
Hope is a Thing with Battle Scars
Lillian Griffin / 9
poetry
​
Hope
Is a thing with
Battle scars
Lying
On the ground
With shattered teeth
And a bruised-up jaw
And broken fingernails
Pain shoots up
Her chest
Every time
She breathes
Everything
Inside of her
Is telling her
To leave
Her opponent
Stares her down
And she stares
Right back.
Her glare
Cold and icy, her dark eyes
Are bloodshot
She spits
Up blood
And bits of teeth
Her feet
Find the ground
Her heart is heavy,
Her fists are ready,
As she gets up
For another round.
Ties
Ken Bates / 11
What we are
Rory Geygan / 10
poetry
They’re all numbers.
7:30, 8:50, 4:00, 5:30, 6:15
But do they know what those mean?
They’re all words.
Pride, Power, Spirit, Attitude
Will people hear me yell?
They’re all notes.
F, G, A, B
But will you sing?
They're all letters.
U, A, M, B
But will you cheer?
The numbers build us.
The words show us.
The notes hear us.
The letters are us.