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To see the current Lantern, please click on this link:
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L A N T E R N
Announcing 2023-2024 Editor-in-Chief: Shreya Ganguly
Assistant Editor: Aiden Bundock
2023-2024 StaffPhotography Liaison: Anthony Martinelli
Art Liaison: TBA
Poetry/Fiction: Shreya Ganguly
Music Liaison: Sean Moebius
Drama Liaison: TBA
We were experimenting with the idea of an online magazine, and everyone enjoys the digital version of our publications as it is easier to access. So this year and maybe in the years to follow, we are going to continue to use this method of presenting our works and we hope you enjoy this year's new volume! Stay alert for new updates!
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Advisor/Questions
To learn more information or if you have any questions, contact Mr. Summers, Lantern’s club advisor, at ssummers@wayneschools.comLantern Email - whhslantern@gmail.com
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How and When Do We Meet?
Each meeting is voluntary and there are no repercussions for missing meetings! You can come in and say hi whenever you want, Lantern is very open and welcoming. Lantern is a place to discuss works and offer constructive criticism. Submitting works to talk about in-club is meant to improve upon these talents and allow students to cultivate their expression. It also serves as a place to draw inspiration from, listen to other similar-minded people and collaborate together!
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What is Lantern?
What is Lantern?Lantern is a club devoted to sharing and celebrating students’ creative expression through art, writing, and photos. A quarterly magazine is published throughout the year including all of this work. We are also experimenting with a NEW WEBSITE to feature student work more frequently- you can view it by clicking on "Current Works" in the main menu at the top of this page.
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Lantern 2022-23
The Trail
a poem by senior Tomas Gonzalez Bonilla
On the trail, I walk step by step
Surrounded by nature's grandeur so grand
The wind whispers sweet nothings in our ears
As I cherish the solitude that is so dear
Memories of my past linger on
Like the fragrance of flowers long gone
Yet my imagination takes us beyond
To a future beyond
As I walk on this trail of life
I will overcome any strife
But when I am lost
I remember the trail
The Orchid’s Whispersa poem by junior Shreya Ganguly
A drop of bark wood on the stream’s expanse,
a girl not yet threaded with the shadows
of the town’s colors of thought.Little gazes at the oak tree among
the shudder of her palms, a crack
in leaves thrown to the marigold valleysof fields still fleeting to the days long past,
ones never robbed from their fingers.The girl drinks daffodil tea,
words from each flower of dream
floating about the golden trills of light
rising from their present positions.The shrieks of the estate extend
the tips of the wind’s blowing currents,
the days of when Lydia drew her palms
to the waters, a glow of blue ink on
the center of moonlight’s wavering eyes.Brushing the day’s taste, one clasping
onto her for hours to the shifting clouds,
the call of stars grows, “wash the storm, the locks
to the waters of petals.”The orchids breathe once more beneath hearing
every thud of the dusk’s walk on moonlit waters,
ones of specks never to lift their toes
from our dearie’s garden
where the leaf’s pen still drips.Materialism
a poem by freshman Juliette Laurin
The Moth's Tunea poem by junior Shreya Ganguly
A stone resides on the corner of the darkening path,
shadows turning the evening lights where the poet’s pen
is not yet whispered upon the heath and roads rushing to the estate’s doors.
Among the skylark’s call piping about the valleys and songs dancing
into the moths of the forest in the sounds seldom heard,
the moon’s eye darting to the wind’s cries distinctly thrown to the orchard path.
Never can the oak tree’s bark crashing through our toes fade to
the darkness of stars that illumine our path with glistening waters
thudding beneath the rivers breathing past the surfaces for centuries.
Lo, the call scurries its reach to the low hanging moon of the days before,
colors of grass stalks and dandelion fields meeting the garden gates
to exchange fingers with the dust along the murmurs of moths,
the windowpanes shifting from their present positions
as a wash of frost pours on the cups turning their lips to greet us.
Orchids step inside the throbbing leaves to come to the moth’s tune
in the absence of a word to bite the shadows of songs long withered,
the call inviting a return of spruce trees
to the once specked magnolia trees.
Pressing our lips against the dying of the shadow,
lights of the tree’s rooms rise from the waning of the black eye.
Waters escape to the road’s cracks and kiss the mist forming
until the garden’s departing fairies retreat to the estate’s walls,
the moths on the glass edge of our kitchen windows.
In Plain Sight
artwork by senior Gianna Montalbano
Blinded On My Last String
a poem by freshman Sujoy Nath
I shared the deepest, truest parts of myself
Just for you to throw me away
I was a book on a shelf
Until I was read instead of being put on display
I guess I was blinded
Arguing with myself
Justifying your actions
Thinking our interactions
Really meant something
I am on my last string
Yet I am still rooting for you
I am on my last sting
Yet I still love you.
Willowa poem by senior Taylor Zaffino
Weeping Willows weep in the sky
The leaves sway with sadness in their eyes
Waiting for someone to sit and stay
Observing the grounds as they lay
Listening to the sounds of weep
And feeling the soft grass beneath
Under the surface of the scolding hot core
The weeping willow tree dies as the Earth grows old
Driver's Licensephotography by senior Briana GularteComic Strip based on William Shakespeare's Hamlet (part I)artwork and story by senior Gabby Birkland
Comic Strip based on William Shakespeare's Hamlet (part II)artwork and story by senior Gabby Birkland
What Our Walks Carrieda poem by junior Shreya Ganguly
On moonlit paths we crossed at the fall of twilight,
the day’s bark wood and crimson leaves loiter.
Upon your entrance at the garden gates,
we drop our fingers to the fields towering over the crack of mist.
You came, throwing your golden and black locks of hair into the soil.
Last night, I dreamt of white stars swinging you
to our room of red paint dripping
the pages flooding floors and doors.
Where have the winds sent your songs and words we once stepped through?
Along the fields and orchards our feet slip past,
a pang of the day’s remorse lasts,
carrying with it pools of stars dancing about
your tears and my longings, leaving us never touched.
The moon cries on the bark wood,
smiling away its desires on the road’s sinking holes,
still standing in wait of our fall onto the waters
that gaze over the day’s path.
On painted paper, our eyes melt at the fall of dusk on dear waters.
Do not let the colors drift to the skies,
colors that glide on still waters of our walk along fields.
Hamletartwork by senior Evan Grant
Routine Lunchartwork by freshman Phoebe TsuboiA Retelling of Beowulf
fiction by junior Adham ShalabyBeowulf was a strong hero known for his glory and strength. Many people know him for his fight against Grendel and his mother. But I, Wiglaf fought with him many glorious battles, but there was one nobody really speak of how gruesome it was.
It was way back when we were at war with another kingdom. It was called the Clover Kingdom, known for its great hero Asta. Many people thought that he was even stronger than Beowulf, but I knew he was not. Beowulf and I rushed into battle with our sturdy steeds at full speed. We glanced at a huge army rushing down the hill with a need for blood in their eyes. I was scared, but also confident because we had Beowulf on our side. Then I saw him, Asta rushing down even faster than the people on steeds. I for one have never seen such spectacular speed and power in my lifetime. Our army of the great King Hrothgar only had about 500 knights. They overpowered us by over six times our men with 3000 or more men on their side.
We finally met eye-to-eye with the other army and it was all adrenaline. I’ve never fought such experienced knights before with such skill. The knights of the Clover Kingdom trained with Asta himself so they weren't easy to defeat. Halfway through the battle Asta and Beowulf meet. I saw Asta and he was shirtless with no Armor at all, his body was covered in scars that looked like they came from a sword. He gripped Beowulf as hard as possible just like Grendel's mother did but this time he was able to escape. Beowulf took a step back. I was very surprised because I have never seen Beowulf back up from battle. I can see the fear in his face, Beowulf was always known for never being afraid and rushing into battle head first. I can sense his aura that was filled with bloodlust. At this point in the battle, we were sure of defeat. We only had about a100 men left and they had 1500 men plus Asta. Beowulf threw away his shield and sword and fought only with his bare hands because he did not want to be seen as cowardly. Asta only fought with his bare hands because he trained his body so much that the strength of his fists packs a harder punch than just slicing somebody with a sword.
They fought each other for a while Beowulf barely kept up Asta. This was a battle that Beowulf was destined to lose. He was fighting with all he had for the glory but that just wasn't enough. Asta was beating down on him and for once he resorted to the help of god rather than just himself. A light so bright shined down on Beowulf stopping everyone from battling and just looking at him would make you go blind. Beowulf levitated, his wounds regenerating as the light faded away he came back ten times stronger. When he landed on back on the earth the whole ground shook leaving cracks in the ground. He walked up to Asta and sent him flying into a wall with just one punch. The people of the Clover Kingdom retreated with fear.
The Beacon
a poem by freshman Jacob BelenkiyI work all day and have no bedtime
The man always gets credit for my overtime
He lives on a stone
Far from your home
But you see him at night
And are excited to see him in the light
You fear me but need me
You think my arms hurt you
But all they do is help trees
You become red but the blame is untrue
I receive no glee
From bringing pain to you
You’ve never held my gaze
Not once in all your days
You don’t even know who I am
And you never knew my name is “Sam”
You call me, “The Sun”
Limited Time
artwork by senior Wenrui Zhang
An Encounter
With Eyes
a poem by freshman Myla Heller
Alone, in the comforts of my room
Everything starts to die down
My body and mind stop their constant race
And my eyes drift slowly to a close
Almost
A scratching sound
Scritch Scritch Scritch
I’m alone
But
Maybe I’m not
A turn in my bed
A twist of my neck
All to try to become comfortable again
But that part of my mind screeches to me
We are not alone
I leap out of bed
I tread quietly through my carpet
Slowly reach my bedroom door
I turn my door knob
And I am met with a pair of eyes
I laugh instead of scream
For those eyes aren’t a scary beast
But the eyes of my harmless fluffy dog
Who wanted to pay his owner a visit
Slipping Through My Fingersartwork by junior Julie Bae
Room
artwork by senior Yasmin Saada
From The Vines
photography by junior Anthony Martinelli
A Recreation of Thorin's Map from JRR Tolkien's The Hobbitartwork by senior Salsabeel Atiyat
I Understanda poem by freshman Sujoy Nath
I understand the whispers of my name
It’s funny
It’s as if I’ve risen to fame
I understand why I’m simply a shattered vase
It’s funny
I’ve always wanted a brace
But it seems that there is none
I understand why you’ve stopped talking to me
I understand why I feel colder
I understand why life isn’t free
I guess it’s just because I’m older
I understand why you don’t wave back to me in the hallways
I understand why you leave my messages open
I understand that your life is such a blaze
With and without me in it
But I don’t
I don’t understand the chillier breeze
I don’t understand the falling leaves
I just wish life could be a breeze
But I’m falling on my knees
Trying to get some sleep
I understand
This is how it is
Lighta photo by senior Olivia Shultz
Freedom: Class Dismissed
a photo by senior Tran Nguyen
As It Is
a poem by junior Shreya Ganguly
At fall of daylight melting the last of night,
cries of blue and red drop to our waters.
Leaves dart to the corners of the path in slow procession,
expanding their stems to yesterday’s low hanging moon,
one that dwelled so low it brought the skies to flames
of oceans never explored.
We see all as it is beneath eyes of stars
throbbing against waters where the dear leaf, fast in falling,
cracks to the river’s center,
whisking us to lands yet to rush along our toes.
Fields spread out their fingers,
throwing each to the fields as they are.
The oak tree’s bark wood stands as it is
at turn of leaves drifting off the garden patch.
My pen pinned herself to the leaf, never letting me go
until I ventured out to the spruce wood,
seeing the valley as it is, as it should be.
Never in the cry of our valleys would the leaves on treetops wither,
along raindrops glistening, a leaf falls
to pink waters gleaning upon the stream
in wait of the day the garden fields grow to what it is.
And the pen’s ink drips to the leaf’s open.
Dragons, Ghouls, and Goblins Galore
a poem by junior Matthew Anevski
Running, swimming, and in the air to soar
watching the water flow down the river
You see yourself continuing in its motion
Continuing to trek forward on your own path
Sand turns to pebbles turns to boulders turns to mountains
But you must be careful where you tread
decisions follows you with who and what you save
And never forget what the great one said
“It’s okay to be scared, but never forget to be brave”Splatterphotography by senior Yasmin Saada
Green Solutionsartwork by senior Wenrui Zhang
Yesterday's Mistakes
a poem by senior Riya Kachroo
The sun beams bright,
melting yesterday's mistakes,
because within just one minute, yesterday becomes today.
If the new day dawns,
blinding the past's presence,
does the past really exist,
or should we dwell in the present.
day after day,
night after night,
a new lease on life,
the sun beams bright.Leaves Crumble
a poem by senior Brooke Fox
As frail colored leaves crumble
falling off trees in the eve
the morning wind blows colder with the coming days
no green in sight
white little crystals that leave a trace in its place
Darkness arrives early creating only night,
then comes the blooming flowers within the blink of an eye
The Cherry Blossoms
a poem by senior Nicollete Klien
The cherry blossoms awaken
the woodland creatures frolic around
the sun casts a warm glow on its recipients
The cruelty of winter has passed
no more dark and long nights
no more frigid winds berating its victims
Spring has finally arrived
Memoriesa poem by senior Mathhew Sochaski
The world was my playground
Where my imagination ran wild
I'd run through all the fields
Like an adventurous child
The trees were my friends
And the wind was my guide
And I'd explore the woods with friends by my side
As I grew up time took it like the tides
I wish I could go back to those joyful days
But instead I'm going further and further on my wayThe Bridge
a poem by senior Jared Ritkes
Summer Plans
a poem by senior Yara Shobut
Sun setting later
On late night car drives
Down the breezy shore
With background laughter
And music blasting
As sand fills the car floor
Is the epitome of bliss forevermore.Memories
a poem by senior Gian Maguina
After the first night,
I woke up at 5 am .
I got ready to leave,
And went to wake up my grandpa.
Late I realized that he wasn’t there,
Went out to the beach
Nobody was there,
But the sun was rising up.
On the sand looking at the waves,
With tears in my eyes,
Thinking about all the days
I went there with him.
In the breeze and the sea,
I can feel that he is still here,
Going to the first waves of the day
With his no-longer innocent grandson.
Sweet Moments
a poem by senior Yasmin Saada
They laugh, filling up the room,
I could listen to it
daily and not get tired.
I remember the small moments,
of when they used to pass
small notes or drawings.
The faint breaths of theirs as they chased me.
The laughing sounds of ours.
The moments for which
Neither of us would ever forget.
oh, how terrible it is to love something,
that death can touch.
The Lake
a poem by junior Joshua Feliciano
The lake's stillness brings a calming peace,
Its gentle ripples are soft like fleece.
The water's surface mirrors the sky,
Reflecting the stars up high.
As we sit here by the water's edge,
Our hearts entwined, our souls a pledge.
The moonlight dances on the lake,
A perfect moment we'll always take.
The Dragon
a poem by junior Abdulai St Paul
The egg cracks
A head pops out
Scales crimson red the color of blood
Eye’s as golden as a bar of gold
On top of the hill, the tree rests
In the moonlight, the petals glisten
They droop down with their long branches
Almost as if protecting the egg
You walk up to the newborn
Pat it on the head
You pick it up out of the shell
It starts to wobble around
You follow as the dragon learns to walk
As it gets better and better you start to play with the dragon
As the sun goes down you lay under the glowing tree with the dragon
You drift off the to sleep, suddenly waking up out of bed
As I Sleep
a poem by freshman Leah Rosado
As I sleep, I dream of the world before this one
The colorful, vibrant world, that nurtured and provided for us
Mother nature who healed humanities wounds too deep for man to handle
I dream of breathing Earth's crisp air
But then I wake up
Earth our one and only home is not what it used to be
I awake to the sound of wails and sirens
Gas masks, our only protection from earth's pain, we ourselves inflicted
The blinds open, letting in the murky light
Windows and doors are what keep us safe now,
our only comfort lying in the memories of the past.Cracks of Laughter
fiction by junior Shreya Ganguly
The ends of the window panes allowed in a crack of the oak tree’s laughter beside the stream’s waters. On the lips of April, the Seiner household proceeded to the kitchen, greeted by a meal of bread with potatoes. Never did dear Beatrice spend the last of night’s flickers sitting on her bed, a book in hand without the touch of the midnight in the curtains of sleep. Today with the blow of the wind’s whispers onto the heath and a shriek in the distant fields of lombardies, her eyes shut in the wake of night before she spread her fingers across the table adjoining her bed. Fleeting specks of moonlight loitered about the estate’s doors to meet Beatrice’s burning eyes and the glow that still radiated from her cheeks. The ideas presently flowing through the corners of her mind could not be dismissed, each thought at the center of the walls in slow procession. With her mother and Aunt Laura at the kitchen table just before retreating to their bedrooms for a long slumber brought on by the lures of sleep and the trickle of raindrops from the day before in the moon-drenched grass stalks. The golden light from the fireplace reflected Beatrice, coiled writing beneath the embrace of a blanket after hours of poring over The Godey’s Lady Book. Among the plummy boughs of the western wind, the tips of a cherry blossom let its voice flit across the stream’s expanse, a crack of laughter bubbling over the day’s anticipation. The late morning mist of the garden still lingered about Beatrice’s eyes in the wash of the night’s stars sailing behind the cloud’s whispers. Upon the fall of the afternoon’s sunbeams at the center of Beatrice’s blue skirt, the aforesaid leaves of cherry blossom raised their heads on the dance of swans above the river’s surface. After a day of toil seeping through, she shut her eyes to allow the moon’s eye to dart its glow to the windowpanes. The pang of the days that began to wane fading to the smile of sunlight, she let her fingers rest on her journal as the grass stalks glanced at her once more. Even in the night's call, the cracks of laughter from the hours passed stood within Beatrice’s presence. When her Aunt Laura summoned her in the crying storms of the heath, her tears dripped to the floors, a point of a new entry in the estate. No one who had ever seen her before her first days in this estate, just outside the spruce grove of clouds over the wings of her reach, could have concluded that she was the daughter of quietude. The wavering moonlight let on its eyes again in the hues of the wind’s spirits, each that dear Beatrice held dear. A touch of leaves in the sharp pain that carried her along listening to the conversations of the Peiner clan returned to her lips, the lips of starlight on her knees in the winds. At the drop of a marigold petal, her eyes opened with the words of Allen Raine’s short story recounting secrets in the mill. Never before did the household’s clamor flick away, the room’s silence clasping onto her in the tree’s laughter finding the walls. Exploring the kitchen’s scent of rose cake still permeating the freshly washed plates, Beatrice found a place to let her eyes close, pen in hand. One could not cease the constant movements of the eyes that made their way to the walls, walls of Beatrice’s room. With the shifting image of her father seated on the garden chair like in the earlier days they spent in the Green Orchard house, fringed with the townsfolk’s gossip and a crack in the leaf’s stem beneath the toes of the estate. Fear is a killer, the icy slips from the winds that throb within the palms of each being. Presently, Beatrice retreated to her present position, one where the presence of fear no longer troubled her. The words of her father were within reach like the days when death was an unknown creature. Aunt Laura scornfully breathed upon the window’s center before she too let her fingers among the blankets towering over her skirt. Hillseen School, with the scamper of schoolgirls, brushed away to the wakening stream. Beatrice raised her lips to the windows, pressing them against the glass. She pondered about the arrival of her genius, the flickers of such in the darkening of the night with the oak tree’s bark not far from her line of vision. The cracks of laughter grew as Beatrice’s eyes locked themselves merely once more for the winds to take her in until the fingers of morning appeared.
