December 2019 issue:

an LA mizpah publication, vol 1 : issue 2

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Celebrate with Lipscomb Academy the imagination & creativity of the dreamer. In this issue: submissions of ART ~ PHOTOGRAPHY ~ WRITING ~ SONGWRITING ~ VIDEOGRAPHY

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Wonton Soup Club by Annabelle Parrish, oil on wood panel

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ROOTED by Diana Benson, photography

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THE LAST BRUSH by Mattie Ree Neal, oil on panel

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Ain't Half That Bad by Bo Tillman

AIN'T HALF THAT BAD by Bo Tillman, original song produced in Lipscomb Academy's iWonder Lab

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BLOOMING by Mary Jane Estes, watercolor and sharpie on paper

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A New Friend by Isabelle Schrader, ballpoint pen on paper

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what do i mean?

I have never really known of such a purpose as this one.

And I have never known as a ‘reward’ as what is bestowed.

When it makes sense,

When it's confirmed somewhere

Inside,

That such a decision could be made forever!

Perhaps there isn’t much of a place to go other than inside,

When something flows omnipresent;

A solaced creeping.

It ought to be placed somewhere solitary

To be pondered

To be cherished

Yet spread just as so.

May one incubate what they love

Though it demands its proliferation?

What a reward it is!

Though it does change every day,

It will never sway,

For a home before such a home as this,

Is most premeditated of all.

So may I know of this purpose?

May I get this reward?

Grandly, yes

Specifically, only if I reap what I sow

And if I provide for such plants under stress.


by

Cassie Nicotera


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HONG KONG DRAGON by Annabelle Parrish, ink on paper

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LOOK ALIKE by Mary Papillion, photography

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BELLA by Sophie Lu Rosengarten, digital artwork

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Dragon Dance by Isabelle Schrader, colored pencil on skateboard

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MAYBE SHE'S JUST A FISH by Annabelle Parrish, oil on canvas

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Infiniteness of Time

As the clock ticks,

Passing number by number,

Hour by hour,

Following the minute hand can drive one insane.


Staring blankly at a circle

That claims to tell the time--

But does it really?


What if time can’t be measured by numbers?

What if time is in moments, not in seconds?

Time is only an illusion,

Covering the vastness of the string that sews good memories together.


Time is only a measurement of existence of


Times that have passed, are here, and those that are yet to come.


by

Hannah Blackburn


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REST by Abbie Broadway, photography

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FRENCH CITYSCAPE by Annabelle Parrish, acrylic on canvas

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VIEW AT 10,378 FEET by Hannah Owensby, photography

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Pushed Away


Her family had been forced to move once again, pushed out by her mom’s work. The old jeep pulls up to the brand new school. It’s another trial for her, a breeze for others. In her mind she knows what will happen; because it’s a new school, new people, new way of life. It’s not like she tries to annoy them, all the others, in fact she tries to be invisible. Head down, hood up, shoulders hunched. If the world had one redeeming quality it might be that she would go unnoticed, if just for a day. The hours tick by, hours to days, days to weeks. Her family had been forced to move once again, pushed out by her mom’s work. That’s always the excuse, but she knows better.


by

Miranda Smith


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THE RYMAN by Annabelle Parrish, acrylic on canvas

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SUNFLOWERS by Bailey Grace Liddle, photography

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YAKUZA CAT by Mary Jane Estes, ink pen on toned paper

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WISDOM OF RUGBY, TN by Eva Jennette, photography

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A STUDY IN WRINKLES, by Mattie Ree Neal, NuPastel on paper

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Dear Perishable,

Have you noticed that as time

fades, skin wrinkles and

muscles become weak,

hair turns gray and limbs become

less limber, joints creak and

groan, and heartbeats begin to

slow? The degeneration of our

bodies is natural, a seemingly

human part of life. Even little

ones see it, pointing fingers at

it as they strive to figure

grandma's age. Despite it

though, despite this inherent

knowledge of the short amount

of time that our dear bodies

allow us to have, we choose to

build the bedrock of our lives

upon how our bodies look feel

smell move and play. In doing

so, we neglect the senses of

our spirits, brushing them aside as

eternal afterthoughts. Thus,

we are left with apparent aging,

yet somehow no true growth.

Perhaps because as

the condition of our

physical hearts fades,

we choose not to reckon with

the condition of our souls.

It is no wonder then,

that we are decidedly

lacking in what

breathes life beyond

the flesh. How does a

seed survive when it

does not know of its

dire need for water,

when it’s buried in a

soil that is rotting?


by

Bella Ravella

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STORYTELLING SPOTLIGHT

The Well Documentary by Caleb LeQuire, Alex Gaw, and Taylor Caldwell

The Well Documentary by Caleb LeQuire, Alex Gaw, and Taylor Caldwell, videography

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A Radnor Story by Abbie Broadway, photography

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curated by the Lipscomb Academy yearbook mizpah staff

student editor in chief : Abigail McQueen

faculty advisor : Erin Rickelton


Lipscomb Academy

https://www.lipscomb.edu/academy