September 27, 2020

Posts from "Poetry"

  • Poetry | Sep.01, 2016

    Living Abroad

    by Chennah Sharpe ’17 All the streets are filled with souvenir carts vendors yelling, and selling their trinkets next to restored monuments, and pauperized apartments. The city hums from rushing subway trains and the ubiquitous blaring of car horns. Only…

    Read More
  • Poetry | Apr.18, 2013

    Undone

      The lonely like a weight on my shoulders Pressing down upon me, The tired like a gnawing within me, Consuming all that I was, The nothingness I have become Is tearing me apart at the seams, I’m not whole, I’m undone.

    Read More
  • Poetry | Apr.11, 2013

    The Ball

    I formed myself into a ball And down the street I rolled. It’s curious that such a ball Could come from a square mold.

    Read More
  • Poetry | Apr.11, 2013

    Last Written Words

    Empty bottles, medication Expiration dates unknown Stacks of notebooks Papers, napkins, newspapers Words Ink stains, lined paper

    Read More
  • Poetry | Apr.11, 2013

    The Garden

    You are blooming, Budding inside my chest. Only you I’m grooming. You have my heart arrest. Come springtime, When rain begins to fall, You plant inside my mind. Seeds deep but small.

    Read More
  • Poetry | Mar.14, 2013

    Irishman’s Luck

      He was not thinking about a letter On his way home from work. But it arrived in his mailbox In unforeseeable quirk.

    Read More
  • Poetry | Feb.14, 2013

    Sonnet of a God-Fearing Man

      A luminescent moon, the night’s raiment, A crown more fitting for an angel’s head. Long nights together, restless yet content, Under the stars we made our lovers’ bed. I crowned you Queen of Eros, Cupid’s wife

    Read More
  • Poetry | Nov.08, 2001

    Bobby

    Joan Barker Bleached arm hair and freckled eyelids retreat for an hour. Head pressed to the cool window’s skin, Bus ticket. Nineteen dollars and twenty-five cents. Coffee. One forty-nine…a few drops spilt, maybe seven cents worth. Nervous fingers tremble, sending…

    Read More
  • Poetry | Nov.08, 2001

    November

    Sara Schepis The sailing leaves, the scent of chill The year goes slowly to its rest The frost is scattered on the hill The sailing leaves, the scent of chill The chorus geese departing still The month of bounty, sun…

    Read More
  • Poetry | Nov.08, 2001

    The Missing Machine

    Matt Daly She never knew that much concerning cars besides the place she went to trade them in. The dealers there would lie right to her face, and driving home, she’d realize later on, the change could only last a…

    Read More