Tag: drawing
A World Drawn in Pencil
by The Cowl Editor on April 8, 2022
Poetry
by Caitlin Bartley ’24
I like to imagine that the world was drawn in pencil,
my body an illustration on a canvas.
Just think of all the things I could fix,
stretch marks on my thighs
erased like crooked lines on geometry homework,
coffee stains on my teeth
erased like dirty smudges on clean parchment.
I could sketch contours on my cheeks,
curves on my hips,
life in my eyes.
I like to imagine that the world was drawn in pencil,
my thoughts a rough draft of prose.
Just think of all the things I could fix,
foolish love notes and empty promises
that I’ve written in pen.
I cross out the words a thousand times
but they don’t budge,
mistakes stained on paper like sins on a soul,
names etched into diaries like runes on an ancient tomb.
If they were written with pencil,
I could scrub at the page with an eraser until it was rubbed raw,
leaving nothing behind but a blank sheet
and the ghost of a confession.
If the world was drawn in pencil,
I could rearrange the planets,
realign the stars,
rewrite fate.
I could create constellations,
conquer astrology,
devise a personal game of connect-the-dots.
I could master the universe,
the celestial bodies once crafted by the hands of gods
now at the disposal of my fingertips.
There’s a painting in a museum called The World,
billions of people pass it every day.
I join them and watch from afar
behind a rope of velvet that feels more like steel,
pencil in my pocket,
useless.
I listen to art connoisseurs whisper about
brushstrokes and color palettes,
what they might mean.
I don’t know what to think.
I stand in front of the painting until the museum closes,
wishing the world was drawn in pencil.
There is so much I want to fix.
An Ode to My Dark Circles.
by The Cowl Editor on October 21, 2021
Poetry
by Mariela Flores ’23
It’s as if someone cut you out of a magazine
and glued you under my eyes.
You are the accessory that I have been given,
even in my well-rested times.
I’ll always know when I’m tired
but I won’t ever need an eyeshadow base,
and even if I don’t like you that morning,
you’ll always be a part of my face.
You’re the star witness of my best nights writing
your brown-ish purple hue lets others know that I am still fighting.
I keep my darkest secrets in the roundness of your bags
the swollen fragile skin stays soft despite the tags.
They remind me of my father whenever I look in the mirror.
Caffeine courses through our blood and it helps us see much clearer.
I don’t know who I’d be if you weren’t there.
Makeup tried to hide you
but I didn’t like the feeling or the purple-lacking stare.
I see now you are my inheritance
a face I cannot escape,
but I’ll always remember to love
my tired face.
Chuckleheadz Discuss The Most Important Thing In The World
by Connor Zimmerman on February 27, 2020
Comics and Drawings
by Mark Fairchild ’20