Tag: poetry
Cómo Se Dice
by The Cowl Editor on September 17, 2020
Portfolio
by Mariela Flores ’23
Today my Spanish was more broken than my English.
The words did not fit in my mouth.
Between every attempt was the phrase cómo se dice.
The two oceans inside me clashed,
two lives being forced to merge into one coexisting life form.
My palms were sweaty as the round vowels of the language I love began to slip
in between the gap in my front teeth, and I could not bite down fast enough.
The words felt heavy,
sitting in the back of my throat, begging to be let out,
I just could not remember how.
It was betrayal.
My tongue was left bruised.
Beaten time and time again with consonants that are too loud.
I had spent so many years whipping it into shape
using words to mask the slight lilt of an accent.
English was supposed to be my savior.
Instead, like any colonizer, it set up camp and did not leave.
It took things from me I did not realize I had to miss.
There are cracks in my Spanish I am desperate to fill,
so I write songs with the first words I ever heard.
I paint with the colors I see when my mother sings her favorite songs,
and I laugh with the same laugh my father has when he makes a joke.
I put a band-aid over my Spanish, and I promise them I won’t forget.
My children and their children will know my Spanish the same way I did.
They will fall asleep to the sounds of Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea
they will call me mamá in the same little voice I once knew.
Today my Spanish was more broken than my English.
But tomorrow this too will heal.
The Etiquette of Regret
by The Cowl Editor on September 17, 2020
Portfolio
by Sam Ward ’21
One misstep now I’m missing time.
My sun just rose but I’m losing light?
That pie is halfway done
and under baked,
I’m overwhelmed?
What’s the answer if I question myself?
The force that animates life only moves forward.
So, salute the skies like a kite, soldier.
Rest or unrest, it’s all entropy.
So, trust or don’t trust your own recipe.
A kept tongue is a slit throat
‘Cause your wisest thoughts are never spoken.
One misstep now I’m giving time.
The sun just rose but I closed my eyes.
Forever and Everyday
by The Cowl Editor on September 17, 2020
Portfolio
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
I have heard the story, almost two decades old
Where were you when it happened, who did you call?
Moment of silence every year on this day
Eight forty-six, bow your head and pray
Gray clouds rose in the summer sky
Fire and ash took away air and sight
Darkness overwhelmed the light
Three thousand were taken, with no kiss goodbye
I have heard the story, almost two decades old
Where were you when it happened, I ask her, Who did you call?
A moment of silence, before I hear her say:
I was there that morning. I lost everyone that day
Gray clouds ruled the sunny sky
Fire and ash stole my lungs and sight
Darkness cast out all our light
I was not able to kiss them goodbye.
This is my story, I’ve lived it almost two decades long
I miss them all! My loves, my lives — I will never let go
My heart breaks every moment, every year, every day
It is eight forty-six, please bow your head and pray:
For the innocent souls, both young and old
We will never forget, we will never let go
Moments of silence, we honor and pray
Never forget September 11, forever and every day.
Promise
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2020
Portfolio
by Sarah Kirchner ’21
There was once the promise of forever—
A passionate forever of warmth.
Warmth that made everything feel right,
Yet nothing felt right anymore.
You kept me afloat in the lakes of your eyes,
Those green lakes of peace and happiness.
Yet the calming lull churned as I sank deeper
And deeper into the depths.
The sandy shore drew me from the fall.
And when the fall ended, I finally saw the sun.
Finally, I was blanketed by real warmth,
And everything felt right within myself.
The Start
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2020
Portfolio
by Sarah Heavren ’21
Some mornings we really dread
Having to roll out of bed.
The day is not as exciting
As the covers are inviting.
When the water is too cold
We feel anything but bold.
It’s easy to sit on the side
When we lack the courage to dive.
Some days the clouds never part
And they leave us in the dark.
When that happens, we can feel lost.
Any bridge is too hard to cross.
When we lack all sense of hope
And feel too inclined to mope
Please remember and take heart
‘Cause the hardest part is the start.
Peripheral Vision
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2020
Portfolio
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
I knock on the door, tap tap tap,
And it is opened to a glitter aura embrace.
OHMYGODHI, and I am passed into a swarm of bodies.
Excuse me, sorry there, as I navigate to the cool drift unfolding in from the window.
My head is low as my knees pull my feet up, down, up down up,
From and to the dry stick of drinks spilled on the floorboards.
The night breeze meets me, and at once
I look up and, there you are, in my peripheral vision.
My chest freezes while surrounded by the night’s breezes,
Thump thump, thump thump thump
I can feel my heart rise to my throat, reaching to be free
An attempt at escape, much like the night’s cool breeze
To greet you a hello or meet you a stranger –
A decision as you come closer in my peripheral vision.
“How have the months gone by, you know, without me?”
or “Hey, how you’ve been?”
I run the scenarios in my head, in my mind where you live.
I trace the domino effects, the trails of burning fire of what could be.
But either way, it always ends with you that I see.
You see me, see you, see me.
You draw close enough,
and we both forget how to speak.
There is a pause, as we take breaths to start to speak,
and another pause as we let them out.
Has it been that long, or is our connection just that strong?
Someone’s knee does not pull up enough from the floorboard stick,
and his cup spills onto us, ah, sorry guys.
Oh no, you’re fine.
It’s alright, you’re good.
With his lesson learned, he walks away,
now pulling his feet up, down, up down up.
We look at each other again,
eyes overwhelmed with mutual understanding.
We feel the remnant shadows of the spill
left on our skin slowly rise,
greeting the new wave of nighttime breeze.
We both turn towards the window,
waiting to be immersed by the gentle cool air,
as we look at each other in our peripheral vision.
I Took Myself Apart Today
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2020
Portfolio
by Mariela Flores ’23
I took myself apart today.
I started with my head
Twisting and turning,
unscrewing it from the base of my neck.
A weight was lifted off my shoulders
and I was lighter than I had ever been.
I held myself in my hands and began to count.
Two eyes, two eyebrows, one nose, one mouth, one birthmark, three beauty marks.
Countless sleepless nights turned paper-thin skin purple
two eyes, two eyebrows, one nose, one mouth, one birthmark, three beauty marks.
I took myself apart today.
I continued with my skin,
Ripping it to shreds
Bit
By
Bit
Until I was just bones and organs
and my body was oozing blood.
My mirror almost shattered from the force of my fingers.
Digging deeper and deeper
desperate to find something beneath the tears.
They found nothing
I was empty.
I took myself apart today.
I ended with my bones.
Noticed the crack from when I was seven,
the thud from when I was twelve.
I was clumsy back then.
My bones were not like ivory
you could see the wear;
my bones were yellow.
Like the walls in a room.
I took myself apart today
and I was surprised by the mess I had made.
Two Writers One Line: “When I read the text, I scream”
by Connor Zimmerman on March 6, 2020
Portfolio
The Glass Shattered Below
by Grace O’Connor ’22
When I read the text, I scream
Glowing from the screen
The words popping out, sucking me in
As my eyes glazed over them
Slowly, in disbelief,
I turned off my phone and
Dropping my face in my hands
Forcing my head up to look at the screen
I picked up my phone unwillingly
Before I knew it, leaving my hand
Hearing the quiet sound of the glass
That shattered below
I breathed in the sharp pain
Triggered
by Sarah Heavren ’21
When I read the text, I screamed.
I didn’t know what it could mean.
Everything seemed just fine,
But this text brought something to mind.
I tried to forget about
The moment, but now all my doubts
Started rushing over me
Like I’m caught in a storm at sea.
Sometimes it’s the little things,
And this is the one thing that brings
Back too many painful thoughts.
The past now has my soul drawn taut.
If only people would think
That their words could make a heart sink.
If only somehow they knew
What the meaning of words can do.
I’m now in the deepest dark
With too much weight forced on my heart.
When did the truth of feeling
Become so devoid of meaning?
Why can’t we just be sincere?
Why does that have to disappear?
I’m not broken, I’m not weak.
But I’m human, my feelings speak.
A Blue Bird in Providence
by Connor Zimmerman on March 5, 2020
Portfolio
by Sean Tobin ’20
I saw a blue bird, stoic on a branch
in the wide based dogwood tree.
He shivered there in the cold and
braved the wind, as I watched at him
behind smudged glass: free
to fly but there to stare at my affair.
Mr. Blue Bird, you do not know what
you mean or why you stayed ten
minutes long, but wrong am I to
disregard your vigil without strut.
You were put there for my sake.
Alcatraz of Balloons
by Connor Zimmerman on March 5, 2020
Portfolio
by Jessica Polanco ’21
In Lil Rhody somewhere,
There was a young girl,
With her mind a bit too into romance and a spine still learning to straighten.
I write things down for a living.
I spend days pissed off at gravity or,
Amazed at the fact that 7 billion people are breathing as we speak.
I do these things and you call me an artist.
You say of sorts,
I should be a musician of the heart,
But you don’t know me or the hells.
And GOD,
If you did.
And the truth is
I’ve been scared to tell the other side of the story
The story of the engine behind all this now.
My momma says
All it takes is one look at the girl and you can tell I’ve been a rose tongued wordsmith since birth
But forreal forreal,
I didn’t start bleeding ink until circa late junior high.
Around the time back seats on school field trips started getting awesome
Parentless cribs was all that we lived for
And 1999 coupes could fit all 6 of us.
I grew up with the outliers
But time made it very clear that I would in fact never fit into the major bubble.
I traded in playing dress up to ramble about pretty boys and shit
That kept running from my reach.
It was different back then,
Back when it was just that pen in my teenage rebellion,
Every blank page seemed like a mountain
And every poem opened its own Alcatraz of balloons.
By high school, things in my ribcage began demanding refuge,
And it wasn’t just writing anymore.
They weren’t just poems,
It was my best proof of God.
A bed for my misunderstandings.
A glimpse of sin and salvation in the same second.
What were once journals were now holy purges,
And I learned just how fucking real a night could get with some paper and some secrets.
