Tag: poetry
Below, a guide for writing a love poem to your sweetheart (or boogabear, snookems, or tootsie wootsie)
by Connor Zimmerman on February 14, 2020
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
To better understand love and its treasures,
You must first reexamine your loyalty to vices.
You are not ready to love unless you take the right measures.
Would you keep caffeine in the A.M. if Starbucks raised its prices?
Wag your finger to rom-coms, even Paul Rudd ones.
Love has no place for a man who makes silly puns.
Say no to chocolate in bed, sugar for breakfast.
To forgo these things is to keep your heart the freshest.
A rose is still a rose, if you detest it,
And a bed full of petals is no place to rest in.
Flowery poetry makes you look like a sap,
Now say, “Valentine’s Day is crap!”
First Lesson
by Connor Zimmerman on February 7, 2020
Poetry
by Sarah McLaughlin ’23
How do I teach someone something that is beyond my own comprehension?
That question incessantly prodded my mind when I sat down the first day
Not at my usual seat at the keys
But instead in a chair beside them.
How do I explain that while it flows like a language, the words are beyond definition?
That thought pulsed through my head as she placed her small hands down
Hovering above keys she hadn’t yet learned to name
And stared at the book on the shelf.
How do I correct her when she makes a mistake, act infallible despite how I make them?
That worry made my fingers twitch as she pressed each ivory block with her own
From C, then to D, she began to sway
A simple melody, yet a comforting one.
The song in front of us is only two lines long, only takes a minute, one note at a time
But it’s a sequence of notes I learned years ago, when I turned the first page the first time.
How do I tell her this is only the beginning, the first sentence in a book we will write?
That is the wonder quieting my nerves as I sit there in silence and listen
Each note rings clear and crisp through the air
True and loud, without hesitation.
How do I talk about something so beautiful it is better left uninterrupted?
That is the issue today still arising when I sit down to teach someone to play
But right then, I simply waited for her to finish
To feel that unique prideful satisfaction.
I can’t help the smile that grows on my face as I observe her stern concentration
She pushes down on each key with precision, decision—and hits every one right.
The Mist
by Connor Zimmerman on February 7, 2020
Poetry
by Sarah Heavren ’21
There’s a mist that appears at times.
What is real becomes hard to find.
In my mind it clouds and obscures
The things that I’ve thought, seen or heard.
The mist’s purpose is to deceive
All the things my brain perceives.
It adds an element of doubt
To things I should be sure about.
The Real and True are always there.
And through the thick mist they declare
That even if I cannot see
There is always faith, hope, and charity.
Although the mist can induce fear,
There’s a way my mind can be clear.
A little Light is all it takes
To make the thick mist dissipate.
String Lights
by Connor Zimmerman on February 7, 2020
Poetry
by Grace O’Connor ’22
Strands of string lights circled around the wooden frame of the bunk bed
Warm yellow light illuminates from the mini bulbs
White wire twisted together to hold each mini light bulb in place
The string lights are a twisted vine keeping the wooden planks in custody
Tied around the bed frame tightly with no intention of coming loose
The loose end of the wire sneaks down to the floor, fusing itself with the outlet
The string lights are twinkling stars in the dark
They reflect their light against the wall like stars reflect their light in the sky
They can be seen in the darkest of nights pressed against the sky
The mini light bulbs are pointing in all different directions like a rusted street sign
Oblivious to the direction they are pointing to
There are dozens of them with their light shining a path from far away
The lights are fireflies lighting up the dark
Floating on the air with their visible illumination
They dim and brighten but never for a second lose my attention
Raise Your Glass
by Connor Zimmerman on February 7, 2020
Poetry
by Connor Zimmerman ’20
Let’s have a drink to
This moment, hope it never ends.
It’s been forever since the last,
And it’ll be forever till the next.
Let’s have a drink to
The memories, the tears, the smiles.
It feels like we haven’t missed a step,
Despite our increasingly separate lives.
Let’s have a drink to
Our dreams that defy time
And, even though day will slowly fade into night,
They will be there to keep us company
Let’s have a drink to
Us
High Altitude
by Connor Zimmerman on January 30, 2020
Poetry
by Jay Willett ’20
There are two ways to look down.
With pride, pitifully watching the climb, stumble, and slip.
Cackling, pouring champagne at the top, enjoying the summit’s immersion.
The greatest who’s ever lived. The king high on his throne.
The invisible swords that dangle above his crown jingle but do so silently.
An ignorant king is a powerful one-granted the ease of mind, the assurance that his throne is
made of obsidian and not glass.
Then there is the other way.
Liability, panic, fear: these fill the space underneath the crown.
The spikes that lie in the abyss don’t look soft, the memory of their
pierce stains the joy that exists among the clouds. Ruins it rather,
with its breathtaking view. Such a nervous king rules indiscriminately.
He’ll call on subjects, on jesters and squires, maybe even on sorcery,
for that same bliss the ignorant king enjoys.
To rule with confidence is to rule void of internal truth.
To rule with doubt is to rule with foolish endurance.
Either is fine.
A castle built on overcast could fall with any rainy day.
But that’s fine too.
Fall or climb, but to expect either is the only real crime.
Somber and Blue
by Connor Zimmerman on January 30, 2020
Poetry
by Kiley McMahon ’20
My face, Covered, Somber,
And blue.
My eyes, Glossy, Puffy,
And red.
My thoughts, Jumbled, Intertwined,
And incoherent.
My watch, Ticking, Quickly,
Black and white.
The paper, Handed, To me,
Soon with tears.
The hour glass, Shattered, Grainy,
And white.
My heels, Loud, Clanky,
And black.
Me, Not ready, Somber,
And blue.
My watch, Tries and tries, Its hands,
Are stuck.
The class of 2020,
Ki Ash Strolls off.
Black pavement, Yellow lines,
And only unknown times.
The Power of a Year
by Connor Zimmerman on January 30, 2020
Poetry
by Sam Pellman ’20
A year ago I was standing under the Eiffel Tower
Surrounded by unfamiliar faces
Some foreign, some similar to mine.
I used to panic about that moment
When I would be dropped into a foreign country
Alone without a single person to lean on.
But now all I think about is going back
And being that carefree and independent person I was
Even if it was just a quick three months.
A year ago I was unsure about my future
I’d spend hours anxious and worried
The future horrified me and I did anything to avoid it.
But now I look at it with excitement
As a new chapter, a new adventure
Full of new people and opportunities to grow.
A year ago I felt lonely
Like I had to deal with my problems on my own
And burdening people wasn’t an option.
But now I surround myself with people who care
People who want to see me do amazing things
And help me to become a better me.
A year ago I let little things bother me
I didn’t know how to take care of myself
And I didn’t want to grow up.
But now I see adulthood as a challenge
A challenge that I need
To reach parts of myself I don’t know exist yet.
A lot can happen in a year
Look back and think of who you were then and who are now
Self-growth is inevitable, but it’s up to you how you control it.
A lot can happen in a year
But for now, focus on what is happening in the here and now
Because before you know it, it’s a year from now.
And you’ve graduated and are looking back at college
Remembering those four years of growth you never knew could happen
All the friends who have now become your family.
But you’re a new and better you
With the most perfect of memories to look back on
And an appetite to see what the future holds.
The Looff Carousel
by Connor Zimmerman on January 16, 2020
Poetry
by Gabriela Baron ’20
I remember Mom hoisting me onto a porcelain pony:
her flowery perfume swaddled me.
I was strapped in safely;
Mom blurred as my pony pranced.
Her flowery perfume wafted through the air
as the pony touched the sky and kissed the ground.
Mom blurred when my pony galloped faster.
The whimsical music whirled.
The pony touched the sky and kissed the ground—
then it halted. I feared falling.
The whimsical music whirled
and I held onto my liberty, clutching the reins.
When the pony halted, I faced my fear of falling.
I unbuckled my security; a new rider was waiting.
I held onto my liberty, waving my belt like a flag.
I slid off the pony and hopped on a stallion.
The new rider waited
to be strapped in safely.
I slid off that pony! And hopped on this stallion!
I remembered Mom hoisting me onto that porcelain pony
wet sand is stuck in my hair
by Connor Zimmerman on January 16, 2020
Poetry
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
wet sand is stuck in my hair
but I’m too busy waiting for a shooting star to get it out
“look, one just passed by!”
I turn to you and say
“love bug, did you see it?”
but your eyes are closed, you are sound asleep
it was a long day so I let you be
I keep listening to the swift ocean waves
softly crash against the land of the cape
the gentle breeze rustles through the leaves of the trees above us
and carries grains of sand onto my face
I squint so they don’t get caught in my eyes
but they make their way to tickle my ears
so I turn back into you
bury my face in your arm
and with wet sand in my hair
underneath unseen shooting stars
I fall sound asleep
