by The Cowl Editor on October 3, 2019

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Poetry

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by Connor Zimmerman ’20

A traveler without a compass.
A driver without a map.
A pilot without coordinates.
A sailor without the night stars.

My life is a journey without a destination in sight. Being pushed by a force that is beyond my control, I wonder how much longer I can go without some light. A reason that will make it all worthwhile. It is a small thing to ask for, but one that will make each step matter along the countless miles. I’m traveling in hopes of finding a reason:

A reason for why I am alive.
A reason for why I need to survive.
A reason that will give me my purpose.
A reason that will finally give me a direction.

People say it’s about the journey and not the destination, but what actually keeps us going? I envy those who can continue on traveling without knowing. They say that it is simple because they believe they are where they are meant to be. But I do not have their conviction, and I question my every move to the nth degree. I must continue moving; however, because I can hear it with every step I take… tick tock:

The sands of time are many, but every grain is insignificant.
Grain by grain, time falls swiftly and cruelly,
Doing its job without concern.
Until it buries us alive.

How many grains have I wasted? Wandering about aimlessly, I know that I am missing that for which I was created. How many lost connections, opportunities, memories have I sacrificed in my exploration? What if I have abandoned the trail that was made for me and wandered into damnation? It’s a question with no answer because I still lack the ability to truly see. I lack the ability to rid myself of these shackling thoughts and be set free. However, I will keep traveling because I know that there must be a reason:

Always
Walking,
Driving,
Flying,
Sailing,
but never knowing the destination.

by The Cowl Editor on October 3, 2019

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Poetry

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by Sarah Heavren ’21

What if we listened
Instead of just heard
The meaning of
Somebody’s words?

What if we saw
Instead of just looked
At pictures
Somebody took?

What if we cared
Instead of just did
Whatever we
Thought we wanted?

What if we felt
Instead of just thought
About things that
Matter a lot?

by The Cowl Editor on October 3, 2019

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Poetry

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by Sarah Kirchner ’21

Looking at the stars, we thought to ourselves:
The two of us could have lived different lives
If only we had told each other the truth
But, we were scared and we were liars.

The two of us could have lived different lives
together. But we played those childish games
and kept being scared and lying kids.
Being something more seemed crazy then.

Together we played those childish lying games
and laughed at that old movie we watched
because being something more seemed crazy,
but truly they made sense as a couple.

We laughed at that old movie
especially when they kissed,
but they truly were meant to be a couple.
I saw that they were made for each other.

When we kissed,
the movie came back to me in flashes.
We weren’t made for each other like they were
and you weren’t my prince like he was.

Flashes of the movie came to me.
If I only told you the truth
you could have been my prince like him.
But now I look at the stars, and think to myself.

by The Cowl Editor on October 3, 2019

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Poetry

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by Sarah McLaughlin ’23

Wouldn’t it be great
To someday be
So famous
You’re signing passport books
And grocery receipts
Gathering a crowd
Outside of the White House?

Most famous place on earth
They’ve traveled so far
To see it
And they happen to catch you
Hold out a pen
Ask for your name

Because they don’t know it yet
Barely twenty
Standing there
Sore feet from stiff new heels
Carrying the mailbag
For the President

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019

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Poetry

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by Sarah McLaughlin ’23

I slide my right foot in, it catches
A hole in the lining, my toe’s stuck inside

“Why don’t you just put them in the trash?”
I shake my head and smile, like it’s a nice joke

Thirteen years old, I picked them out
Thought they looked cool—black leather, gold eyelets

Sturdy, stiff, snug around both calves
Gave me half an inch, maybe, but it made all the difference

Laced up on the first crisp morning of fall
Carrying my steps ’til the first flower blooms

Weathered, worn, they don’t stand up straight
On their own anymore, need my ankles’ support

But the rubber soles, nearly flat, unseen
In return, still manage to hold up my feet

“Want to borrow some shoe polish?”
I turn away, pulling my double knot taut

Polish might cover the stains and scuffs
But only how bandages cover a cut

Laces’ ends frayed like roots of a tree
Clear plastic coating a distant memory

Socks always get wet, skin wrinkled and cold
Then they sit, stuffed with newspaper, by the front door

“Why don’t you want to buy a new pair?”
I look to the price tags, sometimes tempted for change

But each road, each floor, each path I’ve walked
They’ve held me up, half an inch, double knot, snug

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019

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Poetry

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by Erin Venuti ’20

Every place I go, I take a rock,
So, when I’m floating off,
My feet will know to stay calm.

In my hand, the stone warms, wakes,
Remembers the spot from which it came–
A shore, a city, a country, a place–

Not long ago, I weaved my way
Through clotted streets,
Where crumbling concrete sidewalks
Turn to cobblestones,
Past gray ruins and vibrant pink houses,
Toward that stretch of stones
That’s kissed by the whispering water;
Where, regardless of the month,
The cement wall and stony shore are always cool.
That is,
Until the roofs of the houses behind us
Are warmed by the sun
And our faces are warmed
By the laughter that surrounds us,
And, suddenly, the rock doesn’t seem so cold.

Before I go, I take a rock,
So, when I leave this place
and I’m floating off,
My feet will know to stay calm,
And I’ll remember the spot from which I came–

That shore, that city, that country, that place.

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019

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Poetry

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by Sarah Heavren ’21

I’m fresh, never frozen.
My thoughts are not cold.
They’re living and breathing,
Never growing old.

I’m fresh, never frozen.
I want to be heard.
My thoughts have some value.
It’s what they deserve.

I’m fresh, never frozen.
I don’t fit the mold.
I don’t just go along
With what I am told.

I’m fresh, never frozen.
Yes, I’m different.
But that does not mean
I’m incompetent.

I’m fresh, never frozen.
Although I’m alive,
I will not be spoiled.
My spirit won’t die.

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019

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Poetry

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by Gabriela Baron ’20

The sky turns a soft gray and skeleton trees
breathe in life as the wind compels them
to stretch out their arms.
Animals in the forest scurry,
smelling the imminent rain.
Red cardinals take shelter in their sanctuary,
eastern box turtles retreat to their shells,
and squirrels dart up maple, oak, and hickory trees.

Water is paint.
It dyes hair a darker hue,
transforms buds to sunflower yellow,
ripens red raspberries,
and brightens lush grass.

One drop of rain hits a cardinal.
It trickles down its back leaving a bright royal blue trail.
The bird ruffles its feathers, trying to shake off the color
but the blue remains.
Droplets land on an eastern box turtle,
its hard shell a canvas for a splatter painting of fuchsia, lilac, and peach.
Thunder howls and the rain drenches the squirrels:
one turquoise, another crimson, and others plum.
The rainbow rain showers over the grass, moss, and trees,
flooding the forest with color.
The cardinals leave their shelter,
the turtles dawdle through the grass,
and the squirrels sprint down tree trunks,
no longer scared of a rain.

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019

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Poetry

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by Grace O’Connor ’22

We sped down the never ending road
I could see the worried look on his face
As his grip tightened on the steering wheel
The trees outside the window blended together
As they erased into the distance

The silence in the air felt heavy and ominous
I put my hand on my stomach which felt bottomless
The sound of my heart pounding was the only vibration I felt
As the sweat on my hands slowly started to melt

His eyes were emotionless
As he turned around the bend
The headlights glared in our eyes
The sudden rush of darkness poured over

My eyes opened slowly
I felt numb and confused
The red and white lights were blurry
As the voices whirled through the air

I looked down at the scar, remembering this day
The narrow road I had always driven up and down
The predictability of getting to my destination
I cannot tell you that exact bend of the road to this day
Where everything went to dismay
I took an eraser and erased it all away

by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019

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Poetry

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by Marelle Hipolito ’22

here’s to the boys
who held me up when I was falling apart
here’s to the boys
who gave me their entire heart 

here’s to the boys
who wiped away every tear
here’s to the boys
who taught me to face my fears

here’s to the boys
who listened to every word
here’s to the boys
who loved me even when it hurt

here’s to the boys
who lived through my every nightmare
here’s to the boys
who to the Father offered for me ten thousand prayers

here’s to the boys
who are the quietest yet my strongest advocates
here’s to the boys
who stayed close even when 8,000 miles away 

here’s to the boys
whose hearts are treasure, rare and true
here’s to the boys
forever I will sing this ode to you

here’s to you boys
thank you for always being at my side
here’s to you boys
in the darkness, you are my light 

here’s to you boys
who exemplify what it means to be a friend
here’s to you boys
thank you for being men