Tag: poetry
Tangible Love
by The Cowl Editor on November 20, 2018
Poetry
by Jessica Polanco ’20
Everyone claims you’re just as tangible
As a rainbow in the sky
But there’s nothing to see
Just a disappointment in disguise
You creep into my heart
Slowly, you infect my brain
I think they call you LOVE?
But sitting you against royalty
Would be a shame
You make people literally blind
Throw them to the streets to reside
You don’t care
You just laugh and say
“Look at that punk over there,
with a box full of chocolates
And despair.”
Everyone claims you’re tangible
That we can hug you
Take walks with you at the park,
And when we kiss you, we’ll feel a spark
Who named you LOVE anyways?
That name is too beautiful
For a junkie
Who smokes cigarettes
Who drinks whiskey
Who lives nowhere
Who doesn’t care
Everyone claims you’re tangible
And here you are
Kissing me goodbye
The Worker Ant
by The Cowl Editor on November 19, 2018
Poetry
by Garbiela Baron ’20
I am the worker ant.
My job is simple:
provide for my winged majesty and her offspring.
My queen’s size is twice mine.
Fertile, strong, and powerful;
she is vital to the survival of the community.
Today I journey with the troops.
Together: a mighty machine.
Separate: miscellaneous parts.
A predator passes…
we dive into the muddy earth, camouflaged from the enemy.
Will it find me?
Silence—
then the sky erupts with clear droplets.
The bombs shake the earth.
The sun wages war against the clouds,
its rays of light pierce through with victory.
We continue on our journey through the moist ground and find
a new battlefield:
mother and child on a red and white plaid blanket.
They surround a cornucopia of treasure:
an array of Swiss cheese slices, plump plums, and chicken salad sandwiches.
The objective is ahead; the troops take action.
The sunlight disappears, obstructed by a new cloud:
doughy hands hovering over me.
Will I escape unharmed?
One by one the soldiers around me
fall.
I—the last one standing—cannot surrender.
I dodge the offensive,
determined to fight for the colony.
With a crumb on my back I march forward in triumph;
the weight pulls me down
but I keep walking.
I am the worker ant
My job is not simple.
I am vital to the survival of the community.
Syrupy Youth
by The Cowl Editor on November 19, 2018
Poetry
by Sarah Kirchner ’21
She sits and sips her black coffee,
While he sips on his caramel whip.
It’s been a while since they’ve been back
To the familiar coffee shop of their childhood
Where they shared a first kiss,
And continued after with many dates.
The barista serves the couple
And smiles as he takes the frothy drink.
The feeling of sweet vanilla warms her right up
As if she’s still that same teenager
That was offered the job there long ago
Still serving sweetness with the same old smile.
He watches her from the window
Now turning gray and becoming old.
Years have passed and he’s ordered the same.
He makes sure to get it from her,
Because her blueberry eyes give him
That feeling of young love he never quite knew.
In the coffee shop
There’s a home for many people.
Some lucky ones have it all figured out
While others roam in to try something new.
It’s a feeling of syrupy youth
That can be felt by every soul who enters the room.
Winter Sunrise
by The Cowl Editor on November 19, 2018
Poetry
by Erin Venuti ’20
Woke before the sun today,
No intent to see it wake.
Eyes
Pry
Open after
Some hours.
Insufficient —
May as well have blinked;
Streetlamps still glow,
Same as last night’s close.
Beyond the window,
Quietly,
Navy
Fades to pale
Blue, sun stretches and exhales.
A yawn breaks free, a hopeful yellow,
Charging the day that’s yet to follow.
I find, midmorning, looking up,
The moon forgot to set.
It peers through
A too-bright blue —
Wistfully, I wonder
If it’s lonely without the stars.
I tell myself not to worry;
Today, the moon has other company.
My day begins and ends with night.
I feel I’ve seen the darkness longer than the light,
‘Cause I woke before dawn, without intent.
But I know: the sun is worth being patient.
Be Your Own Biggest Fan
by The Cowl Editor on November 19, 2018
Poetry
by Sam Pellman ’20
Wish yourself luck before that big exam.
Pat yourself on the back when you get the score you wanted.
Give yourself that pep talk you know you need.
Buy yourself the coffee when you’ve had the day from hell.
Compliment yourself when you look in the mirror.
Think highly of yourself, but don’t compare yourself to others.
Push your limitations and test your abilities.
Root for yourself.
Be kind to your body, it is the only one you have.
Put your mental health first.
Notice your mistakes, learn from them.
Thank yourself every day.
Pick yourself up when you fall down.
Wipe your own tears.
Heal your own pain with the help of time.
Track your own growth and remember where you started from.
Be your own biggest fan…
Believe in yourself when no one else would
And never forget to love, love, love yourself,
Because at the end of the day, you are all you have.
A Tale of no roots
by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2018
Poetry
by Estarlyn Hiraldo ’21
My identity —
Think it’s all been a success
Listen to the verses in my head
when I address
Failure at its best
Told me I’m a mess
Feel the melanin out of control
inside the chess
When can I confess?
No longer hold this heft
Claim that they’re the greatest
on the pavement or the nest
Settling for less
Never did they bless
The fear inside my cheers
Man, how could they possibly forget?
Columbus at his quest
Never took a rest
Enslaving all his children,
Carry gold to reach the crest
Blend colors like a vest
More
Conquer to the West
Lord
Save me from this misery
Human body picaresque
Injecting me with fear
Near
They all disappear
Dear
White men on the road
told me not to persevere
Hear
My men, they complain
Grain
Feeding us the same
Name
White is who to blame
When the Blacks all die in vain
Picking coffee sugar beans
Tell me what you really mean
Say our breath brings out the drought
Struggle, that’s what we’re about
Still we’re building up a plan
can you all just understand?
Find a way to see our soul
Never have we reached our goal
Come ahead to feel our tears
Bloody skin screaming with cheers
Our hands are cuffed with braces
While these angels hate our races
You crumble our skin like tree trunks
Spill our blood on your streets, son
We do so much for you now
But you all should fear when it’s time
See us guiding all our troops
Fear my people when they’re free
Seek to reach salvation
To liberate our nation
From the poison of the West
Protecting at their best.
Ruined
by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2018
Poetry
by Eliana Lopez ’22
She’s hung up on her ex
Not ready to let you
Into the inner workings of her heart
While the traces of his intention still linger in the edge of all her scars
Try not to take it personally
The way she holds you
Then changes her mind
She just can’t get accustomed to the difference
The weight of all you’re willing to give her is far more
Than the boy before you ever even offered
So don’t take it personally
There’s little she can do to erase him
So she’s letting time take control
Letting the minutes, hours, days, and nights
Without him
Rust the edges of her that he lay claim to
But for now she chose you to make her feel shiny
Refusing to let you take her away before she’s even her own again
Letting you lose yourself in her
To replace the part of her she lost in him
Don’t take it personally
Don’t get angry for what he took
For what she cannot give you
Be cautious
What she doesn’t have she will find in you
What she wants she will take from you
And odds are you will give and give and give
Like I gave and gave and gave
Until you’re
A shell of yourself
Taking from someone else
What she took from you
In the Eyes of Another
by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2018
Poetry
by William Bozian ’19
I do not decide who I am, for who I am is decided by another.
Some may think I strive to harm, but some may see me as their brother.
All in all, who I am comes down to my beliefs,
Because beliefs often act as our own thieves.
My beliefs indirectly steal my identity.
They can change what others see inside of me,
But I cannot blame them, for the hatred I receive.
For it all comes down, to those
Who see me as a blind devotee.
Of a pointless faith, of an erroneous belief.
My religion should not have any set of stereotypes,
And I should not be judged by how I define posthumous paradise.
And the hatred that some release on me and my faithful brothers,
Should not be born from the actions of others.
I will not be judged by another man’s violent doing,
Because violence is not something that I am pursuing.
I will not be judged for what certain people may be,
It does not matter if they look like me, or if they are
Similar, religiously.
Deeply seeded feelings of animosity,
That due to ignorance are targeted at me.
Some are ignorant of how equal we were all meant to be,
And thus, they treat religious others as mere, mediocrities.
Some are blinded by their isolating doctrines,
and look upon others of different faiths as simply mad fiends.
Some may stand to watch this happen, but some may stay to intervene.
I just hope that tomorrow, we may be able to convene.
And that we may see one another for who we really are,
Without having religious bias rooted in our hearts.
I hope that tomorrow, this shameful feud will end,
And no matter your religion, I can truly call you my friend.
And I hope that in spite of our faiths, we will look upon others
As part of our families, and as loving brothers.
And that I will be equal
In the eyes of another.
Halloween Haikus
by The Cowl Editor on October 25, 2018
Features
TickTok TickTok Tick
I feel it running after me
Its breath on my neck.
—Jessica Polanco ’20
I can’t feel myself.
No one hears me talk to them
Is this death for me?
—Connor Zimmerman ’20
I hear a shuffle
And a chill goes down my back
All I see are eyes
—Sam Pellman ’20
It lived in Mary’s room
Mom blamed imagination
But I felt its breath
—Julia Zygiel ’19
Late October thoughts
Of pumpkin pies, sugar highs,
Warm nostalgic hearts.
—Erin Venuti ’20
Aura of horror:
Ghosts, witches, black cats are nigh.
The best time of year.
—Sam Ward ’21
The Dead Bird Still Sings
by The Cowl Editor on October 25, 2018
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
It’s okay. You can look away.
Still fixated at the heap of feathers and blood at our feet:
I’ve seen dozens of dead birds and have had perfectly splendid days.
Perfectly. Splendid.
Perhaps if I knew our correspondence would be,
Stockholm / Lima,
I would have chosen my words more carefully,
Or I would have trusted the omen.
Picking apart the dwindling hours we had left,
Plausible pleasure from a desire for purpose.
I wish I could run it back and leave.
Really, I just wish I would have left the corpse alone.
Because I lost my autonomy,
Following morbid thoughts,
Reaping what I sowed,
Aviary horrors only curses could produce.
Stepping into the antiquated nest,
Searching for adventure, settling for misery.
Shield me from the onset,
Clipped wings are anything but correct.
Me, like a lemming leaping to my death,
My fate leading me astray, naïve.
The wind would reject my wings.
Oh how, the dead bird still sings.