by Andrea Traietti on October 18, 2018

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Poetry

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by Sam Ward ’21

One of these days

I’ll challenge myself and put together the words that spell out b-e-a-u-t-y
I’ll pen the pursuit and capture the prize
I’ll thank my girl for kissing my scars
I’ll have no need for desire

One of these days

I won’t romanticize the end of times being the best of times
I won’t pretend it’s all gloom and no glory
I won’t sleep through class and I will start reading, maybe writing, maybe exercising
I won’t let my ego idolize a case
                                                      of spiritual malnutrition
clara clara clara clara clara clara  of material fixation

One of these days

I am going to write inspired works and perhaps,
                                  perhaps burn the fire that combusts inside of me
I am going to love to be loved and bring dream to conception
I am going to rework the very design of the process
I am going to wear my smile and mean it
One of these days,

clara clara clara clara clara clara  I am going to say something and actually believe it.

by Andrea Traietti on October 18, 2018

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Poetry

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by Marelle Hipolito ’21

Staring out this window
Watching the world pass by
I can’t help but wonder
If you’ll be fine

I’ve done this before
I’ve known this hurt
Everyone walks in then out of my sight
But with you I’m not sure

People staring into this window
I have never known privacy
A rule I have to accept
In this harsh world’s reality

But somehow, you got through
You saw from the outside
While everyone turned and moved on
You chose to come inside

Staring at that door
I’m nervous, I’m scared
I’ve never needed to lock it
But to open it­—no one has ever dared

Make sure you’re ready
Don’t be one to runaway
I’m one hell of a roller coaster
Please hold on and stay

by Andrea Traietti on October 18, 2018

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Poetry

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by Jessica Polanco ’20

I am now destined to feed strangers.
Those who once knew me
Lost every trace of trust;
That has been lost in the dark skies
Under which I begged for all of this to become my reality.

To one day wake up in black, silk satin sheets—
And today, they cover my back as I stare
At the chandelier that glares
From the eyes of a man I married in the middle of this journey
Because we were once both teenagers,
At each end of this country waking up in the middle of the night
Hungry and in agony.
We dreamt of being served
Platinum platters of
Bedazzled seafood
And delicious-filled intentions.

He just married me to serve looks to the public,
And I said I do
For the same reasons, too.

This mansion is filled
With maids who don’t know my childhood name;
These marbled floors,
This view of the mountains resting on the ocean,
And this diamond ring
Is evidence
That you can die in heaven.

I’ve purified my hands
By the holiest of seas
But when the water slips
Through the cracks of my fingers,
I hear every soul I’ve abandoned to get where
I needed to be.
I hear my best friend saying
She doesn’t know who I am anymore.
My sister asks me if she even knew me at all.
From miles away, I trace
The voice of the boy who I love.
Tonight, he’s in bed with his back to his wife
Because I’ve broken all that he can be.
I stroll through the evergreen garden with a view
Of the reddest roses you’ll ever see
And feel my mother against my skin
Reminding me
That she is ashamed of me.

—

The corners of my eyes witness
A gallery of trophies
With my name shining on each edge,
And colorful books stacked
Stored with my truths.
I place one foot in front of the other
And carry out this burdensome pride
Into my Bentley coupe
And drive into the sunset
That kisses the 90210 city line.

by Andrea Traietti on October 18, 2018

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Poetry

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by Gabriela Baron ’20

If I could have anything, I would choose a mason jar.
Not one filled with caramel candies
or crumbled pocket money,
but one holding light.
Light that radiates:
the rush of riding a perfect wave
and the vivid memory a song brings.
A worn out, well-loved book
and a puppy’s slobbery kisses.
A baby’s uncontrollable laughter,
sighs of relief,
and extra time.

I’d bring that jar with me
and share it with:
The boy sobbing
because he lost his little league game.
The teenager
who flunked her final,
the uncle
who never calls his family,
and the sibling
who always feels second best.
The bride that walks down the aisle
without her Dad,
the mailman
who never gets a “thank you,”
and your neighbor
who lies in bed, staring at the empty pillow beside her.

I would give it to them
so the boy
will want to play again,
and the teenager will learn
scores don’t measure her success.
The uncle will come home for Christmas,
and the sibling will realize
there’s no competition for a parent’s love.
The bride will feel her father’s presence,
the mailman will know he matters,
and your neighbor will remember,
she’s not alone.

If I could have anything,
I would have a jar
that lights up the darkest miseries of life.

by Andrea Traietti on October 4, 2018

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Poetry

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by Sam Pellman ’20

Faces are passing
People are moving
I do not recognize these faces
I may never see them again
But for just a second they were in my head
And now they are gone

Everywhere we go, we see strangers
Sometimes we run into them again
Sometimes we make friends of them
But for those we don’t, do you think they’ll remember us?

Who are the strangers we remember?
Why do we remember them?
Is it their appearance or their voice?
Do we remember their smile or their laugh?
Every stranger has a story that is much deeper than what we see in front of us

Every stranger has their own life
A life we will never know
We all have families, we all have stories
Some look happy, but are struggling with an internal battle
Some have had the best day of their life, others the worst
Maybe it is one’s birthday

Do strangers wonder about me when they see me passing by?
Do I make any one look twice?
Or am I just a face in a crowd
Along with the seven billion other faces that roam this earth

Some strangers stay in our minds, but only for a few days
Until they are just a face we saw
And a face we forgot
But to all those faces I have forgotten
I hope you’re living the story I’ll never know about
Because I’ll be out there living mine too.

by Andrea Traietti on September 27, 2018

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Poetry

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by Sam Ward ’21

each sentiment rises and falls as if the moon inspires
but these are brain waves
living, breathing, decaying
eternal in space, ethereal in time

a reprieve from continuity
complacent thoughts comatose
it’s perfection or insanity
and these thoughts will drive you mad

so spill black and blue blood spelling out spirit
spell with each the hand that guides
        with each the symbols that hide
        with each a desire that burns where your cognition resides

                                                         You are not without weakness

these whirling wrinkles whistle by your ears
but you won’t be here unless you look in the mirror ’cause

you are not without weakness
these words will not write themselves

the ghost writer who keeps you up at night
will not revel in the respite but rather
atone the anxiety and administer the anguish
find your peace between the margins

your mind will condone the grip you have on the bic pen
the ink bleeds to your wits’ ends.

by The Cowl Editor on September 20, 2018

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Poetry

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by Erin Venuti ’20

With September brings the last goodbyes of summer,
The last marshmallow toasted,
Farewell photos posted
Of what you’ll leave behind.

With September brings the first greetings of autumn,
New tales to tell
And new stories to live.
Novel characters featured in contemporary classics.

With September brings the pressure,
The preoccupation,
And the realization
That after that comes October, November, December…

Still, with September brings glances in the mirror
Of fading freckles
And tinted skin, like shadows of the past,
The final remnants of the August sun
And the last goodbyes of summer.

by The Cowl Editor on September 20, 2018

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Poetry

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by Marelle Hipolito ’21

I hate being sensitive to normal things because of abnormal situations
And I hate looking deeper into what’s meant to be surface-level interpretations
Jokes and side notes, thinking every mirror has smoke
Every double take and I go a little bit more insane

I hate that my friends don’t hear me laugh straight from my heart
And I hate that they’re being cut from all my broken parts
The friendships gap, then snap; another whiskey bottle uncapped
More than just the pain I want to ease and sedate

I hate that the windows are closed until further notice
And I hate that those light conversations are being left unspoken
“We’ll patrol the loopholes, we’ve got it under control”
I know the difference between coal and gold

I hate having nothing else to talk or write about
And I hate that I don’t smile and whisper, I only cry and shout
All this confidentiality about my reality
Help me please, I’m on my knees

But I love that I hate calling the assembly of the troops
And I love to hate that they’re behind me, all the way through
After all this exposure they embrace me in closure
And they put their hands on mine as I turn the page over

But I love to hate to pay for gas on runaway trips
And I love to hate reaching the bottom of a bag of chips
Ukelele singing out of tune, laying in bed until after noon
Deeper friendships and memories to swoon into

I love that I hate all of this, and not any part of me
And I love to hate the wind, not the apple that fell far from the tree
Wide-eyed at the bright side, swimming through both high and low tides
I hate that it’s not now, but I love that eventually, it’ll be alright

by Andrea Traietti on September 13, 2018

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Poetry

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by Jessica Polanco ’20

Sweet, was the Sunday I remembered
Like a feather, I laid
On the indulgences of quietness
And joy

A black bird approached my presence
Told me I’d never forget this day
Because it was the day you passed away

Everything related to all I knew
Everything related to me gone and flew
Away from me, with no warning
Only an invitation

A black bird approached my presence
With her angelic eyes
Told me I’d never forget this day

Sweet, was the day
I remembered the greatest gift
It was the only decision I ever had to make

Sweet, was the day I remembered
To live a gracious life
To smile with innocence poured,
In the crease on my dimples

Sweet, was the day I remembered
You introduced me to your biggest intention
To live a warm intent-full life

Sweet, was the day you wanted us to remember
Every second,
Time is drowning down our souls
Reminding us

The only decision we were born to make was to live the sweetest life.

by Andrea Traietti on September 13, 2018

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Poetry

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by Erin Venuti ’20

The day the words died,
I felt everything.
Beneath my paper skin,
I sensed the germ set in
And the illness begin,
Corrupting all forms of word,
Noun, preposition,
Adjective, and verb.

Beneath my paper skin, I felt
The pulse ceasing
To beat beat.
Beat beat.
The syllables decreasing.
Beat, beat.
My imagination leaving.
Beat.
Beat —

Mind blank.
Page plain.
Words fade
Like freckles in December.
Gone from my eyes
Too fast to eulogize.

In that winter
Of my spring
I spent hours
Attempting
To rekindle
The life of the letters
(Like Victor
And his creature.)

Yet, nothing.

Nothing.
I felt everything and nothing
The day the words died.

Often now
I lay down
In my field of poppies
And I think about how
I felt everything and nothing
The day the words died.
But out of those words grow
The words of today and tomorrow.
New words,
young words,
these words.