by The Cowl Editor on April 19, 2018

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Poetry

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by Sam Pellman ’20

 

The sunlight struck her bed gently

She slowly opened her eyes and a moment of panic hit her heart

She glanced at her phone which read 11:16 a.m.

But then she remembered she was in her bed at home, in no rush to be anywhere

Maybe just the beach was waiting for her

 

She rolled over and threw on the first bathing suit she could find, her hair in a messy bun

Walking to the bathroom she didn’t once look in the mirror, but brushed her teeth quickly

She jumped down the stairs and grabbed an ice cold water, she knew she’d need it later

Her keys in her hand, she leaped out of the door into the car

 

Her beach chair was already in the backseat and so was her towel

She rolled every window down and adjusted her sunglasses

Her country playlist was already playing when she plugged in her phone

She whipped out of the driveway, the wind in her hair

 

The parkway exit quickly approached and she braced herself for the strong winds

She didn’t mind that it knotted her hair, its freshness felt amazing

She stuck her hand out of the window and sang along to her favorite Thomas Rhett song

The outside temperature read 77 degrees and not a single cloud was in the sky

 

It was in that moment she remembered why she stuck out all that hard work of the semester

So she could feel this exact feeling, the only feeling of bliss she’s ever known

Summer on Long Island is worth the freezing snowy and rainy days

It was worth everything to her

 

The air was warm and the sun was shining

Just for a moment everything was perfect

She soaked in the moment just as she planned to soak in the rays later on the sand

It was the days like these where she forgot about all the commotion in her life

And simply smiled at the idea of living a beautiful life.

by The Cowl Editor on April 12, 2018

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Poetry

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by Marelle Hipolito ’21

 

I was looking out the window

Humming to the radio

When suddenly it came on

My heart skipped a beat

I leaned forward in my seat

and pressed the button to turn it right off

 

I sat back and looked away

So I didn’t have to explain

Why that song always made me ache

I wiped a tear from my cheek

I didn’t move, I didn’t speak

And I drifted back into space

 

To the time when we had it all figured out

Thought we knew what life was about

And our plans were set in stone

I didn’t want to remember

Way back to September

But the memories came, all too well known

 

Everything was perfect

Sleepless nights were worth it

every drive with the windows down

You always greeted my father with a handshake

Helped my mother make pancakes

never would’ve guessed you’d ghost our town

 

You texted me sorry I have to leave

Was I really that naive

To expect closure through that “goodbye”

I kept searching for explanations

asking if this whole time I was just mistaken

Cause I still didn’t understand why

 

You came and went just like that

Like a finger and a thumb, in a snap

made and changed my whole life

You made me find my strength

To find love through my pain

If only we could’ve also found more time

 

But here I am in April

Still hurt, but grateful

That although you’re gone, you were at one point here

so I turned to put the radio back on

Held his hand, and at end of the song

Listened to the music, like you, bittersweetly fade & disappear

by The Cowl Editor on March 15, 2018

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Poetry

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by Kiley McMahon ’20

 

A prospective student

Who wants to feel

Comfortable and warm,

And confident and excited,

About coming to her new school.

 

I know how it feels

To be a nervous freshman,

Hesitant to show off her true self

To the rest of her family

For the next four years of life.

 

I also know how it feels

To be a comfortable and warm,

And confident and excited,

Sophomore, too.

 

It gets better,

As you grow and evolve,

And someday you will be

A comfortable and warm,

And confident and excited,

Sophomore, too.

 

Patience is key,

Involvement is key,

And making the best of each opportunity

Is key.

 

Good luck to you,

I am rooting for you;

College is amazing and crazy,

Dear young evolving freshman.

by The Cowl Editor on March 15, 2018

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Poetry

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by Connor Zimmerman ’20

 

There is no such thing as ordinary.

This word and others are just labels

Used by people who lack true vocabulary.

These phrases just make people feel enabled

To disregard each other.

In reality, everybody is different from one another.

 

1. There is no such thing as being normal, because all people were born abnormal.
2. Everyone has their scars, defects, and marks, but these broken parts are what give life sparks.
3. It is senseless to judge based on irregularities, since we have more differences than similarities.

 

There is no such thing as boring.

Only people who refuse to go exploring

 

And find out what everyone has inside.

Boring is a boldfaced lie used by people who want to hide.

 

There is much more than just the superficial

It all comes down to being better than prejudicial.

 

There is no such thing as being a nobody.

     The quiet loner or the one who seems to be organized

          Are just judgements that are hyperboles.

               Trying to get to know those around you will leave you surprised

                    Because everyone has something that is truly rare.

                         We are all more than just a body full of air.

 

The worst thing of all is when we believe in these phrases

When we laugh at ourselves or hang our heads in sadness,

We give power to these words that create only madness.

Everyone deserves to hear only praises,

But some people refuse to dig down

And find what makes them renowned.

by The Cowl Editor on March 1, 2018

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Poetry

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by Dawyn Henriquez ’19

 

The smoke danced,

Curling into our minds and

Selling us paranoia for cents of sobriety

Like a vendor of beans labeled magic,

Giving us stalks through each pass.

 

After, all that remained was ash

Spread across the coffee table.

The snore of a giant

Lying on the couch the only sound

Cutting through the drizzle

Dripping outside my window.

 

And, as the blue before dawn

Peeked its head through the darkness,

 

I stood there

 

Watching

 

The rain filled sky

 

With cloud filled lungs.

 

So much depended

Upon

 

A late Monday

Night

 

Drowning

In air

 

Coughing up

Silence

by The Cowl Editor on March 1, 2018

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Poetry

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by Marisa DelFarno ’18

 

His name was Jones,

and the whole bus was his soapbox.

Any regular on 21 knew about Jones;

his rep for being tossed out onto the pavement,

and his volcanically loud

voice,

while the mice of the bus,

myself included,

judged him in our collective silence.

 

He hid himself in the rear of the bus,

deep past the rows of sticky seats,

and his voice

held in by the foggy, closed windows,

and the metallic shell of the bus.

 

Till this day,

I don’t know what Jones exactly looked like.

He was more of an apparition;

a ghost with a deep, gravelly, and rambunctious voice.

 

He talked

and

talked

but no one dared to join his conversation.

He only talked into the smoggy dirty air

enveloped in the bus.

 

One day,

he claimed to be a relative of James Brown,

and from Raleigh, “just like James Brown.”

A bystander fact-checked him,

saying Brown was from South Carolina.

Jones retorted back, “No, I am from Raleigh,

just like James Brown.”

 

We ignored him,

dismissed him as a loon.

And then,

he modulated his usual baritone voice

to a high pitched tenor real fast and

started to belt out

Get up offa that thing,

and shake till you feel better,

repeatedly,

and hitting every note,

perfectly.

 

I sharply turned my head

to see if the real deal had materialized.

But sullen-faced strangers concealed him,

looking forward

at me,

at the front of the bus,

as they sat in their silence.

Turn around.

Witness

a legend.

by The Cowl Editor on March 1, 2018

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Poetry

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by Jay Willett ’20

 

Dust and gunk spewed up from beneath the rails as her train skidded to a stop.

You couldn’t see the orange citrus rays of the morning sun underground.

“Boston, Boston!”

She flung her flowered bag over her shoulder and reached for her carry-on.

The stench of the subway was overwhelming; if it was clean, it wasn’t Providence.

Just two months, just two goddamn months.

How many mornings are in two months? How many mornings like this will we miss?

How many movies had I watched with this scene?

The conductor motioned toward his watch then to me.

The worst part, she looked most beautiful right then.

Among the dirty, dim, repulsing tunnel, she flashed a soft smile.

I hate clichés, until I start living one.

In that moment, when she struggled to tiptoe up to me,

I wanted the whole world to shut up and freeze.

Right there, when she kissed me, and my eyes welled up,

That’s where I wanted to exist.

“Ask her to stay,”

She turned away and rolled her luggage over to the mustard yellow line,

“Ask her to live with you, anything to make her just stay,”

She leaped up to the sliding door,

“Ask her, you idiot.”

The train slipped past, and the stench trailed behind,

For two months I was going to be alone in the tunnel,

Waiting until I get to see my morning sunshine again.

Where was once perfection, was the rats and an empty hall.

Up the stairs, back out into the day, I felt a tangy sensation.

So sweet it was to be without sunlight in bitter cold.

by The Cowl Editor on March 1, 2018

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Poetry

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by Marelle Hipolito ’21

 

One, two, three

Minutes late to the bus stop

I sigh with relief, the bus driver waited because she knows me

 

Four, five, six

Times I fell asleep in class

But it’s okay, I have lunch after this

 

Seven, eight, nine

People ahead of me

At least it’s usually a fast line

 

Ten, eleven, twelve

Weird and loud sounds,

What are they? My friends and I ask ourselves

 

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen

Million thoughts

Through my head as I run, cause I now realize what they mean

 

Sixteen, seventeen, eight—

I feel a pain, a pinch, and I fall

I can’t go any further, can you keep going for me?

by The Cowl Editor on February 15, 2018

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Poetry

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by David Martineau ’18

 

You grow on me like a coat of fur, but offer me no warmth.

And sometimes all I would like to do is shave you off,

But I cannot, for you are my children.

 

Before, when I was whipped by fire and scarred by ice,

When my skin blistered and burned and burst open with molten sores,

The pangs of birth that brought me out from the bowels of the void,

I thought of you, and could endure that pain.

 

For you were going to save me, improve me

Take what little I had and make it new,

Like the acorns that spawn new forests

After fire has devastated them.

 

But instead of building, you burn,

Instead of feeding my beauty, you consume it.

Instead of loving me, you take me for granted.

Instead of giving me Life, you bring me closer to Death.

 

I wish, sometimes, that I could be rid of you,

That I could return to the torments of my youth, and forget you.

But I cannot, for you are my children.

by The Cowl Editor on February 15, 2018

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Poetry

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by Marelle Hipolito ’21

 

Dear boy in this crowded room,

Do I dare sit next to you?

Will you pause your video, and say hi

Or will you refuse me a second of your time?

 

Dear girl in this crowded room,

Do you see me looking right at you?

Will you pause writing that post and look up

Or is my gaze not strong enough?

 

Dear mister in this crowded room,

Do I dare say hi, and nice to meet you?

Will you be impressed by a face-to-face introduction

Or will you be too worn down by your device dungeon?

 

Dear miss in this crowded room,

Do you hear me compliment you?

Will you remove your blasting headphones and say thank you

Or is your music too loud for my voice to break through?

 

Dear people of this crowded world,

Do you hear my screams, do you hear my hurt?

Or is the light of your screens so bright

You didn’t see me give up, and wave goodbye?