Tag: poetry
To All the Faces I Forgot
by Andrea Traietti on October 4, 2018
Portfolio
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.
these words will not write themselves
by Andrea Traietti on September 27, 2018
Portfolio
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.
Summer’s Goodbye
by The Cowl Editor on September 20, 2018
Portfolio
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.
Love To Hate
by The Cowl Editor on September 20, 2018
Portfolio
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
An Invitation
by Andrea Traietti on September 13, 2018
Portfolio
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.
Anniversary
by Andrea Traietti on September 13, 2018
Portfolio
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.
It Just Happens
by Andrea Traietti on August 30, 2018
Portfolio
by Jessica Polanco ’20
Everyone dreads the feeling,
But they truly never know what it feels like.
It isn’t even a feeling,
It’s just something that happens.
When you get over an argument,
You don’t even remember the exact time you did
But you did.
And it just happened.
When something dries up,
After getting wet,
It eventually dries.
And it just happens.
The moon rose this evening,
It stood next to the sun,
It tried stealing it’s spotlight,
Until it finally did.
And it just happened.
When autumn trickles in,
Even though they say it’s on the 21st,
We never know exactly when because
It kind of just happens.
When we want it to,
When we don’t want it to,
And when it’s least expected,
Change happens.
All the time.
Beautifully.
Mirror
by Andrea Traietti on August 30, 2018
Portfolio
by Connor Zimmerman ’20
In a mirror, the reflection is clear.
The image shows perfection.
I look just how I hoped I’d appear
I can’t think of any objections.
The reflection sends me back to the past
To the moments when I laugh and love.
All the connections that help me last.
The image has at last spoken,
I am completely unbroken.
In a mirror, the reflection was clear.
The image showed all my scars.
I looked worse than how I thought I appeared.
I didn’t see anything but the marks.
The reflection sent me back to the past
To the memories where I have regretted.
All the missed chances that shaped this outcast.
The image had at last spoken,
I was entirely broken.
Summer Changes
by Andrea Traietti on August 30, 2018
Portfolio
by Marelle Hipolito ’21
It was many summers ago
Never forgotten, always remembered:
gut feeling of the end coming
before the snap
crack
and cry of pain, landing on impact
an injury so defeating there was no game to play
no win or lose, just over
a broken bone, a broken heart
impossible to put the pieces back together
It was many summers later
Thus set to the side, lowered of importance
Focused grit of beginning again
After the pick up
Put together
And laughs of love, standing and brushing off the dirt
An injury so defeating, yet defeated
Rematch
Healed bone, healed heart
Achieved through tape, tears, and friends
To The Ceiling
by Andrea Traietti on August 30, 2018
Portfolio
by Dawyn Henriquez ’19
“Boom, then crash
The shattering of glass”
Strange fruit hanging and you expect us to forget the past?
Even though I saw my Momma in shackles at four,
You really believe equality is an unnecessary bore?
How quick to forget you are, truly, how fast.
Who of you haven’t thought that we’d be last?
The ones still standing,
Some brown amalgamations,
The most slandered colors in a crayon nation.
This hue is what sits between equality of heart and soul
And causes our people to pay red’s deathly toll.
So how dare you lie
When you say, this is a melting pot for all colors?
Even though we’ve always been aware of the skin that struts its stutters.
Be honest majority, you never meant it,
You’ve always proliferated yourself,
White supremacy: you cement it.
“And, yeah, I got anger
But I don’t let it take me down
Because my Momma taught me better
And she holds me up when I fall down”
Just so I can go forth with a scraped knee
Before the impending white sea,
Salt in my veins,
Weights on my feet,
Tears in my eyes,
Trying to shrug off defeat.
We all want glass broken,
Whether we know it or not,
But we live here, in this damn 64-piece box
Where white is the primary color in each slot.
And when we complain about the lack of preparation
All we get is fucking shame and deprecation:
Things like “try harder,” you say,
As if we can wear your boots
On our backs like flowing capes,
Prompting the question:
Is this the United States, home of the brave, where we got clean slates?
Or is this the United States, place built by slaves, the land that freely hates?
I think the latter, how about you?
Or are you out there too worried about your new hairdo?
Don’t answer that.
Yes, we’ve got anger,
Who wouldn’t
If their society was a strangler?