Tag: poetry
Daydream
by The Cowl Editor on September 28, 2017
Poetry
by Marelle Hipolito, ’21
I woke up, and I already knew you were there
I felt you before I saw you
I knew you before I heard you
Like how I loved you before I met you
The weight of your body on the edge of my bed was so familiar
Like how the sun spills in through the window every morning
And drowns my room in its light
I turned around and I fell into the little indent where you were sitting
I sunk into the warmth of your body
You were looking on me patiently, waiting for me, as always
To get up and go with you, as always
You told me, let’s go, and we did
Everything that we wanted to do
Walk down the street
Through the shops
Run through plaza fountains
Drive around the city
With the windows down
Blasting our songs
Everything we wanted to do
We did
But then
the clock sounded
It blared through air
Rang in our ears, making us cower in its presence
and panic struck our hearts and minds and told us what to do but not what we should do and what we wanted to do but not what we needed to do
And the vibration of its dreadful roar
The bite in the forbidden apple
Made an overwhelming split in between and destroyed
us
My best friend
Half of me
All my heart and soul
Was now
someone I could touch but couldn’t feel
Could meet but never know
Could look at but never saw
and could never love
The clock ended its howl
But the apple fell on the ground, rotten
And the ripples of the water remained
So
We went back in time.
Everything we did
Was undone
We walked up the street
Out the shops
Drove back from the city
With the windows up and
In silence
And back onto my bed
Where you got up, told me you were going to go, and you did
You didn’t even wait for me
You didn’t even look at me
I pulled a blanket over my body
Because it was cold without the heat of yours
And I turned back around from the empty edge of the bed
Since there was no indent of you to fall into
It was so unfamiliar
Like the tension of the last five months
My eyes wet because of you
Like my heart breaking when you told me it never would
The sun set, draining my room of the light it drowned my room in
Like you, draining my life of the love you drowned me in
And knowing I was alone, I went back to sleep
With the dream of what was supposed to be
With the dream of what if it was you and me
With the dream of our meant to be
With this dream
I went back to sleep
Dear Father
by The Cowl Editor on September 21, 2017
Poetry
by Kiley McMahon ’20
Dear Father,
As I walked through the rain,
drenched and frigid,
I watched the soldiers march,
one by one,
concealing their every fear
from those around them.
As I carried the half loaf bread,
worth only 50 cents,
to our family of five,
I tried to think of a logical explanation
for why the bread stood as I stood,
hard cold and frigid.
I am not the mother of our family,
but the oldest daughter,
a descendant of you,
a soldier that concealed his every fear
from those around him.
Starved as we are,
the love for our family continues to grow.
I have gotten my first job,
and in doing so,
I have learned the ways in which
to perfectly polish all shoes.
The tombstone that stands for you
marks your favorite words,
“Stand true and tall,
smile through the hunger,
and dance through the pain and fear.”
If I do these things
that you believe,
I will be held in a decent light,
until death part me from this wonderful life
that is full of adventures, fears,
and cold hard nights
that stand like the bread
that I brought to our family
on that one stormy night.
Thank you for being a soldier,
one of complete bravery and faith;
may your soul live on,
and your destiny never be forgotten.
thank you for teaching me the ways of life,
and for standing brave and tall,
putting yourself in a harmonious light.
Sincerely,
your eldest daughter,
whose name must remain concealed,
for I fear the safety
of my very life,
as well as the safety
of our family of five.
A New Beginning
by The Cowl Editor on September 14, 2017
Poetry
By Kiley McMahon ’20
Portfolio Staff
He sits,
lingers,
paces,
runs,
and begs.
He is starved,
parched,
alone,
and weary.
He takes a train,
far far away,
from chaos,
and clutter,
that his future life brought.
A new beginning,
a bottle released,
left to scavenge,
along with the past life,
that he so wished to alter.
A new beginning,
for a man lost in the wind.
A bottle released,
from his cold and pruned hand.
Right Person, Wrong Time?
by The Cowl Editor on September 14, 2017
Poetry
by Sam Pellman ’20
Portfolio Staff
What had the potential to be the perfect summer instead turned into the summer of realization.
The realization that sometimes no matter how hard you try or how badly you want it, love just isn’t enough.
It isn’t enough right now, in this moment, but with time and growth it very well could be.
Three months had gone by since she saw him last. He had the appearance of a stranger, yet knew every little secret of her past.
It hurt to look at him, so she decided to look down. But when their eyes did meet, it was as if all the pain he had caused was suddenly gone.
“How did I let you go?” he whispered as the raindrops danced along the car windshield. But all she could attempt to mumble was “I don’t know…”
Tears leaked from his eyes, but surprisingly none from hers. She had drenched her pillow with messy tears and makeup for nights and nights; it seemed now they were simply dry.
He kept claiming he made the biggest mistake of his life. This normally would be her solace, but instead the words felt like a knife.
“But it’s too late…,” she said, her head in her hands. “I hope to God it’s not,” his voice said with a slight crack.
Her heart had formed a stone wall, it needed to protect itself. Yet, he could always somehow slip right back in and settle in the empty holes that begged for affection.
So he grabbed her face and kissed it hard, but her body was too numb to pull away. “That kiss feels like home to me,” is all he managed to say.
The rain was getting louder, the clock now almost said 1 a.m. The reality that this could be the very last time she saw him began quickly to sink in.
“I wish you the best, I want you to be happy,” she lied, pushing back the tears she now felt coming. “This won’t be the last time I see you, this isn’t goodbye,” he whispered, that sparkle she had missed twinkling in his eye.
Every ounce of him loved her and her heart could not help but feel the same. Yet, space and time is what they needed to understand love is anything but a game.
The world has a funny way of bringing back together what is meant to be. For when love gains back the strength it so desperately needs, the right person will be back at the right time; just wait and see.
Full Circle
by The Cowl Editor on August 31, 2017
Poetry
by Marisa DelFarno, ’18
Portfolio Staff
What comes full circle?
A raindrop descending into the ocean.
Ice meeting heat’s devotion.
The caged electric flow in a closed circuit.
The sour workings of karma’s service.
We all obey this motion
like the path has been previously woven,
but, does deviation have any purpose?
Well, maybe there is a fixed design,
and trust has to be settled on something unseen;
a route that is inescapable, curved, and never-ending,
and everything is harmonized, intertwined,
blending like the ripples in the sea;
a flow that we are all attending.
Baby Boy
by The Cowl Editor on April 27, 2017
Poetry
Photo courtesy of Alamy.com
Matt Farrell ’17
“I grew up on the Southside.”
We first meet a young baby boy, bright-eyed,
Beautiful black skin seeing the world for the first time.
His parents looked at each other and knew of the daunting climb
But didn’t expect to take upon the role of Atlas,
And as this boy begins to speak,
His daddy was gone, leaving the family up the creek.
See, his father got in a little trouble with Johnny Law,
Deported from the country leaving Baby Boy with his mom,
But Baby Boy barely knew him, so there was no time for sobs.
“You ever see your mom cry providing for you?”
Ten years later Baby Boy, a young man,
Sees Mama shedding tears so he grabs for her hand.
Later that day he walks up to D-Day,
Who reps the color red from around way,
Asking for any favors needed;
D-Day declined but Baby Boy heeded.
See money was tight but anguish is loose.
D-Day gave Baby Boy the option of a path to choose.
“There were some days I had to bring a gun to school.”
Baby Boy now a “man” at the tender age of fourteen,
Crime record follows him like a shadow he has never seen.
D-Day has died and he’s paying Mama’s bills.
In school Baby Boy has no desire to learn
Because an education never helped anyone.
Pens and pencils were replaced by pieces and pistols,
And those bright eyes glazed over with hatred of all folk.
“It’s hard to escape, you know?”
After school Baby Boy heads over to Southside,
And visits with some friends as they begin a wild ride,
When he returns home Mama sees no more love,
As being a man has made her Baby Boy numb.
Violence has taken over his bloodstream,
And that’s when I give him homework.
“It’s quite simple,” I begin,
“Go home, hug your mother, and tell her you love her.”
The next morning I walk in and Baby Boy has a grin,
“I did it,” the only homework he ever completed.
The story is all true of a “thug” or a “criminal,”
But to me Baby Boy is on his way to a true man.