by The Cowl Editor on February 8, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Kiley McMahon ’20

 

I have never been in love,

but I know what it looks like,

feels like, and sounds like.

 

It is appealing on the outside,

sweet and content on the inside;

nobody can compare

to the one true love of your life.

 

Your two hearts beat harmoniously and in unison,

as if they could jump out of your synonymous chest

at any given moment.

 

Your palms sweat and your stomach fills with butterflies

when your love enters the room;

nobody can compare

to the one true love of your life.

 

It sounds like, “For you,

I will live eternally,

through good times and through bad,

through happiness, and through illness.”

 

“I love you” is a statement often implicit on the first date,

not thinking twice about whether or not you truly love

your one true companion, that is for life.

by The Cowl Editor on February 8, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Jay Willett ’20

 

I won’t lie to you

I’m not the most athletic,

But the exhilaration of a touchdown or breakaway is won through patience.

I’m not the most intellectual,

But learning is my reason for existence, and gradually learning is diligent.

I’m not the wealthiest,

But the money made is hard-earned, saved, and the excess is distributed among others.

I’m not the most popular,

But companions are won through kindness, not competition.

I’m not the biggest player,

But connections and relationships are built through trust and loyalty.

I’m not the strongest,

But regular exercise and good health comes with a value of temperance.

I’m not the greatest,

And as an elder introduced me to another he said,

“This is him, he’s not really good at anything.”

At least he wasn’t lying,

Philippians 4:8.

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Jay Willett ’20

 

The crimson tablecloth sprang up with the cold fall breeze,

My great uncle had opened the window for a smoke,

But the wind rejected it, spiraling it in our full faces.

We were all there, hadn’t happened for a while.

We all lived across the country, some in others.

But this holiday was different,

My heart hung on the edge of my seat,

We weren’t brought together by celebration

Or new life

Or change

It took time, nostalgia, and misfortune.

We laughed, at each other, with each other,

Smiling because the wind outside was finally outside for a moment.

When the meal was finished, the kids cheered on for dessert,

While the men hollered for more beer,

The women grinned and sipped more of their wine,

And I sat still waiting for auntie to bring back the most delicious apple pie

I was lucky that I got to live near her all these years,

She lived close, unlike the rest.

Her apple pie would be the star of dinner

Its slices would glisten like wet autumn leaves outside

She smiled as she placed the platter

I took my eyes off the dessert for a second,

Her eyes were locked on the wind outside and sighed,

“A shame we can’t do this again next year.”

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Sam Pellman ’20

 

I said sorry when you broke my heart

I waited for an apology but gave you over a hundred

I let you hurt me and I blamed myself

 

But I’m not sorry anymore

I’m not sorry you walked away when I thought I needed you the most

I’m not sorry you told me you’d never leave but one day were gone

 

I’m not sorry I fell so hard for you; it’s taught me everything

I’m not sorry I centered my world around you because I know now you are not the sun; I am

I’m not sorry I wasn’t enough for you, because I know I was too much for you to handle

 

I’m not sorry I spent nights crying, shedding over a thousand tears; each one had a purpose

I’m not sorry I deleted your number; it’s of no use for me now

I’m not sorry I hid all your letters; at one point they meant the world, now they are just words on a page

 

I’m not sorry you didn’t know what you wanted, I know you are confused

I’m not sorry that maybe one day we’ll run into each other after all these months; trust me, I can handle it now

I’m not sorry I still love you; I don’t think I could ever stop

 

But most importantly, I’m not sorry that I’m happy without you

I’m finally alive

I don’t wish you the best, but I don’t wish you the worst; I simply wish you what you deserve

 

I do hope you’re happy, but if you’re not…

I’m just not sorry anymore.

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Marisa DelFarno ’18

 

I was much further out than

a lost star’s way.

I was trotting along

a route obscure.

Boundless and

bare. Bathe myself

in strangeness,

under the surge of

the blue veritable

ocean. Marvels of form

and gravity. The moving

waters, the enormous

avenues, going on and

on—sinkin’ deeper,

deeper. Taken root like

a stone. There, in

a black-blue vault, I

could no longer

voyage—closed and

done. And if I

become once more

the old traveler—I

learn by going. I

no longer felt myself

guided by a crumb

of the wrong

winds.

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Connor Zimmerman ’20

 

Staring at the ceiling, with a common feeling.

Trying to leave my bed and overcome this dread.

I steel my nerves, cause I’m living on the reserves.

My alarm won’t stop, I slam the button on top.

 

Punching in, punching out,

I’m living on the clock.

 

Looking at the board, it’s pretty clear that I’m bored.

The professor moans on, I respond with a yawn.

My eyes begin to close, and it feels like time slows.

The bell rings, with a sigh I gather all my things.

 

Punching in, punching out,

I’m living on the clock.

 

Sitting in a chair, with a feeling of despair.

The homework is not done, and it feels like a ton.

With no motivation, I sit in frustration.

Hearing that sound, everything fades to the background.

 

Punching in, punching out,

I’m living on the clock.

 

Day does turn to night, but that does not help my blight.

Limping to my dorm, inside rage brews like a storm.

I can’t unlock my door, feeling mentally sore.

Finally, in bed bracing for the day ahead.

 

Punching in, punching out,

I’m living on the clock.

by The Cowl Editor on January 25, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Jay Willett ’20

 

Whether it’s exercise or stress, the sweat is the same,

Slow, hot, sometimes worth it, sometimes not.

She made me feel like I sprinted 200 laps,

She watched me run and run, as fast as I could,

Until the breath I was breathing wasn’t my own.

Still I gasped for air.

The goal still tens of laps away,

Already ran far from where I began.

Willingly, passionately, adamantly,

Regrettably.

During breaks the laps increased.

She wasn’t cheering me on at the finish line anymore.

My back twanged, my ears burned, my heart sunk deep,

To watch her’s float to the shallows.

I feel the same sweat trickle down my throbbing legs.

She was cheering again, too far away to see for who.

Warm wind from the south.

I look back.

The track seemed unfamiliar, but nostalgic.

I smiled.

She can wait at the finish line all she wants.

I turned, and took the first step back.

by The Cowl Editor on January 25, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Erin Lucey ’20

 

Let regret get lost in the noise

And pain be forgotten with the night.

Count down to the future

And be the reason it’s bright.

 

Bring with you those who inspire,

And abandon those who restrain.

Let the lessons stick with you

But the clock dissolve the stain.

 

Hoping to grow,

And planning to accept,

While promising to cherish

And have a soul well kept.

 

Holding onto the best,

But letting my heart enjoy the fresh air,

Because you can’t dance in the rain

Without wetting your hair.

by The Cowl Editor on January 18, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Jessia Polanco ’20

 

When the sun guides your life

And the heat of our mother slaps your face

Everything is laid at your feet

And your smile spreads from cheek to cheek

Who are you?

 

When the wind sneaks into your pocket

The leaves fall again

They are crunchier than ever

Leaving only crumbles behind

And apples grow on the healthiest trees

Who are you?

 

When the breeze tingles on your skin

Everything is covered in a white blanket

Nothing is in your reach anymore

Out of sight

When you lose your grip

Who are you?

 

When the buds begin to flourish

And the rain rinses the dirt on your sidewalks

The roses surrounding you are crispy red

Your lungs begin to feel soft again

Who are you?

by The Cowl Editor on January 18, 2018

---

Portfolio

---

by Marelle Hipolito ’21

 

If the world were white, you would have no jokes.

You would just talk about the weather, who won last night

The guy or the girl, the couple in a fight

That is, if the world were white.

 

If the world were white, you would have no jokes

You would ask what I want to eat, what movie I’d want to see tonight

What dream car I want to buy

That is, if the world were white.

 

But, the world is not white. I am not white.

And we are not alright.

When I talk about the weather you ask how hot it was in my sweatshop

When I ask what happened last night, you ask if I saw the Border Patrol lights

Because the world is not white.

 

When I say I want to eat, you say you don’t like dog meat

When I want to watch a movie, you ask if my eyes are open, if I can actually see

When I describe my dream car, you say I’m an Asian girl, that I won’t even know how to drive

Because the world is not white.

 

I admit it, I do

Sometimes it’s innocent and funny, and I’ll laugh too

But a million pokes of a finger will turn into one stab of a knife

You laugh for a minute, I live with that stereotype my whole life

Because the world is not white.