Tag: poetry
The Voice
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2021
Poetry
Can’t See the flow of the colors
Stopped Feeling the breath of the wind
Hollowness calling your name
Do you fall back in?
Come to me
Looking around no one’s there
So back to the grind instead
Put pencil to paper and write beautiful words
But the creative voice can’t be heard
He’s not here
You hear it again, but no one’s around
So put on some music to drown it out
And maybe in the songs
There’s some inspiration to be found
Not so fast
Sweating profusely, droplets falling on loose leaf
Hearing voices when you’re home alone
Thinking about picking up the phone
But you don’t, at the risk of sounding crazy
Good Idea, they won’t believe you
The voice has started booming
The walls beginning to close in
Drowning you in insecurities
Thinking, “Am I really such a bad human?”
Yes, you are
Crying uncontrollably
Wondering how he got a hold of you
This feeling, who let him through
Thought he only belonged to the old you
Nah, me and you, we’re forever
When Your Body Was a Token
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2021
Poetry
I was fifteen years old when I decided I could handle the weight of being “sexy” for their love.
I could put on the right clothes, give the right looks, say just the right things–––
until they couldn’t get enough of me, trapping them in my prose.
I was fifteen years old when I convinced myself I was ready to bare it all for their love.
They looked at me like I was pure Mayan gold, shiny new treasure they could break in, they could treat me like I deserved because I did not know the value of my body.
I was fifteen years old when they reached inside and took all that I had to offer them,
their hands were tainted red, blood trickling the sheets, blood trickling our time,
I tried to keep the noises down, the moaning––the pain, this was love, love, love.
I was fifteen years old when there was nothing left to keep us tethered.
There was something wrong––the only place they still told me they loved me was when we were entangled in red sheets and I was in the act of proving that this was love, love, love.
I can still feel the bruises on me.
The pain of fingers gripping onto flesh,
scraping walls, tearing walls, wounding walls.
But that was love, love, love.
I’m twenty now and I don’t know how to be “sexy” for any love.
I don’t know how to move my body––oh, how I hate to hate my body!
There are no right clothes, no right looks, no more sticky prose.
When your body was a token––a ticket to someone’s love,
it’s hard to remember how to be anything else.
It’s been so long.
I wish I could remember.
The Piano Jury
by Elizabeth McGinn on May 6, 2021
Poetry
Bright, silent, daunting
Central to my narrowing vision.
The floorboards of all things taunting
My stare returning with derision.
Every seat with its front bare
No staring heads in sight
None but those that at me glare
Basked in blinding light.
Should I try to glance?
Dare I take that chance?
One with pad and pen
One with eyes so stern
Best to look back again
No, not heartburn!
Something was said
Is that the cue?
No only dread
One, two
Go!
GO!
Daily
by Elizabeth McGinn on May 6, 2021
Poetry
by Taylor Rogers ’24
Exhaustion.
This is the only emotion I can feel.
Day after day,
I tiredly watch the news,
Where the same tragic story plays on loop.
Each day,
Another bullet tears through innocent flesh,
Causing red to tragically paint the streets,
Breaking the hearts of many,
This tiny bullet wreaks its havoc,
Destroying any hope for change.
Daily,
Innocent victims fall,
Unwillingly becoming yet another name on a never-ending list.
A family loses their anchor,
And is forced to move on with their lives, despite being lost at sea.
Every day,
I watch the news in fear,
Wondering if me and my family will be next.
Will our world be invaded by the color red?
Will we fall victim to performative activism and a lifetime of injustice?
Will we be reduced to a statistic?
Continuously,
Nothing around me changes.
More and more people fall,
Becoming yet another news special
Gaining fame in a way they would never wish to.
Routinely,
I ask myself, will this ever end?
Will we ever reach a true state of equality?
Or will I have to tiredly watch more people’s lives end for no reason at all,
And sigh in defeat as yet again,
My people fail to be treated equally in the “land of the free.”
Farewell
by Elizabeth McGinn on May 6, 2021
Poetry
by Sarah Heavren ’21
From Lil Wit to Tiff and Earl,
From weekly meetings and issues,
It is hard to say farewell
Without needing a few tissues.
The Cowl has been a great space
To share thoughts and feelings,
To craft poems and satire,
Alongside great human beings.
Across my five semesters
Of writing for Portfolio
Making people think and laugh
Has been my main goal and my hope.
The Cowl gave me a voice
When I was quiet, even coy.
Writing for Portfolio
Has been one of my greatest joys.
the weather
by Elizabeth McGinn on May 6, 2021
Poetry
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
the sun is shining
the blades of grass are dancing
your playlist is playing
but you are missing
the flowers are blooming
the birds are flying
your guitar solo is playing
but you are missing
it’s a beautiful day outside
we are all here together, it’s pretty nice
but there’s something not right
you are missing, i’m not alright
you are missing out on the beautiful weather outside
you are missing out on being here with us because there’s something missing in you inside
and i can’t help you fix you because I’m just here outside
let me in let me in let me in, i miss you and i want you to be alright
the sun is shining
but i am crying
you are missed and you are missing
inside and outside
the flowers are blooming
but i am dying
i’m missing you being by my side
let me help you, let me inside
Rip Tide
by Elizabeth McGinn on May 6, 2021
Poetry
by Grace O’Connor ’22
He shimmers in the golden sunlight,
As she looks at his ripples from the light breeze, mesmerized.
The dip in the ripples is a dark blue with a light blue exterior that the sun accentuates,
He cools her feet, welcoming her into his bountiful abyss.
She steps in, and the water wraps her in his silky balminess.
She slowly swims out, guided by his riptide.
The riptide pushes her out further as she looks at the land becoming smaller.
She starts to panic as she slowly looks for the floor he pushed away.
He is a ravenous beast, trying to pull her down to his deep, dark, depths.
He is frigid, forceful, and has fingers that claw at the shore, constantly searching for more.
Grabbing her legs, dragging her down to the darkness that lingers below,
As her arms move in circles to keep her up, his waves consistently rumble her way,
Pushing her down, and tossing her around, like a plastic bag in the wind.
Her lungs are begging for air, as the saltwater screams around her.
Her eyes beg for help as she looks at the people on the land.
He pulls her back as she reaches for land.
He is everywhere, successfully drowning her in his malice.
He is the water keeping her afloat but slowly dehydrating her.
His hand slices through her like a knife when he slaps her with his weight.
Her tears silently melt away in the water as he rumbles,
Marks of his anger are sheared onto her skin from the debris he spews.
Her arms and legs are weak from pain,
As he pulls her away with his foamy arms, grabbing her from all sides.
She stops swimming, looking at the land bobbing in the far distance,
Filled with people smiling as they savor their lives in the warm sun.
Her home, her safety, no longer could be even through persistence.
He pulls her under, blinding her with murky water from the sea,
As quickly as a wave covers up a footprint,
Gone as can be.
Pinocchio Wisdom
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 22, 2021
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
Doubt clears the brain, let the stains come,
And let the words fabricate themselves.
The slippery slope between hope and certainty,
Muddled by the inbetween.
We get a glimpse of a panoramic view,
What you see says more about the flaws in you
Then it does about reality,
Strength to those who question,
Cursed are those who self-reflect.
It gets easier to fade to another place,
Why stay?
Condensed images of buildings collapsing,
With people on the fringes selling matches,
Cracked seed left out,
Who declined the sunshine,
Who lives their life on borrowed time,
Who worries about the perfect rhyme,
And splits it, rather said than wish to say,
So focused, so focused on just getting by,
Chasing bygones with bated breath.
Peaceful, I am, when the rules of the game,
All remain.
Picking up a signal, these are
Visions of palette colored by
Doubt. I feel the footsteps coming,
I can feel all my walls just closing in,
Can’t leave the bed, there are ghouls in
The attic and a strange hand pulling all the strings.
Who would have thought that we all live in fear,
We all just call the brave ones crazy.
Disregard the steps it takes to create
An imperfect lifetime, filled with regrets,
Worrying about inconsequential things,
These schemes, this wisdom.
Roots
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 22, 2021
Poetry
by Mariela Flores ’23
I want to grow and for that I will need sunlight.
But I do not know Kinich Ahau, Mayan god of sun.
I do not know the gold hidden in the skin of my ancestors,
I do not know what it is like to feel warmth from the sky in a way that does not burn.
So instead, I stay cold, and my petals do not open.
I want to live and for this I will need rain.
But I do not know Chaac, Mayan god of rain.
I cannot feel his thunder in this land they say is “ours,”
I cannot see his lightning in this smog-clouded sky.
So instead, I wilt, and my stem goes dry.
I want to be strong and for this I will need air.
But I do not know Huracan, Mayan god of wind.
I do not know the ruined cities that hailed his storms,
I do not know the fertile earth that was willed from its home in the sea.
So instead, I wither away, and my leaves fall.
How can I grow, live, be strong,
when I have nowhere to plant myself, no soil to know as home?
All I know are seeds to a story of who I could have been.
Had blood not been shed in a battle of free will,
had forests not been burned and history not been buried,
had the roots of los Mayas not been ripped from the earth and smothered by greed.
always yours
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 22, 2021
Poetry
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
i hate the way the rush came all at once and you felt like air when i couldn’t breathe
i hate the way i feel so loved when you look at me
i hate the way you make all my worries and anxieties go away
i hate that i’ve revolved around you ever since the day you came
i hate how open and real i am around you, how i don’t have to put up a front ever at all
i hate how when the nightmares start, it’s you i want to call
i hate how much you are a part of me, how much i have broken down and cried
i hate that every time you’re not around, a piece of me dies
in all my hate around you, i love how every hate is a lie
because looking back, even though i’m sad, you were the still best time of my life
i love the way you check me when i’m getting out of line
i love the way you know i’m not okay when i say that i’m fine
i love how you play with my hair and tell me what i mean to you
i love how you are proud and support me in all that i do
i love how you learn and listen to the things that are important to me
i love the way i do vice versa, how it’s almost like it’s meant to be
i love the way i didn’t look for you, how you just showed up one day
i love the way we’re everything the other needed, how we’re both here to stay
in all i love about you, i hate how we could never be more
but if you ever change your mind at any time…you know i’m always yours