Tag: poetry
Scrape
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 22, 2021
Poetry
by Ellie Forster ’24
I haven’t had a scrape in a bit
Haven’t fallen to the pavement and torn my knee
Or slid my elbow across the driveway
I haven’t had a scrape in some time
Felt the burn of the sun on a cut
Or the sting of it being cleaned
I haven’t had to rip off a bandaid recently
The countdown to the tear
The breath when it’s done
I haven’t had to rip off a bandaid in a while
No, these days they come off in time
With much less drama, much less pain
I haven’t felt that much lately
Not in that most real of ways
The scrape of a leg
The ripping off of a bandaid
I haven’t had to deal with any of that for years
Nature Has No Curfew
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 15, 2021
Poetry
by Taylor Rogers ’24
Shadows and I become one as the night falls,
The sunset smiling down at me, waving one last goodbye.
Spring’s simplistic desires draw me in,
And I choose to abandon my curfew, deciding to just live.
As we dance, the stars begin to appear,
Wishing to join our game of hide and seek.
Twilight taunts our once innocent thoughts,
Urging us to leave the world behind, and get lost.
The stars dance with me as you sing,
Your heavenly voice calming the creatures of the night.
Bright beams of light illuminate our hearts,
And finally, I lose my fear of the dark.
A full moon guides us back to your car,
And the woods part to form a long, rocky path.
Dark’s desire rises from the shadows,
My eyes find yours, and the wind around us blows.
Black gives us the illusion of stealth,
Yet I find myself not caring if the two of us get caught.
Soft, soulful music invades our space of silence,
And we let ourselves partake in some violence.
A few clouds lead us back to my place,
And I look at my house in dread, not wishing to go.
For the last time tonight, you give me a kiss,
And nature says goodbye to me, your taste forever on my lips.
Memories
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 15, 2021
Poetry
by Sarah Heavren ’21
They haunt the present,
The ghosts of the past
A reminder of
Things not meant to last.
Sometimes they are good
Sometimes they are bad
Preserve the happy
And preserve the sad.
The past has shaped us
For better or worse
It has determined
Much of our life’s course.
We can create them
On purpose or not
We might not know why
They matter a lot.
But I do not know
Where I would now be
If it were not for
All my memories.
your letter, signed
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 15, 2021
Poetry
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
The flashbacks come back in a blur
All the good times, and the ones that hurt
Every phone call and basketball game
Each smile and each touch of pain
But when the rain starts to pour down hard
I wash myself clean from all the scars
And move on to the next chapter of my life
But I leave you behind, a letter unsigned
I gave you everything I was
All I had without a pause
It hurts that I’m always the first to make amends
It hurts cause we’re so close to the end
I used to go through photographs of times we laughed
And when we bet on the NBA draft
But I don’t feel the need anymore
To sing that song we sang with the windows down
Cry like when I told you about my hometown because
That’s all behind a closed door
And now when the rain starts to pour down hard
I trust that time will heal all my scars
And move on to the next chapter of my life
But I leave you behind
And your letter, now signed
Broken Glass
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 15, 2021
Poetry
By Grace O’Connor
She pounds her fists against the glass desperately,
As the clarity in front of her becomes increasingly distorted.
She forces herself to scream, but no one can hear her,
The water starts to fill up her lungs and drown out her voice.
The water eliminates all sound around her,
As the vibration of her pounding fists comes back to slice her.
The water molds her in place like glue,
Pushing her down, refusing to catch her drowning body.
Her mind races to find a solution.
The darkness bleeds through the edges of her eyes,
Blinding her slowly, stopping time.
She prays silently for peace,
As she accepts her fate.
The glass cracks slightly and shatters all at once,
She is pushed to the ground, guided by the water,
Covered in prickly, pale skin.
Her body fills with instantaneous relief and wrath.
She resents herself and her ability to cause this perpetual fear.
As she slowly lifts her shaky body up from the ground,
She is both numb and vulnerable.
She looks at the glass she shattered and feels a pit in her stomach.
She knows she will have to use her strength once again to break glass,
To make her fists bleed in order to let herself take a full breath.
But the water is not her enemy,
It has always been herself.
The Testimonies of Daphne, on the Subject of Apollo
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 15, 2021
Poetry
by Colleen Joyce ’22
My testimony discloses the truth—
I rejected each of his proposals.
In fact, I am certain the only words
from my lips, directed towards Apollo,
were dismissals—despite what has been told.
Let me state that I did not want his eye.
My desires were trivial to him.
Eros may claim mockery and “humor”
turned the god of sun to the pathetic
god of pursuit; To me, though, it’s clear that
the god needed not a flimsy arrow—
his pursuits would have trailed me, no matter.
The fact is they did. During my travels,
he stalked my each step, just like a lion,
waiting for the moment to engage me.
Forgive me, sir, but there was never a
fine moment—I simply did not want you.
How many times must I clarify this?
Maybe an analogy will suit you:
a gazelle does not choose to be the prey.
She does not tread lightly, cautious, just to
become some predator’s toy, nor his meal.
She wishes not to find herself in the
daggers of a vicious, greedy, creature.
She would much rather graze at home, able to
mill about without the immense burden
of unrequited quests of seduction.
So, I must say to you, Apollo, stop!
I yearn for life you are not a part of.
But, if I must live one with you in it…
I would much prefer to be cemented
into the tough bark of a laurel tree.
At least then, when I shall decay, I may
escape the cement of your dreadful love.
At Peace With Death
by Elizabeth McGinn on April 15, 2021
Poetry
by Anna Pomeroy ’23
I understand why old people are so content with death.
Our bones don’t grow brittle from their long-lasting bends––
But their existence becomes the unstable foundation for
the external skin that takes the beating of life.
It’s hard, life.
I mean, we’re meant to make it––
Strong enough.
But there comes a time when our eyes have no tears left to shed,
And no band aid could ever cover the infinite bleeding wound our heart has become.
We accept this.
Because while we may not wake up one morning,
The birds will.
The sun will still shine,
And the grass will grow into the next season.
Pot of Gold
by Elizabeth McGinn on March 18, 2021
Poetry
by Taylor Rogers ’24
Where is my pot of gold?
I walk around the world, hearing the grand stories told,
Stories of new, and stories of old,
All revolving around this mystical pot of gold.
My relatives tell me about their personal treasures,
Bragging to me about these in extreme measures.
When will it be my turn to find this pleasure?
I wonder, how do these people find these treasures?
One day, I stumble along what I think will be a blessing,
And I thank the spirits for my pain lessening.
Finally, I have a pot that might not be depressing.
I open the mystery item, praying for a blessing.
Sadly, my pot of gold has nothing inside,
Reflecting my heart, which has too long been denied.
I have looked everywhere, both in and outside,
Yet this pot is empty, just like my cold insides.
How will I fill this mystery object from above?
Will I fill it with lust, or will I fill it with love?
Now, I can find something that fits in my pot like a glove,
And fulfill the wishes of the creatures above.
Happily, I begin my newest ride,
Ready to find what makes my pot of gold big and wide.
One day, this object will be filled with pride,
And I will have completed my ride.
Tossing
by Elizabeth McGinn on March 18, 2021
Poetry
by Sarah Heavren ’21
After a whole year
Of loss, change, and pain,
There’s something we need
To help us sustain.
Days spent in waiting
For the perfect day
To bust out some discs,
Get some friends, and play.
A little rusty
From being apart,
Together again
We practice our art.
To some it might be
A sport or a game,
But in us it sparks
An ultimate flame.
We walk different paths
But they always cross
When one of us asks,
“Do you want to toss?”
Earthquakes
by Elizabeth McGinn on March 4, 2021
Poetry
by Toni Rendon ’24
Heartbreaks are like Earthquakes
They rattle your bones, like the way the world shakes
You duck for cover, but there’s no escape
You’re afraid that this will be the last day
The home you built is rocked at the foundations
Cracks appear on the walls in different places
We’re all scared, you can see it on our faces
We don’t know what started this
So, we’ll remain blameless
You lose control as the tectonics shift
Leaving your heart with gaps in it
There’s a distance now, it keeps growing
You had one chance to close it
You blew that, so it kept going
The flaws you tried to hide
Are showing through the cracks on your skin
Your imperfections exposed
Like bricks under the cracking plaster
The ceiling is falling now
Run faster
You drop to your knees as the world around you breaks
The ripple through your body makes you quiver and shake
This heartbreak makes you wonder
Am I gonna die today?