Tag: poetry
Some Words on Distant Histories
by Elizabeth McGinn on March 4, 2021
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
Patience, we feel,
These lies write for
Themselves. Pay homage
Or pay the price, we
Play for numbers,
Not for keeps,
Raise the bar.
This entry cost is steep.
Invaders in the pantry,
The enemy hangs wreaths
On your own front door.
Distracted, gaze fixated on
Screens. How can it be true?
At once so literal,
In a self-defined landscape,
Where beauty paces the meek,
Checks the balance on
Burdened precepts,
Like kite strings cut,
Sunny day. The rain
Doesn’t care who they are
Or how they got there.
Emphasis on significant hours judged
Only by a thousand year convention,
Trained into recognition,
No choice, even if
The absurdity of truth or
superstition is in arm’s reach.
Expectations, this will be different,
Any time around the sun,
Another maze we have to run
And there’s no slowing down.
And of course we’re all lost.
Bad days frequent,
diseased brains seeking
Refuge in the rest.
Flourish if we’re nourished,
But the hand that feeds,
Craves our hunger,
Sustains on it, stained.
Ambivalence is the cost
Of finding peace, so to speak,
We settle for it.
If we bite, they’ll bite back.
Gaslit or seppuku,
Addicts on the coast who
Pander to middle.
Riding out on guerillas,
Or dragons, Adidas, winged victory.
Conquering collective’s riches,
They are not their own,
We are not our own.
Heathens on the bench
Scream, treason on their
Breath.
Silent Pain
by Elizabeth McGinn on March 4, 2021
Poetry
Trigger Warning: This poem includes
references to restrictive eating and body image
by Grace O’Connor ’22
She was used to her bones jutting out,
Her ribs, hip bones, elbows.
She was used to her clothes never fitting her,
As they would fall off her scrawny frame.
Her face was pale and her eyes held pain.
She desperately wanted a bite of solid food,
Except, she could not swallow it.
The worry around her was tangible,
She endured this worry with silent pain.
Wanting to be able to eat a bowl of pasta,
Without the feeling of her throat closing,
Slowly, unable to open like it was super-glued shut,
Not letting air get past.
She was constantly told how skinny she was.
She would force a smile as she felt the dull knife stab her chest,
Once again.
Little did they know she envied them,
Envied their ability to eat without feeling like they can’t breathe.
But, she hated their oblivion,
Oblivion to her struggle.
Sweet is the Tune the Harsh Wind Carries
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 25, 2021
Poetry
by Matthew Ciesla ’24
’Twas on a venture, enveloped in quiet cold, That a belief quite unusual did take hold: Sweet is the tune the harsh wind carries Of times long past and forgotten.
And to our feeble sentiments it so varies, For ’tis of vast nature’s heart begotten.
Past dark limbs a’sway I did walk No one to laugh nor one to talk. Empty was the scene I eyed,
The soulless, lonesome path ahead. And ’tis when all distracting banter died That a distant melody filled my head.
How unbelievable it seemed to me
To bear such longing in the presence of thee. Though tightly covered holding warmth,
I stopped and moved to lend an ear.
But as suddenly as thou came forth Thou whistled past me, no longer able to hear.
And so I did return
To that same place I now struggled to discern. A path took shape and led me away,
As soulless and lonesome as before.
Past those dark limbs once a’sway
I walked no longer knowing what for.
Thus this venture passed me by
But thenceforth with conviction so think I: Sweet is the tune the harsh wind carries Of times long past and forgotten. And to our feeble sentiments it so varies, For ’tis of vast nature’s heart begotten.
Carolina Pine
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 25, 2021
Poetry
by Sarah McLaughlin
The red soil gives them their color
And in return, they give their needles
Painting the ground a ruddy orange.
A nesting place for wrens and chickadees
And dragonflies they provide, and the air
Breathed by coyotes, does, and dingoes.
Beware the yellow jasmine that twists its way
Up unsuspecting trunks
To cinch them like a snake
Suffocates its prey.
The Sculptor
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 25, 2021
Poetry
by Sarah Heavren ’21
I am a block of marble.
There is potential hidden inside.
But from the whole outside world,
My purpose and value seem to hide.
I exist for my Sculptor
Who crafts me with unmatched care and skill.
He has a unique vision
Of a purpose that I can fulfill.
Sometimes He carves out large parts,
Ones which I once believed I needed.
He reveals something better
That has been hidden deep beneath it.
I have learned from my Sculptor
That I myself can’t know my true form.
I must trust my Sculptor’s work
And His graced hands to make me transform.
Cargo → Flight → Crashing → Demigod
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 25, 2021
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
CARGO
The captive in the cargo hold
Was the captain of a space vessel, Captured, or so we’re told,
With ancient symbols superimposed On her chest, classic bodies,
What are they worth,
With no cause or effect?
FLIGHT
Do you hail from a distant star? Some planetary figure,
Where foreign tongues scratch Alien fibers stitched up in the skins Of strange beasts, like some Rudimentary interface for Pre-space faring communication.
CRASHING
The creative impulse embedded in creatures, To conceive, to birth, to raise,
Has released sources of energy,
Unfit for the hands of their makers.
I still think of her, or what was told, Clutching her possessions, Crashing to the surface.
DEMIGOD
You skirted evolution,
Caught not in space,
But some time lost
To the atoms of enlightened matter. Your cursed tombs will burn,
When we break through the atmosphere. Down, down, down, down, descent.
Hypothetical Imperative
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 25, 2021
Poetry
by Kate Ward ’23
My sophomore year of high school my parents gave me some advice
You can’t control how others react, you can’t control their emotions
At the time this was some pretty bad advice and I threw it to the wind
I can do whatever I want, people will listen to me
Four challenging years later I sit awake at night
The whispers of lies about me swirling through paper thin walls
She’s rude, attention seeking, a liar
I come back to the advice I had received as my heart begins to break
I can’t control how others react to my differences
I can’t control their emotions towards me
It all seems fairly narcissistic if you think of it
But then again, it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations
So I make a new hypothetical imperative
My goal: be my truest self
My command: relinquish control over others and be true, be firm in yourself
I don’t know if Kant would like me much but then again
I can’t control how others react
This October Beach
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021
Poetry
by Marelle Hipolito ’22
Tuck my hair behind my ear, just one more time
Before we leave this October beach behind
Let’s look for one more shooting star
Before you go and break my heart
Take a hundred pictures of me in front of a blue sky
Before you drop another goodbye
Tell me you love me, just one more time
Before we leave this October beach behind
Skip a few rocks, just one more time
Before we leave this October beach behind
Write me a letter, with a Valentine’s rhyme
Before signing it “this is goodbye”
Call me up in the middle of the night
Confess you miss me, that you’re not alright
Send me a playlist, make it John Mayer
Then text me “listen to it all,” then call me later
Become my world and flood my life
Before we leave this October beach behind
First Place
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
Love is strange, strangers turn
To best friends and back again
When the feeling is less intense.
Still, you left a mark on my heart
Like an indent, and we typed the keys
That codified the sequence.
“The sun still sets in paradise”
Even butchered Maroon 5 lines
Reflect memories of moonlit eyes.
Tell me why, tell me why.
Finally home but feeling withdrawn,
Take my hand, lead me too far.
Where has it gone? Where has it—
They had me living in a pit
I have one lofty wish:
Fix this glitch, fix this glitch.
One day an eternity,
From two to three, all for just five,
That I wish you’d spend with me.
Opened like a locked box,
Trifled for my jewels,
I gave it all away, I’d give it all away.
This heart heals quickly,
The brain feels forever.
Conditioned to take it with me,
Where there’s always never.
Sabotaged to start with,
Finish line or just quit,
Ego death or panic,
I am losing and I’m in first place.
Twin Flames
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021
Poetry
by Mariela Flores ’23
You are not the other half of me.
You are not a better half of me.
You are not a nicer half of me.
You are not a half.
Love, you are the roots of old pine.
Love, you are a perfect cadence.
Love, you are the spine of my favorite books.
Love, you are the streaks of light that blind me while I drive.
Love, you are the color green.
How lucky are we, to coexist at the same time, in the same place, in the same life?
How lucky are we to have met each other, lost each other, and found each other again?
As we grow and move through this timeline I hope just one thing,
you will find me again, wherever we might begin.
As two wholes, two flames,
you & I.