Tag: Sam Ward ’21
Christmas Songs to Help You Weather the Cold
by The Cowl Editor on December 7, 2019
Christmas
by Sam Ward ’21
Take what joy these tidings give
and gift them back to all who live!
Fear and hunger can be adjured next summer;
the joy we share must last all winter.
For frostbitten souls: “The season is here!”
All the scrooges: “Christmas is near!”
Grab mittens and scarves lest you bold.
Only the strangest of us can withstand this cold
With the warmest of holiday spirit.
The combustion inside warms those who hear it.
It bellows from the stomach, diaphragm, and heart
But harmonious vocals are the best part.
Tell all the frostbitten souls: “The season is here!”
And sing to the scrooges: “Christmas is near!”
Christmas carols cannot warm the weather,
but it could make these chills feel a bit better.
Kaleidoscope Vision
by The Cowl Editor on November 15, 2019
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
How do we propel ourselves into the unknown?
Without fear.
Without doubt.
How, without shaking in our skin at the thought of what could go wrong,
or plucking heartstrings to play hopeful songs?
How do we plunge into strange waters,
when the thoughts are white noise?
How do we pursue ambition’s depths,
when muddled minds teeter like defective toys?
Clear vision deters focus
like we need sunshine clarity
to obtain knowledge complexities: it’s
not true.
We both know that.
Empty screens collect lines racing faster than the click of a pen,
or the tap tap tap of the keyboard
and just like that:
Fear is famished.
Doubt exonerated.
Strike all the right notes and we’ll dive right in
Without fear.
Without doubt.
If we wrote to please a bunch of poets,
we’d pause the present and paint a prettier picture like,
picture this:
someday we’ll be off for no other than reason
and we’ll prove the producing purpose,
But introspection is influenced in the eye of the beholder so we behold the truth
while alpha waves synchronize kaleidoscope focus,
Without fear,
Without doubt…
The Dark Arts
by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2019
Halloween
by Sam Ward ’21
The wood burned as the fire cracked and the occultist conjured unsettling images. Clowns and killers brandishing knives. “Dahbay!” The syllables erupting from the bottom of his throat; he threw sand on the fire. “Mugrodan!” His hand fell flat on the ancient tome. “Kasarah!” The fire exploded outward, sending him and the heavy book flying to the ground.
The occultist was nothing without his enchantress. How could he wreak havoc on humanity without her power? He only knew the one necromancy spell and judging from his blistered face and the decomposing body at the altar, he had done it wrong.
He stood up in the catacomb, the dying fire lighting only enough for him to see a fraction of the ornate design on the limestone sarcophagus. The limp body was far from the psychotic clown he had hoped to transform it into.
That’s when the walls began to shake and the fire burned a toxic purple.
“Who dares disturb me!” The voice oozed from the altar into the soul of the young necromancer. The ancient script on the catacomb walls lit up and the sarcophagus began to convulse and the feminine voice shrieked violently.
The occultist turned to go for the exit, running instead into a wall. A left turn yielded a similar result as the shrieking continued. Panicked, he fell to his knees and began searching through the sand for a match, a lighter, or a dropdoor: an exit or something that would illuminate such. He could feel the oxygen subside as if the room was shrinking.
The disquieted voice offered no reassurance to the dying man.
“The altar is closed for necromancy on Sundays,” she spit before the walls collapsed inward, finalizing his burial in the ancient catacombs.
Where the Rain Goes
by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
It is tell me where the rain goes
Not tell me what to think
Stagnated growth // forget that oath.
Simple thoughts translate so well.
But dress them up and you protect yourself
from being understood (that’s no good).
When you value privacy,
You find ways to feed the ego
Without risking perception of integrity (or lack thereof).
It is tell me where the rain goes
Not tell me what to think . . .
Manifest paralleled thought & pain shows
You just severed the missing link.
With confidence on corrupt ground,
Misled patterns entrapping all sound
Advice.
And there’s nothing harder than a broken rhyme.
The Shrink
by The Cowl Editor on March 21, 2019
Portfolio
by Sam Ward ’21
I. The eeriness of this silent ride spelled out perfectly in his memory. It was dark and the road seemed to carry itself longer than normal. His eyes fixated on the yellow lines as they illuminated underneath the high beams of his beat up truck, darting and flickering his tired eyes to stay awake.
The familiar, shadowy figure appeared in his peripheral vision once more. He’d normally feel the tension coming strong, first through his clenched fists, then through his body, the blood, fat, the lymph. It all provided a welcoming medium before swallowing itself in the pit of his stomach. However, he felt no anxiety at all as he turned himself to set his gaze upon the phantom figure for the first time.
II. Before Will gave himself a chance to open his eyes, his arm clumsily swung to silence the alarm clock. Will should have reveled in his fleeting ignorance, as it was only fractions of a moment after waking that Will had remembered that this was an important day. 5:26 a.m. The clock read. What was time anyway? William thought in his head. He took a deep breath.
Will is blessed with a number of quirks. The Shrink had some written on his case notes, which Will had snuck an image in his brain of:
Will Harlow. 27 years old, caucasian male. Paranoid schizophrenic, exhibited auditory and visual hallucinations, as well as delusions after mental breakdown last April. Appears responsive to medication although had called during dissociative episodes. Increase dosage of medication.
Not cooperative with others.
Will simply understood the importance of being wakeful before others. It was a primal drive, a hunger. To fight the waves of negative energy that suddenly crept in the messy apartment, Will let his fingers find the flask. He stopped himself, and the sun peaked itself through the blinds.
The phone began ringing. Will picked up before the second ring.
“Hello,” Will attempted to sound clear and put together in case it was his ex calling.
The voice on the other line remained silent.
III. The suit jacket fit awkwardly over his lanky frame. The jacket was black, with a tie to match, and an off-white shirt. Will stood outside the office where his father had arranged a job interview. Will felt an obligation to ace this interview, as if this would stop him from moving back in with his parents. Clinically bonkers and getting high everyday. However, he knew he was overqualified. He was a stellar student at his university with a full range of experience. He knew he had worked under the top lawyer in the entire city. He knew he had helped win case after case with his mentor guiding him. He knew this. This was all true. He was far above being a legal assistant in some crummy office. But The Shrink had told him that due to his diagnosis, this was the best chance to land a job in the field of his major. He still had to prove himself. It was the only pill he was still willing to swallow.
It turns out delusions of grandeur don’t score well in an interview.
IV. The wheel was grasped tightly, the hand white with tension. Pupils dilated from the rush of dopamine, and his illness rearing its ugly head. This was the break from reality, an out-of-kilter matter nightmares consist of.
He pulled to the side of the road before shutting his eyes. He wasn’t trying to sleep. The fear was paralyzing, but not a paralysis he couldn’t bear. For the next couple moments he remained frozen in comfortable cognition, free of reality’s treacherous truths.
It was then that he knew he had to call The Shrink.
V. He finally understood the motives of the phantom stalker when he turned to it. It was at that moment that Will set his gaze upon The Shrink.
Fear swelled and anger rose when Will realized that The Shrink had invaded the very places reality couldn’t go. The Shrink now occupied Will’s delusions. He realized now that the truck reeked of menthols.
Will was generally a very impatient person. He found solace in his delusions and escaped to his fantasyland, using psychoactive drugs to achieve this. For that, it is not surprising that he was completely unhinged by the presence of a familiar face.
He hurled the car across lanes and jerked the wheel needlessly on the empty, never ending road. Will screamed and cried, and it was at that moment he knew that he loved the mania. He fed on the euphoria. His mood would again cascade to divergent thoughts. But I wasn’t going to let that happen. His unconscious was too far gone to save. It was after that moment that I began to count down from 3 in order to snap him out of his hypnotic trance.
3, 2, 1 . . .
Poem #2
by The Cowl Editor on March 4, 2019
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
When the rain soaks the body and pain eclipses,
I’ll take this body to the ground if my soul permits,
leave it in a shallow grave like ice cold tips.
He who felt the weight of blossoming burdens
can take summertime love to cough on the sermon
or the feel alive buzz to soften the learning
But the kid who speaks about alternative dimensions,
must burn at the stake like the witches of Salem.
I fell in the middle with an undisclosed hologram
building castles for the wake
shapeshifting in place
for the pleasure of his better half
About as zealous as a zombie
foaming at the teeth
he hit the lifeless corner store seething
purchasing vitamins like a lost puppy teething
When she handed back the change he found that all he had left was a pocket full of damp depressants and dreary days of melancholy.
I needed to wake up.
I needed to back off.
I heard the marching order tune
but I felt there was nothing I could do.
I needed to wake up.
I needed to back off.
I heard the marching order tune
but there was nothing I could do.
Who’s to say that the angel who rescued me from my foolish ways
would love me all the same?
Isn’t this the primal fear?
To empty heart in foul pursuits
and lose a will for passions that
bear the essential fruits?
Love Advice Haikus
by The Cowl Editor on February 14, 2019
Poetry
Love Advice Haikus
Flowers, lovers, greed.
Never had it but a dream.
Smoked, woked, make believe.
by Jay Willett ’20
If you are unsure
with what to do. Trust yourself,
And follow your heart.
by Sarah Kirchner ’21
Someday near or far,
I know that I will find you,
somewhere close or not.
by Kiley McMahon ’20
Did eyes connect? Blink.
Time, skip validation, think.
Love wields the senses.
by Sam Ward ’21
Self Titled Manifesto 1
by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2019
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
I got the heaviest skull and the emptiest stomach.
No heart, all construct,
Sans act, more dumb luck. “When it’s
Time to act, will you conquer?” More
Or less a revelation from a
Cowardly lion’s conscience.
Time can heal but can’t unshoot the messages. So
Reload with blanks and try to dilute the atmosphere,
And discuss my travelling fear, like,
“Uhm, it’s not my fault they’re out here.”
And the law of motion attracts
A fickle few, destinies detract.
Ashes to ashes, to make sense of constancy.
Unpredictable futures reject the ideology.
Minimize the gravity and maximize vida
Till, mortem rifts you on the prenup.
Scrutinize the reality and actualize your vita.
Still, mortals thrift you of your freedom.
Christmas Poem I
by The Cowl Editor on December 8, 2018
Christmas
by Sam Ward ’21
Though, first and fifteenth left no guarantee,
Wrapped presents with bows stuck under the tree,
But the sentiment meant so much more to me.
O holy Child of Bethlehem
More than the Xbox or bikes you bought,
The treasures would be for naught,
If it had not been for your careful thought.
Descend to us, we pray
When the snow carries the day away,
I know spirits rise from eternal decay,
A holiday mood not present yesterday.
Cast out our sin and enter in
And when tomorrow comes, hold me still,
Make sure I act with goodwill,
The change does not start on Capitol Hill.
Be born to us today.
Pizza for Breakfast
by The Cowl Editor on November 20, 2018
Poetry
by Sam Ward ’21
Restless nights bear peaceful mornings,
A break from fear via alarm bell warnings.
That’s it, rest easy. I want to take in the moment.
Slip out, brush teeth, unnoticed.
Sun dips through blinds like a golden colander
And days dawdling dimly, seconds lackluster.
But mornings like this one are so right,
Gentle, A.M. breaths, hours in sight.
Dismiss waking you, peaceful is fragile.
Lucky to be, nothing important as this,
Spellbound to dreamscape’s travel,
That I will work up a nerve and break with a kiss.
Climbing clumsily, your covers like a shadow.
Slipped instead, you’re awake.
Real mad, lets out a morning “Hello.”
I will just let the pizza box atone for my mistake.
This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
