A Blue Bird in Providence

by Connor Zimmerman


Poetry


A bluebird standing on a wooden post in a wintery day
Photo courtesy of unsplash.com

by Sean Tobin ’20

I saw a blue bird, stoic on a branch
in the wide based dogwood tree.
He shivered there in the cold and
braved the wind, as I watched at him
behind smudged glass: free
to fly but there to stare at my affair.
Mr. Blue Bird, you do not know what
you mean or why you stayed ten
minutes long, but wrong am I to
disregard your vigil without strut.
You were put there for my sake.

Love Limericks

by Connor Zimmerman


Poetry


A little heart drawn on a poetry book
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

Short and Sweet
by Sarah Heavren ’21

Master of the cleverest pun,
You make all the boring things fun.
I hope you know
And that I show
You’re loved by a certain someone.

Staycation
by Samantha Pellman ’20

What do I get him for Valentine’s Day?
Plan something special, they all say
So I booked a vacation
At the very best location
A ticket to Greece and it’s a one-way!

Glacier
by Jay Willett ’20

Frost gales frolic, shrouding all we could see.
Eyjafjallajökull explodes on the bended knee.
Not with fire, but with hope,
alone together on our slope.
One proposition, one question, and I’m finally free.

Money Can’t Buy Love
by Sarah McLaughlin ’23

There once was a broke college student
Who thought it would be rather prudent
To skip buying flowers
And instead work twelve hours
Which prompted his love life’s conclusion.

Dead Languages Don’t Get You Dates
by Sean Tobin ’20

I once tried to flirt in Italian.
By nature I’m no Latin stallion.
I learned Greek with ease,
Ancient Hebrew’s a breeze,
But for romance they get no medallion. 

There is a Lily kneeling

by The Cowl Editor


Christmas


by Sean Tobin ’20

Behold a lily kneeling,
At stable’s cribside stays;
With beauteous music peeling,
His Child God, he will praise
Long after winter days;
And for his sons he pledges
His help and love always.

A Lilly within a bouquet of flowers
photo courtesy of flickr.com

That light that brightens heaven
And plunges down to earth:
Which serves as hopeful leaven,
Which beckons all to mirth,
Excited by that birth;
The lily kneels yet deeper;
Sees now his meager worth.

That flow’r of radiance, lowly,
All men of virtue laud.
That lily kneeling wholly,
He turns up-right, now awed,
To see his Infant God,
And kneels still in the manger
To learn what path to trod.

Ghost Poems

by The Cowl Editor


Halloween


Ghostly figure
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

Does Fear Disappear?
By Sean Tobin ’20

Does fear disappear
If Stephen King writes it down
And Hitchcock films it?

Or does fear instead
Creep, crawl, and hide deeper down
Where you cannot reach?

 

The Wind
Sarah Heavren ’21

The wind whips and wails
Shaking the walls
Rattling the trees
Making leaves fall.

It groans and stings
With such distress
Like a poor soul
That’s not at rest.

 

Darkness Surrounds
by Grace O’Connor 22

I opened my eyes to see darkness surrounding me
I slowly stood up as my head throbbed
The room smelled musty and the darkness weighed down on me
The floor creaked below me as I cautiously took a step forward
I stopped quickly to calm my racing heart
I heard steps but could not tell from which direction
I paused, panicked and paranoid
In that moment I couldn’t breathe
It all happened in a second
Standing over me, it was the last thing I ever saw
As the true darkness swept over me

 

Phantom
by Connor Zimmerman ’20, Elizabeth McGinn ’21, and Sarah Kirchner ’21

I looked around the corner;
Phantom eyes staring back at me.
A haunting chill went down my spine:
Frosty breath, sweaty palms, fight or flight kicking in.
Reaching out to touch the specter,
As my hand went through, my body went cold.
My hand darted back; bumps began to envelop my skin.
Vapors dissipating from where it once stood.
Fear swallows me. Suddenly, I stand alone.

Four-Hundredth Fall

by The Cowl Editor


Poetry


by Sean Tobin ’20

One of mine, but given:
Today when I arise
And see slow-rolling skies
Illuminate what lies
This bleak side of heaven,

Just one thought do I save—
How bless’d this northern shore;
The same which fathers fore,
Sea-sick, God-starved, back-sore,
Saw and knew they must have;

We know the sounds she made,
To hear minute man’s shout,
The Sacred Harp throughout,
Oak leaves falling round ’bout,
Over and over played;

Is she not the same still?
Green mountains surrounding,
Waves on white rock pounding,
Life through valleys sounding—
New England steals her fill, and so much more.