poetry

1938

A poem by Abraham Budson, ’22 On a frost tipped cold-mid morning, halfway through the year. The old gym dark and quiet, the new one crystal clear. As the students would soon enter and just as soon embark As the light shut off forever The floor all dust and dark As songs and speeches sounded the glorious nation praised Commencements and somber moments The new flags promptly raised Students would soon start classes On the nearly hallowed ground The school bell ringing out An almost sacred sound The heavy treads soon rumbled The old walls would meet their fate Of…

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How to Get Away with Murder

A prose poem by Editor-in-Chief Jacob Landau, ’22 Ten violets grow in soft water. Another eight lilies, struck by the early March sunlight, rise through warm gravel. Fifteen roses appear in melting snow. Fifty sunflowers soar through Florida marshes. Dozens of bouquets emerge from the sullen ground daily. Every year, thousands of flowers emerge—yet again in America.

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Second Residence

Because I could not run for home, It kindly ran for me Reminders, hints everywhere Yet nowhere to run.

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at last

a poem by Clara Renner, ’24 Stepping into the warm sun. My feet warmed by the soft sand beneath them. The light wind blowing my long hair. My sunglasses shading my eyes from the bright sunlight. The smell of the salty ocean and fresh cinnamon churros on the pier. My feet washed by the waves of the pleasantly warm crisp blue ocean. The green palm tree’s leaves gently swaying in the calm wind. Jumping into the refreshing pool with my brother. Slowly melting in the toasty hot tub. Going out for delectable ice cream after an event filled day with…

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my stomps

a poem by Dilen Marra, ’22 I stomp down the path I watch other people tiptoe down the path They look like swans swimming down the river that I once fished at I move with them We are salmon swimming up the stream of life I’ve been stomping for an eternity For if you stomp down the path, one day feels like an eternity

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you are a lie

a poem by Dilen Marra, ’22 Trust me, I know a lot about lies And you are a lie You are the voice in the back of my mind The voice that tells me that I will see the sun, the candle, and the fireflies But, what lives inside of me can tell you otherwise

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beautiful, but ugly

poem by Anonymous Being born ugly isn’t always bad. Being born ugly can save you from being bought and sold like furniture. But later you grow pretty.

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chrysanthemums in snow

poem by Ramya Yandava ’17 Everyone thought they’d die by the time December rolled around, when the chill hit and Mrs. B removed her wind chimes and the birds all flew South

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basement (with the clock ticking)

poem by Lexi Todorov, ’17 You reach to your pocket In response to an ersatz buzz, Spend it like time does, constant and with certainty. Hurry. Your time in the basement must be worth it, A watch full of ladders— Tears in your eyes, dear? They don’t matter. The water’s getting higher now— Shall you choose to swim or must you drown?

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a haunted melody

poem by Rubina Daneschvar, ’17 A man’s fingers caress the keys of a piano by the window A crowd gathers, hypnotized by the man His fingers move up and down the instrument In his mind an orchestra appears and plays him a lullaby Outside the night is fading as the first glimpses of sun appear Carriages are heard outside but the horses are entranced by the music The music builds and his hands are firm but light

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seen: 11:46PM

poem by Gabby Clifford, ’16 Come see me Because so easily I let myself Be seen by those around me And hardly seen By those who secretly lie beside me The crisp air and my nonchalant face Hide my despair as I try to grasp the chair I clumsily sit on and turn my head to the screen And what I mean, this time, is to be seen

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