All posts by Nathan Hogan

“The One That Hides” – Kayla Zhu ’24

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“Firstborn” – Campbell Tucker-Hill

As a new king in an old country rules
With the laws of the land already made.
Or when a new teacher arrives in  school,
Even the thought of change can seem forbade.
I was first born, a gift to those who bear,
Though often raised with ignorance abound
My small missteps would lead into despair
For oft I felt mistakes were not allowed.
Through error leads the strides in life,
For hindsight sees all annals in new lights.
No longer the need to stay on the knife,
Discovering the way to blunder right.
Accounts may fade and records ever lost,
But this new view comes with no extra cost.

“Untitled Sestina” – Madeira Semins

Remember when you cut your foot on the guardrail?
The fireworks were booming around you like sharp music
As you stared out into the fading blush
Of the sun’s glow. And on the walk
Home, when the neighbor boy held the flashlight
You turned back to see, retreating into darkness, the woods.

How much time have you spent in those woods
Or walking barefoot on that sharp guardrail?
How many times have you been so captivated by the blinking city lights
That you forget you’re even there, forget sometimes to listen to the music
As you stroll along the paths on which you so often walk
In the later hours, under the sky’s dwindling blush?

Watching the sunset, colored in its sky-blue-pink blush
As your mother fills the firepit with sticks from the backyard “woods”.
You observe the deer as their babies learn to walk
And creep tentatively through the bushes, over the guardrail,
Leaping on shaking legs. You listen to the music,
And although you cannot see it, your smile casts a blinding light.

Outside your window still glow the streetlights.
Their security breaks at the end of night with early morning’s golden blush
And the bird calls echo like long-forgotten music.
As they flap their wings over you and the deer, the once-dark woods
Come alive again, sunrise catching on the rusted guardrail.
Your mother goes for her morning walk.

Each night again down the darkened alley you walk,
Peering through the trees to catch a glimpse of the lights,
Teetering dangerously on the coarse edge of the guardrail,
Admiring the way the growing cold makes the trees seem to blush
In the speckled red canopy of the woods. 
You close your eyes and bury yourself in the music.

What simple pleasures of life we often overlook! Music,
Bringing its contemplative distraction to even the most dreadful walk, 
The sights and smells of changing seasons in the woods, 
The moments of peace before we surrender to the death of light,
The faces of the ones we love, aglow with rosy blush,
And the long, cold nights spent sitting and thinking on the guardrail.

Don’t forget to appreciate the woods, or to photograph the light
Which resonates like the soft music of fairies. You hear it as you walk.
But no camera could ever truly catch its blush- that is for you; well, you and the guardrail.

“Tic Tic Tok” – Sophia Sandholm ’23

Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock.
You know time is of the utmost essence.
It’s every man’s walk.

From morning twelve to evening twelve o’clock,
you detect Time’s unrelenting presence.
Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock.

We may awe at forceful Time, sit and gawk.
Or fight inevitable senescence.
But we know, it’s every man’s walk.

Time can write our whole life in sidewalk chalk. 
Time knows their infinite quintessence.
Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock.

Time seems to hunt us like a dogged hawk,
until we have seen it’s omnipresence.
It’s every man’s walk.

Time is everyone’s ultimate roadblock.
We feel it much before adolescence.
Tic tic tock. Around goes the winding clock.
It’s every man’s walk.

“Dreams and Reality” – Andrew Paterson ’24

Recollections of dreams, in state of waking
Free will is therefore achieved, allowing us to perceive
No recollection of waking up while dreaming
As a result of our actions while awake
Life lessons we progressively learn
No recollection of waking up while dreaming
Confirms the dream state’s enlightenment
Especially true during sleep, where mental images are forgotten
No memory of waking while dreaming
Debilitating drop in awareness
the mind can be a concealed forest
Recollections of dreams, in state of waking
When all of the states are equal
No desires left, which may tremble
No recollection of waking up while dreaming
Regardless, continue to move on,
Despite the fact that life is complicated
Recollections of dreams, in state of waking
No recollection of waking up while dreaming

“Perception” – Mac Mohn ’24

Perception clouded by a sea of timber
Fire burns and ravages the woods
Revealing the path, I can now see clearly

Fire burns without remorse, leaving smell of cinder
Born of nature it destroyed its creator, if only it understood
Perception clouded by a sea of timber

Who’s the man who lights the tinder?
The forest burned down and there He stood
Revealing the path, I can now see clearly

The decision, the end, He aches from splinter
He stepped on ash, walking forth as he should
Perception clouded by a sea of timber

He burned the forest, to show the kinder
The way the woods had not withstood
Revealing the path I can now see clearly

Time will persist, the fire will simmer
He marched through the woods, the way he never could
Perception clouded by a sea of timber
Revealing the path, I can now see clearly

“Running to Nirvana” – Andrew McKim ’24

The thump of the music numbs my pain, 
My every step matching the endless beat,
As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein.
 
I hear it as I run through the pouring rain,
I feel it as I push through the deathly heat,
The thump of the music numbs my pain,
 
The tempo inspires me to sprint up steep terrain
The constant pulse drives me to compete
As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein
 
Running to Nirvana stimulates my brain 
It’s the perfect distraction to my aching feet
The thump of the music numbs my pain
 
Soundwaves that motivate elevation gain
Pound the pavement on the downbeat
As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein
 
As the end is in sight muscles strain
Overflowing pride comes with the last street
The thump of the music numbs my pain
As the rhythm and blood pumps through every vein

“Untitled” – Aaron Little ’24

What is a world without the land and sea
And what is land without wildfire and flood
What for are plains and rolling hills to be
Without the shed of Gea’s children’s blood
They build, evolve, and spread as they begin
Erecting mighty towers as their homes
But what are cities without all the men
And what are men to be without their bones
As such we search and crawl along the ground
Like worms and snakes we slither to and fro
But what is lost can not ever be found
And still, by nature we will come and go
We cry for help but no sound will come out
For we all clasp our hands over our mouth

“Me and My Stuff” – Andrew Hoe ’24

O, I am not myself, we are two minds
Ever in analysis, one scrutinizes the other
The second is of another kind
So impulsive, a fool, but a brother
That scrutiny is what separates the two
A scrutiny, reserved only for one’s own
A game of self blame, but compromise comes true
When I just kinda do whatever sounds good
And it’s all justified cause it’s meta
Maybe some time later, I’ll suss this out 
Spittoon, four syllables, poinsettia
If you couldn’t tell I’m getting burned out
Well now it’s all ruined, become some meme
At least I should maintain the rhyming scheme 

“The Dying Sky” – Emma Gardner ’23

Coughing on the smokestack pipes
She bleeds and sputters out orange, red, yellow fringed with purple
As she falls to sleep after her day of injury, she blackens and the silvery pinpoints shine through her holed sheet 
Centered is a big gray mass
She wakens and coughs up her colors again, this time they fade to blue
On and on
Undulating, just a dying background to the little actors’ meaningless lives