By Zach Heaton VI
New place seems so old, like a combination of every other one Feel that sensation that everything is watching, me myself and I Which reminds me, I’m all alone and wondering if I’ll soon adjust Can it be that all this madness coincides with a god I'd always thought would have my back be here for me support me look out for me not mess things up for me
By Lukas Franken I
Neon entities
bright buzzing
spears of light from all over the spectrum
spill and stretch over the glistening
pool of liquid crystals
signs of green white red
and all in between shine
and strive to make their mark
among the fishes
Neon entities
bright buzzing
atoms of silly illuminating intention
bolden the skies of concrete and steel
casting shadows of sleepy-eyed
passersby below incessantly
worshipping boxes of gloomy incandescence
warming cold faces with
an ability to distill light to its frozen state
a click, a glimpse, then back
to life’s unmistakable monotony
By Cole Oberg VI
A Poem Written in Pi-Ish: Complex
Green, scaley, sleek
Lizard
If approached too quickly
Gone
Other times, will stare down intensely
Stands its ground, indignant and fearless, unless too close
Lightning quick
Escapes to thick brush for safety
Gazing intently at its predator
Coast is clear
Returns to its warm ground
A Poem Written in Concrete Form: Red Diamond
Royal
Beautiful, Rare
Red like a Perfect Rose
Multi-Faceted, yet Clear as Day
Red like a Pure Sunrise
Elegant, Majestic
Grand
A Poem Written in Inventive Form: Shuttle Run
Deep Breathe — Approach Line, I am the Commander of This Court — Focus
Sprint … Bend, Touch
T A E P E R
Sprint …… Bend, Touch, Breathe
T A E P E R
Sprint ……… Bend, Touch, Breathe, Push
T A E P E R
Sprint ………… Bend, Touch, Breathe, Push, Cramp
T A E P E R
Sprint …………… Bend, Touch, Breathe, Push, Cramp, Exhaustion
H S I N I F
Gasping for Air — I am Confident and Proud, I own this Court — Complete
By Chukwuedozie Umunna II
(photograph by Nicholas Martin IV)
How many more days
Must you and I be apart
My fair Roxbury
How many more days
Until Rousmaniere Hall sings
My fair Roxbury
How many more days
Or empty chairs and classrooms
My fair Roxbury
We will meet again
And those days will be worth it
See you soon, RL
By Cole Oberg VI
Flowers blooming in the warm, heavy air Animals awakening and drawn to the activity Rebirth is all around us Mother birds minding their eggs, creating their own warmth Nesting and protecting their most precious possession Rebirth is all around us The eggs hatch and new life is created Innocent, helpless yet priceless Rebirth is all around us Journeying for food yet fearing the lost Selfless love and attention given to each one Rebirth is all around us The birds grow stronger every day Relying on their mothers for everything, including love Rebirth is all around us Then the day comes, time to grow up Can they do it? Will they fly? Rebirth is all around us Push. Watch. Worry. Wait How can she do this to her babies? Tough Love
By Krish Muniappan VI
Bright red feathers An ostentatious crown and beak The Northern Cardinal Blue, black, and white Standing still above the rest Uniform Blue Jays Diving through the air Wearing only shades of brown The common House Sparrow
By Lukas Franken I
a man by the name of Sylvester Keep
roams the hallways of the creaky old
house waiting for the children to sleep
always keeping an ear unfolded for bold
scurrying of little feet
mouse, automaton or human
movement from walls to ceiling corner…
the rafters of the loft
his favorite spot to listen
with his sort of echolocation
his ghastly whispers permeate and slice
through the thin, oxygen filled air
a response bounces back
and to this he chuckles a sort of eldritch
chortle of soundless content
By Raj Saha VI
Cane clutched by knobby hands
Hobbled walk to wilting death
Long life of memories
Standing up straight and tall
Still frail from the inside
Thriving in beauty
Baby child sprung to life
Full of possibility
Ready to blossom
By Andrew Zhang I
I. The Triple Invitation
Young man, in a plain white robe, Zhuge Liang, the sage with his crane-feathered fan. A one-room cottage cradled by trees gathers books and dried leaves– a thatched roof deflects the frequent downpours amidst the spired mountains of Shandong. On a white horse– a king, Liu Bei, the peasant-fugitive king at the front door is alone in supplication. The sage tells him his quest is hopeless–but he returns thrice, to invite to his side Zhuge Liang, Wo Long the sleeping dragon. Young man, he comes down the precarious alpine path to make a nation. The dragon wakes up.
II. At the Mumen Trail
A crane-feathered fan lashes a burning forest with blistering gale, makes a furnace out of the mountain pass–a scattered army scrambles and proclaims “There is a dragon!” Who else can play with fire?
III. Zhou Yu’s Frustration
A dragon? A slippery bastard, that’s what he is, waving the damn sword around at those red cliffs. “Sorcerer”–the commoners whisper as the southeasterly wind blows and flames leap across a chained armada. And as we watch the spectacle, he recedes into the distance, waving from his straw boat.
IV. The Empty Fort
Above the open city gates alone– Wo Long gives a concert for the massed enemy. They listen, and tremble. Each note of the guqin resonates. An army retreats from an empty fort.
By Aydin Hodjat V
time
ticks away endlessly, uselessly
a lazy river on a sticky may afternoon
a barren march to the infinite
my cage of isolation suffocates my mind
white walls, white door, white table
seemingly scrubbed to neat perfection
but wasted eyes reveal a catalogue of ages
a map of days, evidence of my former selves
they too straining for freedom from these white walls
was it white? i see now the stained and dirty table
smothered with pen and paint and grime
veined with crawling scratches and inked scabs
and leaded currents flowing over the sides
it speaks to me, grasping for my very core
inviting me to its abstract, murky home
yearning for me to escape my white walls, white door, white table
to step away from makeup quizzes and fading due dates
and to join it in its distorted, fruitless reality
