A new book

The Catlin Gabel School Senior Poetry Writing class final projects.

2022 CGS Senior Poetry Chapbooks

A Day, Here and Now If there ever was a winter day so serene, so tranquilized by electrifying, icy winds that it made you want to bury yourself far under each and every blanket in the house and throw wood into the burning fire, indeed, fuel the elegant flame to heights unseen, a day when the snow covered sled hills and the decorated tree stood up tall

seemed so present in the moment that you felt the urge&nbsp; to shut your eyes, closed tight and sprint blindly into the wonder ahead, leaving all but your most genuine self behind, without a care in the world but for the day so you might step into the deep, white powder breathing with excitement into this wonderland of white, well, today is just that kind of day.

Acknowledgements Those who taught, I thank Those who made revisions, too And those who listened Cover photo sourced from iStock

Table of contents A Day, Here and Now: 4-5 One Rambunctious Night: 6-7 A Flowing Prison: 8-9 Pantoum for a Passed Pet: 10-11

One Rambunctious Night Through a bright, buzzing place I walk, crummy symphonies of wild animals daub the air. In the park, dogs bark as they mark their territory, sectioning it off by lots they seldom share. In alleyways, I hear fleeing felines stroll past my feet, chasing birds, noisily desperate to get away. Wing flapping, fluttering, they fly to safe haven: a place protected; they ought to stay. As gusts of wind whirl past me, on left and on right, I direct my attention to the ground plenty with creaks. Crickets rocket by me, on the left and on the right, With unwarranted urgency, they squeak their shrill shrieks. And the frogs are not far behind. Speedily they hop, chasing tonight’s boisterous meal. Annoyed, I continue, ears full of my environment's ring, thinking: really, the sound of nature has no appeal.

Pantoum for a Passed Pet When shining eyes cease their shine, I feel my voice begin to crack, The days ahead seem so few, But, you look back with soft eyes, poking a tender heart. I feel my voice begin to crack, While I sulk in a warm bath of fond memories we shared. But, you look back with soft eyes, poking a tender heart; If only we had just a little more time together. While I sulk in a warm bath of fond memories we shared, I hole myself up tight with you, paw in hand, thinking If only we had just a little more time together. I know it’s time to say goodbye. I hole myself up tight with you, paw in hand, thinking The days ahead seem so few. I know it’s time to say goodbye When shining eyes cease their shine.

A Flowing Prison &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My paddle in water &nbsp;&nbsp;generates ripples that run &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;fast away; watch them traverse their way to the banks. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As we float, it watches us. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Stares back: acknowledges us, &nbsp;mistreats us, probably despises us, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;yet ignores us— &nbsp;&nbsp;Whatever it can find, it throws &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;in our crowded path, derailing us, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;upsetting our serenity, like we do, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;so unsympathetically, to it—&nbsp;

Terrified by what lay beneath its &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;liquid, mucky blanket, it mocks us; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;hides creatures of the deep &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;just out of sight. But, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;we sit ready, armaments in hand, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;to fend off the Loch Ness fiends it, so &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;sinfully, will call— &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I imagine swimming away, climbing &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;up the sides of the bowl that callously &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; entraps us— &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Soon, I thought, I’ll escape;&nbsp; I’ll stand above the highest rock &nbsp; looking down upon my measly self &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;and think— “King of the desert,” “that could be me.”

A Collection of 2022 Springtime Poetry By Will Silver

Name

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