Poet's Corner

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Introduction from the Editor Hi everyone, and welcome to the second edition of Poets’ Corner, NLCS’ only publication dedicated to showing off the poetic talent we have in school! The type of poem I chose for this edition is odes. Odes are poems dedicated to someone or something specific and are renowned for often discussing complex emotions and themes. Students from across the school have contributed a wide range of beautiful poems that truly demonstrate the ode’s versatility, and I hope that this publication gives you a taste of the poetry world, and all the different directions in which poetry can take you.

Thank you for reading this edition of Poets’ Corner – I hope you enjoy it!

-Emma Editor-in-chief

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Contents: • • • • • • • • • • •

Caprice – 4 Lake Avernus – 5 Ode to Love – 6 Ode to the Actress – 7 Ode to the Pandemic: We Wait for the End – 8 Ode to Trees – 9 Ode to the Cosmopolitan – 10 Ode to the Winter Woods – 11 Ode to Nature – 12 Ode to the Swan – 13 Chemistry Whizz - 15

Many thanks to Solène for her wonderful cover art

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Caprice I A flutter from an insect’s wings And her eyes blink open to whispers of nothings.

Tentative, she whistles a melody of reveille Before the droplets count out her sparse accompaniment.

The dull thrill died on her tongue and bent Her wiry sculpture.

II Rhythms – Reverberations of a strained pulse on pulled hide.

Mercilessly the club strikes down As pen strikes page, bruised and calloused.

Dust-clouds left in friction’s wake Settle, writing sound’s story as The threads and ribbons catch and break, Crying in a lyrical aching: It etches out the melody, Drawing out its soul.

III The dance erases the erring of voice and string As heels pound out the textured trails Of man’s melodies. A whirl of wrists And drumming hearts tell the tales Of his longing in song.

-

SG

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Lake Avernus Deathly and silent and still is the lake When creatures asleep in the shadows awake, And when in the night sky the full moon shines bright, Casting its waters in silvery light, Nowhere could feel as foreboding as here.

Nowhere so empty could incite so much fear, For it in its solitude and disconsolate state, Reminds us of our destiny, our eventual fate...

Where far below here, in the Earth, it is said, Feared above all is the Realm of the Dead, And mothers and children, great heroes and men, Once they have set foot there, may not leave again.

But if ever you come here, if ever you try, And you feel Lord Hades is waiting nearby, Assure yourself, he resides far, far away, Far below Lake Avernus and the warm light of day.

-

H-L L

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Ode to Love Love is when you can’t describe it.

It’s every black word on infinite blank pages.

It’s everything and nothing, Old and new.

It’s memories buried in the past And a future filled with hope.

It’s butterflies every single time they’re there.

It’s their eyes that find you from across the room, Across the road, Across the world.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted Wrapped up in one heart.

It’s right there, So close.

It’s one thought, So simple.

So far.

-

TB

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Ode to the Actress The lights dim, the acting starts As the beat of my heart Ricochets through my skull Like a broken echo And yet my face Is frozen As the tears are held back Yet every fear is intact.

Feeling hate is hard, Hating to feel is harder I barter With my mind And it only barks back in A tone meant to say Atonement is the way.

Atone for my feelings?

But my feelings aren’t sin They fester within, A drug flushing my skin The mirror of radiant thrill.

As my tears fall From sadness Because theirs fall From joy, The lights lift And the gift Of emotion glitters brighter, And my heart is pulled tighter Because I know That theirs overflow.

-

EG

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Ode to the Pandemic: We Wait for the End And so we begin.

Sitting alone, together We wait for the end Of the wave crashing over us.

One that does not break One that does not subside.

It only flows, collecting debris In the form of unknowing people.

We wait for the end Of these alien times.

We see each other When we are further than we’ve ever been.

We listen When we cannot hear at all.

We wait for the end When we do not want to wait any longer.

We wait for the end And we shall keep on waiting.

But the end will come And with it The joy And happiness We shall finally be able to see In the faces of our neighbours Our friends And our family.

-

GG

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ODE TO TREES Acres of the tall and proud gazed down at the lonely hearts.

They were no stranger to the constant ebb, and flow, Observing moment on moment as the ones joined into twos: the frivolity of it all.

Many years they have seen, and many more they will see still, Outlasting the couples who pledged their undying adoration, Only their oath of the loyalty bounded in rings remained true.

To be faithful, for better or for worst, in sickness and in health.

Faithful to the rising sun, and falling moon, Faithfull to the stars, who carried their duty up above as they did down below, twisting roots re-joining the lovers from so long ago.

Alas, they too fell short, falling victim to the memory they pledged to preserve, time’s scythe did grant any exceptions, not even to the keepers of history.

Bur their duty they continued, as frivolous as the infatuation they observed, passing down their oath to newly embedded roots, in hopes that they might learn.

-

AYW

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Ode to the Cosmopolitan The city Is my highest ideal, Of humanity, Even with its bustling crowds, Indifferent to one another.

The city Seems to be, What tight-knit communities Often are not, Electric, exciting, Unpredictable, Fascinating.

The city Is buzzing, With the myriad lives, Of busy bees, From different hives.

The city Extends its roots, Beyond its own land, And as a result, Bears exotic fruit, That it nourished by soil, Across many grounds.

The city Is a stage, In which the miscellaneous acts, Are anything but, Just players.

The city Is to me, The pleasure of sharing a smile, With a faceless stranger, That you will never see again.

-

Anon

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Ode to the Winter Woods On darkest nights, with only moonlight and the soft touch of the Northern wind, do I dare venture out. With frosted hair and hands of ice I breathe in winter with a sigh.

How elegant the trees become with their sugar coated branches. The woods so calm and silent that I would not dare disturb a single soul, but merely follow.

As I walk, snowflakes falling softly create a crunchy carpet. I am now in a world of breath-taking beauty.

I cannot go back; I do not see how.

-

RV

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Ode to Nature To whom belongs the sun-kissed waterfalls and valleys of the north sprinkled with flowers ‘Tis nature, not fettered by mere mortals wasting away their hours Beauty and beast have met at last Now we raise a toast To the one with tangible power To whom belongs the skies glittered with gold and the grassy plains stretching as far as the eye can see ‘Tis nature, bewitchingly beautiful to me The pixies circle around the roses in sombre song Greeted by the gentle lilt of weeping willows The festivities have come to a halt To whom belongs the wild forests choked in ash and shrouded in smoke ‘Tis nature, befallen to the will of frivolous folks oblivious to its woes The bliss that once prevailed Is slowly decaying under our feet -

NO

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Ode to the Swan There is a swan, tiptoeing across the stage.

A white light appears overhead and she leaps for me, leaps and falls, her delicate fingers strained, reaching towards the hanging trees.

Violins chirp lightly, like morning song.

Shadows creep in this dark room.

The flittering taps of her shoe weave thread into silk, spinning fastera needle in the night.

Yet as the dust settles comes the winding melodies of the flute.

There is not much time, she rushes towards me.

Each wing is torn…

In her plight she is open, so sirens may sing.

A haggard beast is looming, he screams “She will not prevail!”

I turn to the swan; who is this coming outwards?

A flower in the wind?

When will the angel, who favours the haze, join her in this dance?

The beast is pacing.

Crimson shoes, tap to me!

Tap to me!

And even if one of them suddenly pressed me against his heart, I should fade in the strength of his stronger existence. For Beauty’s nothing but beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear, and why we adore it so is because it serenely disdains to destroy us. Every angel is terrible. … Does Gaspara Stampa mean enough to you yet, and that any girl, whose beloved has slipped away, might feel, from that far more intense 13

example of loving: ‘Could I but become like her!’?

Should not these oldest suffering be finally growing fruitfuller for us? Is it not time that, in loving, we freed ourselves from the loved one, and, quivered, endured: as the arrow endures the string, to become, in the gathering out-leap, something more than itself? For staying is nowhere.

-

ZH

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Chemistry Whizz For his 70th birthday He tells this story Of post-war wizardry, Of concoction beyond ration.

The familiar narrative settles Between us through the quiet air Of a septuagenarian tea, Though the paths of my memory or his Reconceive the process each time: Lime cordial boiled with soap suds to soda?

Or boiled sweets and salt plus soda for pop?

Whichever the way it's fizz-bomb alchemy As always, blazoned, central, emerges...

One fat, bright lime lozenge Immaculate confection In pristine twist!

Best magic is the young boy backdrop, Shadowed shins in long grey socks Up on a stool to reach the hob top.

These same legs later out-quick sands, A swift foot on charm-juggled, stepping-stone islands, Conjuring himself into every continent.

But this sweet trick is the one He keeps pulling out of his top-hat of tales: The truest prestige.

-

TA

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