André D'Arcangelis, '25

The Soup Manifesto : What Makes a Good Soup?

My semi-factual and anecdotal take on the best type of food, soup.

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Lovenote

Cyane,

my love,

my shining star,

hold me close,

don't leave me afar.

You brighten my word with sun and moon,

you are genuine and loving,

that is what I love about you.

Our talks, our walks, our time so close,

I cherish this life and love you the most.

Like beautiful flowers that blossom in Spring,

our love will grow,

through sun and rain.

Let the kite string pop, chase after if you dare—but you know, it leads to nowhere.

Stone cold silence, the ringing in my ears; I pinch myself—to make sure I’m here.

What I crave so much, I do not know; it pains me so slowly—the power of the unknown.

The spectrum of sound, confusing indeed: when silence is deafening and chaos a dream.

The Red Rivers of Gaza

America,

The land of the free

A nation of justice and liberty,

Yet the gloved hand of destruction,

We must not forget.

A hand that brings terror

To a people who breathe one common air.

The children wait in fear,

Wondering when their time will come?

Looking through the barrel of an American gun.

To isolate is not to consecrate,

The actions you have done with blood-stained dollars.

Baseless claims of mitigation

Quasi de-escalation,

Your actions warrant no less than complete condemnation.

No allegiance justifies the slaughter of innocent lives.

Red rivers flow from sea to shining sea,

Uncle Sam, you have blood on your hands.

Selected Poems for May '24

The clearing

The devil’s wings clear

The sky subdues

Empty above

A monochrome bloom

Tones of a life once blue

Protecting your peace with dry glue.

Sunbreak

Sunlight on my hair

Pollen fills the air

Here comes the sun

To greet everyone

Happiness expected

Be reckless

Idle like a stone

Spend time with others

alone.

Sunburn

Red stains and blistered skin

Scorched limbs like withered twigs

Holes burn through skin and bone

Eat my flesh and make a clone.

The Passage of Time

The passage of time is

A hard force to reckon with.

Sitting alone, watching, as the sun slowly falls into slumber,

Waiting for nothing in particular.

People around me,

Voices reminiscent of the passage.

Listening.

Time speaks so loudly.

Afraid,

To sleep, even.

Worried to waste something so precious,

A worry that brings nothing other than distress, that is.

A fruitless chase to maximize,

Failing to see the world from a less serious perspective.

It is not as important as it may seem,

Time comes and goes like a flowing stream.

Activity to fill the hole,

Unaware that it is the idle man that fully understands.

Untitled Spring Haikus (2023)

A lonely rose blooms

Romance in the air of spring

I look to the sky.

A chill in the air

A mellow breeze passes by

Distant birds chirping.

Rain pours from the clouds

The flowers rejuvenate

A beautiful sight.

Everything Comes to an End

Everything comes to an end,

So they say.

Nothing is forever in the world’s array

Of shining stars that burn so bright,

And winged creatures that fly by night.

To say I understand would be a lie,

But I try my best and look to the sky.

A world of wonders,

riddled with despair.

The feeling of mist in the sorrowful air.

Open your eyes and perceive what’s around too,

For you can create a world that serves you.

Need not understand where you are,

To make the most of the world’s bizarre.

Find yourself in what you fancy,

And don’t forget this world is chancy.

Winter Poems That Flitter in my Mind

Rainfall, Snowfall

Showers cover the lowlands,

Alpines sheltered by blankets of snow.

An experience universal,

Yet doesn’t show.

So seemingly different,

With only the slightest change.

I stare out the window,

Longing for rain.

Maple, Mylar, and Metal.

Hollow maple is beaten,

Vibrations succeed them.

They are free,

Yet alone,

With their fate in the hands of the unknown.

The jungle at bay,

Waiting to strike its prey.

A prophecy written,

Unhesitant submission.

All they can do is prey,

They would sound good this day.

A Bittersweet Stroll

*Following a fictional character*

I light a cigarette.

I see the embers form on the tip and fall into darkness.

It was the last in the pack.

I open my creaky door and walk outside.

It’s a gloomy day,

daylight ceases to exist in the presence of the dark.

I inhale and continue walking toward nothing.

I begin to think about fear.

What is fear?

If I am always fearful, do I really feel fear, or is it ease?

Fear is shunned, dreaded, celebrated, and yearned for, but why?

A stray cat scurries in the darkness of the night,

they say it’s bad luck.

I don’t know why?

I continue walking,

I stop at a nearby bus stop.

No buses come by anymore,

I’m not sure why I stopped.

I sit and wait,

knowing no one will come.

After what feels like an hour,

about five minutes,

I head toward the city centrale.

I pass under the old train track,

oil drips from the rails,

A rainbow sheen forms across each splatter.

I see vibrant colors in darkness. I start to think, but I get stuck.

I continue walking.

I smell the sweet scent of caramelized sugar and fresh yeast,

It is my favorite bakery.

I walk in and am immediately greeted by the baker.

I order a loaf of rye,

he gives me a canelé.

I leave with both sweet and sour.

He is always so kind,

so I’m not sure how to act.

I put on my earbuds,

and tear at the sour, leatherlike exterior of the loaf.

As I eat, I begin to ponder.

Why is fear celebrated during the autumn season?

I seem to ‘fear’ fear,

that makes no sense.

...

I don’t understand,

I fear my own confusion.

I take one last puff of my cigarette and watch as the remaining embers suffocate into ash.

What is the fascination with Halloween?

I am yet to understand...

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