Happy Weekend! Please enjoy more visual art from our talented middle schoolers.

Amy K. ’23, Andy Black


Travis K. ’24


Calliope Y. ’26, Self-portrait


Ella S. ’23


JT G. ’23 with Cyrus A. ’23 and Benjamin L. ’23, Graphic Design Project


Fiona P. ’26, Self-portrait


Alessia S. ’25

Danny S. ’23


Mason L. ’26, Self-portrait


Akshi K. ’23

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Visuals from Math and Science!

Hackley students create cool visuals for math and science too, like this science project and like these Spinners from Mr. Temple’s class:

Fiona P. ’26


Arjun V. ’25


Ava M. ’25


Alex B. ’25


Brooke M. ’25


DD Q. ’25


Matthew  G.  ’25


N’Darri P. ’25


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Sunny Day Art!

Sarah R. ’26, Self-portrait


Afsana D. ’23

Afsana D. ’23


David  L. ’26, Self-portrait


Caroline D. ’24


Jake K. ’26


Ellie K. ’26

Ellie K. ’26


PJ M. ’26, Self-portrait


Will L. ’26


Lotte S. ’23


Akshi K. ’23


Giulia S. ’25

Giulia S. ’25

Justin D. ’26, Self-portrait

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Rainy Day Poems

I was Born on a 4 Square Foot Houseboat

by: Fiona P. ’26


I was born on a 4 square foot houseboat off

the coast of Java

I grew up on the foothills of Cambodia


I was born all grown up

My mother had a braid as long as her memory

She wrapped me in her hair,

cut it off,

and died.

Her hair was healing

It gave me death

So I could live


I Have Powers

by: Keira P. ’26

I have powers, powers that no

one can see, a power too strong

to describe, this power is me

I like me.


I am an apple

by: Juno Y. ’26


I am an apple.  A worm bites through me and I die.

I am an orange.  My skin is peeled off and I die.

I am a lemon.  My innards are squeezed out and I die.

I am a kiwi.  I am sliced in half and I die.

I am a blue raspberry.  I am crushed and I die.

I am a blueberry.  A thumb squishes me and I die.

I am a grape.  My heart is pulled out and I die for the final time.



by: Afsana D. ’23


This salty, vast, expanse

That’s all many knew.

The wind howling,

Waves churning and peaking,

Crashing against the rocks

I stare out at this expanse

As I have been for years

The wind

Biting away at my bricks,

I’ve seen things over the decades

People come, people go

Birds make their homes on my head

Sunrise, sunset

Sunrise, sunset

Over and over again

I lead them home

Always have

Always will

Lost in the endless

They disappear

Over the horizon

When the sun is gone

I guide the lost ones

With my light

The salty breeze

The endless blue

All I have known

All I ever will know

Is home

Endless home



The Urchin’s Demise

by: Jad B. ’24

“…winking and glimmering under the setting sun.”

— John Steinbeck


Waves crashed over the sandy beach.

Salty water washed away seashells.

The boy sat with feet dangling from the wall.

He was not alone in wondering.

A tiny sea urchin drifted up besides him, small as a pebble.

As tiny as the slowly fading sun.


His eyes were bright, a light yellow like the rays of the sun.

Footprints strewn across the beach.

The ripples on the coast caused by skipping stones, flat pebbles.

Sharp edges and broken seashells.

The boy sat deeply in thought, wondering.

Pressed in his thighs was the cold edge of the sea wall.


Reflected light glinted off of the wall.

The boy sat, gazing at the sun.

Always wondered where he came from, sadly wondering.

He had no memories, but he could remember the beach.

He always felt at home, among animals and seashells.

The sky turned black, making him feel small as a pebble.


The boy picked up a small stone, a sturdy pebble.

Flung it as hard as he could at the wall.

It cracked in half. Smack! scattered across the seashells.

Dark clouds arrived, replacing the sun

Droplets of rain began spattering the beach.

He hid in an alcove in the seawall, still wondering.


Ever the curious one, he began wondering.

Maybe the urchin had been wiped out by a pebble.

Maybe caught in a stream, and swept off of the beach.

Had it gotten lucky and latched onto the sturdy wall?

The winds picked up, and he got a glimpse of the sun

Returning rays cast an eerie glow over the seashells.


He spotted the urchin’s body among the seashells

This put an end to his wishful wondering.

Its spindly legs shined in the light of the sun

Laying next to the cracked pebble

The boy watched from the safety of the wall

As the urchin’s soul ascended from the beach.


The orange glow of the sun illuminated the seashells

He slept on the beach, his dreams aiding him in wondering

A small pebble embedded in the expanse of the wall.


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Happy Pesach!!! Happy Easter!!! To all who celebrate. Here’s some visual art to add even more beauty to your spring holidays!!!

Sofia D. ’24


Ben I. ’26, Self-portrait


Afsana D. ’23


Cydnee C. ’24


Abigail N. ’26


Harper K. ’24


Kalin H. ’26


Matthew K. ’24


Zara H. ’23


Sofia S. ’26, Self-portrait

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Latest Writing – Middle Schoolers, You Rock!!! Seriously, You’re Amazing!


Ode to a Basket

by: Fiona P. ’26, Juno Y. ’26 & Keira P. ’26


The basket is like a meadow,

With tall gra-ses and a faded barn.

It travels, floating on the water,

Filling with sugary and sweet delights.

Reminding me of joyfully walking through orchards

Swinging baskets around.   but in truth

The basket is nothing but an old, broken down thing.


Food at Hackley

by: Jack Y. ’24


Food at Hackley is delicious

Specially the Cheddar Sandwich

I just ate one

My tastebuds said yum


Yesterday We Had to do a Lot of Court Sprints: A Haibun

by: Charlotte F. ’24


Yesterday we had to do a lot of court sprints during tennis practice. They made me really tired.  Now my muscles ache a lot and it hurts to laugh.

Ripples of wind fly

Through petals of young flowers

They float gently down


Ye Olde Town

by: Afsana D. ’23


What has this town

Been through and seen?

This old lonely road

Holds secrets we cannot understand,

Through the cracks in the pavement

Grow fragments of its past.

The road’s asphalt

Have stories aching to be heard

Buried underneath.

Ye Olde Town!

In which treasures lie!

Treasures underneath

Tales untold

Tales of bravery,

All glossed over

With the changing of the world.

Even still, this road stands

People have come and gone

This road still stands.

Buildings from the old,

Wares from the new,

People have come from all across the globe

Just to see

Ye Olde Town.

This town has been silent

But soon it will speak

Only to those

Who listen.

Ye Olde Town!

Holding its own rustic charm.

Ye Olde Town!

Refusing to succumb to the new.

Ye Olde Town!

What have you in store?

For the weary traveler,

Seeking your tale?

The one

Who is willing to listen?

What will you tell them?

What will you say?

Ye Olde Town,

Ye Olde Town.

Standing still,

Moving fast.

People cross

People pass.

Another night,

Another day.

Ye Olde Town,

What have you to say?


Why Weren’t There Tacos Today?

by: Aiden w. ’24


Why weren’t there tacos today? It would make everyone happy. After a hard day a treat is good.

They sit in the dark.

Everyone passes by

Alone from all touch.

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And even more art…this middle school has so much talent!!!

Ashley H. ’26, Self-portrait


Wylie C. ’23


Will L. ’26


Paul E. ’23


James M. ’26, Self-portrait


Iulia A. ’23


Spencer F. ’26, Visual Poem


Allison R. ’24


Charlotte F. ’24


                                                                                                        Ellie K. ’26


Kylie O. ’24

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More Writing Submissions…So Exciting!!!!

We are so thrilled at all the amazing work these middle schoolers have submitted! This year’s The Arrow is going to be soooo good!

And now, more writing from Hackley’s Middle School students:



A Fish Lived in a Tree

by: Beckett J. ’24 


A fish lived in a tree

Everyone called him Pea

When others saw his tail up high

They wondered how he did not die

But Pea flew away with the bees


What a Day

by: Vincent C. ’24 

What a day

What a night

the food is great

and delicious



by: Afsana ‘D. 23


That’s how you describe things


With all your colors

Mixing together

Screaming at each other

It’s confusing

It’s all confusing

Loud, bright colors

Each telling me to change

Each telling me to be something I’m not.

It’s loud

It’s too much

It needs to stop

Stop Stop Stop

It hurts

Hurts my head

My head

My head throbs

Why can’t you just simplify things?

Black and white?

Right and wrong?

I peer out at you

Ruining the pristine world

From my black and white mask.

To me

You are just

The gray area

In between;


Unable to make up your mind.

Black and white

White and black

Black or white?

I lost track.  


Peanut Butter and Jelly: A Haibun

by: Tommy T. ’24


Today is National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day. I like Peanut Butter and Jelly. I might have one today.

              The blue sea looks nice

              I want to be there right now

              I want to live there.



by: Suka N. ’25


Monkey see, monkey do

You don’t see me, I see you


I scream, you watch, never hearing a sound

You laugh in your phone, my sanity crumbles as I fall to the floor


You love yourself, I destroy myself

You stare at my glass, a barrier between and my existence and your sanity


Your makeup is your shield, you perfect you shield through me

My tears are as constant as your life, moving, feeling, betraying


I tear my hair out, you curl it to supremacy

Alone, my walls are like reflections


Reminders of the life I am restricted to

The cycle of my stability breaking


Me, Me, tears, screams, shards in a never ending cycle

Then it stops, I see the broken pieces, scattered on the stone cold wood


A shard is what I become, what I’ve been confined to

From now, to eternity


Monkey see, monkey do

Monkey screams his lungs out too


I am cursed, broken down

Forever alone, no life to live


I sink forever in my prison

No more strength to be given


But yet again, the cycle starts

And with it goes, a piece of my heart


Under Our Dark Watchful Eye

Abigail N. ’26


Under our dark watchful eye

Trays of steamin’ smoky ribs

Mac n’ cheese, fresh cornbread

Shiver gleefully as they’re

Snatched up greedily

We wait…

            and wait…

                            and wait…

And with a brisk click! and



We flicker into being.


Night and Day

by: Sophia K. ’24

“The stars still shone and the day had drawn only a pale wash of light in the lower sky to the east,”  — John Steinbeck


The sun rises and shadows fall

Birds chirp their songs and call their cry

The stars flee from the light

A day is born after the night

A new era of possibility arises

And all the animals come to play


All of the children love to play

The night gets longer in the fall

And as the time to work arises

The mother hears her baby’s cry

They had a long and restful night

Reluctantly, they greet the light


However, cats enjoy the light

They stretch their legs and start to play

Nobody watched them through the night

And though they jump, they never fall

They yowl, and mice flee from their cry

The need to feed and hunt arises


The dogs lick their owner as he arises

The window lets in beams of light

Again, the baby starts to cry

The dogs all urge their owner to play

The owner walks down the stairs, only to fall.

What a short night


Only owls and parents greet the night

Parents finally rest as the moon arises

So grateful for the lengthened nights that happen in the fall

The sky turns black without the light

Games stop as children cease to play

Now silent is the baby’s cry


Parents don’t miss the baby’s cry

They love the silence of the night

Only owls are awake to play

And with the owls, the raccoon arises

They love the night and scorn the light

They love the chilly wind of fall


As they play,  they stop their cry

They wonder at the fall of night

Once more, the sun arises, bringing light.


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More Art! Yay!

                                                                                                                                              Alessia S. ’25


                                                                                                              Amy K. ’23, Hayley Williams


                                                                                                                                          Brendan L. ’23


Brooke M. ’25


Danny S. ’23, Self -portrait


Bella B. ’25


Isaiah N. ’23, Fill Your Head Project


Jake N. ’26


Kareena P. ’26 & Fiona P. ’26


Lucia B. ’25, Wild Bird of Wisdom


Sydney M. ’26, The Hackley Stump


Talia T. ’24, Fill Your Head Project


Travis K. ’24, Space Turtle


Zora Blu’ T. ’25, Crooked Bricks

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Writing… & Submission Deadline is this Friday, April 10th!

As you finalize your submissions, due this Friday, April 10th, be inspired by some of your classmates’s writing submissions in this post and art submissions in the previous post. We’re so lucky to have such a creative student body. We’re so excited for what other submissions continue to come in over the next couple of days!

Dreams: Catbird Cry

by: Aniketh A. ’24

“…awakened in the near dark”
— John Steinbeck

I flutter up the branches to my nest
A bed of twigs longing to be slept on and used
My palmated toes slide in, under the cold blanket of the breeze
As a mirror that fogs under a warm shower
my thoughts drift away like the willowy petals of a dandelion blowing in the wind
Minutes turn into measured breath and all that is left is a dream.

At the foothills of that dream
My conscience leaves the nest,
as I gracefully float through the wind.
The dark washes over and I tremble down, for my catbird-feathers have been used.
As the ominous clouds threaten, my home is cleansed by a beautiful rainshower
Yet my thoughts are as calm as a cool, summer breeze

I look down to see my gigantic shadow as I glide in the breeze
This is no longer just a fantasy, it’s bigger and better than just a dream
Now as a soaring eagle my vicious thoughts come in a deluge of shower.
I seek an innocent prey hiding its fledgling in its nest.
A life is used.
I greedily sail away in the wind.

As I scan the terra firma below, my steely eyes cut through the wind.
Smugly I watch my many preys (hearing me come) scattering like a breeze.
Their little paws are used,
a nightmare to them is for me a sweet dream
They are too slow to make it back to their nest,
my talons – weapons for a blood-shower

My frightened eyes spring open at the imagery of the blood-shower
What has died is nothing but the wind
All is intact in the nest
For all that engulfs me is the gentle breeze.
Was my nightmare thankfully was just a dream?
Or were my nerves used?

Steel or nerves used?
blood-shower or rain-shower?
nightmare or dream?
gust or wind?
death or life in a breeze?
warm hearth or cold nest?

Life is not used and benign is the wind.
A warm spring shower welcomes flowers a-fluttering in the breeze.
This is the dream from the comfort of a nest.

In the Meadow

by: Juno Y. ’26

In the meadow, floral delights line the earth,
daffodils bloom and violets tenderly lift its leaves.

In the meadow, hummingbirds flit over poppies,
and butterflies flutter over lavender.

In the meadow petals gleam like rare jewels,
bumblebees dotting the fields.

In the meadow beauty thrives.

Response to Maniac Magee

by: Jiya D. ’26

I have read the novel Maniac Magee with my 5th grade English class in the past couple of months. This is my exposition to a sequel.

Dear Son,

You have now made it to 728 Sycamore Street; my old home for quite a while. I have moved away with the Beales, the only family I really ever had. Well, I just wanted to tell you that. Whether you are reading this at night, day, before lunch or after, with your sister or not, I hope I have informed, not worried, you of my leaving. I hope you have a great life on Sycamore Street, as I did, and meet many new friends.

Maniac Magee

          Who is this Maniac Magee? Seemed like a big guy around Two Mills, I thought. This letter is definitely not meant for me. I walked over to my nightstand and laid down the letter there. I was not really going to come back to it, but my brain wanted me to. My mother and I were staying in Two Mills for the summer, and luckily we found a rental house with a fair amount of history. The walls were rusty, the floorboards were popping out, and I could hear the sink water trickling down the old and broken countertops. Drip Drip Drip.
The first day we got here, I took a walk around the place. I saw secret pathways, secret doors, and cutouts in many walls. I found many things; things that seemed to be hiding from the eye. Old sneakers, a hat, some framed photos, a baseball glove, some books that looked to be from a local library, and most importantly, some old clothes, typically for a boy. When I searched up this Maniac Magee person, I could not believe what I have found.


An Ode to Spring

by: Annie S. ’26

A petal in the wind
Waving all around
The water in the creek
Swirling round and round

The grass in the meadow
Swaying side to side
Leaves in the wind
Like birds in the sky

Colors of the rainbow
Shining bright and fair
Flowers in the field
Waving their bright hair

And all around
I think, I see
And all around
I see spring


The Lives of Spring

by: Annie S. ’26


The rabbits hop
Around the field
The frogs jump
From here to there
The birds sing
Their melodies true
The fish swim
In the shallow stream
The sprouts shoot
The trees grow tall
The flowers bloom
Bringing joy to all
Awaiting the start
Of spring


I am From

by: David L. ’26


I am from a tennis racquet,

From Hackley School and New York City.

I am from the long, quiet, happy, and fun street.

It looked like smiling and playing.

I am from a tree and water.

The hardwood of the tree.

I’m from an athletic and fast family.

From “You are going to be incredible!” and “You can do it!’

I’m from the Torah, The Ten Commandments.

I’m from New York City.

From Challah and Matzah.

From the shaders with my family to find the Afikomen with my brother,

to tennis courts.

I am from the best place in the universe!


I Once Took a Trip to Europe

by: Sofia M. ’24


I once took a trip to Europe

They were lacking in maple syrup

The sheep were white

Fluffy in the light

The mountains reaching all the way up



by: Cole S. ’24


The sea’s relative

I am never afraid of

A drop of water


The ocean is pure

As vast as it desires

Forever unknown


Sestina: The Meaning of Life in Terms of Death

by: Cole S. ’24


When asking ourselves

What is the meaning of life

One must ask

What is the meaning of death

As the notion of living

Will only succumb to the notion of dying

We as people fear dying

But are we really being truthful with ourselves

Of course, many enjoy living

But should the definition of living go hand in hand with life

Wouldn’t being free from stress and burden ease the thought death

A question of the unknown is always difficult to answer and possibly even harder to ask

In order to answer, one must ask

In order to live, one must confront the thought of dying

Life has always been considered the opposite of death

But in reality, death is as close to life as we are to ourselves

As death is simply the absence of life

Much like the way, there wouldn’t be light without dark, there wouldn’t be death without living

Throughout life, you are living

But that leads you to ask

If death is the opposite of life

Then does that mean that throughout death you are dying

There is turmoil brewing inside ourselves

As we connect the dreaded thought of dying with the welcoming notion of living

Everyone portrays and envisions their own completely different and original idea of death

This idea evolves throughout the time that you are living

Whether we know it or not this portrayal is embedded deep inside ourselves

An impossible question to ask

Is, why does every living thing have to go through the process of dying

Science may have the answer but only a true human being can unlock the meaning of life

Will life

Unlock the secret of death

Or will dying

Reveal the key to living

This is what we must ask


Because dying is the inevitable end to life

How can we relieve ourselves from imminent death

We don’t have an answer, but why are we living, is what one is obligated to ask

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