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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It’s Arrow Season!!!

Spring is here and you know what that means! Arrow Season!!! Yay!!!

Welcome to the 2019 online edition of The Arrow!  The submissions have been flowing in and there is still time to submit so keep those creative juices going and express yourself. In the meantime, take a look at some of the middle schoolers’ latest submissions. And then of course, stay tuned for this year’s print version release at the end of spring.

Calliope Y. ’26

Calliope Y. ’26

Calliope Y. ’26

Calliope Y. ’26

India D. ’25

Julia M. ’23, Merry Christmas

Julia M. ’23, Eye

Julia M. ’23, Car Raindrops

Julia M. ’23, Snail

Julia M. ’23, Dora

Sam S. ’24, Bun-zilla

Sam S. ’24

Zora T. ’25

Zora T. ’25

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Published Magazine

Check out our PDF of the published magazine!  And pick up your copy in the Middle School office:

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Jackson B. ’25 pencil on paper

Caroline D. ’24 paint on paper collage


By: Talia T. ’24


Crunch. One step closer to my destination.

Crunch, Crunch. Two steps.

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch. One step left.

Crunch, I have arrived.

Knees bend.

Feet spring.

Body flies.

    Body falls  

Crunch. Smash.

Leaves fly out.

Circle and rain back on me.

Happiness inflates my chest.

The smile escapes.

Fall has finally come.

Charlie P. ’25 pencil on paper

Dan P. '23 block print on paper

Dan P. ’23 block print on paper

Review of Kendall Ackelson Tween Extraordinaire

By: Fox Q. ’25 & N’darri P. ’25







“We fell asleep looking at the stars.”


Kendall Ackelson Tween Extraordinaire

By: Madison Smith

Ben K. ’23 charcoal on paper

Kami L. ’22 ceramic


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Tick, Tock


Zara Y. ’23 charcoal on paper


Callie D. ’23 block print on paper

The Creak by: Harper Kelsey ’24

the creak

of a rocking chair

on a December evening


the flip

of a page

of a book

by Terry Pratchett


is comforting


Sophie R. ’24 acrylic on paper collage

Many parts of Hawaii are wild and untamed, like this beach covered with rough lava rock. For me, it just added a rugged beauty to the experience. I saw more of this incredible view for a good twenty miles while biking; the coast seemed endless.
Willow Q. ’23 photo


Tick, Tock by: Sophia K. ’24

Tick Tock, Tick Tock.

I hear my clock say

My clock is urging me, pleading me

To go where I need to go today.


I lay in bed thinking

Late at night

Nothing amusing me

But my thoughts


I hear a silence in my house

Everyone left me alone

I only hear a quiet Tick Tock

As I gaze around my home.


Tick Tock, Tick Tock.

I hear my clock say

My clock is urging me, pleading me

To go where I need to go today.


I look at the clock on my wall

A trustworthy friend of mine

Always reminding me

Of things I have forgotten

With a quiet Tick Tock.


Nina Z. ’25 acrylic on canvas


Michael P. ’22 pastel on paper


Ocean Waves by: Allison R. ’24

Woosh, Woosh

I hear when I fall asleep

I hear when I wake up

I hear on my happiest days


The ocean crashing onto the shore

The ocean hitting my feet

The calming noise is my music that I

Close my eyes to every night


The waves are the sound of summer ringing in

The opened windows.

The sound that makes me smile.

The sound that I miss the most throughout the year.


The ocean,

The soul of the sea

And my relaxing background music made my nature.


As I hear the ocean crashing, it is hard not to smile.

As I hear the ocean crashing, I think of all the amazing summer memories.

As I hear the ocean crashing, I can feel my heart smiling and my bones racing with excitement.

As I hear the ocean crashing, I gently close my eyes and fall asleep,

Knowing that tomorrow will be another amazing day that the ocean will lead me to.


Allison C. ’24 ceramic with oxide glaze

Abigail B. ’25 acrylic on canvas

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Arushi C. ’23, pastel on paper

Ameera S. ’22, drypoint print


Amen! by: Jael N. ‘25

As I grew up in a religious community

It’s hard to be set free

Especially when your ancestors fought for their rights

But still had to pay the price

One thing they had to look up to

The God who protects me and you

That’s why I scream “Amen”

Because it can show where we have been.  


Eve S. ’22, plaster & mixed media on canvas

Sam N. ’24, painted paper collage


Waiting  by: Fernanda P. ‘25

The sun beating on us


While waiting for the special sound


My mom tapping her mug

Impatiently while waiting.


We wait and wait.


Finally a quiet peck,

Then another.


Then a whole chorus

Of the woodpecker,

Pecking our tree


We sit happily

At the thought of

The nice warm day

And the soothing



Ella R. ’23, block print on paper


Fabric by: Afsana D. ’23

I believe

That everyone

Is a unique square of fabric

A 4 by 4 square

No one is more

No one is less.

See the thing about the fabric is,

Everyone’s is different.

Like we are.

Each strand that makes them

Is different.

Some are glowing,

Some are dull.

Some sparkle in the daylight

Others in the moonlight.

Some have images on them

Others don’t.

But lately i’ve noticed something frightening

About these squares;

they’re unraveling.

They’re falling apart.

Either some other squares try

To pull the others strands

Or the squares

Just pull on it themselves

Almost as if

They want to leave.

They want to go.

Some are slowly

Losing their light

Losing the sparkle

That makes them special

Some are getting new strands

That no one’s ever seen before

And no one knows how to deal with it.

We need to look around

With a needle in hand

And help these squares

Get back together

Help them fix things up

We can’t lose them

They may be changing

But they shouldn’t go because of that.

These squares are changing.

The world is too.

I’m keeping up with it.

Are you?

Seamstress by: Afsana D. ’23

I think that

We should all

Be seamstresses.

We should all


The others

We should all

Patch things up

For the better.

I know that I

Am trying to be a seamstress.

But it cannot

Just be me.

The world is changing

There are more colors on the wheel

I may not have one of them

But I want to help those who do.

Make them feel comfortable

In our community

Make them feel included.

These squares are changing.

I’m trying to keep up with it

Will you?


Lucia B. ’25, collage


Where I’m From by: Suka N. ’25

I am from pages from Clorox and Burlington.

I am from bricks and panes, rough and crowded.

It felt like tears, the ones dripping down my cheeks.

I am from the trees, the dirt, the blossoms of life that sit in the ground.

I’m from the prizes and words, from sister to father to brother.

I’m from the television and talking, words of encouragement.

From don’t cry and you will go far.

I am from God and the things that He created.

I am from Nigeria, with the smell of pepper and spice bursting your senses.

From the leaving and the words that were never said.

The stress and pain and tears my family has endured.

I am from the graffiti and the words and pages of life itself.

This is me, the things that make me who I am.

This is me and you can never take that away from me.


Meredith L. ’25, photo

Jasper Q. ’25, paint and paper on canvas

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The Fires Crackle

The Fires Crackle

By: James G. ’24


The fires crackle

In the shackle of moonlight,

Sparks fly in the air.

Eleanor W. ’23 acrylic on canvas

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Welcome to The ARROW – online edition!

Thank you for having a look!  This is the first post of the 2018 Arrow submissions.  We hope you enjoy! There is much more to come!

Where I’m From                                         

                                                                                    by: Ava M. ’25

I am from Sony and Dove

I am from the highest porches,

Calm and cozy

I felt the fresh breeze

I am from the basil plant

The purple plant,

Long and tall

I’m from the present opening and tall people

From Dad, Grandpa George, and Mom

I’m from the Saturday movies and the fancy dressers


From Dance girl, you go!

I’m from Buddhist and Christians

I’m from Canada, Barbados, and NYC

Crepes and rice and beans

From the sweet voice of my mom saying Sit down

The taste of my dad’s food

Pictures in albums on the bookcase

All these pictures tell my story from before I was born to this very moment.


Tyler G. ’24, ceramic

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