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
Jack L. ’25
Arjun V. ’25
Ava M. ’25
Alex B. ’25
Brooke M. ’25
DD Q. ’25
Matthew G. ’25
N’Darri P. ’25
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
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.
Endless
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.
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
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.
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
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
Grayscale
by: Afsana ‘D. 23
Complicated
That’s how you describe things
Complicated
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;
Confused
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.
Seen
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
pop!
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.
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
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.
Signed,
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
Haikus:
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
Ourselves
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
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
