For Readers & Writers

List of 2 items.

• "View from Gilley" by Jem B. '21

  Jem is a current Buckley student. He was awarded a silver medal in the National Scholastic Art Awards for his collection of poetry, including this poem.
  
  

  Gilley Field is all that’s left of the canyon 

  now, a close-cropped grass plateau stretching 

  the chasm between a cul de sac of loping hills. 

  On that far side, the exit, the 

  one that doesn’t abut brush, boys gather, 

  savoring the shade, eyes 

  sweeping the empty field faster 

  than they themselves can. Cleats tied tight, 

  they gossip, they joke, they revel in the athleticism 

  of youth, the quickening of their hearts— 

  what they don’t do is look back. Down 

  the hillside, the brush tumbles away and 

  the Valley opens like a lens— 

  and I wonder 

  what these boys would see 

  if they looked past the small canyon before them 

  and into the larger one beyond. Is this aperture 

  just a glimpse back home? Or 

  something greater—a home in the future, a 

  family, a resting place? The 

  world is as large as we want it to be 

  a dark marble in a pocket, or the ebb 

  of coastline, and for these live-in-the-moment boys 

  beside me, it is the span of a soccer field, refracting 

  only the sound of competition in 

  the lazy autumn air. What they see 

  in the Valley is a mystery— 

  time moving forward and yet 

  always remaining at Now 

  All I know is 

  when I look down the Valley 

  I recognize a place I will return to 

  as a grown man—not a home, 

  for home is elsewhere now— 

  but another stop on a journey 

  I haven’t taken yet.

• Poem by Joan Pitcher

  Joan is a grandparent to Meredith W. ’15 and Teagan W. ’18 and a substitute in the Lower School.

  
  I miss Buckley.

  I miss the sound of laughter and the noise,

  The yellow buses chugging through the gates, disgorging girls and boys.

  The morning meetings, sharing thoughts and aims.

  The cheery greetings, caring, playing games, sat in a circle on the rug.

  I miss the chime of happy children’s voices,

  Echoing round the canyon’s grassy walls,

  The tramping feet in corridors and halls.

  Shouts and squeals and laughter, waterfalls of sound.

  I miss the play yard and the climbing frame. 

  The way my heart leaps when I hear my name

  And friends come running, smiling, eyes alight, 

  Full of ideas for games we might enjoy together.

  I miss the teachers, educators, friends, 

  Every day showing us how much they care, 

  Happy to see us there and share their knowledge and understanding.

  I miss PE, the coaches with a smile

  Spurring us on to go that extra mile,

  Shouting encouragement and heaping praise to warm our days.

  I miss the music, orchestra, band, choir

  Driven by  teachers, eager to inspire us with the desire to shine.

  Computers, drama  dancing, science,  art

  All play a part, kindling the joy that fills my heart when I am there.

  I miss the fellowship, the atmosphere, 

  The common sense of purpose that we’re here to learn,

  And grow and find our place in this community,

  My school, my family,

  I miss Buckley.