Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

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AN OLD WARRIORS LAMENT My aged hand betrays my weariness, And foes cannot be slain with pen nor sword. My heart rejects the call for further battle, I curse this tragedy we march toward... The gallant actions of my reckless youth Hold nothing now but pleasant memories. This quiet cradles me in perfect bliss, No longer plagued like restless Ulysses... why can we not stop this crazy course. Which leads us on the road to dusty death? For Peace supplies the only life worth living. The life which calms the heart with every breath. Chris Thompson HAVE I BEEN DITCHED? At the dinner party laced with wine, I saw you dressed in Inde print most fine. You looked demure, unknown, quite out of place; I broke the silence, started up the chase. We danced that night, your welcome seemed not cool: But I should have known, not played the bloody fool; seen that our fling had reached its natural end - but I went on, though I ' d blown it there and then. For six days after Cupid ' s one-night arrow, I chased you till my heart met up with sorrow. Before a blazing fire on Dineen, You showed me for a fool (and far too keen). But yet the times were happy and well-spent. Although my view turned out to be quite bent, I thank you for revealing my delusion. As friends with pens let ' s sort out this confusion. ELIXIR OF LIFE In Xanadu, the River Alph falls to a sunless sea; and laudanum, my green delight, was what inspired me. Five drops of bliss, of deep repose, were your fine gift to me; gave me the strength to scale the heights, and brought me here to thee, to feast my eyes, with great delight upon shining caves of ice; to view the unknovra splendours of this hidden paradise, to know your ever-present love, to hear your dulcimer; Heaven! glorious Xanadu, where I stay evermore. Yes, I have immortality as Kubla Khan decreed. Yes, I have dined on honey dew, on Youth ' s immortal seed. A thousand years have come and gone but time has passed me by. The pleasure dome, that latent curse has stopped the starlit sky. Though life is lifeless, black despair, your love still comforts me. A flash of hope, love dulls the pain of cold eternity. Chris Thompson Chris Thompson

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0 Sccnc(A Cf ttcC m6 cm cdmcC TVoMieef. He met her on a steel gray Sunday when nothing moves and it is not hard to see oneself as the only living boy in the city: the only one with any hint of colour. She was standing on the rock beach that had been thrown around the sea like a mantle. She was not pretty, too thin, with hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. There were others in the park and on the rocks too; but she alone had any colour. She looked sad and her eyes seemed to reflect a dark emptiness. Paul was not quite sure why he stopped there and sat down on one of the numerous benches, why he stared hardly blinking, why something dragged his mind away from the last night ' s adventures and flooded it with the hues that were her. Really, she was just a rough sketch of a girl, such as an artist might create with a few wide strokes of his pen after dinner while he waited for his coffee. It is strange how, now and then, nature produces such creatures. Her gait had a fascinatingly unexaggerated quality to it which was feminine without being overly sexy. Still, she could not have been more than five feet tall; every now and then she would pick up a handful of pebbles and they would run through her Qngers like so much water. If only she would look over here, Paul wished. I could take her by the hand and we could walk along the beach and hear the lake running up over the rocks and back. We could go home and sit on the floor, on the rug in front of the fire. She would sip wine slowly from a glass with a tall stem. We would talk, just talk, and never would we raise our voices over a whisper. Then, as the night came and the fire died, we would hold each other so close and promise never to let go. A police car raced by, its siren blaring, shattering the dream. Paul stood up, smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes, and started back towards the road, and home. After a few seconds he stopped and looked back at the girl on the beach, glowing as if vdth the subtle hue of life itself, against the gray dullness of the day. A dog started to bark at a squirrel, a child yelled at his mother, two girls giggled at a private joke and she turned and smiled at him. She smiled at him and walked off in the other direction, a big, wide smile, a smile! He had smiled back and the trees became green and the sky turned blue. And, in the distance, the dog gave up its futile chase and trotted quietly off after some invisible trail, its tail wagging happily.

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Jim Lemeric sat at the small table in the kitchen of his West End flat. The early morning sum streamed in through the gritty window onto his face, warming him. Odd utensils and bits of food that had been used and left over in the preparation of his meagre breakfast lay scattered about the kitchen. He was not reading, nor did anything else occupy his at- tention. Staring, he sat motionless, pondering his situation. Where was he going? What remained for him? He had no idea. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew that he mus t release himself from the agonizing boredom which dominated his life. Sunk deep in his chair, legs sprawled before him, he realized that he was only nearing forty, but fen years older. Graying at the temples, his once thick head of hair was now becoming thin and wispy. However, he prided himself on being very basic and down-to-earth, without any sort of vanity: thus it was he made no effort to conceal his baldness. Even in his present state of bhssfulness, there was a certain vitality to the drawn, ex- pressionless face. Eyes still puffy from a bad night ' s sleep, he had not yet shaved or washed, and his ruddy features were trenched with dark lines. Lemeric was a big man. When he was young and in active service, he had a good physique, but lately he had noticed that his once high-riding chest muscles were slipping down to his stomach, turning to fat. Sadly, the start of a paimch had left him unmoved. -« . Lifting his eyes from the floor, he heaved himself from the chair with more emphasis than was needed. What was wrrong vwth him, dammit? He was in a frame of mind that was making him act hke a man years older. Was it self-pity? It had been so long since he had done anything worthwhile. Was he really pitying himself because he had lost his drive and initiative? God dammit! Snap out of it, man! he said aloud. With this he went over to the sink and dashed some ice-cold water on his face. Picking up his tie and jacket, he glanced at his watch and saw that his morning ' s melancholy might cost him £in hour ' s wages if he didn ' t catch the bus. Twenty minutes later he arrived at his office building. Its