Austin High School - Castilleja Yearbook (Austin, NV)

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UNTITLED I went into the war fresh and new and bright as a summer day Full of spirit, and courage, and faith, my hopes were there to stay Or so I believed Like the summer the war drug on and right before my eyes I grew hard and cold and killed numbers untold Like clay that someone buys Into it Autumn of the war I went: my hopes, my dreams all gone This wasn’t what I had waited for! A child's voice in the night screaming Mom And where was she? From the winter of the war I emerged with a storm within my own sea From orders on high I shouted a cry, Oh, please someone save me ! But did they ? Now I am out, out of the war and perhaps just half of me left And like a wilted flower I go I devour like they taught me to in war I'm a person yet sometimes I'd much rather be a rock with no feeling or grace The war has left me a thing without soul A soul that cannot be replaced —Sabrina Gandolfo 8th Grade Spring, 1971 HIGH You go into the Army Stars along the way Selling pure grade Getting higher as you go You're on a cloud You're about to fall off Then you go somewhere You're lying in a bed With a sheet over your head You get put into a box And put into a hole —Melville Easton 7th Grade Spring, 1971

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The function of poetry is sometimes to be ugly rather than beautiful. Poetry as a whole is concerned with all kinds of experience—beautiful or ugly, strange or common, actual or imaginary. Between poetry and other forms of imaginative literature there is no sharp distinction. One may have been taught to believe that poetry can be recognized by the arrangement of its lines on the page or by its use of rhyme and meter. Such superficial tests are almost worthless. The difference between poetry and other literature is one only of degree Poetry is the most condensed and concentrated form of literature, saying most in the fewest number of words. WHY THEN ARE YOU HERE? You're sitting in your army tent Left alone with your thoughts Mines exploding around you You can't think One of the explosions Pierced your hide Left you bloody and swollen Hurt and almost dead Why then are you here ? Wars don't prove anything So you were inducted—Big Deal They don't care So look at the fringe benefits you get, When you’re out IF you ever get out Alive Freedom is promised to you You get almost decent pay But will you live? Why then are you here ? —Warren Woods 8th Grade Spring, 1971 UNTITLED He saw it happening, He knew it was wrong, He didn't like it But he went along. It's purpose was noble It's intent was good It's accomplishments nothing, While it's failure stood. He watched it develop. He watched it grow; All was turmoil Why, no one seemed to know. He saw it happening, He knew it was wrong. He didn't like it But he went along. —Kyle Farr 8th Grade Spring, 1971

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THE AXE SWINGS But I didn't do it! said the boy to the judge. Son, how do I know that?” Can’t you see, I'm innocent. I didn't kill nobody. I ain't the kind of guy who would do that, the boy sulked. Take him to the guardhouse. Three large men obeyed the order and carried the hysterical boy away. As he was going out ot the door he could hear the judge saying, Two days from now he will be beheaded. The boy was thinking to himself, Why am I in this rat infested place? I didn't do a damn thing wrong and they all know it. I'm going to prove it. The boy started screaming, Let me alone. Get me outa' here. I'll kill all of you niggers, you black suckers. The guards shrugged and hit him a few times. Time was getting short. He had one day to live. Soon he would be putting his head upon the chopping block to be cut off. He had half a day to live. Soon it was time to put his head down on the block. His hands were tied around his back. He had to kneel down. When they asked him if he had anything to say, he said, Yea, let me talk. I didn't hurt no one rather than kill 'um. I just pray for one thing—that your souls all rot in hell. With that the axe fell. It fell slowly at first but picked up speed. Soon a sickening crunch was heard when the axe hit the bone. Blood splattered all over. When the executors looked they were amazed at what they saw. The axe missed the mark and had cut about half down the face. The man was still alive. He lived long enough to give one long, high pitched scream. —Warren Woods 8th Grade Spring, 1971