Bishop Luers High School - Accolade Yearbook (Fort Wayne, IN)

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ND HE SAW THAT IT To lose a poem That you have written Is to lose a part of you. For, when you write, Your heart and soul Your deepest thoughts Are expressed Thru the pen and paper. And when you lose your poem, You lose a part of you That went into writing it. I know, because you see I lost a part of me. Martha Robbins What Is Now? And w hat is now? Now is the present, they say But to have a present, now must have a past All things in life have a past and a now Do all things have a future? Now is the day, soon a yesterday Now is living, soon to be a past From the beginning of time There has been a now. To make the best of now The future must be planned For tomorrow is yesterday ' s future And today is everyone ' s now. Mary LeeGeones cold! free! feeling great! walking at night to clear my brain fresh air to rid me of those cobwebs all over in my head thoughts now running rampant shouting to be let out to be freed, like me this night I really am alive martha robbins GOOD Love and You Each of us love in his own way We each step to a different drummer The love of greed, the love of life Best of all, the love of man. Each man ' s love to himself alone We can ' t see in his mind To know if his love is selfless Or know if God approves his love. We love the best way we know how As we mature, we should love better But we know this and know full well Love for mankind is beautiful. Mary Lee Geones The notes gently filter through the tired mind. They subdue the busy work that forgets it ' s bedtime. I lose myself — temporarily suspended — in the smooth and steady beat. Guitars, violins, all strings vibrating melody. And when the song is finished the tune remains to orchestrate my dreams. 16 — Janet Gildi

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L a uers ureases h Being you — Makes you so beautiful That just being near you Creates new life in me. It must be love, or — More than just love! But what? Ah, I know. Being you! It ' s real It ' s there And it ' s beautiful. It ' s clean, It ' s pure, It ' s love, In its natural form. Seeing you Being you Makes me want To be me — To love, To be beautiful, To be cleansed By the essence Of being me Which is beautiful . . . Someday We will (each of us) Look over Our shoulders And discover That there Was no jabberwocky Afterall. Vicky Ramirez dandylion a wish for the seniors drift away on the winds across a fertile earth in your natural expression of freedom anonymous The Hardest Battle Lies Within Myself The Little China figure perched on a shelf all emotions neatly painted on I went to touch him and he fell and broke and his split shell betrayed his nothingness Small, fragile containers may never hold Deep and heavy thoughts Mary Farquhar LEAF It took its Time To flutter on down And Be carried in the Wind Like a Helpless Baby child Wrapped up In its Mothers loving arms Carried Far from its starting point To lands Its never known Until It Lightly touches down And Bids the Wind A Subtle, Soft Goodbye With a tiny jerk Of its twisted, fleshy stem dave bergeron 15

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Here And Now My favorite place to be with you is here. My favorite place to be with you is now. Because. although living with memories is nice, creating them is better. Paul Bauman He is a centaur beneath a willow dreaming softly phantasy makes us vulnerable to shooting stars and wishing stars impossible stars that trace their journeys through our hearts and leave us cold or searching, dreamers yet. Vicky Ramirez Smile Like a magnificent white swan moving slowly across the water, let a smile glide upon your face. Seemingly effortless motion dominating the entire scene makes your presence a placid place. Beautifully soft ripples touching an endless destination refreshes things outside your course. The magic of your pleasant smile showing no signs of strain or ending creates a wonderful life source. Paul Bauman What is the Church now — Without a faith to give it existence? A steeple rising from above other man-creations pointing the way to salvation? It was a thing of beauty, once. When its timbers held the one life of many people. Now, only hollow voices echo a faint ghost of what might have been. Jean Knight Cindy Glassley 17