James Madison High School - Prospectus Yearbook (San Diego, CA)

Page 101 text:

my own pot of gold i was always told that at the end of every rainbow was a pot of gold i have found that every experience i experience, everything i touch see think hear smell say taste learn or dream is in itself a tiny rainbow and each has its own pot of gold that enriches and fullfills my being. Mark Edwards Toni Odorico Creativity 97

Page 100 text:

The purpose of having a Creativity section is to stir the normally placid War- hawk into a frenzy of creative self-expression. The exact number of those thus challenged is not known, but the response was impressive. Those who did not contribute can still enjoy the work of their friends who did. Cries of I never knew Gladys Applebaum could draw!'' can be heard all over the school. The Herman Schlezingers of the world who have waited for years to see their names in print have finally realized their goal. That is not to say the Applebaums and the Schelzingers were the only ones who contributed. Fac- ulty and students alike, from all interests and backgrounds, are represented. It is very regrettable that all the creative work received could not be printed. For example, very special sympathies are extended to Walter Smith, author of the poem ''Ode to a Dog From a Fireplug. This was hilariously funny, but unfortunately unprintable. Once or twice artwork intended for this sec- tion was reclaimed by the artist before it could be photographed for usage. This made things just that much more difficult. The response in the quest for poetry was good, but tended to deal with one of two subjects: teenage love, or something as equally depressing. The Creativity section is made up of the best of these, and those others that were thought-provoking, dif- ferent, or just easy reading. After all, Madison students deserve only the very best... .. .and here it is... 96 Creativity

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I remember leaning against the walls in the empty halls of your house in my backwards T-shirt listening to that big old clock you loved watching your lone fish chase its shadow waiting while writing childish words to you poetry that didn't rhyme feelings I didn't know you would never read never knew wouldn't reach you in time I remember and all the while you lay in that white impersonal cage of pain not knowing I had saved nine more pennies for our collection I missed you for they never told me, they wouldn't, they couldn't say a word I remember though I was young then and those meaningless naiveties are lost I still weep for my only friend, and wisdom and love I remember and cherish all I remember of him and I'm still writing childish words to deaf ears feelings to a long gone wisdom and the clock still ticks in my mind, empty halls still haunt me and not 'tis I chasing my shadow, wishing it to stay behind me so I may forget, but I remember. Rachel Gauntz