Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

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Wendy Toronto u)o lotmi 0 ScefiUam No. 1 Pretty pictures on the wall, Dramatic music in the hall, Ah! Life ' s a real Ball — But the ball don ' t bounce! No. 2 Man is man as we all know, A humanist he ' ll never be. Says Freud, it ' s the libido That makes me go and grow. But you and me want to be free. Don ' t want to be told what to know. Damn what they think of our pleas. I was once like you, my boy, Just a stooge! Don ' t worry, boy. Be practical. Here I am waiting and debating The process of dying starts at birth So maybe I ' ll have to wait Before I see the light; And degenerate to the common level To be, at last, right. Myron Zarry 12B Somet t ? JLoui(j d«uj My friend why do you sit in sadness there, And stare at lighted candles in the sky? I pray you come and tell me whence and where The one you loved and cherished so did fly. Abounded by a sea of pitch and gloom. And sheltered not from hail nor rain nor sleet; You sit in silence waiting for your doom. My friend come here the joyous sun to greet. Let not your melancholy shade prevail; Let not your heart be torn in two. So feed your soul with vibrant strength and flee To where you find your spirit can be free. Donald Dunn IIC Tie UcUou I am induced to write poetry. They want originality And I see before me J. Alfred Prufrock. He ' s not mine. But they want originality. So I see Sweat running into Slant, spectre eyes, A lump of ice — Solid substitute for a heart; And what for a bram? Coal? A sponge? Better a rock not to absorb And translate hurt. A dove ' s iridescent back; He belongs to Marianne Moore. I tear myself from knowledge of Real Poets, And I see White-caps rushing home Lemming-like to be repelled Now and always; A cool breeze caressing a fevered cheek, And greenness — sameness oneness And the goat-footed balloon man whistles Far And Wee Lannie Fram 12B 60

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KJkif They say we ' re bad; how do they know? We just live our own lives, but they try to put us down. Why? I don ' t know. We ' re friends with the whites; we ' re friends with the blacks. We only go by what we believe And that ' s what this damned society lacks. They ' re friends to our faces. They talk behind our backs. To the sane ones, they are a disgrace. Those are the bloody facts. Don ' t ask me why. They think they ' re the ones on top: So superior and right If only they knew People talk behind their backs too!! Don ' t ask me why — ask them. Xc(e A colourful valley close by a stream, Illuminated by bright sun beams; God who wanted this haven free Forbade the devil to corrupt the tree; A perfect valley, free from strife — But hold it, man! This ain ' t life! It ' s People killing in God ' s name. People dying for glory and fame; Crosses burning in the night Just to keep America white. Battlefields red with God ' s life gift. Hopeless causes and lives a-drift; People starving day by day. Gluttons eating in the U.S.A. Asians killed with the white H-bomb (Today it ' s slower with Napalm); People sinning every day — Redemption? That ' s the clergy ' s pay. Babies born — baptized in church — Hitler, too, had an innocent birth; White killing White, the Red, now Black, White hands never get paid back. People dying for want of cures. No money for that — it ' s blood that lures — Men are born, live, suffer, die, What does it all signify? Now you ' re talking. This is life. Bert Williams 12B 61