Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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The Mirror CYCLE CLOUDS The clouds. At birth of morn and start of night. Arc then in their liveliest hues Bedight. Andrew Hollingsworth ------1)----- MUSIC Music—soft sweet sounds. Like flowing notes from heaven. Fall upon our ears at morning. The day’s at peace. Ray Dunmver ------o------ POETRY Poetry is like a song Of beautiful words, With a melody That sways to the rhythm of love. Claremont Bowers ------o------ DREAMS Sleep, sleep In the wee hours of the morn. And dream dreams of the early day In your Arcadia. Lycurgus Tsimpides ------o------ THE CYCLE The haze slowly changes from sunset to star; The sun returns from whence it came; The evening with rose and silver hue, Awakes in morning light and flame. [15] Carolyn Scott

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T ii k Mirror THE GLORY OF THE NIGHT One cold December night, I stole from my cozy bed to behold the glory of the world. Stillness prevailed over the sleeping village; and I was alone with the shining stars and the black shadows of earth. Faint echoes of hooting owls came from distant woods and whispers of the hushed wind blew through the trees—all of which created within me a new sensation that lifted me above and beyond the village. In the language of the poet, I felt the presence of “God s World”. —Frances Bailey -------o------ THE FIRST AUTUMN DAY Today is the first day of autumn, yet I feel just as I did yesterday. There is a friendly warmth in the late summer breezes. The sun has a deeper brightness and casts a golden gldw over everything. This is a perfect day for a walk in the country. I shall go down the road that I found this summer. It is shady and cool with the trees lined along each side. Oh, how good it is to be alive today I Can this be the road? It winds crazily around the bend; and there is the old oak tree, but its leaves are brown and falling in piles around the trunks. It must be but it is not shady; the sun beats down indifferently through the plucked boughs, and there arc no birds. Oh-h, what a wind! And there goes my hat— will it ever stop? Oh, 1 am out of breath. I shall sit on this fence to rest. The sheaves of wheat are beautiful. Thc always remind me of bronzed snowmen. Oh, what a funny little squirrel. And what a big nut he has! 1 should like to have him for my very own. How quickly he scampers up the rough oak. He must be storing food for winter—but winter is so far away! The sun is slipping behind the hills already. There is a biting tang in the air, and the wind tccls sharp, whipping my skirt about my knees. Ah, how good the warm log fire will feel! —Jean Fugitt SIGNALS Look! On yonder hill there appears a great puff of white smoke which looks like a signal. It is! The smoke shining in its haze of light is spectacular and significant. A breeze gently blowing makes the smoke spread out and float in different directions. All is calm, not a sound is heard. The smoke, which was visible a moment ago, has completely disappeared. A code has sent a message many miles away. A signal has been received. A signal brings with it relief, the relief of knowing something clear and dear to oneself. It gives calm—“the calm of understanding”. —Nathan Thacker [14]

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T 11 h Mirror PEACE PLACE vs. WAR White doves, On trees in bloom, Are breathing songs of peace, While vultures ravenous on ground Feed on war. Robert Wheeler -------o------ A CRY A future full of mystery and uncertainty— Darkness—and what does it hold for youth? Signs of war. And youth. Like infants afraid of the dark, Cry aloud in fear. Could we if we would Give them peace? Helen Foust TRENCHES Dawn lights The zero hour. The sergeant’s whistle blows; “Over the top,” he cries. They hear; They die! De Witt Bell ------o------ NIGHT RAID Lights Out! The sounds of planes— People fly for cover! Falling bombs roar down from above— Night Raid! [16J Dc Witt Bell