Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

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CREATION MORNING A morning by a small lake Is truly a peaceful time of day. You watch the water Sparkle and glitter, As a gentle summer breeze Tickles the placid surface, Causing small, lazy Ripples of water to lap On the pebbly shore. As you gaze into the misty depths Of the silvery water, You think about life Awakening below the surface. Somewhere along the wooded shore The distinctive song of a single crow Breaks the morning ' s stillness And beautiful quietness. Then, two red squirrels Converse freely, somewhere In the deep green wood. Two sparrows playfully Swoop at each other, Silhouetted by the gentle, blue sky, While the cry of a faraway loon Pierces the silence. All the animals are now awake; It is day. G. Richards 9E HAIKU The old man is dead, The brain ' s senses have expired Under the cold earth. D. York 9E The Wizard stood, and wisely scanned The vast horizons of existence, Stars and vacuum: empty lands Beyond the press of life ' s insistence. And then a notion erossecl KrsyminoL. Create a life in his own fornv Call it man, and in a time fed An untried culture woutel be Born. fTf -l tS £«5uched, Hi ' s mijscles tensed, Their fteYy power, strong ' within, And in a gesture, strength gave vent To man, afjad trave him? earth to spih -... Once round ,He .$$«pf, Hfs arm outstretche And seas and | p« appeared. Again the sw e P, His palm unclenched Tp toOse {foe%e l that life would rear 1 And there i ' stpotl) man: unspoiled yet, ■ ' A virgin seeo 1 in soils of tirt e. He questioned life; with thaMie met The Wizard and pis own design. Sketch and ' text b Sr. floloff 12E UNTITLED An unexpected jolt interrupted the beating rhythm on the tracks and he arose again from his light dozing. Yawning, he let out a satisfied grunt as he re-arranged his bulk on the luxurious seat of the train. Placing his feet on the unoccupied opposite seat, he gazed languidly out the window. Dingy houses rolled by, stacked together like kin- dling wood. In front of each was the same token lawn, nearly bare of grass. The same two-storied houses with clothes-lines, broken windows, rotting wood, unsmiling, dirty children, litter and garbage, all covered with a layer of dust which seemed per- manent, passed across his sight. Different looks came from infants running around in tatters and bent over mothers labouring over laundry in the yards. They all stopped to look up at the passing train. As the train passed into the darkness of a tunnel, he stretched out and tried to sleep. M. Rosseel 11E 79

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SELECTION If death had been a greater joy And seemed eternal bliss Then would the Man who took the world Indeed have come to this? UPON A SKULL An eternal grin spreads Upon your ivory-hewn visage, Your hollow eyes tell much, Yet they tell nothing. You speak no words, And yet you speak incessantly. Men shudder at your sight, But they too shall some day Dream in darkness. How many thoughts have Passed through your Darkened mind? Time has removed your flesh And has left you With your dreams. For dreams die only in those Who never wished to remember. His battles rage, His wartime games Have taken up his soul, To save the lives of gloried few He ' d risk a gory toll. The thought of death just means the end Of life on earth: sad fate .... To think that man is not immune, That death cares not what ' s great. And what is small in life, But strikes with even fist At he who deemed to rule, And that lost in the mist Of glory at his heels. S. Roloff 12E If only I had known you, If only I could see What your eyes have seen, The places you have travelled, And the people you have known. If only I could feel What your heart once felt, The deepest sorrows And countless joys, The loves and the pain. Some day I too shall join The realms in which you dwell, And with unseeing eyes and A silenced tongue, Shall live a thousand Memories. D. Hodge, Grade 13 THE BLACKSMITH His muscles flay the musty air, A hammer pounds the burning steel. So it was; they found him there Unchanged, unmoved, and some could feel Compassion for his strength of mind, Or pity for his simple trust Which put its faith in womankind, And lost the object of its lust His wife had left him for a night To drink and seek a stranger ' s charm. His fury with revengeful might Had done the stranger final harm. So now the law, regretful yet Uncoiled the noose, and hung the man; His face still bore the heavy set Of one who ceased to understand The why, the wherefore of a life And treasures lost in honest strife. S. Roloff 12E

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ADVENTURE IN THE STRATOSPHERE It was 1328 hours, I was up at 40,000 feet in my Spitfire IV, doing my routine patrol. With a faint crackle on the radio, the controller ' s voice was coming in: Watch out for a Jerry patrolling somewhere in your area. I tightened the straps and lowered the seat. With a tingly feeling in my fingers, I released the safety catch from the guns. Up at this altitude, the cold was really frightening, and if it wasn ' t for the pressurized cabin and oxygen, I probably would have frozen. Then I saw him: he was about two miles distant and ap- proaching rapidly. My engine was pulling beautifully and the huge wings bit into the Stratosphere with power. I closed in on him; to my surprise it was a Messerschmitt 1096, equipped with two fat auxiliary tanks under the wings. He shone like a newly minted penny and was camouflaged pale-grey above and sky-blue below. When he saw me, he banked steeply, rolled gently over on his back and dived vertically. Without hesitation I followed him. The Hun made good use of his GM-1 booster and kept his lead. At 27,000 feet my airspeed in- dicator showed my speed at 600 MPH. We still went on down, 15,000 feet, 10,000 feet, and then I fired, just a short burst. The Me 1096 tore in half like tissue paper and then exploded like a grenade. One wing flew off to one side, the engine and half the fuselage went on falling like a torpedo, while debris fluttered in every direction. One of the tanks went spiralling down, leaving behind a trail of burning petrol vapour. At 8,000 feet I straightened out and then landed at base. It was just another mission. D. Tasi 7A BEETHOVEN ' S FIFTH SYMPHONY The warning bell sounds and the whispering conversation, squeaking of chairs and the shuf- fling of feet die down to a hush, tense expectancy. This is the final performance, the one that must be perfect from beginning to end. Eighty-four shirt-sleeved musicians raise their in- struments, softly rechecking their tuning for the fifteenth time, and watch the conductor ' s baton rise and hang poised in readiness. Finally, silence settles over the stage of Boston ' s famed Symphony Hall. Then a red light silently flicks on, the maestro ' s baton is waved and the entire or- chestra plunges into the opening Victory V of Beethoven ' s Fifth Symphony. Flutists blow and violinists bow, the percussionist beats his kettle drums and waves of rich sound spread out through the hall into the balconies and far corner seats. The audience applauds the opening notes. Harps play high, delicate tunes in the background, flutes sharpen the tune and the tuba bellows low base notes. The climax almost shatters the windows and the loudness deafens the maestro when it reveals Beethoven ' s tem- per. Suddenly the music stops and clapping hands applaud the or- chestra and the maestro. The applauding continues while the musicians file off the stage. As it was before, so it is again: the shuffling of feet, the squeaking of chairs and the whispering of conversation. M. Sutherland 8B