Art And Design High School - Prism Yearbook (New York, NY)

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G FABLE THE TIGER AND THE ZEBRA One afternoon, in the brilliance of the African sun, a zebra trod an unfamiliar path through the underbrush. lncautious and unwary, the striped beast fell into a deep hole, dug by the natives to capture prey. Through the day and deep into the night, the cowering creature lay, alone and frightened. The hole was too high to climb out of. Then, midway through the blackness of the hot evening, a passing tiger chanced to stumble and fall into the same hole. Upon seeing him the zebra cried: Listen my friend, this pit is too high for one to climb out, but I have a plan which may provide for the escape of two. If you were to stand erect against the wall of the pit, and I were to climb upon your massive furry shoulders, l should be able to reach the top. Once out of this accursed pit, l would devise a means by which you could be rescued also. The tiger, ravenous and greedy, thought not of the ingenious plan the zebra had proposed. He thought only of the tender and succulent meal the beast would make. Without further hesitation, he leapt savagely upon his captive companion and swallowed him whole. In the morning, the natives found him, alone and trapped in their pit. Moral: Indulgence leads to disaster: it is far better to exercise self-constraint. LANCE LOVELACE I jf! CREATION SONG Sun clarflyaf Fw'-hr I Ifnfa fvh , beings biiiow iii ii-iidiiigiii air , ' 0 l E' ' - 255- :5.g:5E,.E55::: In midnight, like the black sky and Clouds 'lil' 4 ' I I . . K I ,ff ,nf L. ,QI , poke that gather for the falling flight to ' 15:5 1 !:::E:: blending, from being embedded , , ,,,,i CMS, - I 'T 1 , in Winter, beneath the warm black 5- IF J ll IF: . I .ll-Pj' !-l-ijtlvlf-H-5-211-hi-I lii i I -Q ll 1 al- ' I -i lf fwlzsraga . B B 1 I l -I ii. is . B d 5 b t , ' ' ' bginy Su S ance Hi- SI?IEFI2i ' ' if -' l 'm ' g I IIII1--EFI I 'I - I I1 'I B1 : 1 - 2 'J ' I-! If--I-i--If i fi : S' el .l I . I . I I I ll dlQ- Bl I -I I 4 . 3 gods Cycle io ueusazazess ei -sw -::: nd L, 'i a body bursting from the blue blooming womb. MARC! COMPTON

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Beatrice Heller Marita Neumann Boni Janice Chin Fine N5 351 n e - neen 1 4 frgiiff i i a ea . aiii , , , af .fk jj,g1:- K ' K , I V5 Ami- i, , I , V- . ' ' , ,ujyi V , a Vi it .Wi , f g'1f ff, ,i 'itz V, 4: Lf 7 , Y'-A J 1 - ,. ,S , 1, I ' ,,74, 11.1 m' , K ig ,. 5 Q. Q f If ,A '-,L If g V: 3,6 2. F vii :,, .Va V . fi,,f,- Q55-1 M5 , ' 1' p '35, ,, ij 'Q V 4 Q my 'r' Q f' ,.: ' 'wg H qe,g.:9,,4. ., ff ' 1 L, ,aj I I ' IU. W Q ' f ,QS Zyg, ' Ula J ,Q ,'.,v , ,VL , . W' xiii' W ,ff 'firm X ,r K J, .aff X Elba Montero 170

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THE BALLET SHOES Pale, glowing pink, like Chopinic bleeding bleeding moons, the toe shoes hang on the de- serted bar. They move ever so faintly, swinging on their frail, luminescent ribbons, as if still ani- mated by their wearer's movements of a moment before. They beckon to you, the rose-touched breaths of a sunrise zephyr's calling. You slowly raise your fingers: they are daring you to touch them, mocking you like field butterflies, flitting mirrors of the sunbeams. You blush at your hesi- tation, but like a young girl faltering at her first kiss, there is an awe, an uncertainty of their real- ity in your world, and your validity in theirs that holds you back. Now they seem only refractions of the slanting sunlight on the dancing column of dust that you used to grab at with both hands as a child. Finally, with the sudden determination of a sharply inhaled breath, you touch them. One trembling finger slowly, gently contacts the silken surface .... Ahhhl Like the velvet skin of a blooming rose, like a young egrette's snowflake feathers, like .... But look! Several dusty marks here and here, and there. The tips are quite well worn, revealing a stiff and coarsely woven white fabric. Where the ribbons are sewn, the downy silk has started ravelling, and the lining of the heel is striped with band-aid adhesive. A rusty nail peeps up like a pistol barrel through the narrow sole. Deep inside the toe-is that dull stain- More rust? Or-no, it couldn't be! Blood? Do such delicate, pale, tender things draw blood? WINTER SOLSTICE Icy blue skies contrast white frozen seas. As Children of Light walk among the thrones, purified to view the Virgin receiving the Sun, A sun burst of dead umber, bursting, alive in yellow hue Iof soft melting cosmic light! And trees in white slumber wade through a brewing snow as winter baubles bounce from cold branches . . . and fingers Gently pushing, prodding the warmth, plugging in and keeping into its frozen state . . . a warmth. And Fatherly winds tell Motherly tales and icicles fall from my arms. To see the light between the darkness, to give birth to new times. . . new days Of frosted branches deadened by winter's chill, and white ducks still. . . on the frozen lake fwithin the frosted branches of time.j Being borne up Being drawn out-down New as morning - as in morning As dew - as flower - as winter crystal As sun - Child born - Manchild - thriving. . . . . . It is from your goodness, that l am born. BETH IRWIN Those sounds within the passing tide, and by winter solstice, your birth, Imight pass through its time, in love again . . . with icy blue skies contrasting , g .,., white frozen seas. X ' vflc'4.i f 4 1 D' ' p X C 22.3511 .4 Ag Kg . I X ' X 'Nr Jgspflf. NOTE: The above is a communal poem, by 'Z V - '7 - the Creative Writing class, each line written . -U j f, by a different person, who has not seen the ' L - previous line, or any other part of the poem, f . but only knows the title. O