Balmoral Hall School - Optima Anni Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

Page 23 text:

THE HOME The silence hung between them, Filled only by the old, forgotten fingers Of restless colleague constantly thrumming. They all seemed forgotten. Most shared the solitude in silence, With meaningless expressions. Some hung on pleasant for an instant. Some hung on them constantly. Their minds were gray as rain, and as blank. Some paced with defence, While others sat flinching and wary. Some were dwarfed by the size of the great oak chairs On which they sat and pondered. Their blank stares stiffened As a lonesome figure broke the shadows Cast about by the firelight, He had the defiant walk of a hurt, but proud newcomer. The firelight shone full on his thin, bewildered face, Making plain to see, the pale eyes Widened slightly with interest. l-le drew out a book, and sat down to read, Only to glance occasionally at his worn and weary companions. He saw them like the people of a dream, All with the same expressionless masks for faces. Someone patted his hands as they passed. A faint smile passed his lips As he convulsed, in a turmoil of ancient memories, Relaxed, and then lay limp. A last flame was pushed farther into the fire, It flickered for a moment, and then died. It left neither smoke nor ashes, It left not a trace. A lane Lawson Form 2 STUPID Stupid is her name, It seems to fit As I sit And watch her playing games. A paper bag her house, She fights with it Sleeps in it And shares it with a rubber mouse. Stupid is my cat, We have great fun When we run And she stays fluffy and fat. Io an Saunders Form I , Tl-IE WEEK The first day was very dreary, And the symptoms of snow stood clear, We hoped the morrow would brighten And put us in good cheer. The second day was dreadful, The rain kept pouring down, The noise of the falling raindrops, Became a perpetual sound. The third day we awoke to sunshine, With puddles that shimmered like glass, And birds at work pecked the ground, To find some grubs in the grass. The fourth the air was foggy, And nothing could you see, But the mist that hung around, So in the house played we. The fifth the snow did fall And down the snowflakes floated, Faster and faster they fell Until the fields were coated. The sixth the sun came, The snow it was to melt, lt did, but it made puddles, And mud that looked like felt. The seventh, a lovely day, With the sun's beams of light That stretched over hill and dale, Oh what a welcome sight! Moira Cruikshank Form I X if I ground Sou- N-0 reeacr 'WHS souls! as at :Jn :AX e nge X.

Page 22 text:

DEPRESSION My footsteps are unsure, There is no safety I'm the darkness of the alley. My eyes are wary of the lingering shadows, For the unseen, And the unknown, Are the only enemy That I can trust. I was born at the mouth of this crowded filth I will die at its end. Between the two I exist in the silent horror Of the untold ugliness in my fellowmen. But although I have no faith, This lonely life Gives promise of my glorious And continued light. A ray of hope Which I follow, Out of the endless night. Lindy Fotheringham Form 6 THE WONDERING What will you be? Somebody asked me. What will I be? I don't know. Which one shall I choose? It makes me nervous It makes me scared too. But when I bow my head, The horses came racing, racing and racing Then in a flurry Recede again To come racing back And then are washed away. The horses come racing, racing and racing They kick up a huge Head of foam And then they go back To their watery home. The horses come racing, racing and racing Trampling anything In their path, And then they fall back To their cold, salt bath. Leslie Kraft Form 5 So many things in this world And think it over, Well, will I be a nurse? No, I have to serve people. Will I be a doctor? No, I hate to sew people. Will I be a teacher then? No, I hate teaching. Will I be ..... ? NO ....... Will I be ..... ? No ....... I keep questioning myself. But, still I can't find an answer. So, if you ask me again, I'll say, Do you know where you come from? Josephine Yang Form 3 - l I l I'll jus-A' die and p , 'Nun Sosull be 5ov'v-sy H E ..,. I X y , sr , Va NX . ,Aj he l i 1 Nil iii! y 5'-1 'W : ' iieiig-Eli! in

Page 24 text:

THE HOPE Hooded men in robes of white Follow a cross far into the night It blazes brightly, bidding them on But they'll be dispersed before the dawn. Black people all know their fate If they ever encounter these men of hate. Sirens screech and women scream As the blackmen riotg they had a dreamy Shots ring out, piercing the air. They riot on, their feelings bare. Clubbing and looting seems the only way Since that moment in April, that fateful day. Down a sunlit street two children dance They are the hope, they our one chance. This new generation must redress the wrong If the country once more will stand unified, strong. Detached from the anger and hate of the land A black child and a white child skip hand in hand. Allyson Treleaven Form 4 Roqwafe 52:4 GT SPECIAL SECRIFICE A FOX'S TALE A fox, a fox, a quick little fox With silky, flowing, reddish locks, Sensitive brown eyes, alert - shining like crystal Yet so still and cold at the fatal shot of a pistol. Pointed black nose dewy with moisture Blood stains and matting-hardening his fur. Bushy red mass of tail Tossed and torn on body so frail. Just the lone, lone shot of a gun None to know, but a hunter, praising himself in the sun. Little, limp animal lying there so dainty, Blood dripping from auburn hair, Was once alive, alert, and agile Now no longer a part of nature but only awhile, For his surviving young will grow and reproduce more, And the fox might live on forever, because of his young, just as before. After all, a fox kills only to live Offsetting the balance nature givesg A man lives to kill For the sake of his will. And unless Man's inability to preserve nature goes, The fox will be but a memory to his human foes. Mary Martyn Form 4 no r-rxofxni-e.rNb.r'xQe . - , handxi , odju s'l'o.ble.. cgD?x2'5uzs Fjsswn P+o+e' has con'l'o.C,+ J.Y'1Nunn mrs- 5' Bkimel Jr. JC A DEDICATION Once he was a child, alone, wandering, Searching for some form of existence, running Fleeing from the other world, the world of Money, jewels, and hate. . . He left his home: his parents. Alone, so alone, he wandered. Who is he in yonder corner surveying The child. . .the child of hopelessness, The child searching for love. . . Is he coming closer, closer. . .he now speaks to this child. . . conveys information. The child replies, receiving the news with graciousness. The man was kind. The child was able to talk, talk to his motherg he missed her so: he asked himself why he left. But now a bigger desire crossed his mind: The desire for food, friends, companionship Now he had a weapon, a method of survival I-low to apply this instrument of knowledge? He notices a boy, a young man, with a look of love. . .he loves, and the child does not. The child is considering a meal, a friend, Perhaps a trade: the child: his weapon The young man: his money: and so it was. The child was no longer lonely. . .he had a friend- The young man had many friends. . . To them, he informed of his newly acquired weapon. . . and they, they informed others. Little did they realize they could kill with The weapon. . . And so the kill began. . . ever growing. Suddenly, it was halted! Too many have been wounded. . . The young man, his friends, now it is Their time to suffer. . .their weapon became too powerful. Who learns now. . .the young man, his friends, they learn. . .their minds are no Longer dancing or gay: They are broken. But the child, the lonely child, the creator of The weapon, the conveyer of its usage, The tempter of the young man. . .Where is he? He had his meal, and is gone. Laurie Myers