Bowmanville High School - Screech Owl Yearbook (Bowmanville, Ontario Canada)

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Jumping- Off Place The canoe is repainted some ribs mended paddles fresh-varnished the fire blackened frypan wedged in the bow. Sleeping bags tightly rolled wait by the ripples at the jumping-off place. Tonight we will sleep with stiff shoulders somewhere out there where the pines march sighing into the west. There will be white water snags rocks below the surface mud-slippery portages flies. We will dip our paddles into lost lakes tears of sorrow or joy? Will the sun paint the sky at evening or drop blood red into twisted forests of no return? Might it not be safer to let time refine memory behind closed doors beside a sheltered fireplace? Some of us are not coming this time can we do without J their skill their laughter keen eyes for beauty and danger? You take the stern this trip and I the bow. We'll need more than memories when rivers boil around us. Keep the compass safe the map's not much use At the jumping-off place. Jane Cattran 3B

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2nd Prize Poetry The Lady, the House, the Wall A grand old house that stood behind a wall Of stone, when we were young and liked to play And shout, just caught our fancy, one and all. We jumped and hopped around that Wall all day. Now in this house there lived a kind old soul, She used to give us snacks and watch us foll. Oh yea, we thought that she was really cool! But then her many years just took their toll. Some men with brand new housing plans just bought The fine old house and wall, and that was that. The wrecking crews began to work a lot, And on one day I walked just past this lawn I realized, the house, the wall gone. By Mark Elliott 3B The Black Orchid I lie awake sometimes at night Wondering why I wasn't born white. Black is beautiful, some people say. But from every job I'm turned away. I've gone to college and learned my trade But I'm still called a colored spade . People I meet stop and stare, Call me names - but I don't care. I stand tall among the crowd Black's my colour and I am proud. Terri Embree 1B Mark I went to see Mark today, I felt I should have gone. He might as well have been shackled, With apathy holding the key. The spark in his life Long since extinguished Not by the tears But by the spit. His castrated soul Sleeping now, forever. As I left I smiled at Mark . . . It was all I could do. But why do I feel like a hypocrite? Chris Terhune 3A

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By His Hand When the breakers swelled high and the sands creamed, I watched for him. Winds from nowhere would put the fever in his cheeks as he paused on the beach. Experienced eyes would reach the farthest shore. He would wait for the music as lost as the land that sent it. He would feel it come before it touched his sight. A low tone moving with the waves, but deeper, much deeper. It brushed across his fingers and he understood. Footsteps ran in even lines through handfuls of tiny grains. They opened up to him, layer by layer. He would bend the curves of the sea in his hand, to hide the troubled heart of a single shell in his palm. He would twist and shape the cautious cloud that would never leave him. He would cool the pregnant bank with an aged touch before she turned to catch his eye. He would hurt a child in the strength of his hold to smooth the sand at his feet. He would lose his eyes in the winding rhyme and search for the child he had hurt. When the breakers pulled back and the sands chased warmth, I would leave him. The artist in him would sleep. His hand would be stilled when the colder months left his summer scenes unpainted. But now I watched for the sensitive stoop of the shoulders, the element of searching in the walk, carried by an aging man with the suffering of years directing a painter's hand. Footsteps fill behind in cultured steps as he came closer. Foreign canvas challenged the natural carelessness of the beach. I would not stayd The artist needs the loneliness that urges coloured emotion by his han . Jane Cattran 3B B.H.S. To leave is to remember, With kindness and regret. And always keep the memories, In a place we won't forget. You've always been so good to us, And helped us to abide. You've shared our victories and our loss, Stayed faithful by our side. At times we thought you cruel and mean, And unfair to all of us. But if we could give a mark to you You'd surely get A plus. Kim Burgess 2C