Broad Ripple High School - Riparian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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ON GROWING SHELVES Shelves are just like rabbits ' — they multiply. There is no way to stop them. No matter what you may do. they re as sure as aeath or taxes. They come in all shapes, colors, sizes; and once in a while you rind them hiding under a nom de plume like bric-a-brac stands. We II take an average American home. The Potters have started out simply with rive shelves, classi- fied as such and known as such. Two of the shelves were wedding presents and are gaily decorated with gilt. They repose in the kitchen and are used as holders of string, recipes, baby s rattle. Mr. Potter ' s pipe, and two decayed bon bons. The other shelves are used for books and back issues of Liberty. Then comes the spring. Mrs. Potter decides to try her hand at canning. Two days later there are four more shelves in the basement. Before long they are covered with enough jam and jelly to feed all of the starving Armenians. Then the Potters really go shelf crazy and buy thirteen more shelves. These are scattered through the house. The shelf in the bathroom is covered with old razor blades, seven discarded tootpaste tubes, and a bottle of mouthwash into which the cork has slipped. The shelf in the nursery (a gaudy affair) is replete with two of baby ' s first teeth, one blue ribboned mitten with a piece of caramel in the thumb, and a wheel from the perambulator. This is but a small portion of what is duplicated throughout the house. The last I heard, the Potters were moving out to make room for the shelves. You must realize that this is merely a cross-section of all American homes. There are societies to stamp out war. Why not societies to stamp out shelves? Will we let this evil raise its ugly head in the midst of our American society? Will we? The answer is, we probably will. George Taylor FAREWELL RIPPLE 7. here is a winding river That swiftly flows along— It passes by Broad Ripple High, Far famed in tale and song. You were a little school house once, In days not long gone by— But now you tower with the best. You Grand, Old Ripple High! We 11 ever sing your praises As we pass life ' s way along. For in your buildings are your courts But in our hearts, your throne. Irene Westervelt

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POEMS AFTER SANDBURG ROOFER J. saw a roofer in Harding Street, witn a voice like a fire taking over a forest in October. He pounds on shingles witfi a rnytnm identical to the rhythm of a clock pendulum. Working in the hot summer sun, in the winter ' s cold blast. He goes about his work with a calm, decisive manner. Proud to be creating roofs. Virginia Reese II VEGETABLE MAN J, know an Italian vegetable man at market With a voice like the deep bell notes of the organ at Saint Paul ' s. He sings worship of his vegetables to his customers In the same joyful tones that ring out in the Ave Maria on Sunday morning. His face is that of a man who believes that his vegetables are the most beautiful, the most delicious, the best vegetables ever created by a beneficent God, And who has complete faith that the customers who buy his so-beautiful wares believe in their supe- riority also. Ann Bishop RAGMAN III J, saw a ragman in the alley, with a voice like rumbling thunder disturbing a meditative church service. He expands his chest like a robin in spring and prepares to shout for his daily bread, En -nee— olc ' - ' rags -. His thin stooped shoulders or his claw-like hands cannot hide his sparkling eyes, as a prospective custom- er steps forth with a rusted stove pipe or an armless chair. Mary Evelyn Davis IV CHOIR BOY CZZ know a choir boy from an old church downtown, With a voice as clear as bells in a steeple. He stands tall and unafraid before his beloved audience With the graciousness of Christ before His disciples. His face is that of a little boy glad to be alive. Innocently thankful that there is a God, And radiantly happy to be able to sing about Him. Nancy French

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POEMS IN THE MODERN IDIOM AUTOMATIC FEEDER Vsaw an automatic press feeder. Swiftly doing its work at tfie right moment. Undaunted by tiie mighty power of the press So solemnly thumping and clanking in its rhythmic way. While three shining fingers are bringing in the sheet. Two more steel fingers are placing printed sheets in a pile More neat than ever any man would stack. If the feeder gets out of adjustment, and no man there Has troubled himself to set it right again. Running wild, it covers itself with torn, jammed paper. Resulting in such turmoil that it looks impossible Ever to get it working right again. After some man has erred, has made a mistake. The white of the paper is smudged by the black of the ink. The designer has provided for this emergency By causing a bell to ring whenever it happens. So is the joy of living greyed by regret. Has our Designer some far reaching plan? Are wars, depressions, but the warning bells To tell us when we, human machines, err? David Hyde PERPETUAL MOTION THRESHING MACHINE he roaring, chug chugging, the perpetual motion mechanical giant. Of wheels, and arms, and rods always moving. It belches forth a cloud of dust and chaff; The throb, the heart, the pulse of the monster. Gently it drops a steady stream of golden grain; Opening, closing, rotating, never stopping. monster. Whose insatiable appetite must be appeased By the shocks from the wagon, drawn alongside. More power, more power, more power, repeating; On the go, on the go, on the go, replying; Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up, unceasing; np, .11 r .1 u- f f f f f r- B Y iQ steady rium or trie macrune, Don ' t slack, don t slack, don ' t slack, your working. ,11 r 1 it Like the roar 01 a hungered beast, EI .If... I Ceases only when the bundles become clogged, ach part a dehnite work Each work a definite part Then with a weary sigh. In the puzzle of it all, revolving before me. The great machine becomes quiet. Margaret Stadler Helen Bowen