The Bush School - Tykoe Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

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LITERAY IMPERIALISTS For dinner there is nothing better, QMuch to his disrnay,J Than himself all baked in butter. Oh! unhappy day! So we'll leave our little friend a- boiling, In his grease so deep. He didn't succeed the axe in foiling, Oh, turkey don't you weep! Ann Denny-Sth Grade 'Feef-the noise a turkey ma-kes when he is hungry. SHOES The cobbler looked at the shoes he had in his hand. They were old fash- ioned ladies' walking shoes with a white kid top trimmed in lace. The heels needed building up. He won- dered who would be wearing a pair of shoes like this in this age. When the shoes were repaired he watched for the person who would call for them. A young girl turned out to be the owner. When the cobbler asked her why she was having them re- paired she said that they were to be the something old in her wedding. It was a custom that had been ob- served since her great-grandmothers time. The next pair of shoes he became interested in was a pair of boots. They were covered with mud and needed polishing and soles. When they were ready he noticed that they were both for the left foot. As it turned out the man had only the left leg and he worked as a surveyor. On his way home the cobbler no- ticed the shoes of the people he saw on the street. The minister's shoes were a little worn at the toe probably from praying. A little boy's were scuffed all over from climbing the cement wall in his school. A woman's pumps, black fthey had once been brownl were the next. She was poor and had to dye them instead of buying lss-A.s.... - . o,,,7.? new ones. Two soldiers in their G.I. boots passed stepping briskly with rhythm. He looked at the shoes of them all. No one could understand why he was a cobbler. It seemed ironical that he should mend shoes because he had no legs. -Diane Halsey-Sophomore A CONVERSATION WITH A MINUTE Tiny, fleeting minute, Scarcely worth this rhyme, Slipping on so swiftly, Through the hands of time, First future, then present, Very soon you're past, Such a flashy fellow, Can nothing make you last? The minute flies by quickly, But much to my surprize, The tick-talk which it gives me, Is extremely wise: Spend my seconds carefully, Later you will find, Some usefulness remains, Though I am far behind. ' -Betts Hansen-Sophomore THE GREAT BLACK OGRE Hopes undone, Words unsaid, Rhymes unwritten, Books unread, Work to finishw Yes, but when? Growing, growing heaps of things, Heaps of things that might have been. And then is born a horrid, crawling thing, That lurking, smirking, skulking black imp, Time. That loathsome murderer of all things good, That watching, waiting, hungry devil, Time.

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78 LITERARY IINIPERIALISTS I watched a plane When years I had gained, A silvery, eagle-winged giant. Its speed and its comfort caused all to commend it, A stream-lined, window clad liner was this- Business it aptly was called. I watched a plane , When conflict had come, An earth-shaking, camouflaged monster. Its power carried fear to enemy nationsg This menacing, ruinous bird of the battle, With Destruction its well-chosen title. I close my eyes, And I watch a plane, A misty obscure apparition. A gun-bearing, hate-wreaking dragon is this? Or a smooth-bodied, friend of the world? I cannot tell its use and description, For 'Future is the name of this plane. -Jana Pratt-Senior GREEN MOSS It was beautiful there beneath the sea. The sun, shining through fathoms of clear green water, played on the schools of tiny, bright-colored fish, and on the larger lazy-moving silver fish. A clipper ship, hardly visible lay buried in the sand, with only the rotted hull and pointed mast dis- cernible. The soft brown wood and white sand were made one by the waving green moss and pink coral covering them. This pleasant place was occasion- ally disturbed by a groping tentacle from behind the fortress of coral which transformed the water into an apparently alien place for all ani- mation. Then back would drift the lazy fish and the moss would stir again. But once, just once, it was more than a hungry sea monster that filled the happy place with terror. It was the monster of man, a great iron devil that belched flashing tubes which swam without fins, but with the speed of light. When the fish at last dared to re- turn to their homes, and the moss to sway again there came through the fathoms of water an exploding, blazing, oil-coated mass of sheered metal that slowly settled down with a deep groan and last sigh, to join the other ship in death. It was long before the moss ven- tured to grow on the monster, but when it did, interesting and appalling things were seen. What were these strange staring creatures with hands grasping at locked doors or caught half way out a jammed porthole? Eventually the grey mass became as natural as the ship of a hundred years ago, and nestled close to it in the friendly sand. The tiny gold fish found a new home in its many in- tricate apartments. The slimy crea- tures finally disappeared, and only a. small white hat was left floating in a half filled chamber. Lovely coral and bright colored fish soon beauti- fied man's destruction and the green moss swayed gently with the tide. -Kay Parker-Sophomore A POETIC ESSAY ON TI-IE TURKEY The turkey is a bird quite rare, He lives in sundry places. His legs and beak are very bare. He's fond of making faces. When hungry he is know to Feef! ' His appetite is big. His favorite vegetable is beef, His favorite meat is fig.

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80 LITERARY IMPERIALISTS He feeds and grows on undone work, On lovely paintings, still in mind, On lilting lines of poetry, Still to one's thoughts confinedg On words unwritten, Thoughts unspoken, Plans unfinished, News unbrokeng And gloating o'er these unborn treasures, Gloating, growing, gorging, swell- ing, Fatt'ning on these unborn treasures Lurks unseen the black imp, Time. But all the same he's looming larger, Gloating, growing, looming larger, While the hopeless mound of futile plans, ideas, hopes of men, Frail ghosts of things that might have been, Moves onward toward eternity, to perish unexpressed. And so the hungry black imp, Time, Devours the hopes and plans of men and fatter grows, Until at last he rears his ugly head And cast's a despot's shadow over all. No longer does he skulk behind the scenes, And nibble, rat-like, at the crumbs that fall, But leering, laughing, seizing what he wants, He turns his naked countenance on earth, And with his ever-growing greed Makes hopeless slaves of men. HBabs Peyser--Junior