The Bush School - Tykoe Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

Page 89 text:

I strove to find musicians, But no one could I see Who might with human hands Produce the etheral melody. Then for some hidden reason The keys would play no more, And the bow of the ghostly cello Lay inanimate on the floor. The reason for the sudden end Was not hard to understand, For the words of a worldly skeptic Had the mysterious music banned. The person who entered the room Could not but perceive That the music was dev'lish trickery Meant only to deceive. He started at the apparitions And calmly, without leave Of the spirits who produced it, Said, I do not believe. ldalice Squire, Senior A QUESTION What does it mean When a sky serene Reigns like a queen O'er the earth below? Why, it's a sign That this heart of mine With joy benign Is aglow. Barbara Peyser, Senior WHAT IS VICTORY? I saw bright colors in the sky Andbwatched the white clouds drifting y. A robin from a dogwood tree Chirped to his mate so tenderly. In peaceful meadows just beyond Two ducks swam on the pond, And while I sat as in a dream My sad thoughts wandered from scene. this I saw a soldier lying dead, A bloody battlefield his bed. If he will not return to me How can there be a victory? Marion PeIIy, Eighth Grade TRIAL BY FIRE The man lay motionless, sweat run- ning off his body and a tense, tight- lipped eager look on his young face. He appeared to be straining to hear something, and occasionally a distant scream of excitement or pain reached his ears, then a still more distant rat- agtat-tat broke the stillness. Sounds like a rivet machine repairing a city street, he thought. He always jumped at these sounds but settled back with a sheepish look on his face. The minutes ticked by unbearably slowly, and his thoughts wandered back -85 to his girl and white-haired mother, who, he knew, were waiting at home. A wave of emotion hit him, which he fought to conceal from his companions. Suddenly he heard a noise like a foot- step on wood or hard-packed dirt. A powerfully built man trotted up, mut- tered a tense Follow me, Jenkins, and went on. The young'man-jumpedrup, muscles tense, waved a quick good-bye to his companions, and was swallowed from sight. The powerfully built man wearily wiped the sweat off his own brow and watched the figure of jenkins disap- pear. That Jenkins is a funny guy, he muttered to his companion. He comes in here every week to lose weight, but when I go get him in the steam room, he decides he's going right home to his girl and mother. Nancy Lee Hanson, Senior A THOUGHT The foundation of a thought is not in the mind But in the heart. Through each ember of emotion It arises. Over the nerves to the brain It travels. In each dark channel of the mind It grows. Through the genius of the human brain It materializes. Beyond materialization of its motive It vanishes. And only as a memory It returns. Mary Ellen Greenfield, Freshman THE BREMERTON NAVY YARD The Bremerton Navy Yard is like a great cauldron always seething and boiling with activity. Crowds stream in the gate, each person a small ingredi- ent working to make the whole con- coction a success. Inside the Yard, the noise is over- whelming. There is the sharp, searing whine of welding that cuts into your nerves like a dentist's drill. There is the deep, muffled beat of the pile- driver thudding like a native drum in the distance, and bells, whistles and sirens sound like a perpetual New Year's celebration. Various types of vehicles are con- tinually rushing everywhere, making the pedestrian's life a nightmareg jeeps bouncing and skidding along like small, playful puppies and large snorting trucks lumbering along like awkward St. Bernards. A giant crane comes creeping along the tracks like a huge

Page 88 text:

keep Mother in anxious misery. His time from dinner to bedtime is spent in the kitchen where he carries on lengthy conversations with our maid. He and she are very attached. In fact, he has attached himself to every maid we ever had, and they too have always fallen for him. Sitting in the living- room we often hear the most intimate family secrets being exposed in his aimless chatter. When it is time to go to bed, he carefully chooses which par- and, after ent is to do the honorsg carefully explaining to the other why he or she has been slighted, he goes contentedly Cin most casesj off to bed. Ruth Helsell, Sophomore THE NIGHT The night is a velvet cloak Spread o'er the sunny sky And held in place with pins of stars Until the dawn is nigh. When finally dawn begins to rise The cloak is swept away And then before our very eyes Is born a brand-new day. Jean Watson, Junior ON BIOLOGY Will the girls in back please be quiet, Screams Mrs. Gall, at the major riot. Today, I'll explain, while you fight and squirm The digestive tract of one angleworm. You've already seen, tho' it seems quite crude, That an amoeba merely flows into its food. Each day we trudge in with books on ' our arm. We look at our victimsg on our faces alarm. There are beetles and bugs and a little pig's heart, With our two little hands we pull them apart. We struggle and ponder over the bee and the bird, What good is all this? I think it's absurd! Josie Kubley, Junior SOPHOMORE Goodbye, goodbye, my sophomore year, Full to the brim with memories dear. Farewell, instructors, tried and true, Sincerest thanks I give to you. Did I annoy you in the past? Please don't let that memory last. Dignified, courteous, charming and sweet, A junior I'll be when next we meet. I hope as a sophomore I wasn't too bad, For a million couldn't buy all the fun I've had. Marjorie Cronkhite, Sophomore lL PENSEROSO With due apology to John Milton, I have written a poem which tries to il- lustrate the conflict between fun and work in a study hall. Hence, all frivolous reading matter, Idle gossip, pleasant chatter, Never let your face be seen Vulgar Cosmopolitan, Modern Screen, For in this silent, hallowed hall, On stately learning I shall call. Goodbye, dear spitballs, hurled at a chum, Farewell, refreshing Wrigley's gum, All spirits of impish sports depart, For now staid knowledge has my heart. Come forth, oh wisdom, let me see, That for which I've given up glee. Do not forget to bring with you Examinations, Mondays blue, And monstrous worry, who doth even creep, Into my dreams and steal sweet sleep. From your dusty, shelves arise, Ye progeny of the old and wise, You books that long have muted lain, Parade before this tortured brain. Tyrannical pedagogues appear, No longer your rods shall I fear. Come laborious hours of toil, Schedules to which one must be loyal. Enter Philosophy and thought, Though I know they'll teach me naught. If from you, wisdom, these I may borrow, Adieul I'm leaving school tomorrow. Betts Hansen, Junior THE ETERNAL WATCH The snow fell, and as it fell A stillness blanketed the village. A stillness so quiet, so breathless That comes only with the snow. In the twilight a slender figure stood, Alone, staring toward the sea. The snow floated about her It settled on her hair, But still she stood, Alone in the quiet. In her eyes shone the brave faith, The love, that lives only in young eyes In wartime. She is not alone. The hush surrounds her, The snow creates a world of her own, She lives in her memories. Midi Sawyer, Senior MINIMIFIDIAN The music echoes through the halls, And through the open door I witnessed such a spectacle As ne'er was seen before. The piano keys were moving And the tone was sweet and mellow. Before my eyes there also played, Without a player, a cello. 84-.

Page 90 text:

black spider ready to pounce upon some unsuspecting victim standing in the way. As the ships come in alongside the docks, the men on deck look like scurrying ants, Sometimes a ship is barely able to make it because of the great jagged holes, like open wounds, in her smooth gray sides. Music is continually playing over loudspeakers, and during the night shifts, the huge, glowing lights and music blaring forth make the whole thing seem like a garish sideshow. When the whistle blows at the end of the shift, the people emerge from the buildings like a flood of water into the streets of the town, but others come in to take their places and the work never stops through day or night. Pat Scherrer, Sophomore TREES Trees, Sharply outlined On the cold clear pink of the early morning sky, Present A silhouette, Black and precise. Caught by their crisp oilcloth beauty And the clear, crystal pink of the skies, I gaze, And think Of the trim Christmas cards With their pink China sky And the cold And the glow of the winter I know, And the trim smooth line Of the trees. Barbara Peyser, S-enior u'0. Salwar ! A A NATIVE RITUAL The sun has melted out of sight And frogs begin to croak. The hush of twilight marks the scene. Where dance the native folk. A blazing fire provides the light And in its rudy glow The whirling, laughing natives Dance, ecstatic, to and fro, The chime and tinkle of tambourine, Drums' syncopated beat, The brassy clang of symbols- To the rhythm of shuffling feet. Dark bodies twisting, turning, Panting, rise and fall, Sleek and glistening with beads of sweat Swaying to the drums' call. The gathered tribesmen, squatting, Chant a weird and dissonant song, Rock to the lethargic music And clap to the primitive gong. Faster, faster, and faster The glistening natives go. Louder, louder, and louder And wilder the songs will grow. For this is a night of feasting The fete of a new-coming moon, So dance to the gutteral music! Chant to the wild drummer's tune! 'Til all on the ground lie prostrate Awaiting the new moon's grace Sleek, wet bodies kneeling Arms skyward with uplifted face. As the new moon slowly drifts forward, They bow in its mystic light. Then black natives march together Into the blacker night. Now she has risen in glory, Gone are the dancing men. The fete of the new moon is over, The forest is quiet again. Janet Lister, Freshman -g6...