Center Point High School - Pointer Yearbook (Center Point, IA)

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Cindy Bauserman I long to be a stone in a mountain stre am, feeling the icy fingers of melted snow flow over me. I long to walk through the clouds, stumbling and falling over large blllowv puffs of softness. I long to sit upon a rosie bl velvet petals. ossom and curl up between its I long to rush on the wind through grasses and trees and feel them ripple and sway with laughter. I long to see you smile just one more time. GREEN Julie Hannen Grass is, Green is the God of the inner earth, filling each plant with life, causing their continuance in the Green sees many happenings through the small eyes of cats. Green is like the Army, cycle. depicted by one person or a thousand, unified, or disconnected. Green is bold as a young soldier, yet soft as a rose petal. Green makes impressions on those who watch it coldly, yet never is overbearing. Green is. Cindy Bauserman A whistle blows, I run to the door But the highest hopes can crash to the floor. Another day has come and passed- that other letter must have been the last. It's only been weeks b t d , u ecades it seems I can imagine their lives, but only as dreams. A spark of joy would quickly ignite, If they'd only take the time to write. WHAT IS A VICTORY? James Hollenbeck Is a victory something like When another army crushes another? Or is it when innocent people Are mutilated and killed? Maybe when two or four million Lives are snuffed out, Like Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Or maybe it's like the charge of the Light Brigade when An army was annihilated. Sometimes victory comes slow Maiming and killing and destroying. Victory is a strange word For annihilation. LAUGHTER Craig James When I laugh, not always is anything funny. Some- times I laugh just to prove to myselfl haven't forgotten how to. IT'S BEEN A LONG DAY Richard Heitman Plop, I failed again Trying to write something One more try, One more cry, And it's empty paper and pen again. I've been sitting and thinking for some time But I can't think of anything to write My grammar is bad My spelling is sad And I can't make any of the words rhyme. I sit down to try once more And fail as I failed before So I give up without anything to say Except what the heck, Itis been a long day. TUESDAY'S RAIN Debbie Andrews Days like today give me an open mind. I always know what I'm trying to find. Time to take a walk And discover my thoughts. To find my true feelings for people And untangle the knots. Just kind of sprinkling, And not too breezy. About the right time to go take it easy, Walking down the road in my tennies, With water squishing through, Thinking about the time, I walked down it with you . . SELFISHNESS Kathy Stauffer I call myself an adult but I act so childish. I tossed him away like garbage because I was finished with him for awhile, But now that someone else wants him. I want to claim him for myself-again.

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THE DUTY OF A NAIL Judy Bauserman The duty of a nail .... infinitestimal. A body long and straight with an eternal head and wicked end. Struck as a sinner to death . . Only then its life begins. A responsibility so large For an object so small. FOREST Craig James Fall has stolen my clothes And I feel bare. Winter dresses me in white But the sun keeps undressing me. Spring is coming, Then I think I shall have a new Wardrobe and Wear it all summer. Kathy Stauffer I used to think God was a king- Sitting on a throne above everyone And Everything. But now I know that he is a king That mingles with the people. PRESENT MOOD Craig James Presently I find myself dull. My eyes are about to fall, as if someone has cut their ropes. Even as I write this, I am struggling try- ing to pull myself out of boredom and back to reality. A GOD FORSAKEN FUTURE Julie Hannen Yes, the brain that thinks out these next few thoughts is transplanted. No, it wasn't rejected by the recipient's body, it retain- ed all knowledge, and yes, it performs normally. There is just one collection of ideas that haunts it. They are the ideas that ran through this brain just before the old man died. In his wake of death, he dreamed he was in a room with doors on all sides. Each door represented happenings in his life. The strange characteristics were that: ll each event was more destructive than the last, and 21 each made the man older. Age is a strange thing, brought on by many such events. Is this brain to be transplanted again and again, only to be moon filled with such haunts as this? Is man, at death, to be cut up and handed out, piece by piece? Does man no longer have dignity in death? News Flash: Joseph Kaborsky, the recipient of a common brain transplant, died today. The cause is unknown. It sounds strange, but doctors say that the brain failed. They are conducting an autopsy to determine the exact cause. His heart, however, was in good condition, so Marie Galsworthy lives today. SECOND LOOK Cindy Bauserman As I crawled from within the void, they took my hands and pull- ed me into their world. I made the transition, marveling at how for- tunate that I be rescued from that nothingness. They proceded to show me the wonders of their world-the pride of their own advanced minds. Now I walked through their streets of ash and rubble infested with vermin and decomposing waste, and I began to wonder-now just how great is this mess to them. So I preceded to plant a small seed amongst the ash and rotting bodies. 'Slowly it pushed its way above the trash, and timidly struggled to survive. As it reached maturity it unfolded into a single tiny white blossom. Suddenly everything stopped, turned, and advanced upon it. Confused, then hostile, they wrenched it up and cast in into the void. I turned and followed it. INCONSISTENCY Richard Heitman Compassion, what a joke A word describing kind Whoever gave the term to man Must have been out of his mind. Man has no kindness He's superior in no way For he kills all animals in the forest He kills himself everyday. Not with guns or swords But with actions and words He will turn around and kick the man behind He will tortune even his own kind. Remember man, make yourself feel strong And remember man, you're hated all along. Maybe someday you will reach hell Where you've always belonged.

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Kathy Stauffer The white clouds have often reached out to me- But I cannot touch them. Nor can I touch the reality of my dreams. Musing Craig James What am I? I am an object. I think of myself as a pebble on a vast desert, Wandering about on a huge vacuum. Was I meant to be? Is the Almighty my creator or am I a mistake of nature's laws? Everything seems so complicated, As if an architect designed me and the world in which I live, I am curious, Like a small child trying to walk and wondering why he can't. I am competitive, Like this child, who will not give up until his goal is reached. If my curiousity fails me and I never find out what I am, I can say I tried, and continue to wonder. But if I succeed, I can rest like an army that is marching home from victory. Julie Hannen These be things I have in me: a mind to solve problems and ponder on happenings, a heart to hurt when no one is here, a pair of eyes to see tears and paing and a soul to live, and feel free to live. THE LOSS Debbie Andrews An abrubt accident Affects abnormal anger, Behind big brother's bandages Bulge bad bruises, Caring catches, Cautious chagrin. Death delivers deplete deprivation, Detracted departed. TREES Cindy Bauserman Implanted Beneath your feet are the untold Stories of decades of Misfortune, yet held among Your ever reach- ing arms are the unwritten ballads of dreams to come. James Hollenbeck I wish people were like bricks In a building. All equal size, shape, and color. All united Forming one. CLOUDS Debbie Andrews A white mass in the sky, Soft as cotton, As if it was a fluffy, fresh Piece of popcorn, Just waiting to melt in Mr. Weather's mouth, So delicate that the sunlight Falls through, And comes down to warm the sky. EARLY SPRING SHOWER Kathy Stauffer The night is especially dark. It's as if an opaque blanket was tossed over the stars and moon. The chilly wind is blowing hard. The bare branches of the trees are swinging back and forth as if they were dan- cing. Then there is a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, followed by the soft droplets of water falling to the ground. THE FLAME Julie Hannen Leaping up into nothing. Cowering back in despair, Never still. Its rings of color, bounce, and jump as if alive, Causing wax to change forms again and again. Burning, burning, until finally extinguished. Only to be lit in a different time and place.