Central High School - Cog N Pen Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

Page 29 text:

As usual I went to school That balmy summer’s day, But h ow could I obey the rule And force myself to stay. Then in the middle of my play Within the crowded gym, Myself I softly stole away Without alarming din. I took me to the swimming pool Therein the day to spend, But only myself did I fool, I did not comprehend. The school had seen these tricks before On days of sultry heat, SPRING FEVER The sun is shining brightly, The pretty flowers swaying, The green meadows are sightly, And sleek donkeys are braying. The birds to their mates trilling, The old church bell doth ring, And clerk s forget their billing, For it is known as Spring. The boys are playing marbles, The girls are playing about, While Sister simply marvels, That she is going out. Mother is very tired, And so she takes a nap, Brother has just been fired And calls himself a sap. The day waxes warmer, But still a song is heard. Through the window, dormer, The Spring Song of a bird. CAUGHT So they were on the lookout for Students so indiscreet. Detention room held out its arms, Kindly was I received, I pleasantly was shown the charms, Of all who disbelieved. So now in thought I spend my day Most listlessly and meek, To all in school I must now say Please do not pleasures seek. For you no doubt will find out to be As I had been before, And consequently you will see Just why I now am sore. — Mickey Malkin. FEEDING TIME AT CENTRAL HIGH — Margaret Towey. How our stomachs roll and grumble, As through the halls we dash; And smell sweet essence of cod fish, Or onions in the hash. All eyes gaze clockward anxiously, As we listen in despair To many a long-winded speech; And then rush down the stair. A hurried bound o'er the threshold; Slap-bang each grabs a tray, Cod fish and hash with onions The inner man to stay. K-bang crashes someone's luncheon, A river of soup flows by; Aunt Carrie scolds us shrilly And with the mop does fly. The feeding time now is over; Back to classes we dash, And taste sweet essence of codfish And the onions in the hash. — Esther Yablonsky.

Page 31 text:

JAZZ [his famous jazz that they applaud, These music-makers bring such din, It seems to me, is one big fraud. It sounds as though they're hitting tin. | his jazz, with all its wailing tones, Once more a sad and sweet old tune, Just sends a shudder through our bones. I'd like to hear my mammy croon. [ће blues in which they all delight, My mother, who would often sing, Will some day make my hair grow white. Did teach me songs that mem'ries bring. [he blaring trumpets that resound, That melody will never wane, Remind me of a wailing hound. Till I forget that old refrain. lhe saxophone that loudly whines, [he music that is now the rage, Oft makes me think of sad canines. Will ne'er replace that other age. —Florence Begel. CUPID'S DAY-OFF He went to Cupid’s garden; He gazed into her basket, He wandered o'er the land, He wished he had a taste; The moon was shining brightly ; There sat his lovely charmer He held her little—shawl. . His arm around her—umbrella. Yes, he held her little shawl, Embracing her umbrella, How fast the evening flies! This charming little Miss, ‘They spoke in tones of love; Her eyes so full of mischief, He gazed into her—lunch basket. He slyly stole a—sandwich. —Mary Kula. COMMENCEMENT SONG The day has dawned, the night is nigh, And may we always bring thee fame, Hearts beat happy at Central High, Always deserving to bear thy name! But, sorrow, too, is coupled there, We cannot part without a care; Mother of Wisdom, Minerva fair, Perhaps the tears are shed in gladness, Ripe in knowledge, in judgment rare, Oh, Alma Mater, dispel our sadness! We cannot leave without a throe, To you all that we are we owe; CHORUS And though today our pathway sever, ` We shall remember you forever. So, Central High, we bid adieu, With love still in our hearts for you; —Arthur E. O'Brien.