Contoocook Valley Regional High School - Yearbook (Peterborough, NH)

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we are the trench diggers attacking the earth with our puny shovels we are the trench diggers burying ourselves in our work we are alone do not mind the tears it is not for us to decide what our labor should beg when our hearts are suffocated by our brains the sea will wash us away look at me, dear, with your burden I am going to help you and wipe the mud from your face yea, the trench digger will help you as the gravel coats his throat . . . we are no longer digging we are the martyrs of fate you people who walk above us now smell the flowers that spring from our souls smell the lonliness that seeps from our guts Eric Maloney I found a dandilion today Bright and fresh and new. I only wish the rule-makers Could feel its spirit too. It 's hard to understand Why they just can 't see. But I'm far from them now They don 't know what it is to be free. Meg Peterson go d There is a quiet place deep inside me where flowers grow and green plants that don 't have flowers it 's alright not to have flowers i love them as much i understand WI ASW because Meg Peterson it was the letter that never was sent ' ' ' that meant most to our lives it was the thought that was never spoken that best controlled our minds never shall I regret what I am going to do and never shall you knowg don't say harsh words, time allows silence time allows a man to write his Lmwritten will. Eric Maloney Zoma laid her eggs five days ago. She knew it was time. The sun rose early and highg but was soon to set, and low. She lost her taste for flies and life, but kept her web taut. Morning cold was hard. Zorna's motions slowed. I wanted to be with her more, but trivia trapped me. The other day I visited her again. There she lay, in the middle of her web - still. I reached to touch her. She did not move, and I knew she was dead. I thought: when most things are dead they are frightening, but Zorna was beautiful - delicate and sensitive. I realized that there would be other spiders, but none would be the same as Zorna. In spring, Zorna 's spiders would come to life. Many would leave, and many would die. Damn you Nature. But one would remain, and others would die. Damn you Nature. But one would remain and others would come. Life is like that. You get attached to things and then they die or leave. So, you look forward but will always be looking back into the web. Wynn Scott

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X l 1 f X Spring All of us t ' to the sun knowing i l to be the to make d and icy b -X and cause smiles to 5 Meg Peterson I z'- Z ! , x..2 EWS Www WM ff W WW 1

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In the heat of noon I stop and see the trees loom up at me. I turn and look west and see the mountains smile Sunday sacraments have become weekend soap operas for the syphilitic, suburban sinners and the sexton 's sermon is no more than a sanatlve salve for the soul at me. making and mbetween all the supermarket lambs of god Q O Q X! me safe until the next sabbath. 0 , and the trees Ginger Pettee ' and the mountains l is you and you smile at me and say love me. :skis 411.- But l can't because you are between the mountains and the trees and the Sun And You 're Gone - and me. N7 N-M Becky Pens Remember when you ran out in the sun, 1:5-A 'A And laughed and played and life was very good? -'Y'-' - QAAA -M Remember how your day was full of fun, ,Mmm ,,,,-SK-, 'd Your life was yours alone, and so it should? And then your time was used in other ways. N'- - ' -'- ' Your days were not so full of fun and game. The sun was something on which to rest your gaze, Too busy now in search of wealth and fame. f-- By then the peace is made again more slowg fi Now neither work nor play is longer needed. You sit and watch the sun as memories grow, ,fin -- And somehow you may feel that you've been cheated. Our lives begin and end as all things do But what is in the sun belongs to you. An ivory seed of blissful innocence watery vessels of remorse I Q Q I silvery trinkets of happiness a golden weight of saddening wisdom But tokens of life Jazz X Jazz is: a call for one o'clock. 1' Katey Brennan O 5 W ,' 2.5 A 0 g r i 5 ox 4 - . 'Z ,,. 3 ,115 empty glasses on the top of pianos greyhound bus rides. an unexpressed phrase. a jamming reunion. N clubfuls of jerks. feeling occasionally soulful. being sneered at by classical musicians. 1 the studio job that's just around the next corner. i usually being poor. i too much cigarette smoke. l sometimes gratifying. l Mike Wakefield