Cumnock School - Chronicle Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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L I T E R A T U R E ODE TO A DEAD SOLDIER Ronnie Bamburger They put a gun in your hands And said, Shoot You shot- You who did not wish to kill, Killed. Your mind was full of pictures Of people dying- Those you had killed. You were told to keep on trying- There were more and more To be killed. Your hands that once were rough from sport Were rough with war and hardship: Your body that once was tired from ease Crew tired from never sleepingg Your dreams when you dozed Were tortured with guns and flaming fire- You'd start up screaming Of dug-outs and bodies entangled with wire. They put a gun in an enemy's hands And said shoot , He shot- And now you are dead: You are a hideous mass Of red stained death. You went with a painful sigh, A choking breath And yet- Somehow l know- You were more than glad to go.

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L I T E R A T U R E IVIY PHILOSOPHY IA class assignment, extemporaneously writtenl Suzanne Vidor Anyway, I know I don't want to be the kind of person I am now. If it were possible, l'd like to develop into a composite of all the things I now lack. In the first place, I would like to be strong-strong, not necessarily of mind, but more of will and personality, which may be the same thing, but I doubt it. l'd like to know instinctively the right thing to do at the right time. And it seems to me that could be acquired even though it appears instinctive. I'd like to be more honest, primarily with myself, and of course, with others. Frankness, of course, would go along with honesty. Now I would like to be able to have very high ideals about what I want to be, and how I want to beg but I would like to have the self assurance and perseverance to carry them out. Moreover, I would like to be able to enjoy life more. I would like to throw off a very stupid faculty of making myself unhappy when there is ab- solutely no cause. In all I would like to be able to live fully, honestly, and joyfully with everything in life. Note: This ideal seems to me to be a true picture of what you already are.-H. B. C-OODBYES Ronnie Bamburger I hate goodbyes- They seem so silly, so futile, so sad. They put an end to all the joyous friendship we have had, I hate goodbyes. I hate farewells and tears- And when you go, say not goodbye They seem so tragic, so ending, so mad, just turn away and smile and say, I hate farewells and tears. I know we'll meet again someday - And go. 72

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L I T E R A T U R E BOOKS Pauline Brenner Rather long, thin books, like lean, dried up, thin lipped old men, go about imparting valuable advice to a wayward world. They show us for what pitfalls to keep a watch and what paths to follow on our doubtful journey. Short, finger deep, books are full of beauty and mystery in rhyme. They tell us of the setting sun, the cool, night breezes, and what the birds are thinking of as they swing sunward. They tell of the patter of the rain on the turf and try to give us the meanings back of life. The nice, comfortable-sized books we see every day, every place, are filled with worlds of wonder and delight, mystery, and sorrow that we are constantly meeting in life. For children, the large, heavy, brightly coloured books are everlasting- ly filled with wonder and magic, ln them they find howl the Goldfinch got his colours, how the water gets from the high, rocky caverns to the thirsty valley, and what happens to the Princessess when their father finds their dancing slippers worn thin every morning. The heavy, drab looking volumes on the bookshelf, to oldsters, mean knowledge. These books should be merely tasted, but very often are not even looked at. They are usually used to place small children on dizzy heights to enable them to reach their bread and milk. The new, clean, crisp books, given to one for birthdays are always pleasant, cheerful, and very often uninteresting to read. Read once, they are placed away on a shelf and not given another thought. The ones most cherished are old, musty, and yellow with age. There are sparkling lines filled with lovely, hidden thoughts underlined in pencil and the margin notes are humorous or reflective, depending upon the mean- ing of the passage remarked upon or the state of mind of the reader of long ago. Sometimes these marginal notes tell us a little something of those who perused the pages. The dry, clipped, disapproving notes are written by a tall, thin old maid whose age is indetermiinable, hair is straight, drawn back of her ears, and done in a tight knot. Her face is long, dry, and looks as if it would crack if she smiled. The sarcastic notes that spoil any sweetness in 74