Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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POEMS BY SARA HELEN LEE Low Nine. Yearning Ah, God of Poetry, if thou wouldst but give One crystal poem to thy striving slave; That, when I died, it might behind me live, To ease the unkind silence of my grave. One thought to whisper to myself in death, One thought that would redeem my empty life, One thought the world might sigh tuith precious breath, When pausing in the midst of strife. Oh, God of Poetry, I do not ask for fame, I beg of you, one brief, but lasting line Which men will couple with my humble name, One thought, which I may call mine — truly mine. Aspiration I want a house — a friendly house, Where I can hide away. A house to stretch its pine-wood arms In welcome, at close of day. I want a house — a tiny house, Under the sky of blue. I tuant a house that ' s cozy and bright, To tell my secrets to. I ' m tired of the house, Ym living in, With its gray, unfriendly stone I ivant a house, that ' s more than a house — I want a house that ' s a home. Moonlight In the hush of hilltops, Green, with budding grass, I have seen the moon rise, Seen the shadows pass. Seen the willow, loxuly, Bow her shapely head Before an unseen presence, A queen, unheralded. Through the bending rushes, Dim, with silver light, In every dreaming valley Spring has passed tonight. [20]

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They are a bit snobbish and condescending, but they really do make lovely pets. Yes? Perhaps so, but my idea of a dog is one of those bright-eyed, snappy, Boston bulls. They ' re lively, and can be taught tricks. Never could understand why anybody would want one of those beautiful, limp, pepless lap-dogs. But nevertheless, I ' m planning to get one. Gift for my wife. She ' s always wanted one. How much will you charge for it? Twenty-five dollars, and I ' m sure your wife will be delighted with her gift. I hope so, the young man grinned. I guess I may as well take it along now. Do you have a box I can cart him in? Certainly. And may I have your name, please? Brian Norwood. And your address? He gave it, and soon was gone. Miss Porter gazed dreamily out of the window. Mrs. Ruth Norwood bought a Boston bull when she wanted a Pekinese, and Mr. Brian Nor- wood bought a Pekinese when he wanted a Boston bull. Unless I miss my guess those two will be the happiest couple anywhere in this city, regard- less of the hole in their pocketbook, she smiled. Outside, the snow still drifted down and lay in all its shining white- ness on the ground. But the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, as if shining down on an earth which at no time could have been more fair. Peggy Phillips, Low Nine. The Coming of Santa He was so jolly, fat, and gay, His hair was long and very gray. He ' s always adding to the joys, Of all the little girls and boys. The stockings hanging in a row, Filled with goodies top to toe. When finished Santa disappeared , As quickly as he had appeared. The laughter of the girls and boys, Showed they loved their pretty toys. As mother watched, she softly sighed, So glad that they were satisfied. His clothes were of a red so bright, The time went by with lots of fun, With trimmings round the waist, of white. Goodies were there for everyone. His chubby cheek was like a rose, But the day went by all too fast, And from the cold, so was his nose. Because another Christmas had passed. Phyllis Mingham, Low Nine. Come, gather ' round the tree so bright, See all the red and yellow lights. Santa dear, will soon be here, Bringing bags of Christmas cheer. Hear the sleigh bells in the sky, Santa Claus is riding by. Soon he will come dashing through With many lovely things for you. As the children spoke his name, Down the chimney Santa came. He filled their stockings to the brim, While all children stared at him. [19

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POEMS BY JUNE DOWLER Low Nine. Beyond the Hills In a dim, eternal silence of the hour Before the torch of Heaven has been aloft, While gray and gloomy sky threatens To circle all around and crush out the starlight I wish to know what ' s lying there Beneath that quivering star of eve, As it begins to dive into the waves; With pines outlined in black Against the sky, Beyond the hills. The flush of morning floods this gloomy gray. The star has drowned, an overpowering might, But still I think of what must be Beyond the hills. Some voice in many tongues, calls, Calls to me with its beivitching accent. A heavenly gold is luring me to dream And with its lost burnished flame Subjects the farthest hill. This leaping flame bums in my heart And sets alight the fire of all desire Which leaps out to the great unknown, Beyond the hills. Who knotvs but what, love, life, and liberty lie Where the star of eve falls, and a strange voice, calls Beyond the hills? Proserpina Proserpina, oh, spirit of spring! The night has departed, with shadows and stars; The dawn-sky is radiant, the lark-heralds sing; Apollo has broken his cloud-prison bars. Proserpina, hasten, with music and light, A soft rush of fragrance and sunshine and dew I Fly to the old earth and scatter your joy — Hark! for Aurora is calling to you. Proserpina, hasten, oh, spirit of spring, To the hearts of the people and heart of the earth, Bring springtime and joytime, dawn-time and light, And all of thy spirit ' s true gladness and worth. [21]