Hillcrest High School - Impact Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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First Place - Junior Poetry ELECTION BLUES Again this year from coast to coast, We ' ve had a great contest For the office of Prime Minister And once more we ' ve been blessed With the same unstable government We ' ve had since ' 63, But now our T.V. viewing From campaigning will be free. It was most aggravating Morning, night, and noon, To hear our dear Prime Minister Was promising the moon If we gave him a majority And put an end to strife — Or we ' d see Diefenbaker On the screen as big as life. ODE TO A FAG Or it might be Tommy Douglas, R. Thompson or Caouette, (Instead of Alfred Hitchcock,) Trying votes to get. But now the campaign ' s over, And we can give a cheer, Our viewing will be undisturbed Till next election year. by Lorraine Poapst 10M Have you heard the story of the cancer-stick? You can get the habit very quick. Buy a pack and light one up, Inhale deeply, And man you ' re stuck. You ' II start with one, But before too long, You ' ve got the habit And you ' re smokin ' strong. You ' ll cough, you ' ll wheeze, And your breath will be short, But you ' II take another, To be a sport. You may think it ' s fun And all the rage, But if you want to live To a ripe old age, Drop the weed And kick the habit, Shy from the C-Stick Like a frightened rabbit. by Sheila Kennedy 1 OH 109

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czLiteraru Contest First Place - Senior Poetry GENERATIONS The naked, pink baby meets the dawn With closed eyes and utter dependance On a harsh, realistic world. A tiny seed planted in humanity ' s garden, It matures, and in a green, raging youth It discovers the sun and the rain. Through a burgeoning spring traces of sailboats, Of firemen, of cowboys and Indians, Dance through limbs just strengthening And taking root. Compromising with youth and age, Thoughts turn to friends and enemies, To the oppostie sex, to money, to the infinite School hours that end before appreciated And to summer. Surpassing the agonies of youth comes polished age, And politics, business, insurance, children, The garbage disposal all grey, The thinning hair. And, as a second generation of pink, naked babies Grasps the world, Thoughts turn to chess and grey blankets And old cats and rocking chairs and warm tea And the wrinkled pages of the Bible. Then age closes its eyes To meet the night. by Ji I2G First Place - Senior Prose THE BOOMERANG What is the ultimate goal of mankind? Is it the complete elimination of pov- erty, crime, disease, warfare and all forms of hate, and the subordination of the un- iverse to man ' s control ? Seemingly this would be perfect bl iss, Utopia, but is it? Man was created with a brain, and it is this brain which raises him above the level of the animals. It also makes him the most restless creature in existence. Man must be able to search for goals to which he can aim, for truths which he can apply to life; he must be able to strive forhis own advancement. If and when the Utopia I have described comes into being, the grass will no longer be greener on the other side of the fence, for there will be no more fences to watch with hope and expecta- tion. The human race will become stagnant. In this future era no progress could be made. The lives of all would be totally regulated, and life would be a dull affair with no satisfaction to it. There would be no place for the unusual, the exciting, the variety so necessary for a full life. Such an existence would have been unbearable to a Napoleon or a Richard the Lion-Heart. Is man doomed by his intelligence to become a mere robot? A frightening question to which the future must hold the answer. Yet if that answer is yes, who is there that would dare to wish that man had not been blessed (or cursed) with his in- telligence, had not been endowed with his restless yearning which compels him to search and search and search for the secrets of the universe? Yet for such a relative- ly few years of fleeting brilliance, what price glory. by Bob Wills 1 2H

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First Place - Junior Prose THE BLACK SWAN Only a faint rustle of leaves can be heard as I slip through the dewy foliage. A chickadee sings out welcome to the forest creatures and his voice piercingly echoes against the blue-grey mountain peaks. I can hear the tongues of water licking the musty earth along the river bank and can feel the mist caress my face. The spider spins her web slowly and rhythmically before me. I ' ll pass under the slender bough so as not to mash the silken strands and waste her silver fibres. The river is in my path now and I tend to tread softly lest I break the peace- ful quiet of the dawn . If I dared, I could walk across the stretch of mirror liquid and touch the scarlet limbs of the ancient maple, but I might crease the hazy carpetand end the serene beauty. I sit beside the bank and watch the happy minnows dart beneath the surface world. Then my eyes catch a ripple floating past. Something moving. A faint mel- odic gurgle breaks the stillness. Then a graceful bird slides along the sheet of water. His neck is arched and his feathers quiver in the breeze. It is a blue-black coat that covers his body. He does not notice me for he is edging nearer the shore. Ah, yes. I could touch him now if I did it quickly, but that would ruin this golden moment. In an instant he dives below the surface the waters break a squirrel awakens — -and the sun lifts its face to the world. The mist is gone and the silence broken. The swan appears, glances round , as if to see how he did in waking the world. . .then, satisfied, he turns and disappears into the depths of inky black water. I rise as I hear a cock crow. I wonder if that swan does that every morning? I wonder if he wakes the world??? by Judy Ann Davidson 1 1 D THE FLOWERS Look at the flowers on the hill over there. They are bouncing and swaying without any care, So lovely, so graceful, and so filled with glee. They are dancing and dancing because they are free Free from the heartache and pain and strife That surrounds my world, and fills my life With shadows of gloom, and unbearable sadness, Sadness to know that never again Will the one I love feel sunshine or rain, Or smile or laugh or dance or sing; Never again will she do a thing, For under the earth her body lies, And over her grave the soft wind sighs, And all around her wherever I glance, The little flowers dance and dance. by Kitty Brecker 1 2E 110