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

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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

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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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CHINAMAN ' S DAUGHTER From the ledge of my window I can see across the street To the steps of the restaurant. A little Chinese girl sits Laundered, folded Neatly upon the steps. Her arms make a ring around her knees. Now she is standing, Taking measured serene steps Towards the curbstone. She wears blue stockings Such as I have not seen upon the children Of this country And her shoes are black and thick To hold her. She picks a piece of paper from the gutter — Strange, it is the same violet as the flowers In her hair. She picked them back behind her father ' s kitchen Where somehow they grow through the grease. Her toothless father raps upon the window Calls — Come in now. You too big to sit on steps at night When I got customer. They notice you. Her longing fingers fashion Shape of freedom bird of violet paper. Coming Papa. Just one minute. With the trust of love Her hands release him to the wind. You too are grown From smallness Little bird, It is time. POEM TO A CHERRY BLOSSOM Does He keep your thoughts, His art Quiescent like a forgotten flower Within my heart? Both blossomed with wanton hope, As a child and rose elope To kiss the celestial thought: Forth from a bud, as if to laugh, And even thus your pastoral epitaph May bloom. Thou may blush For love of God an d life is lush. by Larry Weisz 13E