John Adams High School - Clipper Yearbook (Ozone Park, NY)

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GRIENTAL FANTASY A o 0 by SARAH KISCH Arabia's silver moon illuminated the Sultan's gardens in a most entrancing pattern. Now, low-foliaged trees were whispering to each other. Perhaps they were telling each other of the exquisiteness of the evening, of the beauty, the silver beauty of the moon. Perhaps they were whispering the secrets of the flowers, the secrets of the lily-white lotus flowers. Here, a wind passed, and it seemed as if the trees sighed, a silken, sad, uncertain sigh . Perhaps they were thinking of the lovely prince, so young, so fair, who at evening, would walk through the gardens of the Sultan as if in search of something, or someone . . . There, by the side of the black pool, glimmering jade green some- times, and sometimes silver as the moon fancied . . . sits the comely youth. He gazes upon the whiteness of a lotus flower. Gazing thus, a silken swishing attracts his ear. The sounds are pleasant. They set his every fibre tingling with a strange ecstatic touch. Almost reluctantly, as if he believed that he was dreaming again, he turned and saw Billa Sel. He saw the Princess, real only in his im- agination. He stepped forward. Shyly the Princess retreated. Again he stepped forward. The trees sighed. A sigh, too, escaped from the lips of Billa Sel. With her hand stretched gropingly out, she came towards him. He was real, then, he who was real only in her imagination . . . The moon shone silverly upon the once black pool. It was a round, full, cheerful moon now. Somewhere on its edge, spirits of peace hov- ered, while the wind passed caressingly through the whispering, low- foliaged trees. 7

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not blind. The sweetest words I e'er recall is when the umpire mur- murs, Bawl! Umpire James Kturning slightly crimson about the neckl-Str-i-i-ke tuh! Now try and rhyme that oif! Player Poe- Strike two! Ye Gods! What words are these? That ball would cut a lizard's knees. Umpire James-That'll be about all the poetry today I guess. You're lined ten dollars, young feller. Now try and make a rhyme for that. Player Poe-No line shall ever still my song whene'er a thieving ump is wrong. Pll sing- Umpire James-Yeah! Well, here's another theme to croon about, Mr. Poe. Twenty dollars! Sing something about that. Bawl-l-l-l thre-e-e! Player Poe-Hark! What was that? Ball three? My word! Can this be true that I have heard? But truth prevails with even chumps and even, at times, with baseball umps. Umpire James-Foul-l-l Bawl-l-l-l! Player Poe-Ah, true it is, it was not fair. It bit the grandstand way up there. Umpire James fScowlingJ-Foul-l-l-l Bawl-l-l! Player Poe-Another foul he did not miss! Oh glorious truth, what joy, what bliss! The next ball, too, perhaps he'll trace. And on four balls give me my base. Umpire James Kas vicious line drive strikes near third base foul lineJ- Fowl-l-l-l Bawl-l-l-! Player Poe fin amazement as he returns from first basel-He called it foul! How truth will flit. Right on the line that onion hit. The James boys steal with no remorse-though Jesse always used a horse. Umpire James-Keep right on, Mr. Longfellow! That last poetical in- spiration'l1 cost you twenty dollars more. A-ha! I thought so. That kinda took all the poetry outa you, hey? Player Poe-No cursed pelf my song shall still. With rhythm I will smite that pill. Umpire James lsuspiciouslyl-What was that last crack? If that cursed pelf stuh' means what I think it does after I look it up when I get back to my hotel, it'll cost you fifty dollars, Mr. Tennyson. Now get in there and bat. Stri-i-i-ke thre-e-e-e! ! Heezout ! ! Player Poe-Out! Out you say! Oh, woe and grief! To you porch-climlr ing, wall-eyed thief! If . . . Umpire James froaringl-That'll be enough of poetry, Mr. Poe, it's C Please turn to Page 501 6

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. by Q ELEANOR FITZPATRICK SYMPHONY IN RAIN With the clouds weeping upon me, I was tramping home with no one to accompany me but a straggly black cat. I was taking a short cut, not a very safe trail for a young girl, for it led through a freight yard. But I could see no one, and the place looked perfectly safe. I was nearly through it when the great clouds above me seemed to cry aloud with new anguish, for great sheets of piercing rain fell on my scantily protected shoulders. I glanced around for a port of refuge and was soon sheltered beneath a rude roof with a few pieces of lumber to hold it up. I found, when I entered this place, that I was not the only occupant, for a large mother cat and her family of kittens were all sleeping peace- fully, their steady breathing broken regularly with feline snores. I settled down to wait for some signs of a let-up and, having nothing better to do, gazed somberly at the seemingly endless fall of rain. My eyes were surprised to iind in their line of vision a small bird flying to and fro. When it finally settled on a dry porch somewhere near me, it strangely enough started a gay twitter, at last breaking into song. It was odd to hear it. My ears then caught other sounds. The wind was gently flap- ping a piece of tin back and forth, making it sound like a cymbal. The snores of the sleeping cats sounded something like deep-voiced in- struments, and the rain falling in heavy drops from an electric wire on the roof resembled the steady beat of the drumg the wind softly whining 'round the corner of the shed made an odd sort of music like a flute. Above it all was the strong song of the bird. All keeping time un- cannily, it reminded me of a natural symphony. But alas! The rain ceased, the bird flew, the cats woke, my orchestra vanished, and my fond idea of a symphony in rain was past. 8