London Central Secondary School - Golden Glimpses Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

Page 63 text:

Lemming Finally, I am alone. Just my heart pounding and the occasional Cry of the seagull, Circling overhead. My legs are anchors And I fall onto the beach, Embracing the sand and feeling it Squirming free of my grasp On the retreating swell. The tide is impatient and tugs at my heels. It is almost time! the waves whisper As they gather ' round. I am the last one Upon whom they shall Perform their duties. I see nothing in my Last backwards glance. There is probably only the beach, the dunes, The small square of white Where my wristwatch and glasses lie in carefully-concealed Expectation. I turn. With gleeful anticipation the young waters ease me into their midst. I hear the trumpeting screams of my last conspirator As he weaves above me. And 1 begin all over again. -Xenophon AUBREY BEARDSLEY 1 Aubrey Beardsley set himself down on the edge of a cement tree planter outside the London Life monolith. And as the secretaries swarmed by on their pointy high heels he drew quick sketches of certain faces to be immortalized in the quiet ink whips of his art Subscribers to the Yellow Book would delight in 1896. Andrew Davidson

Page 62 text:

TO NANCY Waiting softly in my memory playing with my mind Coming through with transformation leaving consciousness to find The rippling fading water dabbled upon by someone Seen playing, like a virgin arms wrapped around the sun Won ' t you please tell me why? Cause I want to know the reason she is always there lurking Hidden by the shadows that cross my eyes Rooted deep within her silence I sense the feel of wonder (but her fleeting shadow escapes me) And I ' m lost wonder who she is and shy Obnoxious scenes of turmoil that graced us in the past Waiting, slowly coming then turning on at last To see her golden body resting like a flower But hidden from my view by a timely ageless hour Then it comes into my mind she ' s unreachable forever And I want to draw her to me and touch her but never Never Never hurt her for what ' s lacking is feeling And I see her dimpled softness And what ' s seeing is believing And I love her Doug Agnew And I awake and find myself looking Through the long abandoned thought waves that were spelled out crystal clear upon my wall Waiting for the moment When I realize my conflict and wondering why I waited for the call But it ' s hard to be me As I wander along the railway track hiding from the fears I left in bed And the statue is Apollo And he runs through the graveyard Passing over the long forgotten dead Yes, there are many who have run out of their wits for women and become servants for their sakes. Many have also persisted, have erred, and sinned for women. Oh you men! How can it be but women who are strong, seeing you do this? anonymous

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We had sailed for a long time. Guided by an experienced hand and propelled by a wind impossible to control, we came about into a secluded bay protected on three sides by cliffs of white quartz. The waves had been exciting and we all shared that happy worn feeling that envelopes you after a day in the sun. Those who had worked hard with the tiller and sails, relaxed for the first time and we were free at last to go and explore for ourselves. In the beginning I never thought that we would ever sail together, but he ' d asked me to come when we were sure enough of each other. If we ' d tried a year, or even six months before, it would have been terrible. You really have to know each other well before you can sail together. We rowed lazily away from the big boat and landed our dingy on a rocky shore. Tying it securely so that it would be there on our return, we headed into the woods for the long climb. It was five minutes before we felt the sunshine again. Standing on a rock ledge, we could see from where we had come. Surprising how small the adults and the child in the boat looked. We ' d only been gone a few minutes and yet how far away, how far above them we seemed. The sun was approaching the trees in the west when we reached the top. It had turned golden and the whole forest with it. The islands in the distance were in a green shadow, dark and obsequious. Here and there, a deciduous tree had already turned and the red and yellow splotches were like a warm tear on a perfect cheek. The water, far below us, caressed by a gentle wing, kissed in turn the rocky shores. Blue like no other blue and as deep as we were high, its currents made intricate patterns as they played among the islands. From our height, we could also see the perfect reflection it gave of the white cliffs above. Quartz in the glow of the setting sun is almost too holy for human eyes. So much beauty takes the breath away. But breathe we did; great gulps of pure, clean air that weren ' t enough to satisfy our desire for it. It whistled through our hair and our clothes and made us fairly dance with the joy of it. We stood on the edge of that dizzy cliff and looked down a zillion feet to the tiny sailboat and felt that we, instead of they, could at any moment, sail away. From our vantage point, it seemed we could see a thousand miles and a thousand things we ' d never seen before. Acutely aware of the fact that we were two of perhaps ten people who had ever seen what we were seeing, we felt as if it belonged to us alone, and we to it. We ' d always had enough to eat. Never had there been a lack of care or affection. Never had we been without beds or warm clothes, or even nice clothes. We were too young to have felt the hold of real depression. Too young to have gone sour, we ' d never felt the void of disillusionment or chill of death near at hand. Yet we were old enough. Old enough to have felt the pressure of fast city life, we were aware of its absence here. We were old enough to have learned the ways of our world and old enough to know that this was better. We ' d already had years of science and history. Here on our mountain nothing really seem ' ed to matter but philosophy. If only every embittered old man could spend but one hour atop our mountain. If only every tired woman could stand here a moment with someone she loved. Surely then they could feel beyond them- selves.