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Page 107 text:
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ATTESTATION OF A MAJORITY OF ONE When They cries out the need for more, more, more, I count my wealth of family, friends, and happy memories. When They sighs about the insignificance of one short life span, I think of the lifetime I have to rejoice for each day, When They shouts the horrors of war and race riots, and then sits down: I hear the words, Have we not all one father? When They practises free-love and infidelity, I remember the pure true love I share with another. When They wallows in alcohol and drugs as an answer to problems, I give thanks for my help in time of trouble. When They weeps for our decadent society, I whisper the story of hope--the first Christmas. They says that I am too idealistic, I need to open my eyesg I say that I have seen the Light. Kenna Iohns Form '7 CHECK THAT LIST, MYRT The door of the dusty blue car opened and a tall man unfolded himself from it. He took out the car's ashtray and knocked it against the gas pump. Korn chips all you want? llYeah. ll A car hood slammed somewhere. From the darkness of the big garage door appeared the mechanic dressed in greasy green coveralls and wiping his fingers on a piece of old underwear. At the approach of the attendant the gaudy-shirted tourist looked up from his ashtray, D'you have any Korn chips? Nope, sorry, don't carry them kind. Windshield? At this point the mechanic took from his hip pocket another piece of underwear, slightly cleanerg with this he quickly swabbed the windshield. A woman's voice from the ear belatedly shrilled out, Like the ones we got in Vancouver. Oh, yes, Vancouver, says the tourist, Vancouver, lots of interest points there, Yessiree, we couldn't stop long there of course. We've been down through the big timber, Ever seen 'em--like Redwoods. I think I liked them best of all. Gosh, it took us the better part of a day to pass them. I'll take six bags. We need a lot to keep us going the rest of the day. We won't be stopping till IO p.m. 'Bout how far's Lethbridge from here? Mister, I don't carry Korn Chips! Lethbridge's 'bout IW61lty'S6VCIl, twenty-eight miles northwest of here. There was a tone of finality here. Twenty-seven, eh. Got that Myrt -Lethbridge. Myrt pushed two sticky blond children back from the window and retorted, l think we 'did' that place already, dear. I'll check the list. Yeah, daddy that's where they had all those stinky oil wells. Yes, Rick, it's crossed out. We've been north . . . There was something in the expression of the mechanic standing with his arms akimbo that suppressed further utterance from her. The tall man, equally irritated at the idea of having to speed along for the next four hours without food, wedged himself back into the car, slammed the door and revved the motor. Well, must be getting on--have to stick to schedule if we're going to 'do' the provinces in two weeks. The engine roared and the car sped away engulfing the resigned mechanic in a choking cloud of dust, The dust gradually settled and the sun dazzled down strongly as before. The mechanic knowingly peered up the road at the quickly receding car. He said more to himself than to anyone else, You meet a lot of folks like that, 'doing' the provinces in two weeks. They call themselves tourist. They never really get out of their own back yards, Kathleen Proud FOIIT1 9
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Page 106 text:
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REBIRTH The season of rebirth is here, And at this time of year My soul is free, It is restrained by no man-made barriers, But'soars through heaven's heights As a lark in her ethereal castle. And then my soul discovers countless new universes And plummets through these uncharted vistas, I am free, free, free, I rejoice, I laugh, I shout for the worlds to hear, And my echo careens, reverberates from one planet to another. From my pinnacle in space's vacuum, I survey mankind through my cosmic microscope. How petty, trivial, are the worries and conflicts in which he is so engrossed. How ludicrous this miserable vermin appears, I-Iis foibles are the ultimate absurdity. Swarming, teeming bacteria. The season of rebirth is here, And at this time of year My soul is free. Spring zephyrs on a mellow spring day, Balmily blow against my face And stir my dormant winter limbs until The chains, the weights, the agonies that encumbered them Are cast off and fall lifelessly to the ground. Injected with a potent spring tonic, I am free now to fly with the wind, To raise my heart in song to the heavens, To shriek like a madman. I am free now, to lie on the grass in a wooded vale And to smell the good earth, The damp black earth which gives life to the living-- And refuge to the dying. For one fleeting moment I will be free And then, to my cell I will return, To be its inmate, for perhaps all of time. Susan McGruther Form 8 THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER Remember the early misty morns when shadows stretched with gentle touch across us both asleep. Time stood still and waited on us in those days: and nothing feared we in our youth. Remember the golden afternoons warm and lazy, bent o'er coffee cups together. We argued long and sometimes loud but loved the whileg and nothing feared we in our youth. Remember the happy hour we walked hand in hand, across the moonlit sand and laughed. The moon and stars smiled down on us. Time was oursg and nothing feared we in our youth. Two foolish children. We should have known that life waits not- it cannot, must not check its course for any man! How young we were, how much in love! Time slipped away- and took with it our youth and love. Susan Bamber Form I LOVE'S MYSTERY When asked to express her love for him She tried, she honestly attempted: It is sharing everything and more, It is missing him when he's not there: It is being proud of all he doesg It is happiness with streaks of sadnessg It is so very much that It is unexplainable ! But inside she knew. Linda Anne Lauzon Form 7 MEDITATION A breeze murmurs softly in the desert, where the warm sands shift and toss in restless slumber. And there, Far away- - my mind glides aloft with some winged creature, God-sent from the timeless bowers of Paradise. Here lies my body in this human labyrinth-- trapped tight within the curbs of custom and culture-- guarded only by eyes too eager to see, , , lips too quick to destroy. In silence, my heart beats to the flesh, while my mind uncovers long-buried secrets and walks in the paths of Kings. Marjorie Boyce Form 3
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Page 108 text:
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Susan Nicol GOODBYE TO TIM The giant oak cast its massive purple shadow protecting the now shrivelling grass. Cutting its way beneath the shadow slipped the tanned road. Ahead it gradually rose to the crest of a small hill. From this the sun reflected all its strength with a dreadful glare. Through this mass of brilliant yellow two figures appeared. The larger of the two dragged his feet, kicking up great clouds of dust which all but covered the straggling creature behind. Closer, closer, the gap between the coolness of the shadow and the pair closed. Under this protection from the unbearable heat and glare the figures became distinguishable--a small exhausted boy and his aging collie dog. The small face reflected pain as it gazed down into the uplifted brown eyes. l'm sorry we had to walk so far Tim, but we had to get away. Com'on, we'll rest under this tree now. lust look at ya, all caked with dust. People are gonna thinkl never bath ya. Well never mind, just rest now. Together the pair moved to the base of the tree. The boy slumped down and leaned his back against the rough hewn bark. His dog flopped down at his side and lay his drooping head into the small lap. Uncle Andy should 'a never said what he did, Now they'll be sorry. Now we're gone. Don't worry boy, I'll never go back! Well--at lesat not till they promise --the tiny voice quivered, --promise not to shoot you. Anger and frustration rose with sudden gust. The young face showed set lines of determination and rebellion. The once tiny voice rose to a fevered pitch. I won't let them do it! Frail arms flung around the dust caked ruff and the tear stained cheeks disappeared into the mound of fur. There was no response. No flip of the tail, no loving whimper, no flick of the eyebrow. There was nothing. Tim didn't move. He lay still, his quiet head resting in its original position. Realization slowly dawnedg deep, tearing sobs broke forth. Wake up Tim. Please wake up. Oh, Tim, you have to wake up. We have to get going, Com'on boy! The pleas went unanswered. The golden hulk lay still and silent. Gently, very gently, the boy lifted Tim's head and softly laid it in the crushed grass. He slowly rose and dragged himself towards the distant cluster of trees. Shortly he reappeared carrying an armload of wood. Sinking to his knees he began digging with a flat, shovel- like stick. This ritual completed, the boy blinded again by tears stumbled to the side of his beloved dog. Well Tim, he won't shoot you anyways. Here you can sleep in peace and I'll visit you often. The giant oak cast its massive purple shadow protecting the shrivelling grass. Cutting its way beneath the shadow slipped the tanned road, Ahead it gradually rose to the crest of a small hill over which a small figure slumped out of sight. The countryside was still and unchanged except for the small, crude cross which stood beneath the protection of the purple shadowof the giant oak. Karen stood alone, Surrounded by others, Yet somehow -- still alone. Her face, Pinched and white, Held no childish gaiety, Warmth or delight. Any hint of laughter Was hidden behind her sorrow. For she was no one's daughter! She had done this before And would do it again. It was useless Parading with the others Across the floor In front of likely parents. She felt her throat ache. Silently she promised to be good If only someone would take 104 Her for their daughter! THE ORPHAN Form 8 Tears stung her eyes Yet did not fall, While she quietly dreamed For a mama doll, And toys and clothes, And friends and swings, And this and that, So many things -- But most of all A Mom and Dad. She trembled as the tension Mounted -- and broke, When, strangely kind, The Matron's voice Said, Karen -- please stay behind' -- Jane Boorse Form 32
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