Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

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Gus Syndusky 13 Indian Portrait 107

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REFLECTIONS FROM A HOSPITAL WINDOW T-JL ' MULE SKINNER John Angel BIRKS Designers and Suppliers of School Insignia PINS — RINGS MEDALS — TROPHIES BLAZER CRESTS CRESTED CHRISTMAS CARDS TWO TORONTO STORES BIRKS JEWELLERS 135 YONGE ST. • 33 BLOOR ST. W. Oshawa and Don Mills Shopping Centres I wonder what he is thinking of . . . sitting there, content, wise-looking, at peace with the world. Comfortably seated on an old time-honoured stool, he breathes rhythmically and smokes his pipe. With each puff, the white smoke curls creatively, fading into the summer quiescence. One long brown arm leans heavily, the hand proudly arched, the fingers stiffly curled about his cane. The other hand caresses his familiar companion, the Pipe, with whom he has conversed many a time in thought. There he squats, watching. The pigeons, greedy fellows, fly when not pur- sued by the neighbour ' s dog, and settle with ruf- fled wing on the lawn, hungrily pursuing tidbits. All the while, each beady eye shines with cautious wariness. The garden is small. Just a patchwork of slow effort; nevertheless, a Lilliputian paradise. Now he rises. The pigeons, of which one is beautifully white, fly, startled. With slow, deliber- ative steps he paces to the screen-door, a frown furrowing deeper upon his ancient features. The screen-door slams with a sharp annoying protest. Seconds later, the pigeons return, continuing their patient persistent search. But the white one has not come back . . . Natalia Cherniak THE STORM It lashes from the sky. It spatters to the ground; It sweeps across the lake Till all is lost in sound. It makes the trees bow down Unto the earth and up; It frolics over mounds Just like a little pup. When all its fury thus is spent. It then goes back to sleep Till it regains its strength To come again and weep. Ross E. Hayhoe 106

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THE SAVAGE AND THE EARTH A savage roamed The untamed plains and hills, A slave to Nature ' s whim. Beneath his feet An undiscovered world Stored riches For the day that he would call. Yet still he roamed, His savage hunger driving him To pass in frantic search The endless sources of his pleasure Hidden by the mind ' s bent corridor. And yet he learned That Fire burned, That Seed would grow, That Winds would blow, — But knew not why. He learned but could not understand. So terror seized his mind. He raised to his Enigmas Images of faith. To question not, but rather to proclaim His own base impotence before Their great Mysterious Force . . . And so again the savage trod The paths of Thoughtlessness. But now a strange call sounded in the mind. The corridor invited ' round its bend. The candle flickered through a mystic dark. The savage stepped to light. And then, before his reasoning The secrets fell. The pounding of his mind On door on door of mystery Destroyed the confines of behef, And now He ran. He roams no more. And to the glory of His mind The towering cities rise. The earth concedes the victory Of element ' gainst element And crushes ' neath His heel. His gathering power sweeps ahead From world to world, proud triumph flies Before Him. Slavery ' s dead. Smashed before the justice of His rise. Man. RODIN John Angel THE ANSWER Winter comes at last, to stay — The white ash of summer. The miracle does cease; Rebirth is not for ever; And the beautious green Does for one final season Flash red and gold and die. Will not blood relieve parched earth? Does no tear fall but freezes? And does each world and thus, A piteous moan to fall Dying in the cold? If flowers grow from seeds. If ever a child is born, If grass grows on graves, If stars shine at night, If spring has come but once, Then God is. — Warren Bourgeois 108