Ocean Township High School - Sandpiper Yearbook (Oakhurst, NJ)

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Fairytale Once upon a time I saw in a dream a lone unicorn dancing upon baby's-breath and heather that embroidered a white, marble path leading to a rainbowed sunset at the end of the sea where soft clouds of magical mist rose to the glimmering constellations of Scorpio and Taurus and followed the universe to a fantasy heaven where golden angels bore gifts for the royal lords of paradise, and I lived happily ever after in reality. Joann Huntowski '80 We built castles in the sand, the waves washed them away. We saw castles in the clouds, the wind blew them away. We built castles out of cards, the children knocked them dqwn. We built castles in our minds. 0 x which nobody has found. y Helen Ingraham '80 FANTASY Why He roams free, far from civilization, His jetblack stallion always knowing the way. Sometimes I wish My dream and I follow him, I could just climb on a cloud My snowwhite filly stumbling in his path. And float forever . . . My mind's only thought is on capturing this But just when I get to my cloud, wild creature. I find out it belongs to someone else- . And I fall. My only objective- To tame him, To break his will, To injure his pride, It hurts more to find out That the cloud is taken 31:33:11; cloud- Till he is too weak to fight me. And how much pain must I feel He will be cornered. Before I reach my cloud? He will be caught. Is there even a cloud with my name on it? He will be mastered. Or will I float forever, Without a cloud, or even a person And a cloud with room to share? I will control him, own him, Change him to a meek, crawling ghost of a being, Till he has nothing left to call his own. He will be mine. I will possess him. Loretha Blank '80 Felicia Graff '80 306

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Carol Ann Schiavone t80 Helping Hands Hands outstretched . . . Pleading for help. Hands barely covered with flesh, The flesh covering them, Have marks of youth. Youth that is appalling to view, Yet cannot be ignored. More hands, Filling the bare outstretched ones, with food. The hands are soft, Unmarked Pretty to look at . . . The blind see only these, These graceful hands, with painted fingernails, They do not proclaim, Their cry for help--- Yet whisper it. They ache not, For food to fill their stomachs, But ache from the hunger of loneliness. They reach out, Not merely to help others, But for others, To help them. To fill their gap with warmth. This is the symbionic relationship, It keeps the world from starving. Robin Slutsky '80 Donna Rice '80