Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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THE Ecnoas 33 Poetics SECOND PRIZE, SENIOR MIDDLE SCHOOL You'd suppose that the ways of writing a poem Would constitute rather a sizeable tome l,There are, in reality, only three, Among you and Shakespeare and Byron and mel. If your poet write with a vacant mind His rhyme comes first, and his thoughts behind. His poems are models of rhythmic patter It's the jingle counts, and not the matter. lf he feels an emotion he longs to express And chooses to rhyme his way to success, Seeking evasive words that lurk In dictionaries, or thoughts - that's Work. But once in an age, this divine innovation - A poet imbued with sublime inspiration Y Snares flying thoughts, like Winging birds, To make them immortal in singing' words. A Il ALAN BROXVN, IYA Academic Taxkf Parody on Masefields Cargoes Dusky, splendid negroes, toiling at a pyramid, Hauling blocks of limestone up the steep sand plane, VVith aching back-bones, Seared by the snake-Whip, Fainting from the heat upon their raw ribs' pain. Daring pioneers that venture out from Old France, Clearing off the forests, seeding virgin land, lVith sharp new axes. Wooden spades, Hintlocks, Crude tools, rough homes carpentered by hand. Sweating, ragged farm boy, drudging 'long a fence lin , I Sizzling in the sun's heat, longing for the shade, Dragging cloddish work boots, Soft hands blistered, Digging dirty burdocks with a dull, bent spade. ALAN BROWN, IV A Academic e ll

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34 THE EcHoEs The Harbotzn' by Night I STAND on the farthermost end of the old east pier. There is a full moon. The wavelets gurgle gently as they playfully seek entrance to the numerous cracks and crannies of the stone wall, or sigh plaintively when they find their meagre strength is not enough. Behind them are countless ranks eager to take their place and pit themselves against the old bulwarl-1. Out at the entrance to the harbour stands the blinking, one-eyed sentinel, veteran of many storms, proudly up- right as if fully aware of the important position he holds. Small sailboats rest at anchor, casting sharply defined shadows on the mirror-like lake. T115 Son! TCJf,J tired to heave herself over the approaching wave, the Josephine sloughed drunkenly through it, gasped, shivered, and cowered from the next. Twenty-two years was a long time for continuous service and the old tug was weary. Toiling, buffeted, dragging loads too heavfv for her old seams, which even now were bursting under the strain, she shoved herself through the water that hung about her like glue. Tired . . . tired . . . tired . . . she reeled under a sudden shock sterner than the rest, dazed, shuddering, she fought for headway, a gaping wound in her side. Slowly, her former boon companion, the sea, dragged her down, heedless of the frantic efforts of the men aboard her to keep it out. She plunged a hundred and fifty feet down the side of a wave, tried to Ni Jyx- X Far over on the beach is the pa- vilion, outlined in pin-points of light, and the faint strains of a waltz, made fairy-like by distance, float out on the tide. Near by, a ghostly skeleton Qa prosaic person would recognize it as the water-slidej rears itself against the sky. It will continue thus until the ferry comes in. Then the radiance of the moon will be eclipsed by artificial light, the soothing music of the wav es will be drowned by a blare of jazz, and Nature relinquishes her brief sovereignty to modern civilization. Is it any improvement, I wonder? CATHARINE WHITE, IC Com. of cz Ship give up the iight, was driven through and up the next, two-thirds under. Were the men off? She could feel the boats being lowered, could hear the shouts of the men, the awful scream- ing of her propellor, momentarily lifted clear of the waves. She was drowning f slowly, slowly, always fighting to free herself of the water, wanting to rest, to be quiet, only for a moment till she caught her breath. Were the men off? Her decks were awash now, but yet she fought, struggling, it seemed, to give her friends time to escape, and ready' aye eager for the plunge. The last boat fought free, and all was quiet on board. Quietly, softly, her stern slithered under the surface and she sank . . . rest at last. ALLAN PARK, IV A Acad. xx Y J' . gf 5, N X fl