Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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Genesis Part Two A man worked, busily trying to light a small fire in front ofa dismal shack, roughly constructed of twigs and mud. All around to the farthest horizons gleamed small pieces of steel and other metals. These were the last signs of a once great civilization. Now there was nothing, or, at most, very little. The man's name was . . . well, he really didn't have a name. The others called him king , He was of the second generation after the crisis. Since his adolescence. he had rapidly established his supremacy over the tribe. He enjoyed his position and little cared that he had murdered another man in order to gain it. He held great power and all the people around feared him. Only he knew the secret of fire. Not far away was a large black cave. On the inside of the cave some faded scrawlings were painted on the wall with a green dye. They said H2046 . . . the end . Far away was the beginning of another civilization. In contrast, this tribe was peaceful and happy. On a large stone wall near the village a code of laws was heavily etched. The top line ran THOU SHALT NOT KILL . Beside this was written THANK GOD! WE STILL HAVE HOPEP. The sun shone brightly. Michael Smith Peace is the one thing we all need. Not just the peace which comes with the end of war, but peace of mind. Peace is time: time to think, time to love, time to live. Peace is to be able to talk without having to shout above the voices of others. Peace is being young. Peace is being alive and thinking you are going to live forever. Peace is living, really living, not just existing. It is doing what you really want to do the most. Peace is spending a day in the country, away from the hustle and bustle and rat-race of the city. Peace is spending a Sunday in the sun. Peace is listening to the birds and the voices of nature, rather than to the voice of some preacher. Peace is sleeping in the arms of your lover, smelling the sweetness of her hair. feeling her warmth and softness next to you. Peace is being able to speak your mind, and knowing you won't be persecuted for your beliefs. Peace is knowing that your children will have the best you can give them. Peace is Life. Peace is Love. Peace is Death. May you rest in Peace. Geoff Kinnear twenty-seven

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Iwwltuvesix Lord, they hurt me! They are in the way, they are all over. They are too hungry, they are consuming me! l can't do anything any moreg as they come in, they push the door, and the door opens wider. . . Ah, Lord! my door is wide open! I can't stand it any more! lt's too much! lt's no kind of a life! What about my job? My family? My peace? My liberty? And me? Ah, Lord! l have lost everything, l don't belong to myself any longer, There's no more room for me at home. Don't worry, God says, you have gained all. While men came in to you, l, your Father. l, your God, Slipped in among them. The Refugee As the cool, silent breezes beekon to ancient dawn And, up on a mountaintop, a wintry gale moans While the last war cries bitterly once again, reverberating among the dry canyons and dead streams. I wait in frustration. Far, far away from the Fords, Chevrolets and Triumphs, A child's lost, hungry wail echoes from its cave of suffoeation And remains unheeded in these stark and dry riverbeds that will always be soaked in dead dreams ofa past history . . . The tents of refugees shimmer and crumble in the baked valley of stone, devoured by twisting tortured blizzards of Hell, as roaring, scrcechingjets cover and disturb the pounding noisy silence of the last canyon walls, throwing a blazing path of ecstasy, dark trails of crimson, from horizon to horizon and from cliff to cliff. All this lies as a relTection in the mirror of the Book of Reckoning. A cold-blooded trembling rage cxpectantly surges on through the endless hurricanes of time in this rock-strewn desert. . . . l await a resurrection. Anon

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A Definite Lesson There I was eating a mandarin when this purple bug-eyed pot of African violets sat down across from me. I looked at it for half a minute wondering if it was going to attack me. I thought it was rather strange. I mean it just sat there. Didn't do a thing. Just sat there and stared at me. Well I was starting to go nuts. I looked around to see if anybody else was upset about it. No. Not a single raised eyebrow or frown or anything. I looked at it. It looked at me. I frowned at it. It just looked at me. Then it said something. I mean I think it said something. Yes. This horrible, little round ball of purple said something. It said ----- I love you. Beneath Your Sky This is a land of the raging river And the blue wind in the sky And a lonely house beside a lonely shore. This is a land of a thousand sunsets And a thousand ways to cry And a mother singing sweetly as she sweeps. This is a land where the swaying palm trees Tower oier the deep blue sea, And flowers are sucked by the honey bee. And one day when I'm weary and the world is far from me, I'll come back and walk again beneath your sky. Bob Clarke. A Polluted Spring An eerie smog-tinted light illuminates the sky. The purple clouds churn and swell like smoke. The earth is hushed, but the breeze sways the branches in a deceitful calmness. Rolls of thunder drum in the distance. Through the filthy sky a streak of light shatters the startled world. Followed by a crash, rain makes its way through the gloomy stratosphere to clear the intoxicating air. The vicious wind swirls the dead leaves out of its path, whipping branches to distortion. A fork of fire tears the bark from an ancient oak, soon to leave its polluted soil. The supernatural light flickers among the silent trees that are black with man's soot. Rain which had pounded an insane tune can penetrate no more. The thunder thumps no more and all is silent. All men fall to an eternal sleep, never to destroy again. Charles Richmond twen ty-eight