Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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28 THE PILGRIM Junior Poetry Page 'IIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllllIllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllIIUIIIIllllllIllllllllIIIIII!IIIIIIIIIIIlllllllllllllIllllllilllllllllllllllllIIlllllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIZIIIIIIIIIIllllllIIIIllIIIIIllIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllllllb TREES 2 VOLCANO 5 fWith apologies to Joyce Kilmerj E Sultry, sullen, E I think that I shall never see E Grumbling, roaring, E A sight more wretched than a tree. E A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed 2 With signs of, 'tHomer's Tourist Rest g 5 A tree who looks at cars all day 2 And shouts, Good eats one mile away , 5 A tree that may in summer wear 5 Garage signs-some here, some there, 2 Upon whose bosom snow has lain E Above the carving, Tom loves Janef' E Signs are nailed by fools like me, ij But only God can make a tree. g Boiling and seething- , E Smoking, furious, 5 Mad with power, E A raging beast-impri-soned- E Steaming with rage g Until it is loose. E Then it crawls down the crater side, E Like many serpents, ' 5 Writhing, stealing ever closer E Upon the sleeping village E At its side. 25' It envelops everything in lava- E Like the sinister potent of an evil witch 2 Pleased with destructiong g Bubbling with pleasure, it hesitates, E And cools to a hard black crust, E Which hides from the view of man g The evil Work. E Elizabeth Anderson E Eileen Payson E .IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIQLIIIIKIIIIIIlIIIIIIHIHIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIllIIIIlIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIVIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIllllIIIIllIIIIIlIIIIIIIIIllIllIIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE 5 ANGLING E E A summer day, a rod and line, a dozen hooks E Q or so E g A can of bait. With all these things, guess 5 E where a boy would go! E .ng No other sport could equal itg and what more Q E would you wish E ' Than just to go to Riley's Pond to spend the 5 E day and fish? E R E I like to sit upon the bank, as quiet as can be. E Q And watch the water smooth and still, until a Q 5 sign I see E 5 That means I have a bite, and then, of course, E E I pull the line Q 3 And catch a Blue Gill or a whale-or maybe g E eight or nine. f E There is no joy like fishing on a sunny sum- E E mer's day, E Q To take your rod and line and hook, and pass Q E 4 the hours away - E And think of only pleasant things, with all your E E worries gone. - Say, get your old straw hat, I'm goin' fishin', E 5 boys, come on! n Vernon Kirkey 'IIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIlllllIIIIIIIIIIllIIIIIIIIllllllllllIlllilIUlllilIlilllILLIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllllllIllllIIIIIIIIIKIIIIIIIIIIllIIllIIIl-EllIII!llllIllllIIllllIIlllIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIQ E TO A FARMER E Scurrying madly through the streets, E As bees drone to their hive, 5 Onward in the scorching heat E To a day behind factory walls- 5 And you, farmer, are not satisfied. E Yours is the quiet peaceful life :Q With the sun the stars the sk ... s 1 yn' E You do not know the laborer's strife E Nor long hours behind grim walls, 3 And yet, you are not satisfied. : Yours is the kind of life- , 3 Utopia come true, - Your days with nature all are spent, E Your love of man will never die, 5 E Oh, farmer, do you wonder why?-we envy you. E E Florence Canucci R .4 FLOOD ' E Swirling waters, black and swelling, S Drifting wreckage-some man's dwellingg E Shrieking wind, bleak and blowing, 5 Angry river banks o'erflowingg E Quaking people, sick with dread, E Floating bodies, cold and dead, E Blazing fires red and flaming, ig Disease and illness death proclaimingg E Human sufering, pain, and blood,- 5 All are caused by a river's flood. E Jeanette Hatton ,, gilllllllIIIIIIKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllIllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllllIIIZJIIIIIIIIIIIIIJIIIEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKIIIllllllllllllllIllllllllllllllllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIF

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THE PILGRIM 27 iii ls W I-IURRAH! A HOLIDAY! AS the years roll on, our great holi- days, both national and interna- tional, are gradually losing their mean- ing. The significance of each holiday is being obscured in a morass of celebra- tion. To the schoolboy, a holiday is a glad- some event, mainly because that day is one on which he may escape from school and amuse himself as he pleases. To the worker, a holiday means a few mo- ments of surcease from toil and care. To the housewife and moth-er, alas, a holi- day is not a day of rejoicing, but of work. Usually she must prepare a hearty meal whiile attempting to sub- due exuberant childish spirits. One of the holiday attractions is the creaking festive board. Our principal holidays are almost entirely celebrated with large dinners. In fact, Thanks- giving is looked forward to mostly be- cause of the noble turkey. The custom of eating a lavish meal originated with the Pilgrims, but the thankfulness of our forefathers is forgotten when we plunge into the festivities. Christmas, originally the most solemn celebration of the Christian world, has degenerated into an orgy of gift-giving. The children of today first associate Christmas with the mythical figure of Santa Claus. The presentation of gifts has its association with the first Christ- mas, however, presents are now the major part of our greatest holiday. Somehow, in the mad rush of a depart- ment store at Christmas time, one sees only a mob of avid shoppers hastening to comiplete a disagreeable task as soon as possible. The Christmas gift should satisfy a long-felt Want and should be given selflessly. Too often, he who gives the present merely proposes to surpass the gift which he hopes to receive in return. While the store-made Christmas is very lovely, the home-made Christmas is often more satisfying. Althougwh we still sing carols and somewhat retain the spirit of good-will, the true significance of Christmas has been lost. In the hustle and bustle of the modern world, we find less and less time to devote to sentiment. Surely this day of the year should be commemorated as well as celebrated. On Easter Sunday, a day celebrated throughout the world as a holy day, thousands of Women who do not regu- larly attend church, come to services. The majority of these women come, not because they feel any speoial significance in that day, but because they want to exhibit a new spring ensemble. Chill winter winds may blow, yet only a bliz- zard can prevent the fashion parade be- fore and after services. The choir may sing with the sweetness of angels, the organ may whisper or thunder its ex- ultation, the minister may rise to the pinnacle of eloquence, but all to often Mrs. Smith is distracted by the fact that Mrs. Jones is arrayed in a hat iden- tical to th-at one which she hers-elf wears. Perhaps Memomorial Day is commem- orated with more authentic emotion than any other holiday. Yet, even on the day reserved for urs to reverence the memory of our soldiers, some thought- less individuals consider the time ap- propriate for packing a picnic basket and going for a ride. It is not necessary that one be prig- gish or unduly solemn in the celebration of holidays. However, somehow the spirit with which our forefathers in- tended the holidays to be invested, has been almost submerged by the material 6l6IT19I'1itS. PHYLLIS JOHNSON '37 A WOODLAND RETREAT 'Neath hooded trees of solemn mien, Through aisles unmarked by human tread, I passed alone. That sylvan scene Will long be one I may recall When thinking of what might have been. In calm profound the still retreat Seemed e'er to echo every step As I advanced with eager feet. I was a mere intruder there So far from noise and busy street. The inspirational appeal Of woodlands clad in wintry garb Is something one cannot but feel. The silence and the church-like air Make worldly troubles seem unreal. Thelma Bentley '37

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THE PILGRIM 29 WHAT LUCK, UNCLE? 'HNCLE LETHER sat on a downtown street corner. In his hand he held a sheaf of pencils and a tin cup, the latter for the con- venience of the purchasers of the former, and on his knees he held Sorrowful Susie, a dilapi- dated accordian. It was more through Sorrow- ful Susie that he earned a living than through the pencils, for, after all, pencils are only a commodity that one can buy almost anywhere, whereas Sorrowful Susie advertised Uncle Lether at least a block off, and when the traf- fic was light, two blocks. There were no business opportunities for Uncle Le-ther's kind, but on a busy street cor- ner, sitting on a camp stool with the whining of Sorrowfull Susie to attract attention, he managed to earn a living of sorts from Mobile's kind-hearted public. It was of necessity a hand-to-mouth existence. Changes of season were propitious because the people discarded certain clothes and assumed certain others, and regular patrons were likely to drop a bun- dle of wearables alongside Uncle Lether's camp stool. But dependence on the public was a pre- carious thing. Happily, life and experience had made of Uncle Lether a philosopher, if not a stoic. Years of ploughing and spading under semi-tropical sky, of struggle against the in- imical forces of nature and of life had bred in him endurance. He bore the fogs of early win- ter and dampness of early spring, showers and downpours, humidity and drouths, sunlight and thunderstorm. Sometimes when the sun grow hot, he shifted his stool to a shady spot. When it rained, he let it rain on him, unless the downpour became too great. Then he would retire to a convenient entry or portico, where he would efface himself humbly against a wall. Uncle Lether brought Sorrowful Susie's whine to a creaking halt and looked into the tin cup. He shook it and counted his earnings despond- ently. It was five 0'clock in the afternoon and the number of pencils had barely decreased that day. Spec folks don' wan' buy pencils Chris'- mus Eve, he told himself, apologizing for his negligent public. Got dere min's busy some- whar's else. Christmas had been hard on Uncle Lether. Crowds were thicker and more hurried and more careless. Sometimes people stepped on Uncle Lether's feet and jostled his stool almost from under him. He had to guard Sorrowful Susie carefully, too, because dam- age to Sorrowful Su-sie would be a tragedy for her owner. Darkness comes easily in midwinter, even to Mobile. A dinginess fell upon the streets, footsteps quickened, here and there a light twinkled. Soon it would be dark and there was slight chance of Sorrowful Susie's at- tracting any trade after nightfall, even if Uncle Lether's aching old body could hold out longer. He sighed and braced himself for a final effort. One more tune from Sorrowfull Susie and then he'd go home. He coaxed a whine gently from her shabby and faded folds. His old tired voice rose quaveringly in earnest strains against Susie's moan. No clink of coin cheered his ear, however, so he rose reluct- antly and prepared to close up his business for the day. A han-dsome limousine slowed up by traffic droned at the corner and its occupant, looking out lanquidly, saw the old man. The despondent figure held the observer's eye. Uncle Lether saw the splendid car, the liveried chauffeur, and gave a gasp at the figure sitting in the back seat. He blinked a time or two. Lokky dat, will yuh! First time I ebber seed nigger chauffin' nigger. Black ez de ace ob spades en dress lak white man, hunk, hunk! Neveh seed nigger like that befo' Look lak king ob cah-na-val, he do. , Others besides Uncle Lether stared at a sight unusual in Mobile-the sight of a black man groomed and pressed lolling in a monster car, with another black man for chauffeur. Santa Claus himself wouldn't have aroused such com- ment, amusement, and in some cases, indigna- tion, but in Uncle Lether it aroused only mirth. The stranger, his light gray felt at a doggy angle on his head, leaned out of the window of his car and gazed at Uncle Lether. Finally he gave an order to his chauffeur, leaped from the car, and approached Uncle Lether. What luck, Uncle? he addressed the as- tonished old man. How dat? Wot, suh? Luck? Hunk? Ain't had no luck today. Guess folks too busy ruslin' gifts to want pencils, Suh. The stranger peered into Uncle Lether's cup. A pucker of thought creased his polished fore- head. Then, a sudden decision seemd to strike him. He took off his hat and clapped Uncle Lether's old flapping one on his head in itil place. Give me your coat, he told the old man. He threw Uncle Lether his own neatly- pressed garment and grabbed Uncle Lether's. Then an extraordinary scene ensued. .Gone in a minute was the elegant young negro. In his place was a Ugenuwine nigger, thought the astonished Uncle Lether, with a shabby hat over his woolly head and scare-crow coat flap- ping on his swaying figure, and shuming feet like those of a cottonfield darkie. Sorrowful Susie woke up startled, whined vigorously, and passersby were no longer indiferent. It was as if Sorrowful Susie had recognized a master hand. Boldly out to the curb the stranger jigged, playing Sorrowful Susie in a way that awoke memories of plantation life. He was obstructing traffic, but nobody cared. People were blocking the sidewalk, but nobody cared. The stranger paused, a clamor arose. The droll, good-natured face beamed amiably at the crowd, and the crowd guffawed back. De early bird taks de worm, B-ut who gwine tek de worm enyhow? A policeman came up frowning to investigate the mob. But he stayed to listen. The singer was growing sentimental. Negro spirituals held the crowd spellbound. Before their magic had subsided, the quick- footed negro was in and out of the crowd with Uncle Lether's old hat held firmly in both hands. Coaxing here, joking here, and flatter- ing there, he collected. When he returned, the ancient hat sagged dangerously. Uncle Lether's cyes popped when he saw the money. Mah hebbenly Fadder, he expostulated. The stranger was removing Uncle Lether's old coat and putting on his own elegant one. He rearranged his hat and trousers and dusted off his shoes. I hope that you have a good Christmas, Uncle, he said. I was born in Alabama my- self, and seeing you brought back old mem- ories. Good luck to you, Uncle. Uncle Lether barely managed to emit a Tanky, Suh, as the stranger walked briskly across the sidewalk, leaped into his car, and was swallowed by the slowly-moving stream of traffic. It was all a dream to Uncle Lether.