Saint Laurent High School - Milestone Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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SENIOR POETRY FIRST PRIZE PEACE The city lay Enveloped in its own rose-coloured chaos. The Kilowatt Prophets preached their indifferent notes of false happiness no longer. Misery was over A finger A button A missile An end An end to poverty, an end to ugliness, an end to lechery, an end to corruption, an end . . . and end . . . an end . . . Subterranean electric blue glowing — Circuits sawing a multitude of mechanical thoughts The tape flowed increasing its futility by the square root of Pi. Silence. Ticker . . . Ticker . . . Faster, Faster shrieking shrieking There is no one left. No one. In the animal voices they shought to destroy Lights began to go out. London Rome Peking Yahaaa . . . ! ! . down the silent halls. The camera shifts its scene and the hand — A perfect hand, but it isn ' t — It is cracked and burnt and devoid of skin By a war she did not know or could not flee. A groan dimly makes its way thro ' the smoke Of a womb, never to know a life Of a race yet unborn but dead. Howard Albert FIRST PRIZE FOR GABRIEL. WITH A TORN WING Dark hero malnourished soft-spoken collector of shadows lift up your eyes and light up your enchanted smile The things you want will catch you in the act of doing the best you can not in the act of looking for the things you want and success is a weak word anyhow In the face of death it is like a whisper in the face of the ocean All this you know We are prison-children of fearful times and what shall inherit the earth . . . concrete and gunmetal or chemical poisons? But we must be the proud heirs of tomorrow ' s horror and beauty The future rests in our hands and if the work will be done under the ground then we will go below i see you sometimes sitting quiet with concern in your eyes for all of us gathered there and sometimes you just don ' t hear me as though compared with outside things your mind is a better place to be I ' m calling you now child and can you hear the pounding of worried hands at your door Some stories have no end the shimmer of the dawn resting on the river the songs that were made by the wind and the sea Gabriel I know that we shall have no end Anne McLean SECOND PRIZE YESTERDAY AND TODAY In the Yesterday of life I ran, and tumbled down hills of emerald green, Laughing at a sapphire sky. Free, free, free, As an eagle gyrating, As a buck roaming, As an angel-fish swimming. And not a care bestirred by mind, Gay in the innocence of ignorance. 42

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ratr? Kenneth Parte hen There ' s a place the man always sagr Cone in here, child No cause you should weep Wolf never catch the rabbit Golden hair never turn white with grief Cone in here, child No cause you should moan Brother never hurt his brother ITobody here ever wander without a hone There must be some such place somewhere But I never heard of it i3k ! t

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But today, Seen through glasses dark with age and knowledge, Dull hues appear Where once bright colours were. And confines of society Rule my life, Keeping my path Narrow and restricted. No more will joy-filled days Be spent tasting the freedom of youth, For that was Yesterday. Dan Johnson FOR WE ARE YOUNG Our joys are few Our tears are many We commit sins And know it not. For we are young And our world Reels Before us; large and open and frightening. For we are young And time defeats time — A continuous battle, not won or lost. A waging war Of many soldiers; us And few guns Oh time of War, we cry Oh time of Peace. What is Peace? What is War? We know not. What can we do? Nothing, For we are young. Barbara Kuehl LAST ACT OF RAMSHAM VOICES: Goodness gracious, look. Something must be done! Yes, yes, it must be done. Come along then, easy does it. I wonder why? That is certainly not the point, it must be done. We must keep it up. After all, the Status O ' uo - There he is. What is he doing? Oh, nothing. Thinking and reading, and stuff. What? Did I see? Never. Were? Let ' s go! VOICES: Bring the Parochial! Push him in! He doesn ' t fit. Rubbish, everybody fits. It ' s your imagination. There, you — it ' s your imagination because I say it is. He ' s still stuck on the edge. He cannot fall through. Oh, well, it is obvious he is stubborn — rather fleshy or something. Let ' s all push together, something will give way. Push, Push, (pinch), PUNCH! It ' s no use. He ' s still sitting there. What is he up to? Nothing — I don ' t see see anything. He ' s frozen, it seems. STERILIZE! It doesn ' t work. LIE. Keep trying. HE: I am unable to be involved! VOICES: I heard a noise. I didn ' t. Neither did I. IN UNISON: We hear nothing. HE: Where ' s the challenge! VOICES: This is intolerable. He must fall through — it ' s what ' s done. That ' s the way it is. It ' s good for the soul. He will! Jump on him. Crush! Squash! Knock! He hasn ' t budged. I know. He is holidng on with his hands. That ' s cheating. He ' s a fake! Well, why not? That ' s it! Oh, I am so clever. Knock! Bash! Hit Crush! HE: Rack yours, not mine . VOICES: A slacker, that ' s what. Does things he shouldn ' t — shocking things. Look, he ' s dripping! Sen- sitive one, ain ' t he? A VOICE: He is brilliant. VOICES: Did you hear that? Yes. It means: He seems obviously conceited and has an intense persecution complex, is paranoid, and suffers from neurosis. Poor boy. I wonder why? He must go through the Parochial. Jump! Jump! Squash! Bash! Gush. He can ' t strain through — a matter of fit. Too big? I don ' t think so. Some sort of disgusting broadness, an energy or capacity, hard to tell. But reason is not important. Kick! HE: Stop! Stop! (noises again) VOICES: He sees a lot, you know. I. Gulp. What? Yes. IN UNISON: We all have to do thing we don ' t like t do — so there Bash! Kick! Squash! Tell him. Never mind. What mind? Keep going, the usual way. How about the Proverbial Lollypop? Makes him sick. Shock! Fool! HE: Let me go — a note to the wise, a plea to the ignorant. VOICES: Thinks he ' s Moses. Ha! Ha! Ha! Kick! Good joke. Thank you. THEY WOULD NOT TRIP OVER THEIR SAGE BEARDS. HOW RIGHT THEY ALWAYS ARE! 43