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Page 100 text:
“
SORRY Sorry, I broke the cup Mom. UPON LOOKING INTO REGINA’S I didn ' t know TELEPHONE BOOK it was your Have you ever looked into our ' Phone Book favorite. And studied the many names, Of peoples and places and all sorts of races, Shall I drop And names that have led to fame? the saucer? I was wondering what would happen Should some of these people meet, The Savage and Proud, the Hastie and Quick, The Wise, the Dummer, the Meek. Suppose we went to a banquet, Let’s see who we would find, The Kings, the Bishops, the Lords, the Knights, And many more of their kind. Hello Mrs. Stone, Mr. Wood, Miss Steel, Good-day and how are you, Miss Cap? There’s the Finchs, the Crows, the Sparrows and Eagles, The Fawcetts, the Plummers, the Tapps. Mr. Plymoth, Miss Chrysler and Miss Austin All came here with the Fords, I see Mr. Penny, Miss Nichol, Miss Crown, And also the Hamers and Boards. Introductions are over and everyone ' s seated Waiting for the food to come on, There’s Beans and Pickels, Lamb and Rice, And a cake of tasty Chiffon. It’s now getting late and time to depart, So we’ll say good-bye to these folk, See you soon Mr. Farmer, Miss Baker, Miss Parson, Good-bye to you too, Mr. Pope. Now that all these people have left, And there ' s only just you and me, We can be thankful that our names are not Like any one of these. However, it could be worse by far, As you will very soon see, What if you had a name like these, Szuchewycz, Czeckiewicz or Joachimowski? —Cheryl Kinney THE APOSTLE Have you ever seen somebody die? No? Oh you are lucky! Lucky that you have never seen a man fall, Hunted, shot down like an animal, That you have never seen his blood dribble on the snow. It is beautiful you know, Red blood . . . white snow. He falls like a beast. Surely you have seen a deer shot? Or a mad dog? He falls just the same — Only this time it is a man. His hands grip the earth — Reality . . . which he does not want to leave His hands search. They cling to the earth with such a force That his knuckles turn white. Feeling the terra brings him back — Back from the misty, shadowy road — Back to life — but only for seconds. His body trembles as if charged with electricity . . . Convulsing, twisting — His face changes . . . fright comes over him; The gates of death are closing He looks at you . . . begging you . . . Help me!! But you are helpless! There is nothing you can do . . . Only see the gates close — His arm goes up once more, fingers outstretched The crimson flower on his chest is blooming. You can see him reaching for the gate; But the gatemen are merciless The heavy gates close with a bang. His body goes limp ... as if he had no bones, The gurgling sound in his throat stops, But his eyes remain open . . . staring . . . Flashes of fear, hate, guilt go through you, . . . you feel sick. Not because of him ... he does not disgust you, He is celestial, serene, beautiful. You did not help him — You could not help him — You guilty world!!! 96
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Page 101 text:
“
CONFLICT The man was sitting with his back against a vast tree trunk in an open place on the big ridge. It lacked cover, and was really too bare of underbrush for proper concealment, but with the sun risen, any movement could bring a volley of rifle shots. It was a clear October morning, frosty, but promising to warm up later. Most of the timber on the ridge was oak; their fallen leaves formed a smooth blanket over the forest floor. Their dusty sweet smell mingled with the chill and made him feel glad to be alive. His gun was cradled in his lap, and he was straining to hear any sound to betray the presence of his prey. Suddenly the silence was shattered by a shot, and a few seconds later another rang out. The rifleman wasn’t sure which direc¬ tion the shots came from, but decided the source was over the ridge. The next thing he heard was something crunching through the dry oak leaves behind him. It seemed to take an eternity for him to turn his head and body without making any noise. Finally in position he peered cautiously around the edge of the trunk he had been leaning against. He couldn’t believe what he saw, for there walking slowly down the slope 15 or 20 yards away was a magnificent buck. The polished brown lines of his enormous back glinted softly in the morning sun, and his ears flicked nervously about trying to hear his assailant. He stopped for a second and looked back up the ridge, then he turned and continued on down through the trees. The buck took a few more steps and hesitated before starting down the leaf strewn road. The man raised his gun, flicked the safety off, and leveled it on the deer’s shoulder. Just as he was about to shoot he stopped and in his mind’s eye he saw the buck thrashing in the leaves, his blood staining them and then coughing and wheezing as he spewed bloody foam from his lungs. The man lowered his gun, and the buck continued down the road, and soon was lost from his sight. He slowly got to his feet, took a deep breath, expelled it with a sigh, and headed back to his truck. As he shuffled through the leaves he began to whistle. —Dave Phillips NAKED OUTLINES FLACID FIGURES WITH MUTED EMOTIONS THEIR FORMS AND FAVOFlS ETCHED IN BLACK ON WHITE VIRGIN WHITE WONDERING LOVE PONDERING SEX GUARDING THEIR WHITE TISSUE CHASTITY HOLDING IT ABOVE THE WAVES OF OCEANIC GALE WHILE THEY THEMSELVES FLOUNDER WAITING TO COME OF AGE WHEN MORAL BONDS ARE OFF AND MARRIAGE BONDS ARE ON WAITING TO SCULPT THEMSELVES INTO THE WHOLE COMPLETE BEING STALWART STATUES OF VIRTUE —Rick Waugh FROM GRAPES OF INTUITION AND EXPERIENCE WE BREW IN COPPER CAULDRONS OF A MIND, DISTILL IDEAS, CAST OUT THE DREGS. AND POUR IN COMMUNICATION, CONSULTATION THE CLEAR RICH LIQUID WE POOL TO DRINK THE WINE OF WISDOM BUT TEMPER TEMPTATION THAT WE MAY NOT LOOSE APPRECIATION FOR THE GRAPES. —Rich Waugh 97
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