Union City Community High School - Successus Yearbook (Union City, IN)

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POETRY (Continued) EVER CHANGING Trees, Completely clothed in dresses of sheening ice, Glisten fantastically in the sun. Drip, drip, Their brilliancy slowly disappears In forms of small drops. Melting, melting, The ice reverts itself to liquid water Which enters into the earth. Months, months Pass quickly, and where previously had been ice Green foliage and small blossoms are budding. Shade trees. —Leatrice Barr TO YOU—MY LETTER My dear One— I was glad to hear from you today, It’s been lonely since you’ve been away. I think about you quite often, dear; You don’t seem far away—but near. Your words today said little, yet so much, You seemed so close, close enough to touch. I’ll try not to miss you, but it will be hard, And next time please write more than just a postal card! —Norma Jean Kennon TREES IN WINTER Stark and bare against a grey, winter sky The trees point their bony fingers upward. Snow falls in puffy cushions of white All along the branches— A white tree with white fingers Reaching into a grey sky. —Norma Jean Kennon SCATTERBRAIN A whoop, a yell, a scream, a shout— “Hey, what’s all the noise about? The ball went in? Went in where? Oh, that basket over there! Yes, I know now—The game’s begun, And every team desires fame to be won. “O look! Over there is Mary Brown, See—that’s her jumping up and down. The one in red is Jerry South. Goodness gracious, what a big mouth! Right in front is Jenny Dee— Her best boy friend is number three. “Listen to the yells of that big section— Doesn’t this mirror have a good reflection? Oh, dear, but my nose is shiny— Isn’t number twenty-two tiny? And forty-four is so big! Sarah Jane is a little prig. “Oh, dear me, here come the subs, The Brown twins look like two little cubs. Why do you look so delighted? Why is everyone excited? Not the last quarter! Why, there’s the gun! Gee, guess what—we’ve won!” —Joyce Richey THANK YOU! Your good hospitality Means so very much to me— I cannot express my thanks For all of the frolics and pranks You accepted from our group When we marched in like a troop And possession of the house we took And dove into every nook And chased away your cook And made your whole house look Positively terrible! —Hazel Brooks Page Twenty-cme

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POETRY SECTION The Senior English class completed a successful poetry unit during the last semester. Seven students entered groups of poems in the Scholastic poetry contest. The following selections are examples of some of the lighter forms of verse written in the class: DAWN Dim mist Evaporates To disclose a midnight blue That all too soon grows clear, and then— The dawn. —Jack Caron GOD’S SUNSET It’s a good plan He has, To take all the happenings of the day, And tie them into one big, bright thing, And put it in the sky where everyone can see it— And then just call it a sunset. —Marcelle Green GOLDEN HOUR Blazing in red, and orange, and gold, Spreading from inch to mile, Waving a glorious banner above, The sky is flooded by the sunset. The sky blends a pink glow to light Even the windows and the tallest tree; The world is shining with color Before darkness settles for the night. Wrapped in black, and black, and black, Spreading from inch to mile. Slowly coming and reaching afar, The sky is rain-splashed with stars. —Betty Best Darkness— It slowly comes. Peacefully it covers all; It takes small tots to slumber land For dreams. —Walter Hill Page Twenty NIGHT Drifting comes the darkness As flowers of the day die. The moon slowly begins to rise; With it comes stillness. Shadows, black and purple and blue, Stab each flower in the back. --James Tibdetts. The house Covered with moss, Stands as a great idol, Haunted always by memories Of the past. —Carmon Caplinger Fur coats, Big and chunky, Wobbling along the boulevard Rushing into bargain stores Shopping. —Virginia Evans MARCH 1, 1941 There once was a village called Parker It wasn’t much more than a marker But it had a team That left such a beam It made our bright city look darker. —Virginia Evans

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POETRY (Continued) AN ARTIFICIAL FLOWER An artificial flower made of paper, Molded by someone’s human hand, An illusion of purity and gracefulness, Not thriving in the earth, but in the sand. Be careful then for it is artificial, It has no true softness or true grace; He didn’t mold the shape into petals, It has never felt the rain upon its face. If this false flower is loved by someone, I’m sure it isn’t the false thing that he loves, But truly it’s the real thing that he craves for, And not knowing, takes this one as he does. Not knowing the tenderness of the real things, Knowing only ones that are second best, Not knowing what he is missing, Until a real flower ends his quest. A memory of a real flower will be sacred, To remember its touching and full rich face, A memory of artificialness will be haunting, Haunting to remember its deceiving grace. —Marcelle Green MY UNCLE SAM! He lets me live in this great land. He grants me liberty, so dear, He gives me rights on which to stand, He keeps the skies above me clear. He earns a wealth—from which we drink, He makes it work for one and all. He offers me the chance to think, He helps the schools within my call. He gives me choice in my beliefs, He will not let our ideals fade, He helps us lighten all our griefs, He has a soul which we have made. He is the best that I desire, He is that hope which keeps the fire— My Uncle Sam! —Ann Parent ABRAHAM LINCOLN Prompted by Ida M. Tarbell’s Billie Brown of I Knew Lincoln Billie knew him— I know him, too. He knew the struggles and hardship of his youth. He knew the struggles and hardship of his later life. I feel I know them, too. Billie talked to him. He read his thoughts. He knew his feeling on world affairs. He knew his thoughts on home affairs. I know them, too. Billie helped him— I couldn’t help him. Billie was there with Lincoln. I wasn’t, but I have read about him, So I know him, too. Billie knew him. I know him, too. We know his struggles and his fears. We know his love and his sorrows. Yes, we know him. And we can’t forget. —Delia Vernon ACTIVITY Along rugged and bleak banks The rolling, turbulent river, Full of many fish, rolls on in a never ending stream. Its waves roll and roll, Sometimes a fish jumps into the air. The water is black with fish; They leap the falls. They are salmon. And this is the mighty Columbia Where salmon are in abundance. --Herbert Corbly Page Twenty-two