L‘ I. impersonally, mechanically, along the reins, betrayed to her their recent involvement with the jagged, heavy bricks. With cautious and steady steps, she followed the trail that entered the forest. The floor of the forest gave as she stepped. The dark, moist leaves and branches, the dead... Show moreL‘ I. impersonally, mechanically, along the reins, betrayed to her their recent involvement with the jagged, heavy bricks. With cautious and steady steps, she followed the trail that entered the forest. The floor of the forest gave as she stepped. The dark, moist leaves and branches, the dead leaves and twigs, had laid a spongy covering for the hard floor beneath. Each step sounded noisily and was followed by a repercussion of hurried, hidden movements. My sense, no longer quite so impaired by the image of the brick wall, quickened. And Anne impatiently sidestepped as she began to feel the restlessness my body generated through the quivering reins. “All right, Anne. I'm ready." I pressed my hand upon her neck and guided her up the hill. She trotted now, her ears bent back, flickering eagerly for another sign. As my body tensed, her gait lost its smoothness. Her legs, too, stiffened, as she felt the forest moving by us. She stopped, suddenly, jerking me forward. We had reached an open meadow. Trembling and snorting, her body asked, "Now?" and I wrapped my fingers in the coarse hairs of her mane. "Please, Anne, now," I breathed, waiting for the wind to rush. And she ran, drawing the rein from my hands. And soon, all I could feel was the wind, and the earth which pounded beneath us. And all I could sense was a vague awareness of a tide of boundless movement. There was nothing but the lashing and the pounding and the surging of her muscles. I crouched low, feeling the foamy sweat which dripped from her body. "0h, Anne, please, please," I urged, lowering my sobs into her neck. And we ran, ran free. Without words, she carried me away--- Exhausted, we arrived at the stables. I unsaddled her, yet held her close. I looked into her eyes, her empty eyes. 25 Show less
Christmas Rose The golden leaves have bid Adieu and now a white Blanket nestles them quietly. Westward wind Bites And stills the creek and amid Cold and silence a rose alit. The Rose blossoms a glow To wann the hearth, a Life, a soul. Its petals lie Blushed by gaity, and sigh, extending love to... Show moreChristmas Rose The golden leaves have bid Adieu and now a white Blanket nestles them quietly. Westward wind Bites And stills the creek and amid Cold and silence a rose alit. The Rose blossoms a glow To wann the hearth, a Life, a soul. Its petals lie Blushed by gaity, and sigh, extending love to bestow Peace--to one all alone. A rose beyond compare Existing for a bleak world To cheer its day should Tempest fall or crowd Devour--to share Itself with one who cares. Jim Roste Requiem for a Rowboat Wood is its own preservative, as Frank Lloyd Wright has theorized. A small rowboat, entrenched in layered cream-white lacquer. sank, reminding us. "The medium,“ to quote the art instructor, "wood in this case, was destroyed by excess paint.“ Agreed; the grain had all but disappeared, and so, because it was unnatural to its domain, the loss is nil, although the trees had many possibilities. Mark Trechock 21 Show less
THE SCHOOLHOUSE By the day I see the school Standing alone in its meadow of clover. Above it, the sky. Around it, the moldering earth Grown deep in f10wers and grass, asks, 'Why are you here ?' The steps, rotting and collapsing, Hold memories of the firm tread of teachers And shorter steps,... Show moreTHE SCHOOLHOUSE By the day I see the school Standing alone in its meadow of clover. Above it, the sky. Around it, the moldering earth Grown deep in f10wers and grass, asks, 'Why are you here ?' The steps, rotting and collapsing, Hold memories of the firm tread of teachers And shorter steps, Running, stomping, pattering amid shoves and pushes, They brought life between the dark walls, Into the room now musty and sad. The walls quietly watch each other And share their secret. The once—solid windows Now sit smashed and torn Looking out over the peeling grey of the decayed timber. The schoolhouse is silent. Only the wind whines through its walls; Only the birds sing, Echoing the songs now memories; Only the flies buzz indifferently Around the collapsed landing. But at night the schoolhouse Stirs in her bed Raises herself noiselessly Into the sky. Silently she disappears into the darkness. Where does she go? Sit with me at night And we shall see her flight When she drifts away to memories If you will listen carefully You will hear the whispers That fill her soul. Linda Hanwick Show less
TWICE-TOLD TALE The rich man gave me jewels And sables, for a start; In fact, he gave me everything Except his hard-gold heart. The intellectual made me see A universe of thought; But in emotions--love and such, His knowledge came to naught. The poor man gave me honest love But promised also—... Show moreTWICE-TOLD TALE The rich man gave me jewels And sables, for a start; In fact, he gave me everything Except his hard-gold heart. The intellectual made me see A universe of thought; But in emotions--love and such, His knowledge came to naught. The poor man gave me honest love But promised also—-toil. And other things appeal to me Than digging in the soil. So I have learned my lesson well, One cannot have all three, While you these little verses scan I live in luxury. Julie Medbery FRAGMENT OF TIME The minutes flick by And nothing but their dust Shows me they were here But, then, Time, Of what import is it to us. It is a mere measure Of our existence, A symbol Of our speed. And our symbol Weighs heavily on our lives. Linda Hanwick 31 Show less
THAT ISN'T IMPORTANT The telephone rang. Judy ran into the hall and picked up the phone. The clock at the end of the hall of the dormitory corridor said 8210. She hoped it was Jim. She closed her eyes tightly while she waited. She could picture him standing there in front of her as she had many... Show moreTHAT ISN'T IMPORTANT The telephone rang. Judy ran into the hall and picked up the phone. The clock at the end of the hall of the dormitory corridor said 8210. She hoped it was Jim. She closed her eyes tightly while she waited. She could picture him standing there in front of her as she had many times in the last few months. He had such curly brown hair and deep blue eyes. She was startled out of her dream by a voice speaking harshly. "Miss Judy Simpson. " "Yes. ll "Go ahead please. " "Hello. " Her heart leaped. Yes, it was Jim. She was so afraid he wouldn't call. After the accident that had happened only a few short months ago, she waited anxiously for each phone call. "Hello Jim. How are you?" "Just fine, Judy.‘ Say, could you possibly get out for a few minutes to- night? I have something very important to tell you. " l'I think so. Come in a few minutes. " She practically danced into her room. She told her roommates, happily, that Jim would come for her. Later, sitting in the car with him, she thought how glad she was that he cared enough to see her. "Judy ? ll "Yes ? ll "Judy, brace yourself. I love you and want to marry you. Can you find it in your heart to say yes ?" She gasped. This! This was happening -- to her. She couldn't believe it. "Jim, would you repeat that? " "Will you marry me ?" "Oh! Yes, Jim. But --?" "No 'buts. ' You're not to worry about that. Promise ?" "Yes. Oh, Jim. I love you so much. ” At last her dream would come true. Mrs. James Collins. The words had a lovely ring to them. She could almost see it written. But doubts still floated around in her sub-conscious. "If it only wasn't for that, " she thought. When Jim walked her up to her dorm later, he looked up and saw the name of the building. Fair Cities School for the Blind, Girls' Residence. He looked fondly at Judy. "It doesn't matter at all. " "What?" she asked him. "Nothing. It isn't important. " Larayne Graham Show less
CONTRITION Cry a little, sinner. Tears never hurt after the first sting. Cry and let your sins Turn into water and flow away With the eternal flood. Cry— No one will see behind your c105ed door. Cry and let your hands cup your face And catch your sorrow. Maybe—- Through your tears- You'll see a... Show moreCONTRITION Cry a little, sinner. Tears never hurt after the first sting. Cry and let your sins Turn into water and flow away With the eternal flood. Cry— No one will see behind your c105ed door. Cry and let your hands cup your face And catch your sorrow. Maybe—- Through your tears- You'll see a light And it will grow brighter and well up Into abrilliance of splendor Illuminating your face, your heart, Your soul. Then, sinner, You will be free from pain. You‘ll stand and shout your joy. You‘ll let your voice sing praise. The tears will come again out of ecstasy And peace. Cry, sinner, And let your heart Melt In His forgiveness. Linda Hanwick 11 Show less
MYSTERY POEM Win $10! Guess which faculty member wrote this poem. It's easy--just study the clues and the poem. Give it a try! CROSSES Look up, look up, my saddened child, Look far into the night. See! There a Light, A smile, A tear. Fear not, dear one, to stand apart, To give a little of your... Show moreMYSTERY POEM Win $10! Guess which faculty member wrote this poem. It's easy--just study the clues and the poem. Give it a try! CROSSES Look up, look up, my saddened child, Look far into the night. See! There a Light, A smile, A tear. Fear not, dear one, to stand apart, To give a little of your heart; All the wayfarers suffering here Move firmly in love’s Might. You do not stand alone, my friend, Erase that darkling frown. Yon murky haze has turned to white; The Easter dawn comes warm and bright: No wile, No guile, No fear. There's One who suffered here. All's love, All's dear To Him who wears the crown. CLUES: The author of this poem received their education in Wisconsin; is married; is new at Augsburg this year; and has their office in Old Main. There you are. I'll bet you know who it is. So put the name on the entry blank below and place it in P. O. 1061. The entry blank with the earliest time on it (and the correct answer) is the winner. P. O. 1061; I say that the author of the mystery poem is Signed P. O. 40 Show less
EDITOR‘S FOREWORD Arkai is a Greek word meaning first principles, beginnings, or authors. This aptly describes the efforts represented in this little magazine, in many ways. For some of the contributors it is the applying of their knowledge of the first principles of literary and creative writing... Show moreEDITOR‘S FOREWORD Arkai is a Greek word meaning first principles, beginnings, or authors. This aptly describes the efforts represented in this little magazine, in many ways. For some of the contributors it is the applying of their knowledge of the first principles of literary and creative writing, for others it is the beginnings of a literary career that will be their life, for all of the contributors it is the opportunity to wear the title of "author. " The members of this year's Writer's Club and all the other con- tributors to this year's 5% hope that our efforts may prove entertaining to you and also helpful, in time of indecision and temptation, in guiding you along the path of God's will. Preparing us, the students, for the Lord's service throughout our life is the greatest advantage that Augsburg gives to us and if we, the Writer's Club, have contributed to or furthered this aim in only a small way, we are humbly grateful. Ermon L. Deen Show less
A TRIBUTE I think true love is never blind, But rather brings an added light, An inner vision quick to find The beauties hid from common sight. No soul can ever clearly see Another's highest, noblest part; except through the sweet philosophy And loving wisdom of the heart. Your unanointed eyes... Show moreA TRIBUTE I think true love is never blind, But rather brings an added light, An inner vision quick to find The beauties hid from common sight. No soul can ever clearly see Another's highest, noblest part; except through the sweet philosophy And loving wisdom of the heart. Your unanointed eyes shall fall On him who fills my world with light; You do not see my love at all ‘ You see what hides him from your sight! I see the feet that fain would climb; You see the steps that turn astray! I see the soul, unharmed, sublime; You, but the garment and the clay. You see a mortal, weak, misled, Dwarfed even by the earthly clod; I see how manhood, so perfected, May reach the stature of a god! Blinded I stood, as now you stand, Till on mine eyes, with touches sweet, Love, the deliverer placed his mighty hand, And lo! I worship at his feet! Darlene Fie ldseth SYMPATHY _Do leaves cry When one dies and floats To the ground and melts into the earth? Is their crying so quiet That none but the grasses Hear the sobs And feel the tears ? Come, my dear, into the forest And listen to the breeze If you want to feel the breath of sorrow, Stand underneath these trees. Linda Hanwick 2 7 Show less
and through believing your promises. I want proof, George, proof that you really are sorry, that you really will change. ' "I want you to leave. " "Marjorie, you can't be serious. I couldn't do anything without you and Peter. "You've got to, " Marjorie responded emphatically. "Don't you see?... Show moreand through believing your promises. I want proof, George, proof that you really are sorry, that you really will change. ' "I want you to leave. " "Marjorie, you can't be serious. I couldn't do anything without you and Peter. "You've got to, " Marjorie responded emphatically. "Don't you see? Maybe if you're separated from our support, you'll find the incentive you need to come back. You'll never do it this way, George. You'll never change as long as you can depend on me. You've got to do it by yourself. Can't you understand that?" "I understand how I've failed you, Marjorie. " George muttered apologet- ically. "You've made that very clear to me. I've failed as a husband and as a father. I'm sorry. I know what I've put you through; I have known for some time, but I've never admitted it, not even to myself. I realize now that you were right in everything you said. I'll leave. " George started slowly, dejectedly for the door. He stopped suddenly. Peter dashed in front of him, tears glistening on his free kled face. He had heard his father's final words, and his anguish was clearly written on his youthful features. Peter threw his arms around his father and hugged him tightly. "Please don't leave, Daddy! Please don't leave! " Tears from Peter's face stained his father's shirt as he desperately pleaded with his father. "Peter, " Mar'jOrie's emotions exploded on seeing her son run sobbing to his father. "Peter, let go of your father. ” Peter turned sharply to his mother. His eyes burned with tears and anger. "Leave me alone, " he screamed. "I love Daddy, and you're always get- ting mad at him and fighting with him. You're always mean and I hate you. I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU! " Peter ran from his father, screaming hysterically. His oath rang in Marjorie's ears as she stood frozen, trembling with horror. Peter slammed the door to his room resoundingly. He stamped to his dresser, tore open the top drawer, threw aside the clothes within, and viciously grabbed the sheet of paper lying at the bottom. He was sobbing convulsively as he let the fragmented shreds fall from his hands. Bette Bodin 39 Show less
BEWARE OF THE CAT A water sprinkler made a feeble attempt to transform the parched grass of the park to the green carpet it had once been, but it was a feeble effort. The harsh sun beat down relentlessly. Several pigeons were sitting on the trodden paths, their beady black eyes flashing alertly.... Show moreBEWARE OF THE CAT A water sprinkler made a feeble attempt to transform the parched grass of the park to the green carpet it had once been, but it was a feeble effort. The harsh sun beat down relentlessly. Several pigeons were sitting on the trodden paths, their beady black eyes flashing alertly. Suddenly there ap- peared a sleek black cat; the pigeons flew up quickly, all except one, avidly eying a bit of bread near the cat. The cat flattened its body to the ground, flicked its tail, then in a flash, pounced upon the pigeon. The bird struggled but was helpless against the vise-like grip of the cat‘s claws. A pool of blood soon stained the ground where the struggle ensued. I turned away indifferently; I realized it was beginning to rain. Big drops fell, slowly at first, then furi— ously. It was one of those showers that creep up from nowhere. One moment the sky is clear, then the next, black and ominous. I did not want to get wet so I looked for a protective, diverting shelter. A near—by bookstore caught my eye. I went in. The store was long and narrow. Both walls were lined with books and also a row down the middle. There were only a few people around and one saleslady. At both ends of the shop were mirrors, the oneinback slightly tilted so it could be easily seen from the front. I took off my raincoat and inspected the store for a while. Soon my at- tention was attracted to the leather bound volumes on the middle shelves. I saw they were priced above the limits of my finances. I scanned a number of the books, recognizing many classics that I had enjoyed last year in school. I think if I ever have a library it will contain only leather bound volumes. Glancing up from the book I was admiring, I saw the saleslady moving toward the front of the store. She stopped about three quarters of the way down and began rearranging some books. The other people were also near the front, deeply engrossed in magazines. A feeling that had been asleep in my subconscious, awoke, yawned, and arched its back. I looked up at the mirror; I could only see the saleslady's image from the waist-down. The other people I could not see. I felt unobserved; confidently the feeling crept out of my subconscious on padded feet. I was not entirely aware of the sensa- tion, but I was trying to suppress it, like one does in church during a sermon on sm. The feeling, however, began to grow stronger. It was like trying to con- trol the letharg of sleep in the morning when one knows one must get up. I was now fully aware of what I was going to do. I could tell I was terrified and greatly excited simultaneously. Inside of me, a flickering, but intense, flame burned; I was perspiring and my clothes clung tenaciously. At the same time a tremor of excitement tingled along my spine. The feeling was at once fright- ening and exhilarating. I could not stop it and I did not want to. Again I carefully checked the position of the customers and double checked that of the saleslady. No one had moved. I held my raincoat over my arm so the pocket was easily accessible and yet concealed. Carefully and stealthin I slipped the book into the pocket. I felt like an over —inflated balloon ready to burst if it were not deflated. 23 Show less
In memory My city shall never die. Its voice shall rumble. Into the endless black nights; Its strength shall surge Through its countless lives As it towers above the earth And reaches into the skies. But perhaps-— Someday- When no one is looking, When no one cares, Someday my city may Roll her... Show moreIn memory My city shall never die. Its voice shall rumble. Into the endless black nights; Its strength shall surge Through its countless lives As it towers above the earth And reaches into the skies. But perhaps-— Someday- When no one is looking, When no one cares, Someday my city may Roll her eyes to the sky, Close her open arms, ' And disappear Into the shadow of centuries. Linda Hanwick R. I. P. When I am dead Do not be sad; Bring no flowers To my grave. Just let me lie—- in peace. When I am gone Let's have no tears; Say no kind words To my dead self. Just let me rest-- in peace. When I am dead Remember this; I lived my life In happiness. So le't‘me sleep-- ’ in peace. Ermon L. Deen 17 Show less
FEBRUARY Pussywillows, gray kitten fur, Cling to cold wet stems. Chilling winds sweep the drab earth clean To make ready for spring. Barbara Johnson 34
We poets are (upon a poet's word) Of all mankind the creatures most absurd; The season when to come, and when to go, To sing, or cease to sing, we never know. Alexander Pope; Epilogue 13 t_h£ Satires. Dialogue _1_. Augsburg College, Vol. V, 1962 AULbBbRG CULLES; ARCHSVES
POSEIDON I come from the sea, The living ominous deep. A sea alive with creatures. Swarming and seething, Through liquid paths they pass, Slipping and gliding, shimmering. Deadly and harmless, together W They cover my abode. 2% Barbara Johnson‘\ ‘ I , eg/ \—
"Well, George, do you?" "Do Peter and I mean anything to you at all, enough so that you have some concern for our well being?" "Well, say something, George! Tell me why you're doing this to us. " "Tell me! Tell me! " Marjorie spoke rapidly, her voice was filled with angry emotion, and her words... Show more"Well, George, do you?" "Do Peter and I mean anything to you at all, enough so that you have some concern for our well being?" "Well, say something, George! Tell me why you're doing this to us. " "Tell me! Tell me! " Marjorie spoke rapidly, her voice was filled with angry emotion, and her words were tinged with disparing bitterness. She was about to continue when Peter ran in front of her. Marjorie and George both started at the sudden, unexpected appearance of their small son. Peter stood between his mother and father and turned his frightened, pleading eyes upward to his mother. "Please don't be mad at Daddy. Please don't be angry at him any more. ” Peter's childish, imploring voice cut into Marjorie, dissolving her sternness into sympathetic compassion. Marjorie's eyes softened with deep inner tenderness. She knelt down to draw her child to her to comfort his anxiety, but as she did so, Peter turned to his father. Marjorie stiffened as she saw her son wrap his boyish arms around his father's waist. She was about to yield to an uncontrollable maternal instinct to pull Peter from his father to her Own arms, but she managed to regain her composure. “Peter, " her voice was gentle but tinged with resolute firmness. "Peter, your father and I were just talking about something. We're not fighting. Now suppose you go to your room and play While we finish our talk?" Peter retained his hold on his father. He didn't turn his head to look at Marjorie when she spoke. Rather, his eyes remained fixed on his father's face. George met his son‘s questioning gaze. He smiled reassuringly, and gently put his hands on Peter's shoulders. “Be a good boy and do as your mother says, Petey, " he chided. "But, Daddy, " Peter cut in, "I want to stay with you. " Peter's grip on his father tightened defensively. "Peter!" Marjorie's voice had lost its gentleness, her face was taut with sternness. "Peter, please go play somewhere, just for a while, so Daddy and I can talk. " ' 37 Show less