PURPLE Underneath an oak tree Nestled in the moss Is an efficacious splotch of purple, Clinging close to the soft, damp earth; Modestly hiding from the world its "raison d'etre, " Improving Mother Nature's shining beauty. This cluster of color cuddled here, Buried deep within these murky swamps... Show morePURPLE Underneath an oak tree Nestled in the moss Is an efficacious splotch of purple, Clinging close to the soft, damp earth; Modestly hiding from the world its "raison d'etre, " Improving Mother Nature's shining beauty. This cluster of color cuddled here, Buried deep within these murky swamps Casts forth a glow like a gleam on a hearth; Brightens up the dreary, eerie darkness of these swamps; Reminding me of your short stay-- A bit of brightness for so short a time. 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
SUMMER'S ENDING Camp Wapanacki lies at the crest of a mountain in Vermont. On a clear day one can see, for miles and miles, the green giants which have given Ver- mont the name of "the Green Mountain State." As the road starts its winding descent, bringing wilderness and civilization together,... Show moreSUMMER'S ENDING Camp Wapanacki lies at the crest of a mountain in Vermont. On a clear day one can see, for miles and miles, the green giants which have given Ver- mont the name of "the Green Mountain State." As the road starts its winding descent, bringing wilderness and civilization together, one can see nestled quietly in the valley below the little town of Hardwick. The tall, white steeple down there to the left is the Congregational Church. A little yonder toward the end of town one can see the dome of the Catholic Church as it raises its head above the tree tops. There, painted against the blue sky, the two churches say good morning to each other by their chimes. It reminds one of a pair of book ends, if one stands in the right position, holding the town securely to- gether. This setting, as fine as one can get without reading it in a book, seems like a dream. I can't make up my mind if this really took place or if it was just a figment of my imagination. I was expecting to spend the usual dull sum- mer, with the usual dull people, doing the usual dull things. At least that's what I thought! "Look, Ray! " Skip shouted. "The buses are crossing the bridge. I'll race you back to camp. " "O. K. , " I said, and took off. Reaching the counselor 's lounge ahead of me, Skip yelled to some of the counselors there and kept on running. "The buses are coming. " To these words some thirty counselors and cooks ran to the dining hall. Everyone took his place by different tables. All the food was arranged in the following clock-like fashion: potatoes at three o'clock, meat at six o'clock, and vegetables at nine o'clock. This rule for placing food was of the most importance as it is the way that blind children are taught to eat. The rearing of the buses mixed with yells, cheers, and songs broke the silence of a once quiet and peaceful camp. It was evident that the girls' session at camp had started. Six buses carrying eighty-nine camp- ers and twelve counselors came to a halt in front of the dining hall. The familiar "hellos" and "glad to see you backs" were mixed with tears from the younger set away from home for the first time. The girls were ushered into the dining hall and joined in the table grace before sitting down to the long- awaited meal. It was then that I first saw her. She wore a yellow dress with a white collar. Her hair was done up in a pony—tail. All she did was smile at me. Imagine a girl smiling at me. Funny, I never thought that a girl would give me a second look. She said not a word, but went in to join the others. "I wonder who she is? Must be at least eighteen, " I thought to myself, picking up her blue suitcase. "I wonder who she is. " At the dining table I could not eat. My eyes kept scanning the hall, trying to see the girl with the pony-tail. There she was, over there at the last table sitting with some older girls. The usual "jabber" of the girls filled the room. She sat quietly like the Mona Lisa with that famous mystic smile. I turned to Skip to ask him who the new counselor was, but before I could get 28 Show less
Skip's attention, the girls had been dismissed to their cabins. "Oh well, I'll see her later on at the lounge, " I thought to myself. I waited till eleven- thirty but she did not come. Tomorrow is another day. It was evident that I was not going to sleep tonight. I lay there on my bed in the... Show moreSkip's attention, the girls had been dismissed to their cabins. "Oh well, I'll see her later on at the lounge, " I thought to myself. I waited till eleven- thirty but she did not come. Tomorrow is another day. It was evident that I was not going to sleep tonight. I lay there on my bed in the darkness staring at the ceiling. All I could do was to think of some way to rush the night into tomorrow. I was up early. The sun, painted against an azure sky, greeted me. Even the birds, that only yesterday were pests, seemed to sing a special song for me. That morning at breakfast I saw her again. All she did was to wave her hand. r "Nice day. What department are you going to work in? " To all my questions she shrugged her shoulders. "Kathy," someone called, and off she went. "Hey, come back," I called. She just kept on running as a fawn does when frightened. "Kathy! So that's her name; Kathy. " I went to see if she was listed as a worker with me. To my dismay I did not find her listed with me nor with any other department. Skip came into the room and said, "What's the matter, Ray, homesick?" I told Skip about Kathy and of the disappointment of not being able to have a chance to talk with her. I told him haw she would look uneasy as if studying my face when I talked to her and how she would smile at me from a long way off and then play her little game of "cat and mouse" by not saying one word. "She can't, " Skip said. "What do you mean? " "She can't talk. She‘s deaf and dum . " Skip told me about Kathy. She was a special camper. She was deaf and dumb psychologically speaking. That night I felt awful. I must have embar- rassed her. I was determined to make it up to her. Skip taught me how to use sign language. When I had acquired a halfway decent means of communi- cation, we held conversations together. Kathy and I enjoyed each other's company and on our weekly trip to the little town in the valley she would giggle like a little kid. We had the most fun when I would mix my "P's" and Q's. " She would go through the long process of showing me h0w to hold my hand to form the right letter. Needless to say I forgot how to form letters on purpose. We would talk for h0urs in our special way and laugh at different things. I was the luckiest guy in the world. I think I even felt that I wanted to marry her. , Nature robs one of time and so, for us, those four weeks went like a bird on the wing. I had to come to the realization that in just two days Kathy 29 Show less
would be walking out of my life, perhaps for ever. I did not want to lose her. Our last evening at camp a dance was held. I danced most of the evening with her. We walked back to the cabin and said good night. I walked slowly back to my own cabin and began to cry. All this time and I had never... Show morewould be walking out of my life, perhaps for ever. I did not want to lose her. Our last evening at camp a dance was held. I danced most of the evening with her. We walked back to the cabin and said good night. I walked slowly back to my own cabin and began to cry. All this time and I had never heard Kathy speak. What was it that Skip had said? Oh yes, Kathy could talk if she wanted to. She would only smile. "It isn't fair, " I thought. "Oh, please God, just let me hear her speak just once. " Sleep came slowly, but morning came as swiftly as Mercury. The buses were ready. Girls were crying and making promises to write to friends, promises that somehow are never kept. The motors started and the tears filled the eyes of the campers as well as counselors. I saw Kathy sitting by the window of the first bus. She also had tears in her eyes. Then as if a miracle had happened I heard it; faintly at first, and then loud enough to hear. "Good-by, " she said. The buses moved down the winding road toward the town and then on to the depot where a train would be waiting to take the girls back to New York. I looked towards the mountains across the valley. I saw some rain clouds moving toward Hardwick. As the raindrops began to fall they mingled with the tears running down my cheeks. Raul Jackson 30 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
IN MEMORIAM: G. P. CONGER Out of this world of death, to be In an unknown place of eternity, Has gone a mind where all minds meet To know at last all Thought complete. His many hours of labor spent To seek the Truth and what it meant Are answered now by Truth itself Where's spoken more than... Show moreIN MEMORIAM: G. P. CONGER Out of this world of death, to be In an unknown place of eternity, Has gone a mind where all minds meet To know at last all Thought complete. His many hours of labor spent To seek the Truth and what it meant Are answered now by Truth itself Where's spoken more than reason's wealth. But until the chains are fettered Wherein our thought's contained, We too, in wisdom lettered, Shall seek the God he's gained. Harry T. Cleven TO MR. CALLAHAN (With regret) Mr. Sirnons is building one today. He has the hole dug And has surrounded it With piles of cement, sand, cement blocks, steel, Everything he'll need To protect his thin life on the so—called Fateful day. 'You ought to build one too, ' He says emphatically as I shake my head in wonder And doubt. (A strange feeling crept about my insides) The clear sky is very blue Against the brilliance of the sun. The radio is playing jazz. I humor Mr. Simons with a laugh But his eyes are grave And his work progresses. 'The sky is so very clear today. ' I muse as I leave Mr. Simons in his hole. Mr. Simons is installing his water and food supply today. His barrel will hold 250 gallons. 'We might be here a long time, you know, ' He said between grunts As he lowered his tank into the pit. 'You really ought to build pne. You never can tell. And the situation is getting worse. . . ' 32 Show less
The sun shines beautifully today And there are only a few clouds fluffing about. ‘I think I'll play some golf, ‘ I say as I finger Mr. Simon's canned food. (The pain crept about my insides as I walked to the car) Mr. Simons finished his project today. He is testing the air supply.’ His eyes glow... Show moreThe sun shines beautifully today And there are only a few clouds fluffing about. ‘I think I'll play some golf, ‘ I say as I finger Mr. Simon's canned food. (The pain crept about my insides as I walked to the car) Mr. Simons finished his project today. He is testing the air supply.’ His eyes glow with relief As he bounces about Finishing the edges. Everyone is standing, watching, touching the roof Or walking through the one room, The supposed protection against fallout. 'Now that you have one, we won't need one, ' I laugh to Mr. Simons As I gaze thoughtfully at the cloudy sky. But Mr. Simons doesn't hear me For he is too busy explaining construction To a rather large group of neighbors with interested faces. I survey the project once more, On my way home. . . My head now aches And the throbbing in my chest doesn't stop. No golf today. It looks as though it might rain. The earth is very black today. The clouds are banded together Tautly In the wailing of the wind. Mr.. Simons has ushered his family Into his underground house. I have not seen him since. A siren screams from Someplace distant, But I can't hear much now Because the pounding in my head Crashes against my ears. The rains are washing down the gutters-- And I can't move from my chair. . . Linda Hanwick 33 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
THE VALENTINE An intense frown of concentration wrinkled Peter Hanley's freckled forehead as his large brown eyes narrowed for a critical appraisal of the picture before him. After a moment's careful study, his radiant smile erased the frown and his eyes sparkled with pride. I've got to show her... Show moreTHE VALENTINE An intense frown of concentration wrinkled Peter Hanley's freckled forehead as his large brown eyes narrowed for a critical appraisal of the picture before him. After a moment's careful study, his radiant smile erased the frown and his eyes sparkled with pride. I've got to show her now, Peter thought. He scrambled excitedly from his sprawled drawing position on the bed— room floor, but hesitated when he reached his feet. The frown returned to his forehead, this time engaging Peter in deep thought. I can't Show her n0w, he mused. If I do it won't be a surprise. A frustrated look of anxiety crossed his chubby, boyish face as he pondered his predicament. He had to show someone his picture, had to witness their reactions to his artwork, his masterpiece. After all, what good is a small boy‘s work if he can't share his excitement over it with others. I can't show Daddy he whined to himself. He's with Mommy, and if she finds out, it will spoil everything. Peter's frown changed to despair as he stood, still clutching the paper in his hands; realizing he would have to wait to share its beauty. He stared intently at the drawing. It was a picture of a woman, slightly abstracted in form and somewhat out of proportion, but nevertheless, an artistic achievement for its nine year old creator. The lettering underneath the figure depicted painstakingly cautious work. In evenly spaced, stark, black letters, were the words TO MY BEAU- TIFUL MOTHER -- LOVE PETER, drawn with patience, diligent labor, and primarily with love. Peter's masterpiece, his Valentine tribute to his mother was finally complete, and new Peter was forced to enjoy it by himself, in the solitary confinement of his bedroom. Only in this way could he be positive his mother would receive his tribute as a complete surprise on Valentine's Day, still three whole days away. ' Peter could wait. He had toiled far too long on his masterpiece to want to spoil its effect now, only three days before it was to be unveiled in splendor. Peter walked over to his bureau and carefully laid the picture down on top of it. He proceeded to open the first drawer and rearrange the light articles of clothing to clear a rectangular space at the bottom of the drawer. In this Space, he nestled his picture, patting it down with the palm of his hand as if it were the most delicate print in creation. 35 Show less
He rearranged the clothes over it as a camoflauge to unauthorized ob- servers, and closed the drawer, heaving a contented sigh of fulfillment. He was careful to pick up all crayons and other incriminating evidence that might betray his secret, then, satisfied with his efforts, he opened the door... Show moreHe rearranged the clothes over it as a camoflauge to unauthorized ob- servers, and closed the drawer, heaving a contented sigh of fulfillment. He was careful to pick up all crayons and other incriminating evidence that might betray his secret, then, satisfied with his efforts, he opened the door and proceeded into the hallway. His steps slowed as he heard his mother's and father's voices echoing from the kitchen. From the sharp tone of his mother's voice, Peter sensed he should not enter the room and disrupt their conversation. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, out of sight of his parents, and listened. He stiffened as he detected the firmness in his mother's tone of voice. "George, I've had all I can take. I don't know where to turn anymore. " Peter could sense her anger and despair. "First the unpaid bills, and secret loans, and now this new debt. Tell me, George, how do you ever think we're going to repay all this money? How are we ever going to start if you keep on this way? ” Peter waited. The sudden cessation of his mother's harried voice left the house strangely quiet. Peter couldn't move, couldn't break the strained silence. He remained transfixed against the wall scarcely daring to breathe for fear of recognition. He didn't fully understand why he could not bring himself to enter the kitchen, to interrupt his parents' talking. A nervous sense Within him kept him at his distance. He tensed himself as he waited for sounds from the other room. "Marjorie. " Peter started at the sound of his father's voice, even though it was soft-spoken. "Marjorie, I meant to consult you about the loan from Harry, but I thought I could spare you the worry by repaying it before. . . " "Before what?" Marjorie cut in sharply. "Before you drank up any extra money you had, or someone else wanted repayment of a loan? Is that how soon you thought you could repay it, George ?" "Why don't you face facts ?" Marjorie's voice had risen to a berating cry. "Why don't you admit you squander practically every cent on liquor. How do you ever expect to be able to repay anybody anything ?" "I don't understand you, George. How can you go on like this when you know what it's doing to our welfare, what it's doing to destroy any security we've built up. Don't you ever think of that, George '? Don't you ever think of anything but yourself and liquor ? " 36 Show less
"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
"But I want to. . . " "Peter! I mean it. " Marjorie‘s sharp, authoratative voice startled Peter. He released his hold on hisrfather and looked despondently at his mother. One look at her stern expression convinced him of her seriousness. His head dropped dejectedly, and he began to shuffle to the... Show more"But I want to. . . " "Peter! I mean it. " Marjorie‘s sharp, authoratative voice startled Peter. He released his hold on hisrfather and looked despondently at his mother. One look at her stern expression convinced him of her seriousness. His head dropped dejectedly, and he began to shuffle to the door. He looked back for possible reprieve from his father, but George's gaze was fixed on the floor. Peter walked despairineg out of the kitchen. He didn't bother to turn around again. Marjorie remained stiffly erect. Her fingers were curled tightly in her fists, her face was void of expression. Her cold stare was off in space, and her poignant words were undirected. "He blames me. He‘s so small, he can't understand. He blames me when I‘m just trying to do what's best for him. " George stared at his wife, unable to understand her sudden state of emotion. "What are you talking about?" he questioned. Marjorie‘s eyes closed despondently. "Oh God, George, can't you see what's happening 1’: she moaned. "I'm losing my son. I'm losing contact with him as a mother. I'm just an author- ity to him; an impersonal, disciplinary authority. Instead of coming to me, his mother, for compassion and understanding, he goes to you." "He goes to you, George, " she muttered despairingly. "YOu, who never scolds or punishes him, you who comes home at night to entertain him while I'm working to pay off your debts so he can keep eating. He goes to you for comfort when he needs a friend instead of me, because I'm too busy being a guardian instead of a mother. I'm losing him, George, I‘m losing my own son. " Marjorie was stunned at the realization of her own declarations. She stared in disbelief at her husband, whose face had paled with shock. "Marjorie, I didn't realize. . . I swear I didn't. I never meant to do this to you. I. . . Oh my God, Marjorie, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll. . ." Marjorie's eyes flashed with anger. "You promise! You promise what, George -- that you'll become a man again, a responsible husband and father, a decent, respectable human being again. Is that what you're promising me, George?" "Well, I‘m sick of your promises. Do you hear that? I‘m sick of your empty promises and apologies. I'm sick of it, George and I‘m through taking it. Do you understand? I'm through! ” Marjorie, suddenly aware that she was screaming irrationally, became quite still, and regained her composure. George stood motionless, his face drained of color, his shoulders limp. "Marjorie, " he gasped. "Marjorie, what are you saying?" "I'm saying I'm through, George. I'm through listening to your apologies 38 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
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
