Here She shuffled down the corridor, slouch- ing, pushing her pink fully-slippered feet slowly. Her boney arm was drawn behind her, fingers clutching the rum- pled white hospital gown at the back slit to keep her buttocks from being exposed. Her other hand rested in her pocket on the cigarettes... Show moreHere She shuffled down the corridor, slouch- ing, pushing her pink fully-slippered feet slowly. Her boney arm was drawn behind her, fingers clutching the rum- pled white hospital gown at the back slit to keep her buttocks from being exposed. Her other hand rested in her pocket on the cigarettes she would soon consume. Her face was void of all ex- pression. Nothingness was stamped up- on it. She had just been awakened from a nap by the nurse, who reminded her of the group meeting she had to attend at two o'clock. Her disheveled hair had a mouse nest in the back where it had rubbed against her pillow today and last night and yesterday and the day before. It hung straight and lank, a dishwater blond with tell-tale roots. She half yawned and pulled her hand from the pocket. The fingers of her large hands were long and honey, the veins like miniature blue rivers; the nails were all-too short with bitten jagged squareness. One of the nails had been ripped to the quick——it was bloody and looked sore. No pink showed under them, just pale grey with mysterious little white spots. she mov- ed one hand up to cover a half-hearted yawn; the hand hung limp at the end of her honey arm. The mouth closed; the tongue licked the lips, and they parted slightly once, twice, smacking softly while the tongue resettled itself on 30 Show less
Pain screamed out, Wrenched tears from the eyes of the masked white figures Surrounding a child lying on a cold, sterile table. Tubes and wires pierced her body on all sides, And she knew nothing but the pain. Her young body was like a bonsai tree-- Gnarled, twisted, grotesquely contorted. Her... Show morePain screamed out, Wrenched tears from the eyes of the masked white figures Surrounding a child lying on a cold, sterile table. Tubes and wires pierced her body on all sides, And she knew nothing but the pain. Her young body was like a bonsai tree-- Gnarled, twisted, grotesquely contorted. Her eyes, wide open, stared wildly, saw nothing. Life drained from the tiny frame with each painful breath. Lilies, sickeningly sweet, smothered the congregation; Silently, mournfully the organist played; A gentle—faced woman, crying silently, Sat staring at the child, Hands folded against her smooth breast, A rosy glow showing faintly through her yellow-brOWn skin. "We thank Thee, Oh God, for having blessed us these past few years with this child of joy. It is with great sadness that we relinquish her to you, in order that she might brighten Heaven as she so did earth." A wail from the quiet woman near the casket Grew higher in pitch, greater in volume; It became a full—voiced scream. 36 Show less
flow of matter through the biosphere. An ecosystem converts non—life into life and back again. Plants assimilate sunlight, air, water, and soil, die, and return their substance to non-life. Some are eaten by animals, who are eaten by other animals, who die and return their substance to non— life.... Show moreflow of matter through the biosphere. An ecosystem converts non—life into life and back again. Plants assimilate sunlight, air, water, and soil, die, and return their substance to non-life. Some are eaten by animals, who are eaten by other animals, who die and return their substance to non— life. Ecology follows this cycle; it is life studying life, life finding its place in time's dance. As we made the conservation principle more specific and found ecology, we can make ecology more specific and study that matter introduced into the biOSphere by humanity. All life-forms change their environ— ments, if only through their wastes. One of hunanity's waste products is civilizat- ion. Civilization's effects on the bio- sphere are great and complex. For example, we mentioned calcium. Some of Civilization's by-products are at— mospheric fission reactions (such as Hiro— shima). These explosions release energy and fission by-products--radioactive iso— topes, such as stronium-QO. Chemically, stronium-9O resembles cal— cium, so when living things encounter it they treat it as calcium. Stronium-9O in the atmosphere is carried to earth by rain, absorbed by plants, and eaten by animals, such a cows, where it is deposited in bones, and--in mammals-—milk. In the body stron- ium—9O decays, gradually releasing radiation, which can cause bone and blood cancer, mu- tations, and positive entropy. Ecology can show us how we affect the biosphere, and how it affects us. If we listen we can hear time's music, follow its rhymes, and find our place in the dance. 22 Show less
November Ending A dark cloud-tide passes over the moon. Against it the silhouette of a lone duck, flying high and fast: Anxiety of changes coming, not yet here, not understood. Northern lights again hang in the sky, silent harbingers. Darkness is required: Primordial images are urging, (But which... Show moreNovember Ending A dark cloud-tide passes over the moon. Against it the silhouette of a lone duck, flying high and fast: Anxiety of changes coming, not yet here, not understood. Northern lights again hang in the sky, silent harbingers. Darkness is required: Primordial images are urging, (But which shall emerge for a moment, to draw forth the painful birth of change?) Sink slowly into rich darkness-- Hasten the labor. We must know to be alive without terror, And still so much remains unknown, Waiting for another time, another season. We shall come to the light again, And again—-each time the same and different at the same time. I shall watch for the wild duck's return, for signs. Dorothy Gerasimo Show less
Confm‘ibwfors Kiki Boreson is a Religion/Philosophy major from Minneapolis. Jill Busse is undecided, from Nashville, Tennessee. Mike Dahl is an English/Theatre major from Fridley. Jan Davis is an English major from Little Rock, Arkansas. Borghild Estness is a Recorder in the Reg- istrar's Office... Show moreConfm‘ibwfors Kiki Boreson is a Religion/Philosophy major from Minneapolis. Jill Busse is undecided, from Nashville, Tennessee. Mike Dahl is an English/Theatre major from Fridley. Jan Davis is an English major from Little Rock, Arkansas. Borghild Estness is a Recorder in the Reg- istrar's Office from Minneapolis. Diane Forsberg is undecided, from Minneapolis. Rebecca Foss is a German major from Minneapolis. Dorothy Gerasimo is a major in secondary English teaching from Chaska. Syl Jones is an English/Theatre major from Cincinnati. Jim Olson is a Philosophy/English major from Rochester. Cynthia Penman is an English major from St. Paul. Susan Dea Rosa is a Chemistry major from Brooklyn Center. Linda Schaumann is an Art major from Menasha, Wisconsin. Scott Schumack is an English major from Minneapolis. Loren Taylor is a History major from St. Paul. 5 Show less
Homunculus A man who was a modern saint, a humani- tarian, a millionaire, a great scientist, and a famous scholar received a letter in a black envelope. It read: Greetings! We are the Secret Immortal Nine Who Must Be obeyed (the secret society that controls everything). You remember only the... Show moreHomunculus A man who was a modern saint, a humani- tarian, a millionaire, a great scientist, and a famous scholar received a letter in a black envelope. It read: Greetings! We are the Secret Immortal Nine Who Must Be obeyed (the secret society that controls everything). You remember only the orphanage where you grew up, but we know you originated as a mass of chemicals on one of our many secret laboratories, for you are not human, merely a creation of our will. Yours, SINWMBO Enraged by this awful discovery, the man underwent a complete personality change. He became a ruthless tyrant, accumulated a gang of thugs and public relations men and sought to seize control of the world only that he might trample it beneath his feet in revenge on humanity for bringing him in- to tormented existence. He failed miserably and lay at the road- side a beaten, forgotten man. Looking up at a polite cough he saw a figure in mask, cloak, and boots of black velvet—-obviously an agent of SINWMBO. "Why do all good things come easy to me," he cried, "while all bad things escape my grasp?" The agent shrugged. "We said you weren't human." Scott Schumack Show less
The Dance of Time The law of conservation of energy states that energy can be neither created nor des— troyed, only transformed. Since matter is a form of energy, we can limit the conservation principle to produce a more specific law: matter can be neither created nor destroyed, only transformed.... Show moreThe Dance of Time The law of conservation of energy states that energy can be neither created nor des— troyed, only transformed. Since matter is a form of energy, we can limit the conservation principle to produce a more specific law: matter can be neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. Cases of matter changing into energy are rare on Earth, except for man-made nuclear reactions and natural radio- active decay, so we can limit ourselves to the conservation of matter without too much inaccuracy. By further limiting ourselves to living matter we find ecology. The line between life and non-life is thin and flickering. The molecules of my body are alive, while the molecules of this page are not alive. This is a distinction in space; the elements in paper and ink are identical to the elements in my body-—they are non-living merely because they are not incorporated into a living thing. This dis- tinction is fine, but space is only part of creation; what of time? In time the proposition is different. How long have the materials of my body been alive? In space there is a distinction be- tween my body's molecules and those of a pound of hamburger in a freezer. In time this distinction can be eliminated by the act of eating. In time all non—living mat- ter is potentially living matter, and vice versa. I am not the man I was a year or a month ago. My bones, brains, and guts are being dismantled and rebuilt around me; my body is being reborn cell by cell. This process will continue until I die; it is life resisting decay through constant mo- 19 Show less
let me stay fragile gold leaves cling wearily to october's elms—— suddenly precious. there is a sense of irretrievable loss as the crisp breeze floats them dOWn to brown—choked gutters. Linda Schaumann
74¢ 9W4 It was in a fair, cool, new—grown garden that the Father walked, And calling, sought His fallen one. It was in a moon-drenched garden mid the trees the Saviour sweat the blood and cried "Thy will be done." Along His wayside every flower was dear, In each the beloved Father's presence near... Show more74¢ 9W4 It was in a fair, cool, new—grown garden that the Father walked, And calling, sought His fallen one. It was in a moon-drenched garden mid the trees the Saviour sweat the blood and cried "Thy will be done." Along His wayside every flower was dear, In each the beloved Father's presence near. By desert dawn, by lakeside twilight glow Were planned the awesome journey He must go, —-The Holy Son. Within my humble garden, too, the Father walks And seeks His fallen one Through regal petal, bursting bud, And tiny flow'rlet, delicately done. Although I battle worm and weed And grieve for many a lifeless seed, I sense the healing Presence there, And new life grows. In work and prayer I, too, must share. In each small rose I know that Heaven's begun. Borghild Estness 25 Show less
Three Pieces for Four Hands I In a time when cyCles come and go, spring is winter-—winter, spring—- a calm intrudes. Trees disappear, their leaves all but crushed in the mid autumn rush; or so, at least, it seems. This time-This moment— is the one I like best When between certain layers of air... Show moreThree Pieces for Four Hands I In a time when cyCles come and go, spring is winter-—winter, spring—- a calm intrudes. Trees disappear, their leaves all but crushed in the mid autumn rush; or so, at least, it seems. This time-This moment— is the one I like best When between certain layers of air there is the haunting smell of dead roses resurrected When Whitman's Lilacs have faded and the dooryard decayed When, according to Hesse, the inner—self is all but split into a thousand pieces-— This is the time I love best. For then, you always seem to smile with sun-tongue as I mold you into me. II The stairway we never climbed together-- was it spiral? Or just a little rounded at the edges? I ask because I don't remember You see. Were you dressed in lace, with a pink underslip? Yes, you were! You were... Hush, I am calmed. I remember now... How curious! your floating ankles gliding upward, my eyes floating with you until the height where I saw that rich, pink bulge underneath. You didn't fool me, you see. 16 Show less
On the opposite shore the rider stop— ped just long enough to call back, "Read your signs better, troll. That light shines for a mortal." The thick darkness of the forest swallowed rider and mount. "A mortal," the troll whispered as it returned to the shadows under the bridge. "My grandmother... Show moreOn the opposite shore the rider stop— ped just long enough to call back, "Read your signs better, troll. That light shines for a mortal." The thick darkness of the forest swallowed rider and mount. "A mortal," the troll whispered as it returned to the shadows under the bridge. "My grandmother told me of them." He sank back on the dry leaves piled beneath the arch, and his heavy forehead creased with thought. "I didn't know there were any left to die—-" he grinned at the thought of the vampire rider——"or even to be killed." Scott Schumack Show less
50W 10W You sing a sad song of mountains washed to the ground by the gentle, persistent rains as the gods of Olympus faded in knowledge that left the sky to the clouds. The wind that chased Ulysses swells in your breast and rushes from your aching throat, leaving behind faint tremors of sounds... Show more50W 10W You sing a sad song of mountains washed to the ground by the gentle, persistent rains as the gods of Olympus faded in knowledge that left the sky to the clouds. The wind that chased Ulysses swells in your breast and rushes from your aching throat, leaving behind faint tremors of sounds that echoed once across the ancient seas. Arms stretched to the skies, you close your eyes to the sun that scorched the Pharoahs in their thrones, feeling it burn on your naked skin that glistens in the blazing light. Tears escape from your clenched eyelids, and with pain and glory the world song throbs in your brain, envelopes your body, and in final agony, rips through your soul to ride on the winds again. Susan Dea Rosa Show less
They scorn joy best who have never known i5. She walked past life and painted a few ’ portraits along the way—-drab, mocking ‘ pictures that showed too much. (Jean Coc— teau was a melted candle before the Eiffel Tower, Ida Rubinstein was a glass heron, delicately knit, long and curveless. Lady... Show moreThey scorn joy best who have never known i5. She walked past life and painted a few ’ portraits along the way—-drab, mocking ‘ pictures that showed too much. (Jean Coc— teau was a melted candle before the Eiffel Tower, Ida Rubinstein was a glass heron, delicately knit, long and curveless. Lady Troubridge was lean and piercing, her right thumb hooked through the collar of her dog, The cat that stood obediently before the baroness d'Erlanger wore the baron's face.) These and a few carefully chosen others stand imprisoned by her oils. Their bodies are stiff, lifeless things without motion or depth. Against the backgrounds of cold clouds and breaking waves only their faces live. These faces burn with character half—exposed and captivate with feelings half-perceived. Did the subjects feel vio- lated afterwards? i She didn't like color; the gray, white, 4 black, and brOWn she painted the walls around { her absorbed the stains or pain and loneli— 1 ness, and she impressed those shades on her I subjects. Her few admirers said she cap- [ tured souls on canvas, but they don't men— § tion that she always wore gloves, so as not 5 to dirty her hands. 1 I looked only-yesterday and she was still there, standing behind her easel with no hint of feeling for herself much less me. I left quickly. I age-—she doesn't anymore, so perhaps 1 she'll accept me someday. Occasionally I long to scream at her and cast her out, for what is attractive in her is ugly in me: self-pity, introversion, and coldness. But I never have. God knows there are better people than her, but there are also far worse. She did find happiness of a sort, sitting in her chateau, watching World War 33 Show less
SON OF WASTELAND a sequel to the best seller by T.S. Eliot now a Motion-picture Elliot began just wrong, I think and there is still time to be right. November is far more cruel than April: I remember cousin June decked in blue chiffon squatting by the fence near the proverbial oak "there is no... Show moreSON OF WASTELAND a sequel to the best seller by T.S. Eliot now a Motion-picture Elliot began just wrong, I think and there is still time to be right. November is far more cruel than April: I remember cousin June decked in blue chiffon squatting by the fence near the proverbial oak "there is no greater sorrow—-" she remarked; while she spoke clouds gathered black (get back) black clouds clouds black (get back) until she cleared her mind of evil and her bladder of sin. "There is no greater sorrow--" she remarked But that was all. Oh Romeo, Romeo, Romeo whereforth art thou? cried the blue lady Is it not your destiny to appear upon a cloud and save us?" No indeed dear lady, no indeed "Now say hail mary like a good little lass" (hail mary hail mary a can of worms) (hail mary hail mary a can of worms) "Eat your supper and say good night "good night ladies sweet ladies good night, good night” A crowd of people stood and stared "It's no good", good John was saying just then they saw No Good from Nothing 13 Show less
THE HUSBAND a motion picture Begin With the Door, His entrancezthe threshold of all my encounters since, the heart of his existence. It swung open——I felt him before I saw him. His mouth moved without speech, and gray eyes pierced like cold-cupid arrows the woman by my side. My arm held her... Show moreTHE HUSBAND a motion picture Begin With the Door, His entrancezthe threshold of all my encounters since, the heart of his existence. It swung open——I felt him before I saw him. His mouth moved without speech, and gray eyes pierced like cold-cupid arrows the woman by my side. My arm held her safely-— a shield to ward off his glance. The soft bed sank beneath my guilt. He Saw. He Knew. I quivered with quick, silent apology. The stunned face twisted, heavy feet stumbled quaking hand grabbed the door and swung... BLAM!!! "His face," she spoke. "You saw it-- a blank...a blank...a blank"... A dream so it seemed in fiery red. The double bed so soft, she there plump and brown like hot copper spread before me. We fused, never thinking of the man. He paid the rent the night I slept there. Syl Jones 29 Show less
falling off a log into mounds of wet leaves i see the sun barely and i roll and bury my face smelling worms and snails and rain and the death i was so afraid of Jill Busse Mountain Standard Time Granular song old waves Break in unison on the screen, Their name seen in focused lines. Cable... Show morefalling off a log into mounds of wet leaves i see the sun barely and i roll and bury my face smelling worms and snails and rain and the death i was so afraid of Jill Busse Mountain Standard Time Granular song old waves Break in unison on the screen, Their name seen in focused lines. Cable connections Needed in the mountains, Give way under snow. Loren Taylor 24 Show less
For the Nit -Pickers The afternoon sun filtering in reveals a thin dangerous fluff over everything. Dust, dust. I dreamt I swallowed a rattail comb one night. I was four. I kept watching the dust flecks float in the path of the living room lamp. I fell asleep on the couch only to wake up alone,... Show moreFor the Nit -Pickers The afternoon sun filtering in reveals a thin dangerous fluff over everything. Dust, dust. I dreamt I swallowed a rattail comb one night. I was four. I kept watching the dust flecks float in the path of the living room lamp. I fell asleep on the couch only to wake up alone, the comb gone. Scared, I locked myself in the bathroom (the only room with an inside lock) and curled up on the fuzzy bath mat. I slept in the clinical glare, safe from the dust and the blue neon spiders in my room. Dust, dust. Sifts over the bookshelves, and the tables. I patiently wipe it off records and pluck it from my clothes. Quietly, softly it comes, Burying us alive. Kathy Holliday £50 Show less
"Dead cats are almost as common as live cats Here on the Twenty cats So if a cat Because our Or if a cat farm. on the premises I mean there are usually at a time. freezes in the winter old barn is too gets mowed down Along with the alfalfa Or if a cat gets hit by the Or unexpectedly run down by... Show more"Dead cats are almost as common as live cats Here on the Twenty cats So if a cat Because our Or if a cat farm. on the premises I mean there are usually at a time. freezes in the winter old barn is too gets mowed down Along with the alfalfa Or if a cat gets hit by the Or unexpectedly run down by Well, there our comfort in our moment of grief. are always more cold in the field train Grandpa's jeep, cats. This is Amen." Even though they came in litters, Each individual kitty was memorable to us children. So we ceremoniously laid poor old Huey to rest In his grave under the lavender flowers While nearby a chorus of chickens clucked In unison among burdock bushes. Mary Belardi “3 Show less
