Remnant Where men fed lions with themselves, in days of simpler pleasures and more grim rewards, as ragged—togaed rabble roared hoorays; where gladiators swing their hocking swords until a blade sheared or a helmet cracked; where lewd atrocity was grisly fact; there now the out-of—doors decays... Show moreRemnant Where men fed lions with themselves, in days of simpler pleasures and more grim rewards, as ragged—togaed rabble roared hoorays; where gladiators swing their hocking swords until a blade sheared or a helmet cracked; where lewd atrocity was grisly fact; there now the out-of—doors decays the corpse of that death-house itself; as each year warps and weakens wood in an abandoned shed. so centuries' storms riddle even stone, render a Roman ruin more than dead; and yet unburied, like a gnawed old bone from which a grumbling dog still sucks out juice, it rests like troops after three decades truce. Mark Trechock Frank Lawatsch 34 he. MA _A _...._~ 4. .____._‘ Show less
II I/ 6M0 [-ovfi- Ber LORD A‘UOAIM. «rel/u; é lfl) M // Lou» W L Leon) To but.“ Mr .chI 8.2.). \ 6-5 Jrn-fr‘b"? l.ch Tu‘ 8“ \‘ rn7rzF fps » 0, 3f Von u. Lune Ten mu 1y *rr? 0?! r W I“ ’9’») wc‘ [law To LOH. we gnome. AID A 7 M4 Seem, OF w: TR :5 Tu fence Int-um me). See («on “m We “OW-b 3* Aria he.... Show moreII I/ 6M0 [-ovfi- Ber LORD A‘UOAIM. «rel/u; é lfl) M // Lou» W L Leon) To but.“ Mr .chI 8.2.). \ 6-5 Jrn-fr‘b"? l.ch Tu‘ 8“ \‘ rn7rzF fps » 0, 3f Von u. Lune Ten mu 1y *rr? 0?! r W I“ ’9’») wc‘ [law To LOH. we gnome. AID A 7 M4 Seem, OF w: TR :5 Tu fence Int-um me). See («on “m We “OW-b 3* Aria he. Lu hnflnll w: -~ ‘A El. _. A u , aw yr. rcrry L‘Irrxc ‘ --u 035177". Lnrzyn M4. _ . wko on Mia Rose had" E‘s-TER- Menu/Np, ‘Hn'l‘wemsvr 00¢“ “W”! "V' TLL‘I' we. MIMI? Dunn no)”; Allin. en» rr 8 fian we {mu FEW“; oF 0w: Meat 4300: _ ‘ . . , . who sumo“: u: kl; L-mc ¢Hllbfieu wlfk nu. I-lu mum‘s PM new: umk nu. LIL: nun/ave: FnM Adult. 20 Show less
“Well,” she proclaimed in a low voice," he said that he loved me, and all that kind of stuff." "Well, that's nice. Do you like him?" She grinned. “Yeah, I like him." "You like him, but do you love him?” I teased. She looked at me very seriously, and said incredulously, “Why, Miss Jan, I can't... Show more“Well,” she proclaimed in a low voice," he said that he loved me, and all that kind of stuff." "Well, that's nice. Do you like him?" She grinned. “Yeah, I like him." "You like him, but do you love him?” I teased. She looked at me very seriously, and said incredulously, “Why, Miss Jan, I can't love him." "Aw, why not?“ I questioned. She placed one childish hand on my shoulder, put her mouth close to my ear, and whispered softly, "Miss Jan . . . . he's colored!" Suddenly, Baltimore seemed very close, and although a million thoughts were rushing through my mind, the only word I could say was, “Oh.” I wondered what Jannie's parents had taught her about Negroes, and I wondered if I could tell her that it made no difference that he was colored. And then I wondered if it did make a difference. My thoughts were again abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a small, black figure clad in luminous red swimming trunks. When he stopped directly in front of my chair, Jannie quickly hid her smiling face behind my ann and began to giggle. The little boy standing in front of us revealed a row of even, sparkling white teeth as he smiled rakishly, and drawled softly, “Hi ya, sweetheart!" He turned away quickly and began running as fast as his short legs would carry him to the other end of the pool. I placed the silver whistle in my mouth, blew once, and shouted. "Hey, 'Miskeeta,‘ slow down and walk!" Jannie again placed her head comfortably against my shoulder. I stretched out my legs in the hot sun, and squinted at the shiny black and white figures in the swimming pool. .3 “3...... .2 Show less
VI. VII. (I ask then an angel Where he would go If he wanted to cry "If I wanted to cry" He would say "I would go behind a rainbow There I would sit And weep away my life's memories And my death's regrets." “Life” I would say "Is but a stopping place A page with its corner turned over To remind... Show moreVI. VII. (I ask then an angel Where he would go If he wanted to cry "If I wanted to cry" He would say "I would go behind a rainbow There I would sit And weep away my life's memories And my death's regrets." “Life” I would say "Is but a stopping place A page with its corner turned over To remind someone of where he might begin again It is a breathing time Where one prepares for the next step And the next for the next.“ And the angel would be gone.) I stop now at a bar Where within a man tells jokes And makes the people to laugh I look into his face And into his smile It is a facade It fades but it does not falter (The next morning the paper said The smile and funny man both were dead A splattering-—just a smattering On a street from above A scream to redeem And a prayer to dare) lO Show less
My eyes glossed over the youth's conservative Ivy League clothing and focused immediately on his hair. I tried not to gape, but his mod haircut drew my attention like a magnet. His bluntly cut brown hair hung in front of his ears and reached well past the middle of his back neck. Musing to myself... Show moreMy eyes glossed over the youth's conservative Ivy League clothing and focused immediately on his hair. I tried not to gape, but his mod haircut drew my attention like a magnet. His bluntly cut brown hair hung in front of his ears and reached well past the middle of his back neck. Musing to myself that he had as much hair as all four of the Beatles, I picked up a package of Cinnamint gum and joined Don at the magazine rack. Because the latest issue of New Republic wasn't in stock yet, Don walked to the cigarette counter to pay for the gum. I lingered behind. By this time the teenagers had paid for their Almond Joys and had reached the exit. The door squeaked when the girl left. The boy was about to follow her when he noticed that Don, leaning on the glass cigarette case, was staring at him. "You lookin' at me?" "Who do you think I'm looking at?" "Well you just better turn around and look the other way." "I can look at anything I want." Aware of the disturbance, Carl and Rocky got up from their stools and approached the doorway. Carl put his right hand under his suit coat, near the breast pocket, and kept it there. Although I never saw it, I was certain that it was a pistol that Carl's hand secretly clenched. In vain he ordered, "You get outta here, punk!" Meanwhile I had moved closer to the door and stood now just three feet from the youth. The smell of beer on his breath and the peach fuzz of his face fused ironically in my mind. 17 Show less
Metamorphosis A time when leisure reigns beneath blue sky, the world down by the lake will smell sweet green: she will be by you, and her fingers twined between yours. But you, you will want to be Narcissus, picking lint around your navel, feet gripped by the ground, a flower drowning in a grassy... Show moreMetamorphosis A time when leisure reigns beneath blue sky, the world down by the lake will smell sweet green: she will be by you, and her fingers twined between yours. But you, you will want to be Narcissus, picking lint around your navel, feet gripped by the ground, a flower drowning in a grassy sea. Better a withered fig tree than a man turned flower in his youth; and better yet a healthy tree in season than great beauty or great truth; for there is fruit to bear and folk to eat it; she is there. Mark Trechock Loneliness tiptoes very Softly away when It must transcend Love. LaRhae Grindal Dan Cogelow l4 Show less
Today soaring Spring 5 5 under w p I oo 1 dragonfiies' wings 1 weave Wonder 1 spun sunlight streaming freckled fun fish gieaming Wind touches kneeiing birches sanctifying Spring's churches ur] tiny lashes c a baby girl green fingers of Freshness point upward to Yesness I dive off banks of... Show moreToday soaring Spring 5 5 under w p I oo 1 dragonfiies' wings 1 weave Wonder 1 spun sunlight streaming freckled fun fish gieaming Wind touches kneeiing birches sanctifying Spring's churches ur] tiny lashes c a baby girl green fingers of Freshness point upward to Yesness I dive off banks of Blestness into Gay Sharon Dunshee Show less
VIII. And in the end I am home And I crawl into bed Scarcely disturbing her And muttering as I put my arms around her "For who shall make the clowns to laugh Or the artist to smile? And to whom does God pray?" I I fall asleep later And would become a newspaper spread before the breakfast table... Show moreVIII. And in the end I am home And I crawl into bed Scarcely disturbing her And muttering as I put my arms around her "For who shall make the clowns to laugh Or the artist to smile? And to whom does God pray?" I I fall asleep later And would become a newspaper spread before the breakfast table But prefer to become a man While afar off it goes on The drunk sleeps soundly in the gutter The tears of the man dry in streaks The prostitutes sleep with strangers The priest hangs himself before the altar The angel drowns behind a rainbow And the guts of the joker are gathered and stuffed into garbage cans AND WHO SHALL MAKE THE CLOWNS T0 LAUGH OR THE ARTIST T0 SMILE? AND TO WHOM DOES GOD PRAY? Me Me As for me I have no choice but to become a man The newspapers daily, weekly, eternally are spread before breakfast tables With each sunrise day rejects the dawn But I I have walked and have seen it all My mind it is at peace I need walk no more. John Baudhuin ll Show less
Harvest The fruits of spring are born to autumn ripe: the seeds that Apri] f011y left, fresh-spi11ed, haphazard in its wake have come unspoiled from underfoot and ready to be reaped. The sower's sorrow has become his joy: for dust, just dust before the so]stice shone, has grown to fulness from... Show moreHarvest The fruits of spring are born to autumn ripe: the seeds that Apri] f011y left, fresh-spi11ed, haphazard in its wake have come unspoiled from underfoot and ready to be reaped. The sower's sorrow has become his joy: for dust, just dust before the so]stice shone, has grown to fulness from the grain he's thrown, and goodness full-blown blizzards can't destroy, to grace the planter's table with such feast as 111195 of the fie1d have yet to taste. Mark Trechock Steve Seegmiller 22 Show less
Of Death and Resurrection When this morning I awoke The trees in gTass were hung. The fiery fingers of the sun Were caught in arms of oak. A cage of ice can never hold A spirit on the wing, And as a life set free of sin It breaks its icy mold. Ascended now to its high throne The sun in fire... Show moreOf Death and Resurrection When this morning I awoke The trees in gTass were hung. The fiery fingers of the sun Were caught in arms of oak. A cage of ice can never hold A spirit on the wing, And as a life set free of sin It breaks its icy mold. Ascended now to its high throne The sun in fire burned. Down dropped the ice from bough and Timb: The spirit has gone home. Dan CogeTow Dan Cogelow Show less
Jannie and “Miskeeta” I slipped the silver "life-guard whistle" around my neck as I tiptoed across the bathhouse floor trying not to touch the cold slime with the bottoms of my bare feet. With relief I reached the hot, rough concrete surrounding the swinming pool and sat down in an old wooden... Show moreJannie and “Miskeeta” I slipped the silver "life-guard whistle" around my neck as I tiptoed across the bathhouse floor trying not to touch the cold slime with the bottoms of my bare feet. With relief I reached the hot, rough concrete surrounding the swinming pool and sat down in an old wooden chair to supervise the group in the pool. Approximately sixty screaming, laughing, and splashing seven and eight-year- olds were enjoying the heat of the sun and the coolness of the water. I stretched out lazily in the chair, and squinted my eyes until I saw nothing but a colored blur of movement. The children's wet skin was shiny in the blazing sun light, and their differences in color appeared accentuated. It suddenly seemed strange to me that this lively group of black and white children could play together so cheerfully and peacefully when only forty miles away, their home-town of Baltimore was being torn by race riots. I wondered momentarily if their two weeks of fun at a secluded welfare camp was placing them in a pseudo world entirely apart from the trouble in Baltimore. It certainly seemed possible that a sun-drenched world of glittering water, dense forests, camp fires, and tiny bunk beds had removed them completely from the strife at home. Jannie interrupted my thoughts abruptly as she placed her tiny, seven-year-old body securely on one of my knees, and leaned a head of sun-bleached blonde hair against my shoulder. “Hey, Jannie, where's your swimming suit?" I questioned. "You‘re supposed to be in the water with the other kids." She explained very knowledgeably that she had swollen glands and a sore throat, and had been instructed by the nurse to stay out of the water for a day. With these formalities out of the way, she began to tell me about the exciting events of her day. "I got a note from 'Miskeeta' today,‘ "From who?" "From 'Miskeeta.‘ His name is Skeeter, but we call him 'Miskeeta' like 'Mosquito.‘ Do ya get it? Well, anyway, do you know what he wrote in it?" "No, what?" I questioned, trying to act as interested as I possibly could. she giggled. Show less
Ode to Sensitivity Her long, thin fingers clutched her breast As the airs of the earth she inhaled. Her eyes lifted heavenward, Her pale lip quivered, And she moaned, "Oh, my heart, it has failed! "Yes, every moment of every day Has been laden with the weight of my Soul. Oh, this Soul which has... Show moreOde to Sensitivity Her long, thin fingers clutched her breast As the airs of the earth she inhaled. Her eyes lifted heavenward, Her pale lip quivered, And she moaned, "Oh, my heart, it has failed! "Yes, every moment of every day Has been laden with the weight of my Soul. Oh, this Soul which has searched, And this Soul which has lurched From my body is indeed no more whole. "Ah, would I were a simple blind fool Whose eyes could not clearly see Truth. But, alas, I must struggle, To carry Truth forth 'til My bones have decayed, forsooth." With this our dear lady forced a faint smile And the hearts of all were moved. Then four men or five Strode forward and sighed, "At last, lost soul's mate, you'll be soothed. Ours 399 have been lives that have seen no peace, As we have searched to feel Pain With each fading sunset And each unfonned sonnet, That our soul's have encountered in vain.“ Then with solemn dignity they all clasped hands And raised their Souls as one. "Oh Beauty! 0h Life! Oh Love! 0h Strife!" They cried with their wisdom begun. Alone in my corner, I gazed with wonder At the emotion-wrought scene before me. I stumbled toward them (And knowing not Truth then) I asked, "And what will the dues be?“ Mary Nyquist 29 Show less
sauna i-i'ad “sigh . 1 win. '0 u A Psa1m Sing to me, my wi1d rose: 0f far-off hi115, 0f free winds, And free spirits who roamed The wide creation under b1ue sky, Over wide spaces. Sing to me, my roaring river: Of Eden iost, 0f undamned man, rushing from The sunny, free heights, Down through the... Show moresauna i-i'ad “sigh . 1 win. '0 u A Psa1m Sing to me, my wi1d rose: 0f far-off hi115, 0f free winds, And free spirits who roamed The wide creation under b1ue sky, Over wide spaces. Sing to me, my roaring river: Of Eden iost, 0f undamned man, rushing from The sunny, free heights, Down through the 9100my gorge To be damned in the sea of death. Sing to me, my ancient pine: 0f mountains Far above man, and away; Up, up, where on1y you, and I, And the ego breathe, Free to be free. Sing to me, my new earth: Of Eden regained, 0f creation and God and I Once more joined; Sing to me of travai1 ended, 0f spirits once more free. BHISwrmh Show less
III. IV. A business man sits in a phone and cries Wiping his eyes slowly Like an athlete Brushing the dust from his legs After leading the race And tripping just before the finish line The three prostitutes lean against the hotel One is wise She knows all Another is mystical She pervades all And... Show moreIII. IV. A business man sits in a phone and cries Wiping his eyes slowly Like an athlete Brushing the dust from his legs After leading the race And tripping just before the finish line The three prostitutes lean against the hotel One is wise She knows all Another is mystical She pervades all And the last is martyred She says all But I merely say hello As they flaunt themselves before me And I know myself both brilliant and bold For talking so casually to them I pass the great cathedral And a priest is sitting on the steps And I walk up to him and say “Good evening, Father." And he returns with "My life is the antithesis of my birth I am the day's rejection of the dawn I am a newspaper spread before the breakfast table.“ I look and I see that he is. Show less