11

MORE FUN STUFF

In Response to Stevie Smith’s “Not

Waving But Drowning”

Anthony S.

I was much father out

Than you thought

I remember drowning and

No one coming to help

I remember screaming but

No one hearing

I remember kicking and

Punching but no one feeling

I remember telling you

But you not listening

“He Used to Beat my Brother But Not

Me”

Anthony S.

I lay in my bed

At night

Hoping and wishing

That the monster won’t come in

But then the door swings open and

I close me eyes

I squint my eyes

I know what is going to happen

But I don’t want to accept it

HE RIPS the sweet innocent

Boy off the top bunk

Kaplimp! His body falls to

The ground the sweet innocent

Boy yells while the monster

Hits him

And

Hits him

And

Hits him

I run to the sweet innocent

Boy

When the monster leaves the

Room

And we sit there and

Cry

And

Rock

Back and forth and tell

Each other that is it okay

Because in the morning

We will have a

NEW LIFE

The next morning, I twisted my hair up into a

bun and hid it under my navy blue derby hat. I looked

ata“Today’s the day, Molly Malloy,” I said to myself.

I looked past my figure and out the window. It was a

wonderful day. The sky was as blue as the sea and

filled with clouds as fluffy as marshmallows. My lace

curtains rustled from a warm breeze.

“It’s now or never, kid,” I thought.

I stepped out into the bright sunlight wearing

my crisp new suit. When I finally got to the train

station, it was 11:30 in the morning. I was going to be

late. I just made the train to the city. The whistle

blew and the train departed from the station. I found

an empty compartment and sat down on the red vel­

vet seat. I stared out the window, a million thoughts

racing through my mind. Everyone that the train

passed looked so happy, but how were they to know

about the stock market crash?

“Thank goodness I have Nolan,” I thought.

“He is getting me out of here with money before the

crash.”

I slipped into a daydream with the hum of the

train passing over the train tracks. A few minutes

later, the train whistle blew, announcing our arrival

into the station. The train lulled to a stop, and I joined

the crowded platform. Before leaving the station, I

bought a cup of coffee at the station’s café.

Once again, like the previous evening, I found

myself at the end of Fifth Avenue. This time, how­

ever, it was in the safety of daylight. I walked down

the sidewalk searching for the office. I looked across

the busy street and found “Detective Manhattan”

printed on the window of a three­story building. This

was the place.

I crossed the street and entered the building.

There were file cabinets everywhere. After all, De­

tective Manhattan was the most well known detec­

tive in the entire city. He had more clients and crime­

busts than the president’s secret service. I managed

to locate a desk in the corner, and behind a pile of

mail, Nancy Brice, the detective’s secretary.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I have a meeting with

Detective Manhattan.” I must have startled the sec­

retary because she slid off of her seat and onto the

floor. She disappeared behind her desk for a mo­

ment.

“Are you all right, Miss Brice,” I asked.

“Oh yes, I’m fine. You just startled me.” She

stood up, using the desk for support. “I’m just so

nervous. A CIA agent is here.”

“That must be Nolan,” I thought.

“Detective Manhattan’s office is on the sec­

ond floor. Go right up the flight of stairs, and it’s the

door at the end of the hallway,” said Miss Brice.

“Thank you.” I nodded and ascended the

stairs. Indeed, Detective Manhattan’s office was was

Shadows In The Light ­ cont’d

Traveling Light

Moving through still time, its opposite,

it creates no friction. They are both gifts,

one the infinite eye of the needle

the other threads. Occupies.

Emptiness is full of itself,

a never air, the lens for being.

In the long way of this place,

the afterthought of gasses becomes

what we tune in, its tickless

preoccupation and amaze our present.

If such light made a sound

it would be as if the wide spacewind

formed a bell of itself,

and a smaller wind within, and rang.

Dabney Stuart

A Sonnet of the Moon

LOOK how the pale queen of the silent night

Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,

And he, as long as she is in his sight,

With her full tide is ready her to honor.

But when the silver waggon of the moon

Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,

The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,

And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are the sovereign of my heart

Have all my joys attending on your will;

My joys low­ebbing when you do depart,

When you return their tide my heart doth fill.

So as you come and as you do depart,

Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

Charles Best

The Gulf

by Katherine Mansfield

A Gulf of silence separates us from each other.

I stand at one side of the gulf, you at the other.

I cannot see you or hear you, yet know that you

are there.

Often I call you by your childish name

And pretend that the echo to my crying is your

voice.

How can we bridge the gulf? Never by speech or

touch.

Once I thought we might fill it quite up with tears.

Now I want to shatter it with our laughter.

My life’s in a million pieces

but the cravings control me.

My life’s in a million pieces

but there’s no one to console me, you see.

My life’s in a million pieces

I’ve hurt everyone I know.

My life’s in a million pieces

but I don’t know where to go.

My life’s in a million pieces.

instantly opened for me.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Miss Malloy,”

said Detective Manhattan. the end of the hallway. I

knocked on the door, and it at

A large round man in his early sixty’s stood

before me. He had short stout legs, which looked

like they would collapse at any minute from the weight

they were carrying. His brown tweed jacket did noth­

ing to hide his bulging figure; in fact, it made him look

like a great big sac of potatoes. Two black eyes sat

behind round spectacles and a cigar protruded from

between two rows of false teeth. All together, de­

tective Manhattan was not a very attractive man.

“Yes, well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” I took

my place in a chair beside Nolan.

“Now what was so important that you had

to disrupt my latest case for,” said a rather disgruntled

detective. “I am a very busy man, Nolan Brown!”

“As a member of the CIA, I have been selected to

inform you of our latest research that concerns your­

self, Detective Manhattan.” Nolan paused for a dra­

matic effect. “Your life is in danger.”

Gregory Maddock, Sophomore

There is no confidence

They seem to be scared

So much potential

but fear handcuffs them.

Most are motivated and

strive to succeed.

Some take the easy way out

“I can’t do it,” they’ll say.

Others just don’t try.

They really don’t care.

How sad!

There are many things worse than failing.

You could be dead.

Trying to do your best won’t kill anyone.

To not try is to kill your spirit.