Show The Eagle-pag- e 8 Thursday April 27 1989 life on by CEU'Sj Thoughts creative writing students Poems are from CEU's creative writing class With My Daughter We wait on the shores of this frozen lake for spring to be sure but the ice still sounds beneath the surface a blue whale calling to her young Sunken echoes chase out to us standing on this thin line of snow like We toss stones then rocks trying to break through this stubborn season but they Just skip themselves farther across the opaque layers siding Into stillness Their round and jagged edges poke oddly above this place where waves should be -- Katie Kingston Worms of Stone Far too blunt to be entangled creatures poished white and friendly caught in layers of speckled bean-roc- k when the land was wet and deep along the airport road 'wn:!JLearning d Guarded by the dusty no longer hearing yet they dance to the pounding of the coal trucks and the midnight kegger drum-beof the mutant generation -James Hansen burl-woo- Bell Rings Children Clamor fines formed at door opens mob thrown coats shoved lunches boots tossed half paired lost pencils book bags find a chair wait Valleys and the winding rivers Surrounded by rough peaks That edge towards the sky flag long vowels short vowels abc's then addition Weathered and rugged Through years of abuse Erosion continually resides watch your writing do your spelling read a story recess -- Father's Hands Far from ancient Though the evidence proclaims Just rough travels they've tried Gerry Wilfiams Seasoned with knowledge By the encounters endured An uncanny wisdom they provide The cool ringing swings a frog The blue slag thinks back to the good old days when fife was young The important mud surprises the wavering rock Leathery eyes bite and die with the ever increasing pitch of the new befief of the days yet to come The time is past I say to myself when a man could five and yet be The sharp cloud misses the mountain and sighs dropping rain on the king's head The wight of course for black Is winning again But the purple dreaming hugs me and seems to say come on friend of you think like that you're sure to end upon a red trip The hot tamarack eats and laughs Why is not important anymore At least not as Important as she thinks she is Tknowr I cry (and that brings on some strange looks from the crowd in this lonely place) But she Is still more important than How "Twas Brilfig in the swarthy droves” Life curved somewhere long away and far ago And Better days they have seen Yet no way to restore-A- nd with what they hold-w- hy try? -Anonymous Quarantined movement of the dusk left the stairwell blank The breathless piano played for the dust Within the smoke a lion crouched by books The fragile window was doctored by wood A Each small bed was draped by crumbled sheets From above the stairs came dissonant voices Only one inhabitant moved effortlessly in the mist Responding to each of the barely discernible cries Stacee Pene a cool ringing swings the frog SalMelo |