Show The Eagle - Page 10 Thursday May 23 1991 a poetry class taught winter quarter by Nancy Takacs twice never for the first time but once In a while the three of us (you god and myself) have sat upon these monumental glorious ridges tugging at sleeves laughing at one another's faults and wondering why trees are trees not roses and although bigger dont smell as sweet as roses what happened old days whsn life was carefree and we lived without any worries about work or food or money when we skipped school In the big yellow bomb and spent hours at the hmch box eating Ice cream and laughing at the comics on the wall or went out on the desert To tht good and climbed the silver telephone poles -- while falling In love we three cried thinking that Marlene Wells although the tree stands taller and soaks up most of the rain It too Is to Fireworks We sat there under the stars on the grass overlooking the bay Watching the blasts of colored fire Every now and then you would add your own sparks Into the darkness can remember the smell of your cigarette smoke combined with the remnants of burning fireworks lingering scent of the barbecues and mists of salty air I After the fireworks were over you hummed music In my ear We danced there for hours It seemed I can still hear you humming And I am still dancing -- Jessica Taylor Lake of Blove The lake Is a sun warm by whispering children round by square boats Radiant as leaves that make Rice Crlsples sounds Thermonuclear as laughing Mlnutemen Glowing by the tingle of bait Yet miles sway -- Sterling Prlggemeler die everything dies but you and I (gods soul runs with the trees) -- Matthew Plnney Walk in the Park Dragging my bare feet In the fresh dewy grass I breath deeply close I my eyes hear my name "Llssar Adrlenne3 years old Clasping my leg with both arms Her milky blue eyes gazing begging for a playmate We swing and slide build castles In the sandbox Talking of dolls parents and her dog Yakum She smiles squlnchlng her freckled nose "I love youl" I believed her No conditions No strings Nothing to earn I Just love her back Grogan rjter's Block His hands looked soft knuckles long fingers square workhands that did not know work No callouses marred those young hands Nothing disfigured them except a ring of reality: Cold hard and unyelldlng glinting In the mean light dene winking with movement forever In a circuit Jacqueline F Parks |