1982_12 The Daily Collegian December 1982

              Poetry/Artwork;
Magic Fantasy
Some men want to be the knight on the white horse
Vrif-r thinking of the black hearse
I ntit it's ton late
Sweeping Utile women off their feet, such a style
They'd join you with a smile
Make you a mate.
It's a manic fantasy.
Some men want to be the slayer of the dragon
Put the pieces in the wagon
Wheel them home.
Show the gasping crowd what a good deed you're done
They're throwing flowers and kisses
But you're slill as a stone.
It's a magic fantasy.
Some men would never follow, be a prisoner
Slaying dragons and women
Never was their game.
Taking on identities and foreign nationalities
Laughing at the hearse
As it rolls away.
It's a magic fantasy.
A magic, magic fantasy.
Making Faces
We sat on the kitchen table,
killing lime, planning our marriage,
our fortunes, our children, like survivors
of a shipwreck. We waded through albums
of our childhood, all the fat little babes,
and the parents in clothes long out of fashio
We made faces waiting to be rescued.
We sat there in the late sun, our laughter
subsiding as the pictures grew less faded.
She blew her cheeks out and
made a dewlap under her chin,
imaging how old she would look.
Then I mode a guess
just how pinched and sunk I'd be
and had no hair or teeth.
"We die ugly." the,aid.
So I quit making faces,
a little amazed this flimsy table
coutd hold the weight of us both.
My uncle
■vere
She often speaks of you
of a day with lights so ft
of the words you tried to
of the locks of auburn h
ulu,
.„„      ^
she tells me you were so
when the december win
she tells me it rained th*
breast
her tears drenched her/
tneh
face
uggedyou toner
you in that cold
she was only eight and f
christma* died that yes*
her mother cried for yet
my mother's heart still I
tuft
ith hf
e years of light
r tears
t here
so uncle, so far and sliU
i wish you were here
so, christmas wouldn't fc
dest
time of the year
she tails me her grandrnl
for george had no fear*
she sold, they needed ad
that is why he is not het
By Ho***** Corners Oantt
Qrsduats, Learning HnfldlCI
* her to keep her tears
,in* /rood cheers
ed December 25,1933)
Autumn's Promise
Early morning summer fading
Crisp nets in the air  ■
Autumn's promise
Old leaves, dark green, dusty.
Tipped with brown
Mingled with new leaves
Still bright and proud.
Gentle breezes break the stifling heat
Of the afternoon.
Hibernation in the cool of the
Indoors end
Seek the sun again   ..
Because early morning summer fading
Reminds the soul of
Autumn's promise.
Summer evening sun shortening
Night fast enveloping ripening fields of
Yellowing grain.
Grapes hanging heavily from vines.
Sun setting earlier      "   '-»
Bedtime darkness
Harvest soon Is Autumn's promise.
Jurrfof, Liberal Studl**
The Corruption
Wide*eyed in fan tt with Disneyland dreams
. Finding — not searching
Understanding—not knowing
Adrift in ethereal.paradise
But such is not reality — so say the wise men
Unceremoniously rushed off to school
For learning (conditioning)
Under the tutelage of yesterday's victims
Fallen, as well, from the heavens
Lunches are delicacies in brown paper bags
And blue jeans, and tennis shoes
And textbooks, and binders, arid pencils...
And recess — a brief return to the pleasures of old
It's never quite the same
And away again in that crippled orange bus
With "Abbey. Rents" painted in black on its flanks.
Only this time it's high school
And the last vestiges of serenity are washed away.
By the beer, consumed in gallons on cherished weekends
Needles stuck unmercifully into swollen arms
Ears deafened by music played too loud
Secrets exchanged under the table — arid under the covers
Graduation
Into a world of precision
The green and the silver hang on every move too hastily made
Politics
Revolutions in far-away places
Devoutly followed in the New York Times
St. Buchwald 3:16
Happy Hour at the bar
A stroll down Broadway to see the strip-tease
The coarse whispers of a sour-faced harlot
Sound all too enticing in the ears of drunken lust
But when morning comes, all is forgotten
Each day holds new adventures — so say the wise men
Mornings are alone, with corn flakes
Afternoons are bleak and faceless
Laboring overAedious paperwork
And making eyV* at.the secretary by the coffee machine
Evenings are lie; created to fill the emptiness
And so it goes, un^il.at last the pattern is broken'
A gold watch and a handshake
A one-way ticket to a pine box six feet under
Far away from Disneyland
Not even in California
Sitting and sitting
A sanitixed cubicle
Miro reproductions hanging unevenly on gray walls
Unnoticed
Hollow, faded eyes
Gazing straight ahead; never blinking
Searching — not finding
Knowing — not understanding
The shadows of twilight creep in through half-opened
Venetian blinds
Slowly advancing
A silent army to vanquish the day
'     ':'.. " •
By Stsv* Provo*t
Determination
It's something to be used at the extremes of our emotions.
Good things tend to mellow out life.
To cause a relaxation of goals.
Achievements tend to fall away.
Happiness can cut into our drive
Making us lose sight of our paths.
Causing us to dwell in ourselves.
' Shortening our outlook, blinding some.
Deep in our minds it waits to be used.
It slops complacency.
Pushes despondency to the side. m
It helps us to endure, to see ahead and
At times, see thru life.
■   Its easy to tpot.
'
■*M