1970 School Magazine

from the facts of reality's widening cracks. He knows himself and his surroundings, his attitudes and those of others. But it doesn't last. He is a captive of his own curiosity. Every "\7hy?" sounds a death-knell to his childhood and to his Life. And every "How?" marks a loss of knowledge. - ELA|INE DON MARY ALEXIS MACMILLAN MEMORIAL PRIZE FOR POETRY IN SECOND FORM 1969 ilru "Tlinisters PreqcI T he cold green water laps silently up onto the quiet beach. It laps tbe golden sand auay in the part W here the ministers so,metimes preach. T he children come and go And listen to stories old and new. But the water still ueeps up silently As it has done f or many millions of yenrs, It laps down the oXd people's tears T hat they shed uben they heard the minister preach. But nou the minister has gone, T be children are gone - the old people all gon:e, And no longer does the quiet water lap the sand, But in its place does stand a raging surf , Pounding against the dismal rock. AU except the water is dead. - SUSAN RICHARDS WIere

E"fty W'o['o'L C|ollurge r- ewp, 1969 "Vhere is the Life we haue lost in liuins? Wbere is the wisdom ue haae lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge tDe haue lost in information?" - T. s. E'-ror \Where are the joys of childhood? Puddle-jumping rainbows. The clatter of sticks along a split-paling fence. Ugly, naked, tiny birds blindlv gaping at a blue expanse of sky. The wonder of a grub groping its way across a trackless waste of earth, \X/e sit at a desk or the wheel of a car or the controls of a plane and wonder. S7hat have we gained in "grou/ing-up?" Disillusionment, boredom, a cramp in the imagination. Oh, we can design buildings and amusements; but they are the products of desperation our sophisticated rejection of the truly beautiful, the living whole. \7e now are the puppets of a shattered dream. \We strive for perfection but turn our backs on the perfect man. A little child. A child has no prejudices. It doesn't matter whether your skin be black, white or brindle, Whether you believe in God, Moloch or nothing at all. A child accepts you as you ate. There is no veneer of diplom acy or tact. Only an irrefutable logic Which no verbal swordplay can pierce or cut down. A child has not the fears that plague our insecure existence. He is hrppy and safe in a balance with his environment. A clear-sightedness and inbuilt wisdom which becomes lost or covered bv the sham of our adult world The world of the child is ruled bv good.

MARY ALEXIS MACMILLAN MEMORIAL PRIZE FOR LYRIC POEM - Winner: JOAN JOHNSON (Unfortunately, rDe are unable to publish this.)

Truth, right and justice conquer all. In his sealed make-believe he is free

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