1973 School Magazine

STORM The weird black cloud was tinged red - by the dying sun The sea was dull and metallic - gleamtng dully with the colours of sunset The ftrst few brief gushes of wind slapped against the sides of the hut then came the main forces of the storm with an eerie flash of lightntng splitting the slq the waves like white horses were being driven forward by the VallEries The lightning flashes in strange contorted woys The thunder belching forth disgruntingly The wind pulling and tearing At all standing with intent to destroy The rain's beating the ground unmercifully As to push the very stones to the bowels of the eartk. fuddenly one of the'huts was struck - turning the sheet iron into a mangled and grotesque shape. The storm was abating The fallen trees in tangled masses lay. The stms were appearing slowly. Deirdre Gehrmann IVD it looked like a hand reaching to claw the land and terrify.

so[-DmR. He looks, a tortured agony burntng in his eyes' His face is contorted into a thousarcd pains. A cry leaves -his tips but it is never heard. His mind is filled with swirling eddies of colour; then is blank. He grasps the past. His home. His famtly. Never again; never again would he see them. IIe could feel the soft, reassuring lwnd on his brow. The one hand in the world not scarred by battle; but scuned by nails - the rwils driven in on that foteful Fnday on C-alvary. He was drifting slowly, but there was a wind picking up in his sails. A wind blowW awaY the sounds of war. He dies, that soldier. He dies because of men. Men who wanted power. Men who saw nothing vwong in wcrtficing the lives of others in order to gain for themselves. But he wasn't alone, that soldier. He represented thousands of others. Others who died so that their country might live. Leigh Hillman 28 S timul ant o f inwgina tio n with shape so free, wandering with the wind ttrough that unreachnble blueness that is yours: Ione white cloud, while the day fades you grow mare beautiful, catching the glow ofthe sinking aura to convsy it in a glory of gold and dusky Pastels to a tiring earth. THE PLATEAUX OF THE SUN For I have seen the lowest plateaux of the sun, Andround thetr wide circamferences (ve run; And doing this, have tasted of the fire That I am told consumes the plateaux hisher. In crossing wnd blnwn red by Satan's flame The lonely desert pys no heed to name Or rank, until the goal is won, And I huve walked a plateau of the sun. But when in bluegrem waters I have swayed, The lights reflected in me do not fade, And though I lcnow the surfacing cames soon, For now I'll tread the highhnds of the moon. And in the pearly grey of morning light I'Illie and edit phnntoms of the nffit, And till the bumW gold of day and noon I'll touch upon the hishlands of the moon. Yet, though I know the hndscape of the moon, I hope that in its mountains someday soon ITI find o craft, or way to make all one, That I may reach the summits of the sun. Janet Dyne VIA TO A CLOUD

Aore Bremmer 5C

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