Poetry Commons^™

The Barrier Between, Richard Moores

Manuscripts

It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and the crowd in the restaurant was thining. A dark-haired woman played on an elevated organ, and the waitresses walked wearily between the empty tables, collecting dishes and silverware. Big electric fans moved back and forth with sluggish precision, and stirred the rising cigarette smoke. The restaurant was slowly, almost imperceptibly, becoming enveloped in an atmosphere of lanquorous silence that would last until dinner-time.

Two young men sat facing each other across a linen-topped table, and a woman looked at them through the twisted iron grill-work that separated the two tables. The woman, …

Flamingos, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Far through the jungle, bird cries mark night's end.
Eastwardly the sky is streaked with pink,
and near the water's edge black orchids bend
beneath webbed-feet, as white flamingos drink.

Deep among the spindling silent stalks
which border banks surrounding the lagoon
wet reeds stir, and a tall flamingo walks
infringing on the sleep of afternoon.

Flamingos showing silver in the night
fly far above the jungle toward the west,
and following a star's transluscent light
at length reach home, and white flamingos rest.

Buttonville--Population 2,005, Patricia Sylvester

Manuscripts

The calendar in Grandpa's general store, filling station and grocery reads 1939. His store is the first you see when you come into Buttonville, a town right in the center of the United States about a mile from Sugar Crossing and running along side of Catfish Creek. You can't. miss it for, as you enter, there's a sign saying "Buttonville - Population 2,005 (They crossed out the two and changed it to five when Mrs. Blanchy had the town's triplets, Minnie, Winnie and Sam, Jr.). As you leave, there's a sign reading "Come again when you can stay longer - …

Editorial

Manuscripts

Few freshmen, and few upperclassmen, are aware of the literary contests held during the year by various organizations in or outside Butler University. We feel that this lack of information is unfortunate and should be remedied, since participation in the contests may be both profitable to the would-be writer, or pleasurable to those who merely enjoy writing.

Front Matter

Manuscripts

Front matter includes: front and back covers, table of contents, and masthead.

Poets Don't Ride Motorcycles, Andrew G. Tully

Department of English: Dissertations, Theses, and Student Research

This is a collection of poems that focus more on minutia and happenstance than larger universal themes. Using free-form lines and stanzas, spare construction, and dark yet powerful imagery, these poems remind readers of the meaningful emotional impact everyday items and interactions can have. The extraordinary and unusual are important too, and form a stark contrast to the poems about the mundane. These poems are not meant to be a final collection, but are a solid base for a book-length manuscript that will expand on the themes, images, and stories contained in this thesis.

Adviser: Kwame Dawes

The Next Meeting For Tdf's New Creative Writers' Festival Poster, Department Of Theatre, Dance & Film

Promotional Materials

Providence College Department of Theatre, Dance & Film

Bowab Studio Theatre

The next meeting for TDF's new Creative Writers' Festival

Tuesday, April 22, 2014, 6pm

Apre2014, Robert Kelly

Robert Kelly Manuscripts

From April 2014 Robert Kelly Archives

Volume 9, Issue 4: Full Issue

Manuscripts

Full issue of the May 1942 issue of Manuscripts. Includes work by:Helen Elizabeth Hughes, Jack DeVine, Esther Benjamin, Joe Berry, J. Robert Dietz, Glenn H. Fisher, Myron Scarbrough, Patricia Sylvester, Mary Wiley, Richard Moores, Rachel Whelan, Richard Outcalt, Margaret Byram, Janet Gregory, Joseph A. Trent, Ione COlligan, Jeane Siskel, Jean M. Chalifour, Jim Mitchell, Betty Frances Thome, Bob Harris, Alfonse Tapia, Virgina Hurt, Jean Ebeling, Ardath Weigler, and Mary Ellen Shirley.

Excerpts

Manuscripts

Excerpts from additional submissions by authors: Melvin Kuebler, Richard Jowitt, Mary Elizabeth Black, Quentin West, Edward F. Wright, Margie Ann Hukriede, Margaret Dawson, Don R. Cutsinger, and Suzanne Van Talge.

Motherhood, Mary E. Shirley

Manuscripts

As she lay in the midst of dirt and squalor she seemed in utter oblivion. To her the cobwebby walls, the cockroaches, the plush chair with springs uncovered, and the filthy blanket were unimportant, because for once in her life, the young colored girl had captured the spotlight. She was the center of interest in that room; of secondary interest was the baby - her baby - in the next room.

Winter, Ardath Weigler

Manuscripts

Faint, uncertain fluorescence of day struggling to penetrate the murk of man-made atmosphere - pushing through the exhalation of factory and furnace, making silhouette background for life. An occasional, broken shuffle of steps along the gritty alleyways as a solitary devotee gropes his path to the six o'clock mass. Lining the street - drab frame houses point a picket finger of mediocrity. Unrelieved monotony of mansard roofs jagging against the dun-colored sky, holding the saturated weight above.

About Defeat, Jean Ebeling

Manuscripts

There they lay, slung back in a corner, discarded from any future use, and looking as if every ounce of strength and good will had been wrung from their very soles. Only a few months before, that old pair of shoes could have held up its laces and thrown back its tongue, unshamefully encountering any other pair of shoes-even those of the higher priced class.

Libya, Virginia Hurt

Manuscripts

As far as one could see stretched the shimmering sands of the Sahara. The fury of the day seemed to beat upon the earth and the burning glare of the desert set weaving heat-waves into motion above the shifting hillocks, which the scorching wind swept into being and inevitably demolished with its swaying motion.

A Penny For Your Thoughts, Alfonse Tapia

Manuscripts

"A Penny for your thoughts."
What could I answer, when, in reality, I had been thinking of absolutely nothing. I was just looking at nature; nature who has always done something to me. I cannot put my finger on it, but I can feel it vaguely with a certain weakness that causes a disengagement from the powers of description. As mysterious as night itself; like the flame glowing in the fireplace, or the tobacco smoke, lazily drifting along to nowhere. It is in that way that I watch the always vanishing 'something' that is forever there in nature.

Munitions Worker, Bob Harris

Manuscripts

a little lesson in love and virtue
a discourse between god and saint peter
pertaining to the soul of a munitions maker.

Appreciation, Betty F. Thome

Manuscripts

My father is sitting at the breakfast
table, his left hand raises by degrees a cup
of coffee to his lips, his right hand firmly
grips the most important part of his morning
meal-the newspaper. Suddenly, the
left hand goes sharply down, making the
china cup click as it hits the saucer, the
sports' page is enlightening this morning.
"By God, Galento's going to try it
again! Tonight at 8: 30!" My father issues
this announcement as fervently as a revival
preacher heralds the end of the World.
"Who is Galento?" says my mother
very innocently from her side of …

This Thing Called Love, Jim Mitchell

Manuscripts

"What is this thing called Io-o-ove?" wails the radio crooner in his agonized search for the "sweet mystery of life." All over the country, dowagers and damsels alike sigh and shed a tear of pity; and "the poor fellow" is voted to a high place among the ranking stars of radio. As his popularity increases, his paycheck grows about in proportion to the square of his "public," and life becomes a song for the crooner with the "catch" in his voice. What is the first thing our poor love-starved hero does upon landing a spot on a coast-to- coast network? …

Struggles In Slang, Jean M. Chalifour

Manuscripts

"Slang!! Our children do not use
slang," emphatically pronounced the Head
English Mistress in the G. S. C. School for
Girls, somewhere in England. Now, in
spite of an extremely exaggerated Oxford
accent which usually practically defied the
American Exchange Teacher's powers of
translation, the meaning of this statement
was crystal clear and raised a healthy
resentment in the American's heart. Had
not the A. E. T. heard much slang at the
"digs" among the "diggers" who were well
educated, teachers and bank "clarks?"
When the A. E. T. suggested this to the
H. E. M., she was informed that …

That Is Why, Jeane Siskel

Manuscripts

They were as high as high. Below them, was not that full, rounded form of yellow light the moon-the moon anchored in distant music? Were not the sudden twinklings seen in the distance the stars? Were not those shifting shadows clouds?