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Poems, Frances King

Manuscripts

Frances King's poems won first prize in the poetry ,division.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 14, Issue 3: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

The Last Word, The Editor

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No abstract provided.

Profile Of A Nation, Donald H. Emrick

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Behind every face lies a story. Behind the profile of Abraham Lincoln dwelled the soulstirring drama of a fledging nation-its tribulations, its triumphs. Every stroke of the artist in painting the President depicted character, hope, life.

Price Of Courage, Barbara Shellhouse

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This is a narrative of the years snatched from a man's life, a young man, a writer. Ramon Larue was his name.

Friendship, Russell J. Zentz

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I am standing in front of the Toddle House one evening when who should drive up in a bright yellow sedan but Georgie Roberts, with whom I am very chummy of late. Georgie is by no means an exemplary character, but it so happens that his old man in recent years develops to a new high the art of separating well-to-do citizens from their potatoes and as a result does not worry much these days concerning the necessities of life. Since Georgie is an only child, Roberts the elder is more than liberal with such material things as automobiles and …

Army Talk, George C. Taylor

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The two soldiers stood under the arch with their legs spread wide after the fashion of men filled with confidence and a sense of well being. The larger of the two men took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair...

"Never The Twain Shall Meet", Robert Bowles

Manuscripts

It has been over a year since I last saw Lu, yet today whenever I pick up a paper and read of trouble in India, Palestine, or China _ especially China - I see again before me that homely yellow face with its broad, friendly grin, and the deep network of tiny, delicate wrinkles crinkling about the calm, slanted, brown eyes which saw so much and told so little. I can see the mild laughter, and maybe a trace of pity, slipping forth from Lu's usually inscrutable eyes, and I can hear again the soft, even tones of his voice …

The Hand, Robert T. Wukasch

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The hand rested on the shelf momentarily, then disappeared. The light was not too good and I could but distinguish it to be a male hand, not a large one, medium, with long fingers.

I won't tell you who I am, nor how I came to be lying on my belly here: I was peeking at someone, spying on him.

An Ode To Night, R. J. Payne

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No abstract provided.

My Friend Einstein, William Orbaugh

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DURING the course of the late war, I had the very good fortune to find myself exposed for a time to the time honored traditions of Princeton University. Perhaps not so ancient, but none the less honored, was Princeton's current tradition: my most unforgettable character, Albert Einstein.

"I", Carole Valyrie Wilson

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"i"

little,

demanding,

does not know it is but a reflection;

it soon sees "you"

another,

as some one to praise

or to blame.

Time, Time!, Richard J.O. Greene

Manuscripts

Tick, tock, tick, tock-

To prove is my endeavor,

That yesterday was yesterday,

Tomorrow will be never.

Death Leaves You Like That, Lee W. Van Der Moere

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HAVE you ever seen death? Not dead people, but death? Did you ever see a dog hit by a car, and watch him struggle, and whine, and sob? That is part of death. Have you ever read about a person taking poison and the way he gasped in agony, breath coming shorter and faster until there was no more breath? That too, is part of death. Have you ever smelled the odor of gangrene? No struggle here, just a repugnant odor. Did you ever sit up all night with an old person, all worn out by life, and watch him …

Poems, Frances King

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Beforemath, Karolyn Gould

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NElL placed the clay pipe between his lips assuming what he imagined was a casual pose-- the pipe slipped lop-sidedly to the corner of his mouth and he tasted a few bitter perfumed drops of soap water which had remained in its stem. He removed the pipe from his mouth with a quick gesture and glanced over the high hedge to the yard next door.

Abstract, Mary Alice Kessler

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FOUR stripes of no color books, two pieces of dust, an old gray head, a bloated cactus flung into a frame of big library in big city in big world. This is the portrait, the scalding drop of life--the story behind the story behind the story, the unuttered idea behind the gesture. It was unusually cold for October. He hadn't ever remembered such a cold October. It hadn't been this cold before October was called October. But now it was cold and he wanted to know more l)bout the cereus cactus.

The Cat And The Cricket, Barbara Park

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SHE ordered another bourbon and water, and watched the cat play with the cricket. How odd to see a cat playing with a cricket in the corner of a cocktail lounge! But then, it wasn't a very respectable cocktail lounge. John wouldn't approve of it, nor would he approve of her being there alone at four o'clock in the afternoon. John didn't approve of a good many things she did. But, good heavens, why think about John? That was past--c'est fini!

Our House, Allyn Wood

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I have left my wife in the village to arrange for the rental of a rowboat, and to find shelter for our car which no longer is of use, while I go ahead to open the house. It is strange to be out under sky again; to think that as a biologist, working on the elements of life, I am so long absent from life that others know unquestioningly. The experiment is behind, and summer ahead, to rest and arrange my notes without interruption in the house we have leased atop the cliff by the sea.

Return To Beauty, Glenn Fisher

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It was pretty tough to come back and find the folks all gone and Diane married to someone else. Nothing seemed to matter any more. There had been a time when the lazy little town had been very dear to me, but now it depressed me. I was empty inside, as if I'd never be able to feel again. It wasn't altogether the town's fault or the fact that things had changed, it was more that I had lost a certain something inside I couldn't define. Anyway, I wasn't happy-I knew that.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 14, Issue 2: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

The Last Word, The Editor

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No abstract provided.

The Ageless Mystery, Clyde Steckel

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The qualities of changelessness and everlastingness ascribed to God by man have not always been ascribed to him. The idea of God has grown, matured, and developed as the human mind has progressed, beginning with a narrow family or tribal deity and becoming a universal omnipresence. There are two reasons why these narrow conceptions of God have existed through the years.

Awakening, Lulu A. Conn

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When consciousness first reaches out to bring us from our drifting cloud of sleep, it is like the sunlight upon the floor of a woods, dancing in patterns of sparkling happiness, now and then arrested by a shadow of seriousness.

Next Summer, John O'Drain

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To others it is just an old-fashioned garden, along the bus route, but to me it is a nostalgic symbol. Every time I pass, memories of another garden filter into consciousness. A garden bordered with iris plumes of varied hues and perfumed with art elusive fragrance appears. An old lady is bent over a bloom of exceptionally delicate shade. She straightens slowly saying, "Lovely, isn't it, John?" Her hands are gnarled and dirty, her dress black and shapeless, but her smile makes you overlook all else.

Magical Gold, Joann-Lee Johnson

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No abstract provided.

Drowning, P. M. Coffey

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Up and down I went, slowly. I could see the women's legs hanging in the water from a log. I was only four, but I knew something was wrong. The water was a pretty bluish-green color and very quiet, except for the air bubbles that came out of me and the splash of the legs kicking in the water.

Analysis Of "R.U.R.", Robert Bowles

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(The analysis of RUR by Robert Bowles is printed as an example of what is being done in Freshman Composition classes in the form of analysis. We believe that this is a superior illustration of a review of the important work by Capek.)