Poetry Commons^™

Constructive Thinking, Mary Grace French

Manuscripts

The student of today is not allowed to think for himself. Instead he is told what to think and criticised if he does not do so. As a result he goes through grade school, high school, and even college without using his mind to its fullest capacity. Classes are usually too large for much individual attention, and time is often considered too important a factor. To take advantage of every minute, the teacher does not let each person express his views but deals out facts that the student must accept.

What I Like To Read, Marjorie Yelvington

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The analysis of character, whether it be reality or fiction, has always appealed to me. As far as my individual character is concerned, I am not quick to make friends for the simple reason that I am slow in forming opinions of a personality. Character study in literature is a valuable aid in teaching one the art (not the science) of psychology.

Life Is What You Make It, Barbara Jean Fark

Manuscripts

Having neither enough years on my beginning to see the advent of the horseless carriage or enough years on the other end (as yet) to witness the helicopter age, I am not in a desirable position to discuss, with nostalgia or anything else, treasured objects that are gone forever or are passing from American life. The only thing at the present date I'll never see again is the age of ten, or for that matter any part of my childhood-happy, happy days when nobody minded if I had a smudge on my face because he had two, when all I …

Madam Marquet, Ida Marie Luck

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Madame Marquet chatted gaily to the little squirrel that sat watching her from the porch steps while she waited for her neighbor to come to the door.

"Caesar, you're a leel rascal, that's w ha t," she teased softly, "but if you come over after while, Mama will geeve you something to eat."

The squirrel cocked his head to one side as though he were puzzled by her French flavored language; then he scampered quickly away as the front door opened. Madame Marquet giggled at his antics, wrinkling her nose in the manner of a high school girl.

Peter Pan's Paradise, Carol Fall

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The European Rooms in Miniature, by Mrs. James Ward Thorne, exhibited at John Herron Art Institute contain the depth of reality and the realm of fantasy. The realization that the objects in these rooms are perfect miniature replicas of exemplary period furnishings catches one's imagination.

States Of Learning, Kay Smith

Manuscripts

I SCHOOL IN VIRGINIA

School is a very important factor in a person's life. There are innumerable public schools all over America; each there for the same purpose. It is interesting to note that each state has an almost entirely different curriculum. The schools in Virginia stress culture. It is put far above the three "R's". The particular school I have in mind is the Jeb Stuart Grade School in Richmond. This two story building surrounded by spacious grounds in a clean residential section makes a pleasant place to start to school. Life in a Virginia grade school is leisurely. …

To Roz, Betty Hawkins

Manuscripts

You would be startled if I stood before you and stated curtly, "Thanks." You might think it a game and carol flippantly, "Oh, that's all right. Just anytime-," or "Whoops! The girl's mad!"

Dreaming, Ingeborg Weck

Manuscripts

The constant rocking, from starboard to port, and from stem to stern; those furious, lashing waves towering high above the proud towers; the rolling deck, a perfect test for an acrobat; the dank smell of foul air and sick humans; the sea and sky covered with. a heavy grey veiling: a perfect picture of an Atlantic storm at its furious height.

At Home, Gladys Little

Manuscripts

I ALONE

Outside, the rain pounded steadily on the roof of the' house; the flashes of lightning darted boldly across the sky; at intervals, the thunder roared as a lion caught in the hunter's trap. Inside, the flickering light of the fireplace cast huge and distorted shadows upon the walls ; the radio poured forth words made meaningless by the ever-returning thunder; the clock on the mantle above the fireplace ticked nervously.

The Americans, Joe Sullivan

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THE WESTERNER

The cowboy is as traditional and as colorfully American as is Thanksgiving. Today, however, he is too often falsely represented by those overworked mediums _ the cinema and radio. In spite of this, the modern cattle man, the name he prefers to cowboy, remains as distinctive and picturesque as ever, for the vast West has changed but a little since the days of Kit Carson.

Song Without Music, Lucy Kaufman

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No abstract provided.

The Supper, Joan Fuller

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"The stew is delicious, Miss Prand," he said, and the tight bodice of her dress seemed suddenly to pinch with the expansion of her pleasure. She knotted her fingers together in her lap under the edge of the table cloth.

"You really like stew, Mr. Crawley?" she asked. She had made it very carefully but she had been afraid it was too ordinary.

"Very much."

He was such a tall and handsome man and with such a voice. She hadn't had anyone like him rent her front room for a long time. Of course she didn't give any of the …

There Are Men, Janet Jarrett

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No abstract provided.

Education In A Democracy, Leo A. Woodruff

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Education is of vital important in any form of government. We have seen by the example of dictatorship countries that the right kind of education is an absolute necessity. They had to have their ideas, no matter how twisted they might be, forced upon their people, before they could come as far as they have. The type of education a dictatorship should have is usually decided by the dictator, and is used to accomplish his individual desires. Education is of no less importance in a democracy. The educational system should be determined by the people, and the goal should be …

Of Purely Social Significance, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

It was generally considered a privilege to be among Mrs. Howard Wonderly, Junior's guests on any occasion. Her social gatherings were frequented by only those who moved in the most elite circles, and each affair shone as a sterling example of infallible taste and unsurpassed propriety. With magnificence the smooth black limousines would draw up before the heavy door, and immaculate chauffeurs would leap from their vehicles and commit the ennobled visitors to polished doormen. With faultless execution, the pompous dinners would be served to the assembled group of gourmets. With carefully voiced thanks, spoken in exactly the proper phrases, …

The Storm, Robert Cornett

Manuscripts

Thunderstorms hold a peculiar fascination for me. The dark clouds arising suddenly out of the west; a strange stillness in the air as if the world had stopped in anticipation of some portentous event; the pale, eerie light in the atmosphere which gradually turns into darkness as the clouds draw near; the rumble of distant thunder and intermittent flashes lightning across the horizon and the consequent climax in wind, rain, and bright, sharp streaks of lightning with crackling thunder, gives to me, instead of fear, a reeling of loneliness, a depressed, awful feeling.

Trilogy In Hysteria, Janet Jarrett

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She took out the jar of cold cream and set it on the dressing table before her and looked in the mirror. She had looked good tonight. She had meant to look good. It was her husband's first night home. Not her husband ... Not her husband. She wished she would look old. She took the shades off the lamps. That was better. She looked worse.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 11, Issue 2: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

Excerpts

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No abstract provided.

A Great Master, Maxine Demlow

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In a huge, deep, easy chair, a bit to the side of the enormous fireplace, reclined an elderly, distinguished-looking gentleman in whose face were indented the lines belonging to fatigue and age. Calmly he sat there, peacefully smoking his beloved, favorite pipe, one of those old English types, providing a deep bowl with a huge capacity for tobacco, one quite resembling the pipe of the famed, illustrious character, Sherlock Holmes. The smoke curled around his head until it gave the appearance of a hazy, misty wreath entwined above him. The gentleman was deeply, profoundly engaged in thought. This was easily …

Gus, Patrick Hadler

Manuscripts

Probably no one on this earth has a more thankless job than the overland truck driver. I couldn't help thinking how much these knights of the concrete pathways and their roaring steeds were doing to ease crowded wartime shipping conditions as I watched that great lumbering fifteen ton monster roll noisily into a small country filling station on that boiling August afternoon. From its glass encased cab perched high above the gravel driveway stepped the young driver. He couldn't have been over twenty-two or three. His face was damp and grimy after the long straining hours of bouncing over the …

A Modern Drugstore, Richard G. Finley

Manuscripts

Who is the person who has not walked into a drugstore without being promptly and completely confused? Who is the person who has not bent an ear to the sage advice of a bespectled clerk, "Pardon me sir, but I would suggest that you take this other aisle to the prescription counter, we have had no word from five customers who went the other way two weeks ago. We are still searching for them."

Superman Grandpa, Carl Shultz

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In a quaint little white and green house on Archington Avenue one sunny afternoon, Jane, the mistress of the house, was knitting a sweater. As she worked over her masterpiece, she listened intently to the voice coming from grandfather's room. Once again his imaginative mind was working overtime, and his daydreaming gremlins were carrying him off to a land of oblivion. Jane listened, "Whish, with a quick change of clothing, I stand before you as Superman!"

Winter, Jacquline Crist

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No abstract provided.

The November Persecutions Of 1938, Anastasia Schwarzleder

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The month of November, 1938, had started on a dreary note in Berlin; it had been raining for several days; the skies were dark and clouded.

On the fifth, my father's younger brother had left Germany with his family and his orchestra. Of Course, we were glad to see him get out of the infernal country, yet we felt sad at seeing a near relative leave us. Now, besides us, my grandparents and my father's older brother were the only members of our large family still in Berlin.

Land Of Zion Reborn And Hebrew Revived, Raymond Y. Sussman

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SCENE I - IN THE FIELDS

Spring. The Palestine countryside begins to bloom. Plants begin to grow, and the leaves on the trees start to turn green again. In the flelds the farmers begin to plow the dark, rich earth. The farm helpers sit behind the plows, or scatter the stones or spread the seeds. And as they work they sing together: "Shuru, habitu ur'u, rna gadol hayom hazeh, esh yokedet bachazeh, v'harnachraisha shuv polachat basadeh. Et, ina koosh tooriah v'kilshon, hit lakdu b's'arah, v'nad- Iika shuv, shuv et ha-adama, b'shalhevet y'ruka." ("How great is this day! The heart glows …

The Thicket, Joan Hayden

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As I scuff through the fallen leaves these days, I find my thoughts turning constantly to The Thicket, my former home in southern Indiana. Autumn will be arriving there, too, and I wonder what it must be like there now. Indian summer must bring dreams to the old place of all the years that have gone, and of the seasons past now. I wonder if it will ever be spring there again?

The Heart Of America, Eileen Hoover

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Do not allow Pete to deceive you with his modern ideas and speeches. He is really quite a character from out of the old world with all his old-fashioned ways.

Italy can boast of the birth of one Peter Galbo about half a century ago. Having been reared there until he was eighteen years old, Pete to this day has the dialect and mannerisms of a true Italian. Surprising, yet true, Pete's ancestry has never caused him to be partial to his native land. America has never had any truer immigrant. Pete expresses his greatest pride when he steps into …

The Girl With The Tan Hair, Jean Pittenger

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I was the long desired baby sister with the "tan" hair. My brother, who was six years old at the time of my birth, had ordered me specially. Because he greatly admired the blond baby sister of one of his boy friends, he made numerous and serious appeals and accepted my arrival with the same enthusiasm as he had displayed when given his highly-prized, red tricycle. Although most people called me a "towhead," Bob still considered me his little sister with the "tan" hair.