Poetry Commons^™

Fate???, Carlton Bowles

Manuscripts

A few days ago I ran into an old friend of mine, whom we can call Judge Smith. I had not seen the Judge for several years, but it was apparent to me that in that time he had aged rapidly-almost too rapidly for a man of his good health. When I questioned him on this point, he invited me to lunch and during the meal told me a very interesting story.

The Question, Richard H. Owens

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He stood beside his car with one foot resting on the rear tire. A crowd of people were gathered around him looking curiously into his face. They asked questions that he answered automatically - not giving the answers any thought because he had heard them over and over again from people who were trying to form a possible story. They wanted a little personal touch to add in case they got the chance to tell about an ex-midget race driver with whom they had had a little chat once. He did not look at anyone's eyes particularly, but he knew …

A Most Charitable Man, Dick Cassidy

Manuscripts

Phillip' Kingsley was a banker and looked the part. He was a typical example of the sort of man people expect to be president of a bank. His carefully shined shoes, conservative clothes and distinguished manner were complemented by his slightly greying temples and pale blue eyes. When he spoke, he did so in carefully selected sentences, making use of his wide vocabulary. A popular man, he was noted for his friendliness to the local townspeople and for the fact that he could be seen at any time to discuss a loan for a new silo or an additional building …

Rainy Season, George Fullen

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It was a gloomy, drenched day. The sky was darkening imperceptibly but steadily, obscuring the view from the very small mess hall which huddled in the middle of a muddy waste. The only thing which identified it as a mess hall was the presence of the two soldiers who were sitting over their coffee. To them, it was weather of a monotonous sadness which seemed to have settled upon them, branding them permanently.

Variations On A Theme By Candide, Frank Slupesky

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"The United States, best of all possible countries," is the conviction of most nonthinking, yet sincere Americans. Was our government not formed by people who rebelled against the despotism of Europe? Was our Constitution not formed to give equality and self-government to the citizens of America? Did we not fight a civil war to insure equality? Have we not always been a humane nation? Were we not too generous in donating millions to the Japanese earthquake relief, just to turn around and have them "stab us in the back" at Pearl Harbor? Have we not more radios, telephones, automobiles, washing …

Old Fib, M. R. Huntzinger

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That's a mighty fine lookin' mare you're drivin' there, mister. You say she throwed a shoe about a mile from here? Well, I guess we can fix that soon as I run down some tools...

Time! Time!, Anne Mcdonnell

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Time! Time!

Destiny Squeaks, N. Umbenhower

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Rat adjusted his spectacles and flipped the pages over and over. This was really a windfall. Since clean-up week last year he had found only scraps of news. True there were newspapers, but they were concerned mostly with local news, and they were quite often gathered up by the garbage collector before Rat had had time to read them. When accounts of national or international events of momentous significance to Ratdom were printed, they occasionally were found by Rat; but as likely as not the succeeding issues could not be found anywhere along the entire alley.

Voyager, George Fullen

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A lonely voyager leaned against the rail And scanned the sea and sky...

Swift's Attack On Pedantry, James P. Lawson

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It may seem to the modern reader that Jonathan Swift fell short in his attempt to ridicule pedantry, for Swift's most sarcastic illustrations of the follies of learned men might well find their parallel as commonplace news items in the magazines or newspapers of today. Swift must have felt that he was exaggerating to absurdity the follies of the learned of his time in the fields of science and the arts; and in order to accord him the proper credit, we must look at his works in the light of historical perspective.

Remembrance, Anne Mcdonnell

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Remembrance puts celestial tints on the black and white of every day...

The Way And The Wayfarer, Margaret Lanahan

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The air in the confessional was dry and unsatisfying with the mustiness associated with old wood, heavy drapes and dull black cossack cloth. In the dim light which shed its mellowness into the narrow corners and over the grills to right and to left, the aging priest studied the scriptbook of prayer that he held in open hands.

Voyage, George Fullen

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When the last sure sight of land is gone, The ship rides in the ever changing point Of an inverted blue crepe coolie's hat...

The Kitten In The Wolfs Den, Tom Wagle

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You are beautiful aren't you Jean? And you know it. You are dressing for tonight with precision unusual even for you. When you finish you will be lovely, won't you Jean. Your clothes and make up will create the effect you are now building for. But there is one thing that bothers you through all your sureness. Where are your prospects Jean?

Lucky, John J. Miller

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The heavy oak bar looked solid enough, but the short, slight man at the end, face loosely cupped in his hands, was holding it down with his elbows. The tic on the right eye of the pale-faced bartender twitched slightly as he flicked a dirty towel across the top of the bar.

Finesse, N. Umbenhower

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Mrs. Brooks flipped the pages of her cook book back and forth. The lemon pie would be easier; but it wouldn't take much longer to make the spice cake that Martin liked. Yes, it would be the cake, she decided, because that was Martin's favorite dessert. She was a little tired of it; but, as long as Martin insisted that each cake was better than the last and that nothing else compared with it, he should have spice cake, all he wanted of it, every week, all summer too. September would come soon enough when he would have to go …

Mr. John Doe---Public Hero?, Donald Emrick

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(First prize in the essay, Butler literary contest, 1948.)

Have you ever wondered how many tons of paper roll daily out of the nation's thundering presses to imprint the legendary and statistical status of Mr. John Doe upon the hearts of the masses? Neither John Gunther, the World Almanac, nor the "Fact and Fiction Department" of the Kremlin could cast any light upon this ponderous query. Although this matter seems to have escaped momentarily the attention of "Renegade Joe," I am certain that Moscow will waste no time in ferreting out the requested statistical lore.

Poems, Ruth O'Mahoney

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(First prize in poetry, Butler literary contest, 1948.)

Cancelled Flight, George Fullen

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(First prize in the short story, Butler literary contest, 1948)

The smell of gas was sickening.

"It's all your fault, Jane," he thought he could hear his own voice saying in a distant room.

It sounded so strange that he forced his eyes open, against the nausea, and tried to focus them. The lurid, dirty wall-paper focussed, receded and focussed again. It only increased his nausea. He had been sick when he turned on the gas.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 15, Issue 3: Full Text

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No abstract provided.

Excerpts From The Life Of Mr. P. Pixie Dash, Barbara Dearing

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"Get away you nasty thing! Who asked your help on this theme?"

"Really, I wasn't aware of what a sour drip you actually are. Funny how you reject me. Me, the only key to security you have. Some people just can't see beyond their noses."

Mr. P. Pixie Dash, senior member of the firm, "Dash, Parenthesis, and Bracket," was lolling against the third line of page three orating on the latest dividend offered by his company.

My Girl, Richard H. Graham

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I jumped onto the fleet landing, jostled my way through a horde of happy, swearing sailors and made my way to a gate that meant freedom after thirteen months of navy routine. I paused momentarily at the gate to determine which good old American street I should follow. With no objective in mind, other than to absorb some clean U.S. air, I chose a street which ascended to a high bluff overlooking San Francisco Bay.

Stop, Look, And Remember (An Impromptu), Thornton A. Klos

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In our every day life we miss seeing many things that would prove of interest to us. An example of how little we are aware of what happens about us until we find things brought into sharper focus is the sudden discovery that a new house or building exists where only an empty lot full of weeds and trash had been.

Abandon Ship, Glenn Johnson

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The clear notes of the bugle sounding chow call came over the loudspeakers throughout the ship. I stood waiting in the mess line, formed topside on the main deck aft. The last rays of the sun caught the signal flags flying - gave them a brilliant cast of red, green and yellow. The new cruiser rolled in the huge swells, leaving a foaming white trail behind her.

The men stood silently gazing at the horizon. The ship gave a slight shudder each time one of the swells crashed into her.

The sharp clanging of the ship's general-alarm bell, followed by …

Exodus, Mary Ann Malott

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The mid-afternoon sun gleamed against (he double French doors at the side of the bungalow. The bright sunlight touched the dulling blue rug in rectangular slits through the venetian shades and changed it for a moment into a sea-blue hue. A gangly pup sprawled as close to the sun as possible, her ears a golden mass of curls dragging the floor and her mitten-sized paws tucked around her. The only movement was a stub of a tail twitching back and forth. In one sudden motion, she bounded at the doorknob and made the metal shades come with a deep clang …

What To Do In A Haunted House, Ray Clausman

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The acceleration of American living leaves very little time for thoughts of ghosts, goblins or vampires. One no longer sees the quiet little villages dominated by their special spirit, nor the gloomy, desolate mansions, the seats of many nighttime escapades. England, however, provides an excellent setting, for there one may find areas still permeated with a true ghostly atmosphere. If one desires to widen his social contacts to include some members of a higher plane, I suggest a visit to that country.

Advertising In The American Life, Donald E. Myers

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Advertising is only a form of propaganda. In many instances it has accomplished ends that are for the good of the people. Examples of advertising for the good of the masses can be seen in the publicity that the new medical discoveries are given. You would not say that knowledge and awareness of penicillin are harmful to people who are not doctor. of medicine. You will not let yourself think that posters asking for contributions to The National Foundation for Prevention of Infantile Paralysis should be burned for "selling themselves" to the American public. Nor will you think that newsreels …

Life Can Be Beautiful, Victor M. Knight

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After reading the last issue of MSS as thoroughly as my somewhat limited capabilities would allow, I have formed one very definite conclusion concerning the contents thereof. I would like to deviate from the usual procedure followed in dealing with the writings of other people and simply state my conclusion on the contents of the magazine as a whole and then try to substantiate my theory. I write this with admiration and greatest respect for the sponsors of the magazine, its editorial staff and its contributors. I am simply seeking reasons for a trend which seems to be developing among …

Culture And Religion, Russell Foster

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Matthew Arnold was a deeply religious man; his training as a child insured that, but in his essay, "Culture and Anarchy," shallow reading might lead to the false assumption that he had little faith in religion. More intensive study, however, makes his underlying faith apparent . True, he found fault with religious organizations which were so self-satisfied because they preached the subduing of animalities that they lost sight of the goal of real religion, a way of life striving for the brotherhood of man.