Newspaper Page Text
The Panther
MARCH-APRIL, 1968 7
POEMS - POEMS - POEMS - POEMS - POEMS
Tick! tock! tick! tock!
O mechanical blob,
That ushers us into the
unescapable dark,
Swiftly or slothly he transfuses
the man,
Snatching him carelessly into
another land.
The hands traverse on, oh! so
surely,
The seconds steer and thrust us
to eternity.
The flesh is conquered by tin
and age,
Alas, man is a victim of the
stage.
Moving swiftly when slowness
preferred,
Moving slowly when swiftness
referred.
Chiding with man in a serious
life,
Measuring happiness, chaos,
strife.
Chirping, chirping, like a
blue jay,
Evolving life and death each
day.
Tick! tock! tick! tock! O
mechanical blob,
That ushers us into the
unescapable dark.
. . . /. Von Cleveland
Snow In Old Atlanta
(snow bound)
by Annie Washington
It was the 29th of February
Another cold and dreary
Atlanta day,
When mystiquely beautiful
snow fell to the ground;
Keeping many of us inside or
partially snowbound.
The night before had been a
terrible freeze
And my only utterance or
thought was; Oh dear
God! Let it snow please.
My wish was granted, I can
truly say,
For snow actually fell the
following day.
However, the flakes were too
small and too few
And before long they had
melted too.
But I had not given up hope,
For the weatherman had
announced that there would
be fore snow in scope.
I just sat gazing out of my
window patiently
Anxiously waiting to see if his
report had any validity.
Then about eight o’clock the
flakes came once again
It seemed as though they were
only in the air;
For when they fell to the ground
they had the effect of rain—
Leaving water tracks
everywhere.
Tired of sitting idly by—
I washed my hair and let it dry
And I stayed up reading and
watching ’till twelve
But it did not snow;
So, to bed, I told myself; for it
is time to go.
I was awakened by my
roommate Sunday morning
when she plainly cried,
Look! everyone, there’s
snow outside;
Yes, ’twas an enchantingly
beautiful sight to see
all around
And I truly enjoyed the
pleasure of being snowbound.
The Joyless Flight
Corrupitble, inevtiable, the
builder must be,
Successful, toiling, in drafted
ingenuity.
The heruclean task to claim
some fame,
The joyless flight down a
knotted lane.
The ring of empty cheers flys
so high,
The chirp of orioles has turned
to cry,
In the fatal moments, a failing
stress,
To capture full, life’s priceless
success.
The span is spent in prayer and
hope,
The task is done through end
less strokes.
The easy life is shortly lived,
For toil comes tumbling down
the hill.
The shrilling sounds of heated
nights,
Upon our ears in joyless flight.
Lonesome and lifeless and full
of fright,
But condemned to take the
joyless flight.
. . . Isaac Von Cleveland
TIME
That time passes is all we know.
The lessons it teaches are hun
dreds, if any;
And pleas for it to stop ro go,
Never cease in the lives of
many.
Time is too slow for those who
wait.
Each hour stretches to eternity
For the enslaved daring to
anticipate
That time will make men free.
Time is too swift for those who
fear.
The damned can tell how quick
is a day;
For life is so sweet and dear
When precious hours speed on
their way.
Time is too long for those who
grieve.
Those who bear the burden of
sorrow
Vainly hope that time will
relieve
The sadness of death with each
tomorrow.
Time is too short for those who
love.
Lovers do not hesitate to say
That the golden orb above
Has molded eternity into a day.
... Marion Brookins
The Negro Woman
On Her Struggles
The Negro woman is a tower of
strength;
Culture, Service and Dignity are
qualities that she represents;
She is never violent until she
has to be
For the sole purpose of racial
equality,
She lives and lets live
As God would have it be
Her struggles have endowed
men with
Courage enabling them to be
free.
.. . Annie Washington
Pull Son!
The Rip Cord Sharp
The filthy clouds, do we blot,
Sailing to die in cold or hot.
Cursing, rejoicing a soldier
barks,
Pull and snatch the rip cord
sharp!
Near time of love, hate
charges hard,
Pull son! pull! the rip cord
sharp;
Attend the battle of weakly
men,
Cut short his life as you defend.
Why worry son? he’s bound
to die,
Forget about conscience and
fall from the sky.
Fight for that you cannot see,
Indefinite slumber is your
victory.
Why must war volunteer to
solve?
The duty to restore love in
each heart?
The cries do linger, the voices
like harps,
Pull son! pull! the rip cord
sharp.
The moves are tapered, each
breath a joy,
The steel pulls flesh from
man and boy,
The times so contra to frolic
and fray,
Pull and snatch the rip
cord today.
Admist our thoughts, prevalent
is hate—
Hate that is love, but
synonymous to fate,
The Hulk fights hard, the
hulk dies wet,
The war is endless, so we sweat.
To master so easily the newly
skill,
To sorrow not once as we
easily kill;
The ripping sound, the
shrilling cry,
The final stage in which
men die.
. . . Isaac Von Cleveland
A Child’s Observation
See.
See my body.
See your body.
See my world.
See your world.
See God.
See God work.
See me look.
See me look.
See us find.
See us love.
God is love.
.. . Woodie Neal
THE IMPRISONMENT
I shut my eyes and darkness
descends
And there is no one but me.
I stop up my ears and there is
silence
And only my thoughts.
I close my mouth and no one
understands me
For my feelings are imprisoned.
Oh, but how much I miss and
do not share,
How much my world seems only
despair.
. . . Woody Neal
Reminiscence
I would tell you of the time I
met
A preacher man,
And how we talked, boy, was he
A dandy dan,
And how he had dreams of
writing a book called
“The Hidden Man,”
And how we held hands as I
imagined
Myself surrounded by his pots
and pans.
I would tell you of the time I
met
A night club singer,
And how we danced, boy, was
he
A swinger,
And he could tell
Some ring-a-ding-dingers
That would make
You want to linger.
I would tell you of the time I
met
A handsome young soldier,
And how we laughed and
The jokes got bolder and bolder,
And how we took off our shoes
and
Ran in the rain and wrapped
tightly in
Each other’s arms as we got
colder,
And how we kissed as I cried
for
He was going off to war and
I feared he’d die and
We’d not together grow older.
I would tell you of these things
I think back on
With a sigh,
And how all three
Of my lovers died,
But you might think
That I lie,
And besides,
I don’t want to cry.
. . . Woodie Neal
The Meal
Grits steamed from plates
heaped high
With nothing else
Except watercolor flowers and
sprigs of painted gold
Too scanty to fill that
bottomless pit;
Hungry growls from which
Made from faces at
the seesaw table
Taunt and lean as if in fright.
The silence was as thick
as the gruel
That they swallowed.
Not a child cried; not a
child smiled
And each older being
acquiesced the quiet
With an ocassional grunt
as the hot food
Hit empty bottom.
The exposed light in
the ceiling
Revealed no meat
No bread and no milk,
But the figures at the table
Were not disappointed
Crushed corn became bread
And water was excellen tmilk.
Their bodies were mangled
with the wounds
Of a battle with want
That would never be salved
With hope again
Since each call of the
cock brings
A new day of suffering.
. . . Portia Randall
POEMS -
LITERARY
HIGHLIGHTS
In today’s world of sociologi
cal and psychological strife,
one is never really sure of what
he may be confronted with next.
The sociological tragedies rae
increasing steadily.
The shockingly mysterious
and sympathetic novel, “In
Cold Blood” by Truman Capote
best describes the result of as
well as the impact of the socio
logically unexpected. Capote’s
novel is an actuality existing in
today’s affluent society. It delves
into the murder of a family by
two men. It too, awakens man
kind to the possibilities of death
and its consequential effects
upon society as a whole.
“To Sir With Love”, by E. R.
Braithwaite is another novel of
sociological significance. It is
an autobiographical sketch of
the author’s experience as a
teacher in England where liberal
education was dominant. He
received a teching position after
all others had failed to gain
order and respect from their
students. This novel is of uni
versal significance because it
brings to the open the Attitudes
of the English toward the Ne
groes. The significance of the
title is derived from the title
requested by Braithwaite of the
students. Although he was
called sir in a mocking sort or
tone, it was the first step
towards dignity and respect for
him, a Negro as well as other
techers to follow him. The total
impact of the novel is centered
around the idea of a dedicated
teacher who turns hate into love.
Thus winning wide recognition
for Braithwaite.
—Anne Washington
Haiku
A Gift To God
The sudden last breath
Came with nature’s falling leaves
My dear love, now God’s.
Mary King
DEATH
The darkness had come
Early to this land where this
Lad no longer came
Jacqueline Muff
Tanka
A Late Fate
Unexpected hour
A blanket of leaves beneath
Comes the thought of loss
No more kind words and
guidance
Nor eyes without space for tears.
Mary King
A Face of Death
The chilling wind is —
Sobbing like a thunder bolt
Over one who left
Things become clearer to us
When it was nearer to us.
Andrew Hill
Cinquain
Black and White
How dark
The sun shines now
For sorrow is heavy laden,
No light.
Molotiv Cocktails everywhere
Patricia Hall