Newspaper Page Text
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Page 6
THE PANTHER
Oct. 18, 1968
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POEMS - POEMS - POEMS - POEMS - POEMS - POEMS
Sometime
Sometime when you’re feel
ing important,
Sometime, when your ego’s
in bloom,
Sometime, when you take it
for granted, you’re the best
qualified in the room;
Sometime when you feel that
your going would leave an un-
fillable hole, just follow this
simple instruction and see how
it humbles your soul.
Take a bucket and fill it with
water, put your hand in it, up
to your wrist. Pull it out, and
the hole that’s remaining is a
measure of how much you’ll be
missed. You may splash all you
want when you enter, you may
stir up the water galore, but
stop, and you’ll find in a minute
that it looks quite the same as
before.
The moral in this quaint ex
ample is to do just the best you
can. Be proud of yourself,
but remember,
THERE IS NO INDISPENSA
BLE MAN.
Author Unknown
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
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
tl e 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
Love at ۥۥ
DEAN SPEAKS AT CLARK
(Cont. from Page 1)
people in the ghetto and to be prepared to offer for political
posts in the future.
Following Dean’s speech, a special presentation was made
by the Clark National Alumni Association to Athletic Di
rector and Head Coach Leonidas S. Epps in recognition
of his many years of service to the college.
Others on the program were Rep. Brown; Harold Hamil
ton, president of the Alumni Association; Joe Louis Tucker,
director of Alumni Affairs and Development; and Dr. Jona
than Jackson, college minister.
BY LILLIAN ANDREWS
Love is. . . walking across
the campus anticipating who will
be at the corner, on the side
walk, riding by, or in your class.
Love is .. . feeling his pre
sence in every nook and cranny
of Atlanta University center.
Love is .. . .proving a point -
carrying it to extreme levels.
Love . . . daring to take a
course from a failing teacher
for the sake of being near.
Love is . . . listening to and
becoming aware of all the cases
against you r choice-but still
wanting it.
Love is . . . being crushed,
bruised, torn, but willing to
never give up until self-satis
faction is realized.
Love is. . . staking every
thing, yet losing, taking the
loss and beginning again with
worn-out tools.
Love is.. . dreaming of what
never was but could be, and stri
ving to make the dreams a re
ality.
Love is... wanting, yet know
ing that doing-not wanting, will
get some results.
Love is. . . the singing of the
soul which never says “you
can’t” but always “try”.
Love is . .. living in an ex
istence which says - you are
dead - but love says you are
not.
Love is . . . reading Econo
mics only to discover your mind
is taken away by thoughts of
another time, another place.
Love is .. . being hopelessly
and incurably miserable.
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
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
POETS
CORNER
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
Cinquain
Black and White
How dark
The sun shines now
For sorrow is heavy laden,
No light.
Molotiv Cocktails everywhere
Patricia Hall
THE
OBSESSED
by Ronald Coleman
With eyes of liquid fire and
ambition in their soul Seeking,
ever seeking ending answers
never told.
With hearts so very warm
but lips cold as stone, stand
ing in blind multitudes, lone
some and alone.
Casting silent questions that
resound off the walls, these
the world reject and call . . .
obsessed...
These thechosenfew who suf
fer for the rest, born but to
die , unknown glory to attest,
They ask not for pity nor of
burden be relieved, they wish
but an answer . .'. “why were
they conceived?”
Tell them of their purpose and
any task they will perform, but
not of even the least of these,
stagnate and conform.
To stupidities,foolish
masses, and standards formed
in shame, this they cannot with
stand and their sanity still re
tain.
Though they are but few and
their ranks s o thin, if a battle
is fought and won, these the
OBSESSED will win.
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
WHY, YOU ASK
(Cont. from Page 2)
Help dispel these problems or linger in the
midst of turmoil and rebellion, for we won’t sit still and
decay.
Believe me we have reasons for our protests. We won’t
stop until we gain the privileges and rights due us. F or
life without love for each other is a life for a miser. Be
fore we turn into misers, some may go to the extremes
like those you read about in the paper, “teenager kills
six in his own family and takes own life, after saying he
wanted them to have the life of peace and rest they never
got.”
So to stop this way of rebellious antidotes give us the
chance we deserve. Then we’ll be able to reap what we
sow. For the way it stands now we reap what you sow. If
you can’t lead the way we’ll ask, “forgive them Father,
for they know not what they do.”