David Connaughton

folly of MacBeth ures

2

testtmontal for Genius

processton of Swept up by ectres passton, oof of future the onlookers are ngs trans fixed. re ts the Audience to the ruggle baring

Man against of thetr own

natures.

Itves spent in

THE UPEI SUN, Thursday ,Nov. 30,1978 page 13 HUMAN OR SOMETHING LIKE IT

by, Karen Arsenault

"Each to his own!!! aye a. ts Cried the long-haired Chief 0: As the Big Clock struck once ‘s es « 3: On two. . : "Fight, all Fight!" “8 s7y 4: The Chant began oot 5.

eee.

Controlled at first

But soon to reach a frantic peak -- The Climax controlled the man.

The frenzied Tribe

Charged in the dark

Onto the sleeping village.

After the battle

The Chief ascended the Palace steps And reported a battle won.

After food and rest

And love, or something like it,

The Chief arose refreshed.

Another dark day

Lay just ahead,

Another village

And lots of bloody deaths.

We'll wipe the scum of the human race Off this twirling globe;

We'll wipe those heathens off this world, We'll put them in their place.'' "Each to his own!!!

Cried the long-haired Chief

After he said his peace.

As the Clock struck twice

scholarship, th a Botling searching for the the Moon's truths od, that lie htdden mes a blind within. In tnexhaustable supply, riking out -for matter venge. for the mind.

In all these things nmark celebration. In the drama of

t performance

d what ts or the revelation of t study.

pears to bey A testtmontal for

gentus.

PRAYER TO THE HIGH

by Karen Arsenault

And peace ts pink and white; With each new burst of color The world grows forever bright. And love is of the universe

And God's glorious mushrooms Shooting up tn farmers' fields.

Amen for PCP, and the home-grown That does the trick just fine. Amen for all those things

That make all men so high; - And I hope that when I die Heaven is just as kind.

My mind is floating beyond me now:

And green trees and birds and bees,

Amen for the hops that make beer taste good, For the grapes that make the wine;

On three,

The Chant pulsated to a heated pace

And the day began again.

LOVE IN PROSE by Paul Stewart

My Love ts no mere shield, no light against the goblins of dark corners. Blind faith could serve as well.

Love fills my betng: more than fire fills the kindled wood; more than down fills the newborn chick, or waves fill the ocean.

My breast shtnes. My soul shines. Sunbeams flow and pour from my stomach, my heart. Joy pulses gtddily withtn.me.

My love ts a song, chameleon-ltke in tts anctent, yet ever-changing moods and tones.

Love ts no deep plunge, nor falling ts tt. It lifts, levitates the soul to new heights of splendour and thrill.

Like a tidal surge carry me, my love, from the bone- white dullness and sharp, angular crevasses of a

mindless, Godless world.

Float me, my love, far quay tn mountainous, rolling waves of peace. Leave behind the needless folly of the wretched lonely. I am of their Legions no more!

In all timeless space I could find none your equal. Wit, compasston, sensualtty, consistency, Loyalty; all these you offer more freely than the sun tmparts its warmth to a misty spring morning.

Thru fluid ink to paper I gush, I pour, I fairly bleed my feelings for you. This I say:

I hold tn my hands the essence of stardust. Like fine sand the grains may slip from me if I falter. Give me the strength, great love, as those of the famed past, to sweat tendon and bone together, so I may never lose what no man deserves to have; what Providence has bestowed --- love.