nThe literary section of the cadre is pleased to be able to share some of the poetry Of Larry Leclair with the university community as a whole. Laurence Eugene Leclair, better known as Larry or Apple, is a nine- teen year old third year student at U.P.E.I. He was one of the Seven Islgpd Poets in the Centenial year. He has

THE CADRE, TUES. MARCH 5, 1974, Page 70

' LARRY LOCLAIR

toured different Canadian universities, reading his poeotry. Apple is one of several published poets we have within our campus body. In searching out some back— ground information I learned that he received his nick— name Apple from a column he

edited called MAEEED POTATOE§ by ME. APPLE. He recently

received publicity in a

§0HIIOPHRENIB PLAY POEM

I am‘I You are you When I confront you I say ‘ you. ‘When you confront me you say you When through out confronta- tion we become together ' I say we and you say we for We belong to the same emer- gent tree.

Tis I Ibo am thou / that is you / that is me Strange to belong to the same emergent tree!

Playing the mime lost in self made darkness

Mirthful in our self made

light when pandemonium all-

over abides. Should we\not resign from such implacable subterfuge to realize

We all for long cannot par-

take of the diabolical and survive

Come, come my brothers let us regurgitate all nonsense

Ley us create a new milli-

fluent life

Let us realize what is said but hardly ever believed

Tis I who am thou / that is you / that is me

We all belong to the same

emergent tree.

Damn you miscreants who laugh at my verse

Your day will come and the world wan't be worse

You're part of me and I'm

part of thee

But know that I'll kill the worst part of me!

Yet it is not for me to die- tate to thee .

But one thing's sure as blood rushes through my veins.

To dictate to me will mean

the premptory death of thee.

But tis not this absurd for how can one with threats be heard Go my enemies / laugh till content / but know you've not beaten me I've only been bent Your death will come so will mine Yet then there will be others who will repine All the atavistic desires of selfish men Assiduous brilliant selfish men Who have not yet learned from their brother's blood The lesson of life oh pitiful fools they are They still remain in strife

But know this my enemies Though you stuff my mouth with melted wax I and others like me will be heard Though you bind me and stake me with your rusted knives I shall soar, Verily I shall waste away you knives with my acidic blood Yes, Yes I know the truth

and

dispute with one of the proffs in the English Dept., and as well.is known to have commited the sin of writting a final exam in high school on paper toweling.

I found myself extreemly impressed and moved by Larry's poetry, especially the Scizphrenic Play Poem, and hope that the reader 5 will enjoy it as well.

Pamela Sexsmith

I know at least the Spirit of truth And though from sin and death there is no reSpite Can and must we shall change our life: No more is there trepidation in my stomach Tour emetic perfidity has made me throw it all up And I am filled with the guilt and wrath of stupid silence. For letting you destroy some of the best parts of me.

Yes, I know the spirit of truth

It is as angry and wild as a typhoon

As soft, as comforting as a mother‘s breast.

Yes, Yes, I know the Spirit

of truth It came to me as if in a D-R-E-A-M And now serves me and others like me

As an enlightened seam - to -

To convey it - to you

Hoping you 'benovolent' mis- anthropic souls understand

Yes! that id the

key!

Understand!

For tis I who am thou that is you that is me We a1} belong to the same em- ergent tree / we all belong to the same emergent tree.

Spiders on the Siow

On Sunday they go to church, walk 'neath the bells,

smiling. I, grimly faced forward, left with street

cats. fiends in this weather. all heathen and silent,

waiting. they dissolve, feet first, "we are all

well" then they kneel, to keep the sky from

falling. Sunday. I .await myself on every

icorner.ik§gwgng33gz;na r:'-xe

' 2. Their'hands on the door, it's » over. Lisen: I have visions as ' ‘ well.‘

In the eyes, on the thin lines dividing their lives,

separating their fingers,

moaning

for excess, some private » serenity,

the painful joy of contact, secret palms that unite

in order to murder each moment of union.

I see them as you see them,

on a white day,

Sunday, Ik,spidersgonmthe‘snowl_

impression

we see them daily failing among cosmetics beer sliding where there is no thirst.

Pausing in this place beyond discovery remembering between insults

stories they should have been told.

We watched them scattered like sports ,scores from places without people numbers on a page. But sometimes

betwwen accumulated lies

begrudged and given weeks later

and hours building bridges

they smile about

bad weather and

luck.“