PROSE & POETRY

A drop of water… alone one piece of tape, lacking its adhesive. A dress once red, now faded with age. Three cardboard boxes once corrugated uniformly, now crinkled into a mass of substance. Harmony that use to be there replace by... revolution. This is the absence of everything simple and happiness. This is the death of love, peace, and anything beautiful. Written by Norma Wellman, 1970, Tucson, Arizona.

I watched my aunt and cousins as they walked away into the night, not realizing this would be the last time anyone would see us again, except for… but… I’m getting ahead of myself. Aunt Rose admonished me to head home quickly. Now standing at the crossroads, with a lone streetlamp casting eerie shadows, they slowly slipped into the darkness, their voices fading. Their laughter echoed off the empty street this Sunday night. Our tardiness would anger Father. We were supposed to

To the west, I see the ocean, a mess. To the east, I see the dirty streets. Down south, What else but racial strife. To the north, I see campus fights. Everywhere an American hand reaches, It reaches only in vain. The U.S. budget is deep in the red, And everywhere so many to be fed. So many say God is dead, so many. But is it hopeless? I have the desire to change. War to peace, hate to love. But who am I? What right have I? To think these thoughts. I am only one of a billion

In a simple touch, I feel so much. Most of all I feel love, the love of someone. The warmth of the hand, reflects the warmth within. I close my eyes to retain, this warmth, this moment. The softness echoes the kindness of the one. The one I love with the touch that I desire. The gently movement seeking my approval. Which is hers for I yearn that simple touch. That means so very much. That means so very much. Written by Keith E Maynard, 1971, Tucson, Arizona.

The desire to change this depraved orb is a noble dream. Each generation feels that they, and they alone, can accomplish this deed. But from the beginning of time each has failed this duty. From the window of my mind, I see the seemingly unconquerable evil. Man’s blindness, his refusal to listen to others and accept their notions. The hate with which man has destroyed so much, where good could have been. Why should I feel downcast because many die in war?

I have a strong desire to save the world I get hysterical at the thought of where the people of the earth are going. The fate of this spherical blob is horrendous. I dearly wish to be able to stop this. The hatred is so great that; it is all around us. Hypocrisy now rules, with superstitious men as its believers. We have now become the gremlins, no longer it is someone else. Maybe now that spring is here, people will become more placid. And the ways