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Post Script (Paul Smiths, N.Y.) 1946-2003, May 24, 1967, Image 5

Image and text provided by Paul Smith's College

Persistent link: http://pscpubs.paulsmiths.edu/lccn/pscpostscript/1967-05-24/ed-1/seq-5/

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Without the dark of freezing nights We could not see the morn; Without a knowledge of the dead A child could not be born. Man’s sunset into mother earth Has been his greatest key. Just as a circle has no end Our soul will always be. Pamela Bowman Steel Age In of steel and atom, of catas- the age trophe, Of pseudo-civilization, of despair and decline, When men must gather up their shadows for want of space to cast them; When kind words fall by the wayside For want of time to say them; When the inn door; closing in one Man, Closed on us all; In the age of poor, blind justice It is a terror and a comfort that Brevity and insignificance are the watch­ words of life. Ellen Meisinger en Love <Mlg How Can I Deny? When love calls me, how can I deny? I follow him at once, although I know That there a hidden sword in wait does lie To stab and cut, and pierce me through and through. “Fool!” they say. But oh they do not see The secret I have found (though cannot prove), The secret which has shown to me the key To sorrow that I know does follow love. Joy and sorrow from the same fount spring: W hat makes us happy now, once made us sad. Despairs, which hover all around us bring With them memories of hope we had. In caverns carved today by sorrow’s knives, Tomorrow greater joy will fill our lives. Glenn D. Arnold Page 5 When Despair In this pit of flying beasts, Painting walls of gold with grease, Running down their paths of madness, For all pleasures, treasures, gladness, Trampling all who’re in their way With their claws of cement and clay; Now the walls are turning black Screaming in terror for their track; Now a mountain come to see, Through their streams of blasphemy, Steaming lava in their holes, Still clinging to rat-hole-poles. S. Bortz When black turns to magenta, quiet turns to New York stillness turns to a brawl, the complex is simple, the grotesque is beautiful, a septic tank is “Chanel”, the fire escape is Mt. Everest, tuna fish is lobster, a t-shirt is Botany 500, beer is Jack Daniels, a truck is an XKE, a cold water flat is the Americana a child’s wail is Clare de Lune an apron is Christian-Dior a leaky faucet is Victoria Falls, a half-nelson is comfortable, thirteen is lucky, there is love. Paul Bonhote Where Where has love gone? Under a rock to freeze as winter comes? Into the hearts of others? Not into mine Love has gone out of \ pur heart -died frQTi wall erected about you. A mask of bitterness Bitterness toward one who has done nothing but love you. J.T. Cries Unheard Take a look around yourselves, then hang your heads You who are so proud of the progress you’ve led; You choke up the streams and you poison the air, And for all life in general, you don’t even care; You drain all the marshes and you pollute all the bays, With no thoughts at all for the waterfowl they raise; You lay waste the forests and strip-mine the hills, Just so today you’ll pocket some bills; You tear down the trees and you blow up the fields, And your own self-destruction is all that it yields; You litter the land with billboards and trash Which, on the face of America, leaves a big, ugly gash; You kill animpls with pesticides and peop with And1 Jfciijk t lies in ruin, But can’t realize the fact that you’re bring­ ing on doom; Yes, take a look around yourselves, and hang your heads, For soon, with your ways, this land will be dead. ICE To Live To live — A simple thing Yet so hard. Many don’t live, Exist perhaps, Machines more likely, »j mechanical world mechanical people mechanical life. But life is not a madjcife,, Many think so, And many do not live, .tj Life is more much moijld Experience it, for life is short. To live is to create, to create something of |® rth And leave it for othei^ Life is painting and yeji the artist. Make it a full painting^] If life is full, The painting is not alk^feauty, But then, neither is lii Life is a now thing : A hard thing, But beautiful in its own way. Make it live, Make it live for you. “ 3.M. A Discovery who hear what i say.'^J i talk, i yell at those around me and think; to myself they are th ^ lA ’ong, the hypocrites; I'.'ji do i influence them by’ W words, i cannot say; for my words are but jm C sc which comes from Withib, telling me they are'o^2«gjb, ' ' h M hypocrite -

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