• Author: Various
• Editor: Haas, Gerald J.
• Newspaper: The Eastern Echo volume 12
• Page Number:
• Date: 06 Summer 1966
• Tags:
• poetry

Poetry

PEBBLE IN THE SEA by Leslie E. Karrer

Cast about, tossed about, like a pebble in the sea, Wondering, when it ends, what will become of me. Will I be cast on some alien shore, Or will I be cast about still more.

Will some stranger passing by, Pick me up, but wonder why. Will I be thrown back to the sea, Or find a home, with friends to be.

Will there be a love somewhere, Who doesn’t wonder, doesn’t care. Is there one who’ll call my name, And love me, and hold me not to blame.

Is there one who will judge me inside, My soul made rough by the ocean’s tide. Is there one who would find a use, And show me love, and not abuse.

The heartaches I’ve seen, the troubles I’ve done, Will there be one who will love me some. Who will polish this stone so etched in pain, And make of me a man again.

And drifting about, in the ocean of time, A world of darkness, of cold and of brine. My hope goes out to the stranger somewhere, To help me out of this world of despair.

Find me, and want me, and show me the way, To look forward with brightness to the coming day. Show me a love, both kind and true, Take this soul, and blend it to you.

If ever you find me on a shore someday, Where, thrown by the tides, I know not the way; Show me the polish which will make me free, Yes, even this pebble tossed by the sea.

RECTIFICATION

Time is not the essence of correction, Nor based on judicial stipulation, Nor coerced discretion.

Time is of itself mere but great waste A desert in the spacing of our place Constant the elusive yet so chased Ephemeral substance of man’s race.

Correction is the plant that springs From seed like desire for better things That germinates within a conscious need To test virtue’s heady creed.

Correction activates the will That to false suggestion says, be still! Makes one stand alone at times Disregarding more popular climes.

Correction is the making right Darkness dispersed by its light Not distinet by its garb Nor honoring the quarrelsome barb.

Correct and singularly proud Dominating any crowd, Not with self-righteous haughty mien, But a righteous pride That evil doth disdain.

John D. Shane

SEMANTIC SOPHISTRY*

Let us say that I’m a sunflower, And that 6792 is an orchid. All criminals for all time will be called flowers; Making Jack-The-Ripper an aromatic jasmine past.

Let us call all crimes by the names of jewels. Murder should be diamond (with different cuts and carats) ; While perhaps rape could be ruby, With the offense of counterfeiting called zirconing.

Headline: Tulip sent to garden For Sapphire.. Thus is evaded harsh sounds and unpleasant image. Until . . . from association, The meaning is understood with feeling.

Oh how delightfui to be, A buttercup you see, Before folks awaken To find that they’re mistaken.

All us flowers smell, And all our jewels are dreary. The officers are guards, Our roots in dirt are weary.

How does your garden grow?

*This verse disapproved by the CIA (Correctional Institu- tion Association).

by - Robert Wallander