November 3,1988
the lance
P»ge13
IN GHOST’S COMPANY
There is a ghost that walks St. Andrews
(ghosts walk everywhere)
You know
You have seen him standing
Where a leaf stands in mid-air
Before he lets it fall
Yes, you have heard
Him, also.
Running past
A bush to catch up with
Nothing
No thing waits for him
Feel him.
Also,
Walking through you
He pushes up goose-bumps on your arm
While he mingles with
Your soul
JAMES KRISTIAN DEAL
UNTITLED
I ihink of her often,
[Blue slars tonight dance behind the
cover of rain] looking away
(from whatever could have been there)
into the other direction.
The course changed & the pools became
part of the stream that took away the
banks. (While)
Summer passed by in the forgotten
that stirs (us) in our sleep.
A languid song from the background
spirals into the distant.
[The hot rain fell] & as
the jazz fell through,
it broke right back,
(leaving behind whole shapes
of color)
PAUL BULLARD
I dance the dance 1 call attraction
twist and turn towards satisfaction
girls they shimmy and they shake
unaware of hearts they break
Now I dance the dance of death
no one to shard this feeling with
unspent motion flowing free
still they will not dance with me
Hera you see the dance of life
full of pain and grief and strife
I dance this dance in the public's eyes
safe inside my heart's disguise
The dance you see is Poetry
it flows from deep inside of me
and if I dance my poem for you
I hope you feel it flowing through
—Jon Pargas
Hany
He sat quietly in a second
class railroad car.
I thumbed through a book
purchased at Dachau that
very day.
Dachau: the first Nazi
concentration camp,
a paragon of torture,
dehumanization and
death
The beginning of a dark page
in man's history.
Dn aged hand politely reached
for the book
I gave it to the man
Such friendly eyes
He looked at it quietly
not needing to turn a
single page
Memory was his book
He handed it back to me
Then steadily he pulled up
his sleeue to reueal the
branded numbers
They were his copyright.
He spoke no EngUsh
and I no Polish
but the word he spoke
told all
“Ruschwitz"
—Heidi Jernigan
Reflections from Hbroad
A.M.
sunrise Sunday
sky-grey
i look out my window
like i always do
and rain keeps falling
likes ashes from the end
of a cigarette
that burns
cloud-high frustrations
burning the moments apart
-Mel Alien, Jr.
•SCOTCH TAPE
Why not Dutch tape
with a sea salty glue?
Or French tape
with risque pictures on it, too?
Or West German tape
stained barley yellow like beci?
Or Soviet tape
printed with propaganda to cause
fear?
Why not South African tape
naming who lies and who cries.
Or even American
decorated with closed eyes?
But no, it’s
Scotch tape with a cute
little plaid tab on the
beginning of every roll.
LAURA ROSE
UNTITLED
A meagre mortal
by a meagre sea
among meagre planets
of a system
in a meagre galaxy
But in life
knowing not nearly anything
within a spcck of substance
Oh, my Universe
how 1 rule over you
TANUJ
A Poem should not mean...
but be
A Poet should not say...
but do
-the campus wall
even Now, The ButteHUes
by Mel Allen Jr.
first
i dreams floating
burst into glorious color
fluttering delicately
on silver-soft wings
inevitably
snatched down and pinned down\
and mounted under glass
for inspection
in a love poem.