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November 15, 1941 - Image 7

Resource type:
The Michigan Daily, 1941-11-15

Disclaimer: Computer generated plain text may have errors. Read more about this.

E R SP E T I E f

Page Sever

..P ER SPEC.. v TI a id V S Parew.Sev en


Noah's Ark

Conceited Male to His Love
Seven thirty Wednesday night
Grab the phone and then hold tight.
That's the time that I will call
Or maybe I won't call at all.
But if I do I may be there
Providing that the weather's fair,
And if there's nothing else to do
Then I'll be sure to call on you.
But if I don't, then please don't-fret
The best of men ydu know forget,
Be tolerant, be patient for
If you are not there's Plenty more.
I know that you have things to do
But maybe this is good for you,
If I should say I'd likea date
And I'll be at your house at eight,
You'd tire of that plenty fast
And our intrigue would never last.
You know you like to be kept guessing
A crime's no fun when you're confessing,
I hate to plan; I'd rather be
The Muse of Spontaneity.
O. K., chum, you want to play
Though I can't see these things your way.
So you can be a butterfly
And have a hand in every pie,
You can keep me on a sting
You can do most anything,
And yet you know I hope, I hope
A string's a string - a rope's a rope!
You're Playing Hard to Get
You're playing hard to get, my pet
With a maximum of zest
You're doing such a schnazzy job
You haven't time to rest.
But you've not even got the skill.
To fool a debutante,
You're not playing hard to get -
You're playing hard to want!
Saving Me?
You said that you were saving me
That I was not yet ripe,
You thought you would experiment
To see if I'm the type.
Meanwhile you play around with all -
Your heart is very big
While I sit by and look perplexed,
The proverbial guinea pig.
May I ask you a question
About your clever plan,
Honey are you saving me
For another man?

-Audrey Hirschl

The idle cat sits with his ranginess
Composed into a silent monument
And pools the shadows in his flat green eyes.
"Pondering, hour on hour, the mysteries,
No doubt." No doubt.
The heaving horse bearing his sweat-soaked hulk
Of leather, stares with brown protruberant eyes
And paws and begs for sweets, after the ride.
"Just like a person, almost, isn't he?"
Isn't he.
"See how the little monkey's hands are shaped
Like yours? He's making love." Parting her fur
Intently searching for the hard black flea
Along her rusty back and tail. "Ha ha"
Ha ha.
The hasty squirrel scrabbles in the mud
Laboriously hiding stolen seeds
With dirty paws. "There's an industrious beast-
A living maxim in himself' almost."
"He killed a man they say. Look at the brute!"
Stand dully with the guard, hat brim turned down
Over the slow confusion in his eyes.
"Look at the way he hangs his head, the beast!"
The beast.
-Carol Bundy
Tonight was settling with a frosty smile,
And wave beat wave, and mile on country mile
The frozen sand reached tortuously on
Into diffusion and at last was gone.
Long shadows paced my stride upon the shore,
Darting beside me, pausing to explore,
Or quivering forward as if they were drawn,
As I was, by a promise, ever on ..
Tonight is all but spent, and dead her smile:
What then was hope has bittered into bile
And clogs along the throat. Quickly the dawn
Will rush along the east. Tonight, begone!
Already there are traces down the shore
Of turns I hadn't noticed there before.

The Wake

Death frets along the borders of the room
In hesitating shadow-lines that sway
To tantalizing rhythms - a ballet
Of tattered sack-cloth from the mourning loom.
They dustily caress her stifled womb
With obscene sacrilege and dance away
To pause and pirouette on the decay
In lewd amour. They smother, now, the room.
The shadows were not unfamiliar there,
For they had felt the warmth of her before
(Young girl with willow legs and gaudy hair),
And they had seen the light and watched the door.
But now the light is faded in the room,
And shadows stand to greet the final gloom.
-Sam Moon

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