1982 Yearbook
Source URL
Title
1982 Yearbook
Description
The Wind, My Ex-Lover
He abandoned me!
Just tossed his arms in a breath of indifference
And went to her instead! That flighty, frivolous —
See how she flirts in his presence?
Tossing her petticoats high to dance on the sandy floor,
Coyly retreating before advancing at his request.
How dare she?
How dare he? Look at him! as he
Masterfully caresses her blue-green swells,
Whistling softly as he sways to the rhythm.
He basks in her sultry charms
Where undercurrent strengths pervade
And . .. and
Look as they both stroll down the shore:
She swishing her skirts,
He with his ruffled good looks.
They're lost to me as darkness shuts off the light,
Closes down the sand bar.
I go home alone, while somewhere,
Deep in the depths of solitude,
She moans in the ecstasy of lover found.
M. Simonaitis
Untitled
Moments near sunset.
Streaks of red
Orange
Yellow
Interrupt the formerly calm blue.
Palm branches
Urged by the wind
Bow to the final rays.
Rainbow waves jump
Toward the shore.
Try to catch
Tiny grains of sand
Dancing to the wind's tune.
Human language
Cannot fully grasp
The eternal beauty of
Moments near sunset.
Teresa M. Thomas
Untitled
No one knew when the festivities commenced
Though some suspected just after sunrise.
A mosaic laden dancefloor narrowly traversed
Till out of eyeshot,
Offering beautiful dancers rippling their skirts
(Whoosh, snap, slap)
Revealing plentiful petticoats that rolled here and again
Then sunk back into the body that waved them.
Every toss, every kick, every petticoated movement
Shelled out a myriad of sequins
Leaving a souvenir carpet on the sandy stomping ground.
Casablanca fans twirled lazily in the afternoon
Giving wind to a heady fragrance.
The dancers wistfully waved their shimmering skirts
(Whoosh, snap slap),
Refracting sparkles of light from the tumbling sequins.
Cymbals clanged continuously,
Heightening to the swelling of the orchestra.
Yet those petticoated ladies are not the only ones
Who dance to this music:
Countless footprints decorate the dance floor
While their owners collect souvenir sequins until
The last ray of natural light nods into night.
Teresa Brinati
120
He abandoned me!
Just tossed his arms in a breath of indifference
And went to her instead! That flighty, frivolous —
See how she flirts in his presence?
Tossing her petticoats high to dance on the sandy floor,
Coyly retreating before advancing at his request.
How dare she?
How dare he? Look at him! as he
Masterfully caresses her blue-green swells,
Whistling softly as he sways to the rhythm.
He basks in her sultry charms
Where undercurrent strengths pervade
And . .. and
Look as they both stroll down the shore:
She swishing her skirts,
He with his ruffled good looks.
They're lost to me as darkness shuts off the light,
Closes down the sand bar.
I go home alone, while somewhere,
Deep in the depths of solitude,
She moans in the ecstasy of lover found.
M. Simonaitis
Untitled
Moments near sunset.
Streaks of red
Orange
Yellow
Interrupt the formerly calm blue.
Palm branches
Urged by the wind
Bow to the final rays.
Rainbow waves jump
Toward the shore.
Try to catch
Tiny grains of sand
Dancing to the wind's tune.
Human language
Cannot fully grasp
The eternal beauty of
Moments near sunset.
Teresa M. Thomas
Untitled
No one knew when the festivities commenced
Though some suspected just after sunrise.
A mosaic laden dancefloor narrowly traversed
Till out of eyeshot,
Offering beautiful dancers rippling their skirts
(Whoosh, snap, slap)
Revealing plentiful petticoats that rolled here and again
Then sunk back into the body that waved them.
Every toss, every kick, every petticoated movement
Shelled out a myriad of sequins
Leaving a souvenir carpet on the sandy stomping ground.
Casablanca fans twirled lazily in the afternoon
Giving wind to a heady fragrance.
The dancers wistfully waved their shimmering skirts
(Whoosh, snap slap),
Refracting sparkles of light from the tumbling sequins.
Cymbals clanged continuously,
Heightening to the swelling of the orchestra.
Yet those petticoated ladies are not the only ones
Who dance to this music:
Countless footprints decorate the dance floor
While their owners collect souvenir sequins until
The last ray of natural light nods into night.
Teresa Brinati
120
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7095