The Nebraskan
Wednesday, May 24, 1961
Page 6
Poetry, As I See It . .
. v . by Carol Bush
Seattle: First Avenue
Music moves along this
street ,
on sodden slippery-slippered
feet.
Always sad and sometimes
sweet
does music go.
I find her at her worst and
best
down m skid-row'i bawdy
. crest
among the poor and sorely
prest,
there follow her.
And as her shadow do I go
walking slipper-foot and
.slow,
humming with her, hum
ming low
of loneliness.
So does my heart in tortu
oas mime
walk on slow and slippery
time .
tagging truth, it cannot
rhyme,
nor give as alms.
The blind man tears his
fiddle
and his ragged consort
sings,
her blind eyes on the glitter
of busy sea gulls' wings.
Carol Bush
Love Library: May
The lilacs are singing on
R street.
The crab apple's searing
my sight.
I gasp to see in the morning
the green that has grown
in the night.
The path of my streetsong
to magic
is mourning the telescoped
May
' v ' " '
;
DAY AFTER DAY
Gold's
OF NEBRASKA
HAS MORE OF EVERYTHING
A TOUCH OF GENIUS IN
Swimivear . . .
COMING TO YOU FROM
IANTZEN
It takes a touch of renins to design
such swimwear. Sail into the heart
of yeur favorite mariaeer . . . wear
inf Just a smile and a Jantzen.
Priced
from
10.95 to 23.95
A. PERSIAN VELVET SHEATH
Multi-colored stripe knit with wide,
low, round neckline. Features Jant
sen's exclusive French bra cups. Red
or brown combinations.
Sixes S to 16 15.95
B. NEO-CLASSIC SHEATH
100 Helenea nylon knit by Jnntcea
with new V-neckiine, plunglnc back,
seam front silhonette. French bra
eups sad eontosred straps. Bine,
black and
iun 19S5
COLD'S Sportswear . , . Second Floor
LISTEN TO GOLD'S "STUDY TO MUSIC" ON KNUS
9:00 TO 10:00 P.M. MONDAY THRU FRIDAY
and the sign on the street
of my wonder
that something has stolen
away.
A room where I laddered
to worship
is locked at the head of the
stair,
and the eyes of the idol are
ghostships
that sail the library's air.
Carol Bush
Facets
1.
I saw you riding on the hem
of a daffodil's frilled gown
parading glints of gold and
gleam
for an audience of one.
I saw you mold a mound
of mud
across a citied leaf.
I heard yon laugh as chil
dren would
when the aphis broods
moved off.
You plunked a pizzicato
pool
that fiddled on my lawn
with minute movement and
applause
from everything that's
green.
Wading a dahlia's harridan
hair
you wiggled to the wind
alert to ride on the bannery
air : -off
to another blonde.
Then landing in a little plop
on the pate of a staid old
stone
you went to pieces on the
spot.
I saw you break and run.
I saw you yesterday grow
whole
and dazzle in an eye
and one I'd mocked was
beautiful
O more than I can say.
I watched you walk the
wlndowpane
In a clean descent to grief
fated to fall in a grassy
grave
near a tiny greeny roof.
Don't you know you'll rise
again
in a little leafy craft?
Don't you hear the bell that
rings
at the door of the grassy
haft?
The grave is the door of the
dancing dew
that reckons with the sun.
Hasn't the truth been proved
to yon
over and over again?
I drop my tears in the Hand
of God
Who moves me in my pain,
Who sows the seeds the
heart must reap
sst the sattbeds of the sun.
Carol Bush
s