1m; CADRE ,

De Literary \The literary section of the Cadre was conceived with the idea of sharing some of the creative wealth» of our University community. In my search for material for this section, I haVe seen and felt soom of the creative forces that are alive and well at U.P.E.I. However, it seemed unfortun- ate that there appeared to be little exchange of this _creative spirit. Rather, I found it scattered here and’ there: finding someone who- knewesomeone—who—wrote- poetry. As well, I have-

experienced rather good poetry that one of my profs decided to share with his Class. It is our hope this section will reflect the many styles, moods, and perspectives that one finds within a university body. I have seen writing that caught some fleeting moment, a full one, or an empty one: in a song, in a poem, peoples capturing the daily flux of their lives, or the long term themes that thread themselves in and out of our dreams and mythologies. Such creations captured the

TUES., FEB. 26,V_1974.Page‘9‘

flow of streams—of— .consciousness, search for self, identity, a strong Island pride, perhapts a longing for a home far away, amger anerebellion: poems that manifested themselves as a secret place where one could find, unburden and celebrate oneself. Possibly this literary section will encourage the creative

\spirit to become more

active on our campus and Poets, as yet silent and unknown.

Pamela Sexsmith

,Little pieces of me everywhere: in a drawer, «A under a chair, ‘ in an overcoat pocket _ hanging on a closet hook, packed away in some box 'in some long forgotten book, in a family Bible withered and old, in an heirloom chest with the silver and gold, in the heart of a woman, in the soul of a man i lost in some child 3 eyes or in some garbage can, be it in the hand , or just in the mind r-everywhere you look you re going to find little pieces of me.

Dale McCluse

&

_Ik ' i , Photo by Winston Maund

The last quiet snow melts with a quiet laughing trickle

And small rustles of falli falling snow.

\ Small mice rustle and sque

squeak I Through the dead dry grass Digging homes for new_ families.

VThe gentle breezes fan the golden sun s warmth Dancing with the cricket 8 song.

And the new grass grows straight and tall to entice

And sing to the wind 5 harmony.

With gentle whistlings and rustlings it murmurs with the wind 5 caress '

-—« And roars with the wind 5 roar,

bending to the fierce storm

He sings to me

we walk through the grass And my heart sings with him

the meadow our couch,

The sun and wind our‘ -witness , .‘

and the cricket orchestra, Our attendants.

Geraldine Baker

My Contrast

The sharpness of the day And its ugliness,

Is hidden at night

I By its softness.

How cruelfiis the day.

To expose all our secrets ~But how friendly the night, To leave them concealed.

The day, The night, ‘How much more contrast, Do you want? ' Louise Mould

A Distinct Sixteen -Line Impression

Sun. Meaningless through

d ‘ glass, catches an eye: her face, exhaling. ' She is silent. An old lover comes by, and now they assume poses: mid-room, mid-afternoon. Groping for memories that never were, they are satisfied by renewal. I Love. Meanwhile is on the street, alone, K dealt through dirty hands.

Larry Leclair

If one wanted to count the number of things,

How could one be sure that They Weren’t running behind behind you, ‘ getting back into the list again?

There is so much I love in this world,

(You for your confusion and honesty)

“ But I cheapen it so often! It must hate me for that. But of course it’s indifferent.

This may sound like something you might have read in another time and space.....

I wanted you to anyway, We are self fullfilling prophesies,

But I_am not, as you can see,

free yet.

I

PameIa Sexsmith

How long does It take to make a

poem 9

How long does It take to Draw a Breath

Rand Nicholson