Cristo Rey Re-entry Program.-The Class and Their Poems

The high school "drop - out" or "bored -to -death-out""(whateverthe casemay be)no longer has to roam {.arising streets insearch fo something to interest him. He canbe "interested" and receive high schoolcredits in the process while attending theCrista Rey Reentry Program- The class istawght by ftawrf Hntlktar popular highschool f^*arhrr (anKmg ttmfrrik ,-mrfprogressives) Ksghzsr CaantycinnnnssiiBiEr 3YTriF cQRiffmnityasset.The re-entry program was established by

the Lansing pubhc schools in reaction to astudent walkout at Pattengill Jr. HighSchool last fall. Students enroll in theprogram on a contract basis. If theycomplete a designated amount of work,they receive comparable credits.An integral feature of the class is the

emphasis on self - expression. Often thestructured environment of high schoolsinhibit student voice. However, in the class,Hollister creates the type of atmosphere inwhich the student feels free to air hisopinions. Class conduct essentially isinformal and open ended. Students areencouraged to express themselves in avariety of forms.For the past several weeks the students

have been communicating their sentimentsthrough poetry. The subjectmatterof theirpoems ranges from the intensely personal,as found here in Kathy Bell's poem"Wedgewood Acres Youth Home QuietRoom," to the more abstract themes oflove, war and society in general. But theprimary importance of each poem is thatthe student has conveyed thoughts andfeelings that normally would never havebeen expressed.

Robert Sickels

Man and woman is a combinationHeld together by emotion,But only a small string of it.

They experience love, hate,selfishness and giving.

In one coupling a child is made,Into a world of love, hate,

selfishness and giving.

He grows like a treeSlow

Growing its leaves of experience

Growing wiserSeeing past combinations

Afraid to bring another child into this world

He prepares his mateWith the pill!

M. Luiz

Alone

The Nation

Parents and teachers program. . .

their kids. . .to think. . .

the way the way they.. .

want them toAnd after awhile their brains arelike.. .sponges.. .absorbing every. . .

Thing they sayNot letting them feel

— Paul Snook

Can I say what's on my mind to them,tell them that I'm in a pit and can'tget out,

no, Inside a locked door,blew up.The room is hot and quiet. I breathemusty air, alone.

I pound on the door, no one hearsstill pounding a cold sweat runsdown my body till I fall back tothe corner

talking to myself, saying whatothers should hear

the door is openedHiding my face, I walk out,run to an open place, cry

hope people will listenThey will.

- Kathie Bell

Last night I had a dream.I was alone on Earth.Like a young stream,The ocean had given birthI walked between structures in a cityExpecting to hear a voice I knew.For myself I felt pity.In silence a dove flew.I stare at what I ownAnd I ask, "Why me?"There must be others aloneEspecially one I must see.So I walk in wonderIn the early morning sun.My existence I ponder.There is someone.Now we are alone with sorrow and joyTo play with the worldLike a child with a toy.

- Fidel Mejia

ink drawing / M. Luiz

Wedgewood Acres' Youth HomeQuiet Room

Creative WritingAward WinnersFiction

1st.2nd.3rd.

Toccata." John Mc

Althon#! only first, second and third prizes <

The

a of entries (1,100 poemsand) there were several pieces which the fudgesouM not 90 without notice a

judges for the fiction competition wereBenvenuto, Albert Drake and John

Poetry1st "coming to harm," Carolyn Forche'2nd. "Anti-Ghazaf,"Mike McCormick3rd. "The Crazy Mai." Vicki Jacobs

To Ami On Touring!"Street Lady." Jeff McCormick

Robtson; for poetry. Daryl Jones, Roger Mi

The Festival committee would like to thank thoseorganizations and individuals who have donatedprizes in the Creative Writing Competition:Happiness Holding Tank, The Honors College,Paramount News Center. Tom Sawyers Book Raft,Red Cedar Review, Pan He), and The State News.

Carolyn Forche

coming to harm

her Wood is wired toundersides where tubeshave been grown ina pattern she is pinkand she swellsbeneath him their stomachskins adhering wethis mouth moves

along her until thenap is standing.

IIshe lay dying inamerica her mouthfingering an austrianrosary bead and herbowels slipping throughrest home drainagesystems slowly slipping shecirculated and stared,voiding on the bed asleepon plastic pads shementioned her germanin concentration camps theysnapped her bones, thebroken pencils.

IIIshe cast her streaked eyeson the needle and out overthe lake to catchand knit you intoher interest, her longwhite back and thrust,she ships you to settlein her shrunken Siberiaand you taste betweenher legs while she starvesyou the leash is measuredbetween her kitchen andyour child.

Carolyn Forche

Mike McConnick

ANTI-GHAZAL(for jim harrisonand statton)

No patron of the Hiltonsyou travel glass wallsof your briefcasereading in bars and universitiesride into town on the backof a cowgirl, spurred in the dustof her flanks, you make a rodeo of love

We sit in some bardrinking beer like poemsStatton (well into it) smelts Erosfrom your sensorium / decantsin a smile, drips sharply

cutting your eyeit falls into his Itands

(auspiciously descriptive)

for a closer look

thighs fourteen years olddraw to him in the shoal

closing him in tightnessof water, you reel

grab the waist of a glassand, like the whiskey turning in your stomachhas done you a favor, smash iton the head of Kate Millet

(yet afraid to cutskin of snake)

She sat on the stoola cheerleader graduatedMagna Cum Laudefrom a nightclub

legs suffocatingher jeans definedthe thin line ofdream and reality

She hung into your eyesa smile, and . ..

AND THEN WHAT?

and then you wishedher ass would dropinto your lap

But she marriedthe fullbackand will neverread your poems

3

Casting for tarponswimming in your drink

At thirty two if you catch himwhat will be left?

Ah! eightball and arm wrestling

Yes, you live wellthe lives of your poetry

41:01 AMI leave you with Stattonsinking deeper in the depthsoff Key West

The drive home was longheadlights pulling me into rainthey shovel night from my eyesdrag slowly like rusty daysthrough a glare of wet glass

Mike McCormick

STREET LADY

Ah, the crazy man, he shrugs the snow from his peppered beardAnd shakes his shoulders outward square.Smiles. rhe crazy man he says nothing butLeaves conversation well comprehended, guilden.I pick ud the pieces for the winds to blow awayAbove my head they fall upon him.Singular the crazy man he lives and dancesTo sleep-talk audience we give him weigh.And wonders we trodding in snow bankTime-lent stripped against the steel skyLaughs away olden time.

JeffMcCormick

Ah, the crazy man, they points, says:"Crazy do sometime, yesterday O.K., tomorrow maybe."Crazy man, he shrugs the snow from his peppered beardAnd patterns the branchesabout the ground.Imagines spring on white dreams, say they:"The crazy man goes a way. He'll pay.""The gold sky clinks, pirate ship furlsUpon sea upon sea ofgulls and cryingLadies in flowerwaves the mast back,And rebounds for child smiles.Only the crazy man laugh.

The crazy man, knows you the path with the ivies?They kiss the mossed rot log and the yearsStands he by the gum drop in corner, shaky and raggy,Cheeks flame-oranged with night warmth dreamsSings ditties and shanties he on sand bandsSifting, sifting the fliesme goes and comesAnd comes mostly midnights in cloaks that cruelStriptease go one, one one, one one.Crazy man count on his thumb while dancesOn fine leathered skin and wrinkles he nosesAnd snowses the black to become it white.

TO ANNI ON TOURING SCANDINAVIA

Adrift inland, swirl eyes to the spiresWhere pigeons eddy. On fiords, follow islesOfwhite gulls fissioning, fusing.In black mountains, shade-gaze to hawksCareening valleys, climbing the listeningSummer on molten rungs. 1Am among the restless: restless tearMe flutter, mew, and crackle the wind.For me sing when the singing breaks:At the blow of the ocean salt-tang, ache.

— Amy Lee

Hie crazy man pointses and curtsy at me.Ha-ha! leaves us snowses in spite and we,We come back slow, slowly. The gold on the greening dirtSits, begs to the taking and giggling I hears by theLadies in waiting the waves lapping rhythm.Syncopate: "I, I know know I, know I." IFalls and prance over me logging and mossing.Stops faster and shakes snow from his peppered beard.We kisses the sunset with drool. He says nothing butBends love on perspectives in crazy horizons.Oh, the man. The "crazy" man he.

- Vicki Jacobs Amy Lee

Vicki Jacobs

THECRAZY MAN

Where she got an old man like that111 never know

And I can't get her to even look into meAs long as she's ripped on her old red

Oh. Amanda, with a name like thatYou shouldn't even turn my head.

But. you doAnd you're so little and frail

In your drab Army jacketlike a sparrow, scavenging the curb,

Walking arm in arm with your fat old- lefTMcCormick

wine.

The Ingham County Bicentennial Media Festival &Creative Writing Awards Presentation No. II

Tonight at 8 in the Wonders Hall Kiva,the Media Festival will feature thepresentation of awards in the CreativeWriting Contest as well as a short programofexperimentation and encounter in mediaand the performing arts. The festivalattempts to bring together examples of newMSU work in poetry, film, dance, music

and media, as well as work exploring thoseartistic forms which cut across traditionalcategories moving toward more completeexpression (for the artist) and morecomplete experience (for the audience),and some works moving to break down orbridge this artist/audience gap itself.Featured will be poetry by Hugh Fox,

mixed media by Dennis Pace, poetry byJim Kalmbach, kinetic sculpture by DavidKirkpatrick, a dance/music encounterfeaturing members of Orchesis and theMSU Jazz Band, and several films. Thethree winning poets in the writingcompetition also will read from theirwork.Admission to the Media Festival is

absolutely free.

Cristo Rey Pcont'd

The trees are ray fingerThe mountains aemy hands.I breathe galesInhale tornadoes and hurricanesI change my expressionIn fits of passionI change my faceWhen I'm in a daze,

youWho occupy my timeCannot understand whenI talk.

My childrenDo not know me

My brothers and my sistersCommunicate to me

Why can't thee?Why can't thee?

- Rudy Cazanova

I went around the world one day.To see everything my eyes have seen beforeI wasn't amazed at what I saw,Just the deep blue sky and the roaming ocean's shore.

And one time in my life I was the ruler of the worldI branded guns, hate, and prejudice.We all filled the world with love and peacefor one another we all lived.

In my world the air was filled with music,Our hearts filled with love and joy.Life was just one big party,Of wine and love to satisfy every girl and boy.

When your mind is so far gone.You dream of the things that can happen today.don't stop and wonder whyJust let your mind carry you away.

— Roy Montalvo

Peace Will Come

I don't want the songs of warTears of sorrow I want no more.

Young lives are wasted,The sweetness of life never tasted.Fight for freedom, so they say,Unexperienced to this day.Our leaders escalate to end.Brothers, your minds they will bend.They train to hate and kill.The thought of a dead child makes me ill.A war in vain,Tell me Lord, is it worth the pain?But peace will come, IU tell you howMushrooms against the sky.

Peace Now!- Fidel Mejia

I don'tsee nothingmuchexcEpfc for drugs

Lhatrs ok.

I dant sec nothing muchbut people beingdrugoff to jailfor beingdrankor using drugs.

I don't see why they don't check it outwhere they got itcause they could havepicked it up off the streetand not know what it was.

- Lee Nichols

God

Where is he, is there really a god?Yes there is a god, but he is notgoing to help the people.Why, IU tell you whywhen some of the people crucifiedhim. That's why. There is pollutionthe war! Poverty. That's why the pigsare so bad.Why did they kill himBecause he was different from themThat's why society is so bold.That's why I say the pigsare so bad. They are like thepeople who crucified himBut he will come backat the end. Why? Only youcan answer it yourself.

- Abel GarzaSociety

Society is mentally hooked on constructionLike a Junkie on smackconcrete they have no care aboutBut.. .the money from its archesBuilds more arches not ragged people

Not broken wooden wallsNot muddy flooded basements

Society is looking for more concreteAs junkies searching for the next fix.

Paul E. Snook

Hell as the devil and hell is like fireClouds as smoke smoke as pollutionBlack as the night light as the sunLife as the lakes, rivers' as death.

P. LopezEUS #%-

drawing / Rudy Cazanova