Page 1 |
Save page Remove page | Previous | 1 of 2 | Next |
|
|
Small (250x250 max)
Large
Extra Large
large ( > 500x500)
Full Resolution
All (PDF)
|
This page
All
|
Loading content ...
'1 ■ ll Coeval Bethel's Literary Publication Wayne Pauluk, editor Bev Reed, associate editor The Silver Platter Life's good things: fifty-cents-a-week allowance grasped in sticky-sweet fingers; nineteen ribbony packages waiting under the pine tree. A new foreign car for his sixteenth. A cheque for his room, board, tuition. Engagement to his boss' daughter. And now, he's forty-five-ish, sitting with his feet up on his walnut desk, with a beer-belly and clean, well-manicured nails. Typical. Debbi Neufeld Man Always thinks he can. But he can't If he could, then he'd be God. But he's not. If he were, Then he'd be sure He wouldn't have to convince himself he could. He just would. People Always say they know But they don't If they did, they wouldn't still be searching You don't look for something you've already found. Jesus Frees us And what he has loosed cannot be bound. Don Ebb To them that would leave the nest and trust their lives to fragile wings that strech out to grasp the sky, to them belong the lonely heights, and the wind swept horizons To them that would fling their lives out into space, to see if the wind will hold them, to them belong the roaring wind rivers, and the mountain peaks that none have touched. Theirs is not glory or crowns, but theirs is the lonely and everlasting wind as it carries them skyward to the sun. For theirs is the life of the Eagle. Daniel Olson Crackling skeletons dry shifting beneath my feet and here is this deserted place where I once found you yellow dreams on the ground kites that flew too high in spring red yellow dark dark red turning brown crucified crumbling you took the kitestring with you when you left here Ellen Babrick L
Object Description
Description
Title | Page 1 |
Decade | [1970] |
Frequency | Monthly |
Digital Collection | The Coeval: Bethel University's undergraduate literary and art magazine |
Digital Publisher | Bethel University |
Location |
United States Minnesota Saint Paul Minneapolis |
Time Span of Publication | Literary journal published from 1962 through the present. |
Copyright | Copyright Coeval. A publication of the Bethel University English Department 3900 Bethel Drive, St. Paul, MN 55112 |
Type | text |
Format | image/jpeg |
Physical Description | 8.5 x 11 |
Original Collection | Printed paper copies of original in the collections of the Bethel University Library and the History Center: Archives of the Baptist General Conference and Bethel University. |
Original Publisher | Bethel College and Seminary |
Transcript | '1 ■ ll Coeval Bethel's Literary Publication Wayne Pauluk, editor Bev Reed, associate editor The Silver Platter Life's good things: fifty-cents-a-week allowance grasped in sticky-sweet fingers; nineteen ribbony packages waiting under the pine tree. A new foreign car for his sixteenth. A cheque for his room, board, tuition. Engagement to his boss' daughter. And now, he's forty-five-ish, sitting with his feet up on his walnut desk, with a beer-belly and clean, well-manicured nails. Typical. Debbi Neufeld Man Always thinks he can. But he can't If he could, then he'd be God. But he's not. If he were, Then he'd be sure He wouldn't have to convince himself he could. He just would. People Always say they know But they don't If they did, they wouldn't still be searching You don't look for something you've already found. Jesus Frees us And what he has loosed cannot be bound. Don Ebb To them that would leave the nest and trust their lives to fragile wings that strech out to grasp the sky, to them belong the lonely heights, and the wind swept horizons To them that would fling their lives out into space, to see if the wind will hold them, to them belong the roaring wind rivers, and the mountain peaks that none have touched. Theirs is not glory or crowns, but theirs is the lonely and everlasting wind as it carries them skyward to the sun. For theirs is the life of the Eagle. Daniel Olson Crackling skeletons dry shifting beneath my feet and here is this deserted place where I once found you yellow dreams on the ground kites that flew too high in spring red yellow dark dark red turning brown crucified crumbling you took the kitestring with you when you left here Ellen Babrick L |
Language | English |
Tags
Comments
Post a Comment for Page 1