Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

THANKSGIVING DAY IJuWtU^lw 1948 Radio Mirror** rV«»'Peem Nol a mm holt doy . . . lot thl» not be thot . . . But one of thanks, both simple and sincere, Thot Ood Hot brought ui to the horvirt Hms . . Th« wintry sdg» of "ill aneftier year. Not a mora fooit day. giv«n to gluttony . ■ ■ But, rather, en* of asking God to bltn Our futura dayt whll* pralilng Him for His "Merciful dealing in the wildtrnui" ■ . tho vary wordt tho Pilgrim* uisd Thot Fint Thonktgiving Doy ... our world, Indeed, Being a wilderness, mora vait than thiln. Of fear and selfishness and hat* and greed. Not a mora foast day ... but a day of prayer Before all alio ... of heart-meant prayer and probe That Ood hoe bow • Urriam to oar foot And 10 will bo down all tho coming day*. —Violet AHoyn Storey POPCORN MAN He sets his white cart where its brilliant light Will make a little island in the night Let others shout their goods with raucous cries. Skilled in long years of peddling, he is wise To let his wares speak for themselves. He goes By the subtler allurement of the nose. Calmly oblivious to all the din. The popcorn-man scoops fluffy kernels in White paper sacks, with steady practiced hand, Pretending not to see the hungry stand. Mouths watering, coins clutched In waiting fingers. Then, with a dignified finesse, he lingers Over each purchase, careful to a fault. Pouring hot butter Ihrou Ho ploys his nightly • sura of . toss* THE ETERNAL RIDDLE Side by side, though leagues apart, Ho cannot read her woman-heart. Yet he hai wisdom— for a manHe knows there'* no one olio who — Isla Paschal R (chord n STORM CENTRE When Grandpa's temper rose, the dish« danced Like dervishes upon the startled table; Fido skulked out, his tail beween his leesWe children kept as quiet as we were abU But the storm soon ended, and the eveoiDjt hours Regained their poise, jogged to a gende pace; The dog slept near the round, red-bellied stove, And Grandma calmly tatted or made lace; For Time had taught her this wise epigram:^ Ignored, the blustering lioo becomes a lamb! — Pauline Havard UNINHIBITED Today, I saw a bright green cloud. An elephant in A cow togged out shorts — Oh! No! I nevr A hen displayed a suit of blue Beside a purple pig, And pumpkins on an apple tree Made my old eyes grow big; I blinked them twice and held my breath. And dared ani Relax, my friend ) only found My three-ye paint book. — Eliiabei ^pman WITHOUT WORDS Over the wind-lashed sand I walk aloneBetween as lies the still □nfathomed sea. And there is nothing but the heart's mate call To bring your voice to me. My thoughts go outward bound to that far shore From which you climb to heights I cannot know, Since all the moments that we held so dear Were lost long, long agoi A wave creeps to my feet: a gull drifts down. So close its silver wing could touch m\ cheek. Oh. i? it only thus you answer now,— Now that you cannot ipeak? —Eugenia T. Finn JOURNEY'S END (To a Young Repatriated Soldier) The journey which began five years ago U ended, and the cycle is completeNow you are home . . . home to beloved hills Which once have known the imprint of your feet Tracking the gTOUse, the rabbit and the fo\ : Which loitered where the huckleberries made The hillside, and your eyes, as blue as heaven. Where carefree laughter was a serenade To summer's gifts. The secret swtmmine hole; The hidden shack high on a sunlit hill Where you have dreamed a half-awakened * + to watch the white shad-h ibty coins against the (tathr-. ills shall hold the cameo oi is starred through the scarlet pirnre you cradled in their royal dust, und their poignant notes LIFE'S STAGE Ah, Petulant One. Are you sure we have the tune For these small scenes Scenes with the downcast eve. The frown, the sigh. Thev take from Spring Her sweet perfume What then from us Who now hare Summer's bloom? Open then raw heart my lore. And read the aoee— That cleanse the hurt Why let It there abide Inside We who should lore and lavas The few scenes left We have to play. — Nancy Cavanagh FOOUSr Sus mod* She wai vrsr *oi She (On RADIO MIRROR witt pay fifty Jaffa for the best original poem sen' will be p.> ends pages in F Mai one. Radio * closed, every efl not * itSdhdua* «»*•■ THE WIND <HARPEN> THE DA\> DRAW IN. NOVC IS THE TIME WHEN HEART :'«> WARM THE BODY. THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS WARM THE MIND