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This damn war is becoming obnoxious. Almost from time immemorial The Scarlet Cockerel has been dropping in at Burton Crane’s 12-room-&-cellar chalet to help whisk out some new Old Meanie or APC News. Such mental and physical antics carry high priority on all our furloughs. This trip, however, as we skidded to a halt in Crane’s cellar printshop we found Daddy Longlegs tediously hacking out a linotyped issue of SCWewball Wesson’s Siamese Standpipe. Horrors! Could this be true?

Was the ATF-Cloistered shop of the Bilious Bull being profaned with inalterable linotype slugs? No copper or brass thin spaces – no craftsmanlike tied letters and ligatures – no exact fit written-to-order heads – no filed type nor tissue overlays? Alas! Could it be that the Masaka kid, paragon of spacing and presswork, had senilely stumbled to blacksmithing such as this?

Here’t was Crane’s 44th birthday, Burton was on his way to a civilian war job for the duration, the Scarlet Cock was back on leave from the Georgia wars – and yet there could be no celebration because some sad nincompoop plumber from Florida had started building a Standpipe in the middle of the Crane cellar.

Amen. High time to padlock this onetime high-class shop and steal away in shame. The Kat, the Cock, and the already Bilious Bull shuddered, shed a tear, and hoisted another for oldtime’s sake.

Picture
by Rowena Autry

The blind man sits on a corner, and sings
Of a sunset he cannot see
To the throngs of tired people, hurrying by,
Who are blinder than he.

My Night
by Amelia Moodie

My night, in bitter sorrow,
Lets all her black hair down.
It falls o’er all the country
And every single town.

Her tears are diamond starlets
Shining in the sky;
Her sighs are little night winds
That weep as they go by.

My night is full of sorrow;
My day is full of woe –
Because you do not love me
And, Dear, I love you so!

Elasticity
by Lawrence Giles

My dream girl has gained twenty pounds
And I’ve gained this decision:
That if I pace the time and tide
I must increase my vision.

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Bleat of Clay
by Lawrence Giles

There is a beauty and a love
Unseen, and yet commanding,
That lies deep-sheltered in the heart
Subdued by understanding.

I am happy to announce that many of my gloomy predictions go completely awry – but it grieves me to know that many of my pleasanter predictions don’t make par.

Yes, I’ve been loved; but he
Loved another much as me;
He was honest and you see
She had the priority.

Sage deductions spring unsolicited and extemporaneously – but they always have a long and deep preparatory background.

What wings are strong enough to flit
Always above the gutter wit?

Beware! Friendship, which in times of loneliness becomes a friendly pain, is sharpening into love.

Ego is that invention of Fate which alternately makes and breaks a fellow.

Combined Operations Dept.

I may get half killed by the owner of this type but he is far enough away so he may forgive or forget by the time he returns. The Lieutenant set page one when home on January 29-30, ‘45. The second and third pages were set for a Cockerel and there was not room for them. If some poet poeted poems and is not properly accredited, please complain to the NAPA Secretary. The following bit was set last May for a lovely paper which was never finished.

Poets & Printers Overture

Empowered to schedule skeleton APC meetings on short notice to coincide with presence of furloughing APC members, President Alf called one for Sunday, May 7, at the Scarlet Cockerel Press. Present were Lt. Ralph Babcock, Muriel Babcock, Ruth Babcock and Alfred Babcock. Part of this was set and then the meeting adjourned to the following day, when Crane turned up and set some more type. Later that day the club held its third session of the May meeting at the Hotel Commodore. Three poets and the Babcocks (Ruth and Ralph) dined in the Continental Room. When Vondy and Laube needled Crane for more data on the similarity of music and poetry, Burton, inspired by the fiddler’s gypsy music, exclaimed, “Can’t you just see the purple-green grass out in the yard?”

“No,” sighed Cliff, “Not after only one bourbon.”

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Lt. Ralph Babcock (for whom this was printed by his brother Alf) surprised Dora Moitoret with a visit 3-3-45.

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