Exhilaration/Love [ Novel for this unit is The Power of One ]
See a list and description of his other works at:
http://www.aussiebooks.com.au/category52_1.htm
Roger McGough
40----------Love
middle
couple
ten
when
game
and
go
the
will
be
tween
aged
playing
nis
the
ends
they
home
net
still
be
them
Mariah Burton Nelson
Competition
I like to swim naked
I like to swim fast
swimming next to you I swim faster
shed more layers of flesh
learn more rhythms as well as my own
Each time I breathe I see you
breathe
stroke
breathe
stroke and see you again
You can tell by my stroke that I need you
you can tell by my stroke
by the way that I breathe
that I need your stroke, your breath
that to be my best I need you
swimming beside me.
Diane Ackerman
“Patrick Ewing Takes a Foul Shot”
Ewing sweating,
molding the ball
with spidery hands,
packing it, packing it,
into a snowball’s
chance of a goal,
rolling his shoulders
through a silent earthquake,
rocking from one foot
to the other, sweating,
bouncing it, oh, sweet
honey, molding it,
packing it tight,
he fires;
floats it up on one palm
as if surfacing
from the clear green Caribbean
with a shell
whose roar wraps around him,
whose surf breaks deep into his arena
where light and time
and pupils jump
because he jumps.
Grace Butcher
Runner Resumes Training After an Injury
When I run, my body
draws in upon itself,
hones down.
My bones are within reach;
old rhythms restore themselves.
Harmonies reappear.
I sing my own comeback.
Each inhalation/exhalation
has so many notes
like a chord of music.
Something in me tunes in
on my own clearest frequencies;
something resonates with a clarity,
the high perfect sound
a crystal bell might make.
I am inside this fine body,
tending to the miles as they pass.
I fit perfectly inside my skin;
nothing is left over. Nothing!
The miles become perfect as I finish them.
I can run only where I am,
each step a new place of its own.
Nothing is more right than this:
the grass, the sky, and my body
in between, moving and beautiful.
John Betjeman
A SUBALTERN'S LOVE SONG
MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN, MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN,
FURNISH'D AND BURNISH'D BY ALDERSHOT SUN,
WHAT STRENUOUS SINGLES WE PLAYED AFTER TEA,
WE IN THE TOURNAMENT - YOU AGAINST ME!
LOVE-THIRTY, LOVE-FORTY, OH! WEAKNESS OF JOY,
THE SPEED OF A SWALLOW, THE GRACE OF A BOY,
WITH CAREFULLEST CARELESSNESS, GAILY YOU WON,
I AM WEAK FROM YOUR LOVELINESS, JOAN HUNTER DUNN.
MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN, MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN,
HOW MAD I AM, SAD I AM, GLAD THAT YOU WON.
THE WARM-HANDLED RACKET IS BACK IN ITS PRESS,
BUT MY SHOCK-HEADED VICTOR, SHE LOVES ME NO LESS.
HER FATHER'S EUONYMUS SHINES AS WE WALK,
AND SWING PAST THE SUMMER-HOUSE, BURIED IN TALK,
AND COOL THE VERANDAH THAT WELCOMES US IN
TO THE SIX-O'CLOCK NEWS AND A LIME-JUICE AND GIN.
THE SCENT OF THE CONIFERS, SOUND OF THE BATH,
THE VIEW FROM MY BEDROOM OF MOSS-DAPPLED PATH,
AS I STRUGGLE WITH DOUBLE-END EVENING TIE,
FOR WE DANCE AT THE GOLF CLUB, MY VICTOR AND I.
ON THE FLOOR OF HER BEDROOM LIE BLAZER AND SHORTS
AND THE CREAM-COLORED WALLS ARE BE-TROPHIED WITH SPORTS,
AND WESTERING, QUESTIONING SETTLES THE SUN
ON YOUR LOW-LEADED WINDOW, MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN.
THE HILLMAN IS WAITING, THE LIGHT'S IN THE HALL,
THE PICTURES OF EGYPT ARE BRIGHT ON THE WALL,
MY SWEET, I AM STANDING BESIDE THE OAK STAIR
AND THERE ON THE LANDING'S THE LIGHT ON YOUR HAIR.
BY ROADS NOT ADOPTED, BY WOODLANDED WAYS,
SHE DROVE TO THE CLUB IN THE LATE SUMMER HAZE,
INTO NINE-O'CLOCK CAMBERLY, HEAVY WITH BELLS
AND MUSHROOMY, PINE-WOODY, EVERGREEN SMELLS.
MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN, MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN,
I CAN HEAR FROM THE CAR-PARK THE DANCE HAS BEGUN.
OH! FULL SURREY TWILIGHT! IMPORTUNATE BAND!
OH! STRONGLY ADORABLE TENNIS-GIRL'S HAND!
AROUND US ARE ROVERS AND AUSTINS AFAR,
ABOVE US THE INTIMATE ROOF OF THE CAR,
AND HERE ON MY RIGHT IS THE GIRL OF MY CHOICE,
WITH THE TILT OF HER NOSE AND THE CHIME OF HER VOICE.
AND THE SCENT OF HER WRAP, AND THE WORDS NEVER SAID,
AND THE OMINOUS, OMINOUS DANCING AHEAD.
WE SAT IN THE CAR-PARK TILL TWENTY TO ONE
AND NOW I'M ENGAGED TO MISS JOAN HUNTER DUNN.
Carl Lindner
FIRST LOVE
Before sixteen
I was fast
enough to fake
my shadow out
and I could read
every crack and ripple
in that catch of asphalt.
I owned
the slanted rim
knew
the dead spot in the backboard.
Always the ball
came back.
Every day I loved
to sharpen
my shooting eye,
waiting
for the touch.
Set shot, jump shot,
layup, hookafter a while
I could feel
the ball hungering to clear
the lip of the rim,
the two of us
falling through.
R. C. Lehmann
AT PUTNEY
When eight strong fellows are out to row,
With a slip of a lad to guide them,
I warrant they'll make the light ship go,
Though the coach on the launch may chide them.
With his "Six, get on to it! Five, you're late!
Don't hurry the slides and use your weight!
You're bucketing, Bow; and, as to Four,
The sight of his shoulders makes me sore!"
But Stroke has steadied his fiery men,
And the lift on the boat gets stronger
And the Coxswain suddenly shouts for "Ten!
Reach out to it, longer, longer!"
While the wind and the tide raced hand in hand
The swing of the crew and the pace were grand;
But now that the two meet face to face
It's buffet and slam and a tortoise-pace.
For Hammersmith Bridge has rattled past,
And, oh, but the storm is humming.
The turbulent white steeds gallop fast;
They're tossing their crests and coming.
It's a downright rackety, gusty day,
And the backs of the crew are drenched in spray;
But it's "Swing, boys, swing till you're deaf and blind,
And you'll beat and baffle the raging wind.
They have slipped through Barnes; they are round the bend;
And chests of the eight are tightening,
"Now spend your strength, if you've strength to spend,
And away with your hands like lightening!
Well rowed!" - and the coach is forced to cheer "Now, stick to it, all, for the post is near!"
And, lo, they stop at the coxswain's call,
With its message of comfort, "Easy all!"
So here's to the sturdy undismayed
Eight men who are bound together
By the faith of the slide and the flashing blade
And the swing of the level feather;
To the deeds they do and the toil they bear;
To the dauntless mind and the will to dare;
And the joyous spirit that makes them one
Till the last fierce stroke of the race is done.
THE SKATERS
William Wordsworth
AND IN THE FROSTY SEASON, WHEN THE SUN
WAS SET, AND VISIBLE FOR MANY A MILE
THE COTTAGE WINDOWS BLAZED THROUGH TWILIGHT GLOOM,
I HEEDED NOT THEIR SUMMONS: HAPPY TIME
IT WAS INDEED FOR ALL OF US--FOR ME
IT WAS A TIME OF RAPTURE! CLEAR AND LOUD
THE VILLAGE CLOCK TOLLED SIX,--I WHEELED ABOUT
PROUD AND EXULTING LIKE AN UNTRIED HORSE
THAT CARES NOT FOR HIS HOME. ALL SHOD WITH STEEL,
WE HISSED ALONG THE POLISHED ICE IN GAME
CONFEDERATE, IMITATIVE OF THE CHASE
AND WOODLAND PLEASURES,--THE RESOUNDING HORN,
THE PACK LOUD CHIMING, AND THE HUNTED HARE.
SO THROUGH THE DARKNESS AND THE COLD WE FLEW,
AND NOT A VOICE WAS IDLE; WITH THE DIN
SMITTEN, THE PRECIPICES RANG ALOUD;
THE LEAFLESS TREES AND EVERY ICY CRAG
TINKLED LIKE IRON; WHILE FAR DISTANT HILLS
INTO THE TUMULT SENT ON ALIEN SOUND
OF MELANCHOLY NOT UNNOTICED, WHILE THE STARS
EASTWARD WERE SPARKLING CLEAR, AND IN THE WEST
THE ORANGE SKY OF EVENING DIED AWAY.
NOT SELDOM FROM THE UPROAR I RETIRED
INTO SILENT BAY, OR SPORTIVELY
GLANCED SIDEWAY, LEAVING THE TUMULTUOUS THRONG
TO CUT ACROSS THE REFLEX OF A STAR
THAT FLED, AND, FLYING STILL BEFORE ME, GLEAMED
UPON THE GLASSY PLAIN; AND OFTENTIMES,
WHEN WE HAD GIVEN OUR BODIES TO THE WIND,
AND ALL THE SHADOWY BANKS ON EITHER SIDE
CAME SWEEPING THROUGH THE DARKNESS, SPINNING STILL
THE RAPID LINE OF MOTION, THEN AT ONCE
HAVE I, RECLINING BACK UPON MY HEELS,
STOPPED SHORT; YET STILL THE SOLITARY CLIFFS
WHEELED BY ME--EVEN AS IF THE EARTH HAD ROLLED
WITH VISIBLE MOTION HER DIURNAL ROUND!
BEHIND ME DID THEY STRETCH IN SOLEMN TRAIN,
FEEBLER AND FEEBLER, AND I STOOD AND WATCHED
TILL ALL WAS TRANQUIL AS A DREAMLESS SLEEP.
ICE-SKATERS
Elder Olson
SNOW-HILLS ALL ABOUT,
AND SNOWY WOODS; AND SNOW
FALLING: A FULL MOON'S OUT;
THE RIVER'S FROZEN; ACROSS
ITS AVENUE OF ICE
VIVID SKATERS SWIRL
IN THE COLD, IN THE MOON'S LIGHT.
LOOK, LOOK: THE YOUNG, THE OLD,
SET MOVING BY DELIGHT.
--THE WHOLE TOWN'S ON THE ICE!
WHIRLING IN A GAY
PROPOSTEROUS BALLET.
LOOK, THE STRIDES, THE GLIDES,
COSSACK-LEAPS, DERVISH-TWIRLS,
CLOWN-TUMBLINGS, CLOWN-FALLS!
RACERS, RAPT IN SPEED
AS IN AN ECSTASY,
SWERVING IN A FLASH OF SLEET;
LOVERS, HAND IN HAND,
ENCHANTED BY THEIR OWN
MUSIC WITHOUT SOUND,
AND THE OLDER PAIRS,
A LITTLE CLUMSY NOW,
BUT MERRY AS WALTZING BEARS,
AND CHILDREN, INTENTLY
SCUFFING FOOT BY FOOT,
STIFFLY ROCKING IN AND OUT,
ALL INTRICATELY WINDING IN A CHRISTMAS-COLORED MAZE
WITH LORD, WHAT A RACKET! TILL THE HILLS
GO WILD WITH ECHOES, BELLOWS LIKE MAD BULLS
AND IN THE DARK RAVINES
BENEATH THE CRYSTAL FLOOR
FISH QUIVER, AND WAVE THEIR FINS.
THE TOWN CLOCK CHIMES THE HOUR
UNHEEDED: LET IT CHIME,
TIME HAS LOST ITS POWER.
WHAT MONKEY-SHINES, WHAT FUN!
FLESH IS NO BURDEN NOW,
IT NEVER LAY SO LIGHTLY ON THE BONE.
THE BODY TOO CAN BE
SPIRIT, WHEN SET FREE
BY PURE DELIGHT OF MOTION
WITHOUT DESTINATION;
SHOWS ITS OWN FANTASY,
WIT, AND IMAGINATION.
IS THIS THE BEING LEAR COULD CALL
A POOR, BARE,
FORKED ANIMAL?
STRIKE THAT OUT; SAY THIS,
THAT IN A HARSH SEASON,
ABOVE A DARK ABYSS,
THE MORTAL CREATURE
REJOICED IN ITS OWN NATURE;
REVELLED, ITSELF THE REASON.
--WHY, LIFE'S A CARNIVAL! SNOW
FALLS LIKE CONFETTI NOW;
THE MOON, IN COMIC MOOD,
TURNS TO A GROTESQUE
SNOWBALL; HIDES IN CLOUD;
COMES BACK IN A CLOWN'S MASK.
THE SKATERS SWIRL AND SWIRL;
ALL THEIR MOTIONS CRY
IT IS JOY, SHEER JOY,
THAT MAKES THE ATOMS DANCE
AND WINGS THE FLYING STARS
AND SPEEDS THE SUN UPON HIS GOLDEN COURSE.
Ted Reeves
A New Dutch Cleanser
Percy packed a peck of pepper,
Pounded with a perfect pace,
Passed perspiring, panting steppers,
Pulled up prancing in first place.
Walt Mason
Football
The game was ended, and the noise at last had died away, and now they gathered up the boys in the pieces
where they lay. And one was hammered in the ground by many a jolt and jar; some fragments never have
been found, they flew away so far. They found a stack of tawny hair, some fourteen cubits high; it was the
half-back lying there, where he had crawled to die. They placed the pieces on a door,
and from the crimson field, that hero then they gently bore, like a soldier on his shield. The surgeon toiled
the livelong night above the gory wreck; he got the ribs adjusted right, the wishbone and the neck. He
soldered on the ears and toes, and got the spine in place, and fixed a gutta percha nose upon the mangled
face. And then he washed his hands and said: “I’m glad the task is done!” The half-back
raised his fractured head, and cried: “I call this fun!”
Michael S. Harper
Makin' Jump Shots
He waltzes into the lane
'cross the free-throw line
fakes a drive, pivots,
floats from the asphalt turf
in an arc of black light,
and sinks two into the chains.
One on one he fakes
down the main, passes
into the free lane
and hits the chains.
A sniff in the fallen airhe stuffs it throught the chains
riding high:
"travelling" someone callsand he laughs, stepping
to a silent beat, gliding
as he sinks two into the chains.
Edwin A. Hoey
Foul Shot
With two 60's stuck on the scoreboard
And two seconds hanging on the clock,
The solemn boy in the centre of eyes,
Squeezed by silence,
Seeks out the line with his feet,
Soothes his hands along his uniform,
Gently drums the ball against the floor,
Then measures the waiting net,
Raises the ball on his right hand,
Balances it with his left,
Calms it with fingertips,
Breathes,
Crouches,
Waits,
And then through a stretching of stillness,
Nudges it upward.
The ball slides up and out,
Lands,
Leans,
Wobbles,
Wavers,
Hesitates,
Easperates,
Plays it coy
Until every face begs with unsounding
screams-And then
And then,
And then,
Right before ROAR-UP,
Dives down and through.
May Swenson
Analysis of Baseball
It's about
The ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
Ball hits
bat, or it
hits mitt.
Bat doesn't
hit ball, bat
meets it.
Ball bounces
off bat, flies
air, or thuds
ground(dud)
or it
fits mitt.
Bat waits
for ball
to mate.
Ball hates
to take bat's
bait. Ball
flirts, bat's
late, don't
keep the date.
Ball fits
mitt, but
not all
the time.
Sometimes
ball gets hit
(pow) when bat
meets it,
and sails
to a place
where mitt
has to quit
in disgrace.
That's about
the bases
loaded,
about 40,000
fans exploded.
It's about
the ball,
the bat,
the mitt,
the bases
and the fans.
It's done
Ball goes in
(thwack) to mitt,
and goes out
(thwack) back
to mitt.
on a diamond
and for fun.
It's about
home, and it's
about run.