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One Chance

We were released in the dark, and we raced along the tunnel,
Left, and then right into the narrowing channel.
Charging, barging, and racing, as if there’s no tomorrow,
no time to rest, no time to look back, no time for sorrow.

Up to the front I’ve got to stay there and keep driving forward.
Damn! Overtaken! I must fight back; I’ve got to go onward.
Furiously we’re all racing first one leader and then another.
Hundreds behind, but who’s in front? Damn! My brother.

I’ve taken the lead, but someone’s trying to come past,
I need more speed and double fast.
There’s only one first, there’s nothing for second,
I must give it my all the finish beckons.

Only the fastest and strongest can enter the ultimate prize,
still further to go and many are falling by my side,
but the steadier paced are trying to catch up with me
and newer leases of life are trying relentlessly.

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poem by Orlando Belo
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In The Days Of Crinoline

A plain tilt-bonnet on her head
She took the path across the leaze.
- Her spouse the vicar, gardening, said,
'Too dowdy that, for coquetries,
So I can hoe at ease.'

But when she had passed into the heath,
And gained the wood beyond the flat,
She raised her skirts, and from beneath
Unpinned and drew as from a sheath
An ostrich-feathered hat.

And where the hat had hung she now
Concealed and pinned the dowdy hood,
And set the hat upon her brow,
And thus emerging from the wood
Tripped on in jaunty mood.

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poem by Thomas Hardy
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Pack Leaders

The two wolves walked, one thought in mind,
Survival was no game,
That's why their two strengths were combined
When hunting was their aim...
Two heads better, as some would say,
That plan had served them well,
For when they chased the fleeing prey,
They all ran close to Hell...

Each time they tried to track new scents...
Their hunger stayed the same,
With no disgust for past events,
No sense of guilt or shame...
That's why they paced themselves this hour
And kept at bay their dread,
Conserving all their dregs of power
For what must lay ahead...

The two wolves sought no friends or fans,
So wild no man could tame,

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Offer That As My Option

Why should I drain from exhaustion,
To maintain gains in a campaign?
Or be bombarded by others,
Complaining about their aches and pains...
To remain sustained in an unnamed game?

If I can avoid this,
Offer that as my option!

Why should I be grouped in a herd,
To leap collectively in a chase over hurdles.
Give me those tools as you promised you would do.
And I will do what needs to get done...
Without standing in line,
Waiting for someone's stamp or sign of approval!

If I can avoid this,
Offer that as my option!

Why should I drain from exhaustion,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ephemera

'YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning.'
And then She:
'Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!'
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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Why Should I Cry?

How could it come so soon?
How could you hurt me so badly?
And of the lonely evenings to stay without you,
For you are now hidden like a lizard.
I cannot share crocodile tears on this love,
Because i spoke the words of wisdom to you;
But like the Trans African Slave Trade,
The news came to me like the sacred python.

Cream of chicken soup,
How long will you be very thick and tasty? !
And why should i cry on this love?
Because she was welcomed to my abode and now She's gone,
But the seat of my love will live forever!
So, why should i cry?

Potential love and sensational acts,
And of a place to visit when love calls;
But to be with the pineapple juice is like the wind of change.
I'm very pleased and very proud of her,

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Catfish Hunter

Hard rubber plate there in the dust
and just beyond, a mound.
With difficulty Catfish turned
and paced the muddy ground.
Even with the walker
these few steps were hard indeed.
Shoulders weak, steps faltering
from Lou Gehrig’s sad disease.

The blue sky stretched above him
so infinite and vast.
With difficulty Catfish reached
back, deep into his past.
He did not think of trophies
or recall his perfect game.
Not at all about the millions
he once got to sign his name.

He was pitching for the Yankees
against men in Dodger Blue.

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Bassinet

Amidst the numberless aplomb soughs
Of these gaunt trees' deciduous
And supercilious burlesque show
I don myself with pertinacious
Diffidence to a grin or moue
Clad only with apathy for my bruise
And torment for every woe
The only way I can call truce

I watched the sly sky watchers
Chime the bells of their depleted shells
But stashed their docile tinkers
With the astray echoes in the wells
Daunted to be inflected with slanders
Shrunk within their own hells
A cellar of solitude, a visceral chamber
Where they lock themselves to fiddle

Are we all betrothed to the starless sky?
Or are we one with the dark clouds

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poem by Norman Santos
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Labored Dreams

Too long in a deep sleep,
I had to have been.

My ideals now swept away...
In view of the sadness,
Etched on once judgemental faces.

Did they not tease,
And refuse to acknowledge my aspirations?
Believing themselves to keep and dispense,
My every wish...
If they so chose to deliver without suspense.
And they loved to see my anger show.

Those of quickened steps paced,
Kept busy in a haste.
Now slowed by unemployment.
And a loss of dignity.

Did they not do that to me?

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Homage

today i pay homage
to the turtle and for those like it
are too slow
for almost anything

its inability to cope up with the
arrogant and speedy rabbit
the subject of
too much mockery
in that snail-paced history

today i pay homage
to persistence and flexibility
to patience and stoicism
to faith that grows steadily within the hearts of every man
that respect for every block of brick
that makes the long winding gate of protection
that composes the great wall
of the house
for every step

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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