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Continuance of a Nonexistence

They spend the hours of each day,
In attempts...
To rejuvenate those times spent,
And gone.

Old songs played from school days,
Keep them reminded...
In a refined stagnation kept.
Fresh.
And unchanged.

Stuck in yesterday.
And not going to give it up...
Anytime soon!
Leaving what has been produced,
To accept tomorrow...
On a fast paced chase for them,
Who seek schedules to keep.

With times speeding ahead.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lost in Today

I’m lost in a handheld time
Lost in a time of top notch cell phones and laptops.
I’m lost in a time of chaos
Lost in a time of too much homework, too many sports, and not enough sleep.

I’m lost within a race
Lost amidst the fast paced hustle of getting into a good college.
I’m lost in the scheme of things
Lost in the constant pressure of what I’m going to do after high school.

I’m lost and I can’t find my way out
Lost and sinking fast.

I’m quickly losing myself to time
As forever paces on and on.

Sarah Riley

poem by Elisa Riley
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Walking West

Anyone with quiet pace who
walks a gray road in the West
may hear a badger underground where
in deep flint another time is

Caught by flint and held forever,
the quiet pace of God stopped still.
Anyone who listens walks on
time that dogs him single file,

To mountains that are far from people,
the face of the land gone gray like flint.
Badgers dig their little lives there,
quiet-paced the land lies gaunt,

The railroad dies by a yellow depot,
town falls away toward a muddy creek.

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poem by William Stafford
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Fran

It is not simply a word
Do say it completely
Not for a conceited or selfish benefit
But rather as a monument to the exotic
The pleasures of a unique sound
And the laziness that comes with our fast-paced culture
In which communication through lack of words declines
Has created too many shortcuts
Snipped beauty at the stem
So it has been swept beneath a quick mouth
And what was once splendid and stimulating
While rolling off the tongue
Is now stocky
Short
Uninviting

Slow down
In everything
Appreciate the many forms of loveliness
Even in the simplicity of saying a full name

poem by Francesca Martin
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Danger

No danger can remain sustained,
By anyone 'claiming' to maintain faith!
That is unshakable and daily paced.
With an awakening that can be traced,
To the Almighty Creator.
And those are abundantly displayed.
In a significant magnificance,
Cosmically embraced.

Born from a beauty this subtlety is!
Condoned in an acceptance.
And mystifies.

Complete with a gracefulness,
Those conscious can not explain.
And too unsuitable for conflict...
Those insist,
With a contradicting implementation of it.
And a manufacturing of weapons resisting...
Their impacting wishes to attract danger!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In This Cosmic Universe

Life is a dance.
And on this Earth
Those steps take place!
Some with rhythm...
And some paced without grace!
What keeps the ball spinning?
In a latticed twinkling space!
We delight...
In darkness and light!
Not the slightest detection shown,
Unknown!
In bright Sun light!
Or glisten or gleam...
As we go unseen as beings,
In this cosmic universe!
Something sparkles within us...
And we take our places,
As if we have rehearsed!
Experiments traveling...
Through dimensions of time,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sketchy

the shadow is cast
on the wall

such a tall shadow
without feet

against the wall it edges
itself like a huge
wormy creature

not slimy though but snail paced
is the loneliness

of this kind of betrayed
existence

a few drops of rain
actually tears fall from the sky of

her cheeks from the veins

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mariana In The North

All her youth is gone, her beautiful youth outworn,
Daughter of tarn and tor, the moors that were once her home
No longer know her step on the upland tracks forlorn
Where she was wont to roam.

All her hounds are dead, her beautiful hounds are dead,
That paced beside the hoofs of her high and nimble horse,
Or streaked in lean pursuit of the tawny hare that fled
Out of the yellow gorse.

All her lovers have passed, her beautiful lovers have passed,
The young and eager men that fought for her arrogant hand,
And the only voice which endures to mourn for her at the last
Is the voice of the lonely land.

poem by Victoria Sackville-West
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That Is All That I Really Wanted

the path today is dusty
slowly, i walk and you pass by

on the same direction
you walk past me like you are in a rush for something

you're fast that is what you want to tell me
i do not really mind for you do not exist at all

i am thinking of pebbles. They are unmoved.
They are faceless. They are saying more important things

than your speed, your fast paced conclusions,
you think that you are as high as a cliff, and unreachable by the worm

you are wrong, i may have been drifting like a cloud
i gather rain and then i feed all that thirst on the earth

i vanish soon leaving no mark. That is all that i really wanted.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To My Class: On Certain Fruits And Flowers Sent Me In Sickness

If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale
With passions of perfume, -- if violets blue
That hint of heaven with odor more than hue, --
If perfect roses, each a holy Grail
Wherefrom the blood of beauty doth exhale
Grave raptures round, -- if leaves of green as new
As those fresh chaplets wove in dawn and dew
By Emily when down the Athenian vale
She paced, to do observance to the May,
Nor dreamed of Arcite nor of Palamon, --
If fruits that riped in some more riotous play
Of wind and beam that stirs our temperate sun, --
If these the products be of love and pain,
Oft may I suffer, and you love, again.

poem by Sidney Lanier
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