The race may not always be to the swift nor the victory to the strong, but that's how you bet.
quote by Damon Runyon
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The race is not [always] to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.
quote by Ecclesiastes 9:11
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The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.
quote by Ecclesiastes 911 Bible
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It may not be that the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong - but that is the way to bet.
quote by Damon Runyon
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The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.
The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the way to bet.
quote by Damon Runyon
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It may be that the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong - but that is the way to bet.
quote by Cybill Sheperd
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My American Flag
Flag of the brave
Victory's only passage
With the Azure night
The dash of the fire ablaze
The stripe of pearly snow
Smybol of a victory
America's Victory
Soldiers true and brave
Trudging in the winter snow
Through the dark, hidden passage
The single, small fire ablaze
For I am of the dark night
Yet in my night:
I cry for victory,
I set my enemies ablaze,
For I am of the Brave
Within the hidden passage
The wind, the rain, the snow
Of the Sea, of the snow
Or hiding in the dark, cool night
Within every passage
In glorious victory
The symbol of the strong and brave
My fire within is ablaze
A Torch ablaze
The flash of falling snow
The strong and brave
In the night
Fighting for victory
leaving the passage
Victory has found a passage
The town is ablaze
Today is the victory
In the winter snow
The battle won this night
The shed blood of the brave
With the brave, in the passage
In the night, of the fire
Trudging in the snow, I won the victory
poem by Maria Robbins
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Victory was not mine
The victory was yours.
And it still is victory belongs to you.
Victory was not mine.
You hurt me you hurt me.
You've scared me.
And yet the victory is yours.
You still continue to beat me.
You torture me every day.
Even though you raped me.
You still win.
And the victory is yours.
Its not fair you have the victory.
When you are evil personalised.
You are the peice of scum
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Enjoy this inevitable run of life
Life is just a run
Not a race
As in a race
We compete with others
And the quicker we run
We reach the destination
Ahead of others
And get declared a winner
Life is just a ran
Not a race
As in life
We have only one track
Drawn exclusively for us
And we only and alone run it
No one else is running this track
And nothing like
Winning or losing
It is only living
Life is just a run
Not a race
We reach our destination
With a speed
That is determined by our skills
And with an ease
That is determined by our attitude
While speed is no matter
As we do not compete with others
Ease varies with our attitudes
Life is just a run
Not a race
As the track you run is
Exclusively laid for you
And know, you run it alone
Till you reach the dead end
There is no victory stand
There is no spectator
There is no medal
There is no honour
You are the spectator
You honour yourself
You clap and celebrate your victory
All alone and in silence
Life is just a run
Not a race
More than anything else
With how much you ease
You ran it
Will be remembered
So finetune your attitude
To life, people around
And the environment you are in
To enjoy this inevitable run of life
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Race Already Won
We’re in a race already won, in the race we daily run,
It is the race we call life, won for us by Jesus Christ,
A race we run so many ways, living out all our days,
Racing upon this earth, for a crown of Eternal worth.
As we run for that prize, in this race, we fix our eyes,
On The Author of our faith, guiding us by His Grace,
For as we live this daily life, we run into undue strife,
Difficulties along our way, we go through every day.
We remember as we run, that the race has been won,
For this Truth we receive, when, in Christ, we believe,
Our Lord, in Who we trust, won this race for all of us,
When He finished at Calvary, providing to us Victory.
So when we run into a test, in our Lord, we shall rest,
As we are in God’s Hand, when we don’t understand,
So in the midst of the race, we simply seek His face,
Then He gives to us peace, as we run doesn’t cease.
Anyone today can choose, this race, they can’t lose,
The race that’s been won, by Jesus, God’s own Son,
And to Him alone we raise, as a victor, eternal praise,
As we gain Eternal Life, in this race with Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©01/2010)
The Lesson From The Horse Race
There's no such thing as gallant loser and there's no glory in defeat
And coming first is all that matter and victory is always sweet
For the winning horse and jockey there's a mighty hip hooray
And the jockey he is smiling victory has made his day.
The stable lad leads in his winner he has never known such joy
And the owner pats his race horse as if to say well done me boy
And there's applause for the winning trainer from the large onlooking crowd
And the horse is centre of attention and those who backed him clapping loud.
Near by stands the beaten favourite held there by his stable lad
And with no trace of the horse's owner and the trainer looking sad
In a thrilling photo finish beaten into second place
But he get little recognition for running such a splendid race.
Human life is like the horse race at winning post you've got to lead
Losers are quickly forgotten and to be loved you must succeed
You must strive hard for your glory and if you fail in your vital test
You too will be quick forgotten as winners are remembered best
And there's a lesson from the horse race and it read plain for all to see
If you live for admiration go for outright victory
And you will be the main attraction and all the applause will be for you
And like the poor defeated race horse there will be none for number two.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pestilence Hortative
Dirty deck was always
stacked against one.
Even losing haggard moral
unesteemed victory was won.
Worthless heartless soulless being
out strives ostracized otiose bum.
Upward struggling parrying patchily
life’s jagged razor-race edge is run.
Marked deck was always unethical
stacked against honourable singular one.
Man race erasing earth code moral
unbalanced industrial victory patchily won.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Athletes
in every games there
is always few winners than a looser, for
in every
episode there is always the
point to begin
the very aspiration of the body
pushes to start
to finish of what is being ignited, and as
it goes a feeling of
Conquering the star, inflame the athletes
to pursue its dream of victory
as the scramble started to swift, the
audience sees only the gesture emitted
to reach
the athletes goal, blinded the
shadow that underlines the cloths, there lay
a pain, emotional, spoil foot, dehydrated face
obstruction, swollen skin
and broken
parts experienced deep inside the actor
a halo of loose of oneself ego
to save, what is expected
in every race, that swallows the pain
over the victory achieve
it is a blending of self sacrifice and honor tag
to grasp
into the inner ego of the athletes
yet! another challenge
to face another challenges stretching
another strength
gambling what the capacity
of the body and mind reunites, where by
every strength welcome to exceed
to its limit
Citruis, Altuis, Fortius shouted
in every hearts as fuel, making
its goal
nearer to the victory offered, nothingness
the best as it thrives personal
perfection of excellence is worthwhile
to attain...... an effort of victory is in itself a VICTORY
to achieve
Swifter, Higher, Stronger......Citruis, Altuis. Fortuis..... A Motto
' a poem dedicated to all Athletes '
poem by Antonio Liao
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Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.
quote by Winston Churchill
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Victory
Victory never comes from power over others
Real victory only comes from victory over self
Nothings gained from fighting your brothers’
For victory can’t be purchased “Off the shelf”
poem by Ray Lucero
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Race Of Veterans
RACE of veterans! Race of victors!
Race of the soil, ready for conflict! race of the conquering march!
(No more credulity's race, abiding-temper'd race;)
Race henceforth owning no law but the law of itself;
Race of passion and the storm.
poem by Walt Whitman
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From Down The River
A HALF-BREED, slim, and sallow of face,
Alphonse lies full length on his raft,
The hardy son of a hybrid race.
Lithe and long, with the Indian grace,
Versed in the varied Indian craft,
A half-breed, slim, and sallow of face,
He nurses within mad currents that chase-
The swift, the sluggish-a foreign graft,
This hardy son of a hybrid race.
What southern airs, what snows embrace
Within his breast-soft airs that waft
The half-breed-slim, and sallow of face,
Far from the Gatineau's foaming base!
And what strong potion hath he quaffed,
This hardy son of a hybrid race,
That upon this sun-baked blistered place
He sleeps, with his hand on the burning haft,
A Metis-slim and sallow of face,
The hardy son of a hybrid race!
poem by Susan Frances Harrison
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You ask, What is our policy? I will say; "It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us: to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy." You ask, What is our aim? I can answer with one word: Victory - victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.
quote by Winston Churchill
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From 'Down the River
Gatineau Point
A HALF-BREED, slim, and sallow of face,
Alphonse lies full length on his raft,
The hardy son of a hybrid race.
Lithe and long, with the Indian grace,
Versed in the varied Indian craft,
A half-breed, slim, and sallow of face,
He nurses within mad currents that chase–
The swift, the sluggish–a foreign graft,
This hardy son of a hybrid race.
What southern airs, what snows embrace
Within his breast–soft airs that waft
The half-breed–slim, and sallow of face,
Far from the Gatineau's foaming base!
And what strong potion hath he quaffed,
This hardy son of a hybrid race,
That upon this sun-baked blistered place
He sleeps, with his hand on the burning haft,
A Metis–slim and sallow of face,
The hardy son of a hybrid race!
poem by Susie Frances Harrison
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Marching Troops
Exert distance and take gigantic steps,
With pity the wicked shall make steps:
Who shall win and adjourn?
Who will carry the flag of victory?
A race is won on the steps taken,
And innocence must win again.
Soldiers who do hear the request of their generals,
Will face death when the dying occurs,
No soldier or troop or cavalier is exempt - they grind.
Who shall gain their victory?
You know and you know.
poem by Naveed Akram
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