The dawn speeds a man on his journey, and speeds him too in his work.
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Quickened Endings Speeds The Change
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And games played once reliable...
No longer,
Remain the same.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
Knock down those blocks,
And...
Open up what's been locked.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
Don't try to cease them.
Hoping to keep...
Whole and complete in one piece,
A picture wanted perfect...
But,
Soon from you to leave.
Soon you will believe!
Quickened endings speeds the change.
Let what was known go!
And....
Don't try to cease this speed.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And games played once reliable...
No longer remain.
So...
Knock down those blocks,
And...
Open up what's been locked.
It's futile to keep clinging,
To meanings coming to a stop!
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And...
Don't try to cease them,
With a picture held to keep.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And...
Don't try to cease them,
With a picture held to keep.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ship Starting
LO! THE unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails--an ample
Ship, carrying even her moonsails;
The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately--
below, emulous waves press forward,
They surround the Ship, with shining curving motions, and foam.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Song Of The Kasak
Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,
Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!
Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
With him a mighty power brings,
To win the honour of his land
Kazak his life unheeding flings-
Till fame of him eternal sings!
Kazak brought all Siberia
At foot of Russia's throne to lie,
Kazak left glory in the Alps,
His name the Turk can terrify,
His flag he ever carries high!
Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,
Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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A Motorcycle Speeds
it speeds its way up the hill
and down
the plain and then goes
on that narrow path
leading to the cliff
he does not know about this twist
of his journey
he falls and makes his last
breath
and there is no other way to capture
this tragedy
except through the words
of the story
or that poem that speaks of death
and resurrection
of twists
and the fall of no return
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Black Hound
WHITE-TOOTHED is the Black Hound,
And ever, as he comes after,
There is no sweetness in wine,
Nor is there joyance in laughter.
Red-tongued is the Black Hound,
And ever, as he speeds baying,
There is no shaking him off,
Nor is there stopping or staying.
Keen-sensed in the thick dark
He follows for ever and ever;
Nought stays him in his pursuit —
Nor marsh, nor mountain, nor river.
Day-long through the broad light,
His tongue like a flame outleaping,
He hunts; and we fly before,
Wan-faced, foot-weary and weeping.
Night-through in the still hours
When stars in the sky assemble,
We hear his cry on the roads,
And startled, staring, we tremble.
White-toothed is the Black Hound,
And speed to his limbs is given;
God help and pity us all
Who fly for ever, hard-driven!
Time comes when the feet fail
Or drag on the ways, unwilling;
Then fast, froth-flakes on his jaws,
He speeds keen-fanged to the killing.
Then some, as they pass, say —
Few pausing, and weeping, fewer —
'Hound-work is this that we see,
Fang-work of him, the Pursuer!'
Black Care is the Black Hound,
And ever 'tis his to follow
Pale men from birth to that hour
When grave-mouths open and swallow.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Aboard At A Ship's Helm
ABOARD, at a ship's helm,
A young steersman, steering with care.
A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,
An ocean-bell--O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.
O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-reefs ringing,
Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place.
For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the bell's admonition,
The bows turn,--the freighted ship, tacking, speeds away under her
gray sails,
The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious wealth, speeds
away gaily and safe.
But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the ship! 10
O ship of the body--ship of the soul--voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Passage Of Time
The passage of time
Speeds up, slows down
With emotions interwoven
And meanings profound
It lies beneath
The memories found
Tucked away in sacred places
Then sneaks away
Without warning or sound
Taking pieces of you
That your heart never replaces
The passage of time
Rob's you blind
So when you look back
All you can find
Is the glaring truth
And pain divine
Of loved one's lost
And those you've left behind
Oblivious to your regrets
It doesn't stop or pause
If you forget
To do or say what must be said
Before the future
Rears its head
So when the nostalgia
Washes over you
You curse yourself instead
The passage of time
Leaps out at you
Suddenly
When you least expect it to
You look around
Children are grown
People have passed away
You begin to feel
With every day
You're more alone
Than you've ever been before
Fear and dread uncoil inside
Right at the center
Where your soul is stored
The passage of time
Speeds up, slows down
Then is gone once more
poem by Erika Wingo
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The bow whispers to the arrow before it speeds forth. -"Your freedom is mine."
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Over the Darkness of Desperation
This 'vision' of awareness,
Identified with one's own mortality...
Awakens 'realities'!
And therefore,
We are less of conflict and more of purpose.
This begins the journey,
On paths that provide our answers.
Reflecting...
Against clouds of doubts,
Fading!
And speeds to us reason...
Why we must choose happiness,
Over the darkness of desperation!
Assisting those to climb and scale the heights,
Of dreams.
But choosing not to dwell with them,
In the shadows of valleys...
Resting in beliefs,
They have found their comfort.
Without the rays of the Sun to cast upon them!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sprinting Past the Irony
I walk by you,
You jog by me,
I run by you,
You sprint by me,
I think the fact we go at different speeds,
Makes it harder for you and me,
To get past all this irony
poem by Shadrach Knight
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Youth And Age
MUCH did I rage when young,
Being by the world oppressed,
But now with flattering tongue
It speeds the parting guest.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The reason I think I'm a good pitcher is I locate my fastball and I change speeds. Period. That's what you do to pitch. That's what pitchers have to do to win games.
quote by Greg Maddux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the molecular scale, you find it's reasonable to have a machine that does a million steps per second, a mechanical system that works at computer speeds.
quote by K. Eric Drexler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Let Heaven Be My Aim
Let nothing come between me and my God;
I want to serve Him faithfully henceforth;
For sins of mine, I accept His just rod;
Let life hereafter turn anew and worth.
There is no joy on earth that lasts for long;
There is no sadness that can frighten me;
So, let me walk that extra mile, furlong,
Ensuring my place in eternity.
Hence, things I do on earth I must rethink;
All places I visit I must pre-check;
For, when the results come, I must not blink;
I mustn’t drive recklessly at speeds breakneck!
The things I do must give me mental peace;
I wish to journey to Heaven with ease!
poem by John Celes
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The Traveller
Reply to Rudyard Kipling’s ‘He travels the fastest who travels alone.’
Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
Though he laughs in the day time oft weeps on the nights;
For courage goes down at the set of the sun,
When the toil of the journey is all borne by one.
He speeds but to grief though full gaily he ride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
Who travels alone without lover of friend
But hurries from nothing, to naught at the end.
Though great be his winnings and high be his goal,
He is bankrupt in wisdom and beggared in soul.
Life’s one gift of value to him is denied
Who travels alone without love at his side.
It is easy enough in this world to make haste
If one live for that purpose – but think of the waste;
For life is a poem to leisurely read,
And the joy of the journey lies not in its speed.
Oh! vain his achievement and petty his pride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Sonnet: The Bus, I Prefer to Take!
I like to take the bus tho’ old and spare
To reach for practice, my clinic by eve;
It moves like neither snail nor speeds like hare!
Yet, carefully, it goes tho’ people heave.
The driver in his sixties looks quite wise;
The passengers don’t crowd; each gets a seat;
The bus looks welded much and not so nice,
With jerky windows, silence, floor not neat!
Not many board the bus at every stop;
The journey takes a longer time indeed;
No robbers come to steal and there’s no cop;
The bus is safe but cannot others lead!
Altho’ this bus is not the one most sought,
The risk of accidents is almost naught!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-1-2005
poem by John Celes
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While the fates permit, live happily life speeds on with hurried step, and with winged days the wheel of the headlong year is turned.
E-very-thing
gauging the counter speeds of time
replaced disharmonious the twilight sang
the beauaty of a night where everything
e
very
thing
but a human
was absolutely ok
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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While the fates permit, live happily; life speeds on with hurried step, and with winged days the wheel of the headlong year is turned.