Exhilaration/Love Novel for This Unit Is the Power of One

Exhilaration/Love [ Novel for this unit is The Power of One ]

See a list and description of his other works at:

Roger McGough

40------Love

middleaged

coupleplaying

tennis

whenthe

gameends

andthey

gohome

thenet

willstill

bebe

tweenthem

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, hook-

after a while

I could feel

the ball hunger-

ing 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 air-

he stuffs it throught the chains

riding high:

"travelling" someone calls-

and 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 Ball fits

The ball, mitt, but

the bat, not all

and the mitt. the time.

Ball hits Sometimes

bat, or it ball gets hit

hits mitt. (pow) when bat

Bat doesn't meets it,

hit ball, bat and sails

meets it. to a place

Ball bounces where mitt

off bat, flies has to quit

air, or thuds in disgrace.

ground(dud) That's about

or it the bases

fits mitt. loaded,

about 40,000

Bat waits fans exploded.

for ball

to mate. It's about

Ball hates the ball,

to take bat's the bat,

bait. Ball the mitt,

flirts, bat's the bases

late, don't and the fans.

keep the date. It's done

Ball goes in on a diamond

(thwack) to mitt, and for fun.

and goes out It's about

(thwack) back home, and it's

to mitt. about run.