Athletes Anxiety

As he takes the shot,
time is frozen,
in the littlest of time,
he feels the pressure
of his peers and school,
the situations,
the successes,
the failures,
the tension,
of the season before returned to him,
hesitation occurs,
his instincts kick in,
his drive and motivation lead,
apprehension of the consequences to follow incur,
the final action is taken,
the ball takes flight,
anxiety insues,
the crowd reacts.

This video was for the poem itself. It shows everything that occurs while in the airplane, and everything that occurs from being in the air and fighting to the death.

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

Poem Breakup

"Vermin"

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
What child cries out, "An Exterminator!"?
One dilligent student in Mrs. Taylor's class will get an ant farm for Christmas, but he'll not see industry; he'll see dither.
"The ant sets an example for us all," wrote Max Beerbohm, a master of dawdle, "but it is not a good one."
Those children don't hope to outlast the doldrums of school only to heft great weights and work in squads and die for their queen.
Well, neither did we.
And we knew what we didn't want to be: the ones we looked down on, the lambs of God, blander than snow and slow to be cruel.

This poem was one of simple punctuation. All line breaks are just located between sentences.

Poem breakups

"Crow is Walking"

Crow is walking to see things at ground level,
the ground as new under his feet as the air is old under his wings.
He laves the dead rabbit waiting -- it's a given, it'll always be there -- and walks down the dirt road,
admires the pebbles,
how they sparkle in the sun;
checks out his reflection in a puddle full of sky which reminds him of where he's supposed to be, but he's beginning to like the way the muscles move in his legs and the way his wings feel so comfortable folded back and resting.
He thinks he might be beautiful,
the sun lighting his back with purple and green.
Faint voices from somewhere far ahead roll like dust down the road towards him.
He hurries a little.
His tongue moves in his mouth;
legends of language move in his mind.
His beak opens.
He tries a word.

This poem is broken up, I think, to create pause and time between thoughts. All forms of punctuation are used for this.

Dylan Thomas-Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines

Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads, The things of light File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones. A candle in the thighs Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age; Where no seed stirs, The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars, Bright as a fig; Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs. Dawn breaks behind the eyes; From poles of skull and toe the windy blood Slides like a sea; Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky Spout to the rod Divining in a smile the oil of tears. Night in the sockets rounds, Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes; Day lights the bone; Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin The winter's robes; The film of spring is hanging from the lids. Light breaks on secret lots, On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain; When logics die, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun; Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

Dylan Thomas-Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas-A Process in the Weather of the Heart

A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.

A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.

A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the loin
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.

A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.

A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.