Hill calls age
to mind its business
in slats of laughter
carving freedom,
for I am born again to play,
as rush spayed swirl
of child throwing rooster
to tease in tail
and chase the wind inside my ear
through trees of powder prepping peace
without a reason for a question.
Ray's ridge bends belief
in bolder inspiration
as smile draws face
to frame attention,
in downhill dares of jump and hip
traversing dip
to race my shadow,
dissolving distance,
smaller still, remembering snow,
as younger evolution in skin to tingle,
like Merlin
living backward seasons,
with joy to dance in air to catch,
his flakes of kiss to giggled goggles
as soul in progress
building moguls,
bumping knees
in rhythm's secret, panting presence
strumming Mountain's voice to sing
in edges carving cuts of corduroy.
And I am glad to be alive,
through waves of painted bodies
moving southward in flesh to flash
as miracle of feather
down my hill to draw in innocent imagination,
that fifth dimension,
where smile begins as curve to quest
in believing eyes
of breath to worship
an eternal exhilaration.
A contest entry
- The Inner Child - closes this afternoon by CarolDesjarlais.
450 points, ended February 21, 2007, 9 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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this is wonderful poem..one of the best i've read on AP...words pecisely reflecting the skiers movement...exhiration...
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this makes me glad I am alive....the poem reads in a rush..a great rush...I have skied and know that I did everything wrong by scooting down out of fear...I nearly lifted off. Once I larned to swoop and swever, the panorama of real skiing opened up a whole new world for me. Yes, this is play...and play is so veyr good for the spirit of that child within...never stop finding ways to do this...as for me, I am now an armchair skier...in fact, I am not event hat any more...skiddoing even makes me ill with fumes. But, I love to watch.
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My heart is pounding reading this! It's pure joy...fearless in its fifth dimension. What a feeling to be that strong-- to shus mountains "in slats of laughter carving freedom." My skin tingles at the thought, and more than a little wonder! What a child you have....
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I can only imagine you on those slopes, and being the excellent skier that you are I know that the inner-child does indeed come alive downhill! I so loved this line "living backward seasons" as that is exactly how we keep the child inside alive. Wonderful poem - and of course the voice here so very authentic and refreshing as the snow.
~ Nicolette
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beautiful
Such wonder you speak of!
"And I am glad to be alive,
through waves of painted bodies
moving southward in flesh to flash
as miracle of feather
down my hill to draw in innocent imagination,"
ANother masterpiece by you, my dear friend!
Lynda
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