A Poem:

[point it]

So I've been wanting to write a skiing poem for a while.... Its hard to make one that doesn't suck and isn't cheesy. Anyways here's what I came up with....

Thursday:

The alarm rings and I rise transposed into the early bird ready to migrate on my well practiced pilgrimage to a place of peace

Setting off by lantern-light, we witness the birth of a new day as we climb to meet Appolo

I press upwards breaking the trail for my companions to follow

My goal is ambitious, the message defiant, I will stand atop this geological giant

She screams a thousand warning whispers through my ears, they lash at my face as I trespass further

My betraying lungs scream back, united in their differences trying to slow my attack

She protects great treasures for which my heart burns with desire, we meet in a clash of ice and fire

I am perused by cool cotton blossoms of claustrophobia that rise from no stem

We are enveloped and held hostage by this wall with no edges, no feeling, no end

Cold smoke erupts from the gun barrel of the heavens locked in a spiralling slow dance with gravity

A symphony of entropy ever majestic in its fall from grace settles around me in unique symmetry

We press on, three beating hearts with one mind, pushing not for what’s ahead but away from what’s left behind

Each step a profound regression from societies persistent perpetual retrogression

Uncertainty wraps its forlorn fingers around my soul and tugs at my heart strings

My confidence ebbs and flows over the rocky shores of emotional implosion

My eyes are pulled downwards, thoughts following to a place where a dare not bodily go

Then with a last few steps through frozen time comes a flooding feeling so divine

I stand aloft, the envy of atlas looking down from this pinnacle of personal transcendence

The prize is mine but it has no design, it flickers as a feeling buried deep in my mind

This prize of mine, so true, so real, but you cannot buy it it’s something you feel

But there’s no shortcut to this prize, no western family counterpart and you don’t get one free with an equal or greater adventure

I am not the first to stand here and surely wont be the last, but this cabernet sauvignon tickles my tongue with the taste of adventure in a unique way that no other will have or has ever experienced.

So as the worries of today slink off to huddle with the shadows of tomorrow in the dark recesses of a world somewhere between material and mental I push off into freedom, peace of mind billowing around my waist

My paired paintbrushes slash sweeping streaks across this canvas

Transient twists of artistic adrenaline are my only proof of passage

Descending further, a plethora of ubiquitous jade arms whip past me in a boreal blur

I dance through this inanimate audience cloaked in crystalline silence

Walking the line between grace and violence

Picking the pocket of time, I steal moments, performing in this alpine amphitheatre with no one around save my fellow thespians

And from her we steal memories, memories of a time where we were away from it all high on emotions seeming eternal but doomed to fall

These days are like the flakes that provide them, ephemeral, unique and in adequately described at best

Pitted in battle, me vs. myself, the ultimate test

These memories trade places with the traces on the maps of the previously and still yet unknown.

My woven tapestry of experiences ever growing, pushing further, higher, deeper

And in memories I must leave this world as I plunge back into the convoluted flow of life and responsibility

It is here I swim through the rapids of encumbrance awaiting my next chance to burst upwards away from my concrete shackles breaking the surface for a single glorious breath.

This is right

This is being

This is life

This is Skiing

[calisnow]

I shall refrain from judgement positive or negative about your poem, and just say that it takes big balls to be willing to post a poem you wrote online. Especially in front of a bunch of bro-brahs on TGR, half of whom can barely read or form a coherent thought. Kudos to you sir.

[jahoney]

remember: the late worm evades the early bird

[point it]

I shall refrain from judgement positive or negative about your poem, and just say that it takes big balls to be willing to post a poem you wrote online. Especially in front of a bunch of bro-brahs on TGR, half of whom can barely read or form a coherent thought. Kudos to you sir.

Yeah Haters gon' hate... just thought I'd contribute a different type of stoke

[klar]

Yeah Haters gon' hate... just thought I'd contribute a different type of stoke

right on! Dramatic poem is dramatic