22 April, 2008

April is Poetry month, or so I'm told...

April is poetry month, and as it draws to a close I have decided to dig through my old notebooks and pull out some of the sports related poetry I have written. These three selections are from my junior year at Salem High; I only remember that because Steph and I met in Mr. Wallach's Honors English class that year. Who ever said alphabetical seating was a faulty method? Not I. Anyways, I digress, on with the rhyming.

'War Games'
Warriors march into battle.
As they face their enemies,
emotions sweep them away.
The battle will bring joy and pain.
Pain In Loss.
Joy In Victory.
Victory in the back of the net.

'The Quest' -This selection can also be found in Red Skies; Salem State's Online Magazine.

In great caves, with floors of glass.
We see great saves and the art of the pass.
Forwards fly on blades of steel.
With heads held high to make the steal.
Their bodies set, they shoot with skill.
It meets the net and brings the thrill.
Defensemen hold the lines of blue.
They must be bold with sticks like glue.
Shots like guns and bodies of stone.
Small forwards are done in they get them alone.
The padded wall with a bit of luck.
Goalies stop it all, each and every puck.
Wrists, slaps, and snaps. Shots of every kind.
Never time for a nap, always the sharpest mind.
These athletes compete to be on top.
Until everyone's beat they will not stop.
In 82 they've won and not,
but they're still here at the playoffs start.
You can see the desire in their eyes,
Lord Stanley's Cup is the prize.
If it ends in sixteen or it takes twenty-eight,
raising the Cup will still feel great.
Their names are engraved so all will know,
that they are the champions with the rings to show.

'From the mind of a Middie'
I get the ball and clear the zone, I look around and I'm all alone.
It's just me and a defensive hole, that brings me charging straight to the goal.
There's a goalie but I don't mind, he'll leave some room I'm sure to find.
I approach the net as calm as can be, with adrenaline pumping 'It's just you and me!'
I give a fake and he takes it big, It's his own grave hes about to dig.
My next move is the one for the kill, the 'behind the back' I perform with skill.
I let the shot fly and it's in the net, the keeper fishes it out looking quite upset.
My team celebrates but I keep my poise, I believe my actions make enough noise.
I look at him and feel bad for the kid, I know he'll never forget what I did.
He'll think on it and confuse his game, but I had to do it just the same.
That one play will open the door, cause while he's thinking I'll score some more.
I can't stop till the game is done, and I can't leave happy unless I've won.

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