Applause

Applause

I’ve been here many times,
as their childhood has flown past

Sitting alone in the crowd
smiling, and having a blast
A proud, dedicated single parent
gathering memories that will last

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She weaves her way through a defense

that had previously refused to yield
Deft footwork and bursts of speed
guide her down the field
I spring from the edge of my seat
as a late victory is sealed

My legs, energized by her exploit
My lungs, filled with a rush of air
An abrupt acknowledgment of her endeavor
as I quickly rise up from my chair
Emphatic words in a father’s approval
ecstatic to be right there

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I see my teenage powerhouse
as she tumbles across the floor
A round-off and a back handspring
My gasp, and then a perfect two more
An exalted, frightening, wonderful feeling
that resonates to my core

My stomach, churning when she jumps
My heart, leaping when she lands
The uniquely exhilarating anguish
that any parent understands
Proud, as I put down the camera
to free up my hands

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The impetus for my applause
Feats that constantly astound
No urge to look beside me
No need to look around
My two hands, together in the crowd
making their own sound


It seems to me that it’s a graceful gazelle
that suddenly emerges from the pack
Anticipating the exact moment
from my spot along the track
As she glides around the final curve
the others get further and further back

My mind, racing with her to the finish
My senses, tingling from the start
The extent of her accomplishments
matching the size of her heart
Knowing the work ethic and the effort
that always set her apart

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Being early gets me a good seat
Dead center, given the chance
Oblivious of my surroundings
I listen to her play, I watch her dance
Happily lost, inside of myself
My own choice, my soul circumstance

My eyes, no matter what her stage
My ears, for any of the bands
The selfish, singular focus
that any parent understands
Proud, as I put the program down
to free up my hands

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The inspiration for my applause
Daughters who constantly astound
No urge to look beside me
No need to look around
My t
wo hands, together in the crowd
making their own sound


Sitting alone, in the crowd

as each new season has passed
Thankful for each new memory
as time ticks by so fast
Never wondering, or worrying,
if this one will be the last

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Zone

 

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Zone

There is this special place
That a goalie can call his own
It is in a vacuum of concentration
Known only as…”the zone”.

It’s a place of reflex, and of clarity
Where any mistake is an extreme rarity
Where you are certain that you’ll be tough to beat
Where your blades feel sharp under your feet
Where all of the dekes are easily read

Where your every reaction is two steps ahead
Where you find every shot through any screen
Where you sense it coming when it’s sight unseen
It’s where every opening becomes a closed door

Where a save, and a rebound, lead to one more
Where, if they are lucky, they may hit the post
Where it’s a party for none, and you are the host
They are in your house, and you are a wall

And the little black disc looks like a huge ball
You find yourself there, and you don’t ask why
It’s the place where slap shots will go to die

It is that perfect place
Where a shutout is never blown
The land of thwarted opportunity
Known simply as…”the zone”.

The place where the elusive backhand is easy to follow
Where victory draws nearer with every swallow
Where they purposely bump you and you don’t care
Where the blank scoresheet matches your blank stare
A place where your confidence is at its peak

With a solid foundation, and nary a leak
Where you manage to anticipate their every maneuver
Where you are the Hoover Dam, and a damn Hoover
It’s where you’re never the goat and only a hero

Where there are zero bad goals because the goal is zero
It’s sixty or more minutes at the top of your game
Where starter and stopper are one and the same
If you are there only once in your entire career

You’ll remember that feeling and will hold it near
You’ll remember sitting in the room, filled with pride
With you and perfection, sitting side by side

 It is a uniquely sacred place

Where the tender crouches alone
Accompanied by only his focus
The unholiest of places…”the zone”.

 

 

 

Bittersweet

We shall…
“walk the caves of ice…

  taste anew the fruits of life… 
and drink the milk of Paradise”… (N. Peart)

for, perhaps, one last time.



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We are…

Working men
of modest money.

We shall taste the dew
of the sweetest honey…


Our anticipation

is bittersweet.
With the realistic chance
it’s the last we’ll eat.

Just one more taste
the final course, complete.
Wondering if this
is our last,
delectable
satisfying treat.

We realize…

Entre nous, sadly
time won’t stand still.

Our circumstance
succumbs to free will.

The cerebral revelry.
That rhythmic mystic joy.
The analog kid

that lurks in every boy…


The enlightened faithful
feeling bittersweet.
T
he surreal possibility
it’s the last we’ll greet.

All of us together
hovering, above our seat.
Exulting in unison
for one, ultimate,
astounding feat.


We feel…

The spirit of radio
in this nation wide.
The holy triumvirate
is this nation’s pride.

A farewell to kings
they are our humble royalty.
For the last forty
they have our eternal loyalty…


Saying good-byeIMG_20150528_175906[1]
especially bittersweet.
The reluctant reality 

that it’s the last we’ll meet.

Live, our hearts alive
with wings on our feet.
Pulsating as one
to the closing, resounding
consummate beat.


We know…

For this one last victory
our signals will reconnect…
For this measure of three lives
our infinite respect.

 

 

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