Poetry in motion
Hair in the wind
One with my emotions
Dedicated to the present
Full of presence
As I roll around
Words and wheels
Healing the world's essence.

Sway like the wind
Contract your core
Feel it harden
Let out your roar

As you release with intention
Lay her out flat
Juke
With determination
Make the blockers curse
Cause they lost track

Nickel and dime
My currency
As I make
My way back around
Securing our victory
As the venue fills with joyous sound

The music is playing.
All eyes are on me.
The arena is silent.
My choreography is my enemy.

I begin my prep,
For something I’ve never done.
The Axel
The Axel
It’s the only one.

I shiver and I shudder.
It is oh so cold.
I really need to do this,
To win the Olympic Gold

My toe-pick hits the ice
And makes a loud Chk.
I go up and rotate,
Then I come back down and stick.

I did it! It was awesome!
I take a pose.
The crowd erupts.
I froze.

I looked up at the scoreboard.
I looked at my coaches so bold.
And I found out,
That I had won the Olympic Gold.

Not an impulsive interest,
But a gradual love.

In the midst of this stress and uncertainty,
One thing I know for sure.

I crave the freedom of skating.
The mental release it has to offer.

Like releasing myself from this cage,
I’m locked in.

A brief solace,
From my over worked brain.

To feel the wind in between my hair
Fresh air filling my lungs.

My strong legs supporting my body,
Knees bent ready to take off.

The taste of victory in my mouth,
Sweaty adrenaline palms.

I want roller skates,
So very badly.

- a broke struggling student

Tie my laces,
Anchor me now,
Release the tide of emotion,
It’s ready for the crowd,

Electricity pulses in my chest,
Jolts through my limbs,
And sparks at my finger tips,

Connected to the earth,
I’m grounded,
I’m strong,

My stride will leave lightning,
Powerful and long,

My decisions quick,
Agile, steady,

Ready to dip, dive,
Juke, swerve,
Hop & leap,
Through that hole,
I'm ready,

Ready to be a brace,
For my family,
Jam or be a ****,
To achieve our goal,

Together as one we skate,
Into the unknown future we go.

How ephemeral the memories now seem.
As if they truly come from a world altogether unfamiliar…

Tis but a dream
The early mornings spent on ice,
The blinding lights and gorgeous whites,
Thirsty lungs,
Tired quadriceps,
And of course bruised knees.
And all of them filled to bursting with the emphatic movements,
Gestures,
Leaps,
And lifts,
Of the bladed ballerinas
That dance across my fading dreamscapes…

The ice-dancer glides effortlessly,
But with purpose austere.
Every muscle contracted in the manner most conducive
To manifesting their artistic desire.
From fingertips
To toe-picks
Their body transfigured into an instrument of emotion —
A weapon of beauty.
From start to end each routine is a metamorphosis:
Budding and blooming along a euphonious plane
Until the artist’s full potential is revealed…
The energy released —
The raw power,
Of the jumps and spins,
Kaleidoscopic fireworks
Clashing
Against the roaring white backdrop:
Each explosion
The ignition of a chambered round;
The spiralling bullet,
The impact on target…
The artist’s winter warfare actualized.

Last night,
As such ballerinas …riveting …terrifying
Danced around the panorama of my mind’s eye
I recalled that ultimate unison between flesh and spirit;
That of the figure skater
Painting their art
On a canvas most cruel.

”yet the fervent flame that fuels her will flatten her to bodilessness” — bodiless by Christina Weiler

her blades like
shiny silver roots
            dug into
cold white soil

shaped thighs and calves
ankles forged from steel
firm and strong
            s    t    r    o    n    g
know their frictionless home
            better than the restrictive
                        ground for mortals
she learned to
            skate
                        before she could
crawl

the chill that
            penetrates
her
does not freeze–
it
            charges her body
                        fizzles in her blood
fills her lungs with
            red hot molten
                        fury

each powerful
            gut-wrenching
            scratch
          ­              scrape
            sharp            edge
carves
   ­         echoing prayers into
the heart of her
            unforgiving god

ordered
            by a world that doesn't
            understand where she came from
                        (whether heaven or hell no one really knows or cares)
to shatter
            the ice dreams that saved (or cursed) her
to obey
            the ground
to pretend that she will find that thrill—
            find herself— in
            something else

but through the aches she knows
she will never
forget