For Verne F. Champlin
My grandfather who worked for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation as an accountant, he had Gore, Whiteface and Belleayre Mountains as his accounts. He filled my Childhood Dreams with Mountains of Snow.
A Gift Given Me
One Day,
at the base of Whiteface Mountain
I thought of someone special and
about a gift he’d given me.
I ascended swiftly into a silver silken sea
in a crystal vision Mother Mary came to me.
She whispered to me softly,
words to sooth my fear.
I soared so gracefully
far above the timberline.
I descended slowly only
after I had picked my line
down among the emerald pines.
One Day,
at the base of Whiteface Mountain
I thought of someone special about a gift he’d given me.
Written for the shortening of Chair Six of Whiteface Mountain for the 1980 Winter Olympics.
Chair Six
Oh! carousel of well worn
blue wooden chairs ascend me swiftly
upon the summit of your face.
Stark, lonely, loving, longing,
fair milk maiden’s lips
forever locked, granite windswept cheeks
ominous in your blue ice
laden grace.
Teeth chattering trembling fear
your North winds wailing,
searching, searing, stiff
frozen denim jeans.
The smell of
wet grey woolen ponchos.
Out of the Gondola Shed at Gore Mountain
(with Touloose)
Bright radiant red
chariot cherry plastic bubbles
“All the way to the top men,”
a lift attendant’s
warm wry smile.
His bright orange ski cap,
pulled well over the ears
Keeping out the biting cold.
Clomp and thump,
Clomp and thump,
hurriedly mad crazed killers
Plunging home our skis and poles.
Swish,
Heaven’s gate slides shut
a zero down gloved hand
bearing a radiant silver cross
that turns the key
clicking the latch
locking away
the chosen ones.
Bumping, bouncing,
bursting out
bathed in luminous sunlight
ivory crystals
set upon forest green pines
sparkling
pale blue skies
swaying, swinging,
precariously perched on a sterling
stranded string
dangling there.
Touloose
his purple passion hat
cocked over an optic gleam
a comrade in arms
comes his familiar cackle,
“Ain’t it the tits,” his breath hangs frozen
a cumulus cloud
moist
splashing against my brow
dissipating with our fears
into the quiet
frigid serenity.
Adirondack Day, Jon Bowers and Gordon Grey
2 cents overdrawn
Mick Jagger on a full screen
MTV video screaming,
“I’m just waiting on a lady,
I’m just waiting on a friend.”
Gold Peak restaurant bar
warming my hands on a
steaming ceramic coffee filled mug
arriving one day later than,
the Vail Mountain employee draw.
Being 2 cents overdrawn and scribbling,
like Gollum caressing his precious, precious,
my powder snow poetry.
Leaving the restaurant like that,
I mean with blue words
on a white paper napkin
thinking them worth much
more than 2 missing pennies.
Pulling on down gloves
trudging into the wilderness,
like Strider the Ranger.
Never really fitting in
like a brown slab wood cabin
mud caulked chinked
with a grey stone chimney
sizzling snowshoe rabbit
smoke billowing wafting
through silent aspen’s.
It hangs drifting like
cotton ball clouds
sparkling crystals bending emerald boughs of pines.
A skinny ski trail snaking around
deep powder tree wells
to a stoked glowing fireplace
in the White River National Forest
warding off dusk.
A Tear By The Way
“Been climbing at Devil’s Tower
some of the 5-8 pitches were hard
Tho, I laughed all the way up.
I live in Breck, (Breckenridge, Colorado) during the winter
work as a waitron nights so I
I can board all day. Same
as now cept
I’m a fly clinging to and climbing
cracks all day.
Wyoming is big and beautiful,
endless vista’s and horizon’s
stretching into forever
glowing orange sun hanging
half in, half out of the Earth
light blue hue
tiny white wisps of cirrus
clouds rushing by
winds whipping
ripping my hair blonde
from it’s long pony tail
stinging my breasts.
There was nothing I could do
dangling on my descent
rappelling requires
complete concentration.
Saw you hitch-hiking your
blue and black Dana Design Pack
against your tan smooth skin
you know you have a climber’s body.
It’s too bad I turn here for
Eldorado Canyon tho
this should get you far enough
out of Boulder.
It’s a pity
we couldn’t climb with one another.
My name is
Tear by the way.”
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