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.
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