I. Week One
All’s well that bodes well, this
Olympics might be about weather
whether we like it or not. The terrorists
are watching at home on their big
screens bought for events, Costco
nightmares coming true, the spirit of
Elvis, dynamite, true TV legends, the
Super Bowl is over.
Women dominate in ways
and waves, winter wondering why
we don’t do this every year. Competitors
do, they practice and sweat while
the rest of us do what we do, then
every four years we remember
what we love so much every four years.
The brother supports a snow skier,
mogul freestyling remembering if
it wasn’t for his bro’s handicap, his
bro would be the best in the world
at his sport.
Bode himself draws from a deeper
well than he’d wish this time around;
who wants to remember loss? But when
we do, the rewards are great, the tears
ice, turn to snow, and down them
champions ski to more medals, shining bright.
God bless the snow! Ice supplying reasons
for speed, Netherlands dogging us at that,
short track missing an American legend,
now he announces from the booth.
Costas’ eye bugs, but NBC picks him up,
has it in the bag, Lauer or whoever getting
it done, hockey on the run, Quick in the
net will be enough to go far, beware the
Canadians, it’s their sport remember?
Peace and dreams, every four years
make me a luge or bobsled trap me in
one of these, ‘long as it’s got cable,
or ever an antennae to pick up free
coverage, it blips every once in a while,
so what else here, does everyone HAVE
to hit a quad if on skates to get to the
podium, what about grace and style,
the miracle mile, Sweden on Cross-
Country skis, coming back, it’s the ladies—
what a race!
Reminded me of Lezak coming back from
On we go to week two, what will we do?
God, just let them be safe
II. Week Two
Mikaela winked and smiled,
the Earth moved, too true—
the last time we won this one
I’m reborn, hope eternal as the
flames of 22 extinguish, Winter
is over, and as it dies I’m
reminded while I cry of reasons
“Shiffrin” gold, the name doesn’t
get old, to bring pride to the slopes
gives us all hopes we can beat
the Austrian down the mountain,
Ligety-split, good enough—
winding ‘round, warmth at home
waiting, peace of mind from trying
this was our best.
There are two sides to victory; there
is the medal hunt, the path to glory.
But stumbling once, then twice out
the gate… and it happens. We lose
this one, so win the next.
Could be another race or event
at another time and place. Could be
later that day or night when you reach
out to another race, cheer on a teammate,
Or better yet: reach across ranks, and grab
a red hand from foreign lands yearning
to connect with West.
Feel good on that other “side,” it
is still called sportsmanship, Shaun White
going up in my book the very Olympics
his snowboard falters down.
To see youth grow up and embrace
the truer glory of friends made…
This is the Olympic Games.
Looking back, we have Sochi 2014,
the year “of the great terrorist attack,”
leave your toothpaste at home.
Meanwhile miles Northwest in Ukraine
blood swept the plain, across rivers
and snow, people earned their right
to be, how fitting as nations celebrated
theirs over and over again in gold,
sliver, and bronze forever.
This is the place for truth, there
are many to be sure, but performing
of this nature is pure exposure, our
lives un-guarded. There is no
pressure, Mr. Announcer, the minute
you buck the thought in exchange
for the love of sport.
We digress, revolve and return, the
youth shall by God’s will rise again,
the warmth of flame and story,
mid-week we curl up and hear
of winter glory.
The images they remain, I’ll never
forget the Sochi song from 2014,
life will never be exactly the same,
I’m powerless over effort’s ability
to shine within me through theirs.
A winter dream for all who about
life, world and sport truly care