Best Ski Poems
Bones creak with winter’s chill,
sledge trails cover the sparkling snow,
rushing like the wind in a barren landscape
towards a bleak lonely village far below
shimmering amongst the dark stately pines.
A teak grey sky domes over petrified trees.
Skiing hard, feeling an exhilarating allure,
hypnotic and unfettered despite the gelidity
as the cold breeze blows and moans into my face.
From afar a church bell tolls the end of day,
grey smoke twirls out of black chimneys.
There, in a homely cottage, you await,
a thick soup spreads its hot fragrances,
and thick slices of hot French bread
awaits my empty stomach. I hunger.
Oh yes, I hunger for tasty soup and more.
I speed up for nothing can stop me now
savouring the thought of you waiting in a snug bed
and dreaming of you and a pair of lips so cherry red.
I stole Milne's painting,
now in photographic film, splayed
on a foreign screen,
in a landscape void of life,
and hey- I'm not too proud of it.
But who would be?
of an image within an image,
a facsimile of vision,
and a breath of death,
exhumed with other bones:
those scattered remains
of Great Canadian Poets,
and I shudder at the name-
"A Country North of Belleville…"
untouched on the page,
and never the same,
as uncovered
by that beer-drinkin' man,
stumbling through the trees
like trylobites, like bones,
like soft outlines of fading beige
turning brown
as long fallen leaves,
entombed under a siege of snow,
expressed, under careful scrutiny
almost a century ago
waxed skis glide smoothly
tracks on fresh, crisp, moonlit snow
frozen woodland sounds
austere
sincere
premier
skier
Test your skill with austere, sincere hopes;
True poise comes on premier skier slopes.
1/30/2018
Ski Trip
skiing
nature's backwoods,
over frozen lakefronts,
among quiet darken patches,
snowfalls
connie pachecho
6/08/17
The state of flow, eternal Tao
Dance in the ephemeral now
A Bound mind will not allow
A Joyous downward plow
Soft snow, honored thou
Its own meaning endow
Feet atop sacred bough
Snow cut by skis’ prow
Let me show you how
4/5/16
There once was a Norse goddess named Skadi
A Winter Ruler in huntress’ body
An expert at skiing
Her enemies fleeing
Ester Ledecka she did embody
spring was coming early
the call was heard for squeezing in
one extra outdoor outing
so we loaded up our skis, boots and gear
it was minus ten celsius and sunny
swooshing and gliding through the snow
soaking in those awesome sunrays
warm enough to wrap our coats around our waist
when clouds rolled in and it got cooler
we threw back on that extra layer
the scenery was breathtakingly spectacular
suddenly we turned a corner
coming across a bush the size of a wall
it was surreal… filled with plump fluffy birds
rosy breasted feathered balls frozen in their spot
like spectators at a slow motion olympic event
they watched our procession unimpressed
AP: 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on April 10, 2018 for PREMIERE CONTEST 140 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2ND
Slippery hills in this snowy week
Knees bent; more speed needs a tweak.
I’ll snowplow, turn skis stop in stance
In and out like an ice-ballet dance,
No turning back on a bunny slope!
Gripping tightly up-hill to the tow rope.
Snowy week ahead and I shall ski,
Kissing clouds, where lifts deposit me to vaulted heights.
Ice-capped peaks, snow drifts, and speckled trees,
I consume nature's eye candy, in heart-stopping bites.
Now zooming downward, my edges carve along,
Giddy that they shriek, a downhill skier's theme song!
powdery white snow
has been falling overnight ~
let’s head for the slopes
Fall or Winter Holiday Haiku Poetry Contest
sponsored by Tania Kitchin
11/17/21
Some ladies enjoy riding on their brooms
All over the house, into all the rooms
Gran rode the ironing board
Only skis she could afford
Off she'd ride, before ironing resumes
Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lisa YY
July 17, 2022
There is a guy whose first name is Dogde
His middle name happened to be Rodge
He got teased in School
The kids were cruel
Now he’s teaches ski at a ski lodge
*Inspired by Jan’s Name And Shame poem.
Alexis Y.
02/02/2021
Slipping, sliding,
Kicking, gliding -
Iffy my technique.
It's a snowy week.
Never skied before -
Got to do this more...!
written 21st January for Julia's Skiing contest
For fifteen years the peak has sat fallow,
abandoned to time as trees and bushes grow,
driving by always evokes a sigh in me,
long ago this hill was where I learned to ski.
But the industry is not what it once was,
snowmaking and insurance drove up the cost,
this place where families once spent the day,
now sits shuttered, slowly rotting away.
The old lodge has lost half its windows,
its siding faded by the sun's harsh glow,
there’s a giant hole up on top of the roof,
and graffiti sprayed by some drunken youth.
Lifts still stand, but all the chairs are down,
stacked in rows, rusting on the ground,
the cables now vanished into the trees,
paint is peeling, the lift shacks all moldy.
Laying nearby, twisted and half-stacked,
as if subjected to medieval torture racks,
sit piles of broken, old snowmaking pipe,
now simply scrap, glinting in noon-day light.
Saddest of all is the half-visible ski trails,
now covered in saplings, young, health, and hale,
where once me and my sibling fiercely raced,
where more than once I fell flat on my face…
The white swath of beauty clad in snow,
that once adorned this peak’s long slopes,
now grows in like pasture gone to seed,
it's become a place where mosquitoes breed.
It may seem bizarre, to some out there,
mourning for the cold and frozen air,
but this place once meant so much to us,
now given over to saplings and rust…
…sigh…