colin sent this rewrite of an old poem

i find it grim, and very un-colin-like

Koan Resolved


Two hundred meters from the summit, on a knife-edge ridge,

the wind whirls around a rocky outcropping

catching him off-guard, shakes his balance—arms windmilling,

a mitten flies into the cold nothingness.


He jams his ice-axe into the crusted snow, regroups. 

He is on lead, cutting steps—the summit,

yet two hours, maybe more, away.


Cut, step, deep breath, another—cut, step, deep breath, another.

On the summit he takes off his remaining mitten,

smacks his hands together, hoping 

to warm the frozen hand before it is too late.


It is too late. His hand shatters—pieces of flesh

and bone and gristle and tendon explode into the void,

then fall and fall—and he hears the sound of one hand clapping.








Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 165 times
Written on 2021-08-02 at 04:42

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Even Colin is allowed to be deep and meaningful

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Grim but funny!