this one's about the battle i used to go through every morning when cycling to try and get over the line at the top of the steepest street...for more read Cycling
Now that the drought's broken
We can get back to more important things,
The workings of the stock market vacuum
And the incorporation of fresh air.
The test still awaits, atop the hill.
I choose to struggle up it,
Rather than hitching the easy ride
And freefalling down it
There are frontal throbs to remind
Of the thought patterns needed
to conquer my Everest
and emerge relatively unscathed.
Breathe at the second,
Third if it's reasonable,
Up on the heels and
ready, to rumble.
Aren't the trees emaciated.
No wonder with the mulberry scavengers
Attacking for their share
When it shouldn't have been theirs.
Now the mechanisms kick in,
The flood stemming the tide
Preoccupying long enough to
last the distance
Do whatever it takes
Impose ultimatums,
Bribe oneself, think about the past
Dangle the carrot of the future
There is no specific temptation
I have not spent quaranta in the desert
This is not your Mount Olympus
This is my own struggle and
You must get out of the way.
The break in the asphalt is nearing,
As the wheels whirr
And the gears click in changing desire,
But I dare not succumb
I dare not give in to the burning in my legs
The lactic acid anaerobically building
The heavy breaths punctuating the rhythm
Urging the sit-down
Feed the mind for continuation
With the whip cracking down
The pedals closing in like a vice
As over the ridge I fly.
Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 466 times
Written on 2006-12-02 at 10:11
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Finish Line
Now that the drought's broken
We can get back to more important things,
The workings of the stock market vacuum
And the incorporation of fresh air.
The test still awaits, atop the hill.
I choose to struggle up it,
Rather than hitching the easy ride
And freefalling down it
There are frontal throbs to remind
Of the thought patterns needed
to conquer my Everest
and emerge relatively unscathed.
Breathe at the second,
Third if it's reasonable,
Up on the heels and
ready, to rumble.
Aren't the trees emaciated.
No wonder with the mulberry scavengers
Attacking for their share
When it shouldn't have been theirs.
Now the mechanisms kick in,
The flood stemming the tide
Preoccupying long enough to
last the distance
Do whatever it takes
Impose ultimatums,
Bribe oneself, think about the past
Dangle the carrot of the future
There is no specific temptation
I have not spent quaranta in the desert
This is not your Mount Olympus
This is my own struggle and
You must get out of the way.
The break in the asphalt is nearing,
As the wheels whirr
And the gears click in changing desire,
But I dare not succumb
I dare not give in to the burning in my legs
The lactic acid anaerobically building
The heavy breaths punctuating the rhythm
Urging the sit-down
Feed the mind for continuation
With the whip cracking down
The pedals closing in like a vice
As over the ridge I fly.
Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 466 times
Written on 2006-12-02 at 10:11
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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