A Pause for Poetry

Hey Everybody,

A not so known fact is that my area of focus in college was poetry. Throughout my athletic career I was able to balance the demands of training with the diversion of writing. My running often inspired poems, as I experienced a flow state that stoked the fires of creativity. I often encourage the athletes that I work with to explore other passions and interests to balance the challenging and sometimes tedious pursuit of sport. Pursuing hobbies and interests can be a way to take a mental break, find social connection, have a fun challenge free of penalties, and awaken a new source of energy. And, you never know...one activity can flow into and inspire the other making you better at your job as an athlete. Throughout my life the process of creating deliciousness from language has fed my soul in ways that supported running, helped me process disappointment, celebrate elation, and leave the miles behind me when the time came. Here are a few of my musings related to bodies and movement....

Sutra

Your body lies there a sutra of

myofilament and storm.

The warm sarcomere of your fibers,

crossbridging, collapsed dark regions,

a tangle of hair and fiber,

unfurling from the center,

opening, awakening and

fiercely dormant in it's deep collapse.

Even in your stillness you

rise to the sum of all kinesis.

This one came to me immediately after a run in Vermont with an old friend who had spread his father's ashes on a mountain we were passing. I sat down by a stream with pen and paper, and this river of language just flowed right out...

Father Mountain

Big Burke Mountain, you rise broad-based above all else,

gentling sloping upward shouldering sky.

From eastern views your peak splits,

bristling cleft chin, strong-jawed,

bear-hugging the big kingdom below you where we pass.

Your blue-green presence stirs in us 

dog-eared thoughts of another's passing,

whose ash you hold,

earth unburdened of another soul

at long last lifted child-like into your fold.

We wave, you nod, acknowledging this season's close.

One less soul between us, you and I.