Father Spirit: the Messenger

Perched upon the brink I know peace
Potential beckons, and myself I fully release
Polished edge biting snow’s perfect grease
Playing with the borrowed power I increase

Reading the contours I apprise
Ready for each dip and rise
Wind in my eyes I lean into the prize
Soaring down, board and body flies

Perched upon the line I trace
Pushing, pressing curves down the face
Pumping the force owning the space
Life like this only by grace

Just for fun I flick and flirt
Then shifting back I fully revert,
Harnessing all of what I convert
My god have I ever been so a

The Mountain Resort

I meditate on the cool air
with every step I take.
While the melted snow puddles
Under my feet
Freeze my thoughts
of trampled bricks
wet with envy.

Time ceases and excitement grows.
The low hum of the chair lifts
raise souls to the heavens.
And the frosty air
Focuses all attention
on my soul,
waiting to be released
from the earth and into the powder sky.
I pass rows of skis and snowboards
gazing at every passerby
in hopes of finding their owner.
Maybe in hopes of finding anyone.
Anyone willing to strip of their chains
And ride with them.

I have