Thursday, November 24, 2011

Prose: good defensive hockey

[The following was inspired by the excellent display of defensive hockey by Tyler Ferry of the London Knights (OHL) when he shadowed Nail Yakupov of Sarnia Sting on Oct. 30, 2011. A fellow I regularly play hockey against said the game was less enjoyable to watch. I heartily disagreed. gah]

good defensive hockey

stay on him
like dirt on an old dog
like the sticky on warm tape
stay on him

coach repeated his plan to me
stick to him, that number 10
like spit on the sidewalk
like smell on your old man’s shirt
and I stuck to 10 that night

near the end of the first
he hacked my ankle and was sent
to the penalty box - I guess so!
but my team failed to capitalize
and my ankle tightened up
while I shook my head

period one ended, score one each

back on the bench coach leaned in
you keep on him
like burrs on a wool sock
like gum under a kitchen table
and I did, sore ankle and all

I stayed on 10
like grease on a bike chain
like sweat under a leather helmet
and though he managed
two weak shots on net
I got a good one off myself
and I looked dangerous
like I was the one to watch

period two ended, score two each

in the dressing room coach said
stick on 10 some more
you’re doing good out there

but out there, on the ice
I wanted more
I wanted 10 to pay for my ankle
to stick to me for a change
I got my one chance
a minute remaining in the game

as 10 raced down the ice
I leaned into him low
and he lost his quick stride
near the empty penalty box
and though I wanted to
dump him right in it
I stabbed at the puck - got it!
I sent it across ice to my winger
already heading the other way
go! I hollered, go!
and then turned and chased the play
with 10 hot on my tail
I felt rather than heard the words
catch me if you can

after a good deke or two
my winger shot high on net
the puck caromed off the glass
and bounced toward my stick
I felt a sharp tug at my waist
but it didn’t stop me
from slapping at the puck
or following it into the net

I heard the final buzzer
I heard the hoots and hollers
and I screamed too
a throaty yell of youthful
jubilation and relief
and I saw, framed by
goal posts slammed off their moorings
number 10’s back as he stepped
through the gate to his bench

I was glad to see the back of him
but happier still to be gripping
a puck under a leather glove



Please click here to read prose entitled ‘she and me’ by G. Harrison.


Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Prose: slow ride quick death

[“I don’t usually sleep very well when I’m away from home. One morning, during a recent trip to visit my son and his family in Fenelon Falls, I awoke with a start.” gah]

slow ride quick death

in a flash I was awake
in a dark room - still alive
I felt a warm bed cover
on my shoulder
but a hot question
on my startled mind
what happened? I said
perhaps aloud

I closed my eyes
thought backward cautiously
to the scene of the explosive crash
to the sound of my heart
beating in my ears

only seconds earlier I’d been dreaming
driving my car up a small hill
and the only other passenger,
my wife, was making small talk
as we neared the crest
a car appeared
full speed ahead
in our lane, a wide chrome grill
aimed at my eyes

one second left of life
one thought - this is it
one scream - oh no
one impression - surprise absolute
the surprise of arriving
at an unexpected destination unannounced

I opened my eyes
stared at the wall -
still alive



I hope this won’t be a recurring dream whenever I visit Fenelon Falls.

Please click here for wee prose more cheerful.


Monday, November 14, 2011

Prose: Nature’s solace, alone time

7 a.m.
this morning one duck sails south
past the dock, so quietly

last night
a group of seven
a tight-knit band
plied the same waters
and earlier
eleven braved the channel
alive with motored crafts at the time
all shapes and sizes
but none as at home
as this lone duck

7:02 a.m.
it's time for quiet thoughts
time to listen to a line
or verse of nature's prose
writ upon a breeze

["It's time for quiet thoughts... writ upon a breeze": photos GH]

more fishermen will start
their engines soon and rattle by
then the daily din
of more human enterprise
will hold sway and chase
the wary ducks away

but now, with one duck
disappearing from view
it's time for nature's breath
to tell another tale.



Please click here for a closer look at a few trees.


Prose: Come to me, old barn

“Come to me, old barn, and I’ll build you a house,

Cozy and warm and fit for a mouse

or family of finches or sparrows dressed brown.

Come to me, old barn, you may soon live in town.”


["Note the light blue trim from barn board": photos GH]


Please click here to read the post that inspired the prose.


Prose: “First ice is on the pond”

I slip on rubber boots, the grass feels wet and cold

I step around dry leaves, crisp edges in a fold.

Colours, the oranges and reds, of which I’m fond

Are now subdued, and first ice is on the pond.

[Prose and photos by GH]


Please click here for Zoom w a View.