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I S A A C Dec 2021
we were body to body
my head on your chest was my favourite hobby
until it went cold like hockey
how can something so intimate turn into just another thing?
another place, another time
another day I write my feelings inside
the colourful pages of my diary
wake up after dreaming of you with anxiety
my passion is fiery but the coals are growing cold
your hands I cannot even imagine anymore
your touch cannot activate me anymore
we cannot restore what we had before
sure we were body to body
and my head on your chest was my favourite hobby
but I deserve more, I cannot settle
we were golden but now there's rust in the metal
Andrew Rueter May 2021
I wish my life was more like a hockey player’s
where all my shifts are forty seconds long
and my stick touches the ground
while I glide on top of the ice
skating across the surface
but I just sit in the crowd
appreciating the game
and a time when I was younger
when I once played.
Andrew Rueter Jan 2021
Referees mismanage oversight
incorrect calls lower credibility
faith in justice dissolves into the ice
agency is taken into padded hands
vigilantes slash and spear.

Hip check leads to cross check leads to fist check
malignant hostility boils over
leather armor is removed
interphalangeal joints meet mandible
type O negative paints a jersey
haymakers take bizarre trajectories
to avoid helmets and visors
the face is homebase to ingrain pain.

Violence subverts gamesmanship
players must be taken off ice
to be put on ice
otherwise brawls become overabundant
and destroy the integrity of the sport
yet each transfer of agony is euphorically satisfying
—considering the context—
so fist fairs continue for the foreseeable future
we organize an impenetrable perimeter
once we've acclimated to penalty kills.
You can call it love
That I know for sure
But, I think it is something else
Something so much more

It's a feeling like no other
You know it when it hits
It's when two things go together
When it's perfect, when it fits

You know the special feeling
It makes you feel quite whole
It's like you've been down to the crossroads
You made a deal and sold your soul

It may just come by once in life
I got lucky, it came twice
The first time, on a frozen pond
When my blades cut up the ice

It was peaceful, perfect, flowing
The ice and I were one
I'd be out there from sun up
Until the day was done

I remember people cheering
Those cheers forever will I hold
This was what I wanted
The feeling was pure gold

Time went by like normal
I had the feeling, but not quite
I found love, but, it was different
Even though it felt so right

Like I said, it's different
Because it doesn't love you too
It's not like loving someone
I can't explain it quite, can you?

Like I said, for some folks
It may come by them twice
I'm am blessed it happened
This time off the ice

You know when in a movie
The sunbeam comes down from the sky
And lights up something special
You know the scene, don't lie

The hockey was my vision
But there was something missing still
I loved the feel of freedom
But, there was something missing still

It Michigan it hit me
It caught me by surprise
I was looking at guitars one day
It hit me hard between the eyes

Worse than any check I'd felt
Worse than popping out a knee
A old Washburn guitar
Was hanging, taunting me

Of all the things upon the wall
All the guitars holding court
This Washburn said you want me
More than playing at your sport

I took it down and held it
Like the first woman that I'd had
It's curves gave me that feeling
It made me feel quite glad

This guitar's full of music
Full of songs to still be sung
Stories of others and my lifetime
Maybe this poem will be one

Most people get the feeling
In their lifetime once or twice
I got mine later with the Washburn
I still get it on the ice.
I wrote this for a friend who tried to describe to me about playing pro hockey, and how his love of playing guitar has been reignited.
c Jul 2019
Ice Boy
You’re not so cold to the touch
When your lips are on mine
And your heartbeat’s a rush

Ice Boy
Is this the thing that you planned?
Do you sharpen your blades
While I melt in your hand?

Ice Boy
My heart sinks like a stone
I thought that I could chase you
Now I’m cold and alone
Anya Oct 2018
It’s a very difficult thing
Guarding 50 meters
Covered in
Full body pads

My teemmates
Were playing
“Field hockey rugby”
With the “goal”
End line

A goalie
Meant to
Guard a
4 meter
To sprinting

A foolish decision,
You may think

It was mine

You may ask
What could have possibly
Convinced one to make
Such a choice?

The fitness
For one

Imrpoved speed,
In my pads
For another

Of practicing
Boring goalie drills
At the other side of
The field,
As well

Stalking the ball
For a fourth

But mostly,
The feeling
Of running your
Heart out
Laughing your stomach
Your throat out
And finally
Getting down and *****

With all your might
Full body
And mind
Giving their all
With one goal
-to stop the ball
Anya Sep 2018
It's a funny feeling,
to have a conversation
with a field hockey ball

It wasn't even a conversation,
Mostly I just gave it a baleful glare
For being hit straight towards the cage
And stopping

It truly didn't affect me in any way,
simply my inner angst
at my poor performance
being taken out on this innocent round
piece of plastic

Mostly, for eluding me
Yet, still stopping,
not by my efforts
But by the lack of force applied to it

It could have gone in
It could have been blocked

it chose to rest
just before the finish line
taunting me,
Proving to me,
that my effort is completely unnecessary
even an invisible entity
known as air resistance + friction
can do my job for me

By now you're probably wondering
who I am in this scenario
If I was an offender,
attempting to shoot
I'd desire the ball to cross
And I'd push it in
rather than subject it to my resentment

You, see
am the goalie
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
Jesus Saves,
Canada scores on the rebound.
Francie Lynch Jan 2018
I left Jim at Two Amigos
Sitting at the bar,
Stick-handling a coaster.
He was a hockey star,
Showed it when he smiled.

He tells stories
Of blood freezing on ice,
Jersey pulls and sweat,
Body checks and corners.
He circles the Zamboni,
On memory's icy mirror.
The crowds cheer Jim
To get off the ice,
Let the game begin.
He speeds his machine
To the far end doors,
Vanishing down the tunnel.

He's just ordered a double boiler-maker,
Stirs his whiskey with a swizzle-stick,
And slaps back another shot.
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