Poem of the Week

Without intending to un-joint summerlovers, we observed to passing of the summer solstice yesterday and the longest day of the year. It can only mean that now the days are getting shorter. In spite of all the fun to come these warm days, you ARE on an iceboating site so please forgive our excitement over the turning of the solar page and the countdown to ice.

With that in mind, here’s another gem from Larry Hardman:


This chill December day
The Maine Boys
Come out to play.
Stalk onto the ice with toys
Of their own making,
Bone shaking.
Needled coffins
Steel bladed,
For risky.

The wind and the boys are
frisky, speed their whisky.

The blow
Chill factors at fifty below.
Fire on the skin.


Makes cellophane sounds
As they make the rounds.


Out from under
Racing blades
Echos off my hill
And fades,
And their metallic roars still
The breathy voices of the

On the inky gloss below,
glowing fins
Graze the orange pins,
Circle lazily between,
Cluster, sit and preen,
Climb and fall again for the

But, down there, I know,
Witnin steel reverberations
Taught wood, wire,sinews
Nothing seems slow.

Adreneline and wine, the
surface streaking past,
Giant howl of air,
Grind-rattle of runner glide,
Perilous bend of mast,
Plank jump,
Finish line slide
as rooster tails grow.

Tucked in their needles thin,
Maine boys grin
Their delight,
Living best in flight

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