Mixed media portrait by Sheraz A.‘On Super Bowl LI’ and Other Poetry by Reid McGrath The Society February 9, 2017 Beauty, News of Note, Poetry 3 Comments On Super Bowl LI I went to bed. The Falcon’s made it 28 to 3 and yet I never should have doubted the poised Tom Brady. Halfway through the third-quarter he had a ways to go. I woke up in the AM and was quite flummoxed to know the “Comeback Kid” achieved what’s now the greatest comeback in the history of Super Bowls: “The first overtime win!” He was an underdog at first back in 2002. A gamer, clutch, cool as a cuke, wearing red, white, and blue. Now Alpha Dog, his successes provoke large love or hate; but either way, with “damns” or “ahs,” one must admit he’s Great. Glacier National Park One mountain goat traversed a precipice. I thought about how close we live our lives: two double-lines away from the abyss, one gaffe too many or two nodding eyes. We young live in a cloud of nonchalance, a heady high the old often condemn. (And yet some saints displayed insouciance when persecutor’s persecuted them.) My confidence would get its gas from faith and works — to have a moral certainty — that when the ground gave out my contrite wraith would join the angels in eternity… I watched the goat traverse a precipice, while (not quite there) I roved upon thin ice. Laurel Blossoms They are exotic and simple at the same time. That is elegance. Reconnaissance Missions Some agent or some spy on foreign turf, I’ve traipsed the City specter-like, alone. On Coney Island I lolled by the surf and futilely assayed to skip a stone. I too have trekked down darkened urban streets and felt how I’ve felt in the Northern woods ten miles back, when all the light retreats, when either fear, or plucky resolve, floods. I’ve played the covert poet on the greens. In Central Park I sought a daffodil. But a park’s ends are hindered by its means. It tries to imitate a nonpareil. My heart’s held its allegiance with the land. I’ve liked the City but it’s built on sand. Reid McGrath is a poet living in the Hudson Valley of New York. Related Post ‘The Old Westerns’ and Other Poetry by Linda Imb... The Old Westerns No more heroes on horses named Trigger No more rugged, chapped, white hatted figures The bad guys today do not always wear... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 3 Responses Rudi E. Welec, "Abs" February 10, 2017 Perhaps Tom Brady is the GOAT. Reply Lew Icarus Bede February 10, 2017 Reid, your sonnets are energetic, your tennos has a nice narrative flow, and is neatly sectioned. Your diction throughout is surprising, occasionally remarkable; and your settings are extraordinary. You have the ability to set a dramatic situation quickly and succinctly. I like the rhyme of precipice/abyss. I hear echoes of Spenser, Wordsworth and McKay in “Reconnaissance Missions,” which, intentional or not, I enjoy. Reply Reid McGrath February 11, 2017 Thanks, Bede. Rudi “Abs” deserves some credit for inspiring the tennos in the first place. Cheers, mates. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.