Friday, October 06, 2006
Julie At The Rink
*** I used to write poetry. Some good, most bad, but write poetry I sure dang did. The well has pretty much dried up now, but here's one I wrote two years ago, on a dare from a friend. He gave me the subject matter (hockey, mom), and I did the rest. Actually, Charlie Daniels helped out a bit. The poem's meter is based upon "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." It's a flawed piece, my poem, but I sure enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy it too.***
Julie At The Rink
A Ballad of the Confederation, Sung in the Year 2004
Julie was a good girl, Christian to the core
She loved her Bible and her Jesus, but she loved her hockey more.
She prayed to the Father and the Son, and of course the Holy Ghost
Yet Gretzky, Coffey and Kurri, were the gods she prayed to most.
She listened to her preacher, as he hailed down words of fire
But Don Cherry was the High Priest, of the game that never tired.
In her heart she loved her God, her country and her kin
However nothing in the world could ever replace her one dark deadly sin.
She met a man named Marcel, when she was only eight
He was cute and smart, but what held her heart, was the fact that he could skate.
Well these two little children, got old and got married
In a hockey rink, without a blink, on a puck the ring was carried.
They moved into the city, so they could go to games
Of course they moved to Edmonton, no cheering for the Flames.
And pretty soon they had their own, three pretty little boys
Who only played with hockey sticks, no fancy other toys.
Now Gordie, Grant and Bobby, each one had their style
Of playing the best game on the earth, they’d played it for awhile.
On icy rinks and gravel streets, basements and backyards
Playing til’ the sun went down, “Game On” after a car.
Gordie was a tough boy, not scared of getting hit
But he also had some pretty good hands, gave the opposing team the fits.
He’d go into the corner, elbows flying high
Then come out from it with the puck, and shelf it short side high.
Grant was a little bit different, as wild as you could get
He wasn’t scared of anything, so he found himself in net.
He stopped hockey pucks, tennis balls, and plastic orange bullets
Covered head to toe in welts and bumps, he never even felt it.
But Bobby was the golden boy, with long black flowing hair
He could skate as fast as Mercury, and dance like Fred Astaire.
His slapshot was like thunder, his wrist shot lightning quick
And his passes floated like soft clouds, to land right on your stick.
As you can see, between these boys, Miss Julie had it all
She was like a Hockey Eve, blessed from God, right before the Fall.
Yet one dark snowy evening, at a minor hockey game
Julie let the sin through, causing her and man great shame.
Her Sabres played the Bruins, they were fighting for first place
Julie was cheering and screaming, getting on folks case.
The score was tied, the teams were tired, headed to overtime
But what happened next can only be described, as a good ol’ hockey crime.
The opposing coach sent out his goon, an enormous kid named Rick
And told him to go get Bobby, for scoring that hat-trick.
That clumsy ox was really slow, he couldn’t skate real well
But what he could do was hit you, and made sure that you fell.
The Sabre defencemen had the puck, and he passed it up to Bob
It hit a chip, and bounced straight up, like a grenade that has been lobbed.
As Bobby stood there staring, waiting for the puck to fall
Ricky started across the ice, focused on it all.
And as the puck hit Bobby’s stick, a shadow crossed his face
A shadow that was meant to hurt and maim, put Bobby in his place.
Bobby couldn’t move in time, but he could move a little bit
So he lunged away to his left, trying to not get hit.
What happened then was a gruesome site, not fit for eyes to see
Bobby had dodged the body, but not escaped the knee.
Julie sat up in the stands, watching her dream die
A dream of three boys in the league, Bobby on the fly.
She shot forward to the glass, scrambling to get a look
As her body began to tremble, she cried and cried and shook.
It was then the devil took her, he’d been waiting a mighty long time
He took her body over, and he turned her thoughts to crime.
Julie looked around the rink, her eyes a ball of flame
She looked until she saw the coach who had caused her son the pain.
Like a triple headed monster, with snake hair flying low
The Saint became a Hockey Mom, aiming to strike a blow.
She ran behind the Bruin’s bench, and climbed up on the glass
She started screaming at the coach, becoming very crass.
He turned around and looked at her, a smirk upon his face
The last look that he ever gave, on this earthly place.
Julie snapped right then and there, her mind no longer hers
She reached out and grabbed a stick, away from one of the players.
Over the glass came the stick, she swiped it at his head
Like a furious demon, one smite and he was dead.
The police who came and took her, said she looked possessed
Her eyes were bulged, her fists were clenched, and her hair was in a mess.
When they grabbed her arms, she collapsed in theirs, all the fight withdrawn
And then she saw what she had done, the sin began to dawn.
She looked out on the ice, and saw those three stunned faces
Her angels now the victims, in one of those hockey cases.
So Julie was taken to sit and stare, and wonder how and when
Her life had become one cruel joke, full of blood red sin.
And so this story comes to close, right where it began
A Christian girl who’d forgot the truth of the God become a Man.
And though we call her Julie, forget about the name
Cuz’ every one is tempted, by the good ol’ hockey game.
And though we call her Julie, forget about the name
Cuz’ every one is taken, by the good ol’ hockey game.
A Ballad of the Confederation, Sung in the Year 2004
Julie was a good girl, Christian to the core
She loved her Bible and her Jesus, but she loved her hockey more.
She prayed to the Father and the Son, and of course the Holy Ghost
Yet Gretzky, Coffey and Kurri, were the gods she prayed to most.
She listened to her preacher, as he hailed down words of fire
But Don Cherry was the High Priest, of the game that never tired.
In her heart she loved her God, her country and her kin
However nothing in the world could ever replace her one dark deadly sin.
She met a man named Marcel, when she was only eight
He was cute and smart, but what held her heart, was the fact that he could skate.
Well these two little children, got old and got married
In a hockey rink, without a blink, on a puck the ring was carried.
They moved into the city, so they could go to games
Of course they moved to Edmonton, no cheering for the Flames.
And pretty soon they had their own, three pretty little boys
Who only played with hockey sticks, no fancy other toys.
Now Gordie, Grant and Bobby, each one had their style
Of playing the best game on the earth, they’d played it for awhile.
On icy rinks and gravel streets, basements and backyards
Playing til’ the sun went down, “Game On” after a car.
Gordie was a tough boy, not scared of getting hit
But he also had some pretty good hands, gave the opposing team the fits.
He’d go into the corner, elbows flying high
Then come out from it with the puck, and shelf it short side high.
Grant was a little bit different, as wild as you could get
He wasn’t scared of anything, so he found himself in net.
He stopped hockey pucks, tennis balls, and plastic orange bullets
Covered head to toe in welts and bumps, he never even felt it.
But Bobby was the golden boy, with long black flowing hair
He could skate as fast as Mercury, and dance like Fred Astaire.
His slapshot was like thunder, his wrist shot lightning quick
And his passes floated like soft clouds, to land right on your stick.
As you can see, between these boys, Miss Julie had it all
She was like a Hockey Eve, blessed from God, right before the Fall.
Yet one dark snowy evening, at a minor hockey game
Julie let the sin through, causing her and man great shame.
Her Sabres played the Bruins, they were fighting for first place
Julie was cheering and screaming, getting on folks case.
The score was tied, the teams were tired, headed to overtime
But what happened next can only be described, as a good ol’ hockey crime.
The opposing coach sent out his goon, an enormous kid named Rick
And told him to go get Bobby, for scoring that hat-trick.
That clumsy ox was really slow, he couldn’t skate real well
But what he could do was hit you, and made sure that you fell.
The Sabre defencemen had the puck, and he passed it up to Bob
It hit a chip, and bounced straight up, like a grenade that has been lobbed.
As Bobby stood there staring, waiting for the puck to fall
Ricky started across the ice, focused on it all.
And as the puck hit Bobby’s stick, a shadow crossed his face
A shadow that was meant to hurt and maim, put Bobby in his place.
Bobby couldn’t move in time, but he could move a little bit
So he lunged away to his left, trying to not get hit.
What happened then was a gruesome site, not fit for eyes to see
Bobby had dodged the body, but not escaped the knee.
Julie sat up in the stands, watching her dream die
A dream of three boys in the league, Bobby on the fly.
She shot forward to the glass, scrambling to get a look
As her body began to tremble, she cried and cried and shook.
It was then the devil took her, he’d been waiting a mighty long time
He took her body over, and he turned her thoughts to crime.
Julie looked around the rink, her eyes a ball of flame
She looked until she saw the coach who had caused her son the pain.
Like a triple headed monster, with snake hair flying low
The Saint became a Hockey Mom, aiming to strike a blow.
She ran behind the Bruin’s bench, and climbed up on the glass
She started screaming at the coach, becoming very crass.
He turned around and looked at her, a smirk upon his face
The last look that he ever gave, on this earthly place.
Julie snapped right then and there, her mind no longer hers
She reached out and grabbed a stick, away from one of the players.
Over the glass came the stick, she swiped it at his head
Like a furious demon, one smite and he was dead.
The police who came and took her, said she looked possessed
Her eyes were bulged, her fists were clenched, and her hair was in a mess.
When they grabbed her arms, she collapsed in theirs, all the fight withdrawn
And then she saw what she had done, the sin began to dawn.
She looked out on the ice, and saw those three stunned faces
Her angels now the victims, in one of those hockey cases.
So Julie was taken to sit and stare, and wonder how and when
Her life had become one cruel joke, full of blood red sin.
And so this story comes to close, right where it began
A Christian girl who’d forgot the truth of the God become a Man.
And though we call her Julie, forget about the name
Cuz’ every one is tempted, by the good ol’ hockey game.
And though we call her Julie, forget about the name
Cuz’ every one is taken, by the good ol’ hockey game.
# posted by andy grabia @ 11:19 am 
Comments:
Moreau signs a four year extension, and we get poetry. I appreciate your skillz as an artist, but where's the love for Ethan? :P
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Moreau signs a four year extension, and we get poetry. I appreciate your skillz as an artist, but where's the love for Ethan? :P
# posted by 
: October 06, 2006 2:33 pm
: October 06, 2006 2:33 pm Post a Comment
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