Olympic Gold
_Eat the beauty and the beast.
Ingest, digest until you’ve had your fill.
_Sojourn till the west meets east
And find your fortune sliding down a hill.
_Future past, time out of mind
To strike it rich, your long-sought mother lode.
_Seek and you will surely find
Your life complete. Olympic à la mode.
_Stars and Stripes. Dawn’s early light.
A tear, a ribboned weight around your neck.
_Bask, Retire. Give up the fight.
The jig is up. No order left to peck.
_Glory fades. There’s NBC.
Olympic commentary on TV.
_Then and now, what you will be:
An every fourth-year gig celebrity.
James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and four collections of poetry including Sidekicks, Mostly Sonnets, and Laughing Matters, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in both print and online media. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.
This is delightful–sad, but still delightful. I’ve often thought of the desire for Olympic glory as a wearying and ultimately unsatisfying passion. If you win a medal, great, but that day vanishes, and very soon it’s back to normality. I could be wrong; maybe some winners, and losers, too, can look back with warm approval on their past efforts. But the hoopla passes–must pass, since there are fresh young competitors arising every year, and the media love novelty. This poem, with its snapshot images, brilliantly condenses the hectic years of striving. One would hope that the participating athlete can find fulfillment simply in the development of personal skill. But is that possible? In any case, this is a funny, bright, and insightful poem.
“Snapshot images!” A perfect image for what I was attempting to achieve in my poem. I love the phrase. Thank you, Bhikkhu.
An apt description, James. It seems to me all such glory is fleeting.
Roy, I have received glory on a number of past occasions. And where is that glory now? Tucked away in a cardboard box in my garage—somewhere . . .
Gold Medal is just a brand of flour, and the Olympics, we are told, is a sex fest for athletic bodies, a coming-out party for bronzed warriors. Mostly, I’m tired of looking at snow and ice, and I don’t need to go to Italy to see them close up. Lay your treasures in heaven, as The Man said, and eschew nooses hanging around your neck. Reading is probably the best winter sport, and I thank you, James, for your timely reminder.
C.B.,
Way too many throw-away bon mots in this comment. But none wasted and all used to full, cumulative effect. My favorite is, “Reading is probably the best winter sport.” My wife agrees. Wholeheartedly.
Indeed, glory is fleeting – but it’s nice to reflect on in those moments of nostalgia.
There have been some post-Olympics Olympians, of course. Johnny Weissmuller (Tarzan) and Buster Crabbe (Buck Rogers) were both Olympic winning swimmers – though it was a while back.
Thanks for the read, James.