E M Krumholtz Poems

Best Poem of E M Krumholtz

The Gymnast
I breathe gymnastics.
I inhale the scent of chalk and exhale competition.
I flex, climb, fly.
I dream gymnastics.
Vaulting to mountain tops,
Swinging in arcs made of muscle and grit,
Sprinting down lanes made of practice and more practice.
I fall and get up.
I struggle with gymnastics
And then . . .
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Canopied cathedral of God's making,
stained glass leaves with etched veins,
choirs of bird-song entwined with whistling wind and shushing foliage
sing heaven's hymns.
The green robes of ordinary times
give way to the russet falling raiment of martyrs.
Soft whiteness covers the barren emptiness - a quiet . . .
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