the puck



Out of darkness,

away from the group,

I tumble, bumble,

and land,


The cold ice smacks my black skin.

Scraping, slamming, yelling, whistles.

Practice begins.

My fellow pucks and I sit, wait…

A pair of skates approaches.


I slide across the sheet of ice.


Back again to meet another stick.


This time I fly through the air to be caught by a leather glove.

I fall back to the ice and am covered in darkness.

A whistle blows.

WHACK once more…

Back and forth between the taped sticks…

I hear the laughter, feel the energy, and taste the cold.

Soon, I find myself captured by the rope webbing of the net,

screams of triumph around me.


This “mask poem” is inspired by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s National Poetry Month 2018 Challenge at The Poem Farm




6 thoughts on “the puck

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  1. I love your poem! My favorite line is “My fellow pucks and I sit, wait…” We did this as a class before conferences as “What Am I?” poems. May need to print yours as another example of a mentor “text!” (That is, if you don’t mind!) Such fun to read as a hockey mom!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your poem had me guessing for a bit-I thought it was about the players, but then, “Wait…” What a fun type of poetry. Your word choice is perfect. Here is one of my favorite sections: “I tumble, bumble, and land, SLAM!”

    Liked by 1 person

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