Caleb Gibson's Poetry Flyer

The Sled on the Hill

The Sled on the Hill

The hillside glistened as the light touched the newfangled snow

I gazed up, at the interminable mountain and stepped my foot forward

A frosty zephyr blew, giving my nose a shiver

I clutched my sled in hand and trekked up the passageway

Step after step, I reached the peak

Looking back at my footsteps, I saw how far I had traveled

I positioned my sled at the highest point

And looked down at what I was about to conquer

I pushed off and held tight

The fresh powder shot up into my face

And the ice cold sensation running across my cheeks

My grip on the rope became weak

Then I let go

I tumbled down the hill, the only thing I saw, white

I came to a halt

Dusted off the snow off my face

And turned around, looking back at the hillside, ready for more






Keeping up


Soccer is my life

I wish it could be my wife

Soccer is my life

Stopping By Woods on a Snowing Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost