Winner’s Blues (An Olympics-themed poem)

Following my post surrounding a certain Olympics-themed poetry competition I created the poem you see before you. I think it exudes a certain, trademark melancholy stamp  of mine (Or not at all?) hence the unlikely uses of “lament” and “chantry” as well as the title itself etc. Enough rambling, please enjoy…

Additionally, the legacy of 1948 refers to London’s hosting of the Olympics (for those who didn’t know, I didn’t) which arrives full circle again next year.

Finally, it should be noted that I’ve already submitted this poem. Any would-be copiers, I admire your audacity, but you can’t use or modify this (Everything else operates under creative-commons though). It’s terrible anyway. Thanks.

Nick.

Winner’s Blues (Legacy of ’48)

The antithesis of sedentary

Commentators lament me

100 metres; Watch me flee

Down the track

Embrace the hackneyed: Don’t look back.

 

 

 

It’s a celebration of life, albeit with strife

The first place prize: What is happiness,

Without the struggle, without the pursuit?

Making off joyously with the loot is merely

Indolence and Indulgence.

 

 

 

Crowd’s cheer is Rhapsodic

Yet all I hear is a Requiem

As 40,000 leer

In the Chantry of the Stadium.

Rise and swell, rise and swell; Sport a Chantey.

Broken the record, now retirement.

 

 

The final sweat furrows upon the crest of your brow

You ask yourself: Does my hubris permit me to pull

One final bow?

 

 

 

That was London 1948

Now a late Octogenarian

Who’s met his fate

Seated at the back

Looking back

 

 

Worldwide endorsements

This one will feel resentment

Scaling new heights

Is it sportsmanlike?

 

Deprived of losing, Winning does not enrich the soul

The duality of your roles.

 

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