One of the hardest realities for me is that almost anything can trigger a story or poem. I don’t have to go looking for something. A prompt will always find me. I’m writing this post instead of my usual one for a reason.
I’m out of town for three days. Yes, it’s true. I went to attend a rendezvous: the annual Mountain Man Rendezvous here in Montana. It’s been many years since I attended such an event, and I find a great sense of anticipation toward this one.
In case you don’t know what a Mountain Man Rendezvous is, I’ll give you the quick skinny on one. Take pioneering/explorer types from the modern world; dress them in period 18th Century mountain man costuming; hand them black powder rifles and hand axes; and tell them to find out who shoots the best and throws the straightest, and you’ll have the makings of a Rendezvous.
Sprinkle in skills test for both men and women from those days from history, and you have a great weekend. When you combine the whole thing with one town’s annual celebration of town-hood and the like, you have a free-for-all from two countries. Yep, those mountain men and women will be coming down from Canada, too. It’s going to be great!
Therefore, in honor of our weekend activities, I thought I’d put a few poems prompted by the coming events to hold everyone over until I return on Monday. I hope you enjoy the fare here during my absence. Be sure to leave a comment to let me know if I’ve hit the target or not.
It’s All in the Wrist
How many westerns have passed
Behind my mind’s eye, pointing out
The Throw–the flight–the target
Smacked a solid THUNK!
Tomahawk embedded, buried
To mid-point up the blade?
How many times did baby bro
Recreate those scenes, practicing
The Throw, closer to center each time,
Always taking a step back to lengthen pace?
Did he have plans for needing an axe
Or just a need to prove himself to self?
Watching both men and women take
Places on the line, raise arm, tomahawk
Shaft gripped with purpose, steady–strong,
I see that need to prove to self, to others
That history can repeat itself, can come alive
To find a place now, appreciated and honored.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
Slow Antique, Still Deadly
Black powder report,
Smoke drifts from lock’s contact,
Sulphur permeates with each repeat.
So goes the rifle shoot out
Made for mountain men,
© Claudette J. Young 2012
- He was a mountain man~by rldubour (ourpoetrycorner.wordpress.com)
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