‘The Non-Flying Dutchman’

Sweeping, soaring on takeoff,

Turbines roaring soundlessly,

Glacial touches sculpt the scene

to your grand design,

Gliding in cool, vapour jets

over Highbury lawn in winter,

Delicate strokes

of nimble limbs

Like ballet on felt.

Hovering suspended,

Mastering gravity and space

inside your ice palace,

as opposition 
like bad henchmen,

falter all around, 
sinking,

as you ski

steadily by,

Runways and channels,

Rising on tectonic waves.

The ball seeks you out

and you offer welcome,

Embracing smoothly,

this familiar acquaintance;

A deceptive warmth-

That solitary vein,

pulsing at the temple,

betrays your nonchalance.

Tundra eyes survey,

in slow-motion pirouette,

The sprawling panorama,

Pitch drawn up in geography,

as you map and conquer,

all routes opening with

satellite navigation,

Cruise control powers up,

Huge silence-

Lifting 

Skating to a standstill,

Clock End ticking silently,

A single frosted breath

escapes the pilot,

The sphere elevating,

curving high above.

  The homing missile dips

hits the net and surges,

Launching your passengers like flares,

red and white into the rafters

(Inspired by Dennis Bergkamp)