Day 15- half way!!  And two poems this time, although one was definitely not written today, or even this year/decade/millennium...  When I was in primary school, I was obsessed with Formula One- I could recite stats from 1996 onwards (and from before that if they were in the F1 books I read) and can still describe most races from 1996-2000.  When I was in Year 6 (1997-8), I wrote a poem about F1 which I recently found.  It's embarrassingly bad and I cringe a bit when I read it, so have tried to write an updated version for today's poem.  Have included both here :)

The Grand Prix (age 10/11, 1997/8)

A peaceful track
All nice and smooth.
Then, all of a sudden,
things start to move!

Engines rev up,
What a noise!
Ear-bursting sounds,
The drivers poised.

A chequered flag waves
As cars move along.
A red blur passes
On and on.

People cheer,
Jordan!  Ferrari!
I can't wait
Until the finale.

The excitement bubbles,
It's getting tense.
Look at the fog,
Isn't it dense!

At last it is
The final lap.
The winning driver
Raises his cap.

A storm of clapping,
A lot of cat-calls.
The flag rises,
Then it falls.

The track is silent.
It is hard to believe
That only ten minutes ago,
Twenty-two drivers had to leave.

[irony is that, even though it's not great, I don't think I could write a rhyming poem now!]

Microcosms

A race is a driver's life
in microcosm.  Five lights signal
release of revved potential
cut with strategy and chance.
It's a series of split-second
concrete moments; time
stops and contracts as present
flickers to future and back,
mediated by adrenaline.
All emotions are played out
and suppressed at once.
It's a game of chess; drivers
move like pawns towards
a predestined chequered flag.
The best drivers know the
importance of detachment,
the apex of free will tempered
with team strategy and skill.
Selfish loss of ego.