Shakespeare, Keats, and Wordsworth are turning in their graves…
October brings the autumn cold and drear;
The Spa, bereft, begins its winter nap,
Awaits July and the return of cheer,
Of those who come to wager, watch, and ‘cap.
And Belmont, home of champs, its storied ground
The host of Grade I winners, bids farewell
With state-bred runners; others, sunshine-bound,
For rest or racing, leave its empty shell.
To Aqueduct, then, we turn our racing eyes;
Manhattan Terrace, inner dirt, Cigar.
The subway, PP study time provides;
This Ozone Park desire some find bizarre.
There many moments we contently pass,
The hope of joy and fortune to amass.
About Teresa
A freelance turf writer, I'm the New York correspondent for Thoroughbred Times and the racing blogger for Forbes.com, and my work has appeared in The Saratogian, the Daily Racing Form, the Blood-Horse, Trainer magazine, and the Rail at the New York Times. I'm a member of the National Turf Writers and Broadcasters Association, of the board of directors for the Belmont Child Care Association, and of the voting committee for the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame.
I teach high school English in Brooklyn, and I'm a Brooklyn dweller and former and erstwhile resident of Saratoga Springs, New York. When not teaching or writing, I'm watching the Rangers at the Garden, playing Scrabble, or rescuing cats.
It ain’t Keats, but it ain’t bad.
Scrappy T, the new Grantland Rice. — John S.
I struggled a bit with the iambic pentameter, but other than that…
I majored in English became a cop–I destroyed the Kings Good English in almost every report I’ve ever written.
Years behind me- I am not any of my Professors token success’s…
That said I liked it.
pete
Nicely bowled.
Thanks, all of you, for not utterly mocking this pathetic attempt at a poem. And heartfelt gratitude to Rich, for recognizing the rhythm.
It didn’t take long to discover that neither “Aqueduct” nor “The Big A” scans in iambic pentameter…
Back to prose…
very eloquent and poignant