Round we go—
ice humming,
tires drumming,
lean low,
lean low.
Spokes flick silver
in the rink-light glow,
a pulse,
a blur,
a breath turned snow.
Round we go—
edges whisper,
rubber grips,
muscles whisper
don’t let go.
Bank the curve,
trust the freeze,
let speed carve arcs
from winter’s knees.
Round we go—
drafting shadows,
chasing echoes,
feeling time
begin to slow.
Then push—
push harder—
into the curve’s white roar,
and spin the circle open
like a widening door.
Round we go—
ice singing,
lungs burning,
wheels ringing
victory’s vow
in every turn
we sow.
-
Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: April 3rd, 2026 07:57
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem is about the sport of icetrack cycling. For more context visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Icetrack_cycling
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: Sports Poetry.
Offline)
Comments2
Matthew, this is very well done…there’s a kinetic energy here that never lets up. It pulls you into the motion and keeps you there…breathless and alive in it. Powerful piece. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Another sport I am not familiar with but sounds exciting and thrilling. Nicely written it takes the reader on a journey
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