ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Mason Cole is an Oklahoma author, 17 years of age. He attends the Oklahoma School of Science and Mathematics in Oklahoma City. Mason's favorite authors are Ayn Rand, William Shakespeare, Homer, and Orson Scott Card. His dream is to recieve a Ph.D. in History and then teach, writing novels and short stories on the side. [October 2000]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (10) Beyond The Fence (Short Stories) When a mysterious stranger wanders into a small Nebraska town, its citizens are forced to make a choice between the Eden they live in and the Eden that is possible. [6,840 words] Grandfather (Poetry) A poem about my grandfather and his battles with ahorrible illness. [269 words] Teaching Mindy (Short Stories) A New York private investigator and his assistant are handed the case of a lifetime. But will it turn out to be a career-making mystery, or will the killer get away with the perfect crime? [11,186 words] The Box (Short Stories) When two boys from the future cross wits with a man out of time, the world's future lies within...THE BOX. [5,497 words] The Form Of Poetry (Poetry) Peotry is an undefinable thing in technical terms. This piece is meant to help describe just a few of the purposes of poetry. [318 words] The Stars (Poetry) A short philosophical piece. [219 words] Thoughts From A Prison Camp (Poetry) A Jewish prisoner's thoughts after years under the cruel government of Adolf Hitler. [535 words] To My Blooming Rose (Poetry) A short work of dedication to a very special someone. [113 words] War Chess (Poetry) An allegorical look at the Civil War, espcially Lee and Grant. [548 words] 'twas The Night Before X-Mas 2k (Poetry) The real meaning of Christmas condensed into poetry form. [371 words]
The Greatest Of All Mason Cole
The blue-orange wonder escapes from the rush,
Legs pumping, arm faking, evading the crush
Of a tackler, who thought that he’d downed him for good,
But Seven evaded. (We knew that he would.)
He checks all the options, thinks about dumping,
Rejects it. (Right now, his team’s getting a thumping.)
Just one more choice left for the old Stanford flash:
He tucks in the football and starts on a dash.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty; the yardage just grows.
His body, so battered from years in the pros,
Is poetry in motion as he slides out of bounds.
(No other choice left, for the clock’s winding down.)
He sneaks from the two for a big six-point score;
The huge crowd exults and yells “More, hero, more!”
As he heads to the sidelines, he tells his defense
That they need a quick turnover. Everyone’s tense.
His defenders obey him, but fear’s on his brow;
He knows that the time frame has got to be now.
The game clock is short (just twelve seconds to play),
His team’s five points down, and he must save the day.
He leans over center; he calls for the ball.
The fans know full well that he’ll give it his all.
As the pocket collapses, he spies a blue streak
In a sea of white jerseys. Right now, the next week
Is extremely uncertain. His ultimate test
Comes from proving that he’s still the finest and best.
He pumps once—make that two times—and lets the ball fly,
So high that it tears a huge breach in the sky.
Our hero is hit as he lets the ball go,
But there’ll be no denying his marvelous throw.
It soars through the stratos to earth, and is found
In the hands of a startled receiver. Touchdown!
The stadium explodes with suppressed jubilation,
Which sets off an unorthodox, wild celebration.
And as he is mobbed by so many a fan,
One turns to another and asks, “Who’s that man?”
The second stares back and exclaims, “Don’t you know?
That man with an arm that shoots straight as a bow?
His credentials will place him someday in the Hall!
That’s Elway—John Elway—the greatest of all.”
[Obviously, this poem is dedicated to one of this century’s finest athletes, John Elway. I wrote this poem originally just after seeing his Broncos win Super Bowl XXXII, ending sixteen years of frustration for him. This poem is meant to represent what I would consider to be the quintessential Elway comeback, and is an amalgamation of several.]
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