"pugilistic" poems
Read, watched, Listened for snippets
Wore the buttons,
Devoured anything…
Apartheid
Had my own personal
Bedroom Revolution...
Jumped high…In place… with the best of them
Little balled up fists…
Pumping…
Chanted the chants
Sang the song
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
And I meant it!
Oh My God I meant it from my
young revolutionary soul
Cried adolescent girl cries
For our South African brothers and sisters
All of the martyrs
Known and unknown
STOP APARTHIED!
STOP APARTHIED!
Free Nelson Mandela!!
To this very day
I love me some Nelson Mandela
Love the man he is
Mourn the man he was
Big Fine Educated Pugilistic
African
Man
Passionate
Compassionate
On that serious mission
Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality
Gave his life
To promote the cessation of
An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide
In that Death
Seldom came quickly
A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade
In that it was not based economically
Therefore ALL the
“Kaffers”
Could be maimed or die
And it wouldn’t cost a thing…
Monetarily speaking
A society wherein
Each Black death
Someone’s Job… or
Someone’s Entertainment
Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to
Douse fuel on the already
Brightly burning fire of
Hate and torture and hate
I love Nelson Mandela
For making like David
And having the *****
To take on the Goliath
Apartheid
Satan is creative
His minions resourceful
We will never know the indignities;
Can only imagine the violations
My Nelson was forced to endure
Imprisoned for 27 years
I love
Nelson Mandela
For having the strength
To keep living
When so many others couldn’t
Still able to put
One
In front of
The other
Albeit gingerly
But still locomoting
Out of hell
On his own two feet…
That alone makes him a hero
To me
In my heart he will always be
The
Big
Fine
Educated
Pugilistic
Passionate
Compassionate
Hero
That the young revolutionary in me
sings about…
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
my daily regimen, focused, intense,
a pugilistic kata of the tongue,
in preparation for our oral fence,
run laps around ideas, expand lungs,
my visualization of that day--
we spar with strikes and parries, counterstrikes,
in reasonings' most ****** kumite,
my verbal knuckles down her oral pikes,
so armed with good reasons to reconcile,
arriving at the place where she should be,
she proves to be so much more versatile
absent, my wasted versatility,
i cannot win with passion or with rage,
a lover's heart which simply won't engage
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
The chimp and the monkey
Were fighting rather funky
About who was the greater ape.
Along came a killer
A monstrous gorilla
And left both their mouths agape.
Then a talented gibbon
Wearing a blue ribbon
Played a fine hurdy-gurdy.
A local photographer
Insisted he recorded her
When he said “Watch the birdie!”
Monkey see, monkey do
Is a childish kind of game;
Like one-upsmanship and chicken
And going to prison,
It often turns out the same.
Hello, wake up and smell the smoke
You’re burning down your future.
Your school-ground behavior
Has gone rancid in flavor;
You boys need to pull yourselves together.
In their pugilistic oblivion
The warring simians
Might have fought until perdition.
Had not their mates protested
Their battle got arrested
Due to their marital conditions.
You see, even dumb creatures
Understand the features
And benefits of a nice residence.
What a sad kind of animal
Makes his home life pitiful
By setting a warlike precedence?
Monkey see, monkey do
Is a childish kind of game;
Like one-upsmanship and chicken
And going to prison,
It often turns out the same.
Hello, wake up and smell the smoke
You’re burning down your future.
Your school-ground behavior
Has gone rancid in flavor;
You boys need to pull yourselves together.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
Would this be true love to you?
He put up his dukes, so hot,
He hit me with his best shot,
I kicked him with my best shot,
Right in the groin, he was boy blue,
No one walks a mile in my shoes,
Would this be true love to you?
I missed the woman's right to choose!
Then Ma got pugilistic dementia,
Is this what God meant for ya?
She punched us all in the *****
No one walks a mile in my shoes!
When stranger danger is at home,
Now I'm better off alone,
Was that true love, so hot?
He hit me with his best shot!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
Affliction with mental illness beasts sans,
depression, panic/ anxiety
obsessive compulsive disorder
didst for most of my lix splitting life zap
psychological state plagued with
sweaty palms, irritable
bowel syndrome, mind chatter
constantly doth yip and yap,
whereby extensive stretches of time
bore cerebral torture
housing invisible
mailer daemon nemesis wrap
ping entire corporeal to suicidal ideations
to escape once and for all asphyxiating,
gamesomely hectoring imps,
nauseating non-apparent trap
regularly pitching emotional
welfare to and fro,
hither and yon, thence
lashing out at self - summarized
with the non medical term,
yet descriptive word "snap"
though a half dozen medications
(listed as follows) alleviate
sensation akin to feeling
besieged, and pugilistic-ally rapped,
yet (Quetiapine tab 300mg,
Clomipramine cap 50mg,
Fluoxetine cap 40mg,
Fluoxetine cap 20mg,
Busipirone tab 15mg,
and Clonozepam tab 0.5mg)
prior to prescriptive palliatives,
aye experienced
debilitating quality of life, thus I accept
function-able, manageable
unfortunate side effects such,
viz thinning hair,
necessity to take daily nap
abdominal weight gain, where love handles
replaced wash board stomach, adipose tissue
not quite spilling o'er me lap
so in summary burden of proof
no longer tethers Sisyphean rolling rocks
interestingly enough this figurative lid locks
akin to sealing schizoid "Pandora box).
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC