"sparring" poems
i.
not bad,
i commented to myself as i watched you do your thing
for the first time ever ;
not bad was my way to say
extraordinary
still is today
i have standards, you see and —
well...
they were met when i
heard you say,
"that's only half what
i can do."
let's get this straight:
i was the best at what i do until
you came around ;
it's not like i'm mad though —
quite the opposite
in fact.
ii.
here's something else:
i have always liked the way your eyes
shot daggers
even when you were smiling ;
a death stare, they named it and, you know,
i won't call them wrong —
i'm rather fluent with the concepts of
death
and staring myself, after all.
ah,
do you remember?
when we spoke to each other —
it was always a sparring of
eyes
rather than words.
iii.
a fact:
you have been called cold
more often than
you have been called pleasant ;
i know —
it's not like you'd disagree
not like you'd be stupid enough to
deny ;
cold is a comfortable shadow
to hide in,
something people like us
wear as a coat or
a scarf
from july to june.
now,
there's this saying that the addition of
two negative objects
turns them a positive
result ;
i'm not much of a scholar so, honey,
what's on your mind?
iv.
i get it now,
if i'm propellers
you are wings —
rather than a mirror, we're
distorted reflects
a thing evolution knows
a great deal about ;
this yearning is the aspect of you
i'd wish to keep
bottled up ;
"what for?" you'd ask.
no,
yearning is not a thing
i'm a stranger to ;
i've yearned for many things including
strength
sleep
serotonin
and you —
i've been struggling
to make them mine, though
perhaps because i'm never really trying.
v.
that's how you do it:
you take what you want with
clawed hands
accomplish miracles with
thunderous silence —
an entity of cruel fairness,
icy anger but —
what you want is a complicated
thing
with definite shape to your eyes
but blurry to those of
others.
okay,
i'm neither believer nor seer but
here's a little prediction :
the day you are satisfied is the day
hellmouth
shuts down upon us all and
half of me
prays for it.
vi.
about extremes —
some will say grey is a better shade and
though i confess
it does have its charms,
it still has to paint me a picture more striking
than a soul with
adamentine purpose.
see —
i stare as you pass by,
terrific in beauty
beautiful in hardness and
off —
goes my heart, sanity, ego
and shirt.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Being held in your embrace,
Your head against my chest.
How could you wonder why,
I love this so so much?
It's gentle security against the:
Mind that claws itself every day,
People sparring against our hope,
Tumultuous times this life gives.
An act of love, of friendship,
Compassion and closeness.
You are my companion,
A joy unrivalled in my life.
Everything said here,
Is captured in a perfect act:
Our arms wrapping around,
Bodies pressed together.
Your hugs. My hugs.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
*i once had a girl from poland over,
gave her the tourism of london,
a daughter of my mother's friend.*
i suffered sun stroke one day out
with her, blonde hair and all,
i was bound to feel the cold shivers,
went to a party with a school-friend
of mine and her...
i was left in a bed shivering,
he later said he didn't want to say it
but did, that they kissed...
like i didn't know the shorthand for
oral ***
now i'm drinking a beer, write
one poem weeping, another like this
one laughing prior, slapping myself in
the cheek...
two slaps to the face i didn't receive
from prostitutes **** your moral
relativism, you people only
know that theft and ****** and ****
are equal in the cauldron of einstein's
space-and-time, i accept physical
relativism, but i loath moral relativism,
it's like giving an umbrella to the man
under a champagne waterfall -
and an anorak to a man under a waterfall
of cow **** -
yep, slaps outside the brothel,
the kind women became knights' sparring partners
for the oath undertaken,
it was a practice among knights to get
a handkerchief to ease the sting later...
but when prostitutes don't slap you
for trying to sort your life in order to provide,
you sort of become two knights,
twin siamese, you slap yourself because
all that st. thomas gospel wisdom went into
sex-augmentation procedures and cheap
cancer victims with pill-for-pill profiteering...
leisurely ladies of societies made rich
by easy money, watching operas
but still preferring to notice what
their neighbours were wearing,
the peasant snobism who are more distracted
by what others wear rather than the music...
a herd of wilder-beasts could ease out more tears
at an opera than these "precious" ladies of the new
post-aristocratic society of easy money...
you drink beer, laugh, slap yourself silly on the cheeks
for more laughter... your brain
becomes a monkey in a cage gone mad
rather than turning docile...
so she came over and enjoyed my company,
spotted a fox in an alley to a surprise...
but then i got rudely told that oral *** was a kiss...
well **** me there's a cataphract -
let's ***** slap him silly so no byzantine philosopher
cared to exist.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
I’ve been going to this boxing gym and training every week.
And everyone there is fighting something
You can see in their
Eyes
They’re punching their dad
Or they’re punching
Whoever their wife is sleeping with
Or they're punching
Their kids who ignore them
Or they’re punching
Themselves.
Their boss
Their job
Their alcohol problem
Their poverty
And every week we get to fight our problems together
And we’re exploding inside.
What?
You can’t fight your problems?
It’s not only that I can.
I will.
And do.
Because crying alone isn’t good enough
Because all that fire you build up inside you has to go somewhere
Or it’ll burn you alive.
So you throw it into the heavy bag
Or into the guy you’re sparring
Or into the ground you run on.
We’re all fighting something
So what about you?
What are you fighting that’s so god **** important?
No, don’t tell me.
Tell that heavy bag.
He listens.
He listens when your wife doesn’t give a ****
He listens when it doesn’t even matter
Tell these padded mitts.
That one-two punch says more than a twenty-four volume encyclopedia
And speaks more concisely than Churchill or Hemmingway or Ghandi ever did.
Don’t tell me how it feels.
Don’t even try.
Let that punching bag know.
Because you know he’s listening.
And he doesn’t have anything else more important to do.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
From her lessons in independence we learnt that everyone leaves,
Abandonment as sure a fact of life
as death.
We learnt that love was transactional,
A currency,
A receipted tit-for-tat tete-a-tete.
At the altar we were shown lies,
In the white dress a million yes’s but the question was never till death.
I could walk through darkness without worry,
I’d never been shown the danger,
Been encouraged to see an enemy in calories but not strangers.
We learnt to lie to avoid bruises,
Wooden spoons used for more than stirring soup,
The salt burning streaks down our faces when the *** boiled over the stove top.
Truths ignored and lies inelegant
We learnt to wield fists with tongues
Sparring for our lives.
Cautiously awaiting the
whistle pop
truth drop
wished unsaid
upon
impact.
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 3:01 PM UTC
We're dancing on a
knife's edge,
you and I.
You know it - I can see
the sparkle in your eye.
But do we care? I suppose
there's somewhere deep
down in
where mind sits at its desk
and all the glaring danger signs
flash red.
But on the surface, there's a
bit of gold in knowing
where we stand
for now,
and being free to dance the line
with comfort in your friendship yet
excited
all the same.
We know where we stand:
it's not together,
so we're free to tap the
dance floor lightly
and
smile into the night,
because our words are sparring
in -
well, let's say they
might have crossed the line.
But just our words.
We two?
We're standing side by side
(this side of the line)
and laughing at them,
pointing out the silliness
yet somehow still content
to stay and watch them
anyway
for lingered moments that speak
more deeply
than the words themselves could ever do.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
My sister was born with a special gift
she could weave could weave so beautifully
almost all the kings wives & daughters wanted her stock
like this she became very famous
She soon got a big head
let arrogance posses her mind
she mocked the king
sparring no mercy
One of the king's wives was angry
challenge her to a weaving contest
the wife lost
my sister mocked her
She was turned into a spider
the wife was never kinder
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
The love of my father was boxing
seeing my father slicing
The wind with his bare hands
Shadow boxing by his lonesome
Like if he was fighting the wind
The wind was his sparring partner
the sounds of his fists cutting through the air
I saw the violence and art
my dear father moves slower
After many decades
his punches have lost its sound
and his movement
has lost rhythm of time
the wind has beaten him over the years
it has taken my father all he’s had to fight
His last fight
Even the wind has taken the last wind out of him
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 2:37 AM UTC
It's like sparring with a lumberjack
a tell tale sign you're lost
A party trick , a baseball bat
and loving what you've got
a sparrow rests- an open chest
a gunshot wound for hire
tempted to forget that love
will force you through the fire
thirty nine and feeling fine
and hating what you have
kisses in the moonlight
and ignoring how it stabs
open eyes of baby blue
have been lying all this time
dreaming dreams sustained by you
it still feels like a crime.
Headlights hollow open vast
and scream a shallow tune
baby birds they fly too fast
and are taken by the moon.
Pacing blankets made of smiles
and fairies in her hair
name tags and red ceiling tiles
dying, trying not to stare.
She's beautiful as sunshine
and sweet as summer heat
and standing by the roadside
she sells her rotten meat.
There's plenty love in all the world
for sirens of her kind
and your body's steady pull of heat
tempts her to leave us all behind
we're hanging from a telephone pole
at the end of steady stream
and seeing glass is on the floor
cutting up our dreams
This plane is falling into bits
for the rich ones to enjoy
i wonder when they'll figure out
that earth is not a toy.
porky's in the dining hall
playing Rhapsody and Blue
on a washboard and a bathroom stall
I'm entering on cue.
You can scream and yell and call me names
Curse words aren't that bad
My life is one big mess of loud
you're not supposed to make me mad.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 9:23 AM UTC
Aww, how sweet,
You always knew
What to do
To make me feel like
Garbage stew,
To make me eat
The poison glue you spew,
To make me drag
My ragged feet
Wherever your
Poisoned heart
Leads you to.
With mine on my sleeve
I keep in tow
And leak from head to toe,
From every swollen pore
The saline flows and
Drips down in
Rivulets to sow
Sterile seeds
And offset
The burning scent
Of cigarettes
In the hair that keeps
Whipping my face
With the pace
Of expanding internet.
Oh well,
I'm all set
With the ********
I'm fine with your
Sense of entitlement,
I'll get by
Without your
"Enlightenment,"
Call it what you want,
It's still just
Getting bent
Getting ******
Getting exactly what you love,
And I bet you'll recount
To me how it went,
With no regard for
What it meant to me,
But my energy is spent
So get to gettin',
Take every cent
From my memory bank,
I'll burn every brain cell
That might have lent
You the time of day
With forty two
Glasses
Of chardonnay
And a few pressed pills
I bought from Kid A,
Don't worry, just chill,
That's not the way
Out things ever play,
More likely I'd wake
up to see your face
Open its mouth
And ******* say
Some ****** up ****
To ruin my day,
But hey,
That's the cycle
I perpetuate,
Cuz Michael
Loves a sparring mate
I guess, not sure, doesn't
Really make much sense,
Especially since
A running mate
Is closer to the figure 8
On it's side that I desire,
Instead I get a cut rate
Liar who equates
Love with
****** desire,
He might make you scream,
But I'll set you on fire.
Either way it seems
You just like to perspire,
Just don't forget that I
Can make you expire
With a call down
The telephone wire
To my Styrofoam supplier,
Nah jk, just being a clown,
Just trying to acquire
Enough sounds and frowns
That I can use for
Funeral pyres
For me and all these new hires,
Unknown girls I can use
To forget her,
The higher the better.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
In the red corner - me
in the blue corner - life
this isn't a fair fight
there was no sparring or training
I had to come out swinging right from the bell
absorbing every jab that life throws
just waiting for the knockout punch
still dancing and going toe to toe
throwing haymakers left and right
I try to keep my guard up
hoping somehow to win by decision
side-stepping punches
ducking and weaving
uppercut uppercut uppercut
I dropped my guard, and there goes my mouthpiece
ding!
saved by the bell
I still have a few rounds to go...
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Answer me
by Nat Lipstadt
Why are the children
if not hurting themselves,
so busy hurting others?
I know hurt in ways you cannot fathom,
And I rise up daily with a but a single quest:
Banish the hurt, expel the hurters,
And practice the one true faith:
Kindness and Grace.
Sometimes the madness I read, too much, too much,
And I walk away and store my poems in another place.
But I am reminded,
There is no such thing as too kind,
So I wander back,
Chagrined and Chastened,
Hoping one among you
Will help to raise up
Me.
The Rebuttal
Ask me now to fight your war and I shall vanquish legions vast
Call that I, a mountain scale and I shall conquer summit fast.
Command me firmly, forth to go and I shall strive as best I can
But call me to administrate and I will call you fool, be ******
Thus some have talent to be red and some attend to hues of green
But few have skills of rainbow shade, few, at least, that I have seen.
Some wear fear upon their smile others writhe with minds that burn,
They wallow deep in misery, whilst others stop to see and learn.
Some are black and some are white, for most the favoured shade is grey....
Roar ye might for judgement's fall, but futile friend... as death's delay.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
I wish I had known you when you were alive,
when your heart was still beating and your skin was flush.
I wish I had known your will to survive when your thoughts weren't in such a rush.
I wish I had met you back when we were young,
before all these trials of life...
I wish we had cried all our tears to the ground and evicted the whole of our strife.
Never, no never, did I ever think
that I'd bury a friend like you.
But clever, so clever, those poisonous barbs that split both our hearts in two.
I loved you so deeply, though you were so cold
I was fooled by the warmth of a lie.
Naked and blinded I gave you the knife
and lifted my eyes to the sky.
Now I've stumbled through darkness and stretched for a hand, wishing sometimes I could die.
While loneliness dances across my heart, suppressing my urge to cry.
I wish I had known you when you were alive,
when your heart was still beating and your skin was flush.
I wish I had known that I'd lose such a friend in a sparring that I couldn't crush.
I wish I had met you back when we were young,
before all these trials of life...
I wish we had cried all our tears to the ground and evicted the whole of our strife.
Never. No never.
Did I ever think that I'd bury a friend like you.....
But clever, so clever, those poisonous barbs that split both our hearts in two.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
From my Dark Watcher Series;
A heart carries a shield, which to hold at bay,
the demons of the night, that want to play.
Warding off the tears, that joins the game,
with feelings of hate, giving birth to shame.
Swords drawn, the duel begins once more,
sheathes of angry words, slamming doors.
Ruthless sparring that cuts to the soul,
their points dipped in poison, take their toll.
Lethal cuts, rivers of tears that run red,
through gouged cliffs of unknown dread.
Spiteful jousting of controlling speeds,
that ****** deep, to finish the fateful deed.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
We lower our masks over our faces,
Put on our armor,
and get into our places.
You start with a playful jab
But it ****** more than you know.
I raise my weapon in defense,
You take a couple of steps back.
I think the match is done
Until you come swinging
Because you need to know that you've won.
If only you could take your mask off
when we're not sparring;
Maybe then we wouldn't need to fight.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC
On this chilly night,
so do not get a fright,
but rug up and come into the light,
at Mordialloc Training, Tonight.
We will do the warm-up, as is right
do some push ups for our might
and after this have a bite,
of some new chocolates, Tonight.
After this you will be ready outright,
with some cardie-vascular workout, quite,
and we will keep the schedule tight,
and do some partner-work too, Tonight.
So come and warm yourself by active rite,
maybe with a bit of sparring, no not fight,
and we will make it a delight, alright, alright,
when you come to Kung Fu training Tonight, Tonight.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
It starts
with a bang
A single shot
Followed by a
Chorus
Of clacking
Clicking
And whirring
As though
The bullet
Tore a hole
In the sky
And now
all the air
Is rushing out
******* us
With it
A spectacle
To witness
Such great pitch
And movement
A steady buzz
Buzzing
rolling
Cacophony
Fueled by
Ambition
aggression
And panic
Elbows out
Jarring
Sparring
Until we settle
Into our rhythm
Carbon and metal
And organic
Mass
Undulating along
Whoosh
Wooshing
Flying
on the ground
Escape velocity
Hurtling along
Pushing
A wall of air
The winds of
Our arrival
Surrounding us
An envelope
Sealing
This new singularity
From the rest of
The universe
Until it collapses
On itself
And vanishes
Until
The next
Event
Horizon
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
In their discombobulated lives no matter what occurs
Mrs Um and Mr Er never quite concur
Continually at loggerheads
Sparring is their game
Life like this is normal now
Really it's a shame
Mrs Um for her hols wants to fly to Spain
Mr Er would prefer Turkey on the train
Mrs Um would like a dog, what he says to that
Is well now let me see, er, I think we need a cat
Where to put the cross this time
I don't know do you
Mrs Um votes red
Mr Er votes blue
So they end up doing nothing
As on nothing they agree
How they ever got together
Certainly beats me
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
Graceful predator perched on the precipice of woe
Your satin crown, ebony feathers cannot camouflage mision of misery you'll sow
Your balmy wings caress as dark shadows grow
You sharpen your talons lethal grasp your helpless prey to show
But only quicken the hearts of foragers nestled below
Shrill call does not alarm wary prey; only emboldened, novel defenses bestow
Slower prey their extended units disband; bountiful feast now in escrow
Stealthy ears pick up the feigned, stressful calls of dispossessed lying low
The harried remnant recedes into veiled canopy with their cargo
Confident dive bomber, you plunge into the shielded canopy mayhem to strew
Only to have pleated wings torn by thistle, thorn guarding the undertow
Injured, but deadly weapons your armada still doth tow
With sharp beak you shred the stragglers who venture into twilight's afterglow
With bristling talons you scratch and claw causing stiffened backs to bow
But their desire to live trumps marauding havoc laid in stow
Shorn of limb but not of hope, scurrying from nest to nest to and fro
Storm clouds gather over Dover cliffs; thunderous chorus from nest doth bellow
On the sparring range, a docile, prevailing wind no longer doth blow
Wearied from long chase, depleted eagle from bleeding strand doth go
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 10:14 AM UTC
I mit livs sommer er jeg
Midnatsdans på køkkengulvet med fars dyre hvidvin. Anonyme beskeder til smukke ansigter. Stress med aflevering; mandag, tirsdag, onsdag, torsdag, fredag. Smuglede smil til usunde sataner med lidt for rodet hår og hoved. Sparring på cigaretter. Færdigbag da alt andet er for ekstravagant. Iskold øl på brandvarm asfalt, og brandvarme blik til iskolde drenge. Meterlange køer, men hver en krone værd. Togkonsulent med en gave til dig på 750 kr. , og derefter en halv time for sent på arbejdet. Uventede komplimenter fra uventede mennesker, og uventede oplevelser på uventede tider.
I mit livs vinter lever jeg
ånder lidt for ivrigt efter pauser. Neglelak som krakelerer i kanterne efter blot en dag. Dage uden at se solen selvom solen er evigt eksisterende på himlen. Køber ikke koncertbilletten, fordi muligheden jo nok opstår en anden gang. Støv som har permanent bopæl i hjørnet, og ridsen tværs over computeren som er kommet for at blive. Lampen uden pæren og pæren med blåt skær. Mangel på sokker. Sætninger man fortryder, ligesåvel som sætninger man ønsker man havde indført. Mangel på søvn, tid og mad i køleskabet. Kendskab til hemmeligheder, som er hemmeligt at man har kendskab til. Og alt-alt-alt for mange valg at træffe og truffe.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
Apprehension crawls under the skin,
Causing fright in the human mind.
The abnormal anxiety dominates our thinking,
Afraid to preform activities of enjoyment.
Leading to a life that can drive isolation,
Hiding under that protected quilt.
Phobias are tensions that can be addressed,
Fighting a war against nervousness.
Start by conquering the dread head on,
Battling the horror at its source.
The fear response will peak when sparring worries,
But in the end, you can beat the fearful reaction.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
The walls are circling now,
Closing in around me,
And the demons push forward,
Sparring my sides.
I am surrounded.
Oh dove,
This is not your place.
Your freedom taunts me.
Why do you choose to witness such torture?
Exorcist,
You cast the leathered bats from me.
You, who watches me writhe
Utters spells and prayers,
And pulls me from my depths.
Oh dove,
I shall gasp water when you flee.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC
a dust bathing sparrow,teased me thus:
look at elephants and us,
mud and dust are better
than polluted water.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 10:43 AM UTC