Thursday, February 16, 2012

going home

the match was tight
no faking
no pulled punches
no step back ducking
even when the ropes became chains

30 minutes slips to 60
sweat slips to blood
no more smile just gritted teeth
set up...for one more counter...
a voice

take it home!
go home!

isn't that it?
isn't that all we're doing?, just let the tired monk vent


  1. Yes, that's what we're all doing. Love this, Ollie. It reminded me though of a televised fight I watched with my family when I was around eight or nine.......somehow one of the wrestlers got his head trapped between a lower rope and the top rope somehow was down under his chin and he was strangling. Horrible. Not sure how it ended. In your poem, I could so clearly picture the scene, the gritted teeth.....and then the line of philosophy at the end.......wonderful writing.

  2. bloody and ready
    that last upper should do it.

  3. Taking the punches all the home. Thanks for the read

  4. Yes, the count down and waiting for the hands, to strike the hour to home! Well Done

  5. Great pulse. Clever progression.


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