Saturday, May 28, 2011

Fencing 101

Shake hands with the grip
(A firm but gentle grasp)
Don’t clutch it like a club

Hit with the pointy end
(Aim for the middle)
Don’t thwack

When attacked
Push the blade aside
Then stick out your arm

Knees bent, butt in, shoulders back
Wrist firm, arm relaxed
Don’t sneeze in your mask

Move—use both directions
Advance AND retreat
Proper footwork—don’t go running down the strip

And (this is most important)
Don’t forget to breathe

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Play Date

No score
What a great subversive twist!
A psychic liberation
No hormone-ridden clash, no angst
Just curious experiments
Empiric testing of hypotheses in
Endless permutations

We set the timer and
Proceed to frisk
Open-ended forays leading
Who knows where
Digressions, loops and ambulations
Testing a then b then c
Progressive iterations

Prototyping possible assaults, I
Coax my hand and feet to
Execute the code
And fail
But failing, find another possibility
The germ of innovation

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Soft Start

Stealthing glide, a
Nonchalant approach that
Signals nothing, leaving open
Possibilities
Offers only
Ambiguity
Flirtatious hints
Seamlessly segue to lunge
Or shyly metamorph into retreat

No grand gesture welcoming
Attack on preparation
No blatant telegraphing of intent

Just…balance
Open-ended options
Pluripotent paths
Potential bifurcation

A perfect poker pace
To mask intent

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Typology

The Strategist
Relying on deliberative acts
Seeing, naming
Choosing
Always calculating one move or two
Ahead
Playing the odds &
Counting cards

The Visionary
Seeing possibilities that
Are not there
Until called into being by
Flights of fancy
Spiked imagination
Summoning with dreams

The Natural
Displaying unforced feeling for the fight
Racing the rapids of the bout on
Instinct, faster than the rational mind
Responds
Pulling off
Unlikely victories

Three paths to success
Three very different roads
Which traveler are you?

Friday, May 6, 2011

Clarity

Each of us seeks truth
In her own way
Upon the mat, the piste
The page
Chasing metaphoric ice
Dumped down the neck
—rude awakenings are preferable
to sleep—
Losing balance
Stretching for the touch
Groping for the perfect metered word
Stumbling on
Pellucid acts
Slicing through the ambient confusion

Sometimes caught in
Preparation
Unbraced for the damage
Truth, unbound, inflicts