Monday, December 31, 2012

Telling Tales

Truth is fabricated
Piece by piece
From scraps of probability
Hints of what is possible
Plausible causality

“Truth be told” indeed
Telling forges truth
The facts we choose, the details we

Especially the tales we
Weave about ourselves
Bespoke epics
Contingent facts looped into
Cogent narrative
Forging our own fates

Since I get to storyboard my life
Why be content with mundane imperfection?
Why not lineate myself
As gimpy hero
Hephaestus or
Lamed by my ambitions
Still in quest of
Small but epic feats?

Knowing this, I start my journal of 2013, writing future states that
I’ll be happy to have seen

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Close Call, Part 1

It's the art of

Seeing the periphery, the center
And the trailing edge
Hand and tip and wrist and

Knowing with bone certainty 
Exactly what transpired 
Without knowing how you 

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


Once they’re hooked
Beginners start to browse the uniforms
Coveting their own clean whites
A pristine mask
Unwrinkled glove

I also sense them
Shopping for appropriate ambitions
Trying on their goals and
Testing fit

That’s a beauty of our sport
Each of us can find a dream that’s
Comfortably beyond our normal reach
But not beyond our grasp

Some aim for the top while others
Strive with all they have to
Make a touch in every bout

Some scale the alphabet while teammates
Revel in their classless state
Youngsters spurt and test the limits of their
Ambling limbs their
Newfound strength
Veterans retrench and renegotiate the
Definition of success

Some drift away despite their magic touch, their
Grace—unfulfilled by their unearned success
Others struggle now and evermore
Addicted by the lure of what they never quite achieve
But might, the next time out

The lesson? If you find your joy in battle turning to frustration
Look within—the cure may lie in tweaking expectations

Sunday, November 4, 2012


I can no longer keep a
Warrior’s pace
Always pushing past my limitations
Sore and tired but
Content, confident that
Pain is only strength in embryonic form

The signals have been switched the
Rules upended, now my
Lexicon is speaking ancient tongues

An ache or sore is warning that my
Shelf life is exceeded, boundaries o’er-reached
Reminder that my expiration date is, damn,
Too close

I am no longer over-engineered
But merely overwhelmed

My homework? Studying the
Tensile strength of aging tendons, pinpointing the
Threshold past which quintile muscles cannot go
Learning leisured speed and lazy durability
Recognizing that I can’t outrun the young

Wednesday, October 31, 2012


All the lovely words I ache to use
—grip and finny, plangent,
Enarctic, absolute
Embargoed, subject to my

Used to be
Words bottlenecked inside
As blade leapt and feet patterned
Faster than the conscious mind can ken
Spilled forth late at night when
Dried from sweat and
Drenched with images
I’d channel on the page
The residue of dreams
Inspirations that upon the strip
Fall short
Trying to capture them with
Syllambolic grace
Synoptic brevity

Since I’ve gone lame, that
Well’s run dry
Phrases cramp and tangle in my brain
Fail beneath my weight

My lagging foot has
Dragged my measure down,
Undermined my
Gimped my game
My hand and foot are yoked in their dysfunction

Mute, I’ve slaved at patient repetition
Labored to rebuild the
Tendoned scaffold of my lunge
Drill minute adjustments to the pitch and weight and
Slant of step and shift
Strive to rediscovery thoughtless ease

But last night, gingerly untangling my brace
Applying ice, assessing the resentment of my knee
My eyes were captured by the
Ferritopic cut and slash
The sabre bums employ
Their ranting stutter stamp and
Their embered arguments

I scrabbled in my bag for pad and pen
Recovery is marked by such small steps as these

Friday, September 28, 2012


Somewhere deep within lies
Certainty that damage comes from sin

Well. Maybe that's too harsh

That injury is outward manifest of
Inward flaws

Each tear, each stitch a
Measure of the gap between
My ego and my tiny universal role

In this thesis
Healing equals
Therapeutic grace
Concrete proof that
Nothing is beyond

Redemption promises I can be
Mended and made whole,
and strong
With patience and
And penance in the gym

Benediction is when
All the pieces work