Robots

I am beset by
Legions
Drilled in
Subroutines
Timed to the metronomic beat of
Habit

Advance, advance, feint-with-disengage-and-lunge

Lovely!

Perfect in execution but
(Thank heaven)
Flawed in application

Repetitious
Mechanistic
Formulaic
Numb

Programmed in deft
Sequential acts devoid of
Context
Drilled to inappropriate
Perfection
Vulnerable to
Improvisation, the
Unexpected

Present a paradigm that
Does not fit their
Program and it

Gums up their gears

Worms its way into their head and

Brings them down

I’ve never been so grateful for my glitches
For my rank and all-too-human quirks that simply don't compute!

Anitya (Impermanence)

I can intend to
Try
I can intend to
Persevere
Intend to
Heal
To keep my limbs
As polished, supple as my
Blade

I can’t stop time

Time will heal
And in time
Time will unwind what it has
Knit together

I am
Refurbished
Not
Renewed

For now, that is enough

Creativity

Once the basics
Sink
Into the bone, the nerve
Enmuscled memory
Percolate beneath the skin

Once the lunge is
Automatic
Parries auto-load into
The proper line
Ripostes self-detonate
Incognizant but
Deadly

At last
One day
One bout
One moment left unplanned and
Foosh
Ignition

Improvisation
Commandeers my blade
Highjacks my hand
A sequence that I never learned
Explodes, a
Leap surpassing practice
A clever commentary on the
Act

Spooked by my startled
Exultation
The moment flees
I’m left
Bereft
Armed only with
Convention

But deep inside, a hollow’s left behind
A puddled imprint, waiting to refill
When drought lifts and inspiration storms…

Safety Distance

Flirting at the edge, always a
Little out of reach

Pulling my long attack while
Scoping out my game

Throwing off my tempo, making me

Unsure

Clever strategy, or just
Aloof?

At this remove you are
Untouchable

Hazarding no bruises or
Abrasion

No inadvertent chance of
Corps-a-corps

Clever? Perhaps, but
When all’s said and done

You have to dare engagement for
The chance to score

Keeping Score

The flip side of my triumph is your
Disappointment
Anger
Rueful irritation

The obverse of my failure is your
Joy in victory
Extraordinary or
Mundane

The touches, tallied
Sum to zero—
Either way, the balance is
The same

The Powers that Be don’t care if you or I are
#1
Only that the sheet is neat, correct
And signed

A lesson here
In cosmic disregard for our
Concerns

So bugger them

Let’s change the
Nature of the game
Invent a different currency
That multiplies with every touch

As we test
And challenge
Amplify our repertoire
Arm our imagination

There’s no cap on
Insight and experience
A jackpot that pays out from
Every bout

Reconciliation

Oblivious of having
Teased the porcupine

To bristle

Baited you to

Throw your quills
I’m taken by surprise

Left mute,
Making myself small,
Fearing I will

Make things worse

With equal speed the flare subsides, leaving
What?
Peace? Reunion? Grace?
Or just a blank page in this version of the past
Redacted by authority

As if it never happened

Nothing to regret, explain
Convenient
But far from reassuring
Not knowing what I did to spring the trap

I worry that I’ll be ensnared again

Remember what they say:
Those who obliterate the past are doomed to re-enact it
I’d rather study, understand, and write a better future

co-author needed—perhaps you will apply…

Day Residue

Composite fragments of the
Competition
Weave a night of dreams

Random play back:
Icy seep into my sock
Shards of broken blade
The musk and funk of
Multiple bananas &
Stab of cramps that come
Regardless

Threaded in a fictionalized net of
Wishful replay
Alt endings that will
Never change the past:
The crucial parry, made in time
The final touch—on-target
A brilliant strategy un-marred by
Faulty execution

Studded with random sweet, true snapshots:
A subtle disengage, and lunge
A sneaky squirm
A deadly long attack that springs from
God knows where
Certainly not practice

Acute embarrassments
Stutter and repeat
With perfect clarity
And merciless detail

Surfacing from sleep
The story thins
Gauzy details shred and
Reambiguate

Groping for the light
My hand closes on the cold, hard
Truthful
Outcome of the day

Proof that there is hope, along with
Ample room for improvement

Covering

Sternly told to stay aloft
Stay back, stay put, stay
Still, the shoulder rolls,
The hand sneaks down…
The yellow card comes out

Despite my firm intent to
Lock your gaze as I drop down
My head turns turtle & I
Lead with my thick skull instead of
Tender nose

Atavistic instincts of defense
Deeply embedded in
The neural net:
Protect the face, the belly button
Family jewels

I try to reassure my fragile parts that
All is safe, that
They can trust the jacket
Plastron, chest protector
Mask

But lack a certain
Credibility
(Evidence my stash of
Wraps, pads, braces
Bandages and tape)

So now and then they elect to deploy
Extreme defense against the
Maniacs hell bent to chase them
Down the strip
And off

They don’t give a damn for penalties, alas
So whack away! Perhaps a bruise or two will prod them to obey

A Baker's Diagnostic

No nuts no spice no
Raisins, simply
Oats and sugar goodness

Smokey chocolate depths
Infused with
Alcoholic bite

Complexity
Sophisticated hints of coriander,
Cardamom and mace

Solid Americana,
Pumpkin, molasses,
Sugar = brown (of course)

Chock full o’ health
And calories: almonds, walnuts
Honey, oat bran, dates

Basic & dependable,
Chocolate chip with cinnamon
A little bit of chew

A cookie Myers-Briggs
Confronted with this plenitude
Which would you choose?

To Coach

(On the occasion of Henry Harutunian’s 40th anniversary of coaching at Yale)

Balanced at the end of strip
Out of room
Out of breath
Grasping for solutions

Coming from behind
Summoning my courage
Creativity and
Resolution

Comforting myself, vowing to do
Better, Try
Harder and yet
Not beat myself up

It’s
Your voice
I hear
Cheering from the side

I owe you more than ever I can pay, and so I simply give

My thanks, and love