09-05-2013, 10:28 PM
Written as a testimony to boxer Vince Marino, a good friend.
------------
A GAUNTLET OF BELLS
From the open to the close it is a gauntlet of bells.
Rounds counted and marked by the clash and clang of attack,
after the first bell the world turns on you with violence
that is relentless and persistent until the final chime.
The choices you made that brought you here
bring you closer to your reasons for making them.
There is a reason they call it a ring,
even though it has four corners.
Inside of it is like being the clapper of a bell;
moving from one side to the other,
a step to one side giving power to a strike in the other direction,
the first push determining the tone
and the vibration humming through to your core.
Left to right and back again, and again,
thoughts run lightning to your glove,
impact runs through your shoulder to the bone
Life hits you in the face outside the ring too
but in here it is more honest about it.
You better give better than you get, one hundred percent,
until the next bell, your brief moment of respite,
a chance to sit, have a sip of water, maybe stitch that cut over your eye
until the next bell sends you back,
defiant and unbroken -
dodging and swinging, picking your moments
dancing away while looking for that sweet split-second
to leap forward and explode.
Another clang, another moment to recall how hard you hurt,
then another bell, back to protecting, attacking,
plundering your very soul for the grit to continue,
hit again, dance away, hit once more, take a shot to the head.
Refusing to think about how long to the next bell,
refusing to give in or give up,
more alive at that moment than any other.
Then it is done
and you hear the bell ring,
then the sweet sound of the count,
but whether you are carried from the ring on their shoulders
or a stretcher,
you know you rang the bell.
------------
A GAUNTLET OF BELLS
From the open to the close it is a gauntlet of bells.
Rounds counted and marked by the clash and clang of attack,
after the first bell the world turns on you with violence
that is relentless and persistent until the final chime.
The choices you made that brought you here
bring you closer to your reasons for making them.
There is a reason they call it a ring,
even though it has four corners.
Inside of it is like being the clapper of a bell;
moving from one side to the other,
a step to one side giving power to a strike in the other direction,
the first push determining the tone
and the vibration humming through to your core.
Left to right and back again, and again,
thoughts run lightning to your glove,
impact runs through your shoulder to the bone
Life hits you in the face outside the ring too
but in here it is more honest about it.
You better give better than you get, one hundred percent,
until the next bell, your brief moment of respite,
a chance to sit, have a sip of water, maybe stitch that cut over your eye
until the next bell sends you back,
defiant and unbroken -
dodging and swinging, picking your moments
dancing away while looking for that sweet split-second
to leap forward and explode.
Another clang, another moment to recall how hard you hurt,
then another bell, back to protecting, attacking,
plundering your very soul for the grit to continue,
hit again, dance away, hit once more, take a shot to the head.
Refusing to think about how long to the next bell,
refusing to give in or give up,
more alive at that moment than any other.
Then it is done
and you hear the bell ring,
then the sweet sound of the count,
but whether you are carried from the ring on their shoulders
or a stretcher,
you know you rang the bell.
"In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite." - Paul Dirac (1902 - 1984)
