Smug . . . we knocked
our gloves together
DING ... round one
we danced ‘round the ring
Jabbing . . . our arms
out to each other
Advancing ... retreating ...
who'd be the weakling?
DING ... round two
DING ... round three
DING ... round four
Gasping . . . I stand
back in my corner
Splashing cold water,
sweat rolls down my face
DING ... I rush out
I won't be a goner
Echoing thrusts
meet - setting the pace
SLAM . . . I'm hit
square in the jaw
BAM . . . I fall down
kissing the mat
Reeling . . . my brain
retorts an AH - HA!
Seven, eight, nine ...
I still know where I'm at
Damn! . . . I thought
I'll lose this fight
WHOOSH ... I jump
up square on my feet
Throwing the left
that follows the right
WHAM . . . and WHAM
I'm refusing defeat
PLOP . . . he went
his energy drained
Silent ... I stood
his count had hit "ten"
Amazed . . . I watched
sorry and stunned,
Sparring ... I thought
is really not fun!
© 2001 Joy A. Burki- Watson
Author notes
My poem is my interpretation of a poetic response to the following poem by Graydeth.
Games That We Play - http://allpoetry.com/poem/1566151
Lying awake in my lonely bed,
Thinking about the things we do to each other,
The joking, the teasing, leading us into temptation,
All part of an ever changing game we play.
Its anything goes. When no real rules apply.
None, except 'Look, but don't touch'.
What are the stakes we play for?
What exactly is the prize?
LUST?
LOVE?
Or are we just stroking each others ego?
Acting as players and judges,
Who determines the winner?
You? Because you don't give in?
Or me? Because I don't stop trying?
Round after round, like an endless boxing match,
We circle each other like two prize fighters,
Probing for any little weakness,
Waiting for the other to let their guard down,
Jabbing at one another with words or long, listful looks,
Some sharp and to the point,
Others softer, subtle, more staggering for their accuracy,
Straight to the heart, or worse, to the mind,
Creating thoughts, in ideas, in dreams,
One inside each other til we're twisted inside out,
Searching for hidden, double meanings,
Looking for ghosts that aren't always there.
Never tiring, always back for one more round,
The thrill of the hunt drives us on,
Neither of us able, (or is it willing?),
To throw the knockout punch.
One way or another, afraid to put it to an end,
Or, are we more afraid of the prize that awaits us?
A contest entry
- Talk back to me by graydeth.
950 points, ended July 11, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
All comments are appreciated / answer in kind!
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Through all that sparring, what is really accomplished? Nothing, just two bruised opponents who go to their separate corners to tend their wounds.
When we try to hurt another because they hurt us it just starts a cycle where no one can really win.
I love the way you included "sound effects" for the bells and action. I felt I was in the ring.
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Such action,
reaction,
jib and jab,
mindless of all
but the fight---
and then the letdown---
the realization....
What a fast paced capture,
what a race to the climax!
Great "talking back."
M-C
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It is imperative to know your advesary before you step into the ring. However for me, I found that sleeping with the enemy a more practical way to deliver the winning blow...lol. Good luck in the contest.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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I know about the sparring. I'm much better when there isn't any. I still believe a relationship doesn't need to have all that nonsense.
What's with all the rounds? Just use your knockout punch in the first round and be done with it. Everyone in a relationship has one. The one topic that no one should ever go to but eventually does.
There's another fool like me out there that thinks like I do. I have faith there.
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Nice write, its like you said in your comment, there are things we think we want and yet when we get them, they arent as shiny or satisfying as we believed. Good luck in the contest.
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