wattup charles... i like the other ones in the other thread like the one curly posted Scorning all treacherous feud and deadly strife, The dark stilletto and the murderous knife, We boast a science sprung from manly pride, Linked with true courage and with health allied- A noble pastime void of vain pretense, The fine old English art of self-defense. or the one MIK posted The Ballad of Billy Rose Outside Bristol Rovers Football Ground The date has gone from me, but not the day, Nor how the dissenting flags in stiff array Stuck bravely out against the skys grey round Near the Car Park then past Austin and Ford, Lagonda, Bentley, and a colourful patch Of country coaches come in for the match Was where I walked, having travelled the road From Fishponds to watch Portsmouth in the Cup. The Third Round I believe. And I was filled With the old excitement which had thrilled Me so completely when, while growing up, I went on Saturdays to match or fight. Not only me; for thousands of us there Strode forward eagerly, each man aware Of vigorous memory, anticipating delight We all moved forward, all, except one man. I saw him because he was paradoxically still, A stone against the flood, face upright against us all, Head bare, hoarse voice aloft. Blind as a stone. I knew him at once despite his pathetic clothes Something in his stance, or his sturdy frame Perhaps. I could even remember his name Before I saw it on his blind-mans tray. Billy Rose. And twenty forgetful years fell away at the sight. Bare-kneed, dismayed, memory fled to the hub Of Saturday violence, with friends to the Labour Club, Watching the boxing on a sawdust summer night. The boys enclosure close to the shabby ring Was where we stood, clenched in a resin world, Spoke in cool voices, lounged, were artificially bored During minor bouts. We paid threepence to go in. Billy Rose fought there. He was top of the bill. So brisk a fighter, so gallant, so precise! Trim as a tree he stood for the ceremonies, Then turned to meet George Morgan of Triphil. He had no choice. Courage was not enough Nor tight defence. Donald Davies was sick And we threatened his cowardice with an embarrassed kick. Ripped across both his eyes was Rose, but we were tough. And clapped him as they wrapped his blindness up In busy towels, applauded the wave He gave his executioners, cheered the brave Blind man as he cleared with a jaunty hop The top rope, I had forgotten that day As if it were dead forever, yet now I saw Again the flowers of blood on the ring floor As bright as his name. I cannot say How long I stood with ghosts of the wild fists And cries of shaken boys long dead around me, For struck to act at last, in terror and pity I threw some frantic money, three treacherous pence And I cry at the memory into his tray, and ran, Entering the waves of the stadium like a drowning man. Poor Billy Rose. God, he could fight Before my three sharp coins knocked out his sight.
found one on pac lol.... by Edgar Rendon Eslit, Philippines Manny Pacquiao, Manny Pacquiao He fights for his country and the Filipino people That’s Manny Pacquiao A featherweight, Bantamweight, and Flyweight champion World titles itched in the name of Manny Pacquiao A pound-for-pound boxer known all over the world He is Manny, Manny Pacquiao He came from a humble family and made his way up high Notably, in boxing world, that’s Manny Pacquiao He loves God much as he loves his family and countrymen Everyone and every Filipino love Manny Pacquiao He sings, acts, billiards, cockfights and plays basketball A man of sports, Manny Paquiao He finds time to be with the poor giving heartfelt assistance A golden mark of a humble Manny Pacquiao His strength is from God as he always glorify the lord’s name A unique virtue of Manny Pacquiao He fights with dedication; he brings pride to the nation A dedication, true to the heart of Manny Pacquiao Inside the ring, his fans would shout Manny, Manny, Manny Michael Butler would valiantly say “Manny Paaacmaaan Pacquiao” They say he is a fearless boxer; a champion and a hero I say he is Manny Pacquiao, Manny Pacquiao, a true Filipino
Sorry, but that original poem was pretty poor - no meter, a distractingly random rhyme scheme, some just plain goofiness ("Protecting only their gonads"? C'mon, seriously?). The first one Kirk posted has some merit. One couplet from the original that I thought salvageable. If I may (yes, I'm bored)... No pinch hitter, no second-string quarterback or backup goalie The boxer depends on himself solely [can this person keep a beat at all?] Let's try... No pinch hitter, no backup goalie A boxer depends upon himself soley. It's not Shakespeare (nor even grammatically correct), but it's a far site better.
