Best Gladiators Poems
Gladiators of the numbered turf
Helmeted heads and padded limbs
22 soldiers on the field
No more, no less, at any time
All have stadiums they call their homes.
Swift of foot and quick of mind
A scoreboard keeps the points and time
Score points by one, two, three or six
By passes, runs, punts or kicks
Winning brings them glory.
Most mother's want their son's to play
When son's are born their father's start to say
Where and when their son will play
Parents eagerly await those cherished fall days
When Football is in season.
Upright goal posts at either end
Each team starts with their own direction
Weekly successes bring winning seasons
Sometimes the coaching can be the reason
The final scores tell the stories.
When January starts to draw near
The Championship games will soon be here
Fans are either elated or dismayed
To see if their teams get to play
and be this year's Gladiators in the Superbowl.
(January 23, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Two in a matchbox
Grasshopper and scorpion
and the winner is?
To breath the dream of gladiator sweat
Is to take your fear and drown it with courage.
Though heart it would burst,
the mind cannot turn.
The gold is the prize
and destiny belongs to you.
To be the best is not enough
chivalry demands your conduct
and honour is given to the vanquished
for you are an Olympian.
The body is your temple
desire is your ambition.
The lungs that carry this quest,
that Olympus gave the world
will make you a god for a day.
The recipe is simple,
take the glory of youth
these first buds of spring.
Season their first step with a lesson
defeat is your companion,
but “I will” is your power
and the hurdles of life will fall.
Mind over body is your strength
perfection and grace your goal,
only gods ignore the pain when limbs say enough.
You who pour your being into peddle and water
and tame the wind with sail.
The loneliness of speed, the endurance of marathon
the silence of target and the release of flight
will take your soul to the edge
of an impossible dream.
And the years that you give
waiting for harmony to arrive,
will define the mountain you climb.
The world has chosen you
to be a gladiator of our time.
And privilege is for mortals who watch
to share the emotion of them.
In this moment our blood is one
for they are no longer alone.
We will win together
we will lose together
and honour will wipe our tears.
And when the arena is empty
the memory will be
“I was there”
To see the spirit of this earth.
The voice of nations cheering as one
our differences celebrated
Within the glory of these Olympics.
Strangers brought together
arm in arm within these rings.
The hand of friendship has crossed the seas,
respect is the legacy
for Neighbours now are we.
And when our children look up
to ask why we cheer and cry
we will plant the dream,
that these are your brothers and sisters,
tomorrow you will play with them.
And should you fall
the voice of country will pick you up
this flag will endure your trials
for victory belongs to you,
and the tears of pride belong to me.
A mere mortal who was honoured
to witness your Olympian dream.
ah! ’tis blue azure greet’ng the dark maidens
dancers of the ancient drums of my warriors
yea! the ever-ready danc’ng mbari maidens
o, dancers amid the smooth-throat’d hunters –
’tis like an ever-flow’ng rhythmic drumm’ng
of my ageless clan where the rever’d eaglets
made the classic olympia in wing-drumm’ng
amid the love-rov’ng griots, pages and priests!
and your mother – the mother of the amazons
waits, waist-bent, amid the ev’r-wait’ng gray-hairs –
and your hunters naked, ready-pois’d with guns
and panthers snarled under the scorch’ng sun-rays;
o, the gladiators and amazons came along my banks
ah, bring’ng this eternal dance-step to niger’s banks!
Bitter, battered, bruised and spent
Throwing punches aimed to dent,
Bobbing, weaving, sighing loud,
Gladiators playing to the crowd.
Armed with words that cut like steel
Inflicting wounds that won't fast heal,
Nostrils flaring, bulging eyes,
Parrying blows with stifled sighs.
Indignation, slights of old,
Each man's purpose bitter, cold,
One sole aim, that fatal blow,
Boiling anger on full show.
As to us the silent horde
Stunned by this discordant chord,
We watch and wonder how we came
To such a place so sad and lame.
Is this all we now deserve
Screeching buzzards without verve,
Gone the poise, the weathered charm
Just two sluggers out to harm?
He stood among the fervor and frenzy
of the mob there to greet him;
he gazed at the smiles that reached
all the way to their eyes.
That field susurrated a contented sigh,
sun glowing gold on the dust
as he made his anticipated return
to this his home, this his stage.
Each man who had e'er taken up the gauntlet
wore it only once against him,
each unknown to him in the breaths before the bout,
each forgotten in the blood beneath his boots.
The cheers were for his glory alone,
the hungering cries, the lustful roar;
eager for a display of violent prowess,
urgently seeking the thrill of a victory.
Yet today those calls met his ear ragged, hollow,
and many days afore this the same;
how many more to the ground would he send,
how much more carnage could he carry out?
He caught in his adversary's eyes that same doubt,
alike the wear of purposeless, performed war;
alas, the scene was set, the players placed,
the gladiators helpless but to battle.
The horn resounded, the clarion call to clash,
and blade met air as he eluded the first swing;
blow for blow they struggled, striving to strike,
inch over inch of empty dirt their contest strained.
He found that he fought not for praise this day,
but for life, against this villain so close to himself;
against this demon with eyes much the same as his,
against this monster bearing also the crimson stain.
Eventide blazing crossed his sight
as the golden disc turned red,
as his sword found his enemy at last,
as his foe's so caught him finally true.
Here he saw, at the finale of the feud,
he was alone in the arena of his life and of his death,
as forsaken as the myriad in his wake;
silence met the fall of the sanguine scion.
He looked with head skewed
With a fire inside he couldn't hide
The spear missed as he threw
Missing his foe dodged to the side
Miss calucation only angered him more
With his rage he yelled aloud
All eyes on him he couldn't ignore
The astonished gasps from the crowd
He was supposed to be the best
Said to be non better by far
Though he missed with his spear
That was meant for the heart
Unsure he now stares at his opponent
Who regained his balance with ease
He will not be bested this day
Feel the sting of blade and bleed
This was the way of the arena
It is bloody and it is gory
They must fight to the death
For fame, honor, and glory
With the blink of an eye
His foe rushed right at him
With a quick step to the right
But it was a delayed reaction
So he tried with fast stride
To quickly dodge to the left
But he didn't see the second blade
That sank deep through his chest
Crowd fell silent the dust settles
Legend said he was unbeatable
But he has bested the champion
He has done the unthinkable
He had won he's now the victor
He stands taller this day
It wasn't for glory or greed
Done for himself not the fame
Written 2-15-19