The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel
The Boxer-verse 6
I’ve truly fought the good fight
And I’ve lost more than I’ve won
But no matter what the outcome
I know that I can live with pride
For I gave the best I could in every fight
Lie la lie, lie la lie la lie
I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
Nor is it strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him, 'till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains
Parts of:
The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel
Still Here
I will remain
Despite the strain
The punches thrown
The anger sown
The promises made
The truth does fade
I hear what I want to hear
Disregard what I fear
I bear scars
From life’s wars
Knocked about
But never out
I am still here
I shout
His first time in the boxing ring, just a shard mirrored glass,
excited, but also scared, he thought he was faultless.
Rolling on the balls of his boxing stance, toe, heel, step dance.
A romance with his pivot maneuvers and his fist advance.
His opponent well-executed single punch, a water flow knockout,
he wasn’t expecting a broken bloody nose, swelling black eye blackout.
The voice within wouldn’t ease, practice makes perfect he did see.
Made him like a natural weathered piece of sea glass within salty sea.
7/19/2024
I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.
Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.
There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.
There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.
The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.
I fear I've lost the light
In this storm of chocolate rain
Muddy waters cloud my sight
Within this foul smelling haze
But I know I'll make things right
I'll escape this hell someday
And my tights will finally stay white
Off this soiled path I'll find my way
They say the devils in the details
Well I sure hope he likes corn
They say in the end good prevails
But I've had this demon since I was born
In my wake I leave a trail
There's stains on all I've worn
My life's going off the rails
And I feel chaos in my core
Still as I waddle towards the future
I've only known one truth
It always goes smoother
When you let the pain pass through
So when my gut gets sutured
I'll fill the hole in my heart too
I only wish I'd done it sooner
Change your pants before they change you
bundy's
undies
posted 10/19/23
In one’s towel bathroom things are not well
While there is nothing like towel
For the last part of a shower,
Filthy body back ‘Saved Flower…
Towels: hot cake after a bath
But if not handy no true wrath;
Wet body is dried by cool breeze,
Which does so but not quite with ease…
I’d splash warm water on towel
As a sponge for the sick bowel:
Does it matter that of Howell
Or of the respected Maxwell?
For a boxer’s cascading sweat;
What sometimes shows his blows were sweet,
A fresh one for the next round’s heat:
He must try to opponent beat…
When it hasn’t been a good scrub
Off would towel soapy fluid rub.
The boxer and the actor
I saw them on the sidewalk near The Radio music Hall
in New York, Jack was telling Alan a joke
Jack Dempsey wore a sport’s jacket, brown trousers
a white shirt’s open, top button open
shiny shoes; Alan Ladd, wore a grey suit, with matching
tie (Everyone had shiny shoe trainers not yet invented)
I noticed he was considerably smaller than Jack.
I was in awe had never seen someone famous
life and up close; this was, in 1957, I was so young.
I bought a ticket to see the show at the music hall
before the movie dancing girl came to the stage
with live music and plenty of thighs.
The final was a big kick a woman got it wrong
she kicked with her left leg when she realized her mistake
shifted to the right leg; too late, the music had stopped
but with one leg still in the air, it was what I remember.
I'll give it all away
just to have you j
Just to know for one moment
our love was true
One thought away
We've been done for days
The memories fade
From black to Grey
Worn out from the games
We reluctantly play
Hearts sinking like a ship
In a blink of an eye
a poem without words
a song without notes
summer without heat
Sea without boats
what was it
what may never be
wrapped up into one
like make believe
helpless tired
only wanting more
empty heart ready
for what lay in store
A quick glimpse
a stammer
The run toward the door
you can give up hope
Without trust
Love is no more
Quit the fight
Throw down the gloves
thought you were losing
Face down in the mud
Up before 8
seems like it's fake
the future forever
the past a mistake
I wasn't born with long, elegant God-limbs.
To race across the flowered plains of heaven.
I was conceived from the hammer and anvil
of a gray-witted, quick-to-anger blacksmith.
My shoulders will never feel a spray of red roses.
My only friend will be a bucket of secondhand oats.
No soft palms will stroke my dull-matted flanks.
Only whips of attrition to hold me to this lowly rank.
I'll spend a lifetime plowing uphill and moving stone.
Loyal to a fault at the expense of my soul-bones.
When my days are sprinkled over with ice and snow.
When my back is beyond bent and ribs start to show.
There'll be no tears-accolades or sweet eulogies.
Only harsh words and sharp tug into the darkness.
And a long bumpy jaunt to the glue factory.
BOXER
The late October day
marked the last of the tragic
encounters framed by the ropes
he preferred to the streets where a
journeyman boxer needs more than
taped hands for the troubles he sees
There had been no title shot, no top
ten ranking, just fifteen years of blows
to the body, to the head, to the soul -
volcanic eruptions, fissures and
earthquakes, myriad tremors in the
plate tectonics of the fist-pummeled
brain
He needed sixty more seconds of glaring
bright lights and a bored, bloody crowd
in a small-time arena in a town far away
Sensing his moment, he slipped to the
right, flicked two stinging jabs, bobbing
and weaving, then three quick strikes and
a pivot to the left that put him flat on his
feet for a violent combination with a
killing uppercut that soothed the roar in
his head, reduced the blur in his vision,
sent the menacing shadow to the canvas
for the count then left him out on the
sidewalks working, breathing hard,
dancing and pivoting like a big circus
bear, punching the air on a cold
afternoon before wary passing
strangers who tried not to notice,
in a town far away!
uses courage,
throwing solid punches
without letup being famous
fighter.
Basher used to fight with all his might
Until he died, "poor thing".
He boxed four rounds and hit the ground
After taking one on the chin
From a boxer called Biff
Who made short thrift
Of anyone that he fought
He had a flair but didn't play fair
Like others thought, he ought
Basher was in a daze as on the canvas he laid
He realised he was over the hill.
He took a painful swallow
His stomach felt hollow
Trying to digest this bitter pill
Basher couldn't remember if it was in round three or four
He heard a bell
Was he going to Hell,
Or was he at Heavens door
The crowd roared
As Basher was floored and lay dying on the ground
No remorse expected of course as
A good time had all round
Never underestimate this opponent,
While he's busy rolling up his sleeves.
Though he looks like he isn't focused,
Soon you'll be falling to your knees.
I've watched him from a vague distance,
He visualizes every single, lethal blow.
In his mind's eye he quietly meditates,
Carefully strategizing how this fight'll go.
Like a pot about to boil over,
The rage deep inside him slowly grows.
He witnessed so much through horrific scenes,
A well kept secret no outsider knows.
He constantly replays this life's traumatic moments,
Holding back the painfully silent tears.
He'll never open up, to publically display,
Haunting memories inflicted over the years.
Although his mind and views are tainted,
Because of the situations beyond his control.
The Boxer's indestructible spirit is mighty,
Protecting his heart and shielding his soul.
Mohammad Ali,
a butterfly and a bee
is no more,
a unique figure
in the boxing field
the world has ever
seen and experienced
the world will remember forever.
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