On the third day of National Poetry Month, I have a littlie poem about martial practice. When I was into iaijutsu, it was peaceful doing the various katas with the sword. I never got really good at them, my ego and focus wasn't there, but I still enjoyed it greatly. Except for, you know, when I sliced open my hand on my sword.

Spin, Drop, Slice

step forward

no, that lets me vulnerable
exposed on the side
open in the front and back
think, damn you, pretend

spear danced on my palms
a wide circle of death

no, too high
bring it down
they can strike low

come around, drop it down
bring the blade up from the right
only graze the ground

too slow
not real enough

two hands on the sweaty haft
ready to strike
slash hard and fast
aim for the imaginary throat

victory

My “natural” type of poetry is free verse but the stanzas have a tendency to have the patterns and limitations. In this case, I wrote an interspersed set of stanzas going from four lines to one with the second set in an opposite direction.