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.