Ruby Adagio

With ballerina elegance,
Ruby banishes the brilliance of lesser champions.
She doesn’t blast her opponent’s shots into plywood,
like a crude assassin,
her equivalent of a knockout blow
is as gentle as the valet parking of a vintage Rolls.
As nonchalantly as a child skimming stones across a pond,
she nudges resting touchers into the oblivion of the ditch.

Ruby’s admiration for her adversary’s finest moments
and respectful silence during their botched attempts at glory,
are as legendary as her invincibility.
Others pursue victory, Ruby chases beauty.

The glimmer in the tropical depths of her eyes intensifies
as she sends another shimmering, sailing ship embossed, bowl
arcing across a youthful summer green,
with impossible precision.

 

 

 

Photo

Inglewood Lawn Bowling Club, by Bill Longstaff

www.flickr.com/photos/57766598

Some rights reserved, you must acknowledge the author, provide a link to the license and indicate if changes were made. If you alter this work you must distribute your contribution under the same license as the original. You must not restrict others from doing anything the license permits. For further information use the link above.

 

Rambo Knievel

Rambo thinks I’ve got an unnatural fixation
on boring work, health and safety legislation.
I loathe that crazy braggarts sick insinuation
leaping into lakes, from supersonic sidecars,
seconds from organ splattering annihilation,
is the perfect perforation of peaceful paradise.
Risking lacerated limbs and a leaking spleen
is not my means of creating a thrilling scene.
There is no withering of life’s bountiful fruits
in dodging Knievel’s spine shattering pursuits.
I’d rather wander life’s labyrinth with wretches
seeking asylum from illness in acres of sketches,
or lose myself in psychedelic swirls,
orbiting tribes of buxom Goddesses
playing hide and seek in pools of pearls.

It’s usually those riddled with dementia,
who fail to see my craving for adventure.
Adventure minus a tailbone through the brain
risk of parachuting off the Eiffel Tower again.

 

 

 

Photo

Passion Fest MTX 9, by Ken Brynan

Ken Brynan

www.flickr.com/photos/kenbrynan/749733825

Some rights are reserved, you must acknowledge the author, provide a link to the license and indicate if changes were made. If you modify this work you are not allowed to distribute it. You must not prevent others from using it according to the license. For further information use the link above.

The Man, The Mouth

Marcellus Black Magic Ellis,
Jed Jedi Jameson wants to fight you again.

Paul, that unco loser fights like an orangutan!
The Ellis/Jedi training camp would be as ace
as a submarine soaring into outer space.
Shaggy men of the forest would give chase,
their gangly arms thrashing about the place.
To those wild orange dudes we gotta be fair,
the Black Magic Man would be bustin moves
Allah would have trouble teaching to Estaire.

Is that so?
Tell me about your training camp
for the Benny Bulldozer Beane bout.

Paul, first I wanna tellya-bout ‘The Black Superman Plan.’

Your latest album?

Yeah, the title track goes like this.
Beane fancied himself a master tactician,
but couldn’t land leather on this magician.
His corner men found it super frightening,
how my flashy flurries laughed at lightning.
The wounded Benny Beane went berserk
with pile driving jabs and fancy footwork,
but this hip hop dancing pugilist Ghost
made him look as agile as a fence post,
and killed the myth of a stoush he’ll shirk.

I’m a boxer who has held on to my health
against men who made Satan shit himself.
It’s comical repartee coupled with fistic fury
that convinces every expert square ring jury
I fight flabby taste testers from the brewery,
but my flurry-combination compositions
have destroyed great warriors ambitions.
The hapless Himey Hydrogen Bomb Heller
told Fight News he’d be the victorious fella
The one time he landed flush I didn’t flinch,
dodging his ton per square inch was a cinch!

Marcellus, where was I?
Ah your training camp,
for the Benny Bulldozer Beane bout,
what can you tell me about it?

After vintage victories
over Harold Hand Grenade Hodgkins,
Con Catapult Compton and Kane Krakatoa Krane
I needed a sparring partner that makes
head butting supersonic flails look free of pain.
I would’ve beat Beane if I’d sparred for just one day
but so my rep as the best in the galaxy wouldn’t fray,
I made fun of the diabolical Brutus Adonis Atilla Hun.
I said he couldn’t knock me out with an elephant gun.
Brutus drove over from Albany to go toe to toe.
He imagined the accelerator was my pretty face
as he passed Mark Webber on the Nullarbor bro.
He’s hell mean, he shaves with a machete
and cuts his finger nails with a guillotine.
He played pin the razor blade on the piranha,
in a wading pool, before he’d seen inside a pre-school.

Marcellus, I’ve heard Brutus is
a more ferocious version of a young Mike Tyson.
What else can you tell me about
the only Catholic in the world
with Atilla as his confirmation name?
To ordinary men Brutus is scarier than an ogre
with woolly mammoth tusks for body piercings.
The Delai Lama says ‘facing Brutus is real bad karma,
he has the power in both hands to slam dunk a shot put,
while weighed down by Henry the Eighth’s suit of armor.’
Legend has it he once fought a dragon bare knuckle,
that he cantered to the ring without an uneasy blink,
and made that fire breathing, bunyip snacking,
winged goanna look like a cowardly, unco skink.

Marcellus, according to the Daily Telegraph,
Brutus was attacked by a whale
and he left it sucking plankton through a straw, for a month.
Why aren’t you afraid of him?

Paul, before I gave that dude a boxing lesson
my Dad told me Brutus Adonis Atilla Hun
is as dangerous as a chainsaw fight,
on a barbed wire fence.
He said ‘I’d rather you try to out ski an avalanche,
while wearing scorpions for ear rings,
than spar this bloke.
For some resistance training is
dragging a tyre around a football field.
Brutus Adonis Atilla Hun ties himself to a rubber dinghy
with a sumo wrestler in it
and runs backwards, across the Kalahari Desert.
His heavy bag has its own carriage on a freight train.
It was lowered into Camp Marcellus Ellis by crane.
After a round with Brutus Hercules Hun
I was expected to be rubble.
The dude stabs crazed hornet swarms
with his thorny stubble.

Marcellus, I heard you baffled this behemoth.
I gave Brutus an induction into my hall of destruction,
goaded that mammoth monster into pugilistic mania,
he tried to wreak more havoc than Dracula in Romania.
Black Superman’s golden gloves exiled him to Tasmania.
In the last round I used his head for a bongo drum
while I read the sports pages.

Marcellus look, Brutus is here.
Paul, I’ve got to answer an ultra-confidential call.
That bomb proof chamber looks private enough.

Marcellus, he mentioned a catch weight
and living in a sauna.
Brutus claims he’ll still be as dangerous
as Jurassic mega fauna.

I was just offered two hundred million
to lead a celebrity boxercise class at Wembley Stadium.

Didn’t you say your phone battery is dead?
I’m kidding, point me towards the dotted line.
With both hands I’ll strike him like a land mine.