poetry in motion

he dabbled in poetry.  they were amateurish, sort of, and his verses were simple but they connect and they communicate and amuse which is what poems are supposed to do.  most of his verses were about himself and his craft and about the persons he gets to tangle with. or, box with.

for, he was a boxer.

and he gets to be inside the boxing "ring" which is of course a squared arena fenced  in with ropes where he and his opponent hit each other with gloved fists until the better man triumphs.

before him, the sport of boxing was mostly about physical power and sheer violence.  boxing was most times two gladiators with tensed muscles and strained physiques raining devastating blows at each other, toe-to-toe, till one body succumbs to the fatigue, the hurt, and the humiliation of defeat.

he changed all that.

for he was a poet.  a poet in motion.  as one of his verses declared, he

stung like a bee,

floated like a butterfly ... 

atop the square ring, he danced; he showed spectators that boxers are not all brawn, but, they have brains as well; that boxing can be a "thinking" sport, that physical power and sheer violence can be overwhelmed by strategy and planning, by grace in movement, by poetry in motion.     

he always declared he is The Greatest. his boxing feats in world heavyweight division will attest to this.  yet, many say that his greatness even lies outside the boxing world.  he has become an icon, especially for the colored man, for he has shown that one can rise beyond the pigmentation of one's skin, if one can will himself to do so.  as he did.

he is gone now. he died June 3.

Muhammad Ali.  

so long .. tonight i will relive the pinpoint jabs, 

the Ali shuffle, 

the gladiator's smile, 

the rope-a-dope,

the poet in motion ...

before May ends ...

i was looking out my window and i realized it is almost the end of May.  i remembered having heard a tv newscaster announce that the weather bureau had already officially declared that the rainy season has now begun.  it is true, the rains had indeed come more often than before and their duration had been longer.  the sweltering heat and dryness of summer would soon be replaced by the cold and wetness of the rainy season.

i can still hear the complaints and the rants and even the curses of people who have been discomforted by the hot summer months. and yet, i know, there will also be complaints and rants and curses as soon as the rainy months kick in.  this early, there was this occasion of rain where the volume of water delivered caused flash floods in many areas.

The season has many facets.  here, in my corner of the globe, it is either summer or rainy season.  in other places, it is interchangeably winter, spring, summer, and autumn.  each brings its own challenges and color to people's lives.

the Sages and Wise Men admonish us -- whatever season we find ourselves in, we must seek joy, specifically, inner happiness.  we must find contentment.  one must not wallow in the discomfort that the season brings but rather strive to recognize the brightest colors of that season whatever shades they may be, feel the energy it offers, accept the liveliness of being it doles out, see its own beauty, listen to its unique song.

for, Life is like this.  countless are its facets.  it will offer us many ways to live.

what is certain is, no matter the way of living we are in, Inward Joy must be our lot. 

let us find the Secret Smile of the Infinite.  this is inside each of us.

before May ends, when the Sun is up and burns the paved road, i will stand by the roadside and let the  heat slide over my skin, and cause me to sweat and soak my shirt, and parch my throat and make me thirst;  i will watch the dust rise up, i will feel the dry wind singe the slender spears of grass and the green leaves of the mango tree and make brittle its branches; and i will listen to the songs of the brown rice birds ...

for Life will be different after May ends ... the rains will bring a different life ..

in the garden, humming honey

it's  already 5:30 in the afternoon and the sun has slowly turned golden in the west, about to tuck her rays here in my corner of the globe, but still, the heat was very palpable and heavy on the the skin. no wind whispered among the green and brown of the plants i was watering.  no spectator birds either on my rooftops. no bird songs to amuse me this quiet afternoon. a tinge of loneliness surged in my heart.  i concluded my watering and watched as the last silver droplet fell down from the water hose.  it was unusually big and it hit a tiny white flower brushing my knee.  it's weight caused the flower to fall to the wet pebbles by my feet --

 " oh so sorry, little one, " i whispered to the little flower, " how careless of me!  " 

-- but i know the Infinite decides when one's time is up.

i stood silent, alone, there in my wife's garden. i have learned over the years, when melancholy hits you, just let it be, and be aware of your heart, close your eyes and watch steadfast inside, and let the inner ears listen ...

suddenly, I remembered this song by Bobby Goldsboro -- Honey -- one of the most poignant love songs I ever heard in English.  i hummed it and let my eyes become wet.  i don't know if the songwriter, Bobby Russell, just made up the story inside the song, but it sure made this afternoon sadder ... here are its lyrics ....

See the tree how big it's grown
But friend it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big.
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it
Was just a twig
Then the first snow came
And she ran out to brush the snow away
So it wouldn't die
Came runnin' in all excited
Slipped and almost hurt herself
And I laughed 'til I cried
She was always young at heart
Kinda dumb and kinda smart
And I loved her so
And I surprised her with a puppy
Kept me up all Christmas Eve
Two years ago
And it would sure embarass her
When I came in from workin' late
'Cause I would know
That she'd been sittin' there and cryin'
Over some sad and silly
Late, late show

And Honey I miss you
And I'm being good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could

She wrecked the car and she was sad
And so afraid that I'd be mad
But what the heck
Though I pretended hard to be
Guess you could say she saw through me
And hugged my neck
I came home unexpectedly
And caught her cryin' needlesly
In the middle of the day
And it was in the early Spring
When flowers bloom and Robins sing
She went away

One day while I was not at home
While she was there and all alone
The angels came
Now all I have is memories
Of Honey and I wake up nights
And call her name
Now my life's an empty stage
Where Honey lived and Honey played
And love grew up
And a small cloud passes over head
And cries down on the flower bed
That Honey loved
And see the tree how big it's grown
But friend, it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it
Was just a twig

http://youtu.be/ShAkerGftoU

i coiled the water hose and tucked it away. the golden sun still has not fully tucked away her rays and when i looked up they still lit a small cloud passing overhead ..

ah, melancholy ...