Thursday, April 25, 2013
Illustration suggested by R.T.
Hi, Guro. This "poem" came to me this morning. I don't know why. It's actually a little embarrassing but I thought you may want to read it. I haven't written a poem in 15 years and even then they were English assignments. Please enjoy and try not to laugh too hard! I actually believe that nature is the best training hall. However, I tried to put into words what I thought of the Bothoan Batangas and thought you'd get a kick out of it.
Unassuming, I walk through the door
a child among warriors.
Thundering beats greet my ears. Rhythmic sounds from far away lands.
Pipe tobacco. An all familiar smell. Welcoming.
Thinly carpeted floors protects the earth, not me.
Walls of heavy wood. A strong core. Never damaged. Never breaking.
Weapons of war hang from these walls. Where are they from?
They beg to clash steel and cut flesh just once more.
Flags of journeys.
Pictures of Masters. Inspiration. Aspiration. Honor. Deadly. Teachers.
Ricky walks through the door. Wine seeps into the earth for a fallen brother.
A baston tree built lazily in the corner. Be lazy.
The demon dog stares me down. Make sure you belong.
Armor that does not protect constantly falling.
Windows covered for there are secrets here.
A Batangas knife spins and flashes here.
Wooden pain swings and tick-bangs here.
hard, locking, breaking here.
Slow and smooth and fast
a Tiger lives here.
He shows me the Way.