For the chop!

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With knuckles bunched and crossed in front,

With feet apart and manner so intense.

Faces expressionless, eyes open wide,

Waiting for the word to commence.

 

Their clothes ill-fitting, a rough sort of garb.

Not much to write home about,

A long coloured belt encircles the waist,

Long enough for the thin and the stout!

 

At last, a hissing word of command,

And, just like automons, they,

Lunge forward, in very precise order.

Legs and fists both flailing away.

 

They're a disciplined bunch, thank goodness!

And this is no fairy's tea party,

For they're the followers of a Japanese sport,

That's known to the world as Karate!

 

It's a very fascinating study.

Yet another great martial art.

Like aikido, kendo, judo and all,

But I wouldn't know just where to start!

 

As they get better their belt changes colour,

Through white, orange, red, up to black.

Each one is a potential killer,

So no one will ever give them the sack!

 

They can kill with a kick, or the blow of one hand.

There's no room for any slip or mistake.

I'd advise any enemy to give them wide berth.

They're certainly no piece of cake.

 

They'll probably not bless me for talking,

They'll not shower me with gratitude and thanks

But it's each to his own, that's what I say.

So keep cool and progress through the ranks.

 

I'm telling you all this because my grandson,

Has decided to become a Karate kid,

And my living room has become his tatami,

As, behind the settee, I am hid.

 

He lunges forward with front knee bent

His little fists are clenched

As he works through his martial routine

With sweat his brow is drenched!

 

Lunging here and circling there,

With foot and fist; expression bleak,

He suddenly stops, becomes human again,

And says, "I've got my grading next week!"

 

The boys in my class started long before me.

And I've got so much work to do.

One of them's yellow, the other is orange,

So I'm going to shoot up to blue!

 

In truth it's a very disciplined sport

And good for the young of today.

There are far too many young hooligans around,

And something's got to take their aggression away.

 

So if this action sport can take them on board

And channel their aggression with control

Then all power to their elbow as well as their feet.

And our country might get back on a roll.

 

 

by Ka Rarty

 

 

Dedicated to my grandson Sam, aged eight today, February 14th 2006.

 

Author: Trevor Durbidge   Copyright 2006 [TJD].   All rights reserved.    Revised: October 31, 2007 .

 

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