Basement Sweat

Fifteen minutes
That’s about my attention span
For working out
These days

Especially on the weekends

So it’s off to the basement
For a quarter hour
With the kettle bells, bar, and plates
Swinging, pushing, and pulling

Weekend time is so quick

The end brings some sweat
Everything goes back in place
And it’s time to get these
Work free days going

After fifteen good minutes

Violence Begets

“They put the boots to her”

The story of a criminal justice major
Fresh from PSU
Assigned to go Jump Street
At a Delco high school
Way back in the 70s
When war, weed, and what’s it to ya
Were the fire for a daily dose of mischief and mayhem
From a burgeoning bunch of adolescent rejects
Who lit their Camel’s
In the public privacy of the boy’s room

Her job was to ferret out
The dealers, users, and slight of hand accomplices
That allowed for clogged toilets,
Graffitied walls and took advantage of one unfortunate
Road show attraction who was fire bombed
While he did his business in the wrong smoking lounge stall.
She looked the part of a high school kid
But her game was not too nuanced
So those Marple boys figured her as a narc
And dropped some graduate education on her

First they spat
Then they threw books
Finally, they put the boots to her
Nobody knew who brought the violence
Everyone knew better than to know
So the school continued on
With major modifications to the smoking policies
After the beating of the informant
Kids were no longer allowed
To light it up in the bathroom

The smoking areas were moved outside.

Problem solved.?.?

Push-Pull

I was
Lost in the zone
Where consciousness
Had left and serenity had
Found its stabilizing way into
My system for dead lifting

Up on the bar
Up so close bloody shins
Were a real possibility
I don’t rock
Long socks for protection
Any scrapes on my shins are
There to scare the box jump goblins away
“Stable midline, neutral spine
Grab the bar
Lock and lift”

All went well today
Standing up with weight
Lifted a spirit
Burned from the intensity
Of exercising
With the trauma inducing training mentality
Where success was measured in the accumulation
Of personal records at the expense of enjoyment

Once my inspiration for those external rewards waned
I stripped my ego of gigantic aspirations
And reassessed my motives,
Believing that success
Would reside in a new haven poured
On a foundation of proper position.
So
I practiced technique for months
While letting the grandiose thoughts of maxing
Fade into the impermanence
Of heavy training

The realization of which
Happened today
Under the tempting tease of
Wondering if I still had it.
Nope, I didn’t
Didn’t have the desire to go big
Just a want to be
Correct
Knowing the position…
Feeling alignment…
Being one with the bar,
And currying favor with Gravity
So that I might have that peaceful passage
With Challenge and Confidence
Into the life
That is the dead lift

Raison D’etre

Blessed days,
All of them should be,
Reach inside
Touching our very reason
For being

Bungled days,
None of them should be,
Gash insides
Revoking our very reason
For being

Today’s day
Is just the way it is
Waiting for my approval
As it has tickled my reason
For being

I approve…

Gio

Bombshell news reigning down
As I’m listening to Steely Dan
Tell me William and Mary won’t do
And I’m thinking about the first time we met
You were college cool
Dating my aunt
So you must have been cool
The years proved it to be so
Somehow you got me
My adolescent angst
But we drifted apart
Lives separated by distance
And the cruelties of life
I had heard things were going better for you
Mine too
Our cruelties being a release
To goodness and peace
As I wait news of your fate
Uncle of mine
I pray your peace lives on

Townies

No water, the streets clear
Just my dog and me
And the restaurant guys
Who are just hanging
With nothing to do

We walk along
His bounce a prance
The breeze in his face
Happiness through his posture
It’s great

Our little town
Is pretty cool
The old buildings
The shops
A great place for our family

The Old West

Tumbleweeds
Rolling through the halls
Of historic buildings
Absent of any life
No urban renewal
No philosophical reform
Only the strength
To jump ship
To run away
Leaving the building’s soul in limbo
The magic could return
Only if blind spots
Can be found
In the passing
Of the
Tumbleweeds