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Traditional Martial Arts Poems                           


The moan in the Dojo which grows
With the years
Is not the floorboards relaxing,
But the Samurai warrior returning
To sit in the silence he knew.

His footstep has stopped
And his stance stayed.
His hands have long emptied their
Power to puncture.
That ruled his right over routing the raid

His face fades
And sleeps like the Buddha.
For the Warrior needs none
Of the Ways of the war
As a Warrior won

He needs no Kiai to prove his point,
Or push his place into the sun
His nothingness once Is something today
That speaks with the Sensei
To show the Way of Karate.




DOJO (Haiku)

Hidden mountain waterfall
Gushing iciness
Crisp and clear
White-robed gentlemen
Practice in silence
Their movements natural
As the landscape
Around them
The birds and beasts
Gather to watch
Smiling they turn
And bow to the wildlife
Which to their surprise
Bow back.