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Karate Kid
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Karate Kid |
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alphapendragon Junior Member
since 2009-06-23
Posts 15NY, USA |
Puberty was tamed by Ninja magazines, and pain. The breaking board would absorb the aim, from relentless punches, and crunches. Mystical ideas of being a warrior and samurai, blended with the soreness from jujitsu classes. When worlds collide, on Nevins Street and Flatbush Avenue, was a like an everyday boot camp for serious trainers. I still can remember reciting the constant salutation before class. It runs through my head like a yogic mantra. "We give courtesy to Grand Professor V. Sokie little John Davis, and Professor Moses Powel." I can still see Professor Moses Powell, the gigantic black Olmec and Master teacher. His bow legs seemed to lean like unleveled buildings, and arms strong enough to break a giant in half. Roll outs, free falls, basic four wall block, and the stretch masters. I was like my idle. Jean Claude Van Dame. My Mr. Miyagi was Prof. Osie, who was the youngest and most powerful sensei on that side of Brooklyn. My love for martial arts made me a late bloomer to hip hop, and the streets. I felt like the character Ryu from street fighter, surrounded by dope boys, and stick up kids. Before weed and cigarettes, before sex and bear, there's was just my father’s excitement, and my passion to be Ninja Master. When my father died, so did the mysticism I felt for karate. I was only 14, and a year after my dad died, I found myself smoking weed. Forever withdrawn from my love for shadow boxing with imaginary opponents. I only saw the dragons, in my mind after my first kiss, with a nickel bag of trees. |
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