This is a tale that's hard to tell,

Of a man who won and one who fell,

Fifteen rounds of blood and sweat,

They'll always talk of when they met,

Introducing Jim Vandon,

He's defending champion,

Never known to lose a fight,

Maybe, this won't be his night

In the other corner, looking keen,

Tight, muscled skin a healthy sheen,

He thinks, today will be his day,

The Championship not far away,

His name's Bri Daniel, remember it,

He feels impatient, fighting fit,

Let there be silence, let light be low,

Any second now, the bell will go.  

Round 1

 They come out quickly, don't hesitate,

For there's no fear to make them wait,

Jabbing, feinting to the right,

It looks like being a good, hard fight,

They're cautious,

They take no chance of being caught,

By sucker punch,, they've both been taught,

Three straight lefts hit Vandon's chin,

He'd better remember who's champion,

He answers back with swift reply,

A cutting right to Daniel's eye,

They're pulling close, they're in a clinch,

Both men punch, but neither clinch,

They're bodies tuned to take the hell,

A short respite, for there's the bell.  

Round 2

Daniel's eye is looking good,

Not a sign of cut, or blood,

Neither man looks worse for wear,

But each man looks for sign of tear,

They circle, swerve, and slip the blow,

The audience feels the tension grow,

Vandon feints to Daniel's head,

But hits him under heart instead,

On the ropes, it's Daniel's turn,

Two lefts, a right, from fists that burn,

With muscles taut, he follows up,

With fearsome, deadly, upper cut.

Vandon down! He's got till ten,

To get back on his feet again,

This time lucky, all is well,

Thank God, the end of Round Two, bell,  

Round 3

Vandon's 'seconds' do their stuff,

Let's hope their work is good enough,

Both men quickly coming out,

Eager to continue bout,

Daniel wants to get it done,

Can't wait to be the champion,

Experience is Vandons ace,

He shifts the gear to slacker pace,

He makes Bri Daniel give his best,

And takes advantage of the rest,

If Vandon is to stick his ground,

He has to force a slower round,

But Daniels wants to win the Crown,

He wants to see his man go down,

He sets himself ferociously,

Too late, the finish of Round Three,  

Round 4

They're hitting hard, straight from the bell,

Who will win? It's hard to tell,

Vandons recovered, he's looking great,

Both consumed with driving hate,

They hit at body, face and air,

They often find no target there,

They want to hit, to hurt, to kill,

To over-ride the others will,

A driving right to Daniels head,

Accumulative punches land like lead,

Vandon thinks, "It's in the can",

But underestimates his man,

Retaliating, hitting hard,

Like cross-bow bolt through Vandons guard,

Surely they can't give much more,

No one heard the bell for Four. 

Round 5

Both men tactically sound,

Neither gaining any ground,

Daniels hits out with a roar,

Vandons gumshield hit's the floor,

He spits out teeth and salty blood,

Determined now, lets forth a flood,

Of cracking blows to Daniels chin,

That makes him reel, his senses spin,

Both men clinch, and hold, and shove,

Sweat drips from body, face, and glove,

They hardly stand but know they must,

The stakes too high to 'bite the dust,

T.V. cameras, recording live,

The closing scenes of Battle Five,

They're one third through and neither man,

Has managed to gain the upper hand.  

Round 6

Vandons running out of time,

No longer young, beyond his prime,

With stiffened limbs and aching joints,

He tries to gain those needed points,

Like robots standing toe to toe,

Swapping blow for stinging blow,

Two brave men who stand the test,

By giving us their very best,

With arms held high,and legs slightly bent,

Daniel still looks confident,

Forward, back, from side to side,

For neither man an easy ride,

To stand or fall, what will it be,

Both men need the victory,

Defeat's a word they'd both reject,

As each round gains them more respect.  

Round 7

They both come out, refreshed, rubbed down,

Determined to win, or retain, the crown,

They're both aware it'll be no cinch,

But neither prepared to give an inch,

Attempting to gain the maximum ground,

Trained to fight for every round,

Their fists a blur as muscles tense,

To take new onslaughts in defence,

Daniels brow has opened wide,

The target must be Vandons guide,

If it opens up, they'll stop the fight,

Then, it will be Vandons night,

Daniel feints and pulls apart,

He may lose blood but never heart,

He's noticed Vandons tiring fast,

He's looking beat, he'll never last.  

Round 8

Bruised and battered, broken nose,

Looking bad but still on toes,

Two lefts to body, a right to chin,

Vandon manages sickly grin,

This onslaught brings a swift reply,

With fists too fast for human eye,

Left hook, right cross, left hook again,

The eyes can't hide the searing pain,

As heads crack hard, they move apart,

They shuffle to their beating hearts,

The crowd, with unfeeling, hysterical delight,

Scream, "Kill him" or "More" or "Stop the fight",

The contenders cannot hear the noise,

For they can only hear one voice,

A nagging sound, deep in their soul,

That promise each his chosen goal.  

Round 9

They both fly out they cannot wait,

To continue the gruelling, fisted debate,

Eyes set hard, their nostrils flare,

As deathly quiet hits the air,

The audience sees the challenge met,

Neither man is beaten yet,

Daniel tries to wear Jim down,

But Vandon clings, like death to crown,

He throws a right with all his strength,,

Reaching arms, extended length,

Chin and knuckle meet as one,

A fusion, like atomic bomb,

Canvas caresses Daniels weight,

The ref starts counting, reaches eight,

The bell rings loud, delays the chance,

Of seeing Vandons victory dance. 

Round 10

Fisted antennae, feeling their way,

Like young and old oaks, they gently sway,

With tentative jabs, they circle and close,

Ready and waiting for telegraphed blows,

The referee watches and scores the points,

As aches touch the roots of overworked joints,

Daniels is first to continue the duel,

His lungs thrust forward, throwing both knuckled hands,

Throws caution to wind, doesn't care where they land,

His elbows are wide, leaving gaps in defence,

Vandons not slow to seize on his chance,

He feints with his left, to put Daniel off guard,

Then lets loose with a right, that a bull would regard,

Bri staggers and gasps, he's fighting for breath,

But the bell, once more, saves the champions death.  

Round 11

Like loving friends who long to meet,

They rush, embrace, with shuffling feet,

Both men squint through sweat filled eye,

Neither's run resources dry,

Leathered glove whips Vandons nose,

A trickle of blood and then it flows,

His solar plexis takes the next,

He fights for breath and starts to retch,

He covers up and pedals back,

His nose won't take one more attack,

The Bell, to lick his wounds, he needed time,

The adrenalin, he had to prime,

His "second" cauterises nose,

To regain wind, forced head to toes.  

Round 12

Two trains completing collision course,

Couldn't have met with greater force,

They waste no time, they've none to spare,

Only the audience can sit and stare,

Three lefts to chest, then two to head,

A mighty right, and eye flows red,

Bri staggers back to search for space,

Sweat-weakened blood streaked agonised face,

A loaded right on rugged chin,

His vision blurs, his senses spin,

He covers up, protects his head,

Incessant blows turn white skin red,

In staying power he must excel,

He knows it's very near the bell,

There's the gong to save the fight,

Half carried, he stumbles, to much needed respite.  

Round 13

Though they've both given of their best,

They both look better for a rest,

Vaseline on puffy face,

They come out to continue pace,

Bolo, upper -cut or jab,

All opportunities they grab,

To gain the points that win the fight,

To make their victory come in sight,

Now the blood flows everywhere,

In eyes, on gloves and stuck to hair,

Vandon springs and lashes out,

Almost a climax to a classic bout,

They hit, they pummel, chop and beat,

Like butchers, tenderising meat,

They're still erect and on their toes,

Still hitting hard, right to the close.  

Round 14

The audience quiet, there's hardly a word,

They're all well aware of the respect that is shared,

By these noble contenders, of world-wide renown,

Fighting like hell for intangible crown,

Each greets his opponent with explosive delight,

Both trying to prove their superior might,

Vandon's back-pedaling, but not though defeat,

He's biding his time, the next onslaught he'll meet,

He lets loose with a hook, only fractions too wide,

But the miss costs him time, time he'll maybe regret,

Time to give Daniel a chance to get set,

With co-ordinated beauty, every ounce of his weight,

Lashes at Vandon, like a whip filled with hate,

But Vandon recovers, the danger is past,

Next it's the big one,The Fifteenth, the last.  

Round 15

The bell has rung, the fifteenth starts,

No time now for faint of heart,

They use the ring, they search for space,

Breathing deep, they quicken pace,

Vandon rips through Daniels guard,

He hits and hits, good and hard,

He gives it everything he's got,

And doesn't miss the smallest spot,

Daniel takes it on the chin,

It looks a certain Vandon win,

But Daniels ribs were heard to crack,

As Vandon fell flat on his back,

The fight is won, the blood is shed,

The mighty Vandon, lays there dead,

The victor, Daniel, worn out and tired,

Just lay there, like a child and cried.

 

 

Resting In Peace 1947 - 2009 By Chris Dawber

I lay here, beneath the soft, waved, silken soil, Alive seeing nothing, now dead, seeing all.   I see air, it's blue, it really is, Why now, for the first time, do I see this?   Contrasting, kaleidoscopic scene, Only now, that I've gone, knowing where I've been.   Compacted mud and wood can't hide, The wonders I've perceived, since I've died.