Blood Sacrifice
The roar of the crowd
creates its own violent
poetry,
magnifying future pain
into a blood lust,
its hard edge
more than a mother could bear at times.
Its heart beats faster
as the football
is launched and won,
carried like a communion loaf,
flawlessly,
swiftly
toward redemption.
Prompt words are hard edge, beat, magnifying, football. Image by Dave Adamson on Unsplash.
“The Colosseum was used for entertainment for 390 years. During this time, more than 400,000 people died inside its amphitheater. It’s also estimated that about 1,000,000 animals died in the Colosseum as well.
Modern Day Gladiators
Violence is integral in our enjoyment
of various genres of sportive employment.
Boxing and football are tops of their ilk,
wherein bloodshed and violence are mother’s milk.
It doesn’t take hindsight. Who couldn’t guess
that among all that brutal and terrible mess
of scrimmage and tackling and hitting and pounding
there wouldn’t be bone-breaking injuries abounding?
What is it in us that loves and enjoys
for mothers to sacrifice beautiful boys
for the vicarious pleasure of stove-up old men
who bask in the light of what they might have been?
Dressed up with cheerleaders, bands and cold beer,
hot dogs and ice cream and the wild cheer,
we’re convinced it is festive, patriotic and fun,
then shake our heads sadly when injury is done.
Today college bigwigs and corporate scions
don’t fill colosseums with Christians and lions,
yet they send players to slaughter for our amusement,
and the logic of this is a source of bemusement
to rational humans who see the results
of blood sport on players—kids or adults
assigned to give glory to parents, team, country.
Their brutal sacrifice seems an effrontery.
Here is another post I did on statistics regarding football-related injuries and deaths: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2019/02/03/some-statistics-on-football-related-injuries-and-deaths/
The prompt words today are gridiron, integral. tricky and hindsight.
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/03/rdp-sunday-gridiron/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/02/integral/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/03/your-daily-word-prompt-tricky-february-3-2019/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/03/fowc-with-fandango-hindsight/
Image downloaded from Internet.
Remember Walter Palmer, the dentist who shot Cecil, the lion lured out of a game park in Tanzania in 2015? This is a poem I wrote and dedicated to him at the time. I was wondering how he is doing now and if he ever had the nerve to mount Cecil’s head in his trophy room, so checked up on him again via the link above. I dedicate this poem again to him and to all who profit from the spilling of blood in sport, be it war games or other blood sport.
In the Blood!!!
(Dedicated to Walter Palmer)
Don’t you just love football—the running and the tackling?
The sounds of hamstrings pulling and the crunch of femurs crackling?
We sit up in the bleachers eating hot dogs, drinking beer,
comfortably viewing blood sport—the kind we hold so dear.
Aren’t dogfights lovely–the growling and the whining?
Too bad they aren’t more elite, so we could watch while dining.
So amusing watching canines being dished their due.
Dying is so entertaining when it isn’t you!
Better still are bullfights, though they’re few and far between.
The bull so lithe and dangerous, the matador so lean.
The best part of the sport is that the dying is so slow.
I feel its thrill suffuse me from my head down to my toe.
We adore big game hunting in such exotic lands–
our chance to prove our manliness with our own two hands–
handing over money to those trackers in the know
who guarantee an easy kill with rifle or with bow.
Easy on the hunter, but not the animal,
for just because he’s hit the prey’s not guaranteed to fall.
We get more for our money if he’s hard to track,
and war games are more pleasant when one’s foe doesn’t shoot back!
All these minor titillations just a prelude to
the main event and the most major way of counting coup.
Once all the good old boys are finding life is just a bore,
they round up all the younger men and send them off to war.
See how the valiant struggle, see their stripes and purple hearts–
apt pay for missing arms and legs and other blown off parts.
Lucky to be home at last and lucky to be living–
the products of that blood sport that just somehow keeps on giving.
The Daily Addictions prompt for today is dedicate.
In the Blood!!!
Don’t you just love football—the running and the tackling?
The sounds of hamstrings pulling and the crunch of femurs crackling?
We sit up in the bleachers eating hot dogs, drinking beer,
comfortably viewing blood sport—the kind we hold so dear.
Aren’t dogfights lovely–the growling and the whining?
Too bad they aren’t more elite, so we could watch while dining.
So amusing watching canines being dished their due.
Dying is so entertaining when it isn’t you!
Better still are bullfights, though they’re few and far between.
The bull so lithe and dangerous, the matador so lean.
The best part of the sport is that the dying is so slow.
I feel its thrill suffuse me from my head down to my toe.
We adore big game hunting in such exotic lands–
our chance to prove our manliness with our own two hands–
handing over money to those trackers in the know
who guarantee an easy kill with rifle or with bow.
Easy on the hunter, but not the animal,
for just because he’s hit the prey’s not guaranteed to fall.
We get more for our money if he’s hard to track,
and war games are more pleasant when one’s foe doesn’t shoot back!
All these minor titillations just a prelude to
the main event and the most major way of counting coup.
Once all the good old boys are finding life is just a bore,
they round up all the younger men and send them off to war.
See how the valiant struggle, see their stripes and purple hearts–
apt pay for missing arms and legs and other blown off parts.
Lucky to be home at last and lucky to be living–
the products of that blood sport that just somehow keeps on giving
Repost of a poem from 3 1/2 years ago. Crocodile photo new! More to follow. The prompt today is entertain.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 