Since time immemorial, man has been consumed by blood lust. During periods of peace and plenty, this lust manifested into blood sports. We are all familiar with the Roman Coliseum. Others have pointed out the aristocratic past time of fox-hunting. In fact, most of us enjoy movies of men and beasts tearing each other apart. Perhaps, as spectators and not participants we seek to sterilise our guilt.
Blood sports continue to this day, from the bullfight arenas of Europe and South America to the cockfight and dogfight compounds of Africa and Asia.
Even in America, seasonal hunting permits are issued under the guise of wildlife management. They call it culling, a euphemism for killing.
However, let us not be so quick to condemn others. Let us look into the mirror.
Horrors! I see myself!
I too had indulged in blood sports – for pleasure and profit. Probably, so have you and even members of your family.
The Coliseum by Eric Alagan
Copyright @ 2011 by Eric Alagan
The trainer’s whispered instructions
Ringing
The gladiator, stared past eyes
Devoid
As the arena consumed him.
Bred for the kill, another day
Had dawned
For lives, his claws will snuff away
Perhaps
It’s time for his foe to prevail.
Sensing more than hearing the crowd
His name
They chanted, for gory scenes of
Sliced limbs
Of the fighter he’s tasked to kill.
In the ring, throwing disdain as
The throng
Thumped and cheered more, the crescendo
Followed
His eyes, his foe exuding fear.
He salutes, with sinewy arms
To strike
The delirious crowd, follows the
Killer
Blow promised them, with bated breath.
The combatants traced circles, probed
Weakness
To execute, a fatal blow
Deaf to
Uproar drowning exhortations.
Weapons clashed, limbs slashed, reddening
The sand
Till one dies, the screaming rabble
Jostles
And thrust, parry to louder dins.
The crowd clamouring mad for more
Money
Changed hands. The fatal combat raced,
To end
The opponent drops his arms, runs.
Thumbs down, the foe’s trainer enters
To crush
The loser, to feed the blood lust
Now spent
With winnings, the crowd melts away.
The winner licks his injuries
Gently
Scooped to his matchbox sanctuary
From leaves
He peeps, as the sky shuts above.
Smug with winnings in my pocket
I toss
My fighting spider, who reigns now
How long
I don’t know, but I’m jingling home.
Please click here for the eVersion > http://www.lcabooks.com/free-stuff
Hope you enjoy the read. Thank you, Eric
Great ending. ha ha ha. Competition in all forms!!
William
Hello William,
It might not be great verse but it touches our youth.
All the very best for the holidays,
Eric
I must say that you got me going until almost the end of the poem. Very well pulled off!
Thanks A Crown. Did you guys fight spiders in school?
I remember kiling my brother’s ‘champion’ spider.
Ouch! Another champion meets his fate.
What a nice trip down memory lane. Yes, I used to have fighting spiders too and we ‘fought’ our spiders in school – what fun!
Each generation of kids have their own spot of fun – we engaged in “blood sports”