JOHN BROWN of RINGSIDE


He chose his opportunities
To become strong, not weak
By pulling up his boot straps
He acquired the dreams trainers seek.

His personal goals of well being
Have never stood in the way
Of bringing out his boxer's best
No matter what others say.

His devotion has proven contagious
It's the brilliance of his kind
What you find within him
Is great character of mind.

With determination, he must live
For their life to be complete
With lots of love and family life
He triumphs, even in defeat.

He was raised to participate
Within his community
With his fellow men and women
He enriches life and liberty.

Boxing is a game of sport
Loved by all both tall and short.
Cheers and shouts shall fill the air
Far more than a circus or fair.

There's no substitute for winning
And no excuse for losing.
Though after fights, when he can't sleep
It's because of all the bruising.

The Greek and Roman athletes
Wore studs of iron on each hand
Beating and clawing each other
Like two tigers on the sand.

The English called it boxing first
To pound someone with your fist.
Mostly it was done for money
But sometimes by those just pissed.

Matches of the bare-knuckle days
Lasted fifty rounds or more
Till one man's towel would be thrown in
As he lay upon the floor.

Boxers now use soft leather gloves
With their hands wrapped in cotton.
Wearing a mouthpiece for teeth and lips
They fight like those forgotten.

If you hunger for possessions and fame
And have what it takes to stand tall.
Get ready for combat and say your prayers
And Give John Brown at Ringside a call.


By Boxing Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
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