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An after dark refuge for the boredom

of wild lads, that would otherwise turn bad.

Hitting the pads they came to understand routine

know what discipline means, when told to break.


Rocky music raised the pulse here,

as boxers, not dead-beats skipped to the beat

of aspirations.


Hard work, bumps and bruises

came their way; a little blood as well.

A few found their calling; most

found self respect to be the greatest prize.


Lessons learned in a hard knock life

by lads now grown, mostly

with their heads on straight. 


But that was then; 

Condemned now, this place has become

a boarded-up building empty of hope,


one less place to go and repeated

everywhere!  With time to kill

wild lads now spill, from darker corners

as heavier blows land upon frailer chins.


What ‘did’ we expect?


This new lot can’t box smart.

We haven’t given them the tools.

They’re hitting out, blinded

to the damage being done

by cuts they cannot see...


This wont end well





Note; not part of anything to do with the Olympics - timing is just coincidental.

◄ 'ThePoetry Spoke' July Open floor & Guests.

Wirral Ode Show Open Mic August- plus poetry filming. ►


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Jeff Dawson

Sat 18th Aug 2012 01:03

Think this seems to be the way with a lot of things Chris, well written though to demonstrate the plight.

Thanx for comment on my 'Why dont you get a life' poem. Glad you like it, I am looking forward to performing it, it's my kind of live piece to perform. Cant say as I'm familiar with much of Betjemans stuff Chris but its nice to be mentioned in such circles! Cheers Jeff

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Harry O'Neill

Wed 1st Aug 2012 12:52

Ah memories! The old Gordon Institute, thethe smell of the embrocation...the blood (mine)after being whacked continually on the nose. Tons of enthusiasm - no skill...never even considered for the team...Nights at Bixteth street Stadium with my dad and his docker mates...Bill Carroll (the lumberjack) being felled by a blow from `Impervious` Joe Hyams - and the solitary cry of `timber!` from the back as he crumpled to the floor. `Mugs Alley`(what a place that old stadium was!)

The key word in the poem is `discipline` The end after `expect?` says it all: The `blinded`the `damage` the results of the `cuts` and the fact that it`s as clear as A.B.C. (Amateur Boxing Club.)

I like the generational implication behind your`We haven`t given them the tools`

Good poem.

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