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Naw, I’ve never written much poetry. But here is one poem I did write over a decade ago.

The Box

In the box there is safety;

There are limits; there is rest.

It is there the definitions

Make most sense from the box next.


Most folks choose a box for safety.

It gives clarity, clock and pay.

It is easy to describe

To other boxers along the way.


Location, status, title –

Especially for a man –

The box answers many questions.

It’s secure; it defines the plan.


Without a box to stay in

Others shudder at your state.

They will bring you lists of boxes

You might choose to ease your plight.


‘Tis a kindly thought from boxers

Who never contemplate the price

They have paid and pay for boxing.

Paid, but undernourished, in a box all seems nice.


Some boxes foster freedom;

They are big; have lots of space.

The owners of the boxes

Smile and watch; never in your face.


Some boxes are for lazies.

They may be small with lots of pay.

Simply stay in dim lit corners

And collect cheques at end of day.


Box owners cannot get it.

They can’t know with the worth, the light.

It’s not their box “Why chance it?”

Better leave the lid on tight.


But for some a box is cardboard.

Cardboard actions; cardboard thoughts.

Freedom lurks beyond the cardboard

Were undiscovered creativity knocks.


If you’re thinking about boxing

Consider carefully the cause.

Will it limit? Will it shape you?

Will it satisfy your God?


Maybe boxing’s not the answer.

Maybe cardboard’s lighter fare.

Maybe there is newness out there.

Maybe you were built for fresher air.


If you have a friend to cheer you,

If you can get beyond your bed,

And you need to try creating

Boxing will leave you numb or dead.


It’s not easy without an owner.

There are benefits cardboard brings.

Once you give up cardboard

The telephone seldom rings.


Outside the box – the pushing

All must start from within.

Your friends and partners help;

But alone you must begin.


It takes longer than expected.

Only He could take six days.

Others cannot understand you.

To them it all seems haze.


But if there is a burning,

If newness from the horizon calls

And no-one else can hear it,

In time the sound just falls.


What if you ignore the music

That inside so clearly chimes?

Will anyone else ever hear it?

Will it go undiscovered in time?


If all just stay in boxes

The cardboard will soften and rot.

Someone has to do new

Or the world is in quite a spot.


There are but two main seasons

When one considers out-of-box state.

At the start it seems so scary;

At the middle it seems too late.


There’s no good time to try it.

Having pushed the lid up once,

Hearing wind and storm and whispering

You forget freedom to become.


If horizon’s sound is money

Forget that pot of gold.

Illusion’s never worth it

Single notes will soon grow old.


But if the call is bigger

Magnificent, rich and true

You’d better move past boxes

And go find the real you.


There are days, and plenty of them

When boxing looks just fine.

But you’ve got to stay the course

Passing boxes walking your fine line.


The price one pays for boxes

For some is far too high.

The lids are quite oppressive

If you were made to reach for sky.


Get advice from the non-boxers.

Only they can understand.

It is their’s to lend you courage

Pointing out paths to horizon’s land.


When years become feeble

Life is spent and most days gone

Will you look back to trails of boxes

Saying the road now looks all wrong?


Perhaps you have to chance it.

Perhaps the tug is too strong.

Perhaps you can’t resist –

You have resisted far too long.


What is the worst that can happen

If you take the risk and fail?

At least you will have a story

And others will learn from your tale.


Will you leave this world enhanced

If you fail to dig down deep?

If you along with others

Choose a box just down the street?


There is nothing wrong with boxes.

At the end of the day

Most will stay within them

That is really quite okay.


To box or not to box?

The decision must come from within.

You must survey the options

Choose a course and then begin.


This poem’s yet unfinished

It requires a final thought.

But we’ll leave it open ended

Write the ending; that’s your spot.

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