A Poem by Saint No-One

My grand-dad was a boxer,

Golden Gloves champ.

I always wanted to be like him

And I guess he never got that.


We were both fighters.

I brawled, bareknuckle,

In concrete dumps,

With roustabouts and runaways.


Till our eyes were black

And our knuckles dripped red,

Patched with filthy cloths

For raucous midnight conversations

In restaurants.


I went, on weekends,

Into the city

To find fists to call friends

And a place to call home.


I was a fighter,

But I was never like him.

I took on the world

And found my knuckles ground down.


I've broken my nose four times,

Each time reminded me of him.


My grand-dad was a soldier

And he's killed more men,

Women and children,

Than I have ever loved.


It's funny that when you get older,

You meet your heroes for the first time.

© 2013 Saint No-One

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register


when one learns who they really are and who they want to follow in there lives, they become whole.. nice work with poem.

Posted 5 Years Ago

I love seeing you grow through your poetry and how you learn more about yourself over the years. Well done.

Posted 5 Years Ago

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


2 Reviews
Added on August 18, 2013
Last Updated on August 18, 2013
Tags: hero, granddad, boxer, soldier, broken, fighter


Saint No-One
Saint No-One

Madera, CA

I am an artist, but my mind doesn't work the way I want it to. One day I'll be, washing myself with handsoap in a public bathroom, thinking how did I get here? Where the hell am I? more..

Maps Maps

A Poem by Saint No-One