Dobok
Cheap, creased cotton. White faded grey over years,
its loose embrace greets me like an old friend.
Crinkling cloth, zip’s rasp music to my ears.
A strip of black, with my rank on the end.
Balanced on the grubby floor. As one we bend,
chamber. Strike.
These are clothes for striking. But they can lend
a flexible structure. Now I can fight.
The words spill out, turning to smudges, smears.
I do not know where any lines should end.
No rhymes, no framework, paralysed by fear.
Determined, scratching, crumpling, I intend
to hem in my pen. Ballade. A new friend.
As one we bend, chamber, strike through, rhyme, redraft.
This is a form that restrains. It can lend
a flexible structure. Now I can write.
These twin constraints are a means to an end.
Not ruling, but focusing in the right
direction. Not dictators, instead friends.
Flexible structures. For me, it feels right.
(After all, a full ballade has three eight-line stanzas,
and a dobok can make a great set of pyjamas.)
About this piece
As you may be able to tell, I’m more of a prose person than a poet. This poem was borne out of my frustration around this, as, y’know, I’m a Creative Writing student, I kinda need to be able to write poetry. I eventually tried to approach it through the lens of something I’m actually good at, Taekwondo, realising that a lack of focus was tripping me up. In the same way that a dobok, the standard training uniform for Taekwondo, is a tool that shapes the way you move and fight, I found that employing poetic forms (in this case, ballade) similarly shaped and focused my writing.
About the author
J. Alexandria is a sci-fi and fantasy author who enjoys writing about themes of identity and powerlessness, and also how cool it is when large things explode. She can be contacted by email at j.alexandria.writer@gmail.com or by twitter @JAlexandria69.