WWW Editorials

340 Syllables – 20 Haikus and the GWE

When I actually turned in my GWE ballot, I noticed there were spots to defend our choices and give match recommendations. I was completely unprepared for this. I like to think I have deep opinions and thoughts about wrestling, and I like to think I’m not terrible at writing about it, but I’ve never been someone particularly able to defend my choices or argue or change someone else’s mind. I suppose I’ll have to at some point in this process.

That being said, that point is not going to be today. I’m still not ready for that. Instead, I’ve decided to write a haiku for each of my top twenty choices. Poetry was actually what I went to school for, and until taking this opportunity, I’ve never really tried to write much that wasn’t in verse. I had this idea and wanted to see if the worlds tied together in any meaningful way. I chose haiku because I think its actually a perfect form to represent wrestling: it’s rigid in form and inherently simplistic, but within said form it can reach a depth that can only be realized upon study. Even the meter of it in some ways mimics the three count of a wrestling match, or even the usual build and transitions of a basic match.

Anyway, you can view my GWE list here if you’d like. I’ve chosen to not put names, just numbers. You may find it fun to guess who is who. Some are pretty easy, I would imagine. I hope you enjoy. I can do the rest of my list if you ask me nicely on Twitter.


There’s something tender

in the way he holds the hand

of that midget bird.


a branding iron

a man, middle aged, crazy

terrible moonsault


the best in the world

smirking, he stares down the ref

he has until five.


holy fucking shit

i just witnessed a murder

via lariat


a child approaches

blood clashes with silver mask

the height of his dive


rolex watch wearing…

(a high pitched exhalation)

limozeen riding…


stoic, clad in green

his eyes portray pain, and pride

the crowd chants his name


Ever the Playboy:

“two hundred seventeen” pounds,

TV with his dogs.


pictured with a cigar

always. In my mind he was

the smartest person.


Against Chicana

in that match in 89

I thought it was real.


Weird, lumpy body

punch chop punch chop punch chop punch

somehow always great.


dent on the table

due to the crown of her skull.

The dangerous queen.


My girlfriend transfixed

by a scowling, tattooed, man

sitting cross legged.


“God made the devil…”

is the best single lyric

in a wrestling theme


His mask had fake hair

when i met him at a con

my youth died that day.


He always looks small

it never really mattered

he conquered giants


a tiny loudmouth

screaming and stamping his feet

someone touched his nose


bruises and cuts and burns

he disregards the doctors

cries out for Goto


it is hard to hate

a trope so universal:

a sullen bad ass.


I was at a show

he couldn’t get there and he

called in a promo


Wrestling With Words on Twitter

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