Ronda Rising Poem by Jaxsun Castro Horn

Of the year 1987, a February 1st
a babe named Ronda entered the ring called earth.
Not submitting the choking umbilical snare at birth,
this Aquarian bourn Sun with Piscine moon,
akin a Vanguard mother and father gone too soon.

Since 11 the girl molded by Sensei Anne De Mars,
with Ogoshi's ad nauseam and 'good morning' arm bars.
[Dislocated limbs will be Rousey’s calling card]
Forged in Dojo’s, on Hajime until class dismissed,
emerging as an American Olympic medalist.

Standing 5 foot 7 trimmed at a ready 135,
the undefeated champ hails from Cali's Riverside.
A blonde bomber whom backs her talk nor hides,
a dozen had fallen, from the dozen whom tried.
Over in seconds as though her challenger took a dive. 

She vanquishes her foes before the fight’s been won.
Inside the locked cage, whereto can they run?
Dare to inquire a glimpse of her surgical glare:
“Eyes of Ronda, mirror mirror of the bout,
will my limb be snapped, or my lights cut out? ”

Fools bet against her, so don't do it, not ever!
She can best any style; boxing,  jiu jitsu,  wrestler,
or that bionic Brazilian, - hell even a Mayweather!  
Twice beaten the “Cupcake' and ate hers too,
those who challenge Ronda are simply expendable.

From a Judoka pupil to MMA's pound for pound queen;
an 'armbar-pocalyptic' horsewoman of 1st round victories. 
Marvel her sacrifice and rowdiness in all what is seen,
in print magazine ads, internet, and the silver screen.
Rise Ronda, the baddest woman in martial arts history!