#exercise
i loathe
i loathe myself what reason ? i dwell
i loathe my raging lack of control
i loathe my pleated parentage
( indecently correctly parented
by the book line and sinker )
i loathe credit and
gambling the world for wealth
(it is no longer currency)
i loathe the ****** movement of
our collective species activities
i loathe last minute cancellation
and tardy neat people
i loathe dried thistles
and canned pressurized perfumes
i loathe movies with repeated lines
standing in for intelligent meaning
i loathe the words 'meringue'
and 'gumption' and 'poorly'
(the way the older generation say it)
i loathe cove and lightbulb implosion
i loathe that I’ve gotten used to
Talking About The Weather
and it no longer bothers me
i loathe those who squawk politics
and glutinize the lies
i loathe those who say
'it is lore and
has always been this way'
(and if you think otherly
you are betray-able
mad and
rightly condemn-able)
i loathe with venom i loathe habitually
i loathe 'swallow', 'swat' and 'squander'
'tinker' and 'pilgrim'
- that'll do for now
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 12:12 PM UTC
You are not running from the ache behind you, nor chasing a finish line that promises to make you whole.
There is no shadow at your back, no distant version of you waiting at the end, arms crossed, measuring your worth.
You are not escaping. You are not arriving.
You are running with.
With the steady drum of your breath that says I am here, I am here, I am here. With the quiet defiance in your chest that refuses to be dulled. With the flicker—no, the flame—that has always known your name.
You run with your fire, not to burn something down, but to keep something alive.
You run with your questions,your contradictions, your unfinished edges—not as burdens, but as proof you are still becoming.
Each step is not distance gained, but truth uncovered.
The road does not shape you. You shape the road by choosing to meet itas yourself.
And maybe that’s what freedom is—not outrunning the pastor catching the future,but moving in rhythm with the part of youthat never needed fixing.
So you run, not to be someone else, not to be somewhere else—
but to stay closeto the wild, steady, burning thing within you that says:
keep going, this is you.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 3:26 PM UTC
They meet at the park at the crack of Dawn
A crowd of keep fitters ready to run
It may be a joy to those who are there
But it’s not everyone’s idea of fun
They limber up with a cup of coffee
And a few stretches to start the day
Up and about at Sparrow ****
They will soon be on their merry way
As they gather in a reasonable line
Someone blows a whistle and off they go
Charging way into the early morning mist
Just like a rivers flow
A wise old Owl sat up in a tree
Watches intently as they go running by
I bet he thinks to himself
O why O why O why
A passing magpies lets it be known
That he will follow along
A hidden in the bushes nearby
A Robin lets out a song
Those overweight don’t last too long
And soon begin to walk
The others go about their merry way
As they continue to run and talk
It takes about an hour
To reach the end of the run
Believe it or not this is what is called
Early morning fun
But it’s mostly groans and coughs you hear
As they amble back to the car park
Never again I hear people say
Hear, Hear” says some bright spark
I think I will stick to my early morning walk
Less energetic and painful in the end
And enjoy the company of my little Sparrow
My early morning friend.
Mar 2
Mar 2, 2026 at 4:12 AM UTC
beauty in simplicity, ink spills
on a page, nothing more
so take the easy path
of least connection, no point
to effort, effect instead comfort
bed made up in the ether
betray not dreams
but eternity lingers in your breath
expelled in a line
your mien to mine
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 1:25 AM UTC
robbery
shattered shell
you
of darkness
are
hollow heart
bled
stain not
dry
but still
must
wait for
you
dawn and
save
when through
me
life lived
now
you remain
still
not mine
we
embrace and
wait
in silence
for
tonight we die
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 6:44 AM UTC
Breathe deep, fill your lungs
expanding the chest to extend life
slowly release with lips tightly pursed
til the emptyness seems to make you gasp
eyes defocus as if emptyed of life
waiting for the next ******* in of air
when it comes they focus again
taking in the view over the vallys below
Legs give a tremour, muscles exhausted
knees requesting a seat to relieve the weight
hamstrings are tight, threatening to snap
tendons strained at the ankles, stretched just to far
and all you can think as you stand there
looking back from the direction that you came
and shaking your head unbelieving the pain
is why did I attempt to ride up this ****** hill
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 3:28 PM UTC
I can't keep up with
him, he walks fast, his body --
is made for crutches.
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 4:11 AM UTC
Work out—
Let your body speak:
Flesh stretching,
Fibers straining,
Blood pounding,
Mind alert.
There’s a list—
Push-ups, planks, presses—
Each one chasing the same prize:
Strength.
Discipline.
Endurance.
But one remains unsung,
Unseen in gym mirrors,
Unlisted in fitness charts,
Unshared across the globe.
It is the exercise of the unseen—
A sacred training:
Prayer.
Not whispered ritual,
But a fire-breathed posture—
Spirit clenched,
Soul bending,
Body bowed low.
This workout unbinds:
Spirit ignited,
Soul awakened,
Mind renewed—
A trembling reach
That brushes the robe of God.
Spirit meeting Spirit,
Deep calling unto deep.
They call it prayer.
But I—
I know it as sweat of the soul.
For while the body gains little,
The one who presses through to touch the Divine
Is changed.
Expanded.
Exalted.
Magnified.
May 1, 2025
May 1, 2025 at 2:43 PM UTC
The curves, the shape, round,
Every time I touch it, it blows my mind.
Both, fills my hand,
I hold and I squeeze, and I bend.
The long one I hold,
Up and down, I take, as told.
My nerves, now harder,
For other acts, I spread it broader.
My blood flow increases
My mind, endorphin releases.
It feels so hard,
go easy, I am just a new lad.
After all this, I feel exhausted,
My mind and heart, so relaxed.
My day doesn't end well,
As it has become a daily drill.
All that pressure,
is indeed a pleasure.
2 hours of pumping, held in my arms,
good for my biceps, triceps and forearms.
All this with my pair of dumbbells,
A few plates and with barbells.
Ending the act with sit ups,
and a few push ups.
By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 2:32 AM UTC
Footsteps grow stronger
when you leave your path and wander.
Sedentary is a lump of dying flesh..
Take that walk, get some fresh air.
You can clear the mind out there!
Or you can set there on your device,
until there’s nothing left..
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 9:26 AM UTC
well aren't you the gallowgas ?
you cram the funeral into fun
hiding in a private room suckling at your sad self
whilst secretly hoping to be found lonely
depressions' muppet
***** like confession
and hungry like the wound
Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 10:13 PM UTC
Vibrant despair blowing out like sand paper from the soul
Dreams of colour
Fearless hallucination of love
for the World
A stream of consciousness so pure and thick
like a raw gem
like a river
like a marching bull
Painfully fulfilling me full
I could run for miles if I had the Sea to sightsee
if I had the Sun gleaming on me
if I had your figure in memory
even if I had nothing and wasn't meant to be
A fuel that bursts my pupils into a huge void
serotonin
dopamine
adrenaline
and so
a rocket to the Moon and my hands on this keyboard
setting the stage for another round
I cannot be stopped, I can only be blunt
I can only do it
I can only run
Veins bulk in a steaming rush
and thus time disappears like a fog
I am lucky I am here
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 12:18 AM UTC
Do not dress in those rags for me. In fact,
Take off your clothes, each article, and with it
Take out your soul, lay it bare on the table,
And I will read it with you. Let us discover
The entirety of what makes you human.
I want to know, top to bottom, just how you click.
What you say is only the table of contents.
I am willing and wanting to read each chapter,
Memorize paragraphs, mull over the words,
And decipher the metaphors. You are a novel
I will keep by my bedside after I read to sleep,
And grab at in the morning as soon as I wake,
Before I even brush my teeth. So take it off,
You have no need for decoration. You can be
Naked as the day you were born. My love
Is the only cover you’ll need, and it’ll keep you warm.
It won’t suffocate you, I swear!
Nov 6, 2023
Nov 6, 2023 at 1:34 AM UTC
Dark and ordinary mornings start,
with haptic taps from my Apple watch,
and a yawning stretch, way before dawn.
I glance out my window, to check
the weather because that’s the spec
that decides whether, we’re outside
or we’re down to the gym inside.
“Alexa, brew,” I compel my AI
thank God, she understands,
and my Keurig gurgles to life.
I brush the ‘ol tusks and wash my face,
before wiggling into spandex and taking a place
on the bench by the door where our shoes are stored.
When Lisa comes out, stout coffee in hand
she slumps on the bench, with a sleepy pout.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confides with a yawn,
“I barely closed my eyes - then it was dawn!”
Checking my watch, I haven’t the heart
to say ‘dawn’s a half hour after we start.’
Every morning we rise and jog a five K (3.1mi)
we decided, last year, that it’s the best way
to jump-start our brains and start our day.
Poets write about love, pure and chaste,
and less about morning alarms and toothpaste
but in these moments, the ways we start our day,
can influence our lives in interesting ways
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 4:03 PM UTC
Flexing of biceps,
Feeling pressure like the skins gonna rip,
Tiger pacing in this cage,
Make it hurt this time please,
Give me a double of that delicious pain.
Let me hear that clinking of steel,
Turn my flab to taut,
Let me kneel at that altar,
And let me sacrifice that pound of flesh.
Skin crawling with fire,
Burning at 15 million degrees,
Let the frenzy of my highlander ancestors possess me,
Fill me up with that Scottish rage.
Singular focus,
Struggle is oh-so-great,
Carry me across the crest.
Ascend me to that higher plain,
To where my demons are slain,
Where the rest is granted with trembling muscles,
And the lungs burn with blood and sweat.
Let my chest be darkened with persperation,
Raining down from my brow like a deluge from the heavens,
Brought in my efforts and gains
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 2:43 AM UTC
The alarm interrupted my sleep with the urgency of lust
or sudden inheritance - only to end up being neither.
“Alexa, good morning,” I say, as I stretch. My room lights illuminate - in red mode - like a submarine lit for night routine and my Keurig springs to life.
How could someone living my dull, slow, academic life be so walking-dead tired in the morning? After all I got - trying to focus on my tiny Apple watch - 4 hours sleep. I rubbed my dry eyes and auroras traveled across my lids.
When I pull open my drapes, all I see is a waning moon suggesting light to a dark world. I step around abandoned clothes, lying where they fell like soldiers.
Aggk! I recoil when I see a three-day-old corpse in the mirror.
Ugh, gross, I fell asleep wearing my ****** detox mask.
My clock reads 5:40am. I whisper to my AI, “Alexa, what’s today’s forecast?” “Currently, It’s 21°, today will be sunny with a high of 27°” she whispers back.
In a moment of non assignment related forethought, while tooth brushing, I strip my pillowcase, tossing it on a pile of ***** clothes next to the full hamper of equally ***** clothes.
MattyBRaps begins throbbing “Little Bit” in the room next door. That means Leong’s awake - she’s obsessed with a 15 year old boy-singer on Youtube.
I wiggle into my spandex, grab my iPad and water bottle, then head down to the basement gym. I can replay my chemistry class while walking on the treadmill.
Good morning.
Feb 9, 2022
Feb 9, 2022 at 6:00 AM UTC
It’s a rainy, snowy Tuesday morning, so I headed to our fitness center (in the basement) to walk on a treadmill. On arrival there were four or five guys there. There was a time when that would have been reason enough for me to not go in - if I was alone - I’d skip it, but I feel more at home now.
Late one Sunday night I decided to treadmill. A few guys were there on the weight-cable-machines at the far end of the room (it’s huge) and I decided give it a try anyway.
As I was setting up to walk, this one string-bean of a guy did a funny, exaggerated flex in my direction, saying loudly, “I’m the man of your DREAMS!”
To which I quipped back, “The man of MY dreams would do my chemistry fact-sheet.” (homework)
Which got a laugh from the guys who went back to their workout - ignoring me. That’s when I began to relax.
Jan 25, 2022
Jan 25, 2022 at 8:00 AM UTC
Tornado sirens’ firin’
Gives your runnin’ shoes the news
That stay’n inside is such a slide
To be fit you pay your dues
Feel the ground a-poundin’
’Neath those skies of green so mean
Inclement weather lives forever
But you will quit, like a machine
Slanted rain’s a pain
Soaks you to your skin so thin
In this world, so brave unfurled
Only bright for those who win
You get no bornin’ warnin’
Of the times to come so glum
’Tis a mission for magician
Strike with lightning, then succumb
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
First,
dress yourself in all black
no bright colors
that draw wandering eyes.
Wear the only baseball cap you own
position your pony tail
so the brim shields most of your face
but you still have enough peripheral vision
to look over your shoulder.
Move the ring you have worn on your right hand
since you were 16,
to the left ring finger.
You cannot tell the difference
between those who will leave
when there is a shadow of another man
and those who will see it as a challenge.
Second,
arm yourself.
Tie your small pocket knife into the waistband of your shorts,
last resort first.
Clip your keys to your bra
and tuck your mace canister
in the space between your *******
along with all the promises
of men who have loved you
and promised to protect you.
Third,
text your sister
tell her where you are going
and ask her to check on you
if you have not replied in an hour.
Keep one earbud out,
and do not get lost in the strains
of Tracy Chapman's voice, no matter how beautiful.
***** up your ears
the way you have seen a deer's twitch in twilight,
You both know what it is to be prey.
Fourth,
begin.
In your apartment complex
as you run across the green space,
there are children laughing,
and you feel safe enough.
Do not let this last.
When you reach the road
feel the power of your thighs beneath you
as you sprint across,
controlled sinew and muscle
you always wanted them to be strong enough
to kick a hole in brick.
Fifth,
slip your mace out of your bra
and into your fist
while you sprint through the wooded drive.
In your mind, practice screaming
FIRE! HELP! GET THE **** AWAY FROM ME!
until your vocal chords are in imagined shreds.
Sixth,
Pace yourself.
You know if you are too tired,
you cannot outrun someone.
Your lungs will give out before your legs do,
breathe deep, and pull your shoulders back.
You have never swung a punch
at another human
but you imagine what it would be like,
the bones of your knuckles
breaking across a zygomatic arch.
Seventh,
When you pass others
do not meet their eyes, do not smile.
Under the imagined safety of your hat brim
keep your eyes on the sidewalk and their feet,
in case they turn toward you.
Remember where the parents with children are walking
because they will be a safe haven to run to.
When there is no one in front of you,
look over your shoulder.
Eighth,
On your way back through the wooded drive
when Judges 19:25
the news reports of gang rapes on buses,
Kitty Genovese, and the voices of all the women you know
who have been harassed and ***** flash through your mind
run faster.
Ninth,
text your sister that you are safe
only when you are back in your apartment
and the door is locked,
and you are sure no one has come in
while you were out.
Kiss the salt from your skin
and thank your body
for its
strength.
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 2:10 PM UTC
you see me imagining you
imagining you
believing a lie I told,
a lie about knowing good and evil
and that I can imagine
William Blake's little
lamb was once me,
in thee
I am yet, not a jot or tittle of child
like
fool-ibility, I am a thought you caught in your
default mode me-andering mode, a modality oft
left idle. A rest for weary idle words bouncing
in browns from amber to ochre, dry
light leaking from piles
of idle thought meandering thoughts piling up behind
goddamliarcheatertheiftake take
take
take, rewind and replay, keep the takes ignor
the sequence...
Margaret Atwood knows how to build worlds of words.
I blow bubbles.
kiss em a will in a whisp
per
haps a single
one,
becomes this one we hide in, not from evil, for goodness
sakes, we be
peace making,
hidden, safe
as any ancient sapient's sacred secret
knowledge, hidden, useless.
-ah, no. right use of peace is the rest, after the heroes
and wizards and witches and priests and humble teachers,
after the recognition of old ideas, tics
the talking point and we, once more, see our selves,
selves,
we see ourselves as the passengers on the autopiloted
biosphere, terraforming itself for us, since
the first idea you knew was from beyond you,
began to bubble in your soul...
-- rest my soul in the bosum of abraham, whoa ain't woe,
but no is no. be wise or wish you was.
An old man's wisdom hides here in stasis.
Horded as weal and woe,
and debts owed to a foe
xtatic urgent
voice stages a starting boom, in the empty room,
our exspansive space
where peace is made in wisdom used for knowing,
wisdom, a place, a quest
ion
launched, aimless yet
now,
we be, and we do not comprehend gripping being life
for any preconceived gnotion
so
I asked for the living water, I was the receptor, the door
to within me,
where the kingdom of marybabydaddy lay.
wait. "within you", ever'body say Jesus said... some heavyshit,
maiden formed milksop grown to full warrior maturity,
empowered
(laid, by god, can you imagine that feeling? Wow, right?}
basic a gift so basic a power to employ at will
catch
oops.
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC
and, gone it does
all it was
destined
designed
determined
de
deedly deed of doing being
boring
being
de
determined to add means to ends
designed to signal turn or lose
destined to end,
all it was gone to be
Jul 23, 2021
Jul 23, 2021 at 1:18 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Bob Newhart and the Treadmill of Sisyphus
“Hi, Bob!”
Exercising While Watching BOB NEWHART
Several times each day I roll myself up
The torturous treadmill of Sisyphus
I am more of a marshmallow than a rock
Which is the point of this tiresome endeavor
Several times each day I find myself back
At the foot of the devilish device
To wheeze myself wheeze step wheeze step wheeze step
To promised abs of steel at the rainbow’s end
Dr. Hartley is on line one because
Sometimes you need
A telephone call from your driving instructor
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 9:53 AM UTC