"barbell" poems
**** the twin-size mattress,
that cheap indigo color.
Where my best friend’s legs,
her hands and knees,
were entangled in struggle.
**** his barbell body
heavy and cold to the touch.
She had been hunted
by someone that she trusted.
**** the world that assumed
she was kissed. Not gripped,
nor crushed under his pressing force.
**** the cinder block walls
of that college dormitory,
where she stared and refused
to sleep in her own bed
After that night.
**** the catchy tune of breath
rolling over teeth
that play in her head.
**** her father. He would say
he doesn’t approve of her *******
So, she chose to stay quiet.
Forgettably quiet.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
Observe the dents and the bents
This barbell is sitting alone in the alley
How long has it been there you ask?
It has been years, but it is a forgotten story
The barbell was rusted and old
But doing its day, trainers knew how to take hold
The barbell was outside a once very active Gym
The owner’s first name happened to be Jim
The Gym’s name was called “Fitness Theory Gym”
The members were all Fitness Buffs and Bodybuilder’s that were massive and muscular
The gym was strictly ********
All about fitness being the core
Yet all the trained was centered around barbells with an uptown grade being called weights
Walking pass on any given day, you could hear the sounds of moans in lift
Catch my drift?
But a Financial Crisis at the gym slowed business down
Little by Little, the members could no longer be found
In fact, it was next to none
So the gym had no choice but to close down
But then again, gym after gym was no longer bound
The end of fitness and ******** not being the sound
So one loss barbell that was left in a forbidden alley
Rusted and no place to go to be lifted
The barbell stayed in the alley until sanitation arrived
A barbell being old and no longer in use
Also a barbell no one could see
A ******** past with what used to be
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
(from the libretto of Handel's Semele -
opera.stanford.edu/iu/libretti/semele.htm)
think of your ears as an
ever alert, high pitched,
sensory tuning fork,
an aural radar, searching for that
acute, oblique,
perforating and poking phrase,
that lost airplane of solace
buried and too well hid
in the vastness of
empty, characterless searchable seas
that rarely yield up their
comforting finery
when discovered, tripped upon,
instant recognition pleads
"write me down,
write me up,
delve me,
determine me,
make me more!"
t'is a thrumming vibrato
interfering with mind,
that phrase, that phrase, that phrase
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
content coursing through the eyes,
piercing veils of hum drum dumbing down,
a life spying drone eliciting excitedly
a high value target,
an unexpected mission,
camouflaged amidst the
chit chat droning of the
choking ordinary and commonplace
*murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own
tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life,
You
murmur me again to peace*
even the words
be prepared to sacrifice, surrender,
but promise me that
the Justice of
-just-
thy tone,
thy inflections,
will gentle
the infecting turbulence
of being a plain, tried and trialed human
let me not
catalogue the onerous,
the burdening barbell weights,
we carry for no purpose
Give us
our daily bread of a singular
phrase~prayer~poem,
our verbal bond, modest sequest,
honey oatmeal, cut up strawberried
jewel,
give it, me this day,
my daily soothing
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
Like all others, I hated high school.
It was a scrawny waif that I remember seated at the front of the class.
I raised my hand at every question to endless ridicule,
and people whispered I was weak for trying to be "such a ********
Now people think I lack brains because I own a barbell and bench.
What they don't know is that it's all an extension of my first love: Science.
Every morning, I don my hooded polyester lab coat.
I write theorems in drops of sweat on a rubber padded mat.
I experiment with the practicality of the theorems I wrote;
I know my hypothesis is correct when veins bulge and muscles catch.
Breathing shallow, in ragged determined gasps of air,
I put my theory to the test. Veins bulge, muscles strain.
There is no joy like the joy I know when I find my theory correct. I call it
The Warrior Poet Principle: One can in fact have brawn as well as brain.
I've accomplished the task I set myself in high school's lonely halls,
I vowed that I'd never be that weak waif again.
Hiding bruises from pimple faced tyrants who had me by my *****
I persevered, and I grew my thews and thesis in twain.
Now by neither tyrant nor textbook will I ever be chained.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
He was larger than life
even shriveled
even the size of a
septuagenarian
even at 85
even growing smaller in mind
and spirit
the last year I saw him
he was larger than life and
I still looked up . . . .
He was 59 and I
was a child with
arms and legs dangling
as though they were made of
purple and orange pipe cleaners
and when he said to hang on
I thought of Forefathers
of Revolutionaries
hanging on to their ideals
and my arms wrapped tight
like the rubber band on his bread . . . .
The long-ago far-away again and
again of the
Last Year I Saw Him
seems to come around
like Fruit Stripe on a bicycle wheel
seems to come around
like a broken holiday of
can/can't come because/without
and you drop
like a barbell weight
like a drop of blood
like a ream of cardstock printed with maps
to find you and
to find you and
to find you had just received a thick file from
the Feds.
Again.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
He pushed the weight of the world
To the top of the milky way
And he leaned, and he sighed
As the world rolled away
He put the globe on his shoulders
As he prepared to climb again
He shrugged and it shuddered
Spreading fear to little men
Igby! Igby, my boy!
I feel it coming down on me!
This pressure, this weight!
Why can I not be free?
Some weights are corporeal
Like the dumbbells at the barbell
Tabs overflowing, drinks and meals
These simple weights are easy to quell
Then there are the really heavy ones
The ones no eyes can see
The ones that drag us down to earth
That make it hard to flee
Our words and obligations
All form a lofty load
We are all carrying something
Along our personal roads
And our roads, they go forever
But, to where?
No one knows...
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 2:42 PM UTC
I hear the creaking of a door in my mind.
I couldn't help but feel inclined,
To look behind,
And see what I might find.
But I did not think,
that it would be my well of ink.
I couldn't help but make a link,
To an old kitchen sink.
When I saw that inkwell,
I needed to quell,
The fear that fell,
Upon me as my very own barbell.
I knew what it mean,
And that it was not its intent,
To torment,
But I wish that it would relent.
So I could just spend,
Sometime to amend,
And apprehend,
The part of me that has reached a dead end.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
I hate that feeling,
When you can't lift the barbell anymore.
Then your brother walks in to the gym,
Looking at me like I'm a foreign species.
But in his eyes I see you looking at me,
Tracing my skin, loving my corners,
And walking away.
Suddenly 12 reps doesn't seem like enough,
And I need to punch something.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
I am not the only one
Who when my back is turned,
Envisions monsters
With daggers in their hands
And a pool of blood on the floor
I am not the only one
Who sits in constant fear
That my name is being
Hacked up and spat
out of people's s mouths
I am not the only one
Who is a million pound barbell ****** upon my neighbors shoulders
Breaking them down
Day by day.
I am not the only one
I am not the only one
I am not the only one.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
This is your soul speakin’
Time has come to enter the ring
You want ‘em to know you’re the king
I don’t wanna see this body give in
For that matter, be the master
Off with this super cozy sweater
Pump it up baby, work it out,
Hold yourself together and try it out.
So let me tell you it’s gonna hurt so bad
But when the signs kick in, don’t stop
Tell them guys you’re gonna get on top
To do that despise respite, lad
You wanna sweat and you know what?
Considering the effort, it’s great
Think about your badass swat
Punch this body to the floor
You don’t want to reach your limits
You’re here to overcome them, so come on
School gave you more than satisfying units
You’ve learned to cope with it, you’re tough
Don’t waste your time, your session is on
And don’t be surprised, this is gonna be rough
Whisper you love this power when you grab it
If you fake the whole stuff this is not gonna make it
So get up, gimme all you got, this is the first round
You like the way you’re struggling and screaming
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!
You’ve passed the 30th line, and you should begin to feel
Sweat covering your hands and this heavy barbell
Ain’t so bulky after all, here comes the spell
Casting this astonishing adrenaline, don’t kneel
Ignore the pain caused by the bench press, you feel better
If you hold onto it because this is the right track
You won’t die baby, bounce and destroy the latter
And remember of the rest you don’t give a frack
So get up, gimme all you got, this is the first round
You like the way you’re struggling and lifting
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!
That’s not the helluva lot to do, you know
At first you can just choose to take it slow
But I thought I told ya to rip your ribs
Well yes, sweat is dripping on your hips
Don’t give up **** it, don’t give in
I said don’t give up, did you hear me speakin?
You’re getting stronger, I said you’re getting stronger
You’re a 700 nitro gun, guy, and it’s getting warmer.
So get up, gimme all you got, this ain’t the final round
You like the way you’re struggling and lifting
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!
June, 10, 2014.
After workin’out.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC