"dumbbell" poems
**Your bulging
pecs they are perfection
your skin it glows with oil
but you wouldn't lift a finger
for an honest day of toil.
Your abs are simply
perfect, boy
you are
really
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an ace.
But I can
tell that you're
a dumbbell by that
look upon your face. An
anguished painful countenance
that speaks like a loud shout!!!
Your wife has had the nerve
to ask you put the f'ing
garbage out!**
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
Like the sound of the clouds clearing its way from my sight
When the waves hit your leg
With 9 months of dumbbell
Plunge yourself to hot asphalt.
Stealing your own heart before its stolen.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
Alone. But not isolated.
I am in my happy place
above the music in my ears I can hear only the iron plates clang together.
Along the dumbbell rack are lean twenty somethings
mindlessly pumping blood into their biceps
staring into the mirror
like brain dead bovine
their gaze is stolen only by women in painted- on leggings
a staple in every gym.
By myself in a room full of people
I feel only displacement.
I am not one of these.
I am not here to work out
Or look into the vanity mirror.
I am here to train.
To pick heavy **** off the ground and put it back down.
To make my muscles scream
To mutilate myself, just like yesterday
just like tomorrow
And the day after
With calloused hands gripping the freezing bar
there is no thought but understanding…
You will put this weight across your back. and squat your *** down to the floor.
Six reps.
Or you will die trying.
You will not know failure or defeat because you will be dead.
The second before there is only one thought:
No retreat. No surrender.
Into the abyss.
So that next year the weight might be thirty pounds heavier if I’m lucky.
A little bigger, a little stronger, a little faster.
So that in an hour I can stumble out, depleted
and say “Today I went to war with myself, and the other guy lost”
He didn’t just lose.
I put my heel on his windpipe as he choked for air
and watched the light drain from his eyes as he clawed at my shins.
A victory so sweet it is worth the sleepless nights and the countless tabs of ibuprofen.
Because the ache in my muscles comes close to ******
Because this musty, stale dungeon is the closest I will ever get to heaven.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
Throw me in the mist of an ocean
Storm
Douse me in the water of Alaska during winter
Place me on the hot sand of the Saharah desert in the summer
Watch my skin sizzle
Boiling under the sun
Tie a dumbbell around my ankles
Watch me sink to the bottom of the Great Lakes
Latch me to the walls
Throw daggers at me
You want to see me fight the waves
Want to see me overcome hypothermia
Want to watch me fine water in the desert
I can show you how to cure sun burn
Want to see me escape these chains
Dodge the daggers
You want to see me overcome all your wicked tricks and pain
Fine but you going have to torture me
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
i smoke ****
from time to time it takes off the stress
the stress of trying
the stress of waiting
the stress of expecting
but at times my head seems to compress,
like the media around a corrupt member of congress
like the callused grip of a bodybuilder on an etched dumbbell
like scrap metal in the claws of a machine
like the walls slowly closing in on the random superhero
blood pressure builds as my veins throb
my sanity robbed
my thoughts lobbed
but new thoughts replace the others
like THC with the pride a child once gave his mother
I have entered a new reality
evolved in spirituality
although i have left behind compatibility of being
i have new ways of seeing
a visionary
this vision is airy
i am fatigued i am fatigued
time to hit another bowl
time to let anxiety harness my soul
let anxiety cloak me but i shall not let it devour me whole
spontaneous thoughts and entropic actions
but when i rely on my sole self is when i reach true satisfaction.
with the high i lose all traction
with sobriety i gain much love and attraction
but sometimes it's nice to go off the road into unknown terrain
because unknown terrain may be a new road to discover on its own
I like sobriety and being high
i highly enjoy being sober
being high is ludicrous
but then again i'd be a fool to say i wasn't crazy
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
To Be Pressed By A Dumbbell
Two fifteen pound
steely danse sing
wrought iron dumbbells
ill-tempered, impatiently,
and intensely a weight
their turn to hmm... press me,
and forthwith dense trait
heavy handed prestidigitation
to yours truly, this primate
currently attempting
to craft sad excuse
for a poem, sans far fetched
notion, aye trite re: late
engendering, foisting, and goading
bizarre lifelike qualities
to inanimate solid helpmate
to build (and/or oven
just tone) muscles bitterly, painfully,
resignedly wince, where washboard
abdomen long a goner
impossible to recoup,
whar hide didst narrate
ting hours sculpting great
former Adonis build
on these, now nada so lovely
bones, and experience
spiritual strife to oscillate,
perhaps witness sing
angst to esse skill late
heady feeling healthy vim within
myself, how just
with verily at least dedicate
half hour exercise can be great
for body, mind, and
soul triage, otherwise...
basic gravitational laws
of physics gladly
hand me unwanted fate,
how gradually physique
will eventually demonstrate
flabby, droopy, and
unwanted addy post tissue create
ting another reason to berate,
castigate, emasculate, where
self repudiation will germinate
(albeit, thence in extremis), yours truly
doth relinquish fitness regime
resulting sparking, and taste
testing casus belli dictate
tête-à-tête, viz hasty
unconditional surrender to
a void mortal kombat,
which latter, would exterminate,
the forces of yin and yang,
re: lee (I rub hurts) loch cur,
thence finding me fraught,
(yule hiss see - uselessly)
grant ting soul
option to disintegrate,
in the event emotional civil war,
rents asunder every fiber
of mine being, which
wrath wracked wraith self destruction
twill woefully satiate.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC