"shirtless" poems
Some people hate the smell of smoke
To me smoke meant early Thursday morning bongs rips
And the sun fighting it's way through the curtains
His 8 AM shirtless skin against mine and his face in my neck
The way our lips would play and tease each other, longing and smoke on our breath
Until we drifted back into dreams
Because we weren't about to let the morning win
To take that away from us
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Sun drawing out sweat
causing clothes to fall off
Deep breaths and quiet grins
Eyes of strangers met
Shirtless against the wall
but only in the head
Standing like a scarecrow
so nothing stands out at all, oh god
Chitter chatter to cover up
But the sweat is growing thick
Better act natural
to keep from becoming the stereotypical
male ****
Keep cool, self, be slick
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
i still **** my tummy in,
imagine it smooth.
my mom was surprised when i confessed
i was shirtless,
with nothing but my sports bra.
(at least I’m tan)
you say you like my tummy,
and some days I do too.
i still slap my thighs,
imagine scrawny flesh,
stretch marks are lost among
photoshop wonderland.
i’m an hourglass figure, you say,
but I find it silly we compare body types
to glasses, and fruit,
for we are a combination of things,
we are stars, and seas, and candy,
and railroad tracks that sometimes go around in circles until
we *****
i still see my limbs as different people,
and i wish i could detach them like the toxins in my lungs.
people like my ***
so maybe that’s why I move it so much when I’m drunk.
people say I’m Arabic,
people say I’m Mexican,
people say I’m Muslim,
but really I’m all of those combined into a mixing bowl,
and one day maybe, I’ll make cupcakes
and swallow them whole.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Is it really this hard
to find people I can go back and forth in discussion with
about Buddhist and Hindu theology compared and contrasted against Christian and Yoruba
I want to scream and shout and dance with somebody over Janet Jackson's new album
and at the same time
feel the heat and talk with somebody about how extremely sad and depressing
but oh so good Giovanni's Room was
I want to be able to speak with somebody whom can quote Malcolm X and Kafka in the same breath
Somebody who could see the logic of Pac and Immortal Technique on the same piece
with the Budos Band or Mulatu on the back track
I want to know people whom know
just exactly who
Suki Lee and Bayard Rustin are
can we talk about Jacob Kinohoor's ***
at least for a moment
then get into some B.B. King or Johnny Cash
have you seen Dune
the one from the eighties
James McAvoy shirtless
as well as John Goodman’s acting
were only good things about the other
if you read it
even better
what about the ***** that sat by the door
Or
killer clowns from outer space
let's be shady and point out all the inaccuracies on the history and discovery and channels
praying for that day
that's not in February
They show Shaka Zulu in full
without commercial interruption
Or maybe a documentary about native American people
with actual native actors
that do not depict them all as either
plains people
Or Inuit
Cause you already know
not everybody is Eskimo
then let's put on our own private production of legally blonde
followed by encore presentations of the classic scene
Of Miss Celie and miss Ofelia going in over Harpo
can I discuss with you
how the Patriot act nullifies everything in constitution
And the bill of rights
even though they never were intended to be permanent any way
It would be nice to not have to explain a Corporatocracy
all my life Ive been into Egyptology
You do know that Imhotep was the actual founder of medicine
by a good 2000 years
not that Hippocrat
the thing is
I'm still learning
when attempt to delve that deeply into people
which I don't even consider that deep
They often misunderstand
They often concluded without thinking
maybe
just maybe
©Christopher F. Brown 2015
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
Listening to the song ‘daddy, super daddy’,
Worried and sad thinking about the father long gone,
While reading the news of a father who killed his girl child by hitting her against the wall
To some fathers and children
A father and son didn't feel anything more than that.
Remember uploading in Facebook, the news of the soaring price of tapioca in five star hotels
The tsunami of saliva which the tender yellow tapioca Crowned by curry leaves and red chilly created, is in the throat.
Today noon,
After lots of news
I am cooking tapioca raw
A green bottle is nearby
When the smell of cooking tapioca with salt hit the olfactory senses
Father came
You don’t have to be the Son of God to resurrect the dead
Told Jesus that just the smell of cooking tapioca is enough
Compound divided into patches, ashes, manure,
Properly cut tapioca plants
Mother rushing to get the rice gruel
Between play and squabbles
A lad is walking around with torn trousers, shirtless
Tapioca, tapioca, tapioca
Tapioca, tapioca, tapioca
For sleeping, eating, hunger
Faith,
Tapioca, tapioca
phoo
For rice gruel, mid noon
At twilight when hunger develops faith
For last supper,
Dried tapioca
Lucky that one who was born after an enema
Was not named ‘black sheep’
With a green chilly, raw
In the shade of the green bottle
When I touch the tapioca,
Daddy is dancing
Daddy
Super daddy.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
When my ****** showed up on under the "people you may know" tab on fb. It felt like the closest to investigating a crime scene that I've ever been.
That is if you don't count the clock work ****** that I make of my own memory every time I go down Colfax avenue.
Still
I sit in my living room and I search for clues.
Click
He is Smiling...
And I see myself caught in his teeth,
He's Dancing in some club In a city I have never been to.
Click.
He is eating sushi over a few beers with friends
And I am under his finger nails.
Click,
I know that alley.
Click.
I killed the memory of that t shirt.
Click.
This...
Is a baby picture,
There is also an older man,
Presumably his father.
They're are both round, And bright and still
Smiling....
Click.
He is shirtless,
And I see myself in the weight room mirror,
"#beastmodeselfie"
I call him the WOLF, when I write about him.
The WOLF!
So as to make him as story book as possible.
The WOLF!
When I write about him.
Which is to say my
Memory..
Escapes the ****** When the internet suggests it.
Facebook, Informs me we have
3
Mutual
Friends..
Which is to say, That he is people you may know.
And that, I AM People you may know.
And there are people who know,
And people that don't know,
And people that DONT KNOW THAT I WANT TO KNOW,
people that I am afraid to LET KNOW,
and probably people that know him,
That know of me, that know OF the word
NO!
NO!
NO!
NO is a flock of sleeping sheep sitting in my mouth.
And now.....
Now I know the wolf's middle name...
And what he listens to on spofiy.
And the all to familiar company he keeps,
And he can no longer be
"The wolf."
Or the nameless grave I dig for
Myself.
We have...
3
Mutual
friends
on Facebook.
And now it feels as if they
Are holding the shovel.
64 people..
liked the shirtless gym pic.
4 people
Have told me that they'd rather I said
Nothing.
2 police officers,
Told me I must give his act a
name
or it didn't happen!
That obviously I could have
Fought back.
Which is to say
No one comes running for young boys who cry
****
When I told my brother,
He also asked why I didn't fight back.
Adam....
I am...
Right now.
I promise.
Everyday, I write a poem titled
"Tomorrow"
It is a hand written list
Of the people I know that
Love me.
And I make sure to put my own name at the top
By Kevin kantor
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Being the only one awake in the back seat, or the only one thinking loudly,
and in the back of your mind, sitting there like living weight, you've got
the giant Citgo sign
(you swear you could fit in the T),
listening to passion pit as the golden sun flings itself on the highway,
a construction worker lowering his pants in front of a dumpster,
hearing the sandlot play downstairs as you stare at the dark ceiling,
pizza you ate in the park the evening before now being had for breakfast,
finding out the **** is pro-choice,
getting your shoulder squeezed on a rollercoaster
by a boy who screams like a girl,
feeling drunk even though you're sober,
running through the dark,
passing trailers with round lanterns lining the tops,
outlining shirtless men and smoking women,
looking in the mirror after swimming with your clothes on
in a hot tub,
and you're not sure if you're
beautiful
or
disgusting.
Yeah, you can sleep now.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.
i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic
no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.
at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.
for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.
the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.
this is my spring love,
this is bliss.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
It was spontaneous
Attention: A boy wants to be with me
And I got away with it
Attention: the smart, dainty girl has a summer ***** call
Time and time again
Attention: Finally there was consistency in my life
It was what I had always hoped for
Attention:
I want attention
I received it
Attention: My father just walked in on me shirtless with a boy
He hid in the closet
Attention: my father is a smart man
My father had a 20 minute conversation
Attention: “Go outside, he and I are going to have a talk”
Mortified
Attention: Stay classy, teens
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
shirtless screaming through
the heartland and I used
to smoke cigarettes
too.
she never wanted
to stay: the youth
she had
left demanded it.
now, I'll wager
she's somewhere
in an apartment with
some dandy that
wears sweater vests
to Thanksgiving dinner.
maybe she thinks
about me and my little
twisted heart every
now and again:
like when she's away
from the sweater vest
on the toilet
behind a locked door,
"be right out, babe!"
or toting groceries
through a parking lot
to her car,
or signaling a
left turn before
changing her mind
and deciding to
go straight instead.
and
maybe I need to
stop thinking
about her
especially after
three years
incommunicado
but what can I say?
I've never slept on
a bed of nails
I couldn't
dream on.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 9:34 AM UTC
Open window breezes tickle my rib cage
Laying on my bed shirtless, I’m exposed to the world I’ve built in my bedroom
Comforters and bedsheets intertwined at the edge of my mattress
97 degrees of heat are pin-balling their way through the air
While a blanket of snow lay dusted on the lawn
Thinking, if I leave my window open long enough,
I can melt away all of the glistening perfection
Leaving enough mistakes in this world
To think I belong here
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:44 AM UTC
my head is filled to the brim
with other **** i have to do
like job applications
going to class
reading ******* textbooks
dress rehearsals laundry
writing papers that won't make any sense
drinking too much coffee
when all i want to do
is lay shirtless on your floor with you
and write poetry about the palms of your hands
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
First
She walked out
And I had to learn
That I was a coward
An orphaned lover
An old house cat
Abandoned
In a grocery store parking lot
I had to face it again
The emptiness
I smoked all of those nights
Away
I was numb
I was nothing
I lost 30 lbs in 2 months
Then it all caught up with me
One night my heart started beating
Rapidly
I couldn't breath
Started to shake
I sat in a corner and watched
The room grow ten times it's size
I heard a static crack in the ears
I was lost and unhuman
I was a rabid dog trapped in a corner
I felt sick for weeks after
So
I gave up the ***
Switched to drinking
Whole bottles of whiskey
128 lbs, shirtless, screaming
The fellas laughed at the beginning
Until I started throwing ****
Trying to fight everybody, anybody
I had 3 new catch phrases
"I'll ****** **** you man"
"I'll smash all your ********* teeth in"
"I've seen it all man."
After a while it became
Too much for the fellas
And soon they were all gone
So
I found better company
Dostoevsky, Fante,Bukowski,Hemingway,
Hamsun,Lorca,Sartre, etc.
I found a ****** apartment
in San Pedro
Drank beer and read every night
Until the loneliness felt comfortable
And then I
Accidentally
Became alcoholic
Then i took my wild act
To the streets
A few weeks ago I was at a concert
And this guy kept elbowing me
In the ribs
I said "If you keep sticking that elbow
To me, I'll ****** **** you man."
I said it cool and soft
And the guy looked real scared
And I was too
So
I had to quit drinking...
I keep thinking about
Zarathustra
Rising from his cave
After years of solitude...
A guy at work said
"November's almost gone
Man, this year just blew right by"
And I thought
'Good.'
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
It’s all laundry and cigarettes
White-knuckle odd jobs
And freezing your *** off, at 7 AM, to
Help your buddy out
Breaking and bleeding, and
Smoking and shirtless, and
Spinning your finger and thumb
Counter-clockwise until the
Resulting ring of fire and fury can
Torch your inhibitions
No one ever restricted you from
Rioting with grace
And through the windshield of your vision,
The streets wake up to the smell of
Alcohol and experience
It’s all rubble in dumpsters, and
Spray paint that swears
Oaths, to bands and bandages
Singing the praises of
Stolen promises, their swiftly
Prying minds can’t understand
And you’re standing
In front of the truck
Arms outstretched
Pistons firing air through your
Organs, that vibrate with the
Trepidation of nightmarish resolve
It’s all battlefields and accomplices,
The kid that kicked you down so,
That you’d eat the dirt,
Place your teeth in
Leather pouches,
And taste defeat for decades
You’re pleasantly high on the
Smoke of your still-burning debt
You’re a supermarket superhero
You’re the queen of the Gasoline Dream
It’s in the way that
Your outline is
Edged out
By your insides, and the
Arms of the chair have become
Wings, that unfurl over
Valleys and oceans, of headstones,
And nursery wards
Tinted windows promise nothing
Regarding secrecy of soul
What would your wisdom teach me
About sentience?
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
(This poem is on the earthquake that people in Sikkim,India had faced on 18 September 2011. I was one among them too! P.S- on this very that is my brother's birthday! So i remember it more profoundly....just read on to find out more. Certain words mean the following out here-
MG MARG- MAHATMA GANDHI MARG.{Marg means street.}
LAL BAZAAR-refers to a marketing place in the capital of Sikkim,i.e,Gangtok)
MAAL ROADING-Maal road is generally found in most of the hill stations in India. But in my college, Maal Road has a different and funny meaning.)
DISCO COMMITTEE-refers to the DISCIPLINARY Committee in our college,which takes stringent actions against the guilty.)
18 was the date-
When a bunch of girls had decided
to travel through the city.
But I was the one who wasn't prepared,
As it was raining pretty heavy.
The girls planned to eat,roam and shop about,
through the MG MARG and LAL BAZAAR!
Fortunately for me due to some unavoidable circumstances
the plan got dropped....
And all I could see was girls making unbearable pouts!!
In the evening,
when people go out MAAL ROADING,
I went to the shop with a company
for buying a recharge card as done daily!
Though I bought it,
I somehow forgot to scratch it, I rather kept it inside my bag.
Strolling down the campus
We sat on the football field
Watching the players kicking the ball in glee
With their boots,shorts and tee!
At exactly 6:10 pm, there was a great turbulence,
which caused a whole lot of purturbence!
Yes, that was the 6.9 that shook us!
People running to and fro to save their lives,
some shirtless,some barefooted and some in towels!
With buildings shaking and cracking
there was nothing
but utter horror and shouting!
People seemed like Refugees,
With no phone networks to contact friends,relatives and families!
We were told to sleep with our room doors open.
But how could we when there were still tremors coming?
SHAKE! and people would be out on the streets!
Such a day it was, when Mother Nature had terrorised us!
Still the authorities couldn't help themselves from separating boys and girls!!
If they happen to meet each other,
They would have to face the DISCO COMMITTEE all together!
Huh!! When will you get rid off this mentality?
So that we can live joyous and peacefully!!!
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
"Yell that one out when you get it" she said in what she considered her most calm and gentle tone. Her calculations were wrong though. What she considered calm and gentle still seemed animated and intense to her audience.
By this grade and age most children have been trained to raise a hand to answer class questions or request the floor.
She began realizing more and more that she spent her days within a room of tiny robots, in a building of tiny robots, in a town of various types of robots... situated in a galaxy of dust that accumulated on the surface of the Great Petrie Dish.
This was not where she wanted to be.
All along his path he grabbed the sticks that called to him. There were many in this area which was surrounded by concrete yet, enough nature inside to forget the dull grays. Still along the way he traded these sticks and twigs for other sticks and twigs that he placed earlier in naturally occurring hammocks cradled within the bark of an old tree knot or between two inviting branches.
Each stick and twig that he moved was followed by a message of gratitude and the intent to do no harm. A pinch pull of hair from his arm was placed here in reverie of balance and reciprocation.
Walking by, I noticed this and waved to him thinking, "wouldn't life be a little better if we all ran around in a circle and enjoyed the healing power of play. It feels good to let go." Then I thought to myself, "that was totally awkward. I just waved like a guest walking onto the stage for a visit with Oprah".
I was fat non- hippie backwards hat fried from acid tabs and Hendrix Stuttgart posters for hours while rewinding the instrumental track that followed the song "drug store cowboy" on a dubbed Justin Warfield tape over and over again. Those years floated me from the village on my floor to adult ADHD and a far off gaze.
The neighbors hate when I run around my back yard shirtless chanting and banging a drum on rainy evenings.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
Leaves rustled and hot winds blew
My shirtless chest glistened in the hot sun
While men's strong backs strained against dock and lift
And as I walked to water's edge
Your naked form would rise to greet me
Those haunting eyes, full ******* and wanton hips
Beckoned me, "Come to me Sir. All that I am is yours"
Yet she was a spirit, a nymph
Not meant for union with mortal men
So as my arms parted cool waters, I heard her cries
"I am so sorry Sir" as she disappeared forever into the depths
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
i found them
while i was
digging
through old boxes
covered in dust
hidden
in the shadows
beneath my bed
i'd been searching for LPs
Lost in the Sound of
Separation on vinyl
record
its sentimental value
binding memories of
my favorite band
countless shows
a myriad of friends
it was there that i
found exactly what
it was i wasn't
looking for
who knows
maybe i hid them
because they
reminded me of things
best left forgotten
the blue sticky note
read in purple ink
"my favorite prints
for my favorite person.
thanks for believing
in my work."
in every photograph was a
little bit of you
dead friends
broken homes
dark rooms with
hardly any light
a child looking for love
the beach palms
skateboards and surfboards
in every photograph was a
little bit of you
shot in black
and white
refined in their
aesthetic but
only one photo actually
had you in it
three windows
light filtering through
closed blinds
an air vent in the bottom
right-hand corner
you stand in the center
and it is evident that
you are shirtless as you
look over your shoulder
at the camera suspended
in the room
what thoughts crossed your
mind when the shutter
shuddered shut
in every photograph was a
little bit of you
and if we’re being honest
there was a little of
me too
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
It was a weird hour when the sun towered
To be slick with moonshine
Cozied shirtless in a rope hammock
Belly-down like my six drunk buddies
Living loose and talking sweet
To bottles now empty of *****
So what is there to do?
Nothing, and that’s a cold fact for high noon
In summer, season of mumbly toasting
But when the humble glug-glug-glugging
Is done with, I’ll tell you, you
Have not licked liquor, not done your part
It’s us who got the moonshine start
Today, you turned your back on white whiskey, yes
We did the work and if it should hurt
I apologize we didn’t want to offend
If it’s the alcohol or if it’s the heat I can’t tell
But who knows why blood boils?
I can see that good-natured drinking
Is the drunk man’s toil
But we’re workers at heart, aren’t we?
And not many are better than us
Except for maybe the rice
Slumped over its stalks, fat on moonshine
Cure-all for the sick mind
Friend to all comers on a humid day
The clear sticky juice that burns all the way down
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
conceited and overconfident of knowledge, but, poorly informed and immature
embodying the definition, I lie in bed, quiet, thinking,
face down, shirtless, in a pair of cheap purple *******
breathing in a smell--cotton sheets, sweat, and coconut
I am not nothing, not miserable, but not happy
I am not frightened or bewildered by anything
I am an elder amongst the young
I'm a youngster still, to everyone.
all trash talk,
not new news.
I just sort of quietly revel in the experiences
unravelling above me in a floating memory
adding up my mistakes,
until all pressed into me
+ that doing the right thing hurts, sometimes,
+ people are going to do things that you can't
and still that's okay, but don't get discouraged
if you work hard and get nothing out, that just
means something, that if you like it, fight for it
I don't know.
I also learned this year not to trust the bad liars,
that sometimes people are bland, but even still,
it doesn't mean death, and it's really going fine.
I learned this is as smart as I'm going to get,
so maybe I should try a little harder with it.
turning on my back, I flick an imaginary cigarette,
I put on a little blush + a long-sleeved black shirt
then I did what I was supposed to, maybe for me.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
after the heat began to swell,
we’d never leave our bed
open windows, curtains yawning-the incoming breeze rose
goose-pimples on polka-dotted freckles
lying shirtless next to me,
our contours matched but gaped wide
because of the heat,
faded jeans cuffed
just above his ankles
the blinds flutter-a momentary brightening
flitting over the sheets, rumpled, creased
and tangled around bare limbs
His breathing deepened, and I fought heavy eyelids,
but after watching ants weave drunkenly
up and down the windowsill,
my eyelids won and
I slept.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 2:18 PM UTC