"strongman" poems
the priest, whose tomato face looked like it might explode under collar tension,
gave the valedictory at the friday night execution
the yellow-toothed, combover'd serial killer buckled in electric chair
kept staring at the door, expecting an ally to crawl in late but not too late
the mother of one of the victims rattled on about
how she didn't care that the killer had an allergy to the anesthetic used
in lethal injection he's going to die either way what's it matter?
buzz of fly crack of rolled program against empty folding chair
(yes, there were programs, and whoever laid them out knew their typography)
buzz of fly raised upward, toward the black, magma-cooled ceiling
audience chin up, pupils circled fly as the priest droned on
about everlasting life like a Paul Simon song from his youth
like a catcher's mitt from his youth like a youth from his youth
the boyfriend of one of the mothers of one of the victims
said he was hungry pancakes sound good, don't they?
I love it when syrup gets on the bacon, you know? love that.
a pudgy guard with bleary eyes and 12 a.m. shadow
rolled his index finger lowered his brow, telling the
priest to wrap it up so the priest wrapped it up
by reading the names of the victims
Tara Barnes, 17, Rachel Lythe, 10, Julie McPherson, 13,
Serenity Strongman, 15, and Mary Beth Williamson, 13
the priest said something about judgement as
the boyfriend of the mother of one of the victims
took another swat at the fly missed
any last words? the priest asked
where's James? the killer asked, he was supposed to be here
did you guys give him the right time?
the guard nodded to a lab coat by a black box
then a hiss then a hum then an inhale
the first jolt of alternating current for
instantaneous brain death
hard to tell if they succeeded in that
for the second jolt came only a moment
later this shock's aim to fatally damage
the internal organs, overstimulate the heart
and the killer's face looked like a horse's leg
then an exhale then a hum then a hiss
and the killer's face looked like the crinkled
skinmemory of a cicada
it was late most of the best restaurants already closed
but we could go to that diner off 63rd, the boyfriend
of the mother
of one of the victims, said
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
elephants stomp with stone-laden feet
back and forth, back and forth,
creating cracks in my already-battered skull,
weakening the very foundations of my sanity.
their trumpeting echoes through cold corridors
flooding my thought capacity to the brim.
a tightrope walker stretches me, thin -
i feel the shifting pressure of her nimble feet
treading the territories of my weathered frame,
back and forth, back and forth,
my skin reddens beneath the incessant crossing
as the sinew within me starts to atrophy.
in my chest cavity there is a ring of fire,
manipulating my lungs and feeble heart to mere ash.
two golden eyes seen beyond the flames,
ready to leap through them - without the
inconvenience of fear weighing down his agile paws,
both capable and likely to tear my veins to shreds.
a grisly strongman has my bones in his grip.
he smiles malevolently, gloating his strength over me,
squeezing the life from my cartilage - awaiting the snap.
i am cognizant of the sound, but i won't flinch.
next, the imminent collapse of my vertebrae -
i feel them crumble to dust. he laughs.
but it is in the pit of my stomach the ringleader sits -
commanding me into subsidence with every crack of his whip.
i want to meet his eyes but he only averts my gaze.
his twisted circus nearly through, the audience begins to dissipate.
i stare through the blurred smoke, desperate for his visage -
when i see on one of his faded lapels, the embroidery spells out your name.
-m.f.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
-the global strongman, and how to survive him
"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."
He needs no wicked science,
all he needs is strong believers.
They don't like competence, they hate discretion.
Cast down your glance for their eager eyes.
"Ang aming mga lider ay isang mabuting tao,
alam niya kung ano ang tama."
He is an ardent lover of justice,
killing criminal vermin at all cost.
They want to bring you down, my friend,
they like us unlike them.
"Wǒmen de lǐngdǎo shì yīgè hǎorén,
tā zhīdào shénme shì duì de."
He needs no shrewd lawyers,
he senses who is guilty.
By hunger and chaos they make you foul your mouth,
our hate and cursing will set us all apart.
"Nash lider - khoroshiy chelovek,
on znayet, chto pravil'no."
Now don't get naughty,
you know, just behave.
Raise your head, man, raise your feeble voice:
let's sing our songs, let's come together.
"Liderimiz iyi bir insandır,
doğru olanı biliyor."
He's towering above all of us,
he'll crush the faintest uprising upfront.
Heureux qui comme Ulysse a fait un beau voyage
- et puis est retourne plein d'usage et raison.
Fortunate the guy who fared well on his travels
- and returned, a man of the world, full of wisdom.
"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
*ᚹᚨᛚᛖᛋ - alphabet above the ᚱᚻᛁᚾᛖ... bereft a cleaving for worth of fortitude, or Liverpool: so too the strongman for bow and two finger F; chisel the ******* bracket or ah into stone correctly, or i'll make you stake a thousand men's' worth of dough worthy of death, nation building etc.*
above the Rhine,
at least that's
my Austrian welcoming,
playfriends my beehive
**** the longship.
i said sooth
nearing rune toward Sweden
of Poland or Germania -
ALPHA BETUM, BETUM
try a care begotten a coliseum!
** SALVAGE DIE *** STIRRUP!
TO A *** RIDE! RIDGE A COLLAPSE
OF ROME! salvage it with Bach...
or else, the death-man's symphony,
you Welsh *****
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
After we used to call you piglet
And after you liked celery,
After the eighth of December at eight o'clock
And after you were eight pounds eight ounces,
They took a photo of when I first held you.
You were crying your eyes out,
Like your mum was in the living room
After she found out,
Before I scurried away.
But you've grown up
In your old *** Pistols t-shirts
And your scribblings screenprinted onto new ones.
Copper hair loyally trailing behind you,
You glide around the house en pointe,
In between embroidery at noon and fashion design after lunch.
Too cool to have sushi at ten years old,
And nearly too old
To hug your big cousin without reluctance.
Like an ordinary kid.
Minding your know-it-all brother
With his resounding echos of 'youknowwhatyouknowwhat'
Making sure he doesn't burn a hole through the floor
With his new chemistry set, that he won't admit
He doesn't quite know how to use,
But will continue on nevertheless.
And you will roll your eyes.
Like an ordinary kid.
But your adenosine triphosphate,
Can barely lift it's own molecular weight
Nevermind the energy you ask it to carry.
In comparison, the ordinary ATP
Of your ordinary classmates,
Is a strongman next to your weakling cluster of N, H, C and O.
So you take your small grey spheres.
And don't drink full fat milk
And your father's taught you how to cook
And value food.
And use your nebuliser
And clean and dust and sterilise
So your glass lungs
Which clatter when you cough
Don't shatter.
And after all that
You twist your hair up in a bun
And carry on.
Not falling down the rabbit hole,
But bounding gracefully.
Like the extraordinary kid that you are, Alice.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
Hoobler Hobbler:
He brings only fatigue.
He is but just annoying,
He rarely does intrigue.
Even my brothers are
Extremely irritated so,
For they cannot do anything
Since he really cannot go
For even a strongman like old Mal
He cannot move this hefty tonne,
Both Adsel and Luke alike
Their words like an empty gun
Frank cannot do anything,
He just perches there to watch;
Mike and Blake hide in their hole
And Rooney's but a blotch
Oh this fascinating team
For once they really can't control;
This heavy weighted sleepyhead
Has just worsened this hellhole
Hoobler Hobbler:
It's not just the fatigue,
He also brings along chaos
But still doesn't intrigue
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
I called her once, then I called again
And I called throughout the night,
There wasn’t a message from Olwen’s pen
Nor the answering ‘ching’ of delight,
I’d begged forever her not to go
But she must have gone and went,
Down to the Fair at Cinders Flo
And into the strongman’s tent.
We’d been together to see the Fair
When the sun was riding high,
And all the rides and the Ferris Wheel
Were reeling up in the sky,
We rolled a ball at the grinning clowns
And we won a Teddy Bear,
The hairy woman and legless man,
All of the freaks were there.
But then we got to the Strongman’s tent
And I saw her eyes go wide,
He picked her up with a single hand
And I’ll swear that Olwen sighed,
I found I couldn’t drag her away,
She paid for a second show,
And after stroking his biceps once
She waved for me to go.
I had to drag her away from there
Or she would have stayed all day,
‘What do you find so interesting?’
I finally had to say.
‘Isn’t he such a mighty man
And his muscles ripple so,
He makes me feel like I want to squeal
Like a Tarzan’s Jane, you know.’
I finally went to Cinders Flo
In the middle of the night,
Thinking the end of me and Olwen
Seemed to be in sight,
I got to his tent, and there she was,
A-stare, a look aghast,
For what she had woken up was slim,
She saw the truth at last.
For there hanging up within the tent
Was the Strongman’s muscle suit,
With every ripple and every bulge
And a chest that was hirsute,
But he sat up in his lonely bed
And was pale and thin and white,
With a certain wiry toughness, though
He could never cause delight.
I think that it cured my Olwen though
She’s never been so still,
She spends her mornings and afternoons
Hung over the window-sill,
I try to get her to walk with me
But she can’t, she says, she hates,
She’s staring down at the guy next door
As he’s working out, with weights.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 3:18 AM UTC
Please take a seat
This narration is about a strongman in feat
However, I am sure this story will bring the house down
Our journey unfolds in the desert of the Israelites
It revolves around a kid named Samson
A Super hero if you will to conquer the world
But Samson was different from others kids
In fact, he always had to hid
But as the story gets more involved
There is a problem that needs to be resolved
Samson is now an adult, But God has a decree in Samson’s life for him to handle
Wrath unto humans who fail to follow God’s word
Yet, there are two groups of people, the Philistines and the Israelites
But Samson’s strength for the goodness of God’s mission
Now Delilah meets Samson for all the wrong reasons
The Philistines has a plot for Delilah to find out where his strength comes
Yet it was in Gaza that Samson forgot all about God, and ventured into
Forbidden quarters
However, God was displeased
As legends foretold, Samson’s strength lays within his long hair
But beware and very cautious
God holds the key to Samson’s true strength and character
Samson has failed, and his hair has been cut
He is now a Mordal and weak as a kitten
Samson has been taken by the Philistines be captured, tortured and be treated as a slave
This is what you when you don’t follow God’s word and behave
Samson must go before the Philistines King and the citizens
He is being treated as nobody, but the name Samson is somebody
Suddenly, Samson summons Delilah to lead him to the Pillars of the Temple as he is going to break them using his strength
Samson attempts to push the Pillars, but nothing happens
It becomes a mockery
Immediately, Samson asks God to use his strength one last time, and it becomes granted
However, the Temple pillars began to crack and fall apart
The Temple is falling apart, run for life, but life is not given
All is destroyed including Samson
Samson knew all so well
But his was his own understanding that led to his destruction
Samson has to learn the hard way
God you don’t go astray
Hero or not, Samson was the Great Biblical Strongman, and his story will continue to be told
But the Heavens reign supreme with the thought in behold
However, always remember, the past was yesterday and tomorrow beyond.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
Picture the clown
with his silly frown
upside down
Picture the big cat
that docilely sat
as you gave it a pat
Picture the main ring
where the bearded lady will sing
the unicorns, risen at dawn
will trail a rainbow on a string
Picture the strongman
holding a child's hand
when everybody just ran
Picture the journey
that involved you and me
Picture the empty seat
Now picture the chaos
the emptiness of loss
all the glamour and gloss
Picture the heartbreak and joy
see the little boy, with the toy?
It's the one thing he don't allow
others to destroy
Picture waking at dawn
understanding in a yawn
nothing will be different this morn
Picture this, the colours are wild
life is more difficult to adhere
Picture the difficulty of this postcard
Wish you were here
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
they whisper in reverent tones
on the television,
hushed, in awe,
struck dumb
by the images
of fifty-nine tomahawk cruise missiles
a flaccid, wanna-be-strongman
just launched at Syria,
a country whose refugees
and babies we'd rather see
washed-up on the sands
of foreign lands than safely
at peace in our homeland.
Brian Williams calls
the spectacle, "beautiful."
sociopathic pundits in ecstasy,
spewing meek excuses
like babbling baboons, buffoons
lusting for an **** of nihilistic violence.
they invoke their dead gods,
beseech the "Almighty" to bless
their bloodstained hands,
and say this is how a demagogue
acts presidential.
beat the war drums in quick succession.
about face in a new direction.
left, left, left, right, left.
it doesn't matter who sits
in the Oval Office, war
makes America great again,
boosting administrative approval ratings
and corporate coffers, revenue soaring
like sky-rocketing jet-fuel.
we cannot pummel the world
into submission with munitions,
but that won't stop us from trying.
planting early graves
like seeds in the ground,
bearing fruit that spoils
and keeps this whole sick joke
spinning perpetually around.
we **** people who **** people
because killing people is wrong.
what i'd give to wake
to a world not torn
apart by war.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
It struck me like a blow in the face,
The cold truth naked before me.
I’m not a Strongman,
But a Muse,
A Bard;
My Verses are sung by the Masses.
I am but a Man who stands before ye;
Those who came before me, asks the age-old wonder:
“Has it always been this way?”
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:37 AM UTC
The light from the streetlamps squirms it's way through a ***** windshield
Miles of that road-dust, old and new, takes it due portion of the light
grabs it, casts it all reeling off, diffused
But it's ok, because now we're here, standing outside a corner store, charmingly ****** and completely bulletproof.
It has a sign that says 'Yes, we are open' and a thick, oily padlock that says 'No, we aren't'
It's like a sickly smile and a kick in the shins
A corner store like any other, except for the sound
The bass guitar flexes like a circus strongman breaking handcuffs
And pounds it's all-conquering vibe through the walls of the basement, through the brick and mortar and sidewalk-flagstone
Really more symbols that actual obstacles
The drums are syncing well, sunk as they are in the earth
We approach and find a subtler, silver-tarnish voice, worming it's way through ***** and crack
It's a pawnshop guitar, sizzling like a hot pan
It bounces like a drunk off the brick walls of the stairs leading down
Staggers it's way up, to invite you in
It's deadened just slightly by the giddy, rapidly cooling bodies relaxing there
in the no-man's-land between indoors and out, smoking,
drawing burnt-atomized sophistication in.
We mount the top stair, great explorers regarding a mountain, and proceed to climb down.
Every eye looks up, carefully half-lidded, and bored.
But for an instant, every single one has a message squirm it's way through the dust: "Yes, I am open. Please think I'm interesting. Please think I'm worthwhile."
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
It only hurts for a while
the cuts that bleed will heal
the bruises that blossom
will fade in time,
can you feel
it now?
Feel?
the way,
they told me it's long and I thought they were wrong and they were,
it's even longer and takes a strongman to get there,
many are stronger than me,
but the way that it was,
it was the way that chose me.
Whatever way is any way when you're not going
my way.
Being alone
or being a being alone being alone?
I
play
make
friends
it gets serious
and the playing ends.
I had to grow old.
and
fortune favours
cold dice on
hot tables.
It only hurts for a while
the smoke
the smoke
the smile
when my heart broke
more smoke
It only hurts when she flirts
for a while,
I will bleed
she fuels me
I feed her
she murders
I murmur.
The way
is a long way and more
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
Bleecker Street, a name associated with New York City in the section of Soho
But makes Bleecker Street many don’t know
Just what made Bleecker Street unique?
It’s straight out history is what makes the street complete
It was a Goldsmith shop
Just a gallop hop
The shop was the most famous on the block
The Goldsmith owner being Manny Strong
He was a man who knew how to get along
Mr. Strong was also a professional strongman
His strength was always in demand
Mr. Strong could bend bars to shape horseshoes
However, he could lift heavy weights and even horses himself
Now Manny Strong was ahead of his time, but not like everybody else
Mr. Strong was a valued Circus strongman being the star of the show
But a good glance of his physique was just follow the flow
He would often lift weights over his head
But he would often break chains instead
Mr. Strong had no trouble in getting a female date
But it always had to be a woman who could relate
It was Mr. Strong’s strength that was his build up
His massive muscles were his character in making female’s feel safe in his arms
Yet it was his confidence in don’t be alarmed
Mr. Strong was all strength in being a sturdy solid man
The call of his trade, a business man in demand
One of the strongest in the land
This was Manny Strong’s life that made Bleecker Street his caravan.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
for all trade, a tariff- for all debt, a war
in my hand, the future and a **** to its door
under my hand, dear empress,
now you must understand
under my will, this nation
under my will- this land
a strongman's ire
to those who oppose
tear down the bulwarks
- who dare arose
Orwell, dear prophet
your tales of future design:
"you delusional *******
This nation, a reign of infamy,
this nation of mine
for you, dear empress-
costs any you dare
for your comfort, o empress
no expense to spare
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 3:57 AM UTC
A man named GORILLA STRONG
His last name Strong describes him perfectly
Strength in his own right
Strong and Might
Gorilla Strong started on his journey as a Weightlifter
He would lift weights beyond expectations
In fact, when he lifts weights at the gym where he trains appropriately called “INTENSITY BEYOND”
Every weight he lifts sounding like an Earthquake around him with shakes and vibrations
It surrounds Mr. Strong’s training formation
His body parts seem to muscle flex without Mr. Strong doing a flex
Mr. Strong has received numerous Weightlifting awards and top honors in sportsmanship
You are probably scratching your head in wondering who is this Gorilla Strong is a person who I made up in my head
However, it would be surprising if Gorilla Strong really existed
So where did the first name of Gorilla originate?
It wasn’t from the ridges of Africa nor a descendant from King Kong
It describes Mr. Strong’s strength capabilities and Gorilla built structure
But there is another side of Gorilla Strong
He became a competitive Bodybuilder
How does one go from Weightlifting to Bodybuilding?
Easy answer, Train, Eat, Preparation and Transformation
Mr. Strong competed in Bodybuilding Contest in winning the Mr. Sensational Title
Because Mr. Gorilla Strong is unique and was wonder and instilled competitive
No imagination or dream, but fierce competition in what bodybuilding could become
The stage was set and when Gorilla Strong stepped on the Posing Dais or some would call the podium along with the other competitors, there was no comparison as to who would win the bodybuilding show
Mr. Strong was vascular, constructed, muscle pumps and showed promise and plenty of detail
It was because of his Weightlifting days that paved the way for Bodybuilding
Even when Mr. Gorilla Strong shook one’s hand, it was like shaking hands with a vice
He was just that strong
After all, one’s last name of strong is nothing to ignore
Think on crush and ouch
Some might think that Mr. Gorilla Strong might be too strong
Just saying, what if Mr. Strong was arrested, and was put into handcuffs, do think they would hold being his strength?
It might be considered a strongman act
Gorilla Strong being a man of excellence
Essence at its best
Powerful with might
Mr. Sensational
Global name
Gorilla Strong
Dec 6, 2022
Dec 6, 2022 at 4:21 PM UTC
There were times when we at least thought
The United States was deserving of praise.
We served as a model for many nations.
What has happened to those days?
Now we're at the threshold of
A growing movement that seems to be
A direct assault on what we've stood for
And a threat to our democracy.
How we used to criticize
Strongman rulers worldwide
Who stripped their people of their rights!
Oh, how we were horrified!
Now people around the world
Look at us in disbelief
And ask themselves how all of us
Are not overcome with grief.
People who lived in autocracies
And fled because they lived in fear,
Look around wide-eyed and ask,
"What the hell is happening here?"
Insurrectionists being called
Patriots? Voter suppression?
Overturning election results?
A personality cult obsession?
Immigrants becoming scapegoats?
People challenging safe elections?
Paramilitary thugs?
Folks with suspicious foreign connections?
People threatening health care workers
And thinking there's nothing wrong with that?
The breaking down of institutions?
Voters preferring an autocrat?
Apathy will be our downfall;
Our complacency will as well.
There won't be a clang of freedom
From our silenced Liberty Bell.
If we do not strive to preserve
Democracy and make that our aim,
We will suffer the consequences
And have only ourselves to blame.
-by Bob B (10-12-21)
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 8:27 AM UTC
Pseudo-scientific writings
Of two men named Strauss and Howe°
Talk about an existential
War that we are in right now.
It's called a war of the Fourth Turning,
And here's one thing the writings mention:
By aggravating societal pressures,
Leaders control the nation's attention.
Leadership will take measures
To assert public authority. (How nice!)
Then they will apply pressure
To demand public sacrifice.
An unexpected leader called
The Grey Champion will emerge--
A messianic strongman who'll
Lead the nation as allies merge.
It ought not to be so difficult
To see through this fiction, ought it?
However, the president's right hand man,
(Gulp!) Steve Bannon, bought it.
This is the "birth of a new political
Order," Bannon has said. What' more,
We're "in the top of the first inning."
He puts it this way: "We're at war!"
Expansionist China and radical Islam
Will bring about our defeat
Because the Judeo-Christian West,
Bannon adds, is in retreat.
He talks of dark days ahead.
Part of the apocalyptic plan
Has to do with being "reborn"
Or having to face the end of man.
Bannon has the president's ear!
It's really scary when buffoons
Are given top positions and power.
THIS GUY is ****** TUNES!
- by Bob B (2-11-17)
°William Strauss and Neil Howe
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
give me
the gift
of sorrow
the strongman’s
pencil
-
in the purgatory
of spaced out
animals, ****
on the short
straw
-
tell me I’m not surrounded
-
show to my brother
youtube videos
of our mother
sleeping
on her father’s
back
-
say something in my sister’s mouth
-
scrub me
from the shoemaker’s dream
with a rock
the rock
I deserve
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC