Best Biceps Poems
I used to like barbells, enjoyed pumping iron,
my Nautilus* gym was one happy environ.
Those posters of 6-packs and marbled biceps
inspired me to start counting carbs, pounds, and reps.
My trainer would coax, "hold as long as you can!"
Doing deadlifts I felt like a WAS a dead man
The kettlebell, medicine ball - hated those,
since dropping 'em both on my poor little toes.
My dad-bod and willpower soon parted ways,
after only 1 set, I was shell-shocked for days
My back hurt, my knees ached, I'd injured my hips,
after grimacing nonstop, I'd sprained both my lips.
Oy! The sharp pain that shoots
through my quads, delts and glutes...
Now my game plan is shifting
no more power lifting.
To planks, it's "no thanks",
I'm expunging all lunging.
I feel stabs in my abs,
there's a hex on my pecs
and my lats shriek like bats.
When I tweak my oblique
I am sore to the core...
and I want it no more.
The rowing machine is no longer my scene
I loathe those squats lots and I hate crunches bunches.
Do sit-ups or push-ups? Do jump-ups or chin-ups?
I'm more inclined now to do lots of "I-give-ups".
My doc tried convincing me I'd be less tired?
I'm questioning how that poor man's brain is wired!
I felt half exhausted just WATCHING staff clean
the ellipticals, treadmills, and stair-climb machine.
Then... I found when I stood on the locker room scale
That my plan to lose weight was a sad epic fail!
I'm done! I have finished my very last burpee -
I just want a hot dog and super-size Slurpee.
What happened to wanting to feel fit and well?
When it came to workouts, I was just a dumbbell.
I've resolved now to walk more, or swim a few laps
maybe jog, ride my bike, play some tennis, take naps.
That's right, getting plenty of rest seems so plain,
it appears the most challenging muscle to train ...
is the brain.
* Nautilus is a brand of gym equipment
written 2 Oct 2022
I walk past empty bedrooms that once held my boys
The beds made so perfect, the absence of noise
Books there on the book shelf and not upon the floor
No ear-splitting music, no slamming the door
It’s eerily quiet now these once busy dens
These bunkers of bustle with brothers and friends
They’re off to college now the closets are clean
They only come home now on days in between
The weeks of the study the homework and toil
With loads of their laundry all dirty with soil
These nice empty bedrooms so tidy and neat
Just aren’t the same in their pristine retreat
As when the sneakers are thrown in a corner
The fridge it is drained like an unwilling donor
The noise and the smell of exercised teens
Showing off muscles with biceps and spleens
Banging a cupboard while toasting some bread
At three in the morning before heading to bed
Now some dorm at the coast, in some far away place
Or corner of frat-house who’s presence they grace
Our bedrooms are empty the rooms nice and quiet
The sheets all in place and the fridge on a diet
But once in a while it all comes to life
Things they are back to the brotherly strife
Rooms not so tidy and sharp as a knife
As when we’re alone…just me and my wife
David Kettler
MALE DOMINATION
-----------------------------
Candlelight rides hard against the skin
The warmth of the fire eating with excitement
A slight touch of desire, running down my spine
Wax drops, leaving behind intense passion
I move my whip, circling your biceps
I'll take you into a world you've never known
My body and breath ......so...... hot
Come dance with me, under the sheets
I will please you, examine everything you got
Whisper them words in your ear, beg for more
Purr for me, my slave,
I am your sex kitten, vixen,
I'll take you by surprise
---
Caress every flow of my womanly direction
I tickle your spots, feeding your sexual ego
Fondling the intimacy of your frustration
Stroll my heart with your sauce appetite-
I am your sex Goddess Delight.
Spread my flesh, so perfectly,
--look, admire, I give you permission to kiss
-- Kisses starting from the top part of my thigh.
Inject a solo French Kiss, releasing more impure wetness.
Slipping, in wet
--
An artist painting the way of my moans
Polish with light marks on my necks
With your brush of one-touch
I have you at my feet-
Tame by the dominatrix at night
by; P.D.
Hey there, Muscle Men, please come my way
I’m moving out on Labor Day
Packing’s made me a muscle lady
Biceps are growing on this baby
Incredible Hulks are welcome here
Superman seems to have disappeared
Consider the workout you’ll receive
A hopeful woman wants to believe
That those who can lift barbells so high
Could stack and haul, making this move fly
Speed like The Flash is what I need most
Flex muscles, don’t just stand there and boast
Batman, the cave needs to be cleared out
So bring your friends; give Robin a shout
Trapped in time, Achilles defends Troy
I pray the Lord sends a modern boy
Who wants to help a gal in distress?
The Holy Spirit brings my request
My aching bones would welcome a hand
From one who fancies himself a he-man
I close my eyes
So I can see you
That I'm still in your heart
I clench my hands
So I can feel you
That I'm still inside of you
I rub my heart
To ponder... that you still care for me
I call my soul
To wonder... you're my home in me
You opened my eyes,
Covered and blinded
Under the dark skies
You softened my hands,
Rough and burnt
Under the sun that dries
You revived my restless body
And lifted up my spiritless life
You brought back
The smile in me
And laughter, long buried
Inside of me
You are my home
My heart and my soul
Wherever I am
I carry you with me
I walk in your footsteps
Holding my heart with your forceps
My strength in my biceps
My shield above my triceps
Your shoulder
Is my armor
Tempered with ardor
Your heart is my home
My heart that dwells in chrome
blank-faced the page calls
each pounded pore of rice waits
brush tips dance on pointed toe
or fall like curtains
stark poser of questioned light
much more is left than finished
softer surface calls
needle prick the skin of white
adorning torsos and limbs
shaded dragon roil
as biceps flex and uncurl
much more is left unfinished
sea green stones of jade
shade and shadowed by chisel
leaves and limbs of trees precise
form rows dark and light
frozen forests unmoving
much more is left unfinished
First Published in Eunoia Fall of 2014
Oh Vanity Thy Name is Metro-Man
At the gym,
admiring his bulging biceps in a giant mirror,
he reaches for his ever-ready smart phone
and stops to make a boastful tweet.
Driving home, sipping his protein drink,
he involuntarily sneers
noticing construction workers on a roof,
their strong bronzed arms glistening in the sun.
He makes a mental note
to stop off at the tanning booth tomorrow.
At the salon, and after his daily massage,
he lies back for his manscape.
Oh, how it hurts, he inwardly groans,
but as he contemplates how the hotties at the pool
will love his baby smooth skin,
a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
At his sterile home
with its many beautiful toys meant to entertain
the largest and oldest of grown-up boys,
he goes to his social media account
eager to relate how just today
he broke his personal best bench press record
Before bed, he brushes and carefully flosses
and then applies his special lotions.
Looking down at his manhood, he smiles again
until the thought
of pushing papers at the office
flits through his mind:
Oh the drudgery that I must endure
to afford my awesome life!
July 10, 2017 for the Modern Vanity Contest of Lewis Raynes
If my tears could clean her pain
And make her hurt no more
Then I will drink every sour
Because of my beloved friend, more for
If the smiles will knock on her door
And the price will be a bit of my ego
I will sacrifice it so
Oh!
If today will clean your sorrow
And give you showers of joy tomorrow
And it will only cost me a penny so hollow
Then I'd throw it in a pit very shallow
I want to take away your tears
I want to bring back my dear
Dear friend, dear friend...
If only you and your smiles again will toast
And it will cost me a bit of my boast
Then I did become the phantom again, a ghost
For you are my coat
And am your cloth
In your joy does mine float
You are my boat
And am your kite
If only your happiness will reach such height
And it will cost me only a bit of my might
Then I will give away the blackness of my hair so bright
And bring the smiles back into your sight
I did fight
If only I have the biceps
I'll fight
If only I could
I'll fight
Pock marked
Bert was cooking in a bucket,
Knew his hide at any rate
Pock marks on his thighs an biceps,
Shot that day by a sniper, mate,
Sniper chopped by Aussie Bren gun,
Fell from palm in many pieces,
Driven back by charging soldiers,
Jonno’s mates were ‘ridge e didge’,
Next day they drove off the Japanese,
Checked the cooking pots for tucker,
Fermenting rice, not much chop,
Starving Jap’s, not any luckier,
Two armies starved, no tucker,
in these green mountains, grim,
slaughter at point blank range,
shoot first boy, or get done in,
Evidence at the war crime hearing,
Jonno and the Doctor gave,
Several cases were reported,
Of Kokoda’s missing brave’s.
Don Johnson…true story…16-aug-11
This Aussie war in New Guinea, was concurrent
with Gaudacanal's desperate U.S.fight with around 20,000 Japanese
...We only had 13,000 armed Japanese bent on coming over Kokoda
mountains, and then on to Australia, they had the Japanese
10 shilling note occupation money in their pockets. The Japanese
say they were ordered back over the mountains to Gona and Buna,
it saves face hey. The reality was they were dying slowly from starvation,
malaria 2 types, plus Dengue fever was killing many,
and the 2500 fresh Aussie blooded veterans drove them back
from Irobiawa mountain top with fixed bayonets.
After a day or so of our 25 pounders blasting them. Time to leave.
Tombs begin to bloom like raw, bloodless wounds.
Tomes are written with truths of her dead moon’s
tones. A keening lunacy keeps the dirges alive, while
bones rise out of repose. A degloved hand on the dial
hones into a night rainbow's radio, she runs on solar,
hopes for the rhythm to wrench free from her toller—
copes with the captivity of being bodiless hands. Twilight
comes to chance escape—open palms toward birthright.
Coves burst into flame; a hungry fire wants holier water.
Coven circles, recovers the skinless limbs of their daughter.
Woven like song, sirens' balm to restore coats of missing arms,
women are spells read correctly, using words as our alarms,
woken to language, resurrecting ancient pairs of sacred charms.
ten reps of ten,
here I go again.
Today I work on my biceps,
triceps,
I feel great.
Ten reps of ten,
sweat soaking my beater.
Nobody to lend a hand,
all this weight,
I can,
do my ten reps of ten..
Jared Pickett
10/3/09
Asavvy1
No pain no gain in the natural,
No pain unfortunately that’s the way,
Working on biceps, and other muscles,
For physical results. No exempt from life’s
Problem without a doubt.
Who needs pain to gain in any case?
Nothing good comes easy we know.
It’s part of life and we cannot change,
Adam and Eve in labor set the stage.
No pain no gain no end result to boast,
Pain so painful, still attracts a toast,
Enjoy the success, and freedom it brings
Not anything specific, but almost anything.
The Athlete’s Denial
By Elton Camp
Bulging biceps and great power
Made Jock the man of the hour
As a model of good sportsmanship,
Recognition sent him on an ego trip
Long-standing records broke right & left
Made easier by his impressive heft
But meddlers wouldn’t let it be
“This looks very suspicious to me”
Accusers arose to testify he did it
In fear, they conspired and hid it
At least that is what they all say
Jock claims it wasn’t that way
“Why such drugs I’d never use.
It’s to be liars those guys choose.
Jealousy since I’m better than they
Now the league won’t let me play.”
“If an asterisk is put by my name
My records won’t seem the same.”
The truth of the matter I don’t know
But find it rather disturbing, though
He billed himself as an expert in the field of "equine podiatry",
Better known as a farrier for farmers and the cream of society!
Keeping horses shod and their hooves polished was his vocation.
With horseflesh he'd had many an interesting confrontation!
He always had a roll-yer-own dangling from his lips,
And a blackened leather apron wrapped about his hips.
His jaw was set and with biceps wrought of tempered steel,
He'd strike the anvil with his hammer - what a rhythmic peal!
In his jumbled shop he'd shod animals of many breeds.
Donkeys, mules, ponies and prized Arabian steeds.
He shoed critters pulling covered wagons to unknown frontiers,
And many a cowpokes cayuse for the round-up of his steers!
One detail they didn't cover when he was in farrier school,
Was how to deal with the occasional cantankerous mule.
Many times he'd found himself sprawled upon the dirt,
With the outline of a hoof imprinted upon his shirt!
Tho' his profession never guaranteed a life of glamour,
And knowing he'd not get rich wielding a tongs and hammer,
Yet, it was challenging working with ornery mule and horse,
Always hoisting their hindquarters very gingerly of course!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Trois Par Huit
AAB BB BCC
3,6,9,12,12,9,6,3
Workout
muscle bound
gaining pound after pound
triceps, biceps, lats, a cut up back.
Push ups, sit ups, crunches to create a six pack,
tuna fish, chicken, fruits and veggies for a snack.
Summer is here, I can't do without
Bronze body tan, so devout.
This work-out.
Jared Pickett
5/12/2010
Asavvy1