Best Forearms Poems
One character I used to like a lot
was skinny, bald, and not at all refined.
yet he was superhuman when he fought
and also had a keen detective’s mind.
He had a pipe, and this ingenious bloke
would use it as a torch or periscope.
In fact, he rarely used that pipe to smoke!
With goons and Bluto he would always cope
by using it to suck a spinach can!
His forearms bulged, for he got strong that way.
Strong to the “finich,” was this sailor man
from eating spinach when he saved the day!
To Olive Oyl and Swee’pea he stayed true -
*Pupeye, Pipeye, Peepeye, and Poopeye too!
Written 5/20.2015 for the Cartoon Character Contest of Shadow Hamilton
* The four nephews of Popeye who resembled little Mini-Me’s of Popeye.
Categories:
forearms, character,
Form:
Sonnet
From Scrabster harbour we set
Sea fishing we go
Off Dunnett Head
Dinghy in tow
A few hours we sail
To reach the spot
To hunt our catch
Check my lobster pots
This Pentland firth
Flowing blue and fresh
With our deep sea rods
Various baits, spinning meps
Along the way
Some pots we check
Crustacean grab
Lobster and dab
Destination reached
Our fishing ground
Sounder on
Fish are found
Leaded up, lines straight
Darrow's aplenty, strengthened trace
Lines down bottom hit
Watch the tip as we drift
The waves deceive
We think a bite
Natures water
Tricks us slight
This beautiful day
As patience allows
We hear a shout
From the starboard bow
Wow! dad,
Look at the bend on your rod
Is it a dogfish or ling
Or a monster cod
Posture right to reel this catch
Has this fisherman met his match
Over an hour this marathon lasts
Fish against man, sporting ask
Forearms ache, back strains
I reel it in, it then regains
Is it tiring, or is it me
This awesome creature from the sea
Moments later
Surface splash
A wing of skate
Adrenalin blast
Fish aboard
Tagged and weighed
Released with care
In its domain we played
The day goes on
With various catch
But only the one
Had met his match
The evening draws
With the firth so calm
As we watch the sunset
With a golden dram
To Mother Nature we raise our glass
She is indeed, such a wonderful lass
Categories:
forearms, nature, sea, sportsfishing,
Form:
Rhyme
People not knowing fidget, look around the room knocking the table as they cradle their heads.
People knowing frantically write their thoughts, feet planted, eyes crossed with creases as information is translated from the calculator to their sheet.
Elbows, forearms planted on the desk occasionally, unconsciously scratching ears.
Cutting the air is a cough, a sniff, a paper being flicked, people moving in chairs.
The walls don’t stop the echo of the teacher next door, muffled voices of people.
Pens down. Slap! The pencil hits the table, the race has finished, who won.
Categories:
forearms, confusion, education, math, race,
Form:
Free verse
Football here; Sunday drumm'ng 'n forthcom'ng
Woe' the snap, the fans are humm'ng
Bluff to the right, tail off, fade back
Excitement in frenzy air - yak-i-tee-yak!
Uh-uh, side step - whack, smack, sack!
Wit roars 'n rah-rah sounds
Bravo fans yell'ng 'n scream'ng like wolfhounds
Da' ground rumbl'ng, wit' brave cavaliers
With screech'ng hip-hip cheers in all nearby ears
Missed field goal attempt...gone, it veers!
Fall downs like missiles on the grid-iron bounds
Among crash'ng ka bam ka boom sounds!
In the grass 'n field you see: helmets on head, muscle forearms
Pat on back, growl'ng, defiant glares, end-zone dance charms
The tough, proud, brave competitors wit' crossed arms
Yes, this is football 'n how it's played
Whence the ball to throw, hustle past the goal
In a battalion, forth they go in da' battlefield
Us got protection. Us got a receiver - open downfield
Hail Mary! Here we go, out on our shield
Categories:
forearms, football,
Form:
Quintain (English)
Was it my red eyes? That had me forewarned?
In the mirrior I can't see my face, hands or forearms
My souls gone till dawn, because this is what the bottles drawn
My drools thickened, my rooms spinnin, i'm puke spittin
I'm sinning, the reflections grinning, I'm sickened
Bliss missing, friendship killing, family splitting
From shootin liquids, that soothed but smitten'd
See it was liquid venom, cause i'd never
Say a sentence that would ruin and wrecken with given vengeance...
It was the Gibson sippin' me slippin' mind twistin'
Devil kickin' him livin', I the victim...
Used like a tool or weapon
The drug investin'to my depression
Runnin' with the hell and heaven's
Me testin' my agression so I can learn my lessons from my reflection because....
I thought I saw the devil this morning
Looking in the mirrior, drop of rum on my tongue
With a warning...
So it was my red eyes, and I had to reflect
I was the Number 1 suspect, I checked over everything I've wrecked
The number 1 effect, losing all respect and not being able to recollect
Can't you tell i'm disgusted with myself, and I need some help
My souls been dealt, and I don't hold any material wealth...
I'm hopeless, I sold my soul just to get it then...
It rips minds but it's my "medicine"...
Dreamers comparison, i'd ease into deadliness, god must of sent me this...
A fifth a bottle, such carelessness, bringing negligence
Oh my arrogance, the drunk feeling is excellent...
It's venomous, but to me it's not relevent...
The emphasis is i'm sick of my selfishness, and recklessness
I miss my gentleness, and sick of my drinking elements
And my true lovely sentiments because I....
I thought I saw the devil this morning
Looking in the mirrior, drop of rum on my tongue
With a warning...
Categories:
forearms, evil, family, health, hip
Form:
Verse
A pure breed horse worth value
When pureblood doesn't mix out of its kind
A kind of horse which lives within the wilderness
It's known to be the leader of its herd
When it runs in front of the rest
To lead them to safety or migrate to another location
A horse like this has royalty blood
Royalty pass down from generation to generation
A nonstop tradition among them.
Sometimes they fight when a horse sees
Its leader is becoming unfit to lead its herd.
They fight for royalty position.
They are known to be a stallion
This is an unattainable wild horse.
A horse such as this one is rare to be caught
They fight for their freedom from being captured
A horse senses good and bad.
When a wild horse senses good in you
It'll sense it from your vibes when it senses good.
They'll resistless and finally give in when it knows you'll be a good owner and treat it right. A horse becomes your best friend. They'll go home with you.
If a horse senses bad vibes from you.
It'll escape and attain its freedom from being captured
Mistreated and kept in a stable under poor conditions.
A horse with beautiful skin, shiny and black
To thy mustang horse, I rather see you from the distance
I prefer to see you run wild along with the rest of your herd.
Running along with your kind as a leader.
I hear you stomp your hoof loudly onto the ground when you irritated or-
When something is bothering you.
What makes you elegant is when you stand and
raise your forearms by bending your knee to lift your cannon and pastern high towards the air
Your worth thousands due to your astounding beauty and purity.
Sometimes when the sun reflects on your skin.
You reflect that shine due to your beauty within your skin
Categories:
forearms, animal, beauty, race,
Form:
Free verse
Hair Everywhere
Hair Everywhere
Every part of my body looks rather shoddy because it’s covered with hair
There isn’t a place, even my face, that has managed to remain bare
Time goes by, and I don’t know why, but it just keeps on growing
Like drifts of snow when it’s five below and winter winds are blowing
Covering my back there is no lack of curly long black stuff
And on my shoulders as I get older there’s way more than enough
It grows on my toes and everyone knows it blankets my forearms too
Sometimes I yearn for a mild sunburn, but none of the rays get through
Could it be a bad omen that my abdomen has a layer of dense dark locks
I look like a brute in a bathing suit; I’d rather hide in a box
There’s a wooly bush all over my tush and fuzz growing out of my ears
And to my mustache, I say “Balderdash;” Got any pruning shears?
One thing for sure; it’s hard to endure; in fact; it’s really a bother
I’m not certain of where I got all this hair; it might have been my father
It’s clearly true that he’s hairy too, so it’s probably due to genetics
At least as a girl, I can give it a whirl and cover some with cosmetics
Categories:
forearms, funny, teenage, vanity,
Form:
Light Verse
I barely notice the horse as he walks,
his gait is so incredibly smooth,
we’ve been riding all morning on this ridge,
and have settled down into a nice groove.
My friend Joshua rides just behind me,
drinking in this Rocky Mountain scene:
cool breeze, bluebird skies, and a well-marked trail,
with sweeping views right out of a dream.
We’ve been riding for a few days now,
the trip has been nothing but sublime.
“Around the next ridge,”Joshua says,
“We’ll come upon the town of Centerline.”
The thought of a drink, a shave, and hot bath
puts a smile across my tanned face,
so we ride around a pillar of stone,
and gaze down a hill upon the small place.
It’s then that I sensed something not quite right,
I had been to Centerline before.
Where was the highway, the exit ramp?
What had happened to the big box stores?
And why could I see, sharp as a hawk,
when there were no glasses upon my head?
Why were my forearms smooth and muscled,
and why were loose strands of my hair dark red?
What was I even doing riding a horse?
Doctor told me to stop ten years back.
And I should be meeting my son for lunch,
then going to see his boy up at bat!
Joshua sighed,”It can take some time,
for the spirit to accept the change.
Your heart gave out in the shower this morn,
I’m afraid you’ll miss your grandson’s game.”
I turned and realized that I had not
seen this Joshua before that ride,
in fear I blurted,”Who are you man?
And why do you talk as if I’ have died?”
He just smiled, said,”You know who I am,
I’ve carried you when your legs grew weak.
And you know exactly where you are,
it’s the place your soul always did seek.
“You always did love those western tales,
even though you knew they were fantasy.
On Earth, perhaps, but I think you’ll find
that here there is nothing beyond me.
“All the questions spinning in your head
will be answered, have no fear of this.
This world that we’re in is your heaven,
and we’ve eternity to enjoy it.”
I knew at that point that I should speak up,
but couldn’t find words to put to my friend,
he just grinned, said,”There is no need to fear,
you’re going to see all of them again.”
And just like that the worry vanished,
and the only thing that was on my mind
were thoughts of that bath, whiskey, and a shave,
so we rode on down to Centerline.
Categories:
forearms, death, god, heaven, hope,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
It was almost like a summer ritual
To prance along the brightened shores of grain,
When balmy trees wafted as usual
Aunt Em’s hut glazed nearby lakeside's terrain.
Waxed seashells rose like buffed pods on the ground,
Dotted and curved, echoing of hummed waves played
As we gathered them on coast walks, spellbound
The array of tinseled humps were engraved
And strung together into bright marble charms.
While Aunt and I giggled, skirts fluttered on air
Knitting loops as bracelets on tanned forearms,
An enchantment draped by August’s fanfare.
…I revel now at the trance of seashells’ gifts
my childhood heart nestling magic that uplifts!
Story Poem Contest, Carol Eastman
Written by: nette onclaud
Categories:
forearms, childhood, magic,
Form:
Sonnet
Tongues stall kind words to say -
planes with wheels on a waterway-
A relentless chase of light bulbs above wondering
minds and breaking the switch everytime
it's caught. In something.
Mercy, grief, fires within
choke on smoke forsaking
hallucinations that geraniums are my favorite
blooming within the weeds of a diary
where trust breeds like bacteria and scales
on fish skin are just as beautiful and preservable
as any composition.
Where humiliation and pride collide over whom
I should assist by comparing whose bones are
grayer and graver underneath their hole of self
destruction labeled with misfits. Figuring out thoughts
more fragmented than a stained glass puzzle paralyzed
in the pencil shavings of a rough draft by drunken angels
who usually sculpt the outcome of nightmares.
So many rags my body has constructed to soak up
the outpuring of suffering that they dug up with years of
cemented, pulled back, brittle fingernails and forearms
covered in filthy apologies that don't even hug me,
but accuse me of self absorption.
And misdirection, lying naked, like a dehydrated compass,
wanting nothing more than guidance by an optional savior
whose footprints are undefined to conceal the number
of followers he refines through choice of circumstance.
Still, I pray. For them. Perception has me demented.
Angrily unmovable. Impenetrable in the range of sanity.
A brown-nosed sorcerer, picked to pieces for parts needed
for an insecurity blanket to shield a reflection of madness
or jealousy or a seamstress to help them put it back together.
Although my darkest reasons for anything are just as genuine
as the shadow of a dying leaf barely gripping for it's life
on the limb of an oak tree.
The scars upon my soul have yet to develop a conscious
communication of their own.
I apologize when I do not speak.
Sometimes I believe solitude is more forgiving.
Categories:
forearms, betrayal, deep, emotions, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
"Be very still", the voice said
"I'll get the nails from between your toes".
"He still breathes", another voice.
A gentle move,
a hand laid at my back,
another at my neck.
"We are your friends, not foes",
He adds, hearing my whimpering.
I cringe at the painful sting
of nails torn from my hands.
I hear their whispers of horror
when they remove the bloodied shirt.
He wraps my chest in cellophane
Gently whispering and smiling.
Someone turning me around,
tightly strapped to a gurney
holds me softly against his chest,
while another cuts my jeans away:
"His calf needs splints, his back
Is badly hurt... those vertebrae,
this kid is most certainly not okay".
The soft voice whispers tenderness.
"A miracle he lives,
the way we found him,
he is crushed, his femur".
"Cover him in blankets,
his skin so cold, ambulance now!
Don't touch his shattered forearms!"
He cautiously takes my limp body
in his warm and careful strong arms.
My nostrils fill with strangest fragrance,
And in my brain the world spins,
Finally I am feeling warm,
And then I fall asleep
***
brain, forearms, nostrils, femur, vertebrae, chest, calf, nails, hands, toes, back, neck, arms.
***
A Body of Work - contest
sponsored by Viv Wigley
september 2016
Categories:
forearms, abuse, child abuse, pain,
Form:
Free verse
Gaia had deemed insects as king of beasts
After the last humans departed in spaceship 'Stephen Hawkings'.
'Planet Water' was in ruins, polluted, wrecked by
Runaway climate change and raging storms.
Ants has arisen as king and insect rulers
With superior organisation and pervasive presence
They evolved and grew as big as cattle
Subduing all other animals and beasts.
Yet, the terror of the Tyrannosaurus Mantis
Made all beasts tremble, when the quivering
Shadows of looming praying mantis spread over ground
Like that of Tyrannosaurus rex once terrorized past life.
Triangular head with huge bulging eyes, and vicious jaws
Could swivel around all angles, front, side and behind,
So nothing could escape its silent pervasion,
As it pranced, poised, stalked and postured on ground and in trees.
Huge forelegs, covered in spines, held coiled-up like arms in position of prayer,
Showed no mercy when they sprung out and grabbed innocent prey
Dragging bodies back, twitching and writhing in recoiled spiny forearms
To be munched alive in vicious sharp jaws, mounted acutely on triangular head.
Tyrannosaurus Mantis evolved with the ants to beasts as big as rhinos.
The ants as rulers, tried various ways to control them, kill them off for good.
But so far, no pathway to extinction for praying mantis had been found,
As some ancient god, mantis worshiped in prayer, seemed to protect them.
Categories:
forearms, cute, environment, future, insect,
Form:
Free verse
He has forearms much like Popeye; he loves his pork and beans;
And the mussels bulge all over; especially his jeans.
His face looks like a road map;his attitude is harsh;
He likes to take the girls he meets; to his hideout in the marsh
Like a poet who don’t know it;
In his face it surely shows it;
But if you look it’s all around us
He’s as old as Nostradamus
People say he’s no good; and maybe they are right;
That’s what many like to have; when the lights go out at night.
He has been called the ghost man; but Casper he is not;
He’s the midnight bedroom dancer; cooking up his plots
And he’s not as fat as hell; he can see all his essentials
And the stories in the break rooms say; this fellow has potential
He sits there reading magazines; titled avant-garde;
And all in there is easy; but out here it’s so hard.
Oh my God these pictures; have no flowers or a moon;
The drawer in this write does think; the digs are coming soon.
But ah predictability; such a pleaser to the crowds;
It’s like television cartoons; being played too loud.
No offense is offered; except those fences that are broken;
And the cartoon with-out pictures; the artist is just joken;
But if it passed you over; just look from over here;
You can laugh like crazy at it all; or cry all in your beer.
Categories:
forearms, funny
Form:
Rhyme
How to describe him,
the he that was so much a part of me
but for such a short while
brawn.
The span of his shoulders
as they stretched across his un-ironed flannel plaid.
The wedge shaped fan of his finger nails,
always a bit black;
even though, by God, he tried.
Locks drew him,
puzzles, pleased him,
whiskers became him.
And the blue of his eyes
was Dresden
bringing back memories of the Irish Sea.
Suren, his kin seemed for all intents and purposed
to be shan ti Irish
and not lace curtain Irish at all.
Who would want all that thin,
untried blood anyway,
when you could have a true mans-man
with forearms like tree boughs
with a heart so big, his laughter
seemed to crack his face
at the corner of his eyes.
A taunt man
who you didn’t mind seeing
coming or going
who wore a slouched felt hat,
threw long-handles axes
and carried a long bow.
*names have not been changed to protect the innocent
no one's innocent here ;)
Categories:
forearms, men,
Form:
Free verse
Summer Holidays In Grannies
I remember the hives of summer
down in grannies place
and June's illusions bouncing on the lane
Unformed people floating on hot black air
There at the bottom of the Tournant Road
by the gap overlooking the glen
I would press myself against the dry stone wall
to look at a thousand beautiful things,
or rock like a pendulum by gripping barbed wire
Its wooden posts, ghosts, after forty winters
a bright sun to burn forehead and forearms.
Later, those arms will stick to the oilcloth of her table
but then I'll be listening to conversations
Words to the rhythm of a dying wall clock
as moths tap unheeded on her kitchen window
Categories:
forearms, childhood, grandparents,
Form:
Free verse