Best Shirtless Poems
A quote from "90 North" by Randall Jarrell:
"I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from darkness -- that the darkness flung me --
is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness.
And we call it wisdom. It is pain."
The first bike I ever owned --
when I was ten or eleven --
was a Christmas gift
from a friend. He was receiving a new one
and I was gifted with his old bike.
He had cleaned it up and brush painted it
with a nice coat of red paint.
It was the only gift I got that year,
one of my only gifts as a child.
I loved that bike:
it freed me to pedal around so
I could accompany my friend
as we rode anywhere in our tiny,
sandy, two-paved-road fishing town.
Before the bike, I ran alongside him.
I was quite accustomed to running everywhere,
especially in summer, barefoot, usually shirtless.
Most years from first grade
until we were about twelve,
we spent our time together,
at his house or in imaginary jungles
or on wild, indian-infested wagon train trails.
We defended those trails from apaches
intent on taking our scalps.
Sometimes, on pirate ships, we manned canons
or forced reluctant traitors and mutineers
to walk the plank for failures and misdeeds.
We were never bored, usually outdoors.
On jungle safaris we were frequently attacked
by ferocious lions and tigers and
often captured by cannibal head-hunters
who put us into large pots to cook us
while dancing all around and brandishing
their spears. They sang or chanted
amazing, invented language repetitive
verses overloaded with frequent "ughs'
and tongue-twisting nonsense phrases.
His mother served us gallons of Kool Aid,
gave us snacks we ate with relish.
With a child’s trusting nature,
I hoped this could never end –
I felt secure in friendship and
apparent acceptance by
my friend’s parents. Of course,
things did change.
But..........I did not.
Not for a long, long time.
Categories:
shirtless, age, best friend, boy,
Form:
Narrative
Armed with chainsaws in the field, two young men are shirtless guests
with shoulders bronzed by sun and sweat.
The timbre in the August sun has scattered birds and stirred unrest
The tree they'll slay has leaves of gold,
lacing branches frail and old, - but now its time is spent
Rising from his afghan nest, a man peers out the window glass
to witness as the death unfolds.
As one who brought the seedling home, he waits to see the giant fall
He holds his breath, but not his tears. Age and illness hems the years.
And just as earth might moan in pain, the tree comes tumbling down
There was a day, not long before, ....before his war began
Back then he could lift a saw like that, ..hold it skillfully, carefully, casually
Angle down, - angle up, - cut a wedge, - hear it crack
Now there's pathos in dust-driven clouds
that shadows an earth that has lost its sun
It trembles now to catch its breath.
And branch by branch it lays to rest the leaves of courage, a golden crest,
that was shelter, home, a fortress blessed, a place to lean to find solace
A tree, ... nor a man cannot be defined
by disease, confinement, by age or time
A tree falls down. It is nature's plan
to open the field, while clearing the land
What came before, grows new today,
The void that's left cannot be filled,
and tears we shed cannot be stilled
His leave will make a louder sound
The dust will rise. Trees burn to ash
What matters most is never lost
Oh yes, how it shatters the fragile heart!
Oh God, how it matters, how could it not?
- But, the man and the tree have earned a rest
____________________________________________________________
6/6/17
Categories:
shirtless, bereavement, brother, goodbye, how
Form:
Free verse
Daydreaming of you is all I seem to do.
Staring at your picture on my computer screen, wishing you were here staring back at me.
Your my computer love, my secret crush.
Leaving me in an intoxicating lush, your body I desperately lust.
If I can get to you through my computer screen, I will be able to show you exactly what I mean.
Long days and long nights of communication with you, helps me fantasize and make my dreams truer.
Love scenes play in my head, love scenes upon a fluffy feather bed.
I am dressed in all white, as if this was our wedding night.
You shirtless and touching me just right.
Delicate biting invited sweet kisses.
Deep staring makes my eyes glisten, and vigilant in guarding a possession.
As the intermittent gleams sparkling, makes the moon and the stars jealous.
I shine my twinkling smile; the thoughts of you are so worthwhile.
So in love with your artistic style, I am leaving your picture as my computer background.
Being your virtual girl, I want to exist in your world.
Hypothetically speaking simply coexisting, sadly admitting we are only acquaintance.
Forever my computer love fantasy boy toy, I deploy.
Fore dreams are all I have of you, in reality I could never have you.
I just cannot seem to delete my computer files of you so…
Until the day we really make love, you shall remain my computer love.
Categories:
shirtless, boyfriend, desire, fantasy, feelings,
Form:
Light Verse
It came with a flash upon my back
Caught off guard, suspenders hanging
Madly rushing to find a place so safe
From around the bend with a honk
“Hey watch your steps” was a shout
Horn blowing while in passing
One disgruntled taxi driver glaring
Newspaper umbrella in ruins
Noisy rumbling above from a subway
Heading down the track, clank, clank, clank
Brown dog barking, woof, woof, looking back
Shelter at last, finally found a spot
The rain came down with a heavy shout
Caught shirtless and without shoes
Now sipping coffee listening the blues
Feeling brand new tasting some stew
Categories:
shirtless, adventure, funny, imagination, life,
Form:
Free verse
In that glistening azure pond
I had a favorite
A duck
I called
Tawnablu
A quacker kind of
Bird
Recognizable by the
Aquamarine
Feathers
Atop her bobbing head
She swam aloof from
The rest
And refused all bread
Crumbs
Thrown her way
Even the finest bits
Collected from week old
French bread
Leftovers from the
Bakery
Down the road
The one managed by a
Croatian
Kick boxer from the Bronx
The one that
Refused entry to
Shirtless
Skateboarding
Teens
But kindly gave me
All the crusty crumbs I
Could bag
For my
Duck feeding
Addiction
And I am not embarrassed
Not so macho
To say
I loved that duck
My Tawnablu
In ways I can never
Describe
But let me try
To put my affection
Into words
Just this once:
Tawnablu, my pretty Canard
Quacking so hard
I want to ride your back
Down a stream
Without end
Tawnablu, my epic Canard
Quacking so hard
Take me, wild beauty
All the way to
Duck Heaven
Categories:
shirtless, animals, introspection, love, nature,
Form:
Free verse
"We're going on vacation," my husband said. I gave him a big kiss.
Time away from home and housework was something I wouldn't miss.
"Let's check into our hotel," I cried, when I heard thunder.
"Which hotel?" My husband asked. I looked at him with wonder.
"You made reservations, didn't you?" I asked with a sense of doom.
The town over-flowed with people. We'd never get a room.
We drove by nice hotels and inns. "No vacancy", signs read.
We were in the dingy part of town when he turned the car around.
There was a lit sign above a doorway, a room was to be found.
A shirtless man said, "Money first", I gave my man a frown.
He whispered, "It's a flophouse." I didn't like that term.
The look I gave my husband was meant to make him squirm.
And as I glared, I truly hoped that it would cause him pain.
Coming with no reservation, was really quite insane.
I vowed if we got home alive, I'd never leave again.
Categories:
shirtless, vacation,
Form:
Rhyme
I sold the oven and bought a microwave
I can't even make a pot roast
(You took the cookbook with you)
It's like my torture chamber for refrigerated food
Zapping all the nutrition like a superpower
I make that nerdy reference cause you're not around
The audience in my head is the only sound
So you can keep your Ronald McDonald hair due
I'll keep my pride and my wallet
You can keep your "garden trimmings" I pretend to like
And I'll live off Hot Pockets
When you leave through that door
Don't forget the makeup that makes you pretty
I'm making popcorn for a grand total of one
Cause there's more for me
I'm kicking my feet up on the table,
Do you like the rings?
(I fed your handmade coasters to the dog)
I'm taking it easy like a log on a lake
Letting the leaves pile up cause I don't have to rake
Through out the whole day I'm flipping through the channels
Shirtless... I don't have to wear this ugly flannel
Baby, you can just walk on by
I'll even wave you a goodbye
(Can't mouth the words with Bud Light don't my throat)
I'm redecorating the house
Burnt the traps and claimed a pet mouse
(Made a bed for him from my "favorite" coat)
And without you around
I can be more frivolous with my money
I'm ordering take out with a side of fried rice
Cause there's more for me
Categories:
shirtless, humorous,
Form:
Lyric
Another day and the dishes have piled up yet again
So back I end up in front of the window
I do not glance up, but concentrate
On the dull, dirtied objects before me
I do not hear the voices from yesterday
I still wallow in the grime of gray
I smile in malcontent
As I lather the dishes with soap
Against my will, I look up
To see a lone, fat man opening a refrigerator
He is shirtless, bulgy, and he looks pregnant
My first supposition is to laugh
But I only look back down at the dishes
Not wanting to stare at the fat man
Not wanting to think he looks pregnant
For sure not wanting him to be my neighbor
Across the way
Against my will again, I look up
The fat, pregnant man is gone
I see ornaments on the refrigerator
Some pictures, some magnets
Family; not so different from my life
But yet, there is a transparent fancy of mystery
A flashy rage of difference in the silence
Oh, so quiet
The blazing sun sprays its light upon the hour
Not only are my hands wet from the soapy water
The deafening tone of quietude
Revels in me a mixture of loneliness and physical heat
A burning desire for something not seen
A desire for utter disgust of my newly found neighbors
But I find myself not disgusted at all
Until I look up again and see a fully naked man at the window
Across the way
Categories:
shirtless, absence, abuse, analogy, angst,
Form:
Ballad
seaweed stuck on sand
seagulls seeking small shellfish
shirtless swimmers splash
crawling crabs, claws clasped
clams closed, coral chips and conch
children's castle crafts
Pick A Title, Vol. 3 Alliteration Poetry Contest
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
3-24-2019
Categories:
shirtless, ocean,
Form:
Alliteration
All an illusion
It's all an illusion.
No matter where I am, I am alway just,
sitting there. Unaware, with a blank stare messy hair
and probably the same clothes that I always wear.
Wrangler jeans, and a button up, sleeved. (period)
Because, I hate T-shirts.
Hate them!
In fact, I'd be fine if they all just disappeared!
Into thin air. I'm serious.
the plague, wasting, predators, or aliens came to take em!
They'd say.
Or they inbred too much,
and their lineage diminished
intelligence forsook em.
Gene pool plummeted
they became disoriented, wrangled and out-competed
and just sort of drifted away,
They'd say,
it was probably believing everything they see on the news.
That led to their doom.
That, and marrying too young, having litters,
of far more than they could possibly support on their wage!
Stupid T-Shirts
And later, when documentaries are made on why their society caved.
they'd say in five languages: “Stupid T-shirts”
You'll see em today, at the Walmart or on display in friendly glass cases,
With nothing but idiotic slogans, and quotes from bad movies
“That's what she said”
Or some sort of shark-cat reaching with fangs and claws up at
a bikini wearin slice of pizza...
They call it “Paws”
Myself, I'd rather be shirtless in a game of seven card stud.
I'd rather be seen strung up dangling by my hair parasailing through Canadian Territory,
and mistaken for a chipmunk. Covered in varmints blood, Or spend my weekend servin sweet tea to
Donald Judd.
Than even be seen wearing one.
No dignity in em,
Just picture Grant, Lee or even Sam Houston
Wearing a shirt with an arrow
That reads:
“I'm with Stupid”
Categories:
shirtless, education, funny, humor,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
His lips are so sweet, he's wearing the perfect suit
Everyone say that we're the match that I shouldn't quit
Here I am in my dress with at the end my comfy seat
So tell me honey? Why I should quit.
So many people, my family, your and many strangers
The church steps, stepsisters and stepford smilers
They won't eat the cake until a wake
Am I holding your hand, or is it a benefit to take?
I love insects so why I'm wearing a mosquito net?
Apparently, difference is something to hate
His lips are so sweet, he's wearing the perfect suit
Everyone say that we're the match that I shouldn't quit
Here I am in my dress with at the end my mundane seat
So tell me honey? Why I shouldn't quit.
It's surely the best day of their life which you don't want to ruin
However, my mother is waiting for me in the limousine
The bridesmaid will need my bouquet, you deflowered her
I'm tired to kiss your shadow, I see a brighter outcome outdoor
Sorry my darling priest, it wasn't a test
I promise you that one day you will witness my best
One year later, one year later
Sorry, we didn't kept money for a narrator
His teeth are biting my neck, he's shirtless
My mom asked me if I was reckless and I'm fond of your face
All of this time you were under my bed
I wished I could have noticed sooner your head
Here I am my dear Priest, my dress is quite a mess
So tell me my love, will it be a yes?
Categories:
shirtless, funny, funny love, heart,
Form:
Rhyme
since maintaining a diet
of exercise heeding "yo dude"
(you look like a lady)
the inner fitness maven against
the temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this LIX aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-
winking bosom, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
as per this chest lewd
city in reference to "man boobs"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around
this noncrowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely nude
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a prude
and even during closed bedroom door
sexual exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)
and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology screwed)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
hoe ping belive mass elf ya wood.
Categories:
shirtless, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Personification
He knew a world of lesser life,
"miles from here and everywhere," he'd often quip.
He sat in a swing hung from chains, soaking up nature
after the fence mending and baling of hay was done.
Time to untangle the worries, unburden the aches and
pains of the day- send them on down the creek.
He would scrape dirt from his boots, then whittle on a stick,
drawing in the thick evening air- overalls and shirtless.
And I on the porchstep, long rid of paint...barefoot,
watching the sun hemorrhage through the old oak leaves.
Nightfall would slowly sponge up the pale, honey-hued sky
while wildflowers would nod off in the cool autumn breeze.
He, sipping bourbon from a cup, would become the vainglory of tales,
and I with lemonade- the idolizer- paid homage with keen ears
while the choirs of bullfrogs lauded their serenade.
Then God would snap on His heavenly lights,
making the fireflies vie for attention as his stories overflowed
late into the night- each page of the scrapbook kept
inside his head, was dusted and narrated with pride.
And I listened with a reverent air.
The next morning I would find myself tucked into an old
feathered bed...never remembering how I got there.
Categories:
shirtless, beauty, character, childhood, farm,
Form:
Free verse
Shirtless and nervous, I sit at the edge
Of my bed, all alone, my courage I dredge
From deep within in my heart so long gone
The matters of heart can't by solved by pure brawn
I hear her getting ready and my heart won't slow down
Just like the first time, its pace is abound
And it slams to a halt as she opens the door
As she walks to me, I feel it drop to the floor
I take her in my arms and hold her close to me
Inhaling her scent as she presses close to me
We both fall back hard, her lips pounce upon mine
As I taste her sweet breath, I lose track of time
The minutes slip by as we return to roots
Scents more intoxicating than the sweetest of fruits
At the end of it all, we fall back with a grin
Some things never change, that's how it's always been
Categories:
shirtless, passion, heart, heart,
Form:
Rhyme
Trying to come down a mountain you've already conquered is the true test, and it's a hard one.
Like pouring cheap sanitizer
over your bloody hands.
The 99.99 that it may kill will not eliminate the painful little hundreth percent of pain that still stands.
But it is necessary.
I can see parts of my past like jagged rocks I've already placed my feet upon once. They remind me of all the times I slipped up cut myself with such failure I never thought I'd move on from. I slide down the mountain's side, hoping that if I fall forward I will be caught by a cloud filled with the heaviness of my old pride. Reminiscing on a cumulus crime trying to piece together where I made the mistake in believing being selfish would ever put me on cloud nine.
It can no longer hold me
like flimsy caution tape failing to hold an overwhelming riot at bay
and down I go with the rain precipitating all my pain away.
At 6'4, my height is pretty easy to see
my mind is pretty difficult to read
And my beliefs are even harder to understand.
At times I feel having the word 'susceptible' tattooed across my chest would be fitting for me
just so I could be understood by my fellow man.
I heard that 90% of human interaction is nonverbal so
if I could, without a word I would speak volumes upon volumes of my autobiography and just live the rest of my life shirtless
So that even to the passing stranger, my life story they could comprehend.
Vulnerability at it's finest.
I learn from experience.
After a long fall, I land close to rock bottom.
The temptation to give up always seems to make camp in front of the exit of freedom.
I can see two male rams clashing their brains together while making a thunderous noise; the most accurate depiction of brainstorming I've ever witnessed, and an easy way to see that staying stuck at the bottom is a choice.
There is always something new to learn.
Something to struggle with up and down the mountain.
What we must learn is to not be ashamed of our struggles, and to instead show how we are victorious through the renewed life we live.
Categories:
shirtless, imagination, inspirational, introspection, life,
Form:
Personification