Forearms Poems | Examples

welcoming aj

A.J has rainbow hair
a pierced nose
tattoos on her forehead and forearms
her clothes are outrageously strange
she looks madder than the mad hatter from Wonderland
Her grandmother welcomes A.J. with a huge smile.
Come sit in my pew! She urges her.
Glad to see her in church
Loving that she came.

todays easier

It gets better
Taking things day by day
Its a little easier to get up in the morning
To smile and make breakfast and wash your face
To do a quick yoga session and laugh with your mum over morning coffee
The weight on your shoulders never really gets lifted
The bags under your eyes never really goes away
The scars on your forearms never quite heal
A silver streak to remind you
But it doesn’t matter because today you woke up and smiled and made breakfast and chatted with mum over coffee and did some yoga and laughed a little
So its ok that its not quite easy,
It never really will be,
But today you woke up and tomorrow you’ll wake up and the next day you’ll wake up

Who knows, maybe you’ll end up cleaning your room and buying fresh oranges at the market and laugh a little louder with your mum

Loneliness

Carve out my arms and chest
The aching loss my forearms face
Hands lifted up to a god
Who stole the soul of an empty case

Shine a flashlight through the gap
Or into a hollow statue chest
Porcelain delicate echoing sounds
Pulled out and up to eternal rest

Hear me crying in the night
For I have lost my soul
Fill my arms and chest again
Please, just make me whole

Orbits

Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time

On a beach in St. Augustine, Florida, I thought I wanted you.

Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time

I could have sworn I knew you from somewhere, the way your hair aligned with the freckles on your nose like a seashell. So distinct. And rare.

Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time

I caught your eye. Visions of prairie wagon dirt clouds plumed in my head. I think it was the sea spray. Maybe. Grains of sand splayed on your forearms like stars. You had a dusty look about you. 

Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time

You smiled, and flakes of crystallized sea salt broke off your skin like a sparkling chrysalis. You were glowing,

but I averted my eye.
My mantric mind.
Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time

Post-Morden Juke Box Experiences

There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.

Small town restaurants are steeped
in a comfortable inertia;
diners serve
all broasted, broiled and breaded everything.
Amish noodles nestle in thick white bowls.

There are still drive-in movies
where movies once missed
can be missed again.

We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for long archived selections.
Beer here is brewed as brawny
as rolled-up forearms.

We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way.
We are post-modern Jetson reruns,
we dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.

Family

A word I hate
Bringing me down
Can't stop the nightmares
Dragging me by the hair
Everything that terrifies me
From trauma still fresh
Ghosts of over two years ago
Haunt me even now
I wish I could forget
Just how bad those 18 years were
Knives stabbing into my heart
Loss I can't even explain
Mother who abandoned 
Never to be seen again
On the lookout because of paranoia
Potential threats that are always behind
Questioning everything
Running from the horrors
Still coming for me at all times
They want carnage once again
Underwater I try to breathe
Volumes of water I inhale
X's on my forearms
You can see all my scars
Zealous energy I no longer have

Quanah

A will-o-the-wisp awakens
under a northern frosted marsh
and leaves, heat-wilted, are shaken
No whispers, just a shiver harsh…

This phantom cold on limbs, so brief!
A will-of-the-wisp awakens…
Quenching the garden in parched grief,
downy hairs stand unmistaken…

Sensory roots in bumps tauten
forearms touched in a foreboding 
A will-o-the-wisp awakens…
lights its flame from summer’s scalding 

Metallic core will grow its glow 
Gently blazing as it heightens,
pouring ripe spice to soften blows
A will-of-the-wisp awakens…

(8/17/2022 Autumn Hints / Sea Ray DBW)

The Better Craftsman

He could take what most found, in the time of that
 Particular incumbent fashion, to be lacking in any 
  Pleasing or greatly passionate way,
And, after immersing it into low, blue flame,
 Repeatedly beat upon this quivering mass as 
  If it were but a whitened molten lump when
Drawn from violent, torturing heat constrained 
 Deep within some smith's insatiable forge;
  Seen there the blistered face, scorched forearms 
Impervious to the fizz and burn of popping sparks; 
 Blackened hammer wielded by a gnarly hand,
  The repeated raising; forceful, downward strikes --
High-pitched ringing chimes of metal on metal;
 And him, the better craftsman, bent desperately 
  To his task, shaping something new and 
Disturbingly strange...
 While, amassed amid the silent roaring of those 
   Unremarkable fields,
An idealistic generation, readied, prepared to spill
 Its hot, innocent young blood over a sea of 
  Flowering petals for the valueless ideal of an 
Unworthy hour spawned by a vile whoring b***h
 Before it slunk back into the lengthening 
  Shadows of a withering age.

A Feast For Mosquitoes

A Feast for Mosquitoes

Picking peas in the garden,
My bare forearms a feast for mosquitoes.
With a dozen bites or more,
I think Mother Nature wrote the book
On the Art of War.
Each individual bite
Has its own level of pain.
And each individual bite 
I had given a name.
From the pain in my forearms
I would swear mosquitoes have teeth.

My benefactors garden,
Whose home in which I stay.
He could not help me today,
unfortunately has to many years
of being old and gray.
He felt no pain as my forearms
Became a feast for mosquitoes.
My benefactor got his garden peas,
And the mosquitoes did not rest, 
Until they got their pound of flesh.
Each individual bite had its own level of pain.
With each individual bite 
I spoke my benefactors name.

Dream of Home

Sleep comes in buckets lately, to negate the days away from home.
Home is where your hairy forearms guarded the small of my back.
Back when we were teens, this was easy, as laughter surrounded our hearts.
Hearts can be unraveled and respun into wool or gold.

Yours is the latter, mine is the former, for now...
Now, that could change, because the status quo is leaving.
Leaving was the last thing either of us had anticipated.
Anticipated kisses are the worst when expectations aren't returned.

If only you had returned that Saturday evening.
Evening is dark, and sparks between us where as lightning.
Lightning seldom strikes people, but cars sometimes do.
Do you look down upon me from heaven, and still regard our past?

The past skips past warnings and stop signs.
Signs remind us to slow down and prepare for the worst.
The worst was what we promised "for better or for..."
For worse was irrelevant, forever I thought, forever for sure.

Surely moments end, but eventually lead to forever.
Forever will come someday, when we meet again.
Again we'll embrace; again we'll laugh and hold hands.
Hands and dreams will interlock, and again I sleep and dream of our home.

Young Love

Empty promises whispered to stars
Sitting on the porch while it rains
Midnight dancing to the sound of guitars
Road trips spent singing on trains
Smoke filled rooms that smell like cigars
Blindfolds and handcuffs playing games
Ecstasy high feeling like superstars
Sharing stories of sadness and pains 
Watching tail lights of speeding cars
Alcohol and drugs running through veins
Broken hearts and open scars
Blood stained sheets and bruised forearms
Speeding on highways and switching lanes
Drunk fist fights in closing bars
Morning after popping pills for migraines 
Experience altering young adult brains

Summer Holidays In Grannies

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

Hair Everywhere

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

Football Sunday

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

The Goddess of the Severn

Pulses drown saturated elvers 
As a crescent delivers it's catch
White bellied roaches slap and disperse
Pierced and broken suckers latch
Flushed forearms lock with a match
Bleached fingers curl fiercely
Cartilage and rods attach
Each standard raised taking a liberty

Vectors detonate a verse
Chassis release their clutch
Barbels gulp at a netted hearse
Miniscule painted boulders scratch
Humble timber bows with a screech
Discordant sea gulls sing their liturgy
Their hymns bellowed to receive a batch
A veneration
Before performing their red tipped ritual snickersee

The unbaptised draw a curse
Glossed umber in a ditch
The razorback plows a course
To encumber every stitch
A gullet evacuates an itchy apology
A heretic mutters a retorting blasphemy
Fulminations boom and detach
As cumulonimbi reload their artillery

Skulls stoop in sunless pitch
Anointed mantras convene for mercy
Receptacles are laden and rich
Weighted and blessed by her divinity

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