Long Forearm Poems
Long Forearm Poems. Below are the most popular long Forearm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forearm poems by poem length and keyword.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
If I twist my wrist and thrust it down,
I flick my hips and slip away.
If I smash my forearm into your grill,
this is how I get my thrill.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
I am just a player, playing for fun.
But when I begin to play for money,
I flick my hips and slip away.
Sometimes, brutality and reality collide.
Brothers and players stand side by side.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
Well-off fans and super-rich owners,
to the players, are nothing but donors.
I flick my hips and slip away.
The players always give their all,
but always are expendable.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
I flick my hips and slip away.
Hollie was born with no right forearm,
In Lincolnshire on June 26th in 1994,
But now resides in Wales, Hengoed,
To train at Cardiff Metropolitan Uni.
The F46 javelin category suits her,
And she discovered herself one day,
At a Star Track Athletics sports course,
During one summer holidays, short.
She competed in Beijing and London,
And won many medals as a junior,
So in Christchurch at the IPC Worlds,
She took home a bronze to rub bare.
Then in 2012 at the Euros, Holland,
She moved up a notch to win silver,
And in Lyon at the IPC Worlds, 2013,
She threw 37.45m, a PB to win gold.
2015 Worlds, and she made 40.53m,
To retain the gold and top the board,
And at Rio 2016 she found success,
When she recorded 43.01m, a gold.
Claire won 5 medals at the Barcelona Paras,
In 1992, where she took the 50m freestyle gold,
To set a World Record, and in the 100m pass,
Still freestyle, she secured a warm silver fold,
A silver for the 100m backstroke and 4x100 relay,
Which made her extremely proud, chuffed no end,
So she only took up para-triathlon 2008, recently,
And in 2008, the Worlds, she won the gold blend.
In 2013 at the ETU Para-triathlon Europeans,
In Antalya in Turkey, Claire won the solid silver,
And in 2014, the ITU Worlds with London johns,
Claire came home 3rd, a bronze to weather.
2015 and the ITU Worlds again, in Edmonton,
Canada, and Clare truly proved again to be,
Successful at the triathlon with consolidation,
Of another bronze medal, podium victory to see.
That same year in Buffalo City at the Worlds,
She won the title, and at the GBR Nationals,
She came 2nd, also at the ITU London Worlds,
Then 3rd at the ETU Geneva European stiles.
1st in Detroit at the ITU Worlds, and then 2nd,
In Penrith in 2016 at more ITU Worlds again;
She finished 4th in Lisbon, Portugal - her bend,
Towards swimming, biking and running did pen.
She was born without a left forearm, prosthetic,
And was a Chartered Accountant. She reads,
Watches box sets, loving West Wing frenetic,
And hates mice. She has English Lit MA seeds.
You have led my course through fractured lanes.
Your groaning ballad my only light.
Kill blessings from stained lips safely float our steps.
Where would I be without you Michael?
Crow mother lies broken at our hand.
Eyes, lips and tongue smeared on stone.
‘You are just like me,’ she bleats through shattered teeth.
Thank you feathered protector, my septic pedagogue.
Poisoned Papa gags as we grip him heart in hand.
Oesophagus glove binds wrist, forearm and elbow.
Pushing down to Hell, void swallows his crushed vena cava.
Dislocated mandible squeals leaving the path clear and final.
A baptism from a splintered bucket washes away our rusty halo.
We have built a fine church you and I.
Can you hear me Michael?
Are you there?
From Father’s secret chest, blades, saws and spikes are repossessed.
They are now our beautiful burden, our sanctified implements.
Ground and honed to a steely whisper that will glide down to the bone.
Beyond the door you beckon to me with your silvery, distant song.
Night air sears through our lungs like freezing ammonia as
Shifting constellations light our winding passage through London.
From Threadneedle Street to Guthrun’s Lane all dreams are devastation.
We select a lost tenement as a playground and trudge through stinking mud.
There is a family within – Mother, Father and Son.
They are the fruits of our maledictions.
‘Cry no more little one,’ his voice congeals in my veins.
Soon we will be clean, huge and stinging.
At my touch the door yawns like the prelude to regurgitation.
In the darkness soiled, saintly fingers caress a razor.
Taut, ablaze, locked.
Tonight we will sculpt what we never possessed and love what hurts the most.
We are Destroyer.
1) Pick up the cat and cradle it in the crook of your arm as if holding a baby. Position forefinger and thumb on either side of the cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As the cat opens it's mouth pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw away soggy pill.
4) Take new pill from package and cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut and count to 10 .
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe.
6) Kneel on floor with cat firmly wedged between knees. Hold front and rear paws ignoring low growls emitted by cat. Get partner to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail and take another pill from the package. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set aside for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in a towel and get partner to lie on top of cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in the end of a drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil and blow down the straw.
9) Check label to see if pill is harmful to humans and drink a pint of beer to take the taste away. Apply band aide to partner's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed and get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door firmly on neck. Force mouth open with dessert spoon and flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges.
Drink beer, fetch bottle of Scotch, pour a shot and drink. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect, then toss back another shot.
Throw away remnant of T-shirt and put on a new one.
12) Take cat to vet and get him to give cat the pill.
The General is a bit of an authoritarian.
He says, Breathe! And you say, how much?
Twilight is much more chill; she just says, “See you ‘round!”
But then you’re bouncing along to a happy tune,
and that’s not so good when The Man is holding
a soldering iron in confined spaces.
So, the General, it is.
The Man spends all his time mapping and zapping,
meting out death to fireflies and moths
who are out past their bedtimes.
I think the OR doubles as a mosh pit;
there’s a large plexiglass shield over the huge monitor,
full of cracks. I’m guessing he’s an Auburn fan who
kept throwing instruments at the screens during the games.
And the room is like 56 degrees.
Likely, the General is not well endowed and wants to make
sure everyone else looks bad. Just to be sure, they
take a little more off the top.
It’s a strange experience.
But you can mess with them. I told ‘em,
“May the Lord bless you while I’m gone!”
They didn’t like that, double-padlocked the doors.
Then, the General says, “Okay, we’re ready now.”
“Now?” I ask. No, now.
I watch the plunger get short,
feel the chill in my forearm,
the rush of warm across my chest,
and I enter the floo network and re-appear back in my room,
wishing I could have gotten a well placed punch off at the General.
She removed the drops of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her garden glove, leaving nature’s makeup in its place, a small streak of brown soil. As I stared at her, she put her hand above her eyes in a salute to block the sun. With a quizzical look she said, “What?” I laughed out loud. “Nothing” I said, lowering my head and shaking it side to side. She extended her arm pointing to the bottom of the yard and proceeded to tell me her plans. I was too busy looking at her to hear the words. My eyes moved from her face tracing along her extended arm. In the sunlight, golden downy hairs glistened on her forearm. Small blue rivulets of vein flowed across the back of her hand, curving around tiny islands of age spots. At night she always used the latest cream, rubbing eagerly in hopes of erasing them. She never could read a map or she would have known, Landmarks define a territory. It is our familiarity with landmarks that make each place a home. At the tip of her outstretched finger I stopped, reluctant to continue, as my eyes would have to leave her. At her insistence, I forced myself. “You aren’t even looking.” she said impatiently. I responded with a half-truth, “I am looking.”
She taught me things I never knew about her garden. I never noticed her begonias remained in bloom into October. Her marigolds, in yellow spotted pots, were planted just for fun. Luxurious lupines leaned into squat hostas that hoarded space, bleeding hearts were all over the place. Beautiful tender crocuses were gone too soon. Pelted by early hail, stoned to death for their loveliness by angry, jealous gods. Vibrant coleus leaves, daisies, lilacs, and hollyhocks. Roses, pansies and morning glories, impatiens, all with different stories. Petunias, violets, and daffodils sharing space in flats or on hills. She introduced them to me one by one. I made a friend of each and when her the tour was done, I left her resting in the sun.
Like her flowers, she was looking toward Heaven, unaware that being with her I always felt as though I was already there.
Shocked tree says “ Can I drink one more?”
This bar has only you and me
That “Lost Generation” says
In the news, about flowers are so beautiful
Need to cough little
Smoke to feel a dull pain in lung, poem is lung cancer
The hospital with Coma disease has moss
Every culture have sex and art
Rain of poisoner to feel at that away
In the book “ Universe Follow The Fish” saw
Each part of consciousness are ponderous
Woman crawl climb on my face , she recites my poem
Cry of baby disappear in the river
Baby feels the disease don’t fear otter
False tired on the forearm of demon
Sun is scaring the light
Thwelt Di Nwe
Lost Generation-Vergina Woolf
Universe Follow The Fish- Shwe Poe Eain
In quiet, space breaks down into insight.
Opposing the edge amidst deceit and blight.
Imperceptible resonation is reflected back.
On a hunch, or at the stroke of night track.
A lethal tree is still close in the woodlands.
The spirit was trailing on the kist of the tree.
At first, kids looked to chip with their hands.
Seep into the night in a ruddy shrunken spree.
I wake up early to the Greek myth of Zeus.
A vessel drifting on the Dal Lake in Udaipur.
The sound of a woman sobbing in sadness.
Over calm green oceans, echoes in Jupiter.
She was performing in a velvety baritone.
Pain in the midst of the tranquility of dawn.
Endeavoring to perform the icy top in June.
Mountains that frame the Kilimanjaro awn.
Ghastly calamities smash and deeply devastate.
I rightly fear that wide-open harm didn't recover.
You can expect the best, yet I will never hesitate.
My dear life depends on your choice; kindly usher.
I regularly defied to bid someone to criticize.
The one-sided truth was dazzling blindness.
My space was thwarted in the related size.
I felt as if somebody led a ruin process.
Sacredness to which humankind might relate,
With the moon sitting on edge of the world.
Mountains meet to uncover the ornate.
Smiling and radiating, from high observed.
There are times when I can feel the crests fly.
I'm being held down as my blood is drained.
Brain scars result from ruined sight and sway.
When I perish, a chasm arises in my mind.
A lean, edge-on which rests one's optimism.
Please be cautious of steps you split wide open.
In fate, a walk on shells will be optimum.
Shift much fatal shooting and be woken.
I minded my name being said in a whisper.
I was adducible of a hand tapping my forearm.
When I swung around to direct a look closer,
I found myself alone and aching for smarm.
How might a heart that dorsum and delicate,
Have the sway to bear a vast part desolate.
But we're apt despite our humble eyesight.
To discover the earth and the vast infinite.
The monstrosity of the encompassing world.
Encompassed by both the sight and the sound.
Emotions energize the heart within the darkness.
Eyes that can consistently scan such elegance.
1st Place Contest Winner.
Written: June 01, 2022
This Or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Revving the Ante
She ploughs down the sidewalk on steeled chrome
A free spirit victorious of sorts over senile dementia
Got a quad-bike for her birthday and defeats her age
Che Guevara bandana nestles her orange purple hair
Bells and whistles attached to a gargantuan lip ring
A modern crusader in cruise control defying the odds
The sweet smell of illicit indulgence drifts on the path
To heavenly peace with painful joints doped into joy
That she never surrendered when age has crept in
She sports the number tattoo on her kind forearm
Of times she surpassed from evil camps to survive
Her sunken cheek bears an inked motto ‘sod botox’
The world is too poisonous without cheeky remarks
And turmoil has given way to mindfulness’s peace
In which she flows past barriers and speed checks
One day she was not there any longer on the road
Of infinite wisdom screeching through memory lane
But I shall take a tender leaf from her journey and pray
13th March 2020