Long Pecs Poems
Long Pecs Poems. Below are the most popular long Pecs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pecs poems by poem length and keyword.
The dance begun
The moment their eyes locked
There was something there
For a second she felt it
A sly grin covered his face
She turned away
To avoid his stare
She knew he would be too much to handle
Six foot two with bulging pecs
Stacked in a fitted shirt
He looked appealing
The music played on
She swayed to the beat
Solo on the dance floor
She knew she captivated the room
And his eyes in particular
Five inch heels accentuated toned calves
Slinky skirt wrapped her thighs
As her Hips swayed from side to side
He watched her every move
Filled with anticipation
It won’t be long now
Before he joins her for the dance
Published in "Movement" 2022
Mister Bourdain clearly in abject pain
The cook feeling crook can't refrain
Asked about same subject did complain
Coffee's not a culture he does explain
Why do they sustain their campaign
His bane such nonsense won't wane
Not like the throng along the Seine
Nor the glitz of Biarritz or arcane Spain
We know a barista may have to train
Wittily says in Italy have made it plain
Breakfast frothy coffee then not again
The agony of Anthony fuels his disdain
Slicker chair made from wicker & cane
Hysteria like wisteria on a trendy lane
Specs and pecs those necks will crane
Feline design plastic surgery is insane
Their ilk less coffee more milk will contain
Let's end yuppie caffeine bean reign
The vastly ghastly inane finally slain
Shallow callow stain down the drain
Forget arty farty latte said Bourdain
He did maintain to party & entertain
Not trippy dippy hippy Lion's mane
Go loco coca not cocoa yep cocaine
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
.
'twere
thuh nymph
amber
and uh glister'n morning
with
uh spring
late
wind
i recall
hern thew'z
glittering
sheath
soft
pastel huez
rainbow
diaphanous raiment
thuh slide uv hern mitts
'long visage'z
mine
mane
each hern pixie thick
digits 'to mine
he pecs
'bout waist's
mine
haunch
'rouse'n mine goose'z bumps
her diaphanous wingz
'gainst mine hip's
limbz
if not for thuh call
uv hern
Grand'maw maw
')
whut
With lank longish hair, of virtue most spare
Hollow cheeked, with joints that creak..An elderly evil proponent of deaths i see there is a reek a pungence of cadavers in such abundance, he knows not where he has buried children a'plenty Grandfathers their
Wives, but then for satan he strives.' He must at least rank as a liutennant skull and
Cross bones on his pennant, a trace of accord..He has trodden the boards floors he is invisible on the black squares.' And will never give up his share.' He mooted for
Guvenor of Gaza, no other i dare could
Show such brass neck.' Of tony blair, who will
Be, no doubt? flexing his ropey old pecs.'
JEANIEMAC
Rub a dub dub two in a tub.
Where did the soap go?
He lay back flat
Right on his back.
While she fiddled about below.
TIM SMITH
Rub a dub dub I fell in the tub.
I swear to you Lassie it's not always a stub.
The water is cold.
I'm getting old.
Come a little closer and give it a rub.
LIM'RIK FLATS
Jeanie and Timmy alone in the tub.
Sounds like a poem which might need a scrub.
I cannot say s*x.
Not sure about pecs.
H**l, the censors might just overdub.
ARTHUR VASO
Rub a dub dub, there's three in a tub.
Sure hope one doesn't give it a rub.
The lassie is fine.
She has two to shine.
EVE ROPER
Rub a dub dub four in a swingers tub.
Girls raised their glass, boys the stilettos subs.
Full of champagne and olives.
Pond koi had other motives.
Oh la la,, that's not the knob it's my club!
"The Fiery Breath of Certain Death"
Or
"Alarm Bells Are Ringing"
You wear your anger well, it suits you just fine,
but, do we all have to feel the fiber of your fabric?
You toot in your zoot suit, then you scoot for a toot,
head wired, eyes fired, lip licking, lip flicking, chicken!
Snarling, snapping, rapping, grueling gruel, your fangs drooling,
rabid dog reflex, we'll just have to call you Rex!
As in...T-Rex, flexing oral dexterity,
you flex your pecs Rex, then your text is next!
OMG! The "Prankster," you're the original "Gangster,"
blogging and feeding, we eat floggings and bleedings!
Melting minds of the masses, you chair literary classes,
we suffer the choir, with heads blazing, ears on fire!
If kindness kills, then you kill us with "Carols,"
glock half-cocked...lock, stock, and two smoking barrels!
I guess the bullets you spray, helps keep the conscience away,
while you skin us alive, to be meat on display!
You drank angst from the wagon, a flagon "Snapdragon,"
wagging, gagging, with hellfire halitosis bragging!
Your breath of quick-fire death, inflames our thrombosis,
we pray today, that our blessed death, doth soon approaches!
But, till that day, we pray, for blessed redemption,
if we're lucky, maybe God will give us an exemption!
With excerpts from the movie: "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels"
We have to go shopping for a new personality,
then to go with it, a new body would be mandatory;
a bit different from potatoes, veg and brussels,
perhaps we'll be fortunate to get some better muscles.
You may not wish to change at all, eyebrows -
nice and dark, not joined, above dark eyes, bedroom
brown - we' ll have a pair of those and painted toes,
looking at boobs, 90cm will do - is that really you?
There's a rack of private parts, the size comes in
fits and starts, don't forget the butterfly tattoo,
has to be in indigo blue, abs and pecs straining;
it's done, everything new - even then you're complaining.
Eyebrows hanging over the trolley, boobs all the rage,
could have been more selective, no need of big sausage.
I love Paul Merton
I just wish he'd keep his shirt on....
Stop flexing his pecs
In front of Ant n Dec,
Even Vladimir Putin shows more respect
To the long suffering viewer;
Paul:- climb out of the sewer,
Resist the urge to flash
Your naked rippling torso
You're rightly famous cos you're so
Frivolous and witty
It would be a real pity
If your elegant urbanity
Was eclipsed by this inanity,
The soul of wit is brevity
So confine yourself to levity
And keep that sex god bod, son
Securely wrapped in cotton -
Think of all the panel shows you've got on
Whilst staying fully clothed
In doublet and hose,
The paps dont need to see your nipples
It just creates unnecessary ripples
In the light entertainment pond
You are never going to star as Bond!
Stick to your faintly surrealistic reflections
On whether Cumberpatch keeps Capons,
And for pity's sake Merton
Just keep your blooming shirt on!
The day you passed
Empty is my heart, full is my mind: filled with what ifs the Shoulda Woulda could have been. Cold nights now, no longer enthralled by your raw essence saltiness after shave and metal. Just thinking of it sends Shivers up my spine, and drives me mental.
The shenanigans twinkling in your eye, the shape of your lip as it traces on my thigh the touch of your hand caressing my shape and back up again.
Sensing your breath upon my neck, callused but soft are your hands, as a mere whimper escapes my mouth.
Now all I see is your death and not your member or our sex.
Your pecs Where it connects to your chest the place I would lay my head and rest there’ your gunshot wound.
In that spot as I lay listening to the pounding feeling you throbbing harder.
Now thoughts of unpleasant thoughts, atrium cardias to rigamortis spooning on me in our bed.
Nighta full of Terror and torture I'm now a mourners with PTSD and anxiety disorder.