Muscles poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best Muscles poems ever written. Read all poems about Muscles.
His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.
I am Super Samson Simpson,
I'm superlatively strong,
I like to carry elephants,
I do it all day long,
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a might man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
'Dear friends, we surely all agree
There's almost nothing worse to see
Than some repulsive little bum
Now as the train bears west,
Its rhythm rocks the earth,
And from my Pullman berth
I stare into the night
And always It is a matter of skin, a matter of pleased symmetry of forms, a matter of hairs, a matter of muscles. Being a divine sculpture. Being a graceful speaker. An intense electricity. An intense centripeter action. Around. No matter of time. No matter of place, the mind is abstracted, The game is surreal and all is a lost point in The Universe. Shine into my mind. Shine into my heart. I shall survive.
As usual to my muscles, a break burn deep in my love router. in the morning sipping coffee and bitting slices of bread. I reach out for a reward of love shown on your face. the wavy hair your head grows ripe my weary jungle. as they seem a real love, I nod for more in the morning. peeping to the reflection in our eyes, mingling our fingers, toasting cups, freezing in the mist, enjoying crisp of the rain rippling on the coarse glass window. We make love like kites and air, like rain and thunder, like tooth paste and brush, like coffee and love. like morning and dawn, birds and song, king and crown, day and night, peace and unity.... Sweetheart, in Acoli we say 'Ocok man ki bye ne' meaning 'Each wild pepper with his own anthill (problem) as a sign of romantic partnership glued
Tired muscles squeak
Brain cells exhausted from activity
Eyes hurt from hours of light invasion
Motivation tank is empty
Some popular Chinese folk sayings on Ageing: Beware!
- Tr. by F C Yue)
He is liked,accepted and loved
Here are the stars smiling at him
And hands around to offer push-start
She was a body builder and her muscles intimidated men.
She wanted romance but most of the men that she met wanted to be friends.
She felt that she was feminine.
But all that the guys saw were muscles bulging under her skin.
To Those Who Cannot Know by Zach Zahrt
To the spectators standing on the turf, to the friends gazing from behind multicolored flags, and to the parents sitting expectantly in the cool silver bleachers, the race upon which you glare is not what it appears.Even to those competitors of quondam, I expect you have long since forgotten the idiosyncratic experience that is the race, and have therefore lost your proper appreciation for the competition.You see the fluid, undulating movement and rippling of muscles, I have no doubt, but the experience is so much more than the physical stress on human anatomy.It is rather, the truly complex competition of mental discipline.To strive and stride in a race, one must inwardly prepare for the trial to come, psychologically endure and exceed the limits of the human body, and finally, introspectively accept the results of your efforts.
Yes, often an olive wants to be a fish,
An almond often wishes to be a bird
I am pretty well accustomed to being like this now
Just a while ago I changed into human form
For a few minutes
My supple soft skin, my bones and the flesh wrapping around them
They all felt eerie to me
But in a while when I revert to being a tree
How fondly I will reminisce
About the human body I have now
My fingers, nails, and joints
I have bones; I have muscles to pull my bones,
And skin covers all
My blood is coursing on and on
I can move myself, like this, any way I want to
I can point at the sky
I can stroke my hair!
Grasses, leaves, fruit or branches cannot do what I can -
They stretch their branches, turn their leaves
Lazily toward the light,
Yes, really, "lazily" as you'd say in human tongue
But when I was a tree, it did not feel so lazy
Rather, it was more like securely
Rather, it was more like steadily
What is this fury inside the human body?
It makes me dizzy
Bones and muscles shed their old selves
To make new bones and muscles
Much has changed between now and just a while ago
When I first met you
So this is what aging means, isn't it?
Your two manly hands
Like rough palm leaves
Rest on my two shoulders
What is this numbing warmth your hands convey
To my muscles and bones?
We trees don't have words
Time is running out
Once the time comes, I won't ever be
A human like this, forever
How else are humans different from trees?
What is this?
What is this mysterious warmth
That comes to me through your fingers?
Something I missed doing
Not much time left
What a pleasant thing to do, to respond.
Please, tell me.
As I place my hand here like so
The sound of your blood rushing in your chest
Grows so fast
Time is running out. Please, please tell me
What is the biggest thing I missed doing.
I feel as if there is something I should do, something fervent
Something I'd move my muscles for
Something I'd violently rub my joints for
Isn't there something else that is more important?
What is it?
What is this something humans do to be wholly human?
Just a while back
When you placed your manly hands on my womanly shoulders
My female muscles and bones felt a certain
Fulfillment and warmth
Doesn't that have much to do with
What I have yet to do?
Am I not missing something
That goes well with the fury of metabolism
In this human body that holds bones and muscles?
But maybe I am wrong
Am I just babbling human words
While thinking like a tree?
Are you saying I've missed doing something?
Why do you hesitate?
So you are saying, aren't you, it is different from
Counting numbers and the like?
Goodness, how pained you look!
I thought humans had a wonderful thing called words
Which allow you
To convey, to inform or to express anything you want to,
But there are things that words can't help -
Ah, there's no time left
I want to know
What it is that I missed doing
With no words,
Is what you can tell me, isn't it?
As you clasp my shoulder as you are doing now
With your five fingers wrapped around my shoulder
Your middle finger
Your ring finger
And your little finger
Five shocks run through me
Hurry! Time is running out!
Writing a poem is not about bringing some words together to create some charming sentences. It's so much deeper than that. Writing poetry is a bridge that allows people to express their feelings and make others live every single word they read. Poetry is to educate people, to lead them away from hate to love, from violence to mercy and pity. Writing poetry is to help this community better understand life and live it more passionately. PoemHunter.com contains an enormous number of famous poems from all over the world, by both classical and modern poets. You can read as many as you want, and also submit your own poems to share your writings with all our poets, members, and visitors.