Fluorescents flicker, sending light into dark.
In expectation of sweat, a favorite towel is unfurled.
Heft of an empty bar, placed in the rack, and
brushed with briskness to heighten knurling's caress.
brushed with briskness to heighten knurling's caress.
How, for a moment, preemptive mental sets
form deeply dreamt success;
and now it is time . . .
over which effort builds upon attempts.
form deeply dreamt success;
and now it is time . . .
over which effort builds upon attempts.
At the summit there is grinding,
eyes blind to all else
until again,
the wait
begins.
eyes blind to all else
until again,
the wait
begins.
The pain awaiting
The waiting, again . . .
The waiting, again . . .
A gain . . .
Waiting ahead.
Waiting ahead.
You gotta be a lifter to know what in hell that rough wee piece of fluff is about, I suppose. And if you are, I do indeed welcome you here! Onward, upward and outward and remember one thing above all:
ENJOY YOUR LIFTING!
All right already. I'll fess up to spending more time than the recently-usual amount with this thing/stuff/poem-deal here. I wanted to write a lifting poem, not that bloody lifting, not an optimistic and lilting poem that lifts . . . A WEIGHTLIFTER'S POEM YOU NINNY! Waiting for the bus I played in my head with waiting, again, and a gain. On the train I wished I had a scrap of paper or even a pen so it hadda be in the head, and on a side note, doing crossword puzzles without a pencil is cool too, 'cause, he blathered boldly on, you have to remember all the already done fillzed in answers in that silly head-a-yours. Where was I? On the train, yeah, goin' to work at the library on Sunday, trying to "see the world today" without naming or use of symbol-labels and sadly indeed sans Chevrolet while writing this lifting poem. Okay, you've stopped reading by now I hope. Counting the McThinking time there, and the write-typing and go back editing the fucking thing time, well, I'm gonna give this one two hours as a marker of whether or not I have worth to others, okay? But honestly I'm lying. After having my heart broken last night by a loved one or two I did spend around 30, 45 minutes tops with this idea shortly following that series of events.
Does the sleepy time count? May have dreamed/dreamt about it and do not know fer sure with all that much certainty. No matter, fuck off and enjoy your writing!
All right already. I'll fess up to spending more time than the recently-usual amount with this thing/stuff/poem-deal here. I wanted to write a lifting poem, not that bloody lifting, not an optimistic and lilting poem that lifts . . . A WEIGHTLIFTER'S POEM YOU NINNY! Waiting for the bus I played in my head with waiting, again, and a gain. On the train I wished I had a scrap of paper or even a pen so it hadda be in the head, and on a side note, doing crossword puzzles without a pencil is cool too, 'cause, he blathered boldly on, you have to remember all the already done fillzed in answers in that silly head-a-yours. Where was I? On the train, yeah, goin' to work at the library on Sunday, trying to "see the world today" without naming or use of symbol-labels and sadly indeed sans Chevrolet while writing this lifting poem. Okay, you've stopped reading by now I hope. Counting the McThinking time there, and the write-typing and go back editing the fucking thing time, well, I'm gonna give this one two hours as a marker of whether or not I have worth to others, okay? But honestly I'm lying. After having my heart broken last night by a loved one or two I did spend around 30, 45 minutes tops with this idea shortly following that series of events.
Does the sleepy time count? May have dreamed/dreamt about it and do not know fer sure with all that much certainty. No matter, fuck off and enjoy your writing!