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Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
We challenged, you rose to the task. Whether first-time scribes or seasoned pros from the Academy of American Poets, Salon readers have been hard at work writing body-inspired verses of their own.
Aug 19, 2005 | Yesterday, Salon staff -- inspired by the new Nike campaign -- wrote some ditties about our bodies and challenged readers to do the same. We were not disappointed. We have been flooded with verse of every variety; even the Academy of American Poets has gotten in on our poesy party. Below is our first batch of reader poetry, our favorites culled from just one day of submissions. Shine on, you crazy diamonds, keep showering us with your lyric love, and we'll publish another batch of the best next week!
Sometimes I feel
Bad about the way I
Look.
Oh well. At least I can
Write poetry.
It's easy!
-- Anonymous staff member from the Academy of American Poets
Ode
It was what I wanted most:
a hairy chest, like my father's,
like this senior's at school, poking
through the mesh of his football jersey.
I'd watch him strut across the field, a 17 year old with olive skin,
darkness threading his legs and forearms.
I wanted to curl up among his curls and sleep there,
nestled in and breathing in the dank sweat at the roots.
In 4th grade, I caught a friend scratching his groin,
and at my look of wonder, he confided,
"It itches, don't you have any?"
I felt left behind, especially when an aunt
would tease me about my girl legs, smooth until junior high,
before sprouting light brown curls,
like commas scattered across the blank text of my skin.
I wanted more.
Once, I returned to my locker to find Ricky,
a senior, unstoppable on the soccer field,
drying off, steaming in the fluorescent light.
It was winter, the gym's windows
opaque and darkening by five o'clock,
and it was his hair, light golden brown all over
his ruddy body, that glistened and transfixed me,
a boy trying to impress an older boy
with talk of soccer practice.
When his towel fell away to reveal the mass of wiry curls
around his small, bald cock,
I turned away, unable, finally,
to pretend indifference any longer.
I dressed, then went home like any other night.
But I knew then: it made you a man,
the smoothness of boyhood giving way to texture,
a rough surface to kiss -- other boys talked
of a girl's softness, but I wanted erosion:
to be worn away by another boy's body.
Years later, I would wake in an empty bed,
or beside a stranger, longing for the burn
of an unshaved face against my own,
betrayed by my shoft chest,
a man without the body of a man.
Tucked into my baby book,
an envelope holds the remnants of my first haircut,
a passage I don't remember,
but I cried, I am told, like most boys, before a trio of barbers,
whose shop buzzed with clippers, as men drowzed
through fishing and hunting magazines,
or watched a football game on the fuzzy black and white set,
perched on top of a soda machine.
Behold the mystery of manhood,
as the clipper's electric teeth graze my neck,
the barber's swift scissors hovering
over my head, nipping my ears,
a halo of blades,
while my father whispers,
be a big boy, my mother holding
a white envelope in her hands
to catch the first curls
falling to the floor.
-- Charles Flowers, New York, N.Y.
My hair is gray upon my head
(for that is where it grows)
and yet, the TV surgeon said,
I still could fix my nose,
Botox the wrinkles from my brow
and plump my thinning lips
(both on my face and down below)
and lipo tum and hips.
'Twould send my self-esteem sky high,
he said, to have this look.
I cut myself a piece of pie
and went back to my book.
-- Katha Pollitt, New York, N.Y.
Chicken of the spring
I am not, sadly, these days
Ab reduced to flab
-- David Norland, Los Angeles
My legs are short
My soccer coach in high school
(varsity - thankyouverymuch)
Called me "stubs"
And this is not a story of triumph -
I did not overcome my short legs
And become the fastest girl on the team
I was the slowest.
(but I had a mean slide tackle)
Also my legs are white.
And hairy.
Not in resistance of the patriarchy
But in resistance to ten extra minutes in the shower.
And my knees are fat.
And I have cankles.
But God help me,
If I ever see that soccer coach again,
I will use all the muscles on my
Short, stubby, white, hairy, fat, cankled legs
And kick him so he will not be
Doing it
Anytime soon.
-- A.S., Mass.
My shoes are size seven, my rings are size four
and I stand five feet five with my feet on the floor.
You might think my measurements sound pretty great:
thirty-six, twenty-six and thirty-eight
but when I go shopping, it's full of surprises
because my one body is three different sizes.
Most people think I'm a girly-girl flirt
because I can always be seen in a skirt
but people who think that just don't get the gist;
the fact is, the pants that fit me don't exist.
Although I wear sweats for my morning contortions
they really don't look good on curvy proportions.
I'd gladly wear jeans if a pair could be found
that were small where I'm skinny and large where I'm round.
So if sellers of clothes want my money they'll care to
make pants that fit my waist and my derriere, too.
Now, can they "just do it"? Go to it. I dare you!
-- Francesca Fortunato
I was born fat.
I stayed that way for all of a year.
Since then, I have only grown up, not out.
My shirts show wear from my collarbones.
girls go to rest their heads on my shoulder
and say "ow" and rub their temple.
But being skinny isn't a problem--
obesity is the problem.
I should count my blessings.
I bruise easily
I get cold easily
my joints ache
That's three, I guess.
-- Alan Gilbert, Atlanta, Ga.
They say all strength comes from your core, but
I have no core.
I'm a chocolate with a gooey center.
Thin at the edges
And soft in the middle.
Yeah, I'm skinny,
Until you get to my butt,
which is enormous and heart-shaped, like a pulpy romance...
and the thighs! One bigger than the other.
My stomach -- that's an igloo, round and white.
As for the extremities, they're disheveled too.
All the dirt in the universe comes to reside under my nails.
My hair grows thick and giant instead of sleek.
My ears are not on straight.
I even have a rock in my knee.
(I fell on it when I was three.)
Believe it, then:
There is no one like me.
-- Heather Lowe, Summerville, S.C.
I call it
"the source of all my power."
My friends and family
call it gross
and ask,
"When are you going to get that removed?"
But I think, hey,
it's not bothering me at all.
Where did it come from?
Years of karate classes, most likely.
Sometimes I think
it may be nice to have pretty feet.
Then again,
who said they aren't?
They're unique
thanks to
the wart on my right big toe.
-- Kat Zambon, Washington, D.C.
An Ode to My Derriere
My boyfriend
loves my ass
cannot get enough of it
but I think that there is much too much
to get
and every time he insists upon
grabbing at it
I am reminded of the cellulite
And this, I think
is before pregnancy
and birth
and my 30s
Oh well
my pants still fit
and Dove says that their cellulite cream
will reduce lines and wrinkles
and I guess
if we just turn out the light
it doesn't really matter anyway
-- Katie Raser
Shins bruised,
Battered,
Banged-up and bitten.
They held such promise:
Long and toned,
But ultimately revealing
The thirtysomething schoolgirl inside.
These shins are thin-skinned and inclined
To drift
Into the unforgiving corners of
Coffee tables and bookshelves,
To leap into the arc of a car door
Swinging open,
To offer a midsummer feast
To a supplicant mosquito,
Poor thing, you mustn't have had
A thing to eat for days.
Please, help yourself.
-- Paula Fomby, Baltimore, Md.
Big butts and thunder thighs
Match my tummy's extra size.
But it's a challenge I'm willing to meet,
As I walk each morning, down the street.
My body may be rounding, not thin as a rake,
But my depression is over, I've a positive take.
I have joy in my life, and that's how I view it,
So accept your bulges, take walks and just do it.
-- Brian Quinn, Poway, Calif.
No part of my body
other than the whites of my eyes
are the color
nature intended
and that's just fine
Skin? That nutty warm glow
comes with the three-hour
stenchfest
that is self-tanner
And when my teeth
ZING as the bleach hits
hairline cracks from
too many years of nailbiting
I hold on anyway
because white is right
Hair? For all I know I
may have gone gray
ten years ago
I don't want to know
Flaming Red is so much more ME
than Mouse
Pale blue eyes are fine
for the days I really need to see
but really
blue and green contacts
are more fun
someday I'll wear
one of each
Just to freak people out
Gym? Please.
I've learned the art of
bias-cut stretch-jersey camouflage
and like our Prez
I have a life to live
Cars get spoilers
and spinning hubcaps
Why shouldn't I customize
too?
Just do it
-- Denise Van Slyke
I have large, oily mediterranean pores
My whole body is covered with them
They gave me pimples right into my late 20s
On my face, my back, sometimes my chest
But they also give me glossy hair
Now there are several gray strands in that hair
But I have no wrinkles thanks to my oily pores
My grandmother looked 60 at 85
I'm proud to have my grandmother's pores
And proud every time the razor
Skims over her varicose veins.
--Sativa Quinn, Anchorage, Alaska
Symmetry
ain't what god gave me
too uptight by his/her decree
gray hairs that populate mostly one side
one on the left to each ten on the right
wavering cheeks that bulge when i laugh
but less on the left -- my better half
yet i've gotten even by seeing straight
despite poor vision that deviates.
--David J. Banks, Minneapolis, Minn.
The line from my neck to the small of my back
Ain't so bad, curves are soft-focus
But the line ends at a pouf, a fat shelf
That casts a shadow over my flat ass below it
Lo! My shelf!
How you make pants fit in awkward ways!
How many pairs of Spanx do I need?
Back kicks! Sit-ups! Begone, shelf!
One parent with shelf plus another parent with shelf
Equals four daughters with misshapen asses
But curves are soft-focus, they ain't so bad
The shelf is part of the package
He can rest his head on my pillowy stomach
And fall asleep cozy
Try doing that with an Olsen twin
-- Marla Garfield
