John Crowe Ransom
Dumb-Bells Poem by John Crowe Ransom
DUMB-BELLS left, dumb-bells right,
Swing them hard, grip them tight!
Thirty fat men of the town
Must sweat their filthy paunches down.
Dripping sweat and pumping blood
They try to make themselves like God.
One and two, three and four,
Cleave the air and smite the floor!
Five and six, seven and eight,
Legs apart, shoulders straight!
Thirty fat men grunt and puff,
Thirty bellies plead, Enough!
Dumb-bells up, dumb-bells down,
Dumb-bells front, dumb-bells ground!
Thirty's God has just the girth
To pull the levers of the earth,
They made him sinewy and lean
And washed him glittering white and clean.
Dumb-bells in, dumb-bells out,
Count by fours and face about!
Put by dumb-bells for to-day,
Wash the stinking sweat away
And go out clean. But come again;
Worship's every night at ten.
John Crowe Ransom's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Dumb-Bells by John Crowe Ransom )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
Udiah (witness to Yah)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
- I'll Never Stop Loving You, Karen Montegrande
- Why I Love You, Udiah (witness to Yah)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Who, Sri Aurobindo
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth