BARRY
A young man was called Barry Kirk
On our farm for a while he did work
taught me how to catch fish
for the big one I'd wish
He indicated where trout liked to lurk
GEORGE
George financially now on the skids
Has fathered way too many kids
many girlfriends and wives
kid twenty nine now arrives
States no more with a blink of both of his eyelids
SURNAME MAGUIRE
A man with surname Maguire
Some children he wanted to sire
took a woman to bed
let's do it she said
Satisfied his burning desire
ANOREXIC
Anorexic she's poorly and thin
No muscle strength found from within
bent in the middle
whilst playing the fiddle
Her sister an identical twin
TATTOO
This man a tattoo on his tummy
Looked like the face of his Mummy
he never grew up
remains a young pup
Age thirty eight still sucks on a dummy
MILLIE
An unfortunate madam called Millie
Stood on the end of Tom's willy
he cried out in pain
don't do that again
It'll shrink even more when it's chilly
stop looking in mirrors
nurture your best sides
do things that you love
painting, dancing, roller skating
spend time outdoors
look toward the future
a dangerous internal voice
may be criticizing you
hold up an imaginary stop sign
yell “STOP!”
concentrate on your positives
make a list of them
You should be able to find at least fifty great things
If you are not there yet, strive for ten
Ten positive things about you
Stay away from mean voices and mirrors
A name i detest to be called.
My chest compresses as i travel back in time,
An asphyxiating guilt, back then so conscious,
Each day I was chained to hatred.
Memories draw in, of me bawling over my weight,
Arms crossed across , wishing for a sweet escape
Goals and dreams I had surrendered all,
In the battle with those tormenting ghouls.
As I plunged myself into vicious thoughts,
Consequences were weighed upon my tired soul,
Being abandoned to a fate so broken,
Surviving wasn't living, I accepted this token
So now a tattered picture is all I see...
Never nor ever was I bargaining for sympathy,
A mental struggle that had forced me to be,
To recover, perhaps was the only chance,
To fill my cup of despicable emptiness,
Up to its brim, overflowing with fulfillment.
Self Reflection
by Michael R. Burch
(for anyone struggling with self-image)
She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm . . .
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon a grieving campus will mourn.
Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of her thighs.
Do unto others—
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.
Anorexic Girl
Sometimes she whispers in my ear,
a tapestry of pain and fear
whose warp and weft weave haunted days
and nightmare dreams through woeful sobs
and blooded screams, till phantoms from
a private hell enshroud me in
a chilling spell.
I’m on a tour
within her mind, where those outside
are breaking in and every thought
accuses sin in saddest voice
man ever heard.
Midst grief defying
spoken word she can only run
and hide, cringe ever deeper down
inside, avoiding some imagined
threat from friend… or foe she’s never
met.
I know more of her than of
my own, my wasted waif who walks
alone. I want to ride inside
her head and sweep it clean of all
its dread, but will not know her when
we meet, walk past her crying in
the street.
But till she finds the strength
to lay horrors of the past
and scream, “I’m me! I’m running free,”
there’ll be no woman sweet asleep,
but just the child who I hear weep.
Skin and bones, some say she's too thin
Kind of looks like a frail stick
Each day she runs, fast paced
Lost look in her eyes
Eats less and less
Torn and sad
One word
Numb
Written on 10/7/2015
Infinitian Form
"How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers
till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.”
- ‘Anorexic’, Eavan Boland
The pervasive pain of hunger
fastens my mind to flesh and blood.
Mindful, aware of each moment,
success in the heart’s slowing thud.
How she meshed my head.
She’s there in the space between thoughts
and then she speaks the thoughts herself.
She’s me but not me, voicing fears
and hidden threats, praising my health.
In the half-truths?
I could sense myself, an echo
mirrored in hatred and discord.
She was my safety, my comfort,
yet I feared the double-edged sword
of her fevers.
She whispered paradoxes, rules
that restrained my spiralling thoughts
with dialectics of control,
structured security of sorts
till I renounced
the chaos of my former life,
distilled through her inverted love.
Angles of detachment, senses
keen with hunger, nightmare dreams of
milk and honey.
I didn’t set out to lose. Just
knew that I didn’t want to gain.
My fears numbed in her cold embrace,
emotions faded, as did pain
and the taste of lunch.
What is this ticking inside of me,
a heart that beats lesser than time?
I feel as though I have departed
into the halls of my own death,
life is but an echo
of footsteps fading
behind my back.
Am I too fat on life,
this trimming of me
is it to rid all but death?
I look into my own reflection
and see the fullness of years
laughing back, as if I was a joke,
yet I am a mere skeleton
of what I once was.
Is it an anorexic mind
trying to shed my own flesh
and spread me into ashless dust?
I was catholic, once
but parted to become something else,
is it that part of me, undernourished,
that feels the rest of me should starve?
Has something died and left me
only to masquerade as a life
where my own existence
is just a shadow cast
upon the ground?
What is this ticking inside of me,
a heart that beats lesser than time?
Big Beulah and Anorexic Ann
By Elton Camp
All her life, Beulah has been fat
But can’t do a thing about that
Her pal Ann won’t have it that way
“It’s in your control,” she does say
“I weigh less than when I was sixteen.
You’re the fattest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I watch what I eat and exercise every day.
The same weight I’m determined to stay.”
“On the gin scale is where you must weigh.
Let’s go on down and see what it’ll say.”
Beulah had come very much to mind
Ann’s comments that were so unkind
“I’ll go first,” Ann said with a sneer.
“You’ll break the scale, I really fear.”
Ann expected her weight to be true,
But Beulah slyly added her foot too
Ann turned red and began to scream
“Oh, no, this has to be a bad dream!”
Big Beulah got a laugh up her sleeve
Skinny Ann she was able to deceive
People say it’s only skin, but I see lard.
I see it falling down, straight from my arms.
It speaks to me, saying, come on eat.
You know you want to. Come on, feed me.
But I won’t. I think: discipline is key.
You can do it, food’s the enemy.
Grass Calls for
More and more
And I water and water.
The Obese: Expires
Hitherto, that grass
Spikingly Winds up by the"Plop, Plop"
Snubbing over the drops.
And Passes.
The Olive Grass
Gawking incessantly out at the flecked Rays
I witness them dance
They post me the murmuring messages
Of the Wind.
All I can do is sit and stare.
All I can hear is the clanking of silverware and people chewing...
people enjoying.
My teeth grind back and forth...my jaw begins to hurt although I've been given
nothing.
My tongue wrestles with the tasteless air,
and I pretend it's something.
My hands are permanently glued to the table,
with my fingernails stuck deeply in its wood.
My face looks emaciated
with my cheeks sunken into its skeletal frame.
I even FEEL worse than I look.
I guess I can't hide it afterall.
I sit here and stare...at all of you.
Wondering how I got pushed so far away from the table.
It looks so good...what you are devouring.
You tell me it is
which makes me want it even more.
Oh, but I've had a taste before,
it just turned so sour that I can't seem to taste anymore.
So, I just sit here and wonder when it'll be my turn.
My turn to lick my plate and taste the fulfillment that all of you do.
But until then, I guess I'll stay here with a napkin in my lap, silverware in my
hands...
and an empty plate.
My eyes will just continue to stalk yours-
those plates heaping full of love-
the serving I just can't seem to ever receive.
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