Best Binge Poems
Gold and moist the cupcakes rise
Almond flavored; sweet.
In one dash with time precise;
Hunger sneaks a feast.
Mouth aglow, I take a bite
Till I nibble eight.
Sugar- binge, my sheer delight
Though I’m overweight!
Andrea Dietrich's ' Have You Tried a 7/5 Trochee?'
4/13/2015
I often binge on things, but not bad things.
I like good movies or good TV shows.
I choose to binge on things that me glad.
Ten hours straight through is not too long for me!
I’ll binge on drama series and won’t stop
until I’m nodding off. I only need
a weekend of free time. I like to sit!
I also binge on reading lovely books.
I used to binge on shopping for good deals.
I’d go to thrift shops finding things like tops
or purses, dresses, pants, or nice high heels.
Great bargains make me do a happy dance!
I rarely hunt for used things any more.
Some things I wear today are vintage clothes.
My spouse would love to throw them out the door!
But things I love – I just can’t part with those.
I binge on writing poetry sometimes
although I do not write that way too much.
But once I wrote ten poems all in rhyme
and did all of those poems in one day.
I used to binge on exercise when I
was teaching classes at the local gym.
But problems make that difficult these days.
I sure do miss the days I had more zeal!
Because I cannot exercise as much
as I once did, on food I have not binged
the way I used to, and I must not eat
potato chips, for I can't eat just one!
One final thing which I love binging on
would be the precious friendships I have formed.
With sisters and dear friends, there’s plenty of
my time to binge on them! Love never ends.
March 13, 2023
for Sotto Poet's B--Forms And Words Poetry Contest
For Blank Verse which uses iambic pentameter of unrhymed lines
Musta lost five pounds today
hunger hurts
but I suffer anyway
stomach shrinks
along with guilt
hope this improves
the way I'm built
As you climb out of bed, a muscle twinge
lands you writhing on the floor"AAhhkk!!"
getting up, you bang your head on the knob of an open drawer
"OUCHH!" now you know it's not your day, the Devil's on a binge.
At breakfast, if you make it, nothing goes quite right
retrieving the cruet, hot coffee fills your lap with pain
"XXXX-XX!!" you change, but you're too late to catch your train
so you wait for a bus, but not one hails in sight.
You start walking, and your bus comes whizzing past
it takes off at the next stop, as you run to climb aboard
you might as well go back to bed, this day you can't afford
and if it's Friday the 13th, you'd better make it....fast
For when the Devil is on a binge, and gets upon your trail
your whole day goes down the drain
from the minute you become conscious, he'll give you hours of pain
no one escapes this blighter's tricks, when he grabs them by the tail.
hicky
Eggnog for a festive season
A special holiday celebration being the reason
Yet my head is spinning all over the place
I feel like I am in a race
That eggnog my mind will never erase
Mother always said don’t waste
But some how the alcohol was added
I am sure this eggnog I will never ever forget
Later on I might have some regret
Can someone point me in the direction of the North Pole?
Right now Santa is stuck in some manhole
Well he is actually smashed
He can’t even tell the reindeers to dash
I don’t believe this I see Rudolf and the reindeer team
But why are they floating down a stream?
Well this slogan fits, “Santa with no sleigh tonight, how will you fly into the night?”
It has now become a plight
Cheers everyone and good night.
Break,break,break on the cold,gray septa
(the veil is ripped and so am I)
\Fern sundered amongst the
Daffodils,dandelions and diadems tarnished
With the oxidation of time and tide
That waits for no man.
\Well here I am
The littlest seraph of Sodom
(what did they do in Gomorrah?)
Blow horns and sack butts
Tan-ta-ra
The epitome of epiphanies awaits
And Gabriel - you go play in the other room.
In this phlox flooring I lie- weightless and placid-
Colorless and rancid. I am so black and white.
Black and white. Teeth into fangs.
Nails into claws. I have grown.
I told you so.
Eye pits – deep as chasms. Culled by
the others. Why do I even bother?
It was as if I was mother earth and the world has stepped on me.
I am dancing on that red line.
Crisscrossing. With chains on my ankles.
I dance. (Venturing on that fine line.)
That transparent line!
Between anguish and insanity –
Crushed my humanity.
I laugh like I cry – And it is at night when I
become wonderful. I am small.
Fingers as slim and pale as father’s cigarettes.
Eye pits – deep as chasms. Thoughts raped and left bare,
crying on blue sheets. My emotions are sweets and
you, honey, know more than anyone that
I binge and purge.
Pigging Out
Gain weight
Big waist
3-6-2016
Gorging with impunity to fill an empty void
of hollow needs and guilty deeds that fester
unceasing, into fissures of a vacuous soul
searching, without finding a way to make it whole
Purging with obsession to cleanse a tarnished image
Of distorted ideals with unrealistic appeals that flaunt
False messages into unsuspecting circuits of the mind
Revolving endlessly without stopping to unwind
Binging with a ravenous urge to quell the anguish
of taunted jeers and unfounded fears of rejection
spinning uncontrollably without cause or reason
into fragmented notions and confused emotions
Repelling with compulsion to assuage the shame
Of inaccessible goals and lost controls that mock
Incessantly with bitterness that burns the wounds within
Disgorging undigested pieces of a broken whole
A bottle held loosely in her palm,
she's so tried from partying all night long.
Her "friends" wrote cruse words on her face.
Behind her lips is the vodka's after taste.
Around her on the floor are red plastic cups.
Behind her someone lays in throw up.
In the morning the party isn't as cool.
There's a mess everywhere and underwear in the pool.
When the ambulance takes your drunken friends away.
Almost in a second your buzz goes away.
And the Smirnoff that buried her down six feet;
all the sudden doesn't taste as sweet.
Now the party-goers all mourn in black
knowing they'll never get the best binge drinker back.
Trump On Health Food Binge
Trump was on a health food binge
Was enough to make you cringe
An easier way there must be
Costing nothing and for free
So fat from body he did singe.
Jim Horn
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
His boredom conquered discipline again;
a bridge thus built has no one else to blame.
A blazing dumpster fire bloomed from within,
like breathing, birth unnoticed when it came.
Audacious that a button made of cork
might detonate and on his soul impinge.
Believe not blood, instead apply the torque,
and so begins another drinking binge.
——————
Thought I’d try to use all the B words to describe one…
Late summer is a challenge for me.
Every year I’m overwhelmed with desire,
when passing fruit stands, vegetable stands,
and even farm wagons on front lawns,
overflowing with fresh produce.
I salivate in the car and especially the grocery store,
when entering to purchase more butter
to put on my corn. The freshness
calls me by name and I come to my new friends.
I can't resist.
The month of August should be renamed “Binge.”
You would think my beautiful wife of many years
would be a tempering factor regarding my weakness,
but she is as committed to binging as I,
as we slather more butter on our cooked carrots.
Pea salad, 3 bean salad and everything tomato
make it onto my plate without limit. Piles of fresh
produce are covered with salad dressings and mayo,
that flow like wine. Salt is consumed by the pound
on cooked squash and mounds of steamed broccoli.
The harvest makes its way to my table by the armful.
Day after day more and more arrives,
like rain, and I feel a duty to the farmer’s market
to make sure nothing goes to waste, while,
unfortunately, it makes its way to mine.
The good news is that it will soon be over,
and these apples will be applesauce,
these grapes, grape juice,
and the tomatoes will be spaghetti sauce.
Oh! Did I mention how much I love pasta?
I took a bite, I bit with all my might.
But I knew I had bitten off, a bit more
than I could gnaw, more than I could just ignore.
With gob stuffed stupid in gluttonous binge,
I suddenly knew, I was in over my head.
Something had to give.
I, (a bookish educated intelligent nerd,
albeit three score plus tres años)
constitutes a novel titled
The Virgin's Lover
by Philippa Gregory
another writer from England.
Not so much to boast
yours truly sunk trenchant figurative teeth
into material authored courtesy
aforementioned former renown British philosopher,
logician, and social critic.
As an academic, he worked
in philosophy, mathematics, and logic.
Just to reiterate
quite a couple plus years ago,
I plunged further into
trying to comprehend
(and did study every last page
birthed from said storied academic)
erudite epistemological philosophication
courtesy said renown British polymath,
philosopher, logician, mathematician,
historian, writer, social critic,
political activist, and Nobel laureate.
Whew! His Hume among us treatise
A History of Western Philosophy Quite profound
gleaned material eyes surmised
and into cerebral cortex his notions did drill
offering grist for intellectual mill
yours truly, a johnny come lately (me)
doth thirstily swill.
Though challenging material
to comprehend without shadow of doubt,
yours truly disciplines himself
to utter words out loud
in an effort accentuate, enunciate, inculcate...
No matter said storied author
among grateful dead fifty plus years,
I experience a communion
integrating esprit de corps
of one garden variety
beetle browed foo fighter (me)
linkedin courtesy immortality of soul.