One of my favorite shows as a child
Was the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.
Featuring Rocky the squirrel.
Bulwinkle the Moose
And associated bad guys.
Including Boris Badnioff
And Natasha Fatale
Vaguely Eastern European communists.
Rocky and Bullwinkle
Like the Simpsons, Futurama,
American Dad and Family Guy
Were children’s show
They were also quite subversive
Satire on modern life.
But Bulwinkle remains my favorite
Years ago I binged watched episodes
And remember every episode
Even though I had last seen them
Almost 50 years before.
This was written back when Covid-19 at it's height. As sung to the tune "Can't Find My Way Home," by Steve Winwood/Blind Faith.
"Can't Leave My Damn Home"
-------------
I've binged Game of Thrones,
and learned the xylophone.
This has to change.
Please don't touch your face
And keep six feet away
wear a mask, wash your hands.
I got loads of time
and I just now hoarded wine.
So I'm wasted,
but I can't leave my damn home.
We're in quarantine
'Cause there ain't no vaccine
Chloroquine's no cure.
Trump is the reason
We're waiting so damn long.
'Cause he screwed the CDC
And I can't leave my damn home.
No, I can't leave my damn home.
No, I can't leave my damn home.
No, I can't leave my damn home.
Still I can't leave my damn home,
And I ain't killed my kids yet.
But I can't leave my damn home.
I binged…bewildered…
I eat away my sorrow
I binged…a caged bird
I binged...I’m so uncured
I eat away tomorrow
I’m winged – set-free bird
I am delighted
I binged...I’m so immature
Gleefully hazy
Often I look at the contest and cringe
Maybe in a style that I have not binged.
Sometimes the topic is a banger
and my mind is caught on the hanger.
Sometimes I do not know which way is lit
If I look ideas for the contest to hit.
So if consider a contest once in a while
my writing ideas might just smile
But when I scratch my poetic brain and see
a little juice with creativity
it is likely I will find
words for my next inspirational masterpiece divine.
do you really care if I've ever sinned binged or became unhinged
I met you several years ago
When I was very overweight
I wasn’t very confident
But meeting you was fate.
I didn’t really think that I
Could have any success
My personal life was horrible
I felt like such a mess.
You were very encouraging
You told me I should try
To set some small achievable goals
I had to walk before I could fly.
I kept coming to your meetings
Even when I felt bad
That I’d binged out of control
And didn’t use the tools I had.
Eventually I began to do the work
And the pounds started going away.
I also got rid of a bad situation.
Things were getting better, hooray!
Now I’m at a size I want to be
I truly am successful
I rarely turn to my binge eating
When my life is getting stressful.
I don’t know where I’d be
Without you on my side
I wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror
And feel such wonderful pride.
Sunday did not pan out,
an iron faith faltered;
events planned
wandered off like drunken sheep.
It was the Advil,
it was the insomnia,
it was not enough iron in my soul.
Speaking of which, my stools
are obsidian artifacts;
a consequence of iron therapy.
The day got no better,
the drunk sheep returned all at once,
tin replaced iron,
anemic confusions swirled
my spirit grew pale.
Within me
body bugs binged
on iron
while the blood dieted.
Sunday smelts to Monday
a peaceful time,
my inner ghost is recovering,
sheep are grazing.
I suck upon nuts
and bolts
make plans,
iron-out
future road bumps.
Suicidal Summits are instantaneous interventions - Knowledge of others with your own
disposition.
But I binge in lust, it dominates my blood - And lust becomes my lonesome love ....
And love becomes my lonesome lust.
The magic assistance ... A labyrinth of the tangible tokens, ecstatic euphoria, supreme
studiousness, the infinite of experiences in the abysses of the universe to undergo.
And as I binge in the lust, I feel the rising obscurities of uncertainties.
For there is no balance or proportion to this magic assistance - And there are no
partialities.
Be a man, be a woman .... Binge in lust for your personal pleasure.
And the guilt is insinuating inside of you, and you fear the situation could have no measures.
You ponder a break, and end to it all - A thought of a return to the world of innocence
.....Of Sobriety.
You ponder to take the magic assistance again, you concede, and feel you've become a
statistic of notoriety.
Moderation - Join hands in aid through spiritual cognation.
And now you only employ the euphoria once a week ... The orgasmic sensation.
You've binged to the max - Now purge.
Let the worlds of sobriety and escape merge.
Moonlight reflecting off the ripping waves
As a slow voice floated from an echoing cave.
The sweet tune flowed, so sad through serene
As the sea seemed to calm, glowing green.
Deep within the darkness, hidden from sight
In the cold cave, she came out for the night.
The sea began to darken, for it no longer flowed
It only shimmered softly, sharing her sorrow.
Her shadowed eyes no longer shone bright
Traced with tears, she binged to see the light.
Her smooth silver hair shone like the stars and moon
As she began to sing out, the sad, mourning tune.
For she had fins, the very last of her kind
No more of them left, only images in her mind.
It rang out in the air, like a hopelessly bird’s cry
Yet it was soft, the notes seemed to fly.
Her eyes began to water as she reached the sand
here’s a different kind of thrived, spread across the land.
She longed to be liked them, never alone, not just one.