Life after life (with death in between)
Cannot compare to the Heavenly scene
As the singer sings of something personally
It can have the appeal to us all universally
In the skies it’s many Fourth of July’s
For us eye candy, and we wait for our surprise
There are galleries of all the memories hanging in sight
There are lands to discover by fourth dimensional flight
There are things unseen, unheard of and unread
As we will get to know God for eternity’s breadth
Many colors, many smells, many sights, who can tell
The love of a family reunion, and many more loves as well
There’s life after this life lived on earth
There is life after life and birth after birth
So it is easy and plain to see, and it shows
We all go on to eternity (where you spend it God only knows)
(So to the recusants that think this is it (ain’t no more)
Prove it non-resuscitants (if that’s all you have) I implore)
P.S. So have a second sundae to your delight
Because in Heaven there is no cellulite
Our love is discreet,
Cellulite can's be beat,
That would be a ripper,
If I were a female stripper,
Romance-inherent in our race,
Love has a beautiful face,
Express true feelings.
Your rose sent me reeling,
Enchanting magic fills the air,
Love appears anywhere!
Aging is not for the faint of heart
smile lines bags and cellulite sags
Your butt begins to fall apart
As your mind matures wisdom hacks.
The thing's you hate i love vice versa
To me what you see as faults
Your stretch marks , scars , cellulite
and freckles
I am unable to see when just 1 single unassuming glance or smile comes across your face then my way
Because in that moment nothing else matters
You are the beginning the end
And the jam and cream in the middle
Every work of art has a bit of cellulite.
The perspective is off:
a comma misplaced
a disjointed ending to a play
a cracked pirouette
an unexploded ordinance
Every masterpiece has imperfection.
Observe everything from a distance.
Then flaws turn into perfection...
Cellulite becomes rippled silky deception.
My Interpretation Of Love:
Is being a true friend no matter what.
Is allowing yourself to love from your
soul.
Is giving of yourself self without taking.
Is being comfortable enough to bear it all
without any restrictions.
Is choosing to stay for the long haul in
spite of the imperfections.
Is learning new ways to be on a never
ending honeymoon.
Is willing to listen when you want
to run out the door.
Is embracing the good the bad and the
ugly.
Is willing to see past the wrinkles and
cellulite.
Is knowing that your heart has found a
home even in the midst of a storm.
Is not letting any outsider bring calamity
to your union.
Most of all I believe that love is all these things
and so much more.
Inspired by the “ What Is Your I Interpretation Of Love” contest
Sponsor: Bobby May
1-13-19
A slight hint of consternation was in her voice,
“Why did you tell those people I’m deaf and dumb?”
“I never said you were deaf, my Dear.”
She laughed, but I felt like a bum.
Then, one evening, she asked, “Will you love me if I get chubby?”
I responded, “Of course I still love you.
It would take much more than pounds and cellulite
To make me fall out of love or be untrue.”
“Would you remarry if I die before you?” she asked.
I said, “No…probably not…I’ve been spoiled by you.”
“But you’ve been a great husband. I think you should.”
“Whatever happens, happens is the best I can do.”
“If you remarried, would you play golf with your new wife?
And would you let her use my clubs?” she demanded.
I calmly smiled and said, “Your clubs are safe.
You see, my Dear…she’s left handed.”
Slight twitching of the toes
A shudder of the shins
The knocking of the knees
Is where it all begins
Vibration of the thighs
Through years of cellulite
Swinging of the hips
As it makes its little trip
Grumbling of the belly
Way deep down inside
Till it moves up to the chest
To the thump of the heart's delight
Shoots straight to the brain
Where it bounces back and forth
Throughout the cracks and crevices
Till it feels its run its course
Drops down to a lump in the throat
Giving way to speech
Spilling forth for all it's worth
In waves of poetry
Oh, do you know of Ashley G?
My woman crush, it's plain to see
just why I think she must be heard
and that is why I pass the word
A woman brave and sexy strong
who tells the shamers, "You are wrong!"
There is no one way we should be
a size plus siren, look at me!
I live my life just as I please
without a care, so let them tease!
I have the looks; I have the curves
When you see me, you're bound to swerve
and take a second and third look
my beauty goes beyond the book
I'm gorgeous, sexy, here to say,
'Now love your body, all the way'
I love my curves and cellulite
My handles that are out of sight!
I flaunt, I strut, and let them stare
This plus sized model doesn't care!
I'm Ashley G, my swimsuit line
and lingerie make big girls shine!"
I follow Ashley on the gram
and love her dearly, that's no scam
Oh, Ashley G, you're meant to be
The icon for big girls like me!
Eileen Manassian
Crossroads prod roads that download and upload quads of queries
Lumped and dumped on our battered bodies by blister berries
Spiced with slices of suppression and subjugation
That in the end neither mend nor amend our conjugation.
Crossroads prod roads that download and upload wads of whims
Whisked and kicked into reams and streams of our dreams
Spiced with slices of surrender without a defender
To prevent vents and tents that land our glands into a blender.
Crossroads prod roads that download and upload squads of sentiments
Sneaked into tricks that kick our caveats and comments
Said with the aid of braids of dread and lead
That pound and ground pain within the brain in our head.
Crossroads prod roads that download and upload triads of tribulations
Located to allocate lots, plots and slots of sneeze speculations
Marinated with cellulite, marmite alongside territory termites
That undulate and perambulate in our tenderness satellites.
A window pane, framed, by your simple face.
Your day’d rush by with the green and red lights.
A down feather mountain defined your space.
Celluloid, cellulite, closed eyes to fright.
A word was spoken, a quick glance exchanged.
You sank into a pit of your own make.
I’d given the world to help rearrange
the course of events for your better sake.
You grasped for a hand just out of reach.
Your breath wavered despite it’s youthful might.
Unbind yourself, to find the self you seek.
Unkind times made you step out of the light.
The unknown you can conquer, just concur
the weight you carry, you it can’t defer.
Can you look at my butt cheek one more time?
This tattoo used to be a funny phrase-
I was only eighteen and at my PRIME,
and went through a positivity phase :)
Now my glutes are saggy with cellulite,
dimples in places where the sun don’t shine-
Lint found in rolls using a bright flashlight,
my face covered in d
r o o p p i n g baggy lines.
I used to bench press two hundred ten pounds,
now can’t carry my cane without shaking-
Was the BIGGEST ladies man around,
now all my frail feeble bones keep breaking!
" I can never give up", it used to say-
"I CAN NEVER GET IT UP" - - - says today!
Which Of The Four Would You Choose - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Date Written: September 16, 2016
Slight twitching of the toes
A shudder of the shins
The knocking of the knees
Is where it all begins
Vibration of the thighs
Through years of cellulite
Swinging of the hips
As it makes it's little trip
Grumbling of the belly
Way deep down inside
Till it moves up to the chest
To the thump of the hearts delight
Shoots straight to the brain
Where it bounces back and forth
Throughout the cracks and crevices
Till it feels it's run its course
Drops down to a lump in the throat
Giving way to speech
Spilling forth for all it's worth
In waves of poetry
Year end draws nigh
bringing memories to heart's hearth.
Some are embers warm glow;
Others, ashes to be shifted through;
All trance inducing, as the past
flickers and flames in Technicolor--
Frame by frame of elusive times gone by.
Happy times of childhood and family
cuddle with years of loss and despair;
Prosperity’s cellulite spooned against poverty’s emaciation.
One would think the fat times more precious,
yet the small moments of the lean enriched us more.
Those times when we choose simple gifts for others,
and gave only ourselves to each other,
encapsulated rare beauty in the heartache.
It was then the true spirit of Christmas filled us most.
Stripped of all pretense and commercialism,
only love flourished.
Now we sit before the fire
our in between years upon us--
Neither young or old, children almost grown,
yet to be grandparents-- and I long
for a season of simplicity.
One that our children will remember
One to cherish, and teach.
There may not always be money, but
you are never poor if you have love,
for no gift is more valuable than yourself.
Who are you?
I am the happy tree
The Mammal
The eggshell you avoid crushing
Who am I?
You are a red dress
Covering bruises and cuts
Socked in fabric and blood
Who are we?
You are the deep ones
Your faces don't appear
on white cellulite
Who are they?
They were here before us
Or arrived later
They linger on toilettes
Because they can
Who?
Not you. Not me.
A passing cloud shaping itself
around our daydreaming
A monster in disguise
Are?
Isn't it time to unveil
The new old face of blue
Seeking sand in a beach
Now?
Or later
Time can be shaped around our nightmares
In flows and breaks
Up?
Or down
Depending on where your head is
Earth is above
And old sadness below
In?
Or out
A body moves itself
As it learns to bend
Happy?
An Obligation in and by itself
Looking, searching, losing
Far from oneself
Intimacy?
Away from or direct soul penetration
shapeshift or mold
Run or freeze
Small?
Keep growing smaller
Until one day
we will call this cold drawer home
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