Fat cats are fat, that's where they're at
Their greatest ambition's to accumulate fat
Some may start small
But few will grow tall
Cause they mostly accumulate where they have sat
If I were an animal, I would be a cat
A fat, fluffy white Persian kitty cat brat
I would sleep and lounge most of the day
And then at night make noise in every way
I would claw scratch the sofa, chairs and wall
Until caps are glued on to cover them all
I would like them in rainbow bright colors
As I am a glamour kitty and prettier than others
I would meow and rub along my owner’s legs
And not stop until treats are given after I beg
I will gladly then give a love bite on your arm
As it’s just a kiss from me, and will not harm
I would jump on the table and watch for birds
And loudly chatter about until we have words
I would then let you pet and rub my belly and ears
And hope to purr with enjoyment for many years
I would finally decide to sleep, curled in your lap
Until I decide to give your face a little paw tap
I would expect my food dish to be filled on the floor
Then would know, I'm loved and the cat you adore
we are at a fat women of the world meeting in NYC
the others have as much weight to take off as me
I am comfortable with these heifers immediately
Bet most of them can beat my two hundred and three
If I lost twenty pounds one told us
I could outrun my grandson little gus
If I lost forty pounds, I would be at my wedding weight
Said an old lady who lied and said her name was Kate
If I lost a hundred and fifty pounds
I would be happy as both of my large hounds
I threw this out of my mouth before I thought a bit
The rest of them laughed as if I had an enormous wit
A big fat groundhog crossed the road,
While waddling, quite fast.
I watched him in surprise
At so much speed as he ran past.
Perhaps he found me threatening
Although I never knew
A person who’d attempted
To cook up some groundhog stew.
Still, every creature’s instincts
Will kick in when danger’s nigh
And even big fat groundhogs
Waddle quickly to get by.
The Drunk Shy Small Jack-o'–lantern and the Fat Rat
The Drunk Shy Small Jack-o'–lantern woke up
in the toilet bowl
that really needed a clean up.
It smelt like a troll.
She heard a HIIIIIIIISS, and nervously looked up
at a Fat Rat slyly grinning.
She asked, ‘W-w-w-what’s u-u-up?’
The Fat Rat laughed wickedly.
Then he pressed FLUSH.
With great slush
the orange, soft, and
slashed Jack-o'–lantern went down, round and round out of sight.
In a hollow echo she said, 'Oh the fright!'
She uncomfortably spent Halloween night
stuck in the thick horizontal soil pipe Mr Dwight.
There she was stuck with a talkative spider mite!
Ole Fat Robin bops
He jumps across the mown lawn
Gotcha! A plump worm
Winner 4th place: Brian Strand-1452 You Choose contest (3/18/26)
Creeeek! He croaks at night.
The Fat Frog hops in green pond.
He swims in silence.
Winner Ninth Place: Brian Strand-My 1450 Poetrysoup (3/14/26)
.
personally girl
thuh meat tastes
bettuh
mhmm
i'd lick'it 'to
your smile
unto nervous
yourn
'bout
mis largo dientes contra tus saddle
china
The notion of performance
Isn't the trait of nature
The notion of performance
Doesn't belong to nature
What differs machine and science
We will find out with no razor
The notion of performance
Isn't the trait of nature
Logic and sense reforming
We do understand the danger
The sharp edge with minimal factors
Encompass does not complexities
Black or the white your judgement
Versus makes truth your unethical
What for do I need your zeroes
What for do I need the ones
Computer and I play Osiris
Repair your imbecile stance
Is their job MY computer
Shall we to cook the cook
Removing associations
Will we be using spook
Bark my friend with tail at cars
They don't care about us
Veterinary cloud choose you
Or adopt the pet
Drink water from the bottle
I will produce the set
Milk fat
jacinta allen..You should be banned, from Aussie mateship...For the things you've planned.' Mind you you've the time as you sit on that square, what used to be a rump
Resembles a deflated tractor tyre spare, oh dear jaciinta (so fat and bland ) why do you
Ban relief vehicles from our farmers land..
I thought much flatulence, was
coming from those pigs.. Ya know the carcases that got burned up..Swollen ugly taut and big ' then i
Saw the wobble of your tripple chin..and a stench.' When your moudh flapped wide, Well it hit me worse
than a garbos grime, in fact like
Pure sin.' Look!! You can keep your toxic ideas from hell, oh and i must note jacinta
Your visa there has been stamped as well.'
The fat apple
I came across an apple tree, which looked like
a child’s idea of this type of tree, big red
apples and a blue sky; when I realized I do not like
Big red apples have a firm and sweet taste
like they were dreaming of becoming potatoes
and not picked at by a bird.
I joined my wife, who was watching the final
In a song contest, the finalists were two women.
One was buxom and belted out a song with a full voice
The other one sang sweetly, like opening the window
and letting a songbird and sunlight in.
The ample woman won, but we loved the sweet one.
the dog and I are sitting outside
I sit in the sun; he tends to hide
I am like a fat cat, soaking up the rays
This is one of those non-moving summer days.
ETERNAL STATE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brain cells fade like stars at dawn's first light.
Skin cells age, too, losing their youthful flexibility and might.
Hair cells, once proud, now surrender their strands, and
even their vibrant hues lose to time's unyielding hands.
So, why amidst this cycle do fat cells have a different fate?
No matter my age they seem to have an annoying eternal state.
Winter warmth, comfort eating,
Dog house took some beating,
Dog got fat, so did I,
Sunny clothes did heave their sigh,
Guess, Dog, this is our fat day,
Thinner salads shall hold sway,
Lettuce shreds, lack a day,
Fat days, thin days, my yo-yo way!
Collops of fat line the tables of the few,
while the many stretch hands toward empty plates.
Skyscrapers rise in the capital,
yet in the villages, children bend under jerrycans,
walking miles for a sip of muddy water.
The economy grows, they say—
percentages polished and paraded—
but the growth is stored in vaults,
not in classrooms with broken desks,
not in hospitals without medicine,
not in the pockets of the farmer who tills red soil for nothing.
Every election season,
collops of fat are dangled like bait—
T-shirts, soap, envelopes,
promises swollen with grease,
but never nourishment for tomorrow.
The youth, restless, crowd into boda stages,
degrees folded in pockets,
dreams reduced to dust by unemployment.
Markets overflow with speeches,
but not with buyers.
Streets fill with posters,
but not with jobs.
Uganda’s wealth pools in corners,
thick, congealed, unreachable.
The nation limps,
while a few grow heavier, rounder,
their laughter echoing across gated compounds.
Collops of fat—
the evidence of excess,
the proof of imbalance,
the weight carried not by those who eat,
but by those who starve.
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