you're a grease-fire film
attached to drywall like salt
s p i I l e d
over a cracked, unwashed shoulder,
the dull toothache
throbbing
through a 3 a.m. call,
growing older, sharper, colder...
get out of my mind!
you aren't some gothic ghost
in a tragic shroud,
but a raw static hiss on busted station;
a sagging weight ,
a stationary,
stubborn-as-a-mule cloud,
a parasite
fattening on my hesitation...
get out of my mind!
like orange rust,
nibbling at a clean steel blade,
the bitter, permanent
ink-stain you've made;
no velvet darkness here,
no weeping willow,
just concrete bricks
in my chest, and grit on my pillow...
oh, xanthippe....get out of my mind!
The feeling of dread as I hear,
“Come for dinner.”
All I can truly think about:
“How many calories?”
“Will I gain weight?”
I’m truly scared that this is my fate.
Sitting in front of my toilet,
Two fingers stuck down my throat—
It’s a good feeling,
All I can do is boast.
I haven’t eaten in weeks;
It’s not foreign.
Is this really my calling?
They always say to me,
“You need to eat.”
But I don’t want to indulge
Into any delicious treat.
It’s too fattening.
Fat.
It’s my biggest fear to gain those pounds.
It’s scary, so I won’t eat.
After a while I couldn’t eat,
And it led me to no sleep.
Keep.
It’s not hard to keep words like these a secret;
In this world, beauty is all I believe in.
Grievance.
I grieve for the old me,
The one who didn’t care about food troubles,
Or the fact that I want a McDouble.
But I can’t—
I truly can’t.
It’s a struggle to not eat.
I swear it’s killing me.
I can’t stomach it.
I’ll be like this forever...
Well, I’ll just have to dwell in it.
Wonderfully infamous Maine sweet treat, sometimes called whoopsie.
Happiness from your first bite of chocolate cream filled cakes.
Only to disappear soon after you make them.
Optional flavors of chocolate, maple, raspberry, and peanut butter too.
Pumpkin ones in the fall are all the rage!
Icing can be in many flavors; cream cheese, vanilla, or something new.
Every bite is decadent, fattening and satisfying.
People even attend a whoopie pie festival every year.
I found that my grandmother hid a stash in her freezer, no one knew.
Easy to make and enjoy; Marjorie Standish has the best recipe too!
Wanting a little fun
Depart on a run
Seeking bakery pastry buns
Tasty and sweet
Jogging through the village street
Enduring the athletic heat
Conquering the feat
Can not be beat
Enjoying the run
For pastry buns
Not caring where you are from
Only greeted with a ‘welcome’
Take a bite
Time is not tight
During the bun
Run
Done for fun
Fattening those bottom cheeks
While everyone speaks
Bragging every week
About climbing the peaks
Featured on the bun
Run
Done
For fun
Where Danishes are great
Even know competitors gained too much weight
Mars, Musk, And Bond Girls
Mars is again in the news, and Musk has been silent
about going to Mars, perhaps he has found
Another planet more suitable to his temperament
We read that four women are going to Mars, mainly
because they have been astronauts and know
a thing or two about the limitless space if one gets
to far out can disappear into a time that does not
exist and are doomed to fly while drinking tea from
a straw, worrying about whether sugar is fattening.
It might be possible to unclog the dust in hidden
river beds on Mars, it might be that the dust is dry water
that, if we have a magic formula, will spring to life
sing like a waterfall in April, create sweet dams
and a landscape unspoiled by the ugly windmills
Should Elon Musk take a renewed interest in
Mars, he has the will to go there, but will he when
As a leader, introduce democracy among the crew
or demand Mars as an authoritarian regime
Holiday recipes created by others
Christmas dishes decorated in festive colors
Laden with sugar and salt sweet and sour
Where is my long-gone missing will power?
Any dieting I did before I left at the moors
When families meet, my appetite soars
Fattening foods and decorated tables outdo each other
An amusement for a professional cook, my grandmother
Hay Fields
Harvest of ripened fodder yields
In rolls of hay littering the fields.
Golden, dried under the sun,
For livestock winter consumption;
Who still graze in rich fall pastures,
Unaware of summer’s departure,
Fattening on earth’s green grasses,
Basking in the warmth of contentment.
Crops of vegetables: corn and potatoes;
Grains of barley, oats, flax, wheat, and canola.
Combines reaping, threshing, and winnowing
With other machinery, then tilling of the soil.
Where the farmer stands proudly gazing
Upon the harvest yield of their labour.
The fallow land, soon to be covered in snow
Awaits spring planting and growth revival.
Oh Lord, hear this prayer!
Not for my party winning.
Not for fattening my wallet.
Not for riding my hobby horse.
Not for idolizing my sacred cow.
But for your divine wisdom to prevail.
Oh Lord, hear this prayer!
Open our blinded eyes.
Open our eyes to truth.
Open our eyes to justice.
Open our eyes to goodness.
Open our eyes to humility.
Open our eyes to honor.
Open our eyes to mercy.
Open ALL of our eyes.
Let it not be too late.
(See also my related poems “The 2023rd Psalm” and “How Would Jesus Vote?”
Fresh spots of violet creak through the sky
Silently, violently assaulting the eye
Lavenders blush in the sweetest of hue
Spring has arrived with the calmness of blue
Soft summer rain dapples the floor
Raindrops like diamonds on the old barnyard door
The orange of sunset, as the dragonflies glow
And the mesmerised sounds, as the young cattle low
Warm autumn apples fall from the bough
To be sprinkled with honey for the fattening sow
Pumpkins erupt in shimmering gold
As the sheep return leisurely to the warmth of the fold
Crisp winter cold is dark and succinct
Foreboding clouds all around, as the sun is extinct
The jingle of sleigh bells can be heard up ahead
As the enveloping stillness leads you to bed
Some days I am twelve or thirteen
Other days I am eight or nineteen
Age is nothing at all, which I have now seen
Glad to be an artist and poetry queen
I have no advice for you, for I do not live your way
Except to enjoy every nook and cranny of every day
Be yourself, and never be afraid to play
Dancing is great, if your ankles will sway
I say to my youngers, do everything you want to do now
I have trouble walking in pastures, out to my cow
take the trips, and eat that sweet, fattening chow
do things that amaze others, make them say “wow!”
Seventy is the new fifty, is what I heard last week.
Fifty was never the age that I planned to seek.
Do what you want, never be too mild or meek
Seventy likes to sit with bare feet in the creek.
Some days you will feel like twelve or twenty-two.
This is quite normal; I know. I am seventy-two.
Do whatever you need for your soul to do.
to be the best you; to be the best YOU.
candy thoughts sweetheart
fattening hearts swelling is art
baby blooms in June
two cows come down a hill;
they’ve come down before;
and again they shall…
unless Noah finds them
wandering off
takes them under his wing
of two by two;
enjoys the milk of she
& the horny glance of he
& the frightened glimpse of she
when she sees the fattening of the bull.
the heifer decides on further examination
not to take the hill
like Jack & Jill
because
on their last encounter
a stick figure was seen on the horizon;
could be he
and she knows where that leads.
the earnest feeling that
everything and nothing
is wrong
everything's *****ed
and so damn beautiful
in its ****ed-ness
the immensity of this
tickles the fingertip
like a salted crumb
on cat's whiskers
it doesn’t matter
which way you read your lines
(which way do you read them?)
as the corners of your mouth
become etched with the fattening burden
of Serenity
Pretzels come in many shapes,
Like rods and twists and sticks,
Some with salt and some without,
Depending on your fix.
I’ve tasted some with honey
Or with onion or with cheese
Or those peanut-butter filled ones,
Which some fans will surely please.
There are jalapeño pretzels
For the snackers who like spice
And now mini pretzels line the shelves,
But here is my advice -
If you think too many pretzels
Might just end up on your hips,
Do not worry, for they are
A lot less fattening than chips!
A descension of value bows night scenes,
the purple canopy edges its hoist,
spirits cool Platte River to lose its sheen,
Nebraskans wake to clarion fields voiced.
A loyal guest calls, it's the Sandhill Cranes,
dancing lessons, fields fattening corn orts,
pecking and choosing established campaigns.
Last state, go afoul, -- a date with the courts.
Locals aid their tally, most from afar,
It is nature's clock, all good things must end,
fly north to breed, and brood, and up to par,
A month's here, till next year, that's how the trend.
Awnings grey, triumphant stirs, the tension,
inspiring, crescendo ... the ascension.
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