Long Diet Poems
Long Diet Poems. Below are the most popular long Diet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Diet poems by poem length and keyword.
I have four grown grand children, and it seems that
they could not wait to inform me of their most recent
accomplishment. It appears that they fail to realize that
there are kids who just turned 50 but never grew UP.
Like my 'grown grands', many of us Christians readily fit
such a description. We know not the meaning of drinking a bitter CUP. Sometimes, we parents are to BLAME, and that's a SHAME, because there is no maturity if we never make a CHANGE.
There is no butterfly if there is no STRAIN within the COCOON. Neither is there human development if we are continually fed from a SPOON.
A lady in the Bible desired that her sons be granted a special SEAT*. I understand how parents feel, but sometimes they make us WEEP.
The same thing applies to leaders who do not properly feed their SHEEP. Our physical as well as mental health requires that we have a balanced diet.
We cannot obtain nor retain spiritual health if leaders simply keep quiet.
Salt is vital for preservation as well as seasoning, but too much salt is very deadly. We cannot afford to act and think like children, many of whose diet is filled with CANDY; nor has The Lord promised to be our 'sugar DADDY'. A life without deserts is bland and dull, but too much sugar can lead to an early GRAVE.
Only a balanced diet consisting of the full counsel of God will enable us to be strong and BRAVE. It is not about making everybody feel good and keeping everyone HAPPY. May we grow to be balanced believers, loving God and feasting on His truth.
0125421FBPS*Matthew 20:21
I was in the middle of creating when I realized how gloomy everything was turning. I was placing mean words on the paper. I had started with the word inspiration…..so how had this happened? I stared in horror at my words, which had turned dark and angry.
Apparently I had spent too much time in my tomb this weekend – blinds shut, dog on lap, two fourteen hour days of sheer darkness, lit only by unhappy fast moving TV people – detectives, solving murder after murder. A steady diet of UGH.
Have you taken a peek at your children and grandchildren’s video games? I have. They are not much better than what I had done to myself this weekend. But they are younger, and I should have known better. All this yellow tape and meanness to humanity is not good for this garden-loving grandma.
I can only imagine children’s bleak hopelessness on Monday after a steady diet of swear words and killing on the weekends. Has anyone who is an adult played Fortnight? The most popular killing video game and free to your children? I can barely function today after my weekend, and I am supposedly a grownup.
Take a peek at what your children are doing. And help them, and then come to my house, tear down my blinds and break my TV okay?
Been feeling a bit extra strange today
Can't imagine what's the reason
My tightie whities must be a little too tight
Think lately, I'm overeating
3X most likely is my new size now
Please keep this our little secret
Sadly my diet plan has been a bit of a failure
Was trying hard to be my sleekest
I do possess other redeeming factors
I can stand on my head and spit nickels
Not impressed? Then how about this
I can whistle through my nipples
It all comes back to my tightie whities
The sooner I change 'em the better
Think I'll started wearing airy clown pants
With polka dots, numbers and letters
Say hello when the circus comes to town
You won't miss me, that is for sure
Especially with the big red nose I'll be wearing
Looking oh so extremely mature!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Mother raindrop
She didn’t want the lunch I prepared
said she was on a diet, unhappy with her body
she is half of a watermelon
to keep my company
I wish she hadn’t stopped talking about
her discontent
I tried to enjoy my lunch, cauliflowers with
Cheese sauce, celery sticks with Roquefort
I had gone vegetarian to please her
Later, on the terrace, tending to my rose bush
it needed compost
I saw a big rain falling like a shiny sapphire
hit the terrace, burst open, and gave
birth to a million smaller drops
I scooped them up and fed my rosebush
It blushed and produced marron roses
I never told you, but I used to raise a degree,
when you tapped playfully on my windowpane.
Clickity clickity clackity clickity...click.
Are you still good at cloaking that battered heart?
Still tracing those neon hieroglyphs?
I'm not being judgmental; I've grown up a bit.
Though I can see you haven't improved in anything
Forever plotting never improving,
can't recognize when you're losing
A steady diet of dope has turned ambition to laziness.
And that pretty face has attracted perverts and crazies.
You're still my Lord Rayleigh butterfly
emerging from the saxophone mist
clickity clickity- clickity clackity...click.
“I think I’ll go out,” the husband said.
The wife let it slide for about a half hour.
Then she asked, “Where are you going?”
There was no reply, so she walked into the living room.
Immediately knowing.
He had sneaked out, being careful to make no noise with the latch.
She knew what that meant.
She had him on a strict diet, and a locater application.
She got on her phone and looked at it.
Immediately knowing.
As she suspected he was at the Donut Deli down the road
No doubt eating the things he was never supposed to eat.
He had had so many affairs with sweet, fried things.
She got on her coat, determined to stop him.
Immediately knowing.
Yours truly borrows a phrase
courtesy the great bard
also known as
William Shakespeare's Hamlet:
"For 'tis the sport ...
Hoist by one's own petard
meaning "victimized or hurt
by one's own scheme”.
The aforementioned excerpt
hopefully describes the fate
to befall president of Russia.
Nevertheless, unseen
talon sharp claws...
dig deep into mine
psyche soft underbelly
piercing bedrock of
core (puss) being
akin to butter knife
slicing thru peanut
butter and jelly
unable to preserve
an iota of calm
while stuck in said
emotional jarring state,
which eruption of cataclysmic
agitation analogous to a bomb
going off inside my head,
where a mishmash
of frenzied discombobulated
brainstorming angst doth glom,
whereat the "little boy"
inside this man
called for his mom,
who when this aging
"baby boomer" chap
just a kid and experienced
devastating, jarring,
and paralyzing tom
malt chew hiss in dom
mitt able inexplicable fear,
though NO obvious
danger threatened, NOR
warning signaled "BEWARE,"
nonetheless adrenaline
coursed from head
to toe as if clear
and present harm
lurked quite near,
inducing a host of
physiological fallout symptoms
darkly freighting this
sole son with nightmarish scare,
whereat no escape,
nor exit no matter
how fast a sprinting tear
found me running
mile a minute only
to end up nowhere,
except smackdab right
in the same place
in relation to despair,
which translates to mean...
yours truly could not
run and hide,
as quickly made clear
to me then, and now,
though at present
scores years older, the balm
courtesy of prescription
medication popped inside
mouth from palm
olive smoothed hands,
as if this teetotaler
betook himself prom
men aiding albeit
with tumblerful of liquor
getting feigning noggin all a jam
aware that nothing amiss,
would be evident,
sans lower gastrointestinal exam,
nonetheless diet
restricted to graham
crackers and broth
distilled from ham
hock, once again thwarting
vegetarian ambitions damn!
Conceptual paralysis
Hot wired matrix
delusional her hereditary mono-glide
Diet tried smokers cough
Apocalyptic pop-tart
Disappoint a trend of the needy
You gave it back
Watching the watcher
You had a laugh
The diamond left its mount
The horse shouted out rude names
The map of life is on your palm
Testing your attention to see if you're real
The missing songs sang of castles walls
Paradox of building with sand
Next government field trip
Not no fun no fake-ness in the bosoms
Season's as her bounty
The streets of all our passion
People fill in the spaces
Kill in weird places
How can you no care,
Silently demanding
Glamorous outstanding
Electric compassion is who ate her
Was never far from anticipation
The dream loses fire once a foot has felt
More than the pain and shock of lost desire
The breast of this dada heaves
with remorseful painful ache
as if...the insides of my body
into a bajillion pieces break
though anniversary of birth,
I intended to write, but... did rake
akin to hot coals, an overwhelming agony
wrought urgent compulsion to slake
expunging sudden onset, shook me awake,
how this papa brought years of heartache,
upon an innocent newborn,
oh no...definitely "not fake,"
and her elder protective sibling Eden
(understandable not to forgive), - who lake
(like) an "uber quasi mother"
did welcome thee with a fair shake
(twenty Earth orbitz ago February 4th, 2019)
metamorphosed into such an adoring, giving,
and loving lass unbeknownst, when she did make
her debut (passing the
Apgar test with flying colors) for goodness sake
cuz, I betcha you studied while in utero,
thus said standard assessment involving intake
and outflow of breath
as seconds old infant piece of cake,
and unexpected eruption of despair,
thus found me sinking into melancholy air
and compounded as "mother",
and I became aware
how cognitive skills
(additionally low body weight) clear
lee delayed triggering screaming
bouts from thee dear
special Punim, and
oft times this papa flare
with frustration and volley with
reciprocated enraged voice
imbecile and juvenile antics of mine clear
lee heard outside 1148 Greentree Lane
neighbors possibly a grizzly bear
broke loose from the zoo,
or other beast escaped their lair,
thus prompting me to post a sign beware
of the ferocious father, and dare
to enter at your own risk,
and do not forget to mutter a prayer
lest ye be swallowed in one fell swoop,
and nobody would hear
from that person again
cannibalized by Matthew
Scott mailer daemon,
whose surly mood embittered by rare
stints of employment, otherwise we lived
dirt poor surviving on diet of worms, I swear
to be totally "FAKE",
but hyperbole to lyft shaky spear
writs.
Uncomfortable confronting
your continuous consumption to which you're accustomed,
the crunch, the chew, it's all you do,
most munch at lunch while you the whole day through,
can't get a grip like a hug holding you
but when you sip it's a diet brew
no added sugar and calories are few,
but many saturated fats are stacked
impacting with gross growth of fat sacks,
so you boom take up too much room
and stay still through sore joints you feel
as you can't conceal spare tires that spill.
You've an ahss with a difference
surpassing any ahss in existence
by a significant distance
with its significant distance
disappearing in the distance
to France and French Resistance
wanting removal in an instance
with intense insistence .
To lose weight you need to move mate.
Eat less move more, it works for sure,
though at first a chore
instead of bursting out you'll once more
fit through the door,
and not resemble a dinosaur,
the sore-thighs-and-a-sore-ahss-eyesore-osaurus.
All four storeys of your inglorious
girth awkwardly bulges before us,
taunting as you pass us at speeds
outclassed by a passed its best tortoise,
a daunting and torturous sight
for our poor eyes that sore
at size you can't ignore
as your broad and soaring baggy core
drags flab and more flab along the floor.
To dine all the time like an assembly line
from 9 to 9 makes you the widest of mankind
with a need to wear a wide load sign on your behind,
eating on repeat
until you can't see your feet
or get out of that seat
while hoarding heat
roasting in rotation
as a gravitational orbit results,
these insults should install motivational mass
to counterweight your morbid oversized ahss,
… so yes your ahss looks fat since you asked.
Realise she hates guys that tell lies, she cries,
so I told her she's oversized and learnt lies are wise,
don't tell her she's wide from side to side or in her thighs,
cus her size cry makes her lies cry look a lie, lies are wise.