Long Fattening Poems
Long Fattening Poems. Below are the most popular long Fattening by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fattening poems by poem length and keyword.
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The fattening of the dough
the tummy expectant, the tummy expanding
Cocooned in its nest
its stretchiness, its pleasant scents
Like an infant in a swaddle
the soothing towel, slightly moist
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The ascent complete
lungs exhaustively expanded, waiting to exhale
The arousing response
bright light, hands stimulate dough
The pushback of palms
elasticity released, globular rest
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
After shaping the dough
blanket over sleeping creation, one final rest
Our daily bread
of prayer produced, from suffering loosed
The “fourth man” in the oven graced
inner softness, cortical strength
The armless
Once I had a snack bar selling soft drinks and unhealthy food
long hours of total boredom and fattening.
I tried to get a drinking license, but a Christian party was
in power at that time, said no.
One Sunday morning, a young man without arms came in
he was drunk, his fly was open, wanted a beer but settled
for a coke with a straw; then he fell asleep.
He awoke and needed a pee. I helped him with this.
Later he told me he was going to Oslo to have artificial arms
fitted, I was glad for him.
I closed the snack bar for the rest of the day took the dog
for a walk, my problems were trifling compared with his.
God lets us see life from every angle. Anklebiters that we are. Fist fighters, black-eyed contenders, snivelers. The boss looks down, looks into our eyes, looks at our feet, looks underneath. We don’t see the cobwebs between our fingers and toes, in our mouth and ears. Our hairdos make us look like weirdos, piled fry-high, like the bride of Frankenstein. Our hearts shoved into the easy-bake of childhood. Black-spider shades grip our nose and tether behind our ears, holding onto dendrites. White teeth flash their watermelon pits, black and blue. God lets us see from every angle. The dark spots hinder perfect sight, the dark holes below lower lashes, thinning lips, fattening thighs, exercising our rights, but mostly wrongs. I hear the gong...not many do. Do we belong to the world or to our God? Is this yet Babylon. Our speech once babbled, have we forgotten? Why do you think we don’t all speak the same language? Scientists prove there’s been a worldwide flood. Jesus walked the earth and the sun. Now you see the one world coming together. Remember what happened last time the world did this — were we not scattered? Scientists say there was a continental divide — this once united mass. Indeed we are anklebiters, curtain climbers, toddlers. God lets us find our own stray. Can we find our own way?
1/6/2021
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done in earth,
as it is in heaven.
Matthew 6:10 KJV
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!
I walked down the alleyways of London
Early one edgy Friday evening.
I am a touring, curious resident, mind you.
The sun was shy and was sinking breathlessly and
With the hushed melody of frazzled fog.
I headed towards a snaky road, cobbled to fractured
Heels and hills, and stumbled upon
Oxford Street, famous for all manner of glitz
And devoted heartbreaks.
It was nearing winter, but not yet wintertime.
Autumn, hoar with age, and damp,
Was about to swallow her pride and go away —
And go the way of all flesh—
Leaving nothing behind but her gathered and swept-up
Wreaths of browned, aged, haggard leaves.
Oxford Street, the world's loudest bazaar,
A fattening roofless museum of couture
That runs on a long, broad and sinfully perfumed hall,
Peopled by men and women, ancient and modern,
Fogeys and hipsters,
Held fast to its deafening sound and picture of glossy, sexy lipsticks,
Redder than deer blood,
And assembled pieces of mascara,
So charming, so flimsy, on glass trays and wooden hooks,
Each selling much more than a fragile penny.
I inhaled and exhaled, culture dragging my feet, cloyed by
Sensations strongly adhered to by hissing smells of now and then.
I was shocked by the magic of flitting lights and fleeting senses.
Shoulders rubbed each other with shuffling, dragging gaits,
The rush needless and lacking in manners.
Should there be a fall from the height of Stevie Nicks' platform
Shoes, the grounds would rumble, ankles would dislocate, ‘HELP! '
Would be screamed beyond Beatles' decibels.
On Oxford Street, it's go your own way—beyond Fleetwood Mac.
I followed in the footsteps of only those who walked with caution.
Litters of shredded London Evening Standard smelled differently, rolled and
Spread out, reminding everyone, resident and tourist, of the
Elegance of the English alphabet, the fine fonts of printed almanacs.
The next man I stumbled upon his shoulder, a reserved newspaper
Vendor, the age of an embryo, yelled, Blimey!
Hosting my bent thorax upon his bale of hanging papers,
He asked, pulling me up with his one unfettered hand,
His breath on torture,
‘First time on Oxford Street, mate? '
‘Last, ' I mumbled.
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
My kids they have big plans for me
When I leave this side for eternity
They know I'm taking with me my soul
But with the rest they're opening up a store
They're going to take and stretch my skin
And make leather furniture out of it
But not before they shave all my hair
For the making of fuzzy wuzzy underwear
They'll nail my eyeballs to the wall
So I can keep watch on the store
In case they ever need a break
Or in the morning when they're running late
The rest they'll either throw away
Or set out on the dogs dinner plate
No matter what it is they do
I'm sure they'll put me to good use
I wonder if that's why they're fattening me up
So in the end it'll boost profits
This actually came about from my kids telling me when I die they're going to make a couch out of me...Living in Florida I hang out in the sun a lot! Lol!
I chose to write,
For all those torn-off branches,
For all those scarred backs,
For all those dehumanized bodies,
For all those centuries of persecution.
I chose to read,
To deconstruct racialist concepts,
To destroy the carnivorous chains of slavery,
To desacralize the supremacist missions of colonization,
To uproot the alienation installed in my consciousness, brutalized by imperialist Westernization.
I chose to educate myself,
To denounce the negrophobia of the Republic of Enlightenment turned slave trader,
To challenge the heirs of the enslaving empire of racist philosophers,
To never forget the bestiality of the Code Noir,
The savagery of the slave trades,
The barbarity of human zoos,
To never erase from my scorched memory the drownings of black bodies.
I chose to turn off my television,
To no longer listen to parrots singing the praises of xenophobia,
To no longer be imprisoned by the conspiratorial diatribes of the fascist fanatics of the far right,
To no longer watch the privileged squabble while fattening themselves on the taxes of the proletariat,
To no longer pollute my mind, tormented by the misery of the cradle of humanity.
I chose to fully embrace my Africanness,
To never say that my ancestors were Gauls,
Like those domestic blacks who champion the celebration of republican hypocrisy,
To never curse Africa in my heart,
Like those traitors who participated in the slave trades, slavery, colonization, and neocolonization,
To never sanctify the banana republics of the sphere of influence of the so-called homeland of human rights,
Which drives thousands of Sub-Saharans onto the deadly paths of clandestine migration,
To never place myself on the same level as those racist, racialist, supremacist, and eugenicist complexes,
Who sustain vile theories about the utopia of racial superiority.
This is one of my favourites
sitting down at end of the day
with a big mug of coffee plus
two slice red cheddar toasted on tray
The toasted cheese is done on grill
making it sizzle and bubble what a thrill!
the redness flows down its side
put on so thick it looks like a hill
As you put the toast to your mouth
your senses are raised such a height
anticipation is raised to 100 per cent
your mind pictures your very first bite
This is your last bite before bed
making you sleep so very deep
if you were to pass away at night
your last abiding memory to keep
So I loved my toasted cheese
but now need to keep myself in shape
it's so fattening on the waistline
so must fight it to shorten the tape
Enslaved by the very being of our existence
Obey the laws of nature
Eat, drink or perish
Shelter from cold, shade from heat
Love for pleasure
Hate for survival
Souls searching something spiritual
Does death beget freedom of this human realm
Or are we simply reclaimed by earth
Nourishing the soil fattening worms
Trapped in this bubble
Of fragile human life
Does birth decide our destiny
Are dreams gateways to realms untouched
Staring through glass walls
Stones grasped in tight fingers
Dare to throw and shatter this illusion of life
Dare to pop the bubble
Lying next to a lover
Naked and raw
Sensations of the body and mind
What is love but to love and be loved
Someone searches for something more
Somehow someway something
within this realm of humans