Long Treadmill Poems
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Most of my classes suck (by that I mean they’re difficult). English is ok - especially the writing. I’d never want to major in English Literature though. It’s one of the hardest majors at Yale. It may be harder than Pre-med. They make it hard to discourage people from choosing it. If you don’t love literature, don’t live and breathe books and writing, you’ll *never* navigate the major.
Despite English being her third language, Leong is an excellent proofreader (which I need).
“Put an emoji in there,” Leong recommended, “it’ll show you’re chill and not panicking.”
“No emojis! I said, shocked, “This is supposed to be professional.” Still, every time I submit a draft the professor says it’s good (an “A”) and I’m done.
Sir Paul McCartney is at Yale today, talking about a book he wrote, I think. They’re piping his music all over campus. I don’t have time to see him, but his “Ram” album is one of my all-time favorites. I know people have their favorite Beatle, but I think Paul has, by far, the most lyrical solo career.
Lisa and I just arrived at the fitness center (in the residence basement) we’re the only three there. Peter (my BF) got there ahead of us, about 30 minutes ago. He’s been working out on one of the weight machines. He’s tall and fit, with black-almost blue hair and a new beard. Sweaty and shirtless, he’s a take-your-breath-away spectacle. The sight of him jangled up and down my libido. I felt myself groan inwardly. “Put on a shirt!” I said.
He comes over to where I’ve taken a seat. The sun is coming in at an angle which reveals that the air between us is filled with dust motes but now he looks like he’s a model standing in a spotlight. I just look at him and smile wickedly. “Why,” he says, getting very close.
“Because you’re distracting!” I answer laughing, as I push him away, “and I have a TON of reading to do.”
I like to read while I’m walking on the treadmill. He tries to nuzzle me as I step up. “Look,” I say, “If I can finish my reading (~200 pages) by dinner, I‘ll have something special for you.”
“Like what?” he asks, smiling and suddenly interested.
“Something for you to look back on when you’re a very old man.” I whisper.
“What are we standing around for?!” He demands, putting my chemistry book and water bottle on the treadmill and stepping away to slip on his t-shirt.
From the Elephant's diary
You find me giantly like Gulliver, huge and obese
but I met my doc, he said take it with ease....
for you big is more beautiful so eat more cheese
I am on my diet of sugarcane juice,
lush green grass n' tons of bamboos
Mammoth was my forefather not anymore seen
Now I know being gigantic is in my genes
Instructor at the gym shooed me away
for I broke his treadmill with my single step I say
We love to have our bath in nature's pool
We dabble water with our trunk till we are all cool
A relaxing shower for all friends after hectic schedule!
In our forest club, trophy for best music band,
we won last week for our trumpet troupe!
Large is our family my Jumbo uncle says,
Old and wise he is in our tuskers' herd
He says our eyes are small, to see
only little good left in this big bad world
And our ears are large to fan away
the gossips and bad we hear
Thick skin we do have so called pachyderms
to shrug off the hurling vices of the woods
but we have a large heart to spread
loads of love to all species widespread
In history, we have a place reserved
for in wars and royal processions,
we were used as pride symbols he says
Revered animals we are since eons.....
In country called India, heritage animal we are
and even worshipped in religious places he says!
Huge boulders or logs ,mankind used us for transport
We even entertain them in zoos and circus
But he regrets that we are poached, killed by men
to pull out pair of our incisors called tusks
who polish to make precious ivory to earn bucks
So useful and harmless friends to humans we are
I asked my uncle why so cruel the men are?
He said men show their power
of being Nature's superior creature
we elephant folk are helpless giants
We can do nothing but to pray that
we be valued for our selfless services and
be saved from going extinct from this world!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak,2015
For contest: Giant animals
Sponsored by: D.Nathan
Date: 2nd September 2015
"The Gift"
Communication to a friend...
Responding to what you have written, responding to your thoughts. This is a very deep and very sad write and I get it.
I would like to read the story further to see how it unfolds.
One, no matter how F’ing awful the cards drawn in this life, expects to see a “win” at some point, even if it’s a small win. I think this is a metaphor for the treadmill of life and the large amount of driving down roads and passing parcels (messages) to others (you experience also in your job). Life becomes so stilted and routine after a while, like going to sleep and waking up (when you’d rather stay in your dreams, even the nightmares are lacking routine).
I wonder sometimes, when passing the parcel (like that game we played – or some of us played – at children’s parties, when we were very very young, with the expectation of a message of mystery and elation, then the unwrap, to find just another parcel wrapped underneath it all with another message for the next player we passed the parcel to – well, I wonder, what that person hides in their journey, no matter the glossy and cheery exterior they wear in front of us, swinging their gaslight, as some kind of torture, to say, “see I’m doing so much better than you”….when perhaps they aren’t and they are hiding great depths of despair internally, where they fall fathoms daily, not reaching even the bottom but they, in their own way, are trying (boy are they trying), to find the ladder to claw their way back out of the sinkhole (built by themselves, or others), towards the light. Depression loves its camouflage fatigues. Eventually, surely the last parcel reaches the person it is intended for and when the final unwrapping occurs, what’s contained in the Pandora box, may or may not be the diamond we were expecting.
I think you should continue this – it is like the opening chapter to a novel.
Have a lovely, peaceful, safe and joyful Christmas and I think perhaps 2023 might be your Year (for all good things to come your way).
With LOVE,
that is all that matters,
through every waking moment
p.s. I expect to read your next instalment on Christmas Day.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Christmas
Dear Diet
Dear Diet, Dear Diet -
Where art thou ?
I've tried and I've tried -
but Holy Cow !
If I cut back on this
and cut back on that -
And start on the treadmill
I'll shed some fat.
Or should I try Bow-flex
or jog twice a day?
Or walk fast like a robot -
get out of my way.
I wish I could get credit
for as much as I've tried.
But still twenty pounds over -
I've laughed till I cried.
There's a way to fix this -
there's a way I think.
A lock on the fridge
and only water to drink.
No food channel - no car
to the drive-in to go.
No newspaper to read
all the coupons they show.
No lunchin' with friends
no cookouts and such.
No late night snacks -
that would be too much.
And when all this happens
wake me up from these dreams.
Eatin' and drinkin' again -
that's just life - so it seems.
Insatiable thirst and hunger
A bottomless materialistic pit
Always something for nothing
Prop your feet up; you’re the ****
Narcissist lazy behavior
Spoiled childish attitude
Snowflakes; everybody’s a winner
Except for people like me and you
They want it all
Dedicated to useless social tasks
Judgmental of others
Sluggish and fat
Passion for wealth
Absence of worth
Fickleness nature
Self-esteem at its worst
No goals intended
Overwhelmed and tired
False-self dominates
Tranquility expires
Choked by emotions
Drowning in desires
Wicked ambitions
Self-indulgence on fire
Lost in luxuries
Blinded by hope
Delusions of adequacy
Tempered by dope
Literary studies
Lost thing of the past
The perception of knowledge
Builds up real fast
Enthusiasm for fame
Appeal to pointless facts
We’re creating an illusionary world
We may never get back
Chasing a fictitious image
A nightmarish dream comes true
Delusions of adequacy
Creates a facade of virtue
The traditional view
The path to acquire
Loaded with debt
Bankrupt with desire
Our culture is afflicted
Materialism grabs hold
Misguided expectations
Hedonic treadmill creates a black hole
History has tried to teach us
The pains had no effect
No lessons learned in life
The cards dealt shows a slow death
The comfort of emotions
The greediness starts to blend
Before we become aware
Here we go again
Funny, how ironic
Human nature can be
Blind drives of biology
Now a destructive quality
New desires will take place
Old compulsions will disappear
Life will be driven
By the avoidance of new fears
A new set of beliefs
A new course in life
Is really what’s needed
For autonomy in our life
Acknowledge our predicament
Self-respect matters most
Virtue and honor
Is what I hope and propose
This generation
Can change what’s been done
We're in this together
We're in this as one
Selfless
Productive
Compassionate
Clarity of mind
Sin
Greed
And gluttony
Pass away all in due time
The past tells a story
Opportunity to understand; to know
Everything that has happened in life
Was necessary for our growth
Are you searching for holiness? How is it viewed? Or
To be? Is on some scales its worth.' Is it to be found with
The beggars? Or a King? Or Emperor.' Is its essence in the
Wind? Is it the servant of kings? Or perhaps its to favour
Of countenace? Largesse? Are there many? Who on lifes
Treadmill chase its essence.? What do I see.? I see people
Resorting to whips and chains.' Starvation diets are maybe
Prayerless lanes? Who resort to drugs to gain release from
This tomb of death' as age makes each crease the body
Beautiful belongs to some.' Others inhabit a marred one but
Is it a type of hell.? Some trapped in anger, find it hard to
Trust in any human' any advance of love? Some men trust in
Strength and force of arms.' Another denial.' All must buy the
Farm' face mortality.' As some still here have done.' beautiful
The stream of living water can; come to some' dissolving
The tempral things around.' Then know how God took Enoch'
Translation was just like so.' Holyness, holy? It is what all crave.'
Eternal validation no matter ' your age ' i see its desire in so
Many alive; reaching out.' Or rejecting the desire and strive' I
Value openness of manner.' It seems a type? A shadow of
That holyness.? In which God delights.' And the murders in
Syria.? And the world around.' Arms manufacturers upon what
Grounds.? Upon what principles are their actions founded.?
The dregs of drainstream media..Churn out that we are surrounded.'
By terrible people, and happenings' and rumor of war.' And we
Can have some holiness.' And integrity find peace needed sore
Just another raising of funds.' Or are we just idol worshipping
Of missiles and guns.' Will others blood gain you holiness? Is that
Why some be-head? Yet I see that such a precept just promotes
More death.' And they recognise Jesus? Well so those demons did too
In a Nation of observance.!! Into swine they then flew..' into the
Profane! before the teachers of 'The Law' well everything in its order
I leave now thinking of human mores.' Of desire and striving; and the
Honour maybe.? In the killing so often sanctioned.' By holy decree.'
From generation to generation
Times have changed so much
By leaps and bounds
Back when technology did not exist
I grew up in a family of 13 kids
Survival was the game of life
Working hard day and night
Trying to make a better life
Nothing was easy
You just did your best
And hoped to reap some reward
Since I tried to live my life
Like an open book
I thought you’d understand
I helped raise six hungry kids
Fed them, sent them to school
And gave them their wings
Six impressionable little minds
Had I known my words would mean so much
All I knew was you needed to be tough
To be ready to face life
So I taught you what I learned
Convinced all you needed were the basics
And you would find your way
I didn’t think I’d be doing you any favours
By painting rosy pictures and
I wouldn’t have known how
My models were two hard working parents
Whose fulltime job was to feed and clothe 13 kids
Barely making ends meet
No time for dreams, barely time for sleep
Too exhausted to even keep up
With the treadmill of daily living
Like baby birds I sent you off from the nest
To stretch your new wings and fly on your own
Find your way and do better than me if you could
I didn’t think I was remiss I gave it my all
Careful not to lose myself in the process
Teeter tottering to maintain balance
Keeping that all important flame alive within
So one day I could be free again to be me
I wish I had told you more often
That I love you and I’m proud of you
I thought my actions would speak louder than words
We each have our journey to live and learn from
I am watching over you from above
Better late than never
I want to tell you today that I love you
And I hope you have a fulfilling life
Until we meet again
Dad xx
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
version published in photo/poetry book ~UNCONDITIONAL LOVE LETTER TO MY CHILDREN~ 2020 / photos by TIMOTHY McGUIRE
Submitted on April 5, 2018 for NON-ROMANTIC LOVE CONTEST sponsored by EMILE PINET
and September 8, 2017 for HELP ME FALL IN LOVE CONTEST sponsored by MYSTIC ROSE
"Humor can alter any situation and help us cope at the very instant we are laughing." –Allen Klein
A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR BLUNTS THE SHARP BLADES OF REALITY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I lay on the table, a modern-day sacrificial lamb,
pillow cradling my head, a fortress of foam and fabric.
Then came Velcro, the sticky embrace of a high-tech straitjacket,
my legs and wrists secured like a reluctant burrito.
Into the tube I slid, a terrified astronaut on a mission,
the ceiling loomed, a metallic sky, almost kissing my nose.
I clenched my hands until they turned white pondering
“Is this what it feels like to be a sardine in a can?
The sounds began, a symphony of whirs and clicks,
the MRI’s own version of a pop concert—
I imagined it had a fan club, “Team Tube,” with its own T-shirts
while I lay there, a star in a very narrow universe.
I tried counting, “one, two, three.” But sigh…
my thoughts were spinning like socks in a dryer.
I imagined bystanders strolling by, pointing and staring.
“Behold! Look at the sweating patient in the tube!”
The minutes crawled, like a snail on a treadmill.
“Perhaps I should have brought snacks
or at least a good book.” But alas, I was tethered,
a captive audience to my own claustrophobic anxiety.
So I lay still, the sounds swirling,
I chuckled softly, because if this is life,
then I might as well enjoy the ride,
even if it’s a little cramped and a little weird.
After all, who needs a spa day when you can have an MRI,
a slow, relaxing rollercoaster ride into the belly of the beast.
Oh, the absurdity of my situation, and the irony of it all—
Here I was, a human pretzel, searching for sanity inside the MRI.
Then, suddenly, the whirring ceased, the ceiling pulled back.
I emerged, a superhero in a hospital gown,
Velcro stripped away, ready to conquer the world
with a newfound appreciation for open spaces.
Poem written for “A Good Sense Of Humor Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality Poetry Contest,” Natasha L. Scragg, sponsor, July 29, 2025.
I feel a sudden stiffness in my chest, I have not been running but I am almost out of breath, I stood for seventeen hours in the corner trying to put things in order but the drill across the street keep disrupting my heart beat and the humming bird around the corner keeps scattering the garbage in the street and singing to a musical irony.
I am not used to doing formal exercise but sometimes I go all the way through the painful sacrifice, with my hands on my hip and my foot on the bar, I do exercise that makes me feel tall.
The mornings are grey when my heart is leaning the other way, I wish I had company to exchange a word or two, when I do the pushups , weight lifting and a couple miles on the treadmill.
I love doing aerobic exercise, instead of taking diet pills and drinking green juice, I just love to burn the sweat and stretch and fill my lungs with fresh hear.
See them laying on the floor over there, everyone in their own space, they are rolling from left to right and the body is putting up a terrible fight.
“You have got to shed five pounds”, he said, or I will roll you out of my bed, I will be the director and I want you all to do some frantic move, by the end of the week you will jumping on your feet.
You will wear bikini on the beach and you will ride bicycle through the street and tell the people that you have lost five pounds. You will give them a flyer to join the class and you will start your own business at last.
I cannot feel the stiffness anymore; it has disappeared on the dance floor; I work out mornings and evening and at nights I usually take a swim.
My gym is in my basement and I have emptied the diet pill in the toilet, I feel much happier when I sing, I lose more weight when I stand up straight.
I have to get my mind and body in harmony and my spirit to balance it.
I love working out on the gymnastic bar with that graceful poise and when the instructor comes along, she plays the music of the wild swan.
The stiffness is gone and I feel comfortable in my body.
Fever and Chills
History writes itself
invisible pens find surfaces unknown
private life
public life
fever and chills sleep together
heaving corrosive air
from colorless lungs
hearing but their own moans
their own cries of ecstasy
how loud
how soft
From boardroom
to bedroom
clinging to manufactured essence
flesh bleeds with century's plague
ignoring contagion's history past
nurturing instead
weed gardens of delusional orchid and rose
These darkened windows aloft
where seductive airs of passion molt
fail to hide the pores of covetous fantasy
gluttony's vaporous hydration
ready to flake
While all about
Ether's wake delivers
sirens and horns
delivering ambition's twisted celebration of death
one less emergency burden
one more dodging of tragedy's awareness
the One-Percenters' plunder
destined to erode
like sand castles knowing little of ebb's inevitable tide
How courageous for some
To incandesce amidst shallow atmospheres
even as infirmity goes unnoticed by those
embracing fleeting moments
momentarily exchanging covers enfolding profit reports
for the silk and satin kind
king size queen size
makes no difference
For these of duplicitous breath
life becomes but a fool's gold enlaced treadmill
unquenchable thirst crossing windblown lips
insatiable and voracious spoils
body upon body
The sickness passes its virulent infection
its waste-basket poisons
from all too anxious glad-hands
offering but copper-nickel-dime pilings
greed's weed defoliation of flowered chameleon hope
trickling downward
battling updrafts of street despair
as sidewalk survivors reach skyward
embracing the floating pocket change tearfully
As misery rages below
this citadel high above
protects blind-weary subjects
behind penthouse glass
sitting together
sipping cognac
turning up the Bang & Olufsen
reading sonnets they know nothing of
awaiting the recurring sirens and horns
Like children beneath pup tents of fantasy
they scurry close
securing their panic
denying the dark
Yet
They too will one day know virulence
and await their own
fever and chills