Short Diabetic Poems
Short Diabetic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Diabetic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Diabetic by length and keyword.
My blood loves sugar
my liver loves gall
your kiss is sweet
your nausea is salt
I'm diabetic for you
in the mix of everything
I'm not bad
at all !
My old friend who is a diabetic
Decided to become an ascetic
Denies himself pleasure
Even in small measure
Can't even screw himself ~ How pathetic!
We knew Trump was purely pathetic;
Also leaping, lewd and lascivious skeptic;
Bizarre;
Should see scar;
He had been overweight and a diabetic.
Jim Horn
We knew Trump was purely pathetic;
Also leaping, lewd and lascivious skeptic;
Bizarre;
Should see scar;
He had been overweight and a diabetic.
Jim Horn
It smells of delicious red velvet cupcakes in the air.
Even though I am diabetic I am also without care,
For I much rather enjoy life as though it is not there.
supercala diabetic ketoacidosis
if you get it you will know it
don't be so precocious
supercala diabetic ketoacidosis
um diddle dee um diddle lie
lose a foot, lose an eye
eat good foods, take your meds
maybe you wont die
John's a diabetic
And should avoid eating anything sweet
I found it pathetic
And made some biscuits for a treat
I made two dozen biscuits
And put them in the oven on a tray
After I cooked them
John ate a dozen straight away
misplace this misplace that
and we’re both fighting fat
we’re two of a kind
you are quite a find
we’re not the Odd Couple
mine green hers purple
she’s diabetic
my brain went static
life’s full of ups and downs
found love in a sea of clowns
What no sugar means
Is that it’s sugar free
For a diabetic
It’s very important
But when something
That’s supposed to be
Sugar free has sweetener
Inside, like fructose or
Sweet and low, it’s
A misrepresentation of
A sugar free product, plus
It’s bad for diabetics
Sugar is sweet
But, too much of it makes you sick
And may die diabetic and despondent.
Love is sweet
But too much of it makes you insolvent
And may die too dependent.
Better moderate and milder
As it makes you somber
But the sweetest word ever
Is LOVING YOU forever!
Cucumber
early morning
I had to eat something
found a cucumber in the fridge
that was otherwise bare.
Peeled and boiled them added a bit of butter
and a pepper
stirred well when cooked and I had
mashed cucumber.
It tasted terrific a wonder for a diabetic
I have to remember til next time
the cupboard is bare.
Pardon my parlay
but I haven't invested
or infested the time to
infiltrate or be a tart
only because
sweet tarts are much
maligned
for tempo of mandible
treatment
and cavities of the
soul
so when the schucking of skin
begins again
I'll wish for corn syrup
splashing all over
your wheat husk
I am diabetic.
Form:
Easter, and the mystery
unfolds in the hearts
of chocolate rabbits.
Some still believe,
in the capacity of eggs to
resurrect joy,
or they race within chicken runs,
to celebrate a pre-diabetic date,
while other's only offer up
painted shells.
The mystery will continue,
just as long
as we play these games,
of hide and seek.
Grandma doesn't like to talk
so I don't ask why they don't
bury Grandpa stuck with us in basement?
Grandpa was diabetic and went into coma when
the bombs kept falling and we all bend our heads in prayer.
Grandma doesn't move anymore and I just watch her
disappear.
I'm hungry, cold, and bored. They want to kill us all, don't know why.
We fascinated the neighborhood.
finding things to meet us, the new neighbors.
Could I perhaps borrow a cup of sugar?
We apologize for the lack of cups.
Laughing, I am using my own cups.
But none of us consume sugar.
Are you diabetic, by any chance?
We are... diabolical, to be sure.
Written: November 19, 2022
if when I walk
on concrete sidewalks
stop at the bakery window
full with pastry
covered in chocolate
and creams
I notice
in the reflection
a new roundness
to my frame
and I begin
to worry
about You
the new medication
this heaviness
in my chest
just keep walking
your parents are diabetic
By Mike Butler
dearest Eve... please forgive...
your poem... delectable...
your chocolates... delicious...
if i wasn't diabetic...
the lot I would of finished...
so i'll paint you a picture...
call it payment in kind...
with words I keep...
for special occasions...
like saying sorry...
for my guilty pleasure
hoping you'll be kindness...
personified...
Where do you begin with the colour of his skin?
Tandoori or mandarin
A rumour it's satsuma
Squash or is it pumpkin
Shade of homemade lucozade
Sun bed head sheen
(B)utter nut or tangerine
Is his swede (head) indeed
Not being too mean
Aesthetic a diabetic peed
The same as well swede (turnip)
Parrot it's carrot...bloody ruddy orange!
The pace
I walked for 50 minutes
Inhaling fumes of cars, it is like
Living in a roundabout
The see air on the seventh floor
At my flat, the air is healthier
But I walk every day because
It is suitable for my diabetes
And it makes me slimmer
Only the walk makes me hungry.
It makes me wonder if
The great and late president Chirac
Walked the street of Paris?
He kept buying her sugar because she liked it.
He bought her pies, cakes, puddings and fast foods too.
She was a diabetic, so these goodies were bad for her.
But it made her feel so good.
For a few minutes until her blood sugar elevated to The Twilight Zone.
“Maybe this will do the trick,” He said.
Bringing in sixteen additional bags of goodies filled with white sugar.
Shakespeare wrote that "Love is blind"
Lennon told us "Love is the flower you've got to let grow"
Proust believed "Love is space and time measured by the heart"
Segal said "Love means never having to say you're sorry"
Yesterday,
when I told a pharmacist that
I have to inject my diabetic
cat with insulin twice a day,
she said "that sir, is truly love"
Who to believe?
That is finally summer now
That God brought for us
And now I am having a craving
For diabetic Ice cream
It has no sugar added
So I can have as many
As I want
That is also a treat for me
It is night time now
It is too bad that the day is over
I am going finally to sleep
Tomorrow will be another day
I will be up first thing in the morning
Working for my Father
Writing some poems
I am seventy-one
I could die at any second.
I tell this to my nurse.
She says “stop!”
She calls me silly.
I am seventy-one.
I like it.
I had a peanut butter cup and creamed soda for breakfast I say.
the nurse does not respond.
I am sure I am a diabetic I tell her.
I have ballooned up like a fat sow these last few years.
She laughs.
“Stop it! “She says.
“You forgot to call me silly,” I tell her.
Stained by blood my lips of red,
and diabetic sweet.
Full of flesh from inside out,
of all the souls I eat.
Trembled true and full of fear,
of guilt that's laid upon me.
I cannot change my course of time,
for time will not disarm me.
Tattoos become the marks and scars,
upon my flesh to handle.
Smaller is the head of each,
to me has is the animal.
Picking through the meat in teeth,
I am for worse the cannibal...
Dark as departure
and sweet
as reunion, it’s a
romantic
syrup resembling
an expat’s
life. A sublime
state of
sweetness like a
wife’s wait.
It’s forbidden to
a diabetic
patient, but who
commits an
ecstatic sin, violating.
Rapture of
now is in a negative
impulse.
The expat squeezes
dry desert
for sweet syrup.
One sip
tempts into another.
First appeared in The Literary Hatchet (Pear Tree Press, US).