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Terry O'Leary  Sep 2013
Boa's Ark
Terry O'Leary Sep 2013
MORNING HAS BROKEN
The men, in lines, ***** two by two,
forgetting all the women who
indulged them through a night of tricks
(their lips designed with crimson sticks,
their eyes a wild mascara mix)

and think instead on times ahead
when they’ll be gone, their bodies dead
(some rotting slow’, some mummified)
though once they were their mummy’s pride.

Attired bright in uniforms,
they strew their bombs in desert storms -
like melting sands, the sky deforms
with darkness, death - and doomsday swarms
through ravished lands where fires warm
the corpses, cold and puriform.

Their eyes flash forward towards the backs
of lucky ones who have the knack
of never being in the way
of bursts of bullets as they stray
(effacing phantoms faraway)
and dodging doom’s Redemption Day.

They’re wishing for a foggy morn
or best of all to be unborn,
and peering down to mark the sway
of wings in webs while spiders prey,

they wonder when their time will come
and they can cease their fleeing from
the sights they’ve seen, the deeds they’ve done,
the life they’ve lost, the death they’ve won,

then muse a while upon the child
they killed today when they went wild,
and when they’re finally reconciled
with broken bodies stacked and piled,

they ponder, does she have a kin
to curse them for their burning sin?

And if she does, will god reply
with tooth for tooth and eye for eye?

Or will her clan be mild and meek
and simply turn the other cheek?

2. MIDDAY MUSINGS
They’re counting steps to pass the time
and puzzle if they’ll reach their prime
or if instead they’ll serve the worm
their carnal flesh and aching *****

when soon, perhaps, they sleep in berth
provided by the chilling earth,
and fret about the fate they’ll find
below the stones that slowly grind.

And once or twice will come to mind
a sultry smile they left behind
(the distant past - a tepid trace –
another time, another place),
reflected in the gray grimace
that paints a frightened fading face.

And on they trek through guilt and gloom
to track their own and others' doom
and soon they’ll  grace another pool
with blood of other beings who’ll

inhale no more the evening airs,
unlike the wily Functionaires
who brutalize the fighting men
and send them far away and then

(relaxed, unwound, with victories made)
confer with sword an accolade
on those who’ve lopped bowed heads, with blade,
so someone bent must turn a *****

to hack a hole which then is filled
with all the cloven bodies killed
then cloaked with clay or loamy dirt,
as if to hide the pain and hurt.

3. TEATIME INTROSPECTION
Amongst the many are the few
who maim and **** and think it’s true
that purple war’s a parlour game
when really they’re submerged in shame
for crimes for which they are to blame
and can’t expunge with searing flame

while plodding through an endless time,
or pealing bells with holy chime,
or posing in a paradigm
where paradox and riddle rhyme.

And when they die (as die they must),
forevermore their putrid dust,
still soaked with gore and carmine lust,
will conjure thoughts of cold disgust.

And even though torrential rain
(which tastes at times like cool champagne)
can wash away the scarlet stain
which soaks the sands of god’s terrain,

it cannot ever cleanse the hands
that work the guns and burning brands,
or purge the throats that give commands
to him who never understands.

Nor can the raging hurricane
from blackened souls the white regain,
rescind the sins or void the banes
or loose the ****** from Satan’s chains
who line the pits of hell’s domains.

4. EVENING REFLECTIONS
When through the day to night they pass,
their eyes avoid the looking glass
displaying dim a pale phantasm
plunging deeper down a chasm,
surging through a blood ******,
smiling thin unveiled sarcasm

for the chances lost to taste
the many fruits that went to waste
when each was still a joyous lad,
who went to school and learned to add
and danced in rivers, barefoot clad,

attended church with mom and dad
(which tends the poor and cheers the sad),
to pray for good and curse the bad,
before, in war insanely mad,
he fought the fight (no Galahad)

by flinging flames and slashing throats,
immersing bods in  midnight moats
between the broken battered boats
where babes and booted bodies float,

and leaving bags of bones to bloat
in bullet-ridden overcoats,
and wondered if the goblins gloat
or spot (behind his eyes, the motes),

then strode away without a thought
that mortal lives had come to naught,
sedated by his conscience brought
to nothing more than dripping snot,
while Others sit upon a yacht
and pluck the eyes of fish They’ve caught,

for, when they die, fish seem to see
The Ones behind the tyranny
(with bellies round from gluttony)
in future dangling from a tree
(with leaves as black as ebony),
for that’s, They fear, Their destiny.

5. MIDNIGHT DREAMS**
At night the soldiers sometimes dream
of many things which make them scream,
like
                      floating down a gelid stream
             with burning flesh and cold ice cream
             upon their lips, which makes it seem
             as though their salt they can’t redeem
             when looking back at bold extremes
             of valiant warriors’ victory schemes.

Or ofter yet,
                      they sometimes meet
             a broken skull upon the street
             with gaping eyes, its mouth replete
             with swollen tongue that can’t repeat
             mere words of joy when lovers greet,
             or yell aloud or indiscreet’,

             or talk about the grand deceit
             of Those Who live on Easy Street,
             Who plot, destroy and overeat,
             while others bide beneath a sheet
             on bed of steely cold concrete,

             with final gift a flag or wreath
             that soon will wither like their teeth
             when once they’re settled underneath
             a mound of muck on mouldy heath,
             to lurk in Limbo Land beneath.

And ever more before they wake,
appear quaint dreams not quite opaque,  
like
                      upside down upon a lake
             keeps popping up a pregnant Drake
             who says “there must be some mistake,
             I only have a bellyache”,
             while high above’s a flying Snake,
             (a sight to make a killer quake).

             She cries aloud “for mercy’s sake
             your foresight’s blind, your wisdom’s fake
             the fragile bodies that you break,
             impale or burn upon a stake,
             then stack in layers like a cake,
             reflect a lust that death can’t slake”.

             And turquoise Turtles on the make
             (though taking time to overtake,
             each slurping down a chocolate shake)
             rev up to plead “let us explain,
             we think you men are all insane
            with morals thin as cellophane;

             for, peering through god’s window pane,
             we see quite clearly those you’ve slain,
             enough to fill the Dim Domain
             with blood and guts and tears and pain,
             Chimeras of a frenzied brain.”

             A worn and weary weather vane
             announces floods of claret rain
             that forty days and nights sustain,
             submerging mountains, raising Cain,
             while flushing mankind’s acid reign
             down nature’s evolution drain.

             The Serpent hails a hydroplane
             “because”, she hissed, “we can’t remain;
             behind the hill, the atom’s spark
             has vaporized the palace park,
             reduced to dust the Meadowlark
             and nullified the Rainbow’s arc”.

             And while the others hush and hark,
             a feline Toad begins to bark
             “This plane is certainly Boa’s Ark.

             Let’s flee the Human hierarch,
             forsake all Men to sate the Shark
             which swim within the Waters Dark,
             and purge all traces of the Mark
             in Eden when we disembark.”

             The beasts, in lines, by twos embark.

The dreamers wake, they’re staring, stark,
behind their eyes, a watermark.
Nicole Jun 2018
I wake up to a heavy chest
A heavy heart and a heavy head
I want to text you back
But I can't force myself to move
I sit up and put my head between my knees
Regretting the stupid things I did the night before
Wondering where my self-care went
Yes I'm still working out and meditating
But I also haven't been sober for awhile
I know the drugs make me sad
And I know they make me overeat
Which in turn makes me feel bad
So why can't I just stop?
Why can't I just feel this pain?
Why do I have to drown it out
In liquor and THC?
I feel so lost
I don't know who I am
I don't know how to feel anything
Without hurting myself again
I have this coping mechanism when I encounter too much stress where I shut down my emotions and essentially become numb. It happened this time because my mind thinks I can't handle all of the negative feelings I have, I don't like being like this though because I turn to drugs to help me break the walls and feel again. I feel stuck.
Theshygirl  Sep 2018
Exhaustion
Theshygirl Sep 2018
I have an exhaustion,
Buried deep under my skin,
And as hard as I try,
I can't seem to rid myself of it.
I oversleep and under-sleep,
I overeat and I under-eat.
I try just short of everything,
To find any ounce of energy,
I lost so long ago.
But I should have known better,
This was not just exhaustion.
No amount of sleep could cure
what I am plagued with.
An exhaustion not from lack of energy,
but from a lack of euphoria.
CRH  Apr 2013
Family Holidays:
CRH Apr 2013
getting day-drunk and
wallowing in self-loathing,
not only
welcomed
but
encouraged
(and more importantly-
                                         expected).

Conversation minefields,
to navigate
with only
the utmost care.
Talk about the weather
and whether
                       or not
"the game" will go the way you want,
the sitcom situation will reach resolution,
the recipe could use some almonds,
or cumin-
                     (or *****).

But avoid the specifics
at all costs.
Just remember:
School is
                "good."
                              Work is
                                             "busy."
                                                         Your husband/wife/bf/gf/partner/cat/landlord is
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                      "great."
                                                        ­
                                                                ­             You are
                                                                ­                "fine."
Just remember:
Today you are not
                                overwhelmed.
Your personal life is definitely not
                                                             in shambles.
Your financial situation is completely in order and not
                                                             ­                                   inadequate or
                                                              ­                                            hopeless or
                                                              ­                                                   causing insurmountable stress.
  Today,
                                                ­                             You are
                                                                ­                "fine."
So
laugh politely,
accept the guilt-trips,
roll your eyes only when they look away.
Know
they mean well.
                            (or at least pretend they do)
Reminisce and
overeat and
don't apologize.
Fight and bicker and debate.
Cheat at cards
(but don't get caught!)
and accept each other's flaws.

No matter what,
just remember what
is ultimately important-
Despite the criticism,
                                    the misunderstanding,
                                               ­                            the generation gaps,
                                                           ­                                                    the dysfunction,
                                                    ­                                                                 ­                      the disappointment,
                                                 ­                                          the unrealistic expectations,
                                                   ­              the heartbreak,
                                    the competition,
             the confusion,    
the pain.    
To have a family (no matter what form)
guarantees
you have a place you belong.
The place can be uncomfortable,
and small,
and unbelievably hard to find
and a nightmare to maintain
but it is yours,
so be grateful.

And revel in the strange and difficult and wonderful love only a family can offer.
Easter alone made me miss the unmitigated disaster that is holidays with my odd and lovely family.
JP  Oct 2017
Obesity
JP Oct 2017
Sometimes
We overeat
the best is
we know
we are overeating
an awareness
to apply the silence
when overeating
Now
You know to connect
the reason behind
may be
Loneliness
Depression
Debts
Envy or jealous
less income
if we do correct the
missing element
you obesity flies off..
Samantha Russo  Dec 2013
empty
Samantha Russo Dec 2013
I like to pretend that I overeat when I eat 1/4 cup of scrambled eggs 2 pieces of sausage and a croissant.
I like to pretend that every time I skip a meal everyone notices how much weight I've lost.
I like to pretend that when I eat 5 pretzels that it counts as dinner.
I like to pretend that in a month I will be pretty.
I like to pretend that I don't have a problem.
I like to pretend that it's okay.
But it isn't
But they don't
But it doesn't
But I won't
But I do
But I'm not
Michael Reveron Sep 2014
They’re all around us, affecting our lives in unseen ways, causing worry, hesitation, confusion, anxiety, avoidance.

They bring us to our knees.

Fears control us in ways we never realize, unacknowledged and more powerful because of their unknown workings.

Fears stop us from following our dreams, from taking risks, from pursuing love, from seeking adventure, from speaking in public, from going into the unknown, from starting a new venture, from reveling in discomfort. We procrastinate, overeat, find distractions, because of fear. We are seized with constant worry, from fear.

And yet, these fears are just clouds.

They float into our field of vision, unbidden and unwanted, like a dark stormy cloud. We get caught in the rainshower and thunder, and feel that this is our entire world. We immerse ourselves in this cloud, as if there’s nothing outside of it and it will never go away.

But the cloud will pass.

The cloud floats away, like anything else. It’s nothing to run from. It’s just a passing cloud.

So watch the cloud of fear arise, acknowledge it, and watch it float away, like any other thought. Enjoy the chill of the shadow and the wind as it passes over you.

Then step into the sunshine of the present moment, beautiful and joyous now that the cloud has passed.

In each moment, we are OK. Even when fear arises, we are OK. Learn to trust in this OK-ness, the goodness of the present moment, the enough-ness of you, right now.

See the fear pass, and see that you’re still OK.

Once you develop this skill of watching the fear pass, and trusting in your OK-ness and enough-ness, you are equipped to deal with life, and get up off your knees.
Something worth sharing.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
The challenge of enjoying
tasty and nutritious
food and drink
is not to overeat.
RisingUp  Apr 2016
Mental Noise
RisingUp Apr 2016
My mind is filled with noise.

Sometimes the sounds of music,
Symphonies and orchestras.

But other times the sounds of failure.
Lack of accomplishment.

There are times when my mind is so intent
That I ensure my eating habits are not bent.

That I don't overeat, overindulge or have a treat.
Eat ice cream, and you will surely feel the heat.

The wrath of negative thoughts as they endlessly grow,
My mood dips into a bottomless low.

It's been a long battle, "I should be over it by now"
But sometimes those thoughts insist I'm a cow

I'll continue to fight to change my mind
And change its noise to a more melodic kind.
Rick Warr Dec 2019
mauve and red on azure hue
jacarandas, flame trees and summer blue
that time again of heat
and inappropriate rituals

we grew here
and santa clause flew here!
who does he think he is?

roast dinners while paul kelly
asks who will make the gravy

bush fire victims needy of funding
while millions are spent on fireworks
as though there wasn’t enough smoke
or air pollution

families who avoid each other
through the year
gather with cheap coloured paper hats
and pull the ritual bonbon
and tell bad puns
to fill the gaps in conversation
and the cicadas sing out
the banality, the ennui

while cashed up families
tow caravans up and down the coast
to camping area suburbias
and celebrate their right
to overeat and drink beer
their god given entitlement
to be strayan
and talk about queue jumpers

that’s why i make my own ritual
based on the good things
of that time ...

respite from daily routine
time for quiet reflection
on the worth
of who you are
and who you’ve helped
the things about xmas in australia that i don’t like
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
To overeat is human.
To diet is divine.
To count your every calorie
is a precious use of time.
To pass up fattening goodies
shows your admirable restraint,
a noble cause you've championed
with nary a complaint.
But who could nix banana splits
or pasta, piping hot?
Your diet is well balanced.
Your mind is surely not.

— The End —