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Jeremy Betts Jan 30
My thoughts
They can get scary
It's threats, more often than not, not empty
It's hard to convey what they say
They whisper a fray of cliche self hate with 41 years to work it's way to this level of decay
It's all consuming, engulfing then removing positivity 'til it's so scarce I'm left to pretend mostly
A sparse landscape of depravity naturally
Clear cut to make way for the fear factory
The soul fractures, now solely fear so to ward off lonely I let it stay
Not knowing how to play
Leaves me in the dark on what's at play

My thoughts
They aren't worth a penny
My two cents is free
I'd pay you to take them all completely
Is there a chance it gets messy?
Abso-freakin-lutely
But oh what a hero you could be
Imagine it up on a marquee, shining brightly
"Some dumb fuuck, a heros story"
(A family movie)
I'll be the monkey in the middle, come meet me
Come greet me and see purgatory, my state of temporary suffering and predetermined misery
What I'm forced to portray is only done cause I must obey or pay some ******* up penalty
Knowing I am the game and the prey, feeding a self-righteous gluttony
How much more do you want from me?
How much more must I contort for thee?

©2024
Don Bouchard Dec 2023
Approaching customs, my father slowed the car.
"Time to eat! he said, and pulled us to the side.
He'd bought peaches from a fruit stand,
Forgotten they'd never cross the border.

Never one to waste, his plan unfolded.
We stood beside the car, peach juice
Trickling down our arms,
Falling at our elbows,
Gorging a delicacy turned to glut,
Making memories of forced generosity,
Gluttons of fruit, victims of parsimony.

My mother knew what was coming:
The cramps we kids would have
From smuggling peaches
In stretched bellies
Into Canada.
1968 or '74. One of two vacations to Banff, Canada....
Zywa May 2023
Hand over my mouth, I laugh
at the evil child
you are, who wants everything
as it should be

a better world
justice, equality
and brotherhood, now!

No longer an ideal
that makes fellow human beings suffer
in order not to lack anything themselves

So immature, not you
your complaint, your desire
for more

more solidarity
more harmony
more self-criticism

I know, the seed
of your gluttony
which wants all that
is your sweet anger
Evil Child: Gluttony (for justice, equality and brotherhood, solidarity, harmony and self-criticism, out of anger at the lack of them in society)

About anger: poem "Big Bad Wolf" (see May 24th)

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa Apr 2023
The majority

will want to live frugally --


when it is too late.
"Het Bureau - De dood van Maarten Koning" ("The Office - The Death of Maarten Koning", 2000, Han Voskuil), page 109, Maarten Koning and Ad Muller (1988) --- Collection "Not too bad [1974-1989]"
Zywa Aug 2022
A day without wine,

two glasses of wine at most --


just three large glasses.
"ik heb vandaag gewandeld" ("I went for a walk today", 2008, Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer)

Collection "Palace of the Night"
Zywa Apr 2022
A boss claims to be

caring, but he is a child --


that always wants more.
The concept of 'Boss' --- In reference to: "Circe" (2018, Madeline Miller) --- Collection "Inmost"
Randy Johnson Feb 2022
There was a young man who was obese.
He ate too much and now he's deceased.
He went to his favorite restaurants and ate a lot of food every day.
He died at the age of thirty and it's not surprising that he passed away.
His family told him that his gluttony might prove fatal and they begged him to go on a diet.
Even though they told him over and over that his obesity might end his life, he didn't buy it.
One evening when he was through eating, he had a massive heart attack and hit the floor.
He died instantly and his wife and children grieve because their patriarch isn't alive anymore.
He scoffed at the idea if dieting and he suffered a horrible fate.
He might not have died if he had made an effort to lose weight.
Dave Robertson Jan 2022
Cook for me,
put things in the ***
that make my tongue go
Hello Dolly!

Rock ‘n’ roll flavours
savoury sweet and acid hot
so lips smack and I get lost

It’s not the quantity that counts
just the beguiling intensity
of spice blends, herbs
and the nerve to let the metal smoke
Dave Robertson Dec 2021
The fat, the grease,
of these in between days
stills my pen a little

So even if I wrestle
with another monumental year tick,
like the crack of doom

I look at the stuff in the fridge
and shrug

The existential crisis can wait
til the brie is done
and the crackers
have gone soft
Zywa Jun 2021
Deep into the night,

he read, deep into the words –


We're digging him out.
“A man read deep into the night” (2017, Peter Greenaway in the documentary “The Greenaway Alphabet” by Saskia Boddeke)

Collection "Inmost"
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