"carb" poems
Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
I do not know.
Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,
I do not know.
Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the deaf,
I do not know.
Perhaps I am no one.
True, I have a body
and I cannot escape from it.
I would like to fly out of my head,
but that is out of the question.
It is written on the tablet of destiny
that I am stuck here in this human form.
That being the case
I would like to call attention to my problem.
There is an animal inside me,
clutiching fast to my heart,
a huge carb.
The doctors of Boston
have thrown up their hands.
They have tried scalpels,
needles, poison gasses adn the like.
The crab remains.
It is a great weight.
I try to forget it, go about my business,
cook the broccoli, open the shut books,
brush my teeth and tie my shoes.
I have tried prayer
but as I pray the crab grips harder
and the pain enlarges.
I had a dream once,
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?
14.1k
Crafty, they say, He's getting crafty
crafty with my lies and my made-up meals
crafty with my sound-blocking tactics
crafty with hiding the burning lines of white and red.
Baking, they say, He's getting into baking
baking my binges
baking my restriction
baking my omad
baking my sad-looking low-cal low-fat low-sugar low-carb high-protein
'meal'.
Crochet, they say, He's getting into crochet
crocheting ankle warmers to make my legs look skinny
half-finger gloves in an attempt to curb the permafrost that has begun to
knit itself around my bones.
Healthy, they say, He's getting healthy
as i workout until i faint
and do sit-ups until i have bruises on my spine.
fruit and veg and vitamins take priority
and suddenly i have taken an interest in running.
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 12:40 PM UTC
The whole world has PTSD,
brought about by watching
far too much TV.
Normal people becoming
neurotic or psychotic
by all the "Breaking News".
Talking heads spewing fearful
endless chapters of dread,
all with their own ax to grind
into our heads, day after day
after day until we want to scream.
Real news or fake, impossible
to know the difference.
A political landscape strewn with
landmines of division and hate.
Melting Ice, and adverse weather,
hurricanes and tornadoes devastate
and forest fires burn, as racists and
terrorists abound at every turn,
and crazy's with military weapons
killing us for sport, just to make
the nightly news, as our nation's
infrastructures crumble into ruins,
all "Breaking News day and night",
while we and the world choke and
quiver from an excessive Carb diet
of information overload, trying to
sleep bathed in bad dreams, laced
with too many strong doses of PTSD.
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC
Pizza--the only I want to poor my feelings onto
Because when I think of its filling capacity--
Its carb-heavy, fat drenched, and sugary-savory goodness--
I honor the people who continue the artisinal craft.
Pizza--it's the food for all hungers.
It fills you with energy when you're high,
Just after a win with a cheery, rowdy gang of five.
It's the traditional topping on the pie.
Pizza--All and everything, when the time calls.
When the emptiness cannot be filled,
Let it be filled with years of associations.
All in good company, Pizza, my best friend.
So I met a new person today--quiet and resourceful,
She was counting her inventory,
Solving a problem set or learning a new trick.
I barged in while she put aside her life for mine.
She said, "What may you have, sir?"
"A medium with pepperoni," I said, "and linguica, please".
That was all that's said as she carried on her fees.
"That'll be $18.05," and a shot of guilt charged me.
Pizza, though poor my feelings how expensive the taste!
When, just then, she collected the money
The pizza was all too simply done and I was on my way.
I was the one left, saying, " Well, enjoy your weekend!"
But as I drove and the pizza aromatized,
Neither she nor I were free from capitalized.
A self-disciplined pizza artist, stripped of her dough,
Like the boy who made chocolate with a molinillo.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
What could be worse
Than a garden
Full of gnomes and trolls?
Is it:
Lawn jockeys and yardells;
Chuck adjusting his carb every Sunday afternoon;
Bathtub ****** Marys beseaching us to love;
Metal flowers on outside garage walls;
Fish ponds with gills in the filter;
Red gravel flowerbeds with little white fences;
Cosmetic door knockers;
Swimming pools without diving boards;
Mirrors on fences;
Burning ******* in fire pits;
Backyard landfills;
Icicle lights;
Weedy neighbours and an east wind;
The screech of tires;
The thump of metal;
The sound of screaming;
The absence?
Yeah. Plenty could be worse.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
The ******
Eye contact is key when giving a compliment
We give a compliment to the eyes
The hair, the lips, and most recently
the curves,
However, behold a beauty
Behold a gold mine
Behold an ugly beauty
Once consider to be so divine
most men speaks in tongues
as they feast upon this beast
a low carb appetizers
that never seem to please
white meat or dark meat
so juicy , sometimes sinful
a mystery, a blessing
this remarkable commodity can make one lose ones focus
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
jeans that are a little bit too tight
numbers on the scale that you have to fight
she wanted it badly, she stayed up all night
to her, the future seemed bright
online articles about low-calorie diets
no-carb, low-carb, high-protein try-its
she thought it was the perfect way
to lose that extra layer, so they say
she noticed it working on tuesday at noon
it was working, working so soon
she was pleased with the results it gave
soon it became less to eat and more to crave
she thought she had it all under control
who cares if she ate less than one bowl?
she never ate until she was full
soon she faded away and her eyes became dull
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 11:51 AM UTC
I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.
Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.
We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.
We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
With a gluttonous obesity that devours love,
spits up lust,
and snacks on a
high-carb
pre-cooked
combination of the two,
we're counting calories consumed
with a track record of lovers,
regurgitating with regret and
binging again anyway when hunger pains strike.
Eventually we'll all suffocate
under the weight of the world.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:52 AM UTC
I don't drink diet soda
I don't count my calories
What even is a carb
I eat McDonald's fries
I get lazy and skip a workout
I cant eat salad without dressing
I love cake, candy, sugar, etc.
I can eat a whole pizza by myself
I like to wear things to try to fit in
I talk about people behind their back
I wear make up
I get mad at my parents
I ask for too much
I expect too much
I try too hard to fit in
I'm 16, 125 lbs, and 5'2"
Go ahead, judge me
See if I care.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Bread Bread Bread, carb city.
Bread Bread, Bread oh, so pretty.
Bread Bread Bread tastes so good.
Bread Bread Bread butter it like you should.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Flick flick,
lights the bic.
The intensity of combustion
creating light.
Bring the light closer,
closer to the green.
The shining crystals atop the jade.
Inhale.
Watch it curl, draining its life
while adding to my own.
Hear the soft purr of the bubbler.
Release the carb.
Smoke pours in every direction.
Hold it in.
Exhale.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Mister Nut Bag circled the shop
spouting off mindless diatribe,
like he was a ******* gear-Einstein,
but he didn’t know ****
Everything he said was
total & utter malarkey,
that means some serious ********
He looked like he hadn’t climbed since birth,
like when he climbed down from his mother’s womb
& been eatin’ carbs ever since.
A complete carb ****** he was,
certainly not a ******** hiker.
I wish I could’ve been
not politically correct,
tactless & unsavory.
I would’ve said to
Mister Know-It-All,
you fat ****
**** a bag of *****
I guess everybody's got their place,
arrogance has none
in our place.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
monochromatic is me
blowing in circles like cupcake sprinkles and iron clad feathers
my pores are leaking midnight drives (driving 52 in a 45) and salty salami like a
low-carb diet could heal the humans of eternal despair
I still feel ***** every bite of meat
I take this is too much of a (betrayal)
baby 16 dancing in the mirror like
the universe isn't slowly dying like the art of star gazing and my bitten fingernails aren't already
dead
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Whats your
Techstrology sign?
Mine is '
Do you feng yoga? Feng yutube?
Travel the Capricorn
In search of carb?
Is Ashley Madison on speed
Dial?
I hate people who txt faster than me. Because I text slow. Is that ist?
You know like techstist.
Skype? I'm asking because I don't know
What it is? What it do?
Is that slang? OK. Am I asking to many questions? The wrong ones?
What's the name of the street you grew up on?
Captcha insert.
Do they still do that?
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
Ethanol, for those of you who don't know what it is, it is liquid corn. This stuff is the wrecker of any motor out there, especially ones with carburetors. If that car is to sit for more than 6 months, the carb is ruined. Ethanol has a chemical reaction with aluminum and breaks it down. And if you think about it, ethanol is about 8% of gasoline now. How much gas do you think it takes to farm all the corn, then turn it into ethanol? In the end, it is about twice as much as what ethanol saves.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
I see the bowl.
I smell it.
I eat the cookie.
I taste it.
Green raindrops are falling on my head.
I laugh.
I cover the carb.
I inhale the smoke.
These noises
are smelly.
These voices
taste bad.
Senses
out of wack.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
Some girls eat burgers instead of salads
Some use more sugar than spice
Some link their insta directly to the bloodstream
Some pump themselves full of ice
Some girls will drink themselves into a hole
Where some girls may never come out
Some girls will split themselves open
Just so they don’t have to feel the doubt
Some girls will break you or make you
Just to make themselves whole
Some girls will beat you, demean you,
Some girls will never grow old.
Some girls eat burgers instead of salads
And are crucified for being unhealthy
But in the scheme of things, it’s not the worst.
I’d rather be carb loaded and love wealthy.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
Cold in the woods by the mall
Nerves taut
like a deer
ready to flee at any moment
If I perceive danger
I'm out of here
Martin was fumbling around with the bottle
"you have to but a carb in it"
"Shut up Jake,
I know what I'm doing"
He didn't
neither of us did
it was the first time
nothing like it
I hoped my dad wouldn't miss
his socket wrench piece
We passed it around
like the natives that walked this land
under the gaze of oppression
but we were free
for at least that moment
I vibrated like a rocket ship
and when I walked
I felt as if I was on
an airport moving walkway
We went into the sports store
riding around on the skateboards
and punching the punching bags
flipped into a world of upside down terror
when they made me get on
the abs exercise machine
mall security came
and kicked us out
but we didn't care
we had just discovered something
so much better.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
I address this grievance to the flag of the divided state of America, and to the to the republic for which it stands, one electorate under law, inherently divided, with liberty and justice for sale. Supply and demand is the law of the land. America. Land of low fat low carb gluten free gluttony. Home of the diet double espresso. Nation of a decrepit prescription of a common condition of a callous repetition of rhetoric. We can't Compromise the promise of compatibility for a culture of coercion through coined commerce currently claiming a currency of craving. A public sporadically radical showing signs of torrential existential turmoil and torment
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
The wind is screaming around the trees.
Interjecting between my thoughts and psychotic capacity.
What is perception to reality?
Is it laying in the gutter looking up at the stars?
Is it laying in a bed stained with someone else's scars?
Are you wishing, hoping for a dream?
Are you as close as you'll ever be tearing at the seams?
Was it a dream hearing her say your name?
Or is this low carb diet your price to be sane?
You're drowning out a girl who you call your psychotic capacity.
You're wondering why she's no longer in love with me.
What if she's the one with the lie, perception is reality.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Diary filled with,
Test strips
Carb counts
Calorie graphs
Old reports
Appointments
Hotlines
Expenses of a bills
This can be life, all about.
A contempt face,
With a sweetened blood
Scrolling a display to dial
Curiosity of hypo and hyper,
A big nightmare
Obesity in gene
Sedentary chills,
Sympathetic rush,
Diabetes, by default.
Defective B-cell
OHA on trial
Complications close by,
A vial of longevity, stand by
1/2/3/4/5, shots a day
Seems everything is ok
Elemental peace
Though, to be precise,
With a sugary comfort, future is diabetic.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
In the car
you felt awkward with
bobbed veiled eyes,
squished in,
a neighbour insisted lift.
Their Language was
Course
Throaty
chiming with gold.
You had rationed bread then,
it was women’s only
and when one was
touched askew,
they took her away
from there.
That time of servitude,
5am Dettol, peeling skin,
when your man would
be home waiting to
kiss them Better.
You were glowing and
not alone.
You lent me a book,
frayed edges with
bi-carb knowledge &
I was surprised
that it worked,
as I didn’t know much.
A cache of
pyramid pictures,
Wet mirrored smiles
as they looked down upon us,
with the man reflected
gone
but
kindly enough.
Dragging your feet,
talk time for hours, when
your upward chin
would float above your
throbbing knees,
no grievances at all.
Decibels rose
like the formidable
stone wall
that was still protecting you,
and the laughter you brought
to me was…
thank you.
My practice called and so
I beckoned,
but you whispered
to me somewhere -
with a single
guidance,
to come back.
A sunny day,
a set of white teeth,
was all you could see,
morphine soaked back
against green
struck trees.
Naïve glass
between you and I,
a rose card
with plush material
on the front,
it was
the most expensive one.
Blame that left me
misaligned against a rail,
peeking through
the parts that felt,
coldly
wrong.
Licked and waiting,
useless,
I didn’t know how
to release your
generous sentient
from mine.
Graceful and soft without
life's judgement,
it has locked within me
and remains,
like a warm
forgiving light.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
inspired by tony labrusca's portrayal of josé rizal
babae likes me contained.
me—a tupperware full of lumpia.
i'm soggy, *****
bitch—inday—i'm gwapo. fried uy.
sorry. soggy.
druggy. sorry.
my chest tattoos?
yes, they can be removed.
will that be provided in my—
nevermind. thank you.
she opened her purse.
hard candy.
waving me away.
sorry carb-eating lad.
she is just ******* hard candy.
cgeh. babay. cgeh bi.
jose, they say you wrote novels.
but i wonder—
did you ever write yourself out?
did you watch your own ink
bleed into the soil?
did you wish for something softer?
in the way i am devoured. hero forgotten.
in the way i am swallowed
whole—one piso coin
by lovers, by history, by a name
they gave me before i ever
spoke too. ii
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 4:00 AM UTC
Heat oven to 400ºF. Place paper baking cup in each of 12 regular-size muffin cups, or grease bottoms only of muffin cups.
Cleaning hands of the grease
excitement in the release
anticipating the taste
forget, the roll on the waist
Stir all ingredients except blueberries just until moistened. Gently stir in blueberries. Divide batter evenly among cups.
The smell of heavenly batter
nothing else in the world, too matter
moist and gooey, so dreamy
the texture so smooth, and creamy
Bake 13 to 18 minutes or until golden brown.
From the oven returning
my want and my need, a yearning
too hot to touch, I want them so much
my tongue and lip, are now burning
I'll eat the entire batch
no breath and no train to catch
fat dumb and happy, taking a *****
a carb dream, I made them from scratch
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC