"carbohydrates" poems
Calories.
When I was 6 years old,
my mother told me I would consume
too many calories.
I would consume them by the hundreds,
by the thousands.
I was Godzilla and they were the people I dominated.
When my parents left one another
I had to fill myself with some other source of affection.
And the insulin rushes were tremendous.
When I was 11,
I had to see the doctor to be in fear of getting Diabetes,
and being grossly overweight.
At at age of 15, I was over 280 pounds
of walking disappointments.
I had always believed my stomach carried my happiness
and the fat under my chin kept my head high.
But after being rejected for so long,
I snapped.
I always had an attachment to food,
a sort of inseperable bond.
But I remember looking at myself in the mirror one night,
completely disgusted, tears welling in my eyes,
and I puked from the anger I felt inside of me.
So don't tell me the calories I consume today
don't burn more
than the bleach Amanda Todd drank,
or that the more hollow my stomach becomes,
I am not able to better hide my sorrows.
Do not dare tell me eat something,
because I've craved biting the bullet for the past 8
******* years, and carbohydrates
has caused more sadness in my heart than anything else.
Do not tell me other teenagers do not cut open their arms,
to let calories out,
because they are scared to Christ that someone may judge them,
if they eat an apple.
Because the first woman that ate an apple, ****** humankind.
And by having a sip of your Iced Tea,
or a french fry, might just dissolve the earth from beneath us.
Why we hide from nutrition labels,
and run from anything with a number greater than
ZERO
on it.
I was taught that happiness comes from a nutrition label,
and how many servings one consumes,
not the smile on ones face,
or the good in one's heart.
Calories have ruined my life,
and I will never forgive any nutrition label for that.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
How shall I discover, uncover, and re+cover you?
the goal?
to make you mine, a follower. a fan, an intimate, a lover of'
each others (words?)
My options?
offered thee three to me!
A~Z,
or
your successes by
Popularity!
then of course,
read each crafted in order
of appearance,
but even that,
can be forward and back,
latest to last~est,
oldest to the knowing~est?
value your insightsfuls,
oh! on how to get best
into your insides but through
your
insights...
do I detect a tiny tremble,
in your finger writing tips?
random < in no particular order order> helter skelter?
you mean, be keen, like falling in loving,
discovering, the nuances,
old and new, prior and au courant,
just jump in, and let the au current
take me//
mmm
do admit, like a bit,
being big fandom of random,
which feels a tad like falling in love...
when the little surprises,
come best unexpectedly
tonight,
I will stuff myself with carbohydrates of additional sugar,
me love me sweets,
love me my bittersweet chocolate of triste,
which in english, has multiple levels of
most interesting con-
notations....
so down the hole,
who knows what will be
discovered
unveiled,
recovered,
hidden weaknesses,
historic strengths,
you asked...
and I shall be
the uncoverer
of the little tidbits,
that satisfy so much more
than just poetic simplistic curiosity
it is no wonder to me
that prolific and profile,
are rooted from the same
rivered source...
until later, then
sad eyed lady of the lowland (see note)
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
I have migraine headaches quite often.
Stress could be a factor as
I am a fifty-one year old father of three;
a retiree with too many chits, too many broken nest eggs...
Or it could possibly be my diet:
lots of carbohydrates and complex sugars,
mixed well with large quantities of
diet soda and inactivity...
Or perhaps the trouble lies with allergens;
for my life is inundated with pet dander, pollen,
dust, and grass clippings. Add to that
humidity levels and mold blooms -
who wouldn’t be allergic?
Or maybe it’s just a brain tumor.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
Cycling
High cadence
Low resistance
Tight corners
Horse class climbs
Mountainous descents
Back up!
Horse class climbs?
At my current weight
More like fat *** climbs!
Cycling
No high calories
Low carbohydrates
Tight spandex
More practice climbs
Mountains want destroyed
Go forward!
At my cycling weight
More like what climb?
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
So here I am.
Sitting on my couch
and eating potato chips
and thinking about you
and what might have been.
Wallowing in self-pity
and artificial flavors
and carbohydrates.
The only things comforting me
are my fast metabolism
and the hum of the air conditioning.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
For my mate Chris
To sit around in anger…does no favours,
To bellyache to me… It’s all unfair,
To hope somebody else… comes up with answers,
To see the world’s shortcomings… flaunted there.
A lack of motivation keeps you grounded
Friends and family try to keep you at arm’s length,
You loathe the Government’s lack of comprehension
In that joblessness depletes your hope and strength.
You feel those carbohydrates clog your arteries
And see your muscled body turn to flab,
Discipline’s resolve flies to oblivion
And you curse all that… which makes your life so drab.
Disappointment curbs the high expectations,
You feel the planet owes you that, to which you seek,
Aghast to comprehend your own misgivings,
You feel the need to say…but then, you never speak.
Then suddenly… a stark, clear realization
That NOTHING HERE WILL CHANGE…UNTIL YOU DO,
Until you turn around your thinking to endeavour,
Till then that something that you seek… shall hide from you.
So look, my sweetness, look into the mirror
Shed the worry lines that always cloud your brow,
Kick your sorry **** profoundly to tomorrow
And lose the ****** shards of bitterness….RIGHT NOW!
Marshalg
Endeavouring to re-motivate a lost cause.
18 August 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
obviously to think and enjoy it
you have to turn your mind
into a mollusc in an oyster shell,
slow... slow... (yawn)... slower...
then you suddenly get electrocuted!
boom! now you're thinking,
you're not as tense as a running
cheetah, hard rock heart muscle,
not too eager on karaoke of karate,
you're the tortoise outrunning
achilles; because the brain enables
such functioning, it's not exactly
an eager heart in the university of
the body - and why is it that domestic
life has completely succumbed to
the gratifications of chemistry with
toothpaste and bleach and other
cleaning materials; i wouldn't
be against doping athletes, i'd tell them
to embrace it... let's synthesise another
world record sprint in the olympics,
because an analysis would mean
talking about 9.58 / 9.51...
and that would be as interesting as looking
at the rosetta stone for clarification
of ancient egyptian: owl, big fish, little fish
carbohydrates boxed;
and still a flea could outrun you,
a flea, yeah, never mind the cheetah.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
Considered the staple of life
Is nothing more than ground up
Grain from
The ground.
Bread,
What so many peasants fought for in
France and Russia
Is nothing more than
Carbohydrates smushed together
Bread,
What everyone eats today,
Is nothing more than gluten free,
Wheat or multigrain.
But could some thing so simple
Be so important?
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
mmm, palce lizać, albo wsadzić je w dúpe i nadawać sygnał wriggly-wriggly alter: wriggly-pigglety; counter-alt? calling it: the miracle of five croutons, and two pieces of sushi... c'mon, let's go crazy! and take it to the excesses permitted by the original feat! (yes, i mean the fish parts of sushi, there's enough carbohydrates in the croutons, so yes, no rice-bed for the tartars).
ć is the puritan's aversion to cz / chai;
or at least an exfoliation curbor.
i write honey,
honey honey honey,
i write honey,
honey honey honey
p'ooh bear
droned in on it.
when i write,
i write honey,
honey honey O'Milee.
from serving in the US and A
navy, to a beach-buggy
accident.
when i write, i write
honey -
*** e -
Atilla styled liquorice -
lee co reesh - not
liquidated rice -
ghosts of latin almost everywhere;
quadruple that.
convene and converse -
contrary collective.
some say this might as well
be the famous goldberg sardines;
when i write, i write honey,
i write: honey honey honey...
will you be my Duracell bunny?
honey, will you be my
******** par excellance?
i see... no, you won't be.
the museum of Greek sculpture
was vandalised!
guess what they took,
the ****** fiendish crooks!
with a wet splash of colour
comes the cold marble artifice -
a bit like the cool-mouth
refrigerator of a woman during
felatio... still don't know
how she gets that gob down
below room temperature.
(heresy input, never start a
sentence with an) and
there you have it,
writing, catering for
abstractionism,
just after he said: they're on a diet.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
I woke up from snoring.
I'm a light sleeper
When carbohydrates and
Fats roam my
Temple.
Sometimes I drink three pints
Of water before I sleep.
It's as good an alarm in the morning
As any.
So much in my life is
Food and drink.
You may kiss me as sweetly
As you can, or slap
A bitter palm across my face.
It's all dessert and dinner to me,
In any order you wish.
I'll never sleep with you
Hungry.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Not since the days
of shooting ******
into the artery in my armpit
(too many blown out veins
in my arms and feet),
have I spent multiple nights
pacing and sweating…..
**** you simple carbohydrates. –
In the first months
of being a non-cigarette smoker
I would see folks light up
and near instantly collect
a chilled film on my back
and fingernails…
forget about it;
but the other day I drove
by a pizzeria
and had thoughts of ski masks
and 45 caliber pistols…
**** you simple carbohydrates. –
Once upon a time
I drank near 200 ounces of
Mountain Dew
each and every day.
If I missed a day,
I would have massive headaches
combined with serious irritation;
while it has been more than 5 years
since this body ingested caffeine,
last night I could not fall asleep for anything
and no amount of cannabis oil
or ibuprofen
had the ability to curb
my aching noggin….
**** you simple carbohydrates –
change is the only constant
and humanity has evolved
amazing adaptability
while I know I will be fine
at this moment only one thing
really runs through my head:
**** you simple carbohydrates! –
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
how could I ever explain
the hiccups in my brain
(what was i just thinking)
writing 'bubblegum tongue '
degrades
the act of kissing
and I am full of carbohydrates caffeine almond milk
(vegetarian yes)
unmotivated to go vegan alone
sitting against a wall
with pink pig headphones in--my sister's I swear
reading grand hopeful endless infinite
quotes
oblivious to everything
fake
around me--I'm too preoccupied with
finding my alter-ego
was machst mich so glucklich
you can kiss
all the boys you want
pretty girl
but naproxen sodium doesn't
numb my pain
anymore than empty touch
will numb yours
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
I am dying
The thought occurs to me every now and then
Jolting my psyche like a bucket of cold water on a sleeping drunk
I just turned 32 this year
I can already feel the cold tendrils of deaths advance
Some days I can even smell its putrid breath on the back of my neck
I’m not dying of anything immediate
No nothing as glamorous as a drug overdose or a gunshot wound
My death more than likely won’t make national news
I am dying
It is a slow and pitiful death
Caused by a lethal mix of age, apathy and neglect
Every day I poison myself a little more
Complex carbohydrates and processed sugars in every meal
Caffeine carcinogens and aspartame to wash the poison down
I can feel my muscle waste away
As I sit 10 hours a day answering the same inane questions
Over and over again to earn the right to what’s left of my meager existence
I am dying
This must be the case because I am certainly not living
At best I am merely surviving, simply continuing to exist
Maybe tomorrow or maybe in 20 years
Even if I quit my job and start an organic vegan diet
Even if I exercise, meditate and confess my sins
I am dying
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
*here they go again , these experts
telling us things to sadden the heart:
game may not be that safe to eat
running river water is never a treat
for it carries upstream decadence
here they go again, these stuffed-shirt experts:
water is two to one hyydrogen and oxygen
boiled, the oxygen steams away into the air
and your cappuccino has a hydrogen flavour
we endanger our lives when it we drink and savour
here they go again, the learned heralds of demise
they tell us that nothing we can ever devise
can avert the armageddon that's surely coming
the entropy or second law of thermodynamics
transforms physicists into latterday prophets
here they go again on prime media, the erudite experts
talking about free radicals, anti-oxidants, titanium utensils
and the havoc that excess proteins, fats and carbohydrates can cause
it’s time to go puritan and vegetarian in this new poisonous present
where fun is frowned upon and barbecues are a deadly pastime
in this age of dietary enlightenment and forced moderation
we must eventually go raw in our cuisine and be natural about it
or perhaps be as creative as possible before the nutritionists come in
to tell us how not to cook our food and how not to eat it
living was great fun before this age of detoxification and cancer!*
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
"I don't feel strong enough."
"Well, at least you have a flat stomach."
Let's damage each other
Let's replace another meal with a bottle of water or unsweetened tea
Let's pray to be beautiful
Let's sit in five minute planks and run five miles and hope we throw up
Let's pretend that I've eaten three meals today, or yesterday, or the day before
Let's define myself by calories and carbohydrates and questionable decisions
Let me rot from my bone marrow to my skin which are just inches apart
Let me fade away until I am reborn
But I'm lucky and so the story doesn't end there
I left the scale under the cabinet
I went for a run because I love to feel my feet on the ground
I came home and ordered takeout
I'm not going to let my body rot
I've chosen life
I've chosen to be whole and real again
My girlfriend can touch me because I am more than skin and bones
I am more than a statistic
And I will always pray to be beautiful
But I will never starve to death.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
transitional times
*midst the ordinaries, not paying close attention,
the yet to be baked batter of chatter while driving past the familiar,
a plain pasta with butter conversation,
the human carbohydrates of our racing consuming energy,
she slips me up, by slipping in two words,
her icing on the cake phrasing
"transitional times"
pull over to the side of Menantic Road
in the early of the late afternoon, Saturday's reclining sunlight,
question her closely, CIA taping her words to my brain:
did she mean the late afternoon hours of our lives when
reflection of sun sprinkles on our bay voyages us as voyeurs
past the old longings and into the future recalling?
perhaps, the au contraire, the steady stepping,
sneaking away of the sheltering night so that the earth's
inhabitants and organs may be revived in yellow golden greens of damp grasses and the whiteness of a Sunday's fresh milk?
of course, of course, the times when the horizon calls,
saying come to me, cross the transition to the newness
of everything, in the ages and days of celebration of
unfamiliar entrances?*
No, no, she answers, bemusedly grinning,
not everything is a poem,
you thieving wordsmith, simply did I observe
that having an extra pair of sunglasses in the car for
transitional times
was a good idea!
*pulling back on the road that goes past the
Tuck Ice Cream Shoppe, the island treasure hunt Dump, the ordinary homes on the range, all along the way to the boatyard where are kept and stored and stockpiled each summer colored sunset evening along with the drinkable French pink Rose wines and gleaming yellow Sancerre and golden ales of Nantucket,
I think to myself,*
nuh uh,
*every transition,
every glorious mindless conversation,
even in the town dump,
treasures in each word, in everything, especially the
extra extra-ordinaries,
is a poem*
June 25. 2017
5:20am
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC
HUNGER
When I think of you
I marvel at your fragility,
How little you sustain yourself with.
If I could do what I would, I would,
I would bring you coq au vin with carrots glazed in brown sugar,
And onions glaces a brun, ringed with pommes duchesse;
And saffron pistachio rissotto with lobster ravioli
Bathed in a tomato champagne reduction sauce;
Or salmon poached in Alsatian Riesling,
Smothered in a rich Hollandaise, on a queen-sized bed of spinach.
I'd fatten you up,
Feed your body;
But of course it isn’t proteins, calories, fats, carbohydrates
That you quest for:
That would be so easy.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
never are we
when the sounds of words keep
our hearts \beating\
of the hard\ way\
one howls\
or still sings to the yellow moon\
as long as oxygen\
as long as carbohydrates drown\
as long as cactus survives\
or in the desert the sun rises\
whenever\
a heart beats\
we will be there\
or an eye looks\
where it should not\
in the dark\
in the soft pink shoulder biting\
are us\
in the silk sheets\ trying is all\
it will take\
for us\
to resuscitate revive be there\
in words we will all be there\
forever/
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
Sugar and spice
and some things nice;
are not too good
to have as food.
-------------
1. Refined carbohydrates: in the form of
a. white sugar
b. white flour
c. white rice
(avoid the above or anything made with them as much as you possibly can)
2. Cigarette Smoke
3. Soft Drinks
4. Alcoholic Drinks
5. Junk Food
6. Common Table Salt
7. Bad Company
8. Sedentary Lifestyle
9. Food Additives: in the form of
a. artificial colors and flavors
b. preservatives
10. Overindulgence in ***
11. Not enough sleep
12. Drugs
___________________
Apr 10, 2024
Apr 10, 2024 at 5:16 AM UTC
The large pretzels
from the mall
taste delicious.
However, I do not
order my pretzel
with dipping sauce.
For the dipping sauce
contains too many
carbohydrates.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
The situtation shaken, he hampered
he destroyed , he bankrupted
he lost, he is dead, alively
Hope is there
Sunrays, Sunshines
Whirlpols
agendas
and the aims
Nothing can beat and take
the pop and genre of music
hips and hops of dances
lights and nights of a day
you have to live
and show
how one
must have to live
days might be brutal
nights might be cruel
worstness may **** you
****** the future of your wills
but don't worry
this time will go
to come true time
luck and chance
walk hand by hand
luck might have ******
but you will get another chance
that time
people might have said you
“Murderer ! Killer !”
But remember
you killed the insane
who must have to get killed
he destroyed your family
one by one
he finished you as being
step by step
you became demon from civilian
second by second
you are now in prison
your life is black
your surrounding is black
your oxygen, your carbohydrates
your **** , your blood
just black , black and black!
but don't forget
black is also color
from where universe has began
there was nothing
still there is nothing
you born as and with nothing
you have to make a change
in everything
society , your country
needs you
let your thoughts
influence and allow
them to taste of freedom
you have to set free
your body and soul
you have to live for
them as a member
of their extended family
Post Script
They killed his and like his
thousands of other families
he fought the freedom movement
against inhumanity and demons
the thought of change
has changed everything
prison bars have never
stopped his thoughts
but supported in building them
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
you do know hat haggis
isn't even, remotely original,
as sourced in scotland...
as aren't bagpipes, i.e.
dudy - bagpies... sorry,
bagpipes;
but it really isn't the case!
haggis?
it's called black pudding
in england, served at breakast
with baked beans -
which, if was a sauce,
would be so much better than
ketchup;
and it's closest cousin?
bound / found in eastern europe...
less barley in that mix...
but it's called czarná kiszká....
black... mingle.
so i said less barley...
in eastern europe you entertain
kaszka... kasia... kate... catherine...
in the mix... i.e.porridge...
that's the difference between the scots
and the poles and the english...
the english don't add
the carbohydrates...
which is why their version of "events"
is served at breakfast...
and can't constitute a "happy meal"
base for something eaten, in the afternoon,
or in the evening.
black pudding?
it's like looking at black fudge...
it's not exactly scot pub-grub
of haggis, neeps & tatties...
(haggis... turnips and potatoes)...
or the charná kíshká variant...
fried with onions and some garlic.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Once upon a lifetime,
An underage student in this rhyme,
I gazed at the cafeteria, great,
With thousands of folk, no one to relate,
It became a norm, I was never late,
Now such colleges are up to date,
Way back when, the good old days,
When carbohydrates were our fave,
Did all students get fat hips,
From eating hot pies and chips?
A land of confusion, so it appears,
An ivory tower of blue stockings, my dears.....
But chubby, let's face it, cheers!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
*i mean, that **** is weirder than the scots deep-frying chocolate bars (mars, mianly, even though i think snikers would taste better), or slices of pizza; yeah, and they say: euro-trash... how much more ****** can you get?! i don't even want to know what the irish culinary fetish is; it's enough knowing that the thai like deep-frying locust.*
i never understood it, this english "thing",
there is probably no nation in the world that has
a compulsion to mix two carbohydrate heavyweights...
heavyweights?
pasta... bread... rice...
crisps...
so i was reading the yesterday's newspaper
and this recipe was included in the magazine:
pasta with beans and pesto...
sounds good enough...
but i read into the recipe...
400 grams of linguine,
300 grams green beans,
200 millitres basil pesto
freshly grated parmesan...
and then it hit me: 1 large potato cut into
1 centimetre cubes...
but now i'd be asking americans to: not bother
getting a passport...
in school i watched the english lodge crisps
into sandwitches...
this is the most oddball of all current nations...
who the **** combines two heavyweight carbohydrates?
they even have this standard of lodging chips
into buns...
like my father once noticed on the building
site, this black guy, stuffing a banana peanut-butter
and some bacon into a sandwitch...
fair enough if you lodge a plantain into
the mix... but a banana?
about as weird as the english
using crisps + bread... or pasta + potato.
having a glimpse at this pratice,
seems more fascinating, than, say, spotting a yeti.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
What it meant to me
was what the branch means to the cardinal,
was what the pencil means to the poet,
might have been how the sky storms
to someone sitting on a window bench with
eyes seeking something solid, something sold.
What it meant to them
was a history of books that aren’t yellowed with age,
was the Sudoku puzzles in the newspaper only grandmothers use,
it could have been what ramen meant to a college kid who’s two meals a day
consist of sodium and carbohydrates, who’s eyes bend down, but they’re not allowed
to look away from something crucial. It made them gag.
What it meant was
we’re living in a cage and college debt (1.5 Trillion) is only one of the bars to freedom in a country renowned for liberty. That’s too expensive, but not for war.
What it meant was
I’m in the middle of my personally gifted depression and anxiety and my friends say,
“We all grew up with parents like that, we all got ******
and she was right. I don’t know someone who hasn’t dealt with
what this world’s handed us on a silver plastic platter.
Can you tell me after all these years
how we’re to cope? There aren’t enough therapists. There isn’t enough trust between our minds and our beliefs. (Ex: Do I deserve help? No.)
What it meant to me
was the words I couldn’t say, out loud or in my head,
was the crossword puzzles, titled “Emotions”,
might have been reading the news and
finding there’s another empty seat in a class I’m not in.
Do you want a pretty ending?
Maybe it’ll happen, maybe it won’t,
I’m not here to tell you how to live your life.
We’re not given much choice in too many matters,
but the cardinals are resting on their branch and
the pencil is tucked between my fingers,
and every storm ends to begin again.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC