"fattest" poems
It is so peculiar of man to desire imperfect,
But that's just the way to getting perfect,
In the quest of love,
We only never find what we seek,
Pride squanders what we desire most,
No accolade will pride bestow,
As love wont emerge to your blind soul.
For as long as you soar as Eagles,
The fattest Mice will be for Owls of the dark.
Love is stronger than pride,
Though pride soars great heights,
Love grows even when a man is dying,
Pride never. Except your pride despair,
Love being greatest to you shall never be fair.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Accept my pity, ye tormented souls unable to raise and dazzle
all I did was earn my keep and walked in sunshine from the soul
but
When men are full of envy they disparage everything,
whether it be good or bad.
Now I know some minds never grow and thrive only in envy
For Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit;
like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
These wretched starved toxic souls, only see a man with plenty
The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
I did not countenance that faces are pale because they lacked
just thought that was the Creator's work on days when brown
and yellow, swarty, ivory and tan paints ran out
I knew a lot hated this insipid opaque pale colouring, but at least
they have beautiful hair and lucky ones have pearly white teeth
but unbeknown to me, real envy resides in them and blinds them and makes it impossible for them to think clearly.
Oh dearie me, our pale brothers and sisters die inside their souls
And age so quickly, radiant in bloom one day, grey and wrinkled
in the morrow like a wilted rose devoid of water and light
Their pain and envy, their self-loathing, their insecurities ravages
Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks, dear friends.
For you see, God's truth judges created things out of love,
and Satan's truth judges them out of envy and hatred.
Our envy always lasts longer than the happiness of those we envy.
If malice or envy were tangible and had a shape,
it would be the shape of a boomerang.
I fear not and now understand why you envy and hate me
I can appreciate the bile and venom for Fools may our scorn,
not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
Worth begets in base minds, envy; in great souls, emulation.
When people envy someone else, they want what that person possesses. As time passes, they develop hostile feelings towards that person, and eventually begin to hate that person because of their possessions and the unrequited desire to obtain those possessions.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 8:53 PM UTC
Sitting in de street
Spitting out a reggae beat
Rollin up a sticky spliff
Jammin out a reggae riff
JAH knows I take the fattest hit
**** this ****** is strong as ****
I see a glint in the eye of a guy
On de street, just passin by
He flicks some cash in me cup, and I begin to smile;
For in my heart of hearts I know, he feels my reggae style
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear
The warning whirr and burring of the bird
Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard
Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.
Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer
Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered
By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,
Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.
So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight
In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,
Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,
Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death
And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset--
Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.
2.8k
Remember that chick
who pulled her hair back in a ponytail
had glasses
and wore ripped jeans
that she Sharpied murals on
out of boredom?
You’d see her in class sometimes
mumbling to herself
and doodling
while the teacher droned on
about the scientific method.
She always made you curious
but you could never get close enough
to hear what she was saying
or see what she was writing.
She promised herself that one day
she’d keep a diary
to keep track of the truth
but every time she tried
it turned into a collection of
half-thought-poems
and half-drawings of half-things
half-human and half-something else.
Never autobiographical
never the truth.
She seemed like the kind of girl
who is a self proclaimed vegan
scrawny little thing
with ex-hippie parents
like if you ever talked to her
she would be all in for face
about “going green man.”
So she took you by surprise
when she beat the fattest kid in the class
at that hot-dog eating contest
that chubby ******* didn’t stand a chance.
She thinks
the truth is just the lie
that you tell yourself the most often.
People called her “book-smart”
because she wore glasses
and was bad at math.
But she wasn’t really,
she was people-smart
in the way a scientist is rat-smart.
She’d sit on the swings at recess
and watch people
her eyes were concerned
like there was something they had
that she lacked.
Her locker was always empty
she took everything home
every night
she left
no residue
no aftermath
no memory behind.
She dreamed of living out of her car
and opening a coffeeshop
and being free.
She knew she was destined
to prove there was no such thing as destiny.
That we make our own reality.
And all of this you found
endearing and admirable.
Remember her?
…of course you wouldn’t.
You would have her more like this:
That weird nerd who doesn’t talk to anyone.
has long hair and draws on his pants,
is awkward in every conceivable way
- and possibly gay.
He spends all day in his notebook,
writing who-knows-what.
Who cares -
- about what his dreams were?
He was just another background character in your life.
There was one time you cheered him on,
at the hot-dog eating contest.
The only time you ever touched his hand
was to give him a high five for that.
You always pitted him.
silently.
Never out loud.
She was there.
Hiding behind his eyes.
And she loved you.
As much as one could love someone in seventh grade.
But you never loved her.
You couldn’t have.
She didn’t even know she existed yet.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Castelfranco Radicchio
wilted slightly
maintaining backbone
Aubergine Du Burkina Faso Eggplant
grilled in olive oil
fresh ground peppercorn
and basil
gently laid onto a delicate bed
bright green and fresh
Cour Di Bue Cabbage
Molokia Purple Sweet Potatoes
julienne and drizzled
La Vecchia Dispensa Balsamic Vinegar
aged 100 years
mingled with the brightest yellow
Amarillo Carrot and thin
rounds of a Jaune Paille Des Vertus Onion
offsetting the purples and yellows
with gleaming white –
art presents itself
as poetry
via recipe
in the fattest nation
Earth has ever known –
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
Remember that chick
who pulled her hair back in a ponytail
had glasses
and wore ripped jeans
that she Sharpied murals on
out of boredom.
You’d see her in class sometimes
mumbling to herself
and doodling
while the teacher droned on
about the scientific method
and she always made you curious
but you could never get close enough
to hear what she was saying
or see what she was writing.
She promised herself that one day
she’d keep a diary
to keep track of the truth
but every time she tried
it turned into a collection of
half-thought-poems
and half-drawings of half-things
half-human and half-something else.
Never autobiographical
never the truth.
She seemed like the kind of girl
who is a self proclaimed vegan
scrawny little thing
with ex-hippie parents
like if you ever talked to her
she would be all in for face
about “going green man.”
So she took you by surprise
when she beat the fattest kid in the class
at that hot-dog eating contest
that chubby ******* didn’t stand a chance.
She told me one day
that she thinks
the truth is just the lie
that you tell yourself the most often.
People called her “book-smart”
because she wore glasses
and was bad at math.
But she wasn’t really.
She was people-smart
in the way a scientist is rat-smart.
She’d sit on the swings at recess
and watch people
her eyes were concerned
like there was something they had
that she lacked.
Her locker was always empty
she took everything home
every night
she left
no residue
no aftermath
no memory behind.
She dreamed of living out of her car
and opening a coffeeshop
and being free.
She knew she was destined
to prove there was no such thing as destiny.
That we make our own reality.
And all of this you found
endearing and admirable.
Remember that chick?
...of course you don't.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC
There's a flap on - flying fluttering
olympian feeding before the frosts
competitive cooperation
repetitive consternation
tribal territories transgressed
survival of the fattest.
Darker days dominate.
The land browns bare.
Animals hibernate.
'It's not the same', the doctor said,
'Don't do it or you'll become obese.
Their diet would put you in bed.
You'd die before your time
of some terrible disease.
Follow my special diet.
And run if it's fun .'
'But don't be a convert to anorexia.
That's a perverse faith.
You'd never make it as a wraith.
Take a tablet for your headache.'
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
Life is the prattle of an old lady.
She squawks either too loudly
or makes you crane to hear.
as she sits rocking,
her senile nonsense numbs your intelligence
until you sit bleary-
gaping at the air
like the fattest fish in the aquarium.
your every comment drowns
in the mush
of her tapioca voice.
you sit uncomfortably in her fishbowl world of
cottage cheese,
faded floral print- lace doilies
and contemplate your deft superiority
as her denture clicks gnaw on your sanity.
as soon as you think
a vague plotline surfaces in her mumbling
a new great aunt’s third cousin’s baby
weaves its way into the conversation,
and you are hopelessly thrown
like a reused dryer sheet
back into the colored load.
occasionally you attempt to establish a connection
between you and the venerable wrinkled smile
but she mishears and begins another
disconnected strain
featuring Bobby, the lad turned soldier.
but
just
as soon as you gain confidence
that you know how to handle this doddery senior-
she slams you with a small token
of sage advice
that shatters your naïve sphere
with its mind-wrenching validity.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
With a runny nose
Shaking hands
And unsure thoughts
I got on my knees
And begged
Not with words
Or
With tears
But with my lips
And my tongue
His **** filling my mouth
His hand forcing my head
Eyes closed
I could feel his body tremble
Smell his sweat
A few heavy thrusts
Followed by even heavier gags
He grabbed my hand
Helped me up
And slipped a reward into my coat pocket
'... this is the last time'
I whispered
'You always say that'
The walk home seemed to last years
Prolonged by feelings of disgust
I could feel the people
Of the city streets
Silently judging me
I locked myself in the bathroom
Cut the fattest line
My body could handle
And snorted away my
Shame
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 2:49 PM UTC
The lights were still on
As I lifted myself from
The air mattress
To check my back
For bedbug bites
I noticed a young roach
In the sink
He scattered quickly
Then stopped
Staring
As if to dare me
To try and **** him
He was the prideful matador
And I the swollen eyed
Stumbling bull
It was life and death
I tried to smack him
With a water bottle
But he ran and hid behind a pipe
So I took a bottle of aftershave
Tried to drown the *******
In a refreshing burning winterfresh
But he was untouched by the splash
Then he scattered across the wall
I ran and grabbed the worst book
In my collection
The premier book of major poets,
1970
They printed Simon and Garfunkel
In there
I tried to smash the
cunning cockroach
But my fingers touched the
Smashed corpse
Of a previous conquest
I quickly threw the book in disgust
And wished it was the roaches
Wife or mother
Lying dead
Smashed by an awful publication
He ran quickly
Laughing at my frustration
Proud
Then he settled in a hole
Under the edge of the counter
He was the victor
He raised his sword
Toward the sun
And stabbed me in the heart
I fell onto the air mattress
Drooling
The young roach returned to his nest
Proud
He found the fattest female
Flipped her over
With his filthy fluttering legs
He tore open her thorax
Then inserted his roach genitalia
Into the wound
Inseminating her
And assuring his legacy
While I slept
Alone
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
The mirror always wins.
showing images you never wanted to see.
hiding doesnt exist.
the mirror holds nothing back.
violently shoving unwanted graphics into the open pores you once called eyes.
not eyes anymore.
eyes are to see with.
your eyes are brainwashed and turned against you.
burning.
eyes trained to burn through cement.
seeing every ounce of fat you try to hide.
nothing can protect you from yourself.
pound by pound.
ounce by ounce.
your eyes discriminate against you.
deathly,poison, your worst enemy.
mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fattest of us all?
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
Giant portions of tender beef; bring me a field of cattle.
Large helpings of diced pork; hunt down the fattest sow.
Unlimited gallons of alcohol; brew the strongest in the land.
Ten times the amount of cheeses; let ever mouse envy me.
Tempt me with exotic women; from every corner of the world.
Order another kilogram of cigarettes; block out the blue of the sky.
Never let the chocolates run out; richer than the sweetest syrup.
You think this is too much?
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 12:57 PM UTC
O God ! O God! Why have you forsaken me?
Shepherds slaughter the fattest sheep.
They join and plot and mark the victim for their feast.
They have but one aim, to please the high priest,
Get postings to pastures with the wealthiest sheep.
We are special claim they and we
Are anointed by Jesus and stand for him
Beware of our powers which exceed the bomb
Our curses cause damnation fore'er
Afraid of the trappings, frightened by the robes
And stories of punishments to disobedient sheep
We cower in fear while they revel and plunge
Their knives and forks into our hearts for their feast
Organized religion has killed our faith
Yet we remember how You were slain
By organized religion which was the same then
As it is now
And repeat your cry
O Father,why have you forsaken me?
I have tried to live in your presence
And be honest in everything
I have put my trust in Your priests and Your Church
Only to find
That they
Secretly mock and plan to slaughter us
To fatten themselves.
Should I pray- curse them to eternal poverty
Of Spirit and temporal wealth
Let them wander in hunger
Till they realize
That they live with pigs
But Your way Lord
Is to forgive
And pray- 'Forgive them, for they do not know what they do'.
Help me, give me strength
to conquer my weak mind and ego
And forgive, and pray.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
jingle splat, christmas song
jingle splat jingle splat
splatting all the day
falling on a nice cream pie
cheering all the way
jingle splat jingle splat
cheering for the mob
oh yeah, the big party dude
splatting all day long
you see on christmas eve
2 fat people have a dance
lifting up their body yeah
just to go splat on the floor
then they got right up
after 5 minutes on the ground
and then some cruel teasers said
they were the fattest people in town
ya see we go jiggle splat jingle splat
all over the dance floor, yeah
ya see we wanted to be thin my friend
but the forces of evilly made us fat
a day or 2 ago
we drank 2 bottles of egg nog oh yeah
and we got as drunk as skunks
and boy, our bellies were growing a lot
and we could hardly see our toes
as we ate the christmas cake
and then 2 ladies walked right past them
and they were as skinny as a rake
we go jingle splat jingle splat
all over the ****** floor
but we were so ****** fat
we could hardly fit through the door
jingle splat jingle splat
christmas day is near
this is the day, we splat around ya know
eating fatty food all the day
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
I Can't Breathe Easy
In This Chamber Air
My Family Was Made
To Submit Before Them
Their Fattest Soldier Farts
With A Mask On His Face
And We Were Made To Smell
The Stench Of Undigested Meal
Stuck We're Inside This Gas Chamber
Somebody Be Our Saviour & Protect Us!!!
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
His body is round and plump
his stomach drags on the ground
his legs vanish in his fat
Watch out he might pop!
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
Thumbs up to me
At least for a sweet Victory.
I never knew it pays to be different
Until I started paying attention to other things
A one decision that is about to kick start my life
Was the same I never wanted to look in the eye.
Somebody should have couched me better
That not all that seems better really matters.
I never knew I was that bad driver I never blamed,
It never occur to me that I was the one taking my destiny on a clock journey in faith,
I was that darkness that made my glory to shine vain,
It was my fault that my progress has been tortoise walking
How foolish I have been for not understanding ethos of times and seasons.
Forgive me dear fate,
You shouldn't have been blamed, I'm sorry.
Sorry for regretting why I was created with you
Sorry for always accusing you
For all the woes I had put us through.
I have been a child indeed
A child too milky to recognise opportunities
A child too narrow minded to take a walk into chances.
Now my heart has grown
Grown enough to see two side of a coin on a spot
Grown enough to pry deep into bottom pots
Grown enough to pluck fruits from trees without a sickle
Yes I'm grown enough to make others grow into father figures.
I can now beat my chest that I'm becoming a man
No, I'm now a man!
Through my resolute mistakes, I had learned to bear more than a plan
After a long bare footed walk on thorns
I can now say patient dogs don't longer eat the fattest bone
Time don't wait for those who don't fight for their turn
Only fools still wait to see their shoes sizes before trying their legs in the available
Only lame minded people hate to grow to be dependable.
Thumbs up to me again
Just like in all human beings
I have found the key to all I need
Right inside of me
Finally my life is about to begin.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
We queue up like
indentured servants
grateful as ripe fruit for
the opportunity to
bend our back in an
eternal question asking
how few grains
how few beans
how few drops
do I need to survive
in a world that fits
like the abandoned sweater
of the world's tallest man
We line up like
Hoovervillites
eager as dogs for
the opportunity to
plunge our paws into
scalding pots of wondering
how many coins
how many beds
how many children
must I offer to subsist
in a world that spins
out of reach like the apples
of the world's tallest tree
We row up rank and file like
slaves
servile as a Christmas and Easter parishioner's lips slathering for
the opportunity to
kiss the papal ring imagining
how many hours
how many loves
how many lives
will be lost to languish
in a world that ossifies
like Gluttony's cast off carcasses
left by the world's fattest corporate cat
We queue up like
indentured servants
dolorous as dying vines from
the bonds and bridles that
bend our back in an
eternal question asking
how few grains
how few beans
how few drops
will I have left
after they've taken the sweater
after they've taken the apple
after they've taken the scraps
in a world that fits
like the abandoned sweater
of the world's tallest man
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 3:36 PM UTC
Did you think you was gonna pull the wolf over my eyes
Why do you talk stupid?
To make you undersand!
Dont you know it's a dog eat dog world out there, it's survival of the fattest
There you go talking stupid again!!
And there you go understanding again
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Spring sweeps over Canton
in slow moving waves of sun-
branches on the few carefully
planted trees begin to bud
beautiful white petals,
clean and spotless against
dirt tinted brick
and unwashed windows,
shedding blankets of soft
confetti on hybrid cars
and BMWs crowded into
spots on the street sides.
The warm weather brings bees,
mosquitoes, and morning joggers
who smile at each other as they pass,
their dogs running beside them.
They stop to smell
the patches of weeds that have
sneaked between cement panels
on the sidewalk, but are quickly
****** ahead as their owners’
heart rates begin to fall.
The jogging trail is tracked
in old houses ******
over like aging women.
They soak up the warmth
like a sponge, their seventy
year old walls continuing to peel
old asbestos speckled paint
beneath brand new wall paper
and paneling.
Bankers and law students,
doctors and nurses,
barflies and models
hunt them like injured
pray on a mountain top-
so few to feed on
that when one emerges,
hundreds dive for the ****
but only the ones with the
fattest wallets win,
and can sink their teeth into
the tender taste of
prime real estate,
a thin slice of Hip in
this burgeoning yuppie haven.
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 9:39 AM UTC
By. Lauren
I feel like the fattest skeleton to ever break
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC
Vanity shone open armed
You gave it your heart
What's worse than being
loved too much?
No ******* love at all
Vanity pulled from your lungs
The final gasps of aspiration
Don't forget to feed your
demon familiar don't turn
away, resign and shut
your eyes.
Twice failed, if they don't see you now,
they won't ever.
Twice failed, it's time to bail, call
your demon back.
Popular opinion can ****
the fattest
****
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 8:25 PM UTC