"fatty" poems
the doctor said i have a fatty liver
so i started drinking straight *****
to cut down on carbs
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society that deals anxiety,
Anxiety, anxiety, in this overweight society.
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society where diet pills are a normality,
Normality, Normality in an overweight society.
Today in the eyes of an underweight tragedy,
Influenced so greatly by an overweight society,
Tragedy, Tragedy, in an overweight society.
Influenced by a society of fatty foods,
Fear becoming a more common mood,
The fear of falling into the normality
The normality of this tragedy.
The overweight society.
Influence by obesity.
Striving to be what their minds see,
The minds of the children trapped,
Trapped by this overweight society.
Influenced by the skinny girls on TV
Only followed by ads showing fatty foods society demans you eat
Have a cheeseburger, upgrade to a large fry, yet still look like her, it's pounded in her mind.
Young minds believe what they see.
Morphed into the tragedy of society.
A society where eating disorders strive
A society where an 8 year old can consious you starve themselve to feel pretty.
The definition of pretty based simply on TV
Yet nobody questions this more than imperfect society.
Elementary ages childern being fed fat then forced to stand in front of a mirror.
Put a toy in poison and call it magic.
Oh yes, what a fantasy.
A fantasy forcing you into reality.
The reality becoming your worst nightmare.
The reality of your fears driven by society.
I'm overweight, yet pizza is the best choice for a happy family.
A society where mental illness strives.
Why can't people open their eyes?
Spoon feeding childern poison and expecting them to love themselves.
In school teachers force health into thier minds.
At home, parents feed them poison to save time.
Re-creating, reprogramming their fragile little minds, yet still expecting them to feel fine.
Feeling down?
Have a happy meal, gain a pound.
Overweight?
Shame, shame, you must maintain the image.
The image forced into your mind.
This was our greatest fall.
Upon dieting we call.
Skelington stave me.
Anorexia at it's finest.
Anorexia thin and spineless.
Some call you timeless.
But only recently you made your debute.
Make me feel brand new.
Reprogram my mind.
Make me feel fine.
Thank God for thinsperation.
Oh Anorexia, my new inspiration.
Make me feel pretty.
Just like the skinny girls on TV.
Loosing pounds, one by one.
Still weighed down by a ton.
The weight of pleasing it.
The nightmare society created.
Influenced by what we see.
Finally morphed into the tragedy of the normality of this weight obsessed society.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
Somehow your heart enzymes inveigled a way into my system
I surmise it was your energising tongue which smuggled them in
my pseudoanaphylactic longing to snuggle in vein against your protein
its aim a happy interaction tugged by frenzied polypeptide chains
when your petite triglycerides coil avidly around my pH changes
hydrolysis replenishes steroids to stop any pleasure level plunge
so that functional-group transfers may intervene at all active sites
supervising where coenzymes await love's coursing stem cell sights
that photosynthesise my eyes to sensitise to you despite the dark
dancing in all my living cells with infectious smiles an epidemic
when your DNA can't polymerase enough of the audacious lipids
pleasing as they kiss the density away of fatty acids on soft lips
that release protease inhibitors in ways not too selective
so our hearts find their metabolic pathway audaciously live
and offer themselves completely to a frolic in love reactive
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up old bag
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****
If I had a big fat ***** with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her **** is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it
When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** ***** or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky **** with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack
I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of *** she can **** my **** instead
And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches
A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies ***** stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ****** a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace
As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny **** is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff
I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and *** inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.
It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your pussy's wet and kind
And if you like it up the **** then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******** from behind
So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:44 AM UTC
No, you're **** does not not stink. It's **** Your **** smells like **** You are no exception to this truth. If you're a Taurus you probably wipe your *** with toilet paper made of satin. You indulge in fatty and sugary foods quite often, so your ******* satin toilet paper never lasts long. Your ruling planet in Venus, so you see ******** as an art form. You may even decorate your house with your own **** statues. When you're not admiring your own **** you're constipated because you're too ******* stubborn to take a break from stuffing your face with ****** food.
Advice: Put down the cannolis and take a walk in a rose garden so you'll know what actual roses smell like.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
I
I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark.
The blue-green glow of dashboard gauges, the biting scent
of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Insects slapping the windshield, incipient rain.
Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms.
II
Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms
I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement
ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor on MLK Boulevard.
The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence
inscribed on my back also confirms this.
III
I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair,
fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears,
twisting behind tent ***** with a one-armed
contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair.
IV
I derailed in a dive bar.
V
I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights,
where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic
signals kept perfect time. I picked through trash bins.
I paid for love with drugstore wine.
VI
I closed my eyes on a mountain road.
The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank.
VII
I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed
by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew
back the curtains and lost myself
in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps,
the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes.
I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide.
VIII
The moon over my shoulder
tightened into focus like a spotlight.
One night the barking dogs undid me.
I caved in to the candor of a naked mattress.
I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell,
clinging to bars the color of a morning dove.
IX
I coveted the house keys of strangers.
X
I opened and closed many doors.
I sang into the mouths of storm drains.
I stepped out of many rooms only
to find myself in the room I just left.
Despite all my leaving, I remained.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
oh right...
back in h'america it's called
patriotism -
but 'ere, over, Here -
it's called nationalism...
back on the old continent
where and when all politics
is far-right mantra
and then you have
your Victoria and Abdul -
love the curry...
but like the **** said...
i'd prefer the aura and sauna
of the...
don't get me wrong:
i love the food...
but watching the Indian caste
system?
of Indians employing slaves
to build their upper-middle-class homes?
more tanned?
oh, you mean the Sri Lankan
or the Bangladeshi poor ********
sorry... i thought all slave
owners were white...
no?
oh...
alright...
**** you then!
because?
next time you ask...
i'll do what the Nazis did to the ********
i'll twist the star of David sideways...
exposing the prayer mat
and an opened book...
and, as far as i am concerned,
Islam is equivalent to the bubonic plague...
now...
compare the geographic literature
and spot the quarantine areas on a map
that constitutes Europe.
i'd rather die...
than fiddle with a phallus for
a taste of the Arabian quasi
harem orchestra of... absolute...
********
Arabian women?
fat hands...
their hands are too fat...
they have to inter-breed to
get rid of their
farmers' market of
fudge fingers and knuckles...
Arabian women expose
what is the most **** aspect
of a woman's body...
their hands...
Arab women have pork chops
for fingers...
and i'm not even sorry
making this observation...
fatty extensions
that you wish could at least
succumb to the esteem
of a pork head terrine.
Arab women can wear their niqab,
or whatever the hell they wear...
one problem...
FAT..... HANDS...
FAT.... FINGERS...
hell, hide them...
these women are worth half the erection's
worth in the *********** market of
feminine hands...
Arab women are no possessed with
geisha hands... porcelain architecture...
they're not tender... slight, polite...
the hands of Arab women are
the hands of European women...
who have a legitimate sway on arable
land, that is fertile with either
potatoes or cabbage;
well...
fat fingers eager to harvest ginger
(roots) -
what can i say...
no matter the diamond,
or the European *****
the hand is still looking
readily available to milk a ******* camel.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
On my way,
One day,
I met a handsome guy,
Who was on the seventh sky,
He told me I looked like a ****** ***
& with his sayings I was embraced
I cried & went to the mirror,
I asked,"Do I look good???
Am I too fatty or too slimmer??? "
Laughing at me it didn't answer,
I understood & was filled with tear,
Oh I didn't eat during day
& couldn't sleep in night,
It was like I wasn't made for this beautiful beauty filled site,
& hiding my face I went out, & stood aside...
I looked at the moon,
Jealous of his beauty I closed myself in my room...
I forgot the incident & was lost in the world of books,
No I wasn't at all focussing on my looks,
Oh after bending over backward for several months,
I got the fruitful results,
Now that handsome proud guy saluted me,
& the mirror couldn't match his eyes from me,
& now I stood in front of moon's fake light,
Asking it to ignite itself,
& be bright,
Else at his place, he will see myself!!!
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
Face
up here
holds the
Eyes
and
Ears
What your talking to
are just fatty globules
mammary glands...
and as they stand
have no capability to make
decisions
Except nourishing Life
So...
Look up for two seconds
and face the hand
you're now talking to
The Deaf and Blind
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
Look around,
You will find all eyes down;
some expressionless,
some desperate,
and few smiling!
Both tiny and fatty thumbs
yearning for a rest,
after typing those texts.
Some consulting the Doc
for having a smartphone thumb
and some for lacking vitamin D!
Posts wanting more and more likes.
Kilograms of followers on Instagram!
Swapping stories on Whatsapp!
Unopened notebooks
when you have a Facebook!
Television screens consigned to oblivion
when you have a Youtube!
Discovering the veiled world,
missing the real scenes around.
Emoticons spreading fake feelings,
Stupefying infants swiping through the screens,
Kids imploring to their parents-
To drag out the patterns.
What is more satisfying?
Hitting play button on the screen or
Hitting a six on the field?
Carting products online or
Shopping on a girls day out?
Dribbling a basket ball or
Dragging down the newsfeed?
Watching daily soaps without a dish or
Helping your mother out to wash the dish?
Sharing the snaps of poverty and hunger or
Reaching out to them with eager?
A game of candy crush or
Gifting a candy to your crush?
I feel like whooping out to myself
and to people around;
To raise their heads and
Look around!
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
The smell.
The mouthwatering taste.
The crispy crunch.
The sizzling in the pan.
Bacon!
So delicious and fatty.
So truly yummy.
God, I love it.
ITS BACON!!!!!!!
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Liquids and lipids
North and south
Fatty and lean
Mouth-to-mouth
Resuscitation
Breathe
In and out
I think I need the Heimlich too
Compress my chest
Until I come to
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Aesthetician stares deeply into the center of a tulip
tears stream as we cry
but the earth doesn’t
ethereal spectors flow about religion
Washington did live in
a racecar, palindrome
*** Wisdom!
Meowth! I haven’t since the 90’s had a soul
estaban caresses his lover
his wife prepares
a pineapple
tapeworms infest
****** inside of a colonic protestant
whipped into shapely curves once withheld
by the likelihood ferrari
Pro-lifers are only just a fad or fling
cloudy like the soft color of pink
union between man and *****
Nicole smith I hope you go to
h
e
l
l
Awesome is he with a fatty
slimeball
foil wrapped burger
SASQUATCH GONE WORLDWIDE
Santeria love making ends with regret! Nay, Disgust!
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I love full length mirrors
because I get to see
my body
all of it
I do not love my figure,
I do not love my face.
But when I find a full length mirror
I stare.
I Am God.
I Am God
over this pathetic,
mortal
flesh.
I Am God.
I can stretch
my arms
way over my head
watch my ribs peek through
Fragile, mortal bones.
I could break them
it would hurt.
But I could break them.
I Am God
I picture the lungs beneath
Black
Blackened
Because I Am God
Puff
Inhale
Ingest
Blacken, damage
Because I Am God.
I stroke my tummy
flat, muscled.
My thighs
round, soft, pliant
My Choice
Eat
Eat these fatty foods
watch the muscle
the muscle that made this body burn
watch it disappear
lose it in new rolls of fat
I Am God
I care not for this body's suffering.
Eat more cancer from this tin can.
I Am God
Inhale more cancer
from these cigarettes.
I Am God
Now crunch. Do 100. Now Run. Faster. Burn. Ache.
I Am A Merciful God.
I do not cut you
I do not make you bleed
But don't for a second
think I cannot
I could
and it would hurt
I Am God.
You, body, are my subject.
I will tear you, pierce you, to decorate you.
Ink you
and alter you
Because I Am God
You supple flesh, you have no say
I will use you
for my pleasure
I will starve you
for my appearance
I will burn you
under the sun
just to see
how many layers
I can peel
before this body
gives up
and is gone.
I Am God
I will inhale this cancer
Until my lungs start to rot
Because I Am God
and I will choose
How You Die.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC
The living reality of a metaphor, almost every ounce in-taken,
Every nuance, every pronounce, measured, weighted and weighty,
Fluid or firmament, each encapsulated, prior to release, scaled,
Tabulated, ordered, noted, recorded, and ultimately judg-ed.
Totality of it all, the varied quantities of the ingested nutrients,
even the forecast of the future, if every day was a metaphor for
like today…
DO
I speak of the day's headlines?
Of the quantity and nutrition that passes through my lips?
Or
The surround sound of the surrounding sounds of this day,
the flocks of bandito geese who exist only to torment,
the landscape working crews, with their tools, like a 7::00an wake up buzzing about, for the entire street, going house to house, looking for itinerant grassy knolls of patches of bright green,
overnight sprung up and needy to be
guillotined,
laundry to do, rugs needy for clothesline screaming/beating or merely super fast vacuuming;
they, hawking their skills available for the old and infirm,
or the fatty catty cattle lazy, (somewhere in there is moi);
and the decibels of their machines, the rat-a-tat of their rapido, voluble speech that feeds me poetry by the ounce of their laughter, but more exactly of,
What do I speak, to what do I allude?
Why all and none, everything and specifically nothing,
for the metaphor is meta! (1)
It is life itself, from the quarter teaspoon
to the overflowing bath, it is life at its most incremental,
the moment
of flushing face,
the second
of ah ha! recollection, the,
long term trends
trending,
the flatline of my EKG,
the weighty pronouncement of my talking scale (you've been bad),
IT IS THE EVERYTHING
that is measurable, weighable, isolatable, defined;
it is our existence of our each & every of action and inaction strung together like a necklace and a chain
We are metaphor, reality, is, the script,
which is the product of you.
scriptwriter…/
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 6:17 PM UTC
no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured
the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows green beans lentils
turnips & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots leak broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry soy sauce chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic salt and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts
in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance
in short
no need to **** a bird
* * *
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Bounced
a mother figure
to two, a name
on a Christmas card
to four
when I realised
I was still a
child
and bitterness
wasn't an
option
I grew up
like a broken
nose
out of joint
Bounced
at the service
there are tears
beside me
I imagine a
body burning
and feel
warm
the lick of flames
on gray skin
my indifference
grows like I
imagine the
fire roaring
behind the curtain
heating up
Bounced
the house is
empty and
smells
unusual
like something has
been left in there
too long
they are not
there now but
it lingers
I tried to take
her dresses but
she was thinner
as a girl than
I am now
jealously
is a feeling
I'm familiar with
and it's easier
to understand
Bounced
we are waiting
for a buyer
and I imagine
how it feels
to have a piece
of your heart
trapped in bricks
and mortar
Bounced
one time,
I wanted to ask her
how it felt to
take notes of
the war
if she'd ever thought
of waving a white
flag and crumbling
drowning in the
rubble rain of
The Blitz
I wanted to hear
her say something
human
so I could
visualise and
see a bit of
her in myself
Bounced
I'm still caught up
on the autopsy
like a piece of
fatty tissue on
a scalapal
and my thoughts
are metal and
cold
the number of
zeroes on a
cheque
Bounced
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
It's 5:30. You're just getting up
I'm not just getting up, I've BEEN up. I'm just in my underwear.
You better start eating,
******
You're lookin mighty skinny,
******
You better hope you don't have any DISEASES
******
eye roll. walk away.
Why does he feel the need to tell me what time it is
every time I see him?
and how horrific and
skinny I look.
I don't have any diseases
I guess he wouldn't believe that
after all I am
a ******
I can see his Liver in my Mind
Engorged
Disgust
Gallons of the purest form of
****
in that Gut
he carries around
as a stomach
But what does my opinion matter ?
I'm just his
skin and bones
****** son
still in his underwear in the evening
who hasn't eaten all day
and refuses to play basketball
so he can retire
on time and
have another beer.
Better Eat, ******
Better be Clean,
Better hope to God,
******
you get up tomorrow.
thanks...
fatty.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 9:24 PM UTC
Dear Whiny Fat *****
Stop whining you fat *****
I don't find your curve(s) beautiful as it falls short of feminine,
breast and hip bring forth lust like a tray of holiday cookies,
helpful internet sayings are fatty hoe-deurves
you devour them,
greedy mouths pointed teeth digging in to every bit of it because why work hard when you can talk loud?
Why go for a jog when you can misquote Marilyn?
Why choose the salad when the big mac's just as beautiful?
It's not
I do not envy gluttony,
I do not envy sloth,
I do not lust for them.
double zero may not be attractive but throwing a 2 in front of it is fatty-icing on the cake,
so talk about "oppression" while you scoff down more than Ebo and his family have had in a week,
starvation and desperation dancing intertwined tip-toeing around his house,
he wakes up one morning to his sons tears because all he's had is a slice of bread
while you decide to treat yourself to an ice cream cus' you didn't supersize today
You can call me an *******
let molten words flick from your tongue,
lace'm with lava and let them fly
but at the end of the day you only have yourself to blame
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Bookends with fatty livers and bad backs
squinting at instructions
for another **** fool distraction
and the laughing, thankfully
On the walk, bees, butterflies,
catkin reminders of time and loops
and irregular pooping
as constants
Thankfully, laughing
requires just enough muscles
from those that still work,
but I’ll feel it tomorrow
Mar 26, 2022
Mar 26, 2022 at 9:23 AM UTC
We couldn't save John Lennon
Cars with fins, or rock and roll
Change comes with time, ah, that's a given
We can't even save our soul
TV shows we all grew up on
All the poster girls we love
They all have disappeared
That's just the thing I feared
It happened when push came to shove
I keep my eyes open when I kiss you
I just have to see you near
Yours are closed,
that's the way it goes
I don't want to see you disappear
That's why I keep my eyes wide open
This may be a dream we're in
I have to see you there beside me
I could not live this life again
Cassette tapes and all those eight tracks
In the garbage they all went
They're with the comic books,
The one's your mothers took
To have them now is heaven sent
Fatty foods and concert movies
You can't find them any more
The food has gotten thin
The movies....in the garbage bin
The good times aren't just like before
I keep my eyes open when I kiss you
I just have to see you near
Yours are closed,
that's the way it goes
I don't want to see you disappear
That's why I keep my eyes wide open
This may be a dream we're in
I have to see you there beside me
I could not live this life again
Where are the good old games of pinball
Not the pacman sort of games
You know the ones I mean
You played them as a teen
And you still know all their names
Whatever happened to the music?
The ones we loved are in the ground
Elvis, he was the King,
the great ones all could sing
There's just so few of them around
I keep my eyes open when I kiss you
I just have to see you near
Yours are closed, that's the way it goes
I don't want to see you disappear
That's why I keep my eyes wide open
This may be a dream we're in
I have to see you there beside me
I could not live this life again
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
You’ve tamed the beasts -
my lovely Lord -
the twisted troll
the chucky doll
the banshee keening on the marsh
You whipped me to the temple
(they say you were too harsh)
these cravings flame insatiable
a harpy gorging fatty flesh
i ****** the thorns into your eyes
and cackled as they bled:
behold God’s raving jest!
then found you loved me best.
like wild waves and wind
You stilled at Galilee
such savage ache and violent lust
You lull with tender potency
once more a child
quiet, wide-eyed
my head rests on
the Master’s knee
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Children of Louisiana,
Swept away and drowned,
In the river’s flood
And the ocean surge.
Never have recovered
Fully from the rain falling down,
And of a city that was purged.
Ignored by the government
And its fellow man,
Follow in a long line of sufferers
Since the melting, ice age glaciers
And even a tsunami in the North Sea
That wiped out Doggerland.
Dark Ages got darker as people ran
And Britain’s white cliffs were sheared.
Times got better and then got worse,
But the people carried on.
Now, the floods are a weekly thing,
A blip on a newscast,
As lost as the victims in a mess
Of other disasters,
Of wildfires, droughts and don’t
Even mention the quaking earth
Or volcanoes! We can’t take credit
For causing those!
Rich men in their castles,
Feasting and clapping each other
On their fatty backs,
Rolling in the spoils and spills
Of oil, on the flaming water of
The American plains.
Sheikhs in old Mesopotamia
Whine about oil pipelines,
Promised to them by President Cheney,
While the people starve.
Bloated oligarchs spread destruction
All over the world, from
The Congo to Chernobyl,
Melting icecaps and raising the sea,
Sinking islands where they don’t live,
Vacationing in the Maldives,
On special rates before those go under.
They won’t fix Miami, but let it sink,
But not before they plunder
The empty towers built on foolish dreams.
Of course, they’ll be the last to go,
Crammed into mansions up in the Alps,
Fighting with the European nobles
Over who gets a crumbling palace
Now sitting on the last ice floe.
A few American cousins round each other up
To catch the Dixie Flyer down to New Orleans,
Trying to hide from the polar vortex,
A dazzling case of ignorance and greed,
Only to find the tracks buried in the sea…
Down in the mud of the deep, brown sea.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC