"minestrone" poems
Ideally,
9am
I would wake up and weigh myself.
Hopefully have gone down a pound.
I would have a 16oz cup of mint tea, maybe green to boost my metabolic rate.
No sugar, of course.
Maybe a handful of grapes, 60.
10a
Breathe in the morning air and stretch, feel my ribs, my hip bones, my chest and collar bones.
10:30a
Put on my workout clothes and go for a morning run.
1,
2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 7 miles.
11:15a
Drink a big cup of water.
Take a cold shower, it burns calories quicker.
11:45a
Have lunch.
Lettuce, 5
Tomatoes, 22
Cucumber, 8
Dressing, 120
Cut that in half. 60.
95 calories.
12:30p
Go out with my friends.
They tell me I have a perfect figure and should try on clothes with them.
"No, I don't really want to buy anything. I will just watch you guys try things on."
I start to become anxious because it's almost time for my afternoon workout.
3:15p
I throw my items onto my floor and jump into my workout clothes.
I run in the scorching heat, feeling like my lungs are going to collapse, panting and wheezing.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 miles.
5p
Dinner.
Minestrone soup, 90
5:30p
Do some yoga stretching while watching some TV.
Drink diet coke and munch on sugar cubes.
8p
Final run of the day.
I must put on reflective gear because this is my longest run of the day and I will be out running late.
Okay. I got this. My legs feel weak and I am exhausted but I can do this. Slow pace. You got this.
1, 2, 3,
4, 5, 6
7, 8 miles
I collapse on my front lawn.
Panting, nearly feeling dead. But I did it.
Can't wait to do it all again tomorrow.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 4:22 PM UTC
MINESTRONE NIGHTS (on the summer of 2018)
Deep in the incubus of fantasy
As torrid painter makes its art
Rips a flash of an epiphany
A plaintive whisper of the heart
Hobgoblin summer full of slobber
Beget febrile reveries unkind
As dance character’s macabre
A three-ring circus in my mind
Each minestrone moldy night
When body craves boreal slumbers
Akin cat on hot tin roof I fight
Dank sog my sleep encumbers
Comes morn aft time eternal
Half charged at start of day
Abscond sodden dreams infernal
Tormenting orb is up to play
I was hot before I even knew
Never really did cool down
Too warm again, for morning dew
Vague slumber’d avec frown
Haven't slept for an age or eon
Cadaver tacky to the tepid touch
Arise, trepid to perspire, like peon
Labour in this broil is just too much
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
Flailing arms in minestrone soup,
grasping ropes in gloopy slop.
Slippery snakes in slippy hands;
bobbing bereft in beefy broth.
Croutons swirl - a death knell eddy
clumping in a bread bricked tomb.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
Sane?
I do not write,do not spend hours in the night wracking my brain,
everything is bled from veins,punctuated stains,
blood and blisters are my sisters.
I kissed my normal life farewell the day I read,
well I say read but more like being led into the 'Wasteland' and
whose fault was that?
some ****** cat or someone who wrote that,who knows?
not I.
I do not write,I trample down the alphabet,sweat out sentences to lengthen silences,create audiences,
Sane?
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
There are those who would trade in,
those,
who have not paid in
to the system.
In the valley of the shadow
where the mission bells ring hollow
and the hollow eyes of homeless men,
unaware of any system, which means
nothing more to them,than a cup of soup
that's handed round,they
seem to float above the ground,above the
mist which swallows dawn,
and some wonder,
who was born to give?
In the valley who can live?
Here,
where the bona fide have lived or died,have broken bread,
here,
among the living dead
where it is said,
the truth remains behind the walls of melancholy souls,
where happiness has dug out holes
and filled in sin
with tins of Campbell's minestrone soup.
It means nothing to me,
I stoop to pick up from the gutter, the stepped on cigarettes of men,who mutter curses underneath their breath,
here,
in the valley of the living death.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
When did you first start loving soup?
He considers this. “When i was around six.”
What was the first soup you fell in love with?
“Chicken noodle soup.” He says this as if it is blindingly obvious, and maybe it is.
Do you have any aspirations, soup wise?
“I have really wanted minestrone soup recently.”
What is that?
“It’s like really good.”
Oh.
“Yeah.”
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC