"waistlines" poems
perfunctory actions
zombie habits
sheep normalcy
blindly following the cud chewers
lemmings fall to their deaths
slowly
genetically engineered crops
dusted with pharmaceutical poison
laced with irradiated petroleum pesticides
fed to the babies of the poor –
wealthy voyeurs eagerly tune-in
as the impoverished masses rot
for viewing pleasure
leisurely strolling across manicured lawns
those in power scoff at the growing spectacle
unaware that the cake is stale
and the masses smell blood –
hurriedly, accountants shuffle tax rates
mix those with interest credit
season it with mortgage fees
and serve it on wall street
place mats
taking stock of stock market gains
gamblers do double gainers off high rises
adding to the flesh being consumed by the under class
under classed –
underclassmen, underpaid, stretch under ware elastic
as waistlines expand with the debt ceiling
both symbolizing the slow decline of
the American dream
screaming into the sewer
fewer eyes look back as disease dulls the iris
loss of the inner shine
glowing reflection of living organisms
fading as the day
slips into the blue-black –
night falls on a nation of imbeciles
brain dead patients
broken by depression and weight-loss scams
hearts crying out for care
personal and compassionate
instead are met with sterile robotics
and sanitary “C” students dressed in white
fearful of lawsuits
and spiders
they prescribe to symptoms
without knowing insurance number 87319A23-S1
is a human being, just like them
also living in fear
of the same establishment –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Desire and dreams,
lofty clouds casting distant shadows.
Momentary shades of calm,
convert to blinding flame.
-
Torpid question marks rearrange
exclamation points.
Hues of commas and periods,
vibrant adjectives and adverbs.
Grunts and growls of wildered existence.
Perpetual noise.
Such picturesque nonsense.
-
Belief of charging knights
and moonwalks
decay to disappointed waistlines
shaky hands,
confused with living.
What beautiful strangeness,
the prospect of becoming.
-
Do we chase the shadows or create our own;
flourish roots
with ardent fingers?
Imagine with ferocity
enriching curiosity?
-
Dig deep, my child, and know you're real.
Or don't
We are substance and shadow,
words of florescence.
Or won't
Disheartened by cruelty
unfamiliar reflections,
resigned to naked truth.
Or can't
Do we accept,
or will we refuse?
Inhaling why,
exhaling when.
-
Blooming breaths
Horizons anew
Warmth of sun,
serenity of shade.
Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 12:19 PM UTC
to write a poem without haste
to sew your name into my pillowcase
foolish girls should walk home alone
sleeping in beds too clean to call their own
i’d swoon and dance on the curb where you wait
your head between my wrists, i’ve loved you for days
neon signs paint us purple as we make ****** bets
your words too shallow to pay off your debts
denim waistlines straddling a sad boy in the day
black lace on the floor arranged for the love we made
fall asleep in the passengers seat until noon
never eager to leave me, always leaving too soon
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
The wicked, they come
In a cerulean dream.
The cellar door opened,
With an opposable thumb.
A disposable past
And no ties in the future,
They live within ******
And die through their caste.
Oh, Ford! They cry out
For all of their blessings.
Oh, Ford! I cry too,
To drown silent doubt.
“Take me to your room.”
She breathes, voice coppered,
She conducts me. Unzips in
One movement, fit to bloom.
“Lenina,” I call,
Eyes blinded by her colour.
In a world so built and grey,
I live only in her sprawl.
We finish, my heart descending.
She nicks her lips to my ear,
Then reminds me thus;
“Ending is better than mending.”
To bed we fall; once, twice, thrice.
Each time I cling longer,
Wrap her in bedsheets,
‘Till she feels our ****** splice.
With no use, she’s gone
To some other embrace.
Some cold shouldered support,
Then to the salon.
She’ll tell all to her friends,
A gaggle of giggles.
And he’ll speak of her,
Like some means to an end.
“Pneumatic,” is she,
He’ll say with no stutter,
“You should have her,” he’ll offer,
Like the fruit from a tree.
No, like meat, like meat,
She is passed around.
Like animals, the Alphas
Bruise, **** and maltreat.
Community. Snake-like,
It moves as if one.
Each person a muscle,
Not separate but a part.
Identity. It blurs,
‘Till I forget the use
Of my name. Push it out,
Repeat in my dreams.
Stability. It comes,
A two-gramme holiday.
A superficial guffaw
That veneers my face.
Oh, Soma! Come take me,
From where I don’t belong.
To where passions are birthed
Far from the hatchery.
To where feelings are heartfelt,
Not found in a pill.
Where waistlines aren’t throttled
By a Malthusian belt.
A savage I am,
In my pursuit for more.
When I long for freedom,
And not another half-gramme.
Gaia, she held us in her womb.
From fish to ape, she mothered too.
Now all that’s left is this soulless gloom
Where man is born only to consume.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
A silence of mind
and vinegar wine,
the shopping precinct
a disembowelled mine.
Bombs stain the mountains
to build a hotel,
for tourists to buy
a wish from the well.
A wish for comfort
and one for new love,
in marital bliss
and skyscapes above.
Escape from their God
of tablets and time,
of substitute taste
for tonic and lime.
Escape from their want
of waistlines and faith,
relief from the haunt
of some childhood wraith.
Travel sets its price
to find your own face,
to find there's no cost,
in finding your place.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
She draws black wings to her eyes
in a green-wash reflection, light
cascading through the shutters
of the ceiling fan, whilst red lips
rehearse a smile for her lover.
He will hold her like a wallet as
they pay their way through town.
It has been months since she felt
human touch, mammalian warmth,
or whispers exchanged across the pillow.
His eyes are on the screen as she
undresses and then falls beneath
his weight on the mattress. An empty
thud, a hollow sound, as his night is
given purpose, and then falls to sleep again.
She lies awake and wonders where
her night went. There was laughter
across the table, drinks stirred with straws,
and UFOs painting pictures in the sky.
The sea roared in the distance like
a passing train, and so there must be
an escape to a far-off land for her
to start again. Start again beyond
waistlines, over coastlines, and all ties
to employment. To start again
with a half-naked lover, who will
watch as the wind kicks up her hair;
as her skin freckles once more
in the sun.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Excuse me while I insert
This logical probe through the frontal lobe
Of my emotional epicenter
This is a latency test....
Ratings of my muse
Are falling like waistlines at the mall
From the best of rhymes
Tacitly turned on wheels of subtlety,
To the jest of all time,
A lyrical mockumentary,
Starring Miss Pellings
And her first cousin Cliche
Excuse me while I excise
The phobias, limits and lies
Polluting my paradigm of choice,
Diluting the core of my creativity,
Muting the "i" in my voice
This latency test is now complete...
Welcome to my new Literary Bar
Raised beyond the average line;
The stars of our poetic destiny await....
~ P
(#latencytest)
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 6:51 AM UTC
To be petite
thin
dainty
shy
Why does the concept of femininity revolve around being less than a man?
When you keep us worried about our waistlines
you never have to fear us
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
I see no industry but can hear the buzzing of the Captains in decline,
the sign reads,
'work in progress'
I guess that sign is old.
No one told me that the rich would rule the land while bands of beggars roam with hands outstretched,
I guess I would have thought that sounded too far fetched,like some fairy tale being played out in a studio,like three goats gruff being stuffed into the *** and the troll got all the sauce,
of course we must be satisfied by crumbs that fall from fat men and their fatter waistlines but their were times when all this wasn't so.
Equality you know was not a dream although it seems so now,the fatted calf was carved up long ago and served by servants to the masters,greedy ********
Now the factories have gone,heavy industry that once shone British might and steelworks blinding in the night have disappeared,our future has been mortgaged and our unborn sons are deep in debt,for this we get a bill each year and each year we owe more and more,the door is shut,tomorrow if it comes will find each one of us picking up more and more breadcrumbs which once we fed to garden birds and no words that could be written down or said aloud can make of me an English man feel proud of that.
Can any one of you please put a penny in this old mans hat?
The captains very deftly have packed their trunks and they've all left me in the ruins of today,no job,no pay,tomorrow came and I found out to late that tomorrow is today.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
Wheeling our way around the continent
On an eight wheeled whistlestop tour
We sample cities with bite-sized sightings
But our bites are big because it's our choice to make
Walking in wonder until even wheelchair weakens
And our legs are limp from exploratory ache
And our bites are big because also
We share the same love of sampling food
So we get a daily dose of deliciousness
Healing our hunger with what locals bake
Too much temptation here to watch waistlines
We want to try every traditional taste
And our bites are bigger come tea time
Once we've crossed country again by day
From breakfast we watch out the window
And wander new place on the way
Miles mounting high on the dashboard
On our mission for mobility's sake
And so we've had a big bite of Europe
Big bite and plenty bites each day
These bites are teasing our tastebuds
We want more world at a later stage
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
I am not supposed
To like waistlines
A dip and fall of a curve
The delicate wind of a collarbone
The shadows of long lashes on high cheekbones
The swirl and snap of a skirt
The inclines and snowslopes of silent skin
Deep creases in secret places
But I do.
And it's the best terror
I've felt in a long time.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
Oh Christmas comes but once a year
Waistlines swell with good food and beer
Mince pies, chocolates, nibbles and nuts
Watch vintage TV, with no 'ifs' and no 'buts'
Wrapping paper deal, 2 rolls for a pound
Sneaky wrapping later, shhh, don't make a sound
Christmas tree needed you know what to do
Get a last minute deal down at Rhyl B & Q
Got the presents sorted, a job that so hard
That sinking feeling from a last minute card
A phone call and text is never too much
A welcome long chat just to keep in touch
Christmas day approaching are all the jobs done?
Eat drink and be merry is the way it should run
But often a snooze can be the best part
That can end with a grunt, a snore or a ****
Turkey all gone but there are sandwiches still
Three helpings of trifle can make you quite ill
Then cheese and fine biscuits with coffee and cake
Might slow you right down on the After Eights
So off to the sofa where you sit if you dare
Waistbands all loosened on the reclining chair
A tea or a beer shows who's still in the race
While a quick 40 winks puts a smile on your face
Well there it was done and soon off to bed
You sleep like a log having been so well fed
In the night you are gasping you must have a drink
You make it to the bathroom and drink from the sink
The next day is hellish, there are wrappers gallore
With crisps, cheese and crackers ground into the floor
Red wine in glasses fermenting and mulled
You turn and retreat with your senses quite dulled
So no breakfast needed just a whole lot of quiet
After indulging on what was a plain liquid diet
A quick clean around is a job for us males
As your partner heads out for the Boxing day sales!
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC
What is our reality?
Bulging waistlines and burger joints?
Sweatshops and religious fights?
Our poisoned food system and corporate profits?
Our jailrate is as high as Mao and Stalin.
These revolving doors and corruptions cannot blind us anymore.
We, the people, deserve to know.
People who hate, depreciate.
The fact is, who can we trust?
Certainly not our bankers,
but what about the Chief Executive Officers,
full of evil and greed?
What about Rana Plaza and Tazreen?
Burning bodies to ash.
And they can get away with
burning bodies?
There was the Holocaust
and then...
there was now.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Sunshine does not inspire me. Broken lighting. Broken teeth. An empty shell used for armor and reflection counting the numbers on the circle shapes, ticking away, promising things we cannot comprehend. There's a lesson to be learned and we will inevitably learn nothing. Smooth and salty guidelines wrap my fingers around your jawline. i have seen bliss. I have seen suffering. I choose nothing. I rise above, tapping my fingernails on the closed doors. Begging for an outlet. Hoping for a way out. breathing in the noxious dust that has been settling for years. Attention to the tamed beast: this leash has unwound and all threads have been torn. Round the square and look to the west; a nest intended to be built. So high on filth -- our hands are numb. Flower petals scatter across this walkway, covering the bread crumbs along with any dreams you've left behind. WAS IT ALL IN YOUR MIND? Retract. Repel. I am shallow. Like these puddles i use to stare at my reflection. devouring lessons just to spit **** right back at these textbooks. I have the upper hand, where it can meet your lower jaw. an outstanding applause for such a dull audience. one shot, two shot for some common sense. I am ready to meet your leader! I am ready to stand apart! Breathe new electrons, ******* them into my lungs. They are greedy. The morning fog knows me better than any human being and the thunderstorm that lives inside of me won't stop humming. Along to the bass line. perfect rhythm, sentences separated. I feel the best when I feel nothing. Taking time out, like middle of the second half....losing, always losing. Always stronger. Bruised waistlines and scraped knees. Your eyes remind me of the best of me. Falling forward into invisible arms that reach out from behind blue curtains. Raised fists and clenched arms - opposing needs of a dying youth. I knew the truth. I tore it apart, brain cell by brain cell. Less to forget. More to be sure. I have these broken wings that serve no purpose but to be adored and envied and misconstrued.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
The fillings in love's teeth
House frank words
That love's tongue wraps in plain packaging and seals with simple curiosity.
Love does not treat these things
As gifts given by a god.
Rather, love imagines them as everyday praises given to a god,
Recognizing their simple ness and crafting them into strings of orations to be worn around wrists and waistlines in case you feel that you are not beautiful.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
women are not beautiful.
they are magnetic, majestic, magnificent,
they are more than doll bodies and ****** eyes,
they are more than what they were born with.
women are not beautiful.
they are effervescent, enigmatic and evergreen,
they are more than paper-thin waistlines and cherry lips,
they are more than what the eyes can look upon.
women are not beautiful.
they are powerful, passionate, and puissant,
they are more than barbie figures and pink hemlines,
they are not beautiful simply because they are more than that.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
Let's get lost in the grace of forgetting
past mistakes and errors of our foolish youths
and let us live amid the worldly hope
gained from exchanging sentences of solitude
for paragraphs of insight into better days
Let's abandon our halcyon memories along with
our sordid ones eschewing their credits and excesses
and let us eat chocolate cake now while we still
have teeth in our mouths exchanging bites of confection
for those trim waistlines we never really had
Let's play in the fountains like kids without
cares about having kids of our own or owning gardens
and let us plant gardens on fire escapes and in alleys
growing herbs from the soot and exchanging harvests
for wisdom and a proclivity for jigsaw puzzle completion
Let's debate the merits of interstellar politics
without the fuss or nuance of believing we were ever right
and let us pray for our righteous *******
earned by sweat and salt after exchanging fear of rejection
for a fuzzy blanket and a burger on a snowy day
Let's give up on fixing blighted communities drowning
in the pity of their own sacrosanct infirmities
and let us beat our own swords into ploughshares to sell
online if anyone will buy them exchanging broken guns
for cold hard cash that binds better than pectin
Let's sleep all day if we feel like it until
we've slept away all our regrets and fears
and let us awake whenever we **** well please to eat
baconfat and sip bourbon exchanging all the calories
for the lives we've always wanted but never had
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
I come from a family of big women
Hips far too wide, tummies far too plump
Spirits way too large to fit into a normal size body.
Or at least that's what we've told ourselves for generations
We heard the comments, seen the stares
Skipped meals
Spent hours in the bathroom erasing any remnants of food from our system when we do eat.
My great grandmother took pride in her weight
She always felt that eating well could solve any heartache.
And most of the time it did.
A woman expanding not contracting
A woman with a beautiful soul and the biggest heart I have ever seen.
My grandmother spent years in the kitchen
Trailing after her mother learning her ways
Picking up old habits her mother would leave behind,
Like spending hours doing good for others,
Wearing sloppy clothes just because you no longer care,
Worrying about things that weren’t artificial,
And loving yourself for who you are.
She learned that the only way to a mans heart for a big woman is through his stomach.
She learned how to cook like a professional and married a thin man at the age of 15.
Was pregnant at sixteen,
And she began to grow out,
Making space in her body for the new life it contained,
She would find soon enough that as soon as you're big you become Harder to love.
And when he left her, she began shrinking,
Slowly trying to let the space around her be consumed by lovers.
My mother, after years of bullying.
Threw away the habits passed down from one generation to the next like second hand clothing and taught me her own.
Diet pills and counting calories are the only way to get a good man.
We find ourselves weaning even when the moon is waxing
Waistlines shrinking ever so slowly
And I know I have a long way to go before I am lovable.
We’ve learned to love the superficial,
Waking up at four AM just to have curled hair, makeup flawlessly applied, clothes always ironed.
We learned that our worth is determined by our waistline not our IQ’s
Our compassion,
Our spirits,
Or our hearts.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
The treasure chest
Her ((Piece De Resistance))
French skills of perseverance
She was a hollow crown of jewels
Not the zircon bright yellow
The darker to see you my dear
near my pillow
That death by chocolate how
she craved those sweets
Graveyard shift current events
Those men dark Batman suits
water skiing and internet surfing
That bat eye batmobile showdown
missile
Cells and locks to open the
gate and keys
A hell of a wish never on
Sunday to ring her bell the Siren
She made their hair home
Sunday dark gravy
Lips were too thin and skully
Was a cycle her lowdown
Shot glass don't touch my Philly
So gravely razor suit and a shave
Her mouth Tornado
But the vivacious Viking
Crypt look hellhole
The gathering dead again
Santa dead pole
couldn't stop bickering
No-one cared to notice her
dreadlocks
"The Cryptocurrency"
what urgency
She was drawn into the
Arsenic and Lace
Viva Las Vegas roll the dice
Cryptic engraved cellar
Like the maestro was playing
his serenade
She-devil Pillar
catching her death of cold
Feeling high winding staircase
Wearing her gown ripped lowdown
Being blown off the town lace
Oh! Fiddlestick with the
***** of light
Breaking free from husbands sight
The rise of the current storms
heads up she drinks Grand
dead Marnier
Took over such a restraint
This wasn't black and gray
spray paint
What a fiercest most recent
ancient current events
Reptilian and it was the
family of witches and covens
Words engraved so cryptically
She was wearing her
snakeskin bag signature
The body of dead sea such rapture
The fire feet stepping over seashells
Takes the hell out of Sahara snakes
She got a backdraft
Black widow of waistlines
13 inches Spyder Graphics
Those shifters and heretics
He was the Rocky face
The shorelines those laugh-lines
Sad clown dark eyes scratched
The cat feline
Her addiction was the guylines
Crypt crooked cop fines
Another startup kit
The dark edgy women her
legs just fit
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
Is it writ In stone
How to act
How to live
How to love
Or passion give
Made a of me a foolish thing
How react
You shagrin
Empty vessel
If not made
To mad
To
Seed
To stupor
Need
So a wink
The slightest nod
Those of pretense
Those of god
Fools aplenty
At I chuckle
While there waistlines ever buckle
For resource
I find a cure
See the mirror
Face demure
Waist
Away
Waist aplenty
Waste today
So
On forward
Fast and play
Days from now
A day like this
A day of ****
A day of ****
Or this of bliss
Or ambergris
Take
A chance
Look as i
Cheap is easy
Fight
Or die,
Of a fat **** heart attack
At the worst possible moment
Like on the John, or anywhere between, our father
And yes I do.
And u swell up to Zeppelin proportions
And explode like some sort of uninvited Mexican party favor.
And the crap ***** just quit and dropped the **** mic.
God I hate everyone.
Poetry
ya.
And free speech
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
When the third tide rolled out the rocks began to wobble.
While the pebbles trickled, stumbled to the water;
While the seashells clenched their posture in the sand;
While the grass before the dunes reached in desperation for the ocean’s hand;
The rocks began to wobble.
The rocks couldn’t remember the last time they’d been loose.
Since both sides of the promise had been kept,
It had been years since they’d wept.
But now, again, they found themselves loose.
The rocks watched as the fourth tide crept to their waistlines,
And remembered to touch all the comforts they’d learned underwater.
To their surprise the comforts hadn’t moved an inch,
And this gave them strength.
When their eyes would open, they’d remember that
Everything looks better when it’s blue.
When their mouths would open, they’d remember that
They have crossed the ocean a thousand times.
In this, their strength, they found a steadiness
That had been there long before they,
And that would surely forget their names.
When the fifth tide rolled out the rocks again felt the loose,
And closed their eyes until they were again underwater.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 1:00 AM UTC
The concept of aging hits with distaste
The wisdom that stumps life's thirst
A nod to having done it all
As we mantra unfulfilled dreams
Selling dead stars to kids
Revisiting old fears, my debt for words,
My remodeling of how i approach life.... Less enthusiasm
I used to dread today
Grabbing this bleak space
Inviting hairs to my face
Charging mirrors for confidence
Drumming my chest with consolation
I Dreamt like stars do
I used to run with springs for knees
Hopping old pine fences
Sliding down guard rails
Thumping turfs
As my body thuds the floor
Laughter grips my lungs
Back when love was forever
so was heartbreaks
Sunrises were beautiful
Grasshoppers were wondrous
Poodles were guilty pleasures
The world was screaming paint
We Projected puppies and ponies out of clouds
something out of nothing
We made Castles out of sand
Tainted bodies with dusty palms
The alter was a fracture of heaven
And the priest was God
Pale skin and iced veins with a numb heart
Just as Gods would act
Looking for love,
May have drank for love
We danced for love
We fought for love
Love sometimes had a boyfriend
Love said no a lot
Retching sounds and **** stains
Pants worn below waistlines
Cigarettes for the first time
talks of ladies with lighter skin
Female connoisseurs
No more cartoons at 4.....
We! are! men! now!
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC