In response to LWBUT’s post on the structure of matter—that it is mainly composed of empty space, here is my answer:
On the Nature of Matter: Atomic Dieting
When I worry about dieting in order to get thin,
I merely remind myself there’s less of me within!
My vegan concoction
Born-Again Dieter
My corpulent life style I now declare over.
I’ve taken an oath to only eat clover,
apples and carrots and barley and beans.
There will be less of me filling my jeans!
Instead of gorging, I’m going to be grazing.
I know the results will be just amazing.
So if you are willing and if you are able,
be careful, please, what you bring by my table.
Don’t pass near with ice cream or tiramisu
or I’m liable to accidentally waylay you
to survey your provender —those fruits of the cow—
just to “tsk tsk” your choices with holier than thou
dieting lingo in loud fierce bravado,
eschewing your pancakes or your gado gado.
The world should bow down to my menu of choice
and if it doesn’t, in my loudest voice
I’ll be sure that you know what you could have chosen
that’s macrobiotic. That’s never been frozen.
That’s full of good fiber, sans sugar and gluten.
My mouth will be flappin’, my horns will be tootin’.
For now I’ve decided to be dairy-free,
I’ve decided the whole world should diet with me!!!
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/27/rdp-thursday-corpulent/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/27/oath/
My talented singer/songwriter friend Christine Anfossie has just sent me the musical version of a poem I published earlier on my blog. Here, again, is that poem and below is her musical rendition! Love it.
Chocolate
You’re being good and I am not.
I broke my diet and got caught.
I’d have resisted if I could,
but chocolate cake just looked so good.
I bought a piece, not a whole cake.
I thought a meal of it I’d make.
But now you feel you must rebut
my obvious need for chocolate.
Will you soon go? It’s getting late,
and there’s this chocolate on my plate.
And though I know it’s impolite,
the chances that I’ll share are slight.
Of your smug lecture I’ve had enough
and now it’s my turn to be tough.
If you must fall from your high throne
and dine on cake, go buy your own!
Click on the URL below to hear the musical version of my poem. Thanks, Christine!
Cozy in My Skin
I seem to fit my life now, I’m cozy in my skin.
No matter how far out it goes, I always fit right in.
When I gain a pound or two, my skin grows out to hold it,
and when my skin begins to sag enough for me to fold it,
my flesh grows out to fill it in. It’s become symbiotic.
That state of growing me out to my skin’s become hypnotic.
When encountering fresh pastries, a fugue state might ensue.
A box of chocolates empties, though I only ate a few.
Whole pizzas vanish in thin air, to my midnight grief.
They left the box behind them, this culinary thief!
The thought of uninvited guests is not very nice.
I make much of the mystery. Could it be dogs or mice?
Perhaps once more the kittens have discovered a way in
and at night when the lights go out, pursue their lives of sin.
Feasting on my pizza. Gorging on my pies.
Surveying my milk chocolate with their greedy feline eyes.
I spin a pretty fantasy, but the truths of this tale
are revealed to me each morning as I step upon the scale.
The prompt word is cozy.
(You don’t dare enlarge these, do you? If you do have the courage of your convictions and wonderful resistance to temptation, enlarge all photos my clicking on any one.)
Commitment Issues
I breakfast on oatmeal and vile green tea.
Oats aids in digestion, the tea makes me pee
and helps me to swallow the Omega 3
that lowers blood pressure and lubes up my knee.
I do pool aerobics when the water’s not cold.
I open my mind so it doesn’t get old.
I don’t shoot up drugs or overdo liquor.
I try to eat food that is good for my ticker.
Broccoli, whole grains, jamaica, white beans
to lower my blood pressure by other means
than those dreaded pills that make me feel old
by sapping my energy, dulling my bold.
I can give up the salt and give up the nookie,
but please don’t deprive me of my evening cookie
or maybe a dozen or two, more or less.
In my frenzy, I sometimes lose count, I confess.
If I’m going to have meat, a potato’s a must.
Protein without carbs is simply unjust.
Dark chocolate’s allowed, but I fear just a bit,
and when it comes to chocolate, I never can quit.
Who wants to commit to a life with no sin?
No pasta, no cookies, no chocolate, no gin?
I try to be good but I’m still not the best,
for I cannot commit to a diet with no zest.
The prompt today was commit.
Lost: The Ones That (Fortunately) Got Away
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Out of Reach.” Write about the one X that got away — a person, an experience, a place you wanted to visit.
Love
The one or two who got away
I’ll not call back another day;
for, compared to all the rest,
it seems I got to keep the best!
Job
Though a poetry press was up my alley,
I never saw a single galley;
for the editor did not choose me
though I thought the job was meant to be.
I decided to go back to college
to get some other sort of knowledge.
Met the editor’s wife in my first class,
who professed her spouse to be an ass.
Art took the place of words for years,
as I happily changed gears;
for although the poetry press was hot,
it seems the editor was not!
Pounds
The pounds I lost over the years
have lived up to my greatest fears.
They decided they would all come back.
Have old home week. Rejoin the pack!
But I will not give up the fight
to try to curb my appetite.
I buy these capsules that are magic–
a spell against an outcome tragic.
Expensive? Yes. But worth the cost,
to keep at bay those pounds I lost!
Top and Bottom
I pass it on my way back home from everywhere I go,
and every time my car just seems to naturally slow
and even if I’ve recently finished a big meal,
and much as I vow this time I won’t turn the wheel,
still something else takes over and I turn into the street
where the ice cream vendor sells his icy sweet.
I do not have to leave my car, just pull up to his booth some
and drive away in minutes with a treat that’s sweet and toothsome.
Vanilla on the bottom and strawberry on the top–
he has my order ready as I come to a full stop.
And since I always buy it when I’m on my way back home,
I eat all the ice cream, but I save my dogs the cone.
Though I think it’s my secret, I’m not fooling anyone;
for though they only see me when my ice creaming is done,
there is evidence of strawberry spilled down the front of me
as well as evidence behind that everyone can see.
This ice cream is delicious–never too bland or cloying,
yet I fear its overuse is interfering with my “boying.”
For though a gal might overlook the fact a guy is tubby,
I’ve yet to find the man who likes a woman who’s too chubby.
That’s why it’s been two months since my addiction I have kicked,
and in that time nary an ice cream have I ever licked.
So if you see that I’ve resumed this nasty ice cream habit,
you have my permission to intervene and grab it.
For I can wipe the Ice cream off both my blouse and lips,
but it’s not easily removed from down there on my hips
where you can see remains of it as I come and go.
Some deposited above, the rest seen far below.
In the absence of will power, I could use an ice cream cop
lest I wear vanilla on my bottom and strawberry on my top!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Breakdown.” Tell us about a habit you’d like to break.
I wear darkness like a second skin.
It is the cloak that hides my midnight sin
as I make my way, barefooted, through my house.
Silent, lest I wake my dogs or spouse.
This way I know most well and so I bridge
in seconds that long gap between my bed and fridge.
Pull open that snug door and hear the plop
first of the rubber gasket, then the top
of the carton that has been my goal.
Spoon out its richness without benefit of bowl.
This darkness both of me and of the night
something the fridge dispenses with its light
as tears of joy and guilt and pleasure stream
down cheeks distended with this chocolate dream.
For minutes, I stand caught up in the hold
of this trio of pleasures: chocolate, creaminess and cold.
Until some motion jolts me from their grip.
I feel its pressure at my shoulder and my hip.
My spouse rolls over, shattering my dream
of midnight tryst with frozen cream.
Its chocolate savor is one that I try to keep
as I roll over once again to seek my sleep.
Whatever course my next dream serves, I’ll try it.
For I’ve already been one long day on this diet!
The Prompt: Trio No. 3—Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call).
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 