Tag Archives: poem about weight control

Gain and Loss

Gain and Loss

I’ve found I simply must inure
myself to things I must endure.
I’m overweight and immature
and told my writing is obscure
written in a dialect

that people find hard to detect.

I joined a gym, but now my trainer
says he cannot make it plainer
than to say I won’t lose weight
until I choose to fill my plate
with other food and smaller portions
to decrease present proportions.

I thought if I became a spinner
I’d become a weight-loss winner,
but in fact, no pounds I’m doffing—
only panting, wheezing, coughing.
But I didn’t waste the time.
At least I came up with this rhyme.

Now perhaps if you’d elect
to check my poem’s dialect,
you’d find that though my waist and thighs
have not decreased in girth or size,
perhaps I have lost one small thang.
Have I lost, perhaps, my Dakota twang?

Today’s prompt words are winner, dialect, coughing, proportion, trainer and obscure. Image by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash.

Weight Watcher Coup

Weight Watcher Coup

Why would my Weight Watchers meet in a restaurant
that’s a buffet where diners can eat all they want?
I guess it’s to practice resisting temptation,
but instead I am feeling severe perturbation.

Potatoes and gravy and chicken and peas
and desserts where a person can eat all they please
are simply not kosher when one should be dieting.
Instead of resisting, I find myself rioting.

I charged up to the counter and filled up my plate
with a pile of entrees I’m ashamed to relate.
Then muffins and crepes and strawberry pie
spilled over the sides and reached up to the sky.

Something about me was slightly off-kilter,
and I found I was eating without any filter.
If they’d pared down the menu, I’d have much less naughty,
and the folks at my table might have looked way less haughty.

My table mates clucked and looked sad and disgusted.
It was  clear at buffets I was not to be trusted.
Yet I noticed also some looks of regret
as they surveyed these goodies that they, too, could get

if only they had the nerve to break ranks:
scalloped potatoes and baked beans with franks,
chocolate eclairs and ice cream with hot fudge
all could be theirs with nobody to judge.

Yet what could it hurt, just one serving of gravy?
Just one piece of chicken, one biscuit and maybe
one serving of pudding without the whipped cream?
Would one scoop of vanilla really be extreme?

I saw resolve falter as one after one
they returned to the line for a muffin or bun,
chicken fried steak or some pork or some shrimp—
first with restraint, then ceasing to scrimp.

And that’s how I broke up our Weight Watcher’s bunch
after a single ill-fated lunch.
I’m not proud of my actions and the resolves I’ve killed,
but at least for the present I’m sufficiently filled!



Prompt words for the day are filter, naughty, meeting, pare and menu.

Futile Obsession

Isn’t much chocolate ice cream left, so he may as well polish it off.


Futile Obsession

Measure for measure, pound for pound,
on our figures we must expound.
What diet is in fashion today?
What inches lost? What do I weigh?
I must admit, I, too, obsess.
This subject causes much distress.
Once zippers work with ease, it’s true,
the first thing that I tend to do
is buy a quart of chocolate
ice cream and then devour the lot!

Hungry for more ice cream? Look here:
or here:

The DP prompt today is measure.


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.