Fillyjonk, Friday Fluff

Friday Fluff: Bad to Verse

It’s National Poetry Month, which I almost always forget about until it’s almost over. SM’s the poetry expert here, with an MFA in poeting, but I’ve got a Master’s in English and a deep-seated and ferocious love of good poetry. Many is the intense conversation we’ve had about how to interpret “The Waste Land,” or how our heads exploded at the last line of “Archaic Torso of Apollo.” We even have inside jokes about things like Inner Resources. I actually don’t know Kate’s feelings on poetry, but she is an overeducated dorko too so I have to assume they are positive. This is a poem-friendly space is what I’m saying.

But there are way too many amazing, amazing poems and way too much copyright trolling on the internet for me to post every poem I want you guys to read. Instead, I’d like to mine the rich vein of doggerel that runs through this community, particularly from champion poetasters like A Sarah and MissPrism. Nothing makes me happier than when a bit of rhyme shows up in the comments, so consider this a challenge to produce some deathless lyric, or at very least some silly stanzas, on the subject of dieting or body image or something completely unrelated to this blog. Need some inspiration? Check out Miss Conduct’s clerihew contest from last year (I got third place!) or our very own haiku Friday Fluff. Not a versifier? That’s okay — it’s still National Blank Verse Blog Week, so give us your best unrhymed shot.

To start you off, here is the great Ogden Nash with “Curl Up and Diet.” We wouldn’t have written it — a little too much thin-bashing — but the man is a towering versemaster if not an ahead-of-his-time paragon of feminist body-positivity.

Some ladies smoke too much and some ladies drink too much and some ladies pray too much,
But all ladies think that they weigh too much.
They may be as slender as a sylph or a dryad,
But just let them get on the scales and they embark on a doleful jeremiad:
No matter how low the figure the needle happens to touch,
They always claim it is at least five pounds to much;
To the world she may appear slinky and feline,
But she inspects herself in the mirror and cries, Oh, I look like a sea lion.
Yes, she tells you she is growing into the shape of a sea cow or manatee,
And if you say No, my dear, she says you are just lying to make her feel better, and if you say Yes, my dear, you injure her vanity.
Once upon a time there was a girl more beautiful and witty and charming than tongue can tell,
And she is now a dangerous raving maniac in a padded cell,
And the first indication her friends and relatives had that she was mentally overwrought
Was one day when she said, I weigh a hundred and twenty-seven, which is exactly what I ought.
Oh, often I am haunted
By the thought that somebody might someday discover a diet that would let ladies reduce just as much as they wanted,
Because I wonder if there is a woman in the world strong-minded enough to shed ten pounds or twenty,
And say There now, that’s plenty;
And I fear me one ten-pound loss would only arouse the craving for another,
So it wouldn’t do any good for ladies to get their ambition and look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother,
Because, having accomplished this with ease,
They would next want to look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother in the final stages of some obscure disease,
And the more success you have the more you want to get of it,
So then their goal would be to look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother’s ghost, or rather not the ghost itself, which is fairly solid, but a silhouette of it,
So I think it is very nice for ladies to be lithe and lissome.
But not so much so that you cut yourself if you happen to embrace or kissome.

168 thoughts on “Friday Fluff: Bad to Verse”

  1. Oh, my fat
    how at times you make me lol
    Then what shaking comes
    as a bowl of Jello
    (but not the sugar-free kind,
    the taste is weird to me)

    Note: There is a reason why I’m a statistician, not a versificator.

  2. That’s awesome. I am not a poet nor am I quite witty enough to stand amongst this fine crowd so I’ll just sit back and watch the brilliance roll in as it will.

  3. This is a silly little poem I wrote about aging awhile back. Not entirely about FA, but I thought I’d throw it out here :)

    Middle Age

    Gray at the temples
    Lightly peppered throughout
    Covered by highlights
    Though I have no doubts

    Chin hairs plucked daily
    First black and now gray
    Wrinkly, a bit scaly
    Slather on Oil of Olay

    The creaking and popping
    Now my morning song
    Aching and swelling
    This HAS to be wrong!

    Eyesight that once
    Sparkled twinkling and bright
    Now faded and squince
    Especially at night

    The spring in my step
    Now mottled with rust
    My bounce is all gone
    ‘Cept the one in my gut!

    Middle Age is upon me
    An old lady I see
    Though when I’m not looking
    Inside, I’m 16!

  4. There once was a mother of three
    Who read “Shapely Prose” eagerly
    (Tho the baby was crying;
    The wash needed drying).
    “Here’s to fat girls and verse that is free!”

  5. The first time I eat
    cake without shame, I wonder
    is this what’s so bad?

    Cats on my fat
    find only spaces for kneading
    and no room for shame

  6. Kate Harding says: world, yes, I’m fat
    And people are so shocked at that
    For fatties have rabies
    And eat donuts of babies
    And lay there for people to poke at.

  7. We are all under pressure so severe
    If you think you’re alright – come here
    I’ll flip through a magazine with you
    Or sit you down in front of a TV
    It’s for your own good, I’m not trying to make you blue
    Besides, to be a real woman you have to be miserable with me
    If you think plastic surgery is too extreme
    There plenty of other things that will hardly make you scream
    Your hair color is wrong
    I think you should probably dye it
    But the message that is most strong
    is: you are too fat – DIET!

    I’ve been a lurker forever but this tickled me into commenting.
    Hello all! I love your community!
    ~ Cygnet

  8. A fat lady got on a plane
    And all of the world went insane
    They said: go to hell
    In a cave you must dwell
    Lest some fuckin’ asshole complains

  9. “Go nuts”?

    Cream buns and donuts and fruitcake with no nuts so good you could go nuts?

  10. This is just to say
    that I ate the baby donuts in the box
    that you were probably saving for Sunday breakfast
    Forgive me
    They were delicious
    All baby-powdery and soft

  11. He said: Don’t be fat in my face!
    ‘Cause your fat is all up in my space!
    You should stop eating donuts
    You fatties are ho-sluts
    Now, can we move to third base?

  12. *trying not to point out that the last line in a haiku is like the last couplet in a (crap, which form, shakespearean?) sonnet* (down! bad critic! it’s SUPPOSED to be bad poetry!)

    If I weren’t trying to stave off horrible headacheland, I’d try to come up with my own.

    rhyme for donuts: butts/buts guts cuts ….actually quite easy.

    at least you’re not trying to rhyme with orange.

  13. Has anyone yet read the book Fat Poets Speak? I’m curious to hear more about it.

    Here’s an Amazon link:

  14. Yeah, masculine rhymes for “donuts” is easy, feminine rhymes less so.

    I am loving cereselle’s WCW parody theme…

  15. rhyme for donuts: butts/buts guts cuts ….actually quite easy.

    No, but with a limerick the scansion is important. The stress is DO-nuts. So you can’t have a one-syllable word that rhymes with ‘nuts”, it won’t sound right.

  16. “Forgive me, I simply do not know what I am doing.”

    I actually started designing a hollyhocks cross-stitch with that poem. Maybe someday I’ll have the time to stitch it up. It’s one of my favorite things ever written. :)

    I was an English major too. I can keep this up all day.

  17. FJ, someone in one of my classes wrote a 3 page paper on “So much depends…” We were all astounded.

    *tries desperately to remember more WCW without resorting to google…*

  18. cereselle, “Love Song” is my favorite but I don’t know if it lends itself to SP parody.

    Who shall hear of us
    in the time to come?
    Let him say there was
    a munching of donuts
    out in the open.

    Yeah, it loses something.

  19. I really fucking hate

    There’s an awesomely easy way to never have anyone link you to it again.

  20. Okay—I don’t write songs lyrics, as a rule; I usually just mess with well-known songs, resulting in stuff like ‘Twas the Cat Before Christmas and so on. But the last verse of this has been sitting around in my scribble notebook and humming in my ear for a while, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to write it out, for better or worse.

    I’m hearing it as a country-blues-folk kind of thing—which means I don’t have to get the meter exactly right—and maybe sung by a deep-voiced guy with a sense of humor.

    And now I’m going to submit this &^$% thing before I start editing it again . . . okay now . . . no, wait . . . now . . .

    We were all sittin’ in a bar
    On one of those kinds of nights
    When no one could even find the juice
    To start up any fights.

    So we sat there with our beers, alone,
    In that quiet kind of mood
    Where a man, he gets to thinking
    and maybe starts to brood.

    But Tom, he started grinnin’
    So we asked him what was up.
    He shook his head and chuckled,
    And said, “Well, boys, not a lot.”

    “My job went south a month ago,
    My dog, she died right after.
    My Mother-in-law moved in with us
    And dried up all the laughter.

    “My youngest son needs braces
    My daughter, she runs wild
    And if it weren’t for Planned Parenthood
    I’d probably have my first grandchild.

    “Things sure aren’t the way they were
    And my wife, well, she got fat.
    But that’s the thing that makes me smile
    ‘Cause I kind of like her like that.

  21. Okay, this is something I wrote previously, but it does touch on food, and yesterday was Talk Like Shakespeare day. So:

    J: Describe then unto me the dens of sin
    Where smok’st thou of the herb that sends thy soul
    To heights untrammeled by despair and woe
    And leaves thy belly clam’ring for its due.

    V: What wouldst thou hear?

    J: That herb is not forbid?

    V: ‘Tis not forbid, yet those who seek its use
    May not to inns and taverns thus resort,
    Unless that place be marked with a sign
    That such is welcome; then all may partake.
    ‘Tis bought, ‘tis sold, ‘tis carried here to there,
    The watch hath no allowance thee to stop.

    J: Such places fain would I see, were I there,
    Fair Amsterdam, thy pleasures know no end!

    V: ‘Twould serve thy fancies well, I’ll mark, and yet
    The more strange are those things which seem the same,
    But some slight change disturbs their seeming thus,
    And renders foreign all that thou doth see.

    J: I prithee, speak on it.

    V: I shall. Observe,
    Not water, but good beer may be purchased
    At any theatre thou care’st to ‘tend,
    And not mere dipperfuls; marry, no,
    But in good goblets of Venetian glass.
    Likewise at vendors’ stalls may thou imbibe.
    And quarter-pound pasties, those offerings
    That innkeepers may serve, be not so named.

    J: What name, then, callest those?

    V: Royale with Cheese.

    J: A wondrous name, I ween. And the Big Mac?

    V: That name doth stay the same, though language change,
    And costers of France call it Le Big Mac.

    J: And of the Whopper’s name?

    V: I know it not;
    But Hollanders may dine on good French fries,
    And with them not a drop of ketchup eat.
    But mayonnaise be served up withal.

    J: Thou liest, whoreson knave!

    V: Not so, I pledge!
    Their tastes to mayonnaise are so deeply run
    That nature shudders for profligacy.

    J: ‘Tis passing strange, that such furnishings be.

  22. cereselle, my jaw is hanging open. Holy shit that is the greatest thing ever. Marry, thy contribution hath justified the entire thread.

    That reminds me of something my students wrote when I assigned them to do a parody of the St. Crispin’s Day speech. Let me see if I can remember it…

    If y’all don’t wanna be here, get to steppin’
    Just leave if you can’t hold a weapon
    If we come back alive we be straight chillin’
    And holla at the dude named Crispin.
    Wear your scars with pride
    Pour out a forty for the homies that died
    Tell all y’all’s kids ’bout what goes down today
    We be like brothers yo that’s what I say
    It’s all good if the crimson flow
    We gon’ be like kings, yo

  23. cereselle,

    I shared your “Pulp-ed Storye” with my husband and almost had oj coming out of his nose.

    You are verily awesome.

  24. Two roads diverged in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Wood
    and sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveller, long I stood
    and looked down one as far as I could
    until I spied a pile of donuts;

    Then took the other, much less fair,
    because I want to Eat Right And Exercise
    and because I saw the ooga-booga obesity crisis;
    but the weight of the travellers there
    had worn them really about the same,

    And both that morning equally lay
    in leaves no feet had trodden with sugar.
    Oh, I kept the first for commercials about chocolate!
    Yet knowing how chocolate leads to diabetes and eternal misery,
    I doubted if I should ever come back.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in the chocolate factory, and I —
    I took the one with no donuts,
    and now I am a Paragon of Maidenly Virtue.

  25. Egad, that Berryman poem! The moment you said the words ‘Inner Resources,’ I was like, ‘Every to confess you’re bored means you don’t have them!’

    I was hoping that was the reference you were making. For some reason that poem sticks with me. ;o9

  26. Oh man, I had heard some of those Kenneth Koch ones, but not the hollyhocks one. I keep giggling, that is great.

    I think Sweet Machine,
    Fillyjonk, and Kate Harding
    are fucking awesome.

    Doughnuts and babies
    both can be so delicious.
    Together at last

    Where are my doughnuts?
    Why aren’t they gluten-free?
    Oh, just eat babies.

    I have to teach soon
    We are learning about fish
    And how to eat them.

  27. Fat Girl’s Love Song (with apologies to Syvia Plath – although I doubt she cares much, at this point)

    I shut my eyes and my fat falls away.
    I lift my lids and it is back again.
    (I just eat baby donuts all the day.)

    When people see me, they all run away,
    As if fat might appear beneath their skin.
    I shut my eyes and my fat falls away.

    I know that I should care how much I weigh.
    Eating, for me, it seems it is a sin.
    (I just eat baby donuts all the day.)

    I won’t hide – I will dance, and sing, and play
    And look away from faces that are grim.
    I shut my eyes and my fat falls away.
    (I just eat baby donuts all the day.)

  28. Straight Outta Norton. Brilliant. :D

    Hee, I’m glad everyone liked my Pulp Shakespeare! This is the thread it came from. Lots of good stuff there.

    I always appreciate a friendly sexing, m. leblanc. :)

  29. Part the first:

    Let us go, then, on touching thighs
    Spreading out across the unfriendly skies
    Like a buffet spread out on a table
    Let us go, through half-desserts are eat
    Through muttering at the next seat
    Of restless nights of tummy growls
    Dreams of sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:
    Of family reunions with tedious argument,
    Society’s insidious intent
    Oh, do not ask “what size is it?”
    Let us go and eat some Cheez-Its!

  30. A young lady who dined on Lean Cuisine
    was fainting daily at the copy machine.
    Then read up on Kate,*
    said “Don’t worry ’bout weight!
    Besides the whole dieting gig’s a smoke screen.”

    The lady discovered that with enough fuel
    She could work, play, and go back to school,
    Could finish her degree
    And write philosophy
    And become quite the shark at pool.

    * And others just as great!

  31. Oh, do not ask “what size is it?”
    Let us go and eat some Cheez-Its!

    My cup runneth over.

  32. Part the second:

    In the room the women come and stay
    Obsessed with how much they weigh.

    The yellow cheese that rubs its back on burger buns
    The yellow bell pepper in my salad
    Both on my tongue on any evening
    Lingered upon the mouth that strains
    Unlike fake food that tastes like the soot that falls from chimneys,
    Slipped through the self-loathing, made a sudden leap
    And seeing that I’m still all right,
    Went to bed full, and fell asleep.

  33. Part the third:

    And indeed there will be a time
    For the yellow cake that birthday girls eat
    Frosting, apples, carrots, glaze;
    There will be a time, there will be a time,
    To eat those things—the ones you *want* to eat
    There will be time to think and create
    And time for all the words of weight loss adds
    That lift and drop the question on your plate;
    Time for you and time for me
    All while taking toast and tea.

    In the room the women come and stay
    Obsessed with how much they weigh

  34. Some say the world will end in muffins,
    Some say in cake.
    From what I know of belly-stuffins,
    We all could get obese on muffins.
    But if we say “For heaven’s sake,
    my life is more than what I eat,”
    I think that for enjoyment cake
    Is yummy, sweet,
    And no mistake.

  35. Part the fourth:

    And indeed there will be time
    To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
    Time to work out on the stairs,
    With a fat jiggling in the glare—
    [They will say: “How can she do it—she’s not thin!”]
    My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
    My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
    [They will say: “How’s she so hot, she’s not thin!”]
    Do I dare
    Disturb the universe?
    In a minute there is time
    For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

    For I have known them all already, known them all:—
    Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
    I have measured out my dinner with coffee spoons;
    I know the voices crying, hating at us all
    Beneath the music from a farther room.
    So how should I presume?

  36. Part the last (as the rest of the poem would need very, very little revision to be on topic)

    I grow bold … I grow bold …
    I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
    Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
    I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
    I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

    They sing because of how much I love me.

    I have seen them riding fatty waves of glee
    Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
    Eating chocolate white and black.
    We have lingered in the chambers of SP
    By feminists wreathed with wrap dresses red and brown 130
    Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

  37. Edwin Morgan, sorry! I had to do it! And Miz H, love! LOVE!

    There were never baby donuts
    like the ones we shared
    that spring day
    sitting in our cubicles
    inclining toward the monitor
    then the balmy weather
    admiring our crazy icons
    (like people, like muppets)
    Your prose like sunshine
    and my finger on refresh
    while we bit deep
    powdered sugar on the keyboard
    glistening like snow in the fluorescent office light
    not hurrying the main post feast
    for one to come
    the comments like bubbles of champagne

    On my screen
    such beautiful cleverness
    write more, dear commenters and bloggers,
    let me love you

    250 comments all brilliant
    refuge from the outside
    and the summer swimsuit panic
    one hour for lunch

    then let’s mock the trolls.

  38. There was a girl from Nantucket,
    All the boys used to make fun of her bucket.
    Until one day
    She found FA,
    And told all those asshats to fuck it.

  39. “You are old, Mother Ceres,” the young woman said,
    “And your body’s become very fat.
    And yet you wear stylish and fashionable clothes;
    Are you quite sure that you should do that?”

    “In my youth,” Mother Ceres replied with a grin,
    “I attempted to hide all in black.
    But muumuus and tents don’t do nothing for me,
    So I feel no remorse for their lack!”

    “You are old,” said the girl, “and I cannot believe
    That you dance in a bellydance troupe.
    Don’t you know you are making a show of yourself,
    When you ought to be home sipping soup?”

    “In my youth,” said the woman, “I shuddered and hid,
    Thinking no one would want to see me.
    But now that I’m old, I don’t care for their scorn,
    So I dance and I feel wild and free!”

    “You are old,” said the girl, “but you sing awfully loud,
    When most women are terribly quiet.
    Are you certain your voice hasn’t got far too big?
    Don’t you think it should go on a diet?”

    “In my youth,” said the woman, “I whispered aloud,
    When something I needed to say.
    Now when I feel like it, I’ll sing and shout,
    And defy anyone to say nay!”

    “You are old,” said the girl, “and you take so much space,
    That you ought to feel shame for such bulk.
    Look here, I’ve a membership for Jenny Craig!
    You can excise your inner She-Hulk!”

    “I have given more time,” said the old woman now,
    “Than your questions and nagging deserve.
    I have lived long and happy with what I have got,
    So damn your ‘concern’ and your nerve!”

  40. WAAAAH!!! I’m so excited!! My spouse and I played hookie this morning and drove out to Amish country, so this is the first I’m seeing this. Okay, you all are brilliant. I’m going to set to work on my poem right now, and then I’ll post it, and then I’ll tell you all how brilliant you are again.

  41. Alas, I was not born under a rhyming planet, so I cannot contribute much. However my day has been kinda crappy so far and this is cheering me up immensely.

    not to mention my inner language geek is virtually flailing and rolling around in all the words in ecstasy. ;)


  42. Some parenting work I have done, a haiku

    My children now joke
    That killing puppies is bad,
    Not eating ice cream

  43. Oh, my God, I have huge internet crushes on Miz H and Cereselle.

    So, I am not so good with the parody on account of not being funny. But I did just recently finish a (serious) poem on an FA-adjacent topic, and am planning to perform it in competition tomorrow night. It’s at my livejournal, here:

  44. J: Thou liest, whoreson knave!

    V: Not so, I pledge!
    Their tastes to mayonnaise are so deeply run
    That nature shudders for profligacy.

    This has made my whole day. Maybe my whole week.

  45. Linz, that was great, and I never say that about poetry if I don’t mean it.

    ETA: No, it was really REALLY great.

  46. More on that: The part about the lover – I had to read it a few times before I could move on. I don’t even know how to describe the emotion that it provoked. It was just so sadly familiar.

  47. This is fantabulistically merveilleux!! I don’t have anything to contribute just now, but I have enjoyed this so very much. Kudos to all.

  48. Yay poetry! I lurk around here all the time (and comment when I’m not feeling too shy.) I work for the Academy, proprietors of and launchers (many years ago now) of National Poetry Month. Thanks for the shout out to NPM and link to our site.

    We’re doing a project this year called Free Verse, where people send in pictures of poetry in the wild ( I’m not a poet of any kind, but I do like to bake so I thought you dudes might like to see my contribution:
    Poetry Cake
    Poetry cake! That’s right, the fat chick made cake.

    Thus ends my shameless self promotion. Nice to see my job and the thing I do when I should be doing my job but am not coincide.

  49. PS: apologies if talking about work stuff in a fun thread is jerky or too self-promotional. Just got excited about the crossover.

  50. *giggle* These are awesome.

    To the tune of “Oklahoma:”

    Baaaaaaaaaaaby Donuts, scary fatties eat them without pause!
    Scarfing left and right,
    E’vry donut in sight,
    They are global warming’s prim’ry cause!

    They eat them with fanfare and fuss,
    And they eat them just to tempt us!
    And when we screeeeeeeeam, Hey!
    You’re eating fattening creeeeeeeeam! They!
    Keep telling us that
    We, too may eat Baby Doooooonuts!
    Baby Donuts! No way!

    (Fatty response)
    Baaaaaaaaaaaby Donuts, creamy goodness extraordinaire!
    Fluffly, sweet and light,
    With every tasty bite,
    Fuck the folks who sit around and stare!

    We know we may eat what we like,
    ‘thout fear, guilt or related spite!
    And when we yellllllllll, Hey!
    Now get out of my waaaaaaaa-AY!
    We’re only saying
    We love you, dear Baby Doooooonuts!
    Baby Donuts! Oh, yay!

  51. You all are so awesome! I wasn’t born under a rhyming planet either, so I’m just reading, but this thread is making my day. I can’t wait to come back later and see new posts!

  52. Cream buns and donuts and fruitcake with no nuts
    Meat pies and french fries and breaded chick-en thighs
    Ice cream and custard and hot onion rings
    These are a few of my favourite things

    When the dog bites
    When the bee stings
    When I’m feeling sad
    I just eat a ton of my favourite things
    So I deserve to feel bad.

  53. omgoddess Linz that was BEAUTIFUL. Miz H and Cereselle, ummm, YES.
    this is also not really funny but I don’t know how to link…

    (For Young Ladies in Times of Confusion)

    Love the perfect animal of your body.
    Love her lush flanks and round belly, love
    The pale mistakes you wrought upon her skin, love
    All written therein, her scars and signs, the lines
    She writes when you’re asleep.
    Love her stillness and strange grace
    Love her brave soles, and her face
    That’s yours, and not yours.
    Love her gait, her feline sway, her purr
    the heft of hips and swing of tail that’s almost there,
    the rush of blood, her stalwart heart,
    Her joints that don’t yet creak much;
    Love each part of her, even the ones you don’t.
    (Love her fickle ankles, her blurred eyes
    love her fair and dimpled thighs, love how she won’t –
    though you fought hard – betray her softness there.
    Love her in the morning, with that hair).
    Love her supple sinew and strong bone,
    Her lovely voice, her jiggle, her giggle, her moan –
    Rejoice in her mysterious mind
    That breathes, that moves, that bleeds and bloods
    your limbs, her limbs, your heartways’ floods and tides.

    Love her youth, while it abides, and know
    If lucky,
    You will live its fading; so:
    Then love her as she softens and she slows,
    Love her as she aches and pains, as she grows grey,
    And saggy, wrinkled, old, as the bag of her skin
    Empties itself of you, while you
    If lucky
    Still feel bright as you do now, as live; the thread
    In the fine eye of now’s needle, as apt
    to bless her head, her heart, her eyes, her hands, to say:

    Oh thank you, love, for carrying me so long;
    Forgive me for my cruelty when young, I hope
    I’ve served you well, as you did me; I knew
    such pleasure in your muscle and your skin, your nose and ears,
    Your lips and lips, your tongue, that brain of yours!
    I am not mad that you grew old.
    I am not mad that you grew ill
    I am not mad that soon, your breath will fail, and I
    Will let you go as best I can, since now
    I’m lighter than I ever was, and need to go
    Where you can’t walk.
    It may be a relief for both of us now, that.
    Farewell, strange lovely cat!
    May you feed trees and grow in grass.
    Let it be said: “Do you recall? She had a lovely ass,
    And oh, they loved each other well, beloveds, all in all,
    they loved each other day by day, and well.”

  54. Or, if you will

    This is just to say
    I have smashed
    the scale
    that was in
    the bathroom

    and which
    you were probably
    to stand on for the 47th time today

    Forgive me
    it was pissing me off
    so judgmental
    and so cold

  55. My original attempt read thusly:

    This is just to say
    I have drunk
    the diet shakes
    that were in
    the icebox

    and which
    you were probably
    for breakfast

    How could you?
    they were horrible
    so gritty
    and so cold

  56. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
    diets, starving hysterical naked
    (because no one makes plus sizes)
    dragging themselves to Weight Watchers meetings at dawn looking for a protein fix,
    empty-bellied hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
    confections to the strawberry macachino in the
    insanity of weight.

  57. A woman said to the fatosphere
    “Sir I am fat!”
    “However,” replied the fatosphere,
    “The fact has not created in me
    A sense of consternation.”

  58. Whose donuts these are I think I know
    His ass is at the checkout though
    He will not see me stopping here
    To make my mouth fill up with dough.

    My grocery cart must think it queer
    To stop without a Starbucks near
    Between the milk and frozen steaks
    The busiest Safeway of the year.

    The cashier gives his head a shake
    To ask if there is some mistake
    The only other sound’s the beep
    Of Easy Mac and Frosted Flakes.

    The donuts are lovely, Boston Cream,
    But I have coupons to redeem
    And errands to run before I dream
    And errands to run before I dream.

  59. Resume

    Diets pain you;
    Lap bands clamp;
    Alli stains you;
    Hunger causes cramps.
    Meth’s not lawful;
    Weight Watchers cheat;
    Celery tastes awful;
    You might as well eat.

  60. I forgot to say how much I love “Belly-stuffins.” This is soooo going to be part of me and Mr. H’s schmaltzy baby cooing language.

  61. Oh man, this is GREAT… I’ve been lurking here for a while, but I love the poetry…

    I agree, Linz’ Dorothy Parker parody may be one of the best things I’ve ever read.

  62. “She rolls.”

    No? Okay.

    @m. leblanc —

    KH, FJ, and SM’s babe donuts
    taste quite literary, and we go nuts
    then they bake down the trolls
    so to serve them on rolls
    and to say to them sweetly, “Go blow ****”

    *hides face*

  63. A nice lady called Fatty Fat Fatty
    Was thought by the world to be batty
    When she said “No more diets–
    You really should try it!”
    And then sat on the folks who were catty!

  64. Woowhoo! I’m the hundredth commenter.
    Oh no – triple numbers! I’m the highest numbered biggest commenter here!
    I shall hold my tongue and doggerel forevermore,
    And disappear!

    (Hey, does anyone know the one by Stevie smith that goes:

    “This Englishwoman is so refined
    She has no bosom and no behind.”

    ? :-P )

  65. Wallace Stevens loved his nougat,
    sadly mourned his secret eating–
    let us send our spectral love
    to the late large red man reading–

  66. Peggynature has totally made my day with “The only other sound’s the beep / Of Easy Mac and Frosted Flakes.” Also, I meant to say earlier, Marste’s “Baby Donuts” song is BRILLIANT (I secretly kind of love Oklahoma).

    Thank you so much, Fillyjonk and others who liked the poem on my lj. I am super nervous about performing it–it’s SO personal and I’m afraid people won’t get it, or won’t take it seriously, or whatever. My friends have managed to convince me that if I’m this scared of it I need to do it, but still. Quaking in my boots, a little, so it’s wonderful to get positive feedback!

    Also, I wanted to do a “One Perfect Rose” thing with “One Baby Donut,” but gave up because of a tragic lack of rhymes. If anyone can make that work, I will give you the internet I just received from littlem. (Yes, re-gifting is rude, but I promise I’ve barely even used it!)

  67. When in disgrace with fortune and BMIs
    I heavily beweep my obese state
    And trouble the neighbours with my rippling thighs
    And curse myself and my genetic fate

    Wishing me like to one more thin in frame
    Sized like her, with her will-power possessed
    Desiring to eat, but feeling shame
    With calories and weight-point-sets obsessed,

    Yet in these thoughts myself always despising
    Haply I see your blog and then my state
    Like to a baby doughnut gently rising
    Unto my lips and there my hunger sate

    For thy sweet writing causes me to grin
    And care not if I ever end up thin

  68. I almost don’t want to put this up here because I’m more of a punster and rhyme-player-with than a true poet, and some of what y’all have written is just amazing. But bravely I charge ahead:


    Fasting pains you;
    Jenny’s expensive;
    Alli stains you;
    Spurlock’s offensive.

    Points are annoying;
    Boot camp’s elite;
    Slim-Fast’s cloying;
    You might as well eat.

  69. Dude, there’s room in this world for many Dorothy Parker tributes. I love yours! Especially the Slim-Fast line.

    And totally lolling my fat over the Alli thing. Great minds, etc.

  70. Linz, thank you for being so gracious. I’m still mortified, but I’ll try not to dwell on it. The gaffe reminds me of something from a book from the 80s called _Family Words_, which was basically a dictionary of inside jokes collected from families. One family used a “Mr. Smat” for someone who tries to be a smartypants and it backfires. Apparently their son’s class, for parent teacher night, had all made name signs for their respective desks. This child, not content to put just his name, decided to put “Mr. Smart” instead. But he misspelled it.

  71. Had we but world enough, and time,
    This fatness, Lady, were no crime.
    We would not think to ever weigh
    Our bodies every single day.
    Thou in an Indian restaurant
    Shoulds’t curry find; and I would haunt
    A pizza place nearby. I would
    Have no shame in my love of food;
    and you should, if you please, refuse
    yourself to torture and abuse.
    My vegetable love should grow;
    My love for carbs and meat, also.
    A hundred meals should go to praise
    The chef, and her way with a glaze;
    Two hundred to enjoy the wine,
    And thirty thousand just to dine;
    An age at least, to know Desert
    And then, another slice can’t hurt.
    For, lady, you deserve this state
    Nor would I sup at lower rate.

    But at my back I always hear
    The Diet Monger hurrying near;
    And yonder all before us lie
    Deserts devoid of pecan pie.
    Thy jiggle shall no more be found,
    Nor, on thy metal stove, shall sound
    My bubbling pot. Then you shall eat
    That long preserv’d low-calorie “treat”,
    And your fair chocolate turn to dust,
    And I’ll eat rice-cakes, if I must.
    The scale’s a fine and private choice,
    But none, I think, do there rejoice.

    Now, therefore, while the donut frost
    Sit on thy lip like powered gloss,
    And while thy willing grill transpires
    At every steak with instant fires,
    Now, let us sport us while we may –
    Please pass the chocolate soufflé.
    Rather at once our food devour
    Than languish in starvation’s power.
    Let us roll all our nuts, and all
    Our dried fruit, up into one ball,
    Then eat it – you don’t need a knife.
    This is the way to spend a life!
    Thus, though we cannot make our body
    Thin, yet we will make her free.

  72. Vogon Ode to a Gall Bladder

    Oh tiny organ filled with bile
    We hardly knew each other
    though you tried to get my attention

    You started aching
    And waving your ducts all up in my face
    But I was too busy to notice.

    We never really had a chance.

    I bid you farewell,
    bladder large as a brick
    And probably as heavy.

    I have a feeling medical science
    will put you in a book.
    But your fame is not for me.

    All I have to remember you by is a photo,
    wallet sized, glossy, and gruesome.
    Have a good after-life.

  73. Wow, if I hadn’t posted so early in the thread, I never would put anything out there. Everyone else has been doing such an awesome job.

  74. I’ll try to atone, but if it turns out someone’s already said this one despite my more-careful research I’ll have to leave and come back with another ID:

    Night Thought of a Shapeling Suffering Insomnia on the Internet

    The world is very fat.
    There’s nothing wrong with that.

  75. I was going to be a smart ass and put some Anglo-Saxon style alliterative verse up, but I’m having a lack of brain today. Everyone is so clever.

  76. Kimberly O., that’s my favorite sonnet, too! (I know, 29 is my favorite, so original. At least I didn’t say 116.)

  77. I bite my doughnut ’round and ’round
    it will not last the night
    But ah my foes and oh my friends
    the doughnut brings delight!

  78. Holy shit, y’all. I’ve laughed and cried and laughed again all through out this thread, and you ALL are brilliant.

    I will have to use Linz’s “You might as well eat” as a … I don’t know what.


    Bumper Sticker?

    Tattoo on my ass?

  79. Aaaand buttercup pulls out the heavy guns.

    Does anyone else ever wonder what would happen if somebody sicced the Klingons on the Vogons?

    “IIIIIIIIINNN this corner …”

  80. Littlem: I happen to think the Vogons would survive. I mean, they can make people’s brains explode with poetry. Pfft. All the Klingons got is…well…yeah…

    Marie Antoinette
    In propaganda’s take
    Called to the world
    ‘Let them eat cake!’
    What was a privilege
    Is now scorned
    I happen to say fuck it
    And always go back for more

    C: Something silly and stupid. xD Dig it~

  81. It is nice to see some one else appreciate my favorite poet, he had something to say about just about everything and a way of mangeling words that is unsurpassed.

  82. This thread is killing me!

    More Dorothy Parker love:

    Oh, weight is dependent upon what you eat,
    And of course everyone can be skinny;
    And diets are things that just can’t be beat;
    And I am a Band-Aid named Penny.

  83. When you sass
    (Tiddly Pom)
    On my fat ass
    (Tiddly Pom)
    It’s lack of class
    (Tiddly Pom)
    You’re showing

    And nobody knows
    (Tiddly Pom)
    How tired we grow
    (Tiddly Pom)
    How tired we grow
    (Tiddly Pom)
    Of knowing

    That it’s just myth
    (Tiddly Pom)
    And prejudice
    (Tiddly Pom)
    And prejudice
    (Tiddly Pom)
    You’re blowing

  84. This thread is classic. This and the one with mondegreens should be… I dunno, bronzed or something.

    Throws roses at entire thread.

  85. Derision: An Ode

    Well! Since the Blog is challenging, which holds
    The wondrous notion of fat acceptance,
    This site, so tranquil now, will not go hence
    Unroused by trolls, that ply a shittier trade
    Than those which fill yon queue, those lazy flakes,
    With their dull thoughtless crap, that moans and rakes
    Upon the old pretend concern dispute;
    Who better far were mute.
    For lo! The douchebag wants a fight!
    And overspread with hatred bright,
    (With brimming hatred bright o’erspread
    But grammar, as with spelling, shun hir head)
    Hir comments are displayed for all, resounding
    With spewing-out of cruel and mindless blast.
    And oh! They bring so gleeful a douchehounding,
    And the hot scorn-shower driving loud and fast.
    Those jeers which oft have raised me, whilst they mock,
    And give the douche a knock,
    Might now perhaps their wonted treatment give,
    Might startle those dull jerks, and help me laugh and live!

  86. Buttercup, you should go to DragonCon this year-last year there was a Vogon Slam Poetry Contest and you would do well. I will include some of my own later.

    My favorite so far though is Cerelle’s take on “You are Old, Father William.” I do so love me some Alice! Hmm..maybe I should do a take on the whole “Eat me!” bit from the book.

    My mind is very happy.

  87. Vogon Baby Donuts

    Oh! Baby Donuts-
    You are torpid, gluttonious things
    with splatterings of spreckled white splendor that gets stuck to my lip
    and then I have to wipe it off
    before my captain (O! my wondiferous, so honorous, captain!) comes to collect the forms
    with which I have inadvertently
    (Oh! the horror! the supremest of horrors!) left smatterings of smudgins of flatudinous gluttonus sugar smackums over and into the margins of the most important (Oh! my sacred! and Oh! my lovely!) FORM B.

  88. Your mention of The Waste Land got me wondering–is April National Poetry Month because it features in the first lines of two major works of poetry? It’s the cruellest month, yes, but it’s also the one whose shoures soote perce the droghte of March (to the roote, no less!) and it’s when folk longen to goon on pilgrimages.

  89. You guys are all so awesome. This is so much fun. I’m still groggy from painkillers but …

    Stopping By an Easter Basket on an April Afternoon

    Whose candy is this? I think I know.
    He’s not home from work yet, though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To eat his chocolates before I go.

    My hungry tum does growl so queer
    To go without a snacky near
    Between lunchtime and dinner’s bake
    The hungriest time of day, I fear.

    I give my belt a loosening shake
    And check to see what I can take.
    The only other choice is peeps
    Of mallow marsh and sugary cake.

    The chocolates lovely, dark and sweet,
    And I have hunger pangs to beat,
    And hours to go before I eat,
    And hours to go before I eat.

    (with apologies to Robert Frost AND Peggynature. :)

  90. I am truely amazed. I love what all of you have produced, love-me prose, hail-me verse, assail-me lyric, Shakes’-me trips of the pentongue. This, for I am only a man, is an experience delightful. This is my second effort into this mail; the first (and part of a second) was lost to in-expertise and a computer that was primed by an unforgiving soul. A quickly penned seven verses will…MUST…wait ’till I find that this is processed as truely a completed message. Again, thank you. Bless you…keep you from the many-mini-baby-growf”t nuts available on the growf’t nut market.

  91. Have I trundled into an ocean rare with talent that I assume is fare, for perusal and introspect as well as josteling the tare? Oh please forgive my spelling, for in the haste of my telling I’ve lost the ken of wrong word and right and driven for the word of might to loan my heart to those who care of love and lust and hate and care. Behold my thoughts that keep me at wake, for I carte these words for all to take.

    A Rehash Of Baby Doughnuts
    I am amazed with the taste
    Of poetries of every caste,
    No, not just smatterings of just,
    But baby doughnuts filled with lust.

    Oh yes the pattern seems a woman’s song
    that thrives ‘on molecules of a shaggy Kong
    In jungle garb that hairy beast
    could growl-up a cheezy, burger feast.

    Oh, I repeat that I delight
    In the feats of any poetic sight
    That’s prop[elled in Shakes’-sardonic right,
    But lingers lightly, smoothly as insight.

    Though I’m a man, I truely see
    An emphasis ‘on your femininity.
    You may be fat and fluffy…true,
    But the heart within’s what makes words true.

    Oh sure if I could pose as skinny
    And wear size 2 like a skeletal ninny,
    I wouldn’t eat many, mini, baby doughnuts,
    Even if many wouldn’t make me grow guts.

    Oh my, it’s so hard for me to stop
    I can’t find the time to ever top
    Reading your heafty, reedy stuff
    That I had forgotten some could puff.

    And read, and write, and force
    A notion, for a select of course
    Like us few, though gender frozen,
    Feel not bad, such words pour fourth from few so chosen.

  92. OMG y’all, I am out of town so I just caught up on this thread all at once. You have done me so proud. I am overawed.

    muz, A++++ for incorporating “My vegetable love should grow” so smoothly.

  93. This Be The (New) Verse

    They fuck you up, your mum and dad,
    They may not mean to, but they do.
    They put you on the diets they had,
    And find some new ones, just for you.

    But they were plumped up in their turn
    By fools with old-style cakes and pies,
    Who fed them butter freshly churned
    And cried, “Now watch those thunder thighs!”

    Skinny legs, big tits, and tan:
    No recipe for perfect health.
    Love your body ’cause you can;
    Don’t starve away your perfect self.

  94. Holy mother of fuck, muz, I am loving your work. The first one especially.

    You are all full of magical. Thank you!

  95. I’ll just keep posting silly haikus, then, since I cannot possibly measure up to the awesomeness of this thread!

    I had some breakfast
    But I’m still a bit hungry.
    But I think I’ll wait.

    Today’s lunch in town
    is with a bunch of Shapelings.
    I’m totally stoked.

    Last night I bought a
    frog for my awesome fishtank.
    He sits on the ground.

  96. Oh, Sweet Machine, I love the Philip Larkin one. Squee! You’ve inspired me to boot: Philip Larkin made me think of Howard Nemerov (Nemerov’s style is compared to Larkin’s) and that made me think of other poet laureates which made me think of Billy Collins which made me write an FA homage to this poem.


    All I would do, those drawn-out days
    is sit in my kitchen counting Winning Points (TM)
    for which there was no win to be had
    and, last time I checked, no point.

    I could have switched to Core (TM) instead,
    Eating only the foods Weight Watcher anoints.
    But the lack of taste, and the pain in my core
    would only remind me of Winning Points (TM)

    This year it’s Momentum (TM) — a plan that’s “new!”
    Last year it was 1-2-3 Success (TM).
    Both of them suck, and neither one’s new,
    So I’ll spend the money on a new dress.

    Fuck anyone whom this disappoints
    I said, as I stopped counting Winning Points (TM).

  97. Yeats on intuitive eating, anyone?

    I will arise and go now, and go to KFC,
    And sit and eat my lunch upon the plaza in the shade;
    A side of beans I’ll have there, and maybe a cup of tea,
    And calories shall not make me afraid.

    On Tuesday I had pizza, with cheese all dripping slow,
    Dripping off the rack in the oven in long and glistening strings;
    Last night I made a salad with grilled radicchio,
    And now I really fancy spicy wings.

    I will arise and go now, for in the office they
    All moan about the perils of the foods that they adore,
    And talk of Points all day, with faces wan and grey,
    And I don’t think I can stand it any more.

  98. *de-lurk*
    I loved that one, Emerald, since it’s one of the few poems being parodied here that I can actually remember in its entirety.

    I wander’d hungry as a bear
    That hibernates ‘neath vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a pair,
    Of restaurants that featured grills;
    I stopped and stared, tried to decide,
    If I dared to go inside.

    But feeling shamed (as I should)
    For snacking on a Milky Way,
    I decided that I would be good:
    I’d had too many calories that day
    Looking with sad backward glance,
    I gave the ‘skinny me’ a chance.

    The female coworkers that then I had,
    All on Weight Watchers, praised me.
    A woman could not but be sad,
    In such a brainwashed company:
    I starved — and counted — finally thought
    Little health to me a diet brought.

    Now oft, when on my couch I lie
    In lazy baby-donut mood,
    I snack upon some cherry pie
    Before the bliss of fried seafood;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    To hell with diets and treadmills.

  99. Love, love, love Ogden Nash. Actually his is the only poetry I can read.

    I like to say I have a swimmer’s build…a manatee swims quite well.

  100. Okay, I’m a day late:

    Gaily bedight,
    A lady knight
    In sunshine and in shadow
    Had journeyed long,
    Singing a song
    In search of El Dorado

    “Grow thin, grow small”
    The Shadows call
    “And make yourself a shadow
    To waste away,
    Is the only way
    For a maid to find El Dorado.”

    And soon her strength,
    failed her at length
    And o’er her heart a shadow
    From fasting weak,
    She scarce could speak
    Yet saw no El Dorado

    The maiden cried
    She said “You lied”
    And cursed the hateful shadow
    That bade her starve,
    Her flesh to carve
    To find her El Dorado

    (I wanted to give this a happy ending, but couldn’t come up with anything that quite fit. Besides, it’s Poe, and Edgar Allen was the original emo, so it can just stay depressing.)

  101. I went to the doctor and the doctor said,
    Eat less and exercise, perhaps cut out bread.
    A smart girl like you knows it’s calories in and out,
    You can lose the weight, you just need to go without.

    Stop eating chocolate, you can reduce your bust,
    Start to walk daily, your routine will soon adjust.
    Cut out the soft drinks and always take the stairs,
    Buy some tiny pants, or even a couple of pairs.

    Motivation is all that you require to succeed,
    For fried foods and doughnuts there really is no need,
    You’ll be so much healthier without these nasty foods,
    And not only that, you’ll be knocking back the dudes.

    At first I sat there meekly as the doctor spoke,
    Tears in my pharynx did begin to choke,
    I started to nod my head and wish for smaller clothes,
    But then I remembered all the girls from Shapely Prose.

    You know what, doctor, I began to say,
    I am healthy and happy, it doesn’t matter what I weigh.
    Your ideas are outdated and to disorder lead,
    Your weight loss advice I neither want nor need.

    I’ll eat what I like, in the quantities I choose,
    I’ll exercise for fun, not in order to lose.
    I’ll live my life for me, not for random men,
    And I’ll thank you never to mention it again.

  102. the donut saw volcanista.
    volcanista saw the donut.
    volcanista was bulgy.
    the bulge was the donut.


    (okay, i’m feeling a little silly tonight. for some reason this is really making me laugh, waaay too much.)

  103. Sincerest apologies to the psalmist — and I hope no one finds this blasphemous

    The Lord to me a shepherd is
    want therefor shall not I
    he in my folds of tender flesh
    doth make me down to lie

    He leads me to the water still,
    restores my soul doth he
    for though I am the deathly fat
    spares not his grace for me

    In valley of death’s shade, although
    I walk, I fear no ill
    I eat, drink, sleep, hope, love and live
    while fat? ’tis a riddle

    He hath for me a table spread
    in presence of my foes
    he does with oil anoint my head
    My cup, it overflows*

    Goodness and mercy my days all
    I hope will follow me
    and in the Lord’s house dwell I shall
    Fat or not, as days shall be

    * I really couldn’t improve on this one. It’s good to be reminded of while reading the comments on the NY Times Well Blog.

  104. My diet years amounted more than ten
    And much I learned of hatred in that time;
    Of self, and food, and women, and of men
    Of exercise and sex and life and clime.
    Yet when I think on what of mine was lost
    Which came to one decade and prob’ly more
    I think it frightening I paid such a cost
    And yet did gain so little on the score;
    That quitting diets changed my weight but naught
    But gained me sanity in such degree;
    That now I laugh at dieting as sport
    And scorn to change my weight to suit decree.
    I wear the same size now as five years past;
    The change is slower, having quit the fast.

    (“Shakespeare dead? Poor old Bill! Why I never knew the poor fellow was ill!” – and if someone hooks up a cable to his tomb, I’m sure I’d be powering Stratford for a while).

  105. Here are two I recently posted on my blog for National Poetry Month:


    Here it comes lurching,
    in wreck and ruin–
    yet another poem
    featuring Woman versus Body.
    We are legion,
    us would-be murderers.

    Maybe we’re born with such urges:
    comets of breath bewildered
    by the sudden weight of form–
    salt and heart, liver and tongue.
    Perhaps we never got over
    the stark shock of spines and teeth,
    eyelids and ovaries;
    it was all too much at once.

    Perhaps it’s a bloodlust
    we’re conditioned to:
    oh the pleasure laced with shame
    as we’re taught to take our licks and like it:
    Kiss the knife. Pare off all excess.
    Curl in like an apple peel.
    Now cut
    every last yearning
    cell of the holy from your core.
    Good girl
    razor hipped. Clavicle forward
    show us
    your breakables.

    I’ve got a drawer full of tricks
    for banishing a body,
    poisons made of chastity and charity,
    vials of pestilence and virtue,
    and I have drank them each,
    night by empty night.
    But it’s been said, and I believe it,
    that the body is a damn hard thing to kill.

    It’s been said that anorexics
    only seek enlightenment. It’s been said:
    you can heal your life.
    It’s all been said–every single goddamned thing
    about the whole sad story.
    There’s nothing left to do
    but lift
    vial to mouth, and drink.

    -Kristen McHenry

    And on a lighter note:


    What they all said would happen finally did
    on the day Ms. Morry let herself go.
    She whirled down to breakfast in her robe–
    trim Ms. Morry who had always forbid
    herself sweets, either corn-based or dough,
    devoured a sticky roll the size of a globe

    and washed it down with a champagne toast,
    then made the most shocking announcement:
    From now on, she would no longer diet,
    keep tight the taut, and stay flat as a ghost.
    she’d stop weigh-ins and state her renouncement
    of restraint and restriction, and riot

    loud in the streets; her corpulent belly
    breaching the top her Brooks Brothers slacks.
    she would refuse to be miserably wed
    to the gym; for her true love was jelly.
    She’d eat out straight out of bags salt-laden snacks,
    and move only for cake and well-buttered bread.

    She would finally, truly let herself go!
    With that she went waddling across the lawn,
    her flesh surging due to lack of purging.
    When last seen, Ms. Morry had a fresh glow
    and a tattoo of a beautiful swan–
    its smile and her lush stomach merging.

    –Kristen McHenry

  106. My couplet of reader response:

    More applause
    With hoots & guffaws!

    Ya’ll have been goin’ to town. Love the wrap-up of laurel’s doctor poem. And this line—

    Fuck anyone whom this disappoints — A Sarah

    — superb. It has all the offhand “be gone!” ‘tude, yet still the care/propriety of the “m” on the “whom.”

    O, to live a life whose memoir could rightly take that line as its title.

  107. A problem lurks which gives me pause
    a hateful thing without a cause
    that seems to be the type of fodder
    for data dredges for the odder
    concerns of

    Do the headless fatties wed?
    Do they Do It in the bed?
    Yet how do the headless fatties see
    headless fatties headless be.

    And if they manage- somehow- to mate
    Do they intend to procreate?
    What law can form to stop this trend
    What lurking doom doth this portend?

    The offspring emerges-appalling creature
    with living fatty body features
    like Dad and Mom-
    Someone do a Telethon
    to get the headless babies hats-
    cover stumps with knitted caps-

    Write The Star, tell the Inquirer
    health care costs are getting higher
    First item blares out on the local news-
    Epidemic of obesity
    has now produced-

  108. WOW. What talent here.

    Someone oughta put an anthology together.

    What I know about poetry could fit in a baby donut hole, so I doubt I’ve anything to contribute. Song lyric parodies are more my thing.

  109. To continue with the prayerful theme, wellroundedtype2 (and good work!)

    Glory be to God for dimpled thighs,
    For bellies rounding out like ships in sail;
    For nipples of all colors upon breasts that swell;
    Scars, stretch marks and incisions; glistening hair;
    Bodies rounded and soft–fold, hollow, and curve;
    And all shapes, the square, the luscious, the trim.

    All things counter, original, queer, strange;
    Whatever is wobbly or strengthened (who knows how?)
    With swift, slow; strong, tired, able or less so;
    We live in our bodies whose beauty is past change;
    Praise them.

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