Run It Off

Run It Off

Some folks jog to take off weight,

Burning calories they ate.

That’s what caught me, years ago;

Now I stride my woes to throw.

I run in circles, run for luck,

Run a fever, run amok,

Run for cover, run across,

Never just to run for loss.

Cadence calls me to persist,

Sorrow’s symbols to resist.

Counting combos, on I trudge,

Stepping past the daily drudge.

Every mile, worry fades.

My new normal beats blockades.

Mid-run, I begin to swing.

Ever gasping, still I sing.

Seldom do I seek to stop:

Mostly, I am chop-chop-chop.

Could it be I’m overbooked,

Or endorphins have me hooked?

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Adapted by this user from vintage artwork.

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

April A to Z Blog Challenge

National Poetry Writing Month / NaPoWriMo

Five-Minute Friday: “sing”

Meme Express: “new normal”

Simply Snickers: “cadence,” “combo,” and “cymbal” or “symbol”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

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Pickin’ Up Pounds

Perhaps pudding’s proof is found in the poof.

A new baker’s dozen,

The doughnut does fill.

Temptation is buzzin’,

Eclipsing the will.

Pie in the sky

On your thigh,

In your eye –

Heavy sigh.

Mere calories nameless

May do one no harm.

Meandering mindless,

Resolve they disarm.

Physicians can’t sidestep:

The pot, still it grows.

They test everything ‘cept

Pinocchio’s nose.

Pie in the sky

On your thigh,

In your eye –

Heavy sigh.

But no pie that’s humble,

No penitent tart –

The oafish crust’s mumble

Will gain no fresh start.

‘Tis those who keep measures,

Not willing to flake,

Who fear not such pleasures

And thus take the cake.

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Adapted by this user from vintage artwork.

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

April A to Z Blog Challenge

National Poetry Writing Month / NaPoWriMo

Meme Express: “baker’s dozen”

One-Liner Wednesday: See subtitle.

Three Word Wednesday: “meander,” “nameless,” and “oafish”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

#BeWoW

#1linerWeds

Feel free to follow on Google Plus and Twitter. Please visit my Amazon author page as well.

A feud with food

Because sometimes a few favorite foods can be a pain in the neck … or the head … or the …

A feud with food 

Sensations dark the palate draws,

So tantalizing, yet to harm.

Oh, tempting taste buds, eager jaws,

How do you work your lethal charm?

While morning dawns, without just cause,

Each ray of sun brings red alarm.

Beyond the borders of good sense,

Do I delight in foods taboo.

Off-limits, illness to commence,

For all the pains they put me through.

Rebelling at my own expense,

Go gobble, and it’s déjà vu.

My head does pound, as triggers fire.

Yow, now my vision, it may flash.

While I still struggle to respire,

Engaging neurons wildly clash.

Guns loaded, how things go haywire.

Still of my will I taste such trash.

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

31 Days of Poetry and Writing: Write about some truth which suddenly became crystal clear to you. (25)

Daily Post: “border” (7)
Five-Minute Friday: "eat"
OctPoWriMo: “red” – with “dark,” “tantalizing,” “sensations,” “tempting,” and “taste buds” – HARRISHAM RHYME (25)

Write 31 Days Challenge: When is a time that you have been super excited about something? (25)

#OctPoWriMo 

Image/s:

Reclining Lady with a Fan

by Eleuterio Pagliani

1876

Vintage/public domain

31 Days logo – created by this user,

including public domain artwork.

Feel free to follow on Google Plus and Twitter. Please visit my Amazon author page as well.

Dog days: Hounded by humidity and losing lucidity

Baby, it’s hot outside. My grandmother used to say, “Horses sweat. Men perspire. Women glow.” It’s an old saying. But lately, I beg to differ.

Dog days

(Hounded by humidity and losing lucidity)

My sprint is spent like long-lost lien.

I’ve showered thrice. I’m still not clean.

We wonder why the summer slogs,

But every day will have its dogs.

I puff and pant like mongrel mean.

The temp has dropped a few degrees.

I venture out to catch a breeze.

If just a mile or three I’d try,

My tales would justify some pie.

But after two, I crawl on knees.

God only knows my top complaint.

For He has heard I ain’t no saint.

A trio of excuses grand

I reconstruct to beat the band

And seek a shadow, there to faint.

Get up and move, you soggy slug.

Go grab that water, gulp and chug.

Then stomp those sneakers ‘round the block.

Your alibi’s a crusty crock.

I stand and shrug, and off I plug.

And still I wonder, as I fry,

Will this entitle me to pie?

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

Camera Critters: pictures of creatures

Mad Kane Humor: “lean” or “lien”
Meme Express: “venture”

Simply Snickers: “tales” (or “tails”), “trio,” and “try”

Shadow Shot Sunday: “shadow”

Sunday Smiles: something worth smiling about
Sunday Stealing: “God only knows”

Image/s:

 Vintage/public domain image.

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