Best Bathroom Poems
I read it from the bathroom wall.
God alone save's us one and all.
Along with other mixed obscenities like
for a good time call.
Some read rise against.
Others read Elivis was here.
God bless America communist take fear.
Its the lost and found of misspelled words
were the misfits gather do they all.
Im stuck here in a inconvertible position reading writtings from
bathroom wall.
I strain to read Robert and Beth forever.
whomever they are.
I question does this bathroom last through stormy weather.
I wonder what kind of philosopher finds solice in such a dingy
place.
Do they comb the wall just lookin for space.
Theres traces of blood from a drunken brawl.
Im sitting in the true melting pot of the world.
Reading writtings from the bathroom wall.
Wicked Witches vicious Wishes
Worst of Curses Hexed
Paranormal Victim Witness
Poltergeist are Vexed
Rows of Sixes Superstitious
Sacred Scrolls and text
I see dishes fly malicious
And She is surely next.
Sold Her Soul and burnt the Bridges-
The Devils love Her Best!
*ABAB Witchcraft Contest Entry*
~JustThatArchaicPoet
My bathroom mirror amplifies
tired eyes and lines of discontent
a harsh reminder of the unfairness of life
and forces me to stare in the face
the cards I have been dealt but cannot change
I am not vain, but the bathroom mirror
believes that I am, prodding my esteem
with it's taunting illusion of superficial
desires and making me sick with longing
for all the things I do not have
Frowns furrow into my brow
and once carefree features twist
with violent acknowledgement
that I cannot go back and undo the undone
the bathroom mirror plays tricks on us all
waiting for those quiet moments
when we doubt ourselves and resolve
to change who we are entirely
But we would not have got this far
in life without being ourselves
and the bathroom mirror is a terror
that reflects back regret
and long lost dreams
failures and good times lost
the bathroom mirror amplifies
tired eyes and lines of discontent
a harsh reminder of the unfairness of life
and that's why I rarely look at it.
I had to find a bathroom,
A reasonable request,
I was all alone
And my bladder was quite stressed.
So I asked a man nearby,
“Do you know where a bathroom is?”
He merely shook his head,
And went about his biz.
I continued walking,
And sure enough around,
A woman with her children
Could tell me where a bathroom’s found.
She said, “I have no idea,
I’m busy you can tell.”
She fussed to shush her baby,
Who had just begun to yell.
I continued on my quest,
Moving with rapid stride,
When I found a large restaurant,
Surely, there must be a bathroom inside!
I went up to the waiter,
I said, “I really have to pee.”
Slightly irritated,
I decided to forego all pleasantry.
He said, “Oh, ours isn’t working,
Someone clogged it the day before,
But there is one a few blocks down,
About three or four.”
And so I hurried along,
Quite desperate to find the joint,
My bladder was close to reaching
Its natural breaking point.
I reached a tiny gas station,
Where the clerk mumbled to me,
“We do have an outside bathroom,
But someone lost the key.”
I turned and stomped outside,
I wailed out vehemently,
“How hard is it to find a bathroom
In modern society?”
A gentleman heard my plight,
And said, “You know, there’s a store—“
I interrupted, “Never mind,
I don’t have to go anymore.”
THE BATHROOM
I’ve got three older sisters,
Lindsey, Sue and Kate,
And every single morning,
They try to make me late.
They get into the bathroom,
And then they lock the door.
So I knock and knock with both my hands
Until they’re really sore.
They stay in there for hours!
I really don’t know why,
Because I can wash all over
In two minutes if I try,
Just because I’m only five
They think that I’m a pest,
But it’s cold outside the bathroom door
In just your shorts and vest.
I have to wait ‘til Mum comes up
When she hears me shout.
She says “I’m counting up to five”!
At three they all rush out.
When I go in the floor’s all wet,
With towels everywhere.
The walls and mirror are covered with steam,
And the sink is full of hair.
One day I’ll get up early,
And I’ll be very cruel.
I’ll sit in the bathroom for half an hour,
And make THEM late for school.
I learned to write poetry
From those bathroom walls
I even learned about life
From them dirty old stalls
I think one was even written
By Mr Edgar Allan Poe
Wait!, that might have said
David Allan Coe
One poem that I found
Was scribbled in red
Of course I can't really repeat
What that poem said
Some were so funny
They made me laugh real hard
I laughed til I cried
And my lungs were scarred
Here I sit so broken hearted
Was a poem that we made famous
But we never signed our names
In case they ever tried to blame us
Now some say that bathroom poetry
Just isn't very well known
But you just can't help but read some
While you're sitting on the throne
To pee or not to pee
I haven't made up my mind
But you have to admit, bathroom poetry
Is simply one of a kind
Two o'clock she hits me hard
I salute to another captain
look around and swallow hard
Not as hard as you leaving
hitting me straight between the eyes
stars spinning right after midnight
can't remember exactly why
Whispers filled the empty cauldron
along with a pint of homemade wine
life already was a struggle living
now what am I going to do with all this time
Whiskey glasses and bathroom mirrors
keep on holding back the cries
another pent up night in Georgia
running scared and telling lies
Come on back before the summer
when my troubles will be unclothed
sprinkle love upon these shoulders
before this man has decomposed
Poised to dive into the drink below
the deodorant on the shelf above put on a show
while the toothbrushes looked on with a big grin
the deodorant dove like a champ and took a swim,
The toothbrushes held up all their signs
most of them giving his dive a nine
not satisfied he had wanted a perfect 10
he stood above the toilet ready to jump again,
But before he could jump he quickly froze
hearing the man of the house shuffle in and impose
turning the light on he quickly went pee
the toothbrushes averting their eyes quickly,
Finishing up he flushed and put the lid down
leaving the bathroom the deodorant had a frown
the toothbrushes said don't worry we'll fill up the sink
so the deodorant moved above it ready to jump into the drink,
All eyes were fastened on him poised above
knowing that swimming was one of the deodorants first loves
the deodorant concentrated and then leapt off
giving him a perfect ten for a triple somersault!
After awhile they all got tired and went to sleep
taking their positions on the shelf above the toilet and sink
the man of the house soon catching on to their hijinks
putting a "closed for the season" sign on the toilet and sink,
But that didn't stop their bathroom shenanigans
they just came up with a different plan
this time they were extra quiet as they filled up the tub
but the man of the house caught on and pulled the plug
So swimming was now a gone past time
so they constructed with dental floss a zip line
zip lining from the top of the shower to the floor
that is till they heard the creak of the bathroom door...
Apparently it’s a p**is that makes a man these days
Never mind the testosterone that fuels an angry craze
A testosterone filled vag**a made of real human flesh
Seems way better than an estrogen filled p**is in a dress
This muted feeble phalange is a danger to our most revered
And a rugged hairy man-looking "girl" is never to be feared
People feel safe around an anxious displaced bearded “woman”
-Especially in private while getting ready and peeing in the can-
Far more comfortable than a meek soft tender "man" in heels
Applying makeup, fixing her hair, and living her own ideals
It seems as though people are allowed to be people these days
Which is fine as long as no one is comfortable in their own ways
And protection of the righteous ones (especially those with green eyes)
Supersedes the basic rights of a lesser class lacking moral tithes
So in that case, send the angry misplaced stubbly “woman” instead
Our daughters can handle that much more than a p**is walking dead.
Previously entitled: "Rules are Not Always Cool"
Silly Jilly could not break the rule:
Stay in class during tests at the school.
Soon each test-taking kid
could all smell what she did
in her pants! Rules are not always cool!
by Andrea Dietrich
For PD's Pooping Contest:
Category: Don't ask to go to the bathroom!
Antonio a tenor's ring,
in the bathroom he would sing
Gilbert and Sullivan was his thing,
oft he'd sound this manly zing,
in the bathroom he would: sing!
all his music he would bring,
oft he'd sound; this manly zing!
the kitchen staff could hear him sing,
all his; music he would bring.
Gilbert and Sullivan was his thing?
the kitchen staff could. Hear him sing!
Antonio: a tenor's ring.
Here comes big Aunt Clara,
those arm pits really stink;
She uses all the paper,
leaves her dentures in the sink!
Wearing out her welcome,
attention's what she seeks;
For her to stay the night,
somehow becomes a week!
I can't go to the bathroom,
she's always locked inside;
Boy, I'm such a jerk,
when I'm forced to wait outside!
I wake up extra early,
a little bit after four;
I have the bathroom to myself,
that's what I thought before!
"Nephew",... Are you in there?"
"Auntie gotta go really bad"
I try my best to keep my cool,
by now I'm gettin' mad!
Ever since she lost our uncle,
she's always been alone;
I can sense her solemn grief,
but our bathroom's not her home!
Each time we have a visit,
our heads are held in shame;
She waddles into the bathroom,
and blows our poker game!
"FFLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOPPPP!!"
oh, what a gruesome sound!
One by one, they ease away,
their smiles replaced with frowns!
One cold October evening,
the skies were dark and black;
Clara sat on the toilet,
and had a heart attack!
We called the paramedics,
five minutes already passed;
What we thought was a heart attack,
was nothing more than gas!
We started CPR,
compressions across the heart;
A poot was what we heard,
she unleashed a vicious fart!
Aunt Clara's alive and well,
she'll be seeing us all too soon;
Our latest plans for progress?
Build another bathroom!!
The Bathroom Scales
By Elton Camp
There they are, just daring us to step on
And see which way our weight has gone
The bathroom mirror shows the sad fact
But the authority of a read-out it does lack
And while in there we are entirely out of luck
Ten pounds for clothing cannot try to deduct
But we can still imagine there’s some defect
That what the scales say is not really correct
Finally we step on, dreading how they may read
And, sure enough, it isn’t what we hope or need
So, we resolve that much harder we will try it
And this time we will carefully follow our diet
But until we have enough time to lose some weight
It’s better to put the scales in the garage in a crate
There was a man who went out late
And tried to rape a .38
He called women "receptacles"
'Til one blew off his testicles.
The door to our bathroom is tiny,
Made of a faded red plastic nearly two decades ago,
One of its hinges has already been eaten away,
By time & rust that blossomed at its end,
Its latch has never worked,
The builder had his drawing wrong and we never managed to fix it,
And the door never really closed all the way.
Sometimes we used buckets,
Half-filled, not empty,
To hold the door in place.
Sometimes we placed the stool there,
It was an old iron stool,
Starting to bleed in its own rust,
And often we tripped.
Sometimes we closed all the doors,
In the rest of the house,
So that we wouldn't tempt the wind,
To push the door across.
So my mother brought out a small granite slab,
The size of her palm,
The colour of our kitchen floor and placed it in the corner.
It was heavy enough to close the door,
And small enough that we didn't trip over it,
And it was easy to move,
With just our feet,
And I wonder how much,
That little stone slab has seen for,
Much of our loneliness is cradled in that bathroom.
My father with his fury,
At how his daughter didn't live up to his dreams,
At how is authority is questioned every half second,
Wondering why we don't see his great sacrifices,
And get hung on to petty details.
My mother with her fear,
At the deep doubts, she has over her daughter's sexuality,
At the disappointment, she has in what she knows to be a dreary future.
Confused why her children just won't do what they're told,
Instead of trying to be their own persons.
My sister with her confusion,
At the sudden attention being poured on her,
Caught with a sudden pressure weighing on her back,
Unable to ask for reprieve and always, wondering,
Which expectation is real and which one a trap?
The worst sight,
The slab has to see,
Is possibly,
It's perception of me,
And I have to wonder,
If my family,
My seemingly loving,
Desperately perfect family,
Know each other any more than the slab,
Knows us.