Best Cesspit Poems
In the silence of sadness,
what will the winds bring tomorrow?
In the sadness of silence,
my soul sighs soft breaths of sorrow.
Where did those rainbows go,
reminiscing happier times?
Thunder brings further misery -
am I victim of my own crimes?
I must have betrayed the sun,
for it offers no sanctuary.
Moon refuses to shine in the darkness,
since when were you my adversary?
When there was love,
it never rained so violently.
Winds would come and go,
fading away so silently.
Mind drowns in a somber cesspit,
struggling to cope with your demons of pride.
I don't know what I've become,
since you left, I've died a little inside.
Simple Musing
Silent One
7 February 2019
Example for I died a little inside contest.
It's so cold in this cauldron of sadness.
I'm drowning in a cesspit of darkness.
When will it rain to wash these sorrows free?
Before wicked waves drown me in the sea.
Emotions naked like an Autumn tree,
yearn to taste warm nectar from the queen bee.
Stubbornly silent, buried in past pride,
content to remain, till the soul has died.
Hollow heart hungers for a soothing voice,
so this solemn soul can dance in rejoice.
Bitter silence leads to further despair,
no words are left for this bond to repair.
Tears flow like floods, creating an ocean,
immersed, life flashes by in slow motion.
Silent One
Simple sonnet musings
15 December 2017
Alone In The Dressing Room: Just Before Curtain Up
Oh Yes! My career!.. It's behind me.
And the bright lights I’d worked so hard for
Now they’ve airbrushed my face
That looks so out of place
On that poster they’ve stuck to my door.
My name is no longer top billing
It’s been pushed further down out of view
By some rich kid who blogs
From his channel of vlogs
And gets paid just to like all this too.
The curtain goes up in five minutes
But I think it should really stay down
They haven’t a clue
What real actors do
On the stage in this backwater town.
I’m the oldest guy here in this cesspit
And this dressing room’s cramped and too cold
The 'luvvies' will shout
That I’ve sadly sold out
Unlike seats for this show so I’m told.
I’m supposed to walk out there all happy
To some kids who just couldn’t care less
And keep 'doing my thing'
And get them to sing
- I’m washed out, fed up and a mess.
A Knock On The Dressing Room Door: Not Long After Curtain Down
I just wanted to say a big 'Thank You!'
The three of us had a great time
I’m not sure where to start
So I’ll speak from my heart
We loved you and your great pantomime.
My husband and I brought our ill son
And now value what laughter is worth
We saw sickness displaced
By wide smiles on his face
Despite his short time left on earth.
You brought us much joy, light and comfort
From the stage to the seats where we sat
No medicine or pills
Can cure our son's ills
But for two hours - tonight - you did that!
What I miss:
The scents of fancy foods and good intent
The hugs of friends at church and sinners' lament
Foods we share on celebration Sunday, rest in my chair
Sometimes I think this whole situation totally unfair
Substitutions I like:
Riding down to Flint River, a sliver of respite
Gone from cesspit of isolation and COVID 19 the despot
Then go by Diary Queen for a treat; so, so neat
A two for one on Sunday, a Sundae full of sweet
What I miss:
The weekly visits inspissate family ties
When we come together, no matter the weather time flies
We enjoy a meal, have our fill until
How the time flies, we part with goodwill
How God blessed from the herb garden:
Tiny yellow butterflies, such small fellows land
Their presence upon the pineapple sage so grand
Hummingbirdmoths feed at the troth of Maximillia sunflower
The giant fuchsia zinnias compliant to Monarch's scour
All in all God has blessed
He lifts me up; He's my guest
Sometimes I'm lonely and sometimes sad
But God fills voids and listens to my request
Finis'
Written: November 01, 2020
Sponsor: Joseph May
Contest: In Rhymes Sublime
Fingertips click a
desperate breakbeat
as eyes glaze over
in blue light baptism
please overwhelm me
Binary jungle,
you glowing cesspit
through the clipping
curtain echoes a choir
of post-post ironic
agoraphobics.
Dopamine is a myth,
an expired meme
deemed mega cringe
Let the file rot into
informational abscess
Here we all wait before
Heaven's blockchained gate
tired of partaking into
a satire so removed from
a cogent solution,
It is simply void.
Here is coldest oblivion in
this stupid cyborg machine,
but the world is so
Y2K heat death-core
Whatever that means
It turned a generation
made us abandonware
Just to feed us nostalgia
for times when we
would bother to care.
Inundating, binging,
the muddy, bulimic river
gorged the flood plain, consuming
everything that wasn’t nailed down:
tree limbs, leaves, bleating sheep, chicken coups,
plastic grocery bags, inner tubes,
cesspit contents, only to vomit
it back up to its torrential torrent surface.
Helpless victims stand the high ground
with a wing and prayer their homes
be spared the wrath of God
knowing only too well that the laws
of nature…
have no favorites.
On the edge of my seat,
On the tip of my chair,
Sweating in the Doctor’s Lair,
Waiting for that sympathetic stare
And the news
That my slack heart
Needs a jump start,
Liver fails to deliver,
Blood is clogged
With choleric cholestrol,
Kidneys are more cesspit,
Than filtration device,
Belly fluff is full of lice,
Tonsils are shot
With boasting bacteria
Roller-coasting
Down my gullet
To a soirée
In the small intestine.
Inwardly I scream
And await the death sentence
On my organs.
She’ll tell me that
The years of gorgonzola
Gormandising and
Elevated caffeine intake
Have condemned me
To an early coffin-break.
Oh my aching mind!
I can feel the blinds
Descending and my
DNA un-mending.
The worms are wriggling
Down my spine
When the doctor says
“You’ve got a bit of a cold,
You’ll be fine.”
COPLA 95 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
Tyrannosaur State eats rebel states
Even if its peoples’ stomachs ache :
Pollute pumped gas
Some toddler states like to lie in crates
Full of Tyrannosaur shells and cake :
Jiving to jazz
Others congregate to make war
On tyrannosaurs decrepit :
Born ennemies
While our mighty Tyrannosaur
Falls all by itself into cesspit :
Making babies
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/plague-presence
Planetary conjunction, behold catastrophe, o’ trembling earthquake
Afore thy outbreak, for terror has struck – omens of bad luck
Of rats aboard large ships of trade
Black Death, Black Sea, what becometh thee?
Rain of fire be seen, plague-ridden body on board
We have reached thy port, yet to attest, how plague affects
Swelling glands, pain of anguish, rats be driven away!
Your mere presence has brought such decay
As we whip, thy iron-tip, our atonement for sin
Carvened Danse Macabre
Such an illusion – dissolutions thee
Charms of protection, a defensive guard
Twas written, twas seen
O’ comet, striker of the sky, what do you signify?
Pepys can testify
Anger from above, epidemic take hold
Wagons rumble o’er cobblestones
Familiar cries, threepence my dear
Our streets form an open sewer, coins in vinegar, avid memoir
O’ do not tarry, empty thy cesspit
O’ waste
Watchers in haste
Yet beyond the square, our city of London, along the Thames
Statistics ever-rising – bills of mortality
Your curing touch, King healeth thee
O’ silent city, cross be marked
Doors marked red, as peoples fled
Orders for health, examine, oversee, Royal Society
Even physicians flee
Of herbs and spices, no cure for thee
A fire, so great as broken out, thy plague wiped out
As events unfold, we shall retain control
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Living in a jobless country, thousands emigrating every month,
Long gone are the times of the Celtic tiger and the Irish punt.
The economy has collapsed into a heap on the floor,
A depressing recession is hard to ignore.
Politicians are greedy and getting more desperate,
Now this country is turning into a cesspit.
Honestly dishonesty is at an all-time high,
Profiteering politicians telling lie after lie.
They expect us to believe them, but it’s clearly all lies,
It’s so obvious you can see it without opening your eyes.
Rent and homelessness increasing, too expensive to be leasing,
Health and education decreasing while politicians keep fleecing.
And that phony Simon Coveney is nothing but a clown,
Do you really think he cares about the people in your town?
Democracies don’t become corrupt overnight, this takes time,
Slowly but surely it starts to decline.
“Ronald Gene Simmons” death’s synonymous,
This methodic demon murdered the lot!
The executioner, autonomous,
Not a family member aware of plot!
Grandchildren’s redemption, a rain barrel!
Murdered daughter, mother of his daughter,
Drowned in holy times of Christmas carol,
Autonomous plot, demonic slaughter.
Personas demonic beseeches void,
Murderous demons of the void darkness,
Illusion’s personas of minds deployed,
Lost deranged souls without love, are artless.
This deranged soul, mind illusion’s manure,
Dumped bodies in cesspit, then had a beer!!!
For: Tragedy is More Enjoyable Than Comedy
In Honor of; Dr Ram Mehta
Ronald Gene Simmons #131
Ronald Gene Simmons killed 14 members of his extended family in Russellville, Ark., over a
course of three days at Christmas 1987. Between the murders he drank beer and watched TV!
www.clarkprosecutor.org/html/death/US/simmons131.htm
Summary:
Ronald Gene Simmons was a retired Air Force Sergeant. Over the Christmas holidays in 1987,
he methodically executed 14 members of his family: 6 daughters, 3 sons, 2 grandsons, 1 son-
in-law, 1 daughter-in-law and his wife. (One of his daughters was also his granddaughter)
Two days later, he went into town and killed two others. Waived all appeals.
A shiny forest of an armpit
By Ninety-Five percent a cesspit;
A quick verifying touch of this
By Ridiculed Christopher Elvis
Also brandishing a moist pelvis,
For long months now excused by Doris
His Understanding, Hopeful Girlfriend
But clearly seeking its abrupt end.
Anew, Elvis investigative finger
Goes for The Sticky Feeling that would linger,
His Poor Hygiene Principal Bell Ringer
And Change-for-the-Better Soft Singer;
To his Dad something he should be killed for,
As he keeps wondering what he’s waiting for,
Already by him pronounced A Serious Matter
And on Offending Elvis’ Head a metallic clatter …
His show of disgust had to be perfected
Because Elvis has a wisdom rejected
“All the stops pulling out to pick poor hygiene
From his interactions with Useless Eugene!”
A bin in a sin is a din a Zen. But a booming bongo basket could always equate to a left hooked right winged shark. Oh gosh it's dark.. Oh dear. Oh no. A cracked out fish on a display. Er. Even the wildest foot could not display a metric feet. And a multi mule is a kilometre in a mud pit. But nevermind the cellar in a cesspit which always roles twice in a moon. Over and over but not oversized. Oh well. Big deal. A fathomable bag of conversation is a broom curve in a bush. la la laughable long-term lines. And a bracket form of the United Methodist isn't a little late but I don't know what to wear and the clan of the article is an antic formed by a deity of widespread wisdomatic curvaceous dew. Hahahahaha spill moons. Hahahaha sip suns hahahaha aerial dynamics xxxxxxxxxxxxxx polypeptides polynomial polynomial xxxxxxx executioners exiting xxxxxxx delve not in a diva dive xxxxxxxx had he Hendre hat xxxxxxxxx general Glitter generally xxxxxx Philipsburg point xxxx hypercholesterolemia xxxxxxx z p y q reporting from p y what p y Q reporting? Xxxxxxx
I lay here feeling kicking
Of my precious still inside
I jumped into this cesspit
With my eyes quite open wide
One child already balancing
His future in our hands
I hope this new life brings
Full fruition of my plans
Nine years of bliss existence
Shattered to the core
My man became the addict
Though now he says, no more
With babe in arms I linger
Instincts tell me to run
Chances have been given
I feared this day would come
Daughter made no difference
I held my hopes too high
Three of us must now move on
Can't take another lie
I gave you all my heart
Two children not enough
No more that I can do
To get you off that stuff
We walk away from you my love
Our dreams decay to dust
With family broken all that's left
Are memories and mistrust
Cesspit
The shovelling soldiers are sent off to war
To dig latrines so their soldier brethren can
Not in peace but to empty their guts between fights
Ukrainians have other ideas they want to kill them all
Dead soldiers and hole diggers means more Russians
Who can no longer fight or hurt innocent Ukrainians
How many Ivan cesspit spade men have been eradicated?
Kill them all so the soldiers their pants before dying
From Ukrainian bullets and high tech Allied weapons
The more the better in this video game war
Eventful War Book 2
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