Best Clogging Poems
Toilet Bowl Committee (aka: Uptown Hood)
A lavatory confinement
my$h!tdontstinkcomode.com
---
If you want to moderate this place, pick up the pace
From the mouth down to the @$$
Your so called kind has no class,
Fed by these political rejects, never elected for what was!
No matter,
They wipe their assets clean with our dreams
Forgetting to wipe their own toilet seats clean
Trying to make us feel dirtier than scat
Feeding off our paper when their toilet bowl water level is low
Toilet bowl PO-poes, wiping without dental floss
Missing everything in between reality
Trying to be kind, saying "One Day We'll Be Good Enough!"
Offering their Golden Plunger,
straight from the Home Depot shelves
No Thank You! My plunger a true gift from Mr. Wal-Mart himself
Next time you feel the need to offer a reference point
Please caption your name when you drop by,
Rinse thoroughly when speaking my name,
Then I will listen when you talk civilized
Correct my punctuations and spelling errors
The weakest trait you wear
You are no Prophet, just white tissue turning brown
Your Justification comes from old dry grapes falling from the vines
Ridicule will never give you the respect, for what you are!
We, the few poets from the hood,
overpower any change you offer Goodwill
Crumbling and flushing what does not meet your standards
Trying hard to force feed us soup, without giving us bibs
Thank you
Toilet Bowl Committee
For clogging up my drain with your bull$h!T
By: Keeping it Real (The Downtown Hood)
Date: 12-15-13
~*~
--- Matamoros, 2:00p.m., December 6, 2014
I sit at this table
(as I have done many times)
wielding a ball-point pen,
with insufficiencies of
thoughts and words --
out of place.
All the while
the two dogs --
Guero and Princesa --
shower their affections,
licking and nuzzling,
in return for caresses,
pats, and gifts of food.
They respond in kind
to attention and gentle treatment.
A nearby train
sounds its horn,
blocks a street,
further clogging traffic
in this unhealthy border city.
The day goes on, time elapses slowly.
It is very warm.
I exchange minimal phrases
with the occupants
of this house.
The owner has just
returned from visiting
his dying elder brother
at the Social Security Hospital.
We leave to visit
an acquaintance in the countryside.
A random fragment
from a life.
I Love You
Smokers of the world unite
Keep that ciggie burning bright
Nick O’Teen is having fun
Clogging, blackening the lung
Don’t you know that it aint smart
To let that fiend into your heart
There won’t be any looking back
After fatal heart attack
And when the girl that you adore
Says she’ll kiss your lips no more
She’s looking for a smoke free zone
Leaves you standing all alone
When you're just a year from death
Pleading, begging your next breath
Even though you've never seen her
Meet your new friend Emphysema
So smokers of the world unite
Keep that ciggie burning bright
You'll never have a friend so true
When every drag says, I love you
This mixed message was brought to you by
The Devil Himself Hua hua hua hua
Thick white clouds
Retracing posture
Atop the layers of earth;
Foggy shrouds of white
Overclouded landscape
Clogging the sunlight
In blurry unclearness.
In brown faded bushes
Lies inhalations of dryness,
Catchy like the gasoline
In simple lit strikes
On matchboxes;
Spreading fierce fires
To four cornered angles
On grassy fields.
From silty bits of soil
Hovers clouds of dust,
Distributed casually
By several printed steps
Of slippers and rotating air.
The echoes of the wind
Screams with concurrent whirl,
Stirring up particles
In fiery harsh voices.
Innermost in the terrain
Glares cracking every way,
As the dryness sucks away
Final surviving drops of moist,
From pores of skin surfaces
And wooden doors.
Thence, in customary shrinking
Of shriveling leaves and bushes
Prowls the reptiles, fleeing away
In untiring searches
For cooler comforting abodes,
Resting forevermore
To the swift slashing cutlass
Of the cautious hunter.
I had a dream
Where all my clothes
Were in my toilet bowl
Clogging it.
Apparently this means that
I am drenched in emotions
Which need to be released
And expressed,
So I wrote
This poem.
Natures fields, plains, moors, deserts, wonders rife!
Habitats alive,
where life can survive!
Why? Civilised beings murdered all life!
For personal greed!
Used slaves to set seed!
Natures plan, the survival of the fittest.
Mans plan, to remove all not of interest.
What's changed? Nothing, I fear!
We poison oceans, deplete atmosphere!
Science always knew,
Governments poohed poo!
Now, as we've learned nought, for our lives' we fear!
We're told it's too late.
Then what is the fate
that our children's children just might have to face?
Stop pollution now, and, it might slow the pace.
What's changed? Nothing, I fear!
Back in the nineties re. health and safety,
plastics were discussed.
Virility, hushed.
A seminar did close most hastily.
I was asked to stay.
Asked how I knew, hey!
Documentary, Tomorrows World, I think?
Chemicals from plastic leeching into drink.
What's changed? Nothing, I fear!
We will stick with plastics, it's on the news.
Microplastic kills
fish, clogging their gills!
If you feel like I do, pass on your views.
On telly daily!
No longer maybe!
Plastics polluting the oceans poisons fish!.
The mainstay of many, it's their staple dish.
Pollution is killing, and, we're all remiss
What's changed? Nothing, I fear!
Clocks ticking, can't you hear?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5/9/18
QARINAGE - Any Topic' Poetry Contest sponsored by Gregory R Barden
Amidst the smog
That wraps your city
Clogging the view
above the horizon
Of skies beauty
There is still one star left
that you see
And in your heart's ear
it whisper:
Amidst the intense smoke
that hids the multitude
Of other
hope and light giving company
I'm still here
to light and guide you
On your way
Yet I may be so faint
But the vision of your soul sees
that this faint light
is enough
To lit extinguished hope
to blaze again
in your cold heart!
My
eyes are
sorely touched
with the harsh flash
of puce and pink-red
exhaust fumes leak lazy
from the line of matchbox cars
clogging humanities sewers
lungs gasp at green tires lay rubber
like the wail of infants taken from tit
dangling arms wave the air seeking entrance
to the already well come fill’d shunt
sighing rubbing my lids lights strobe
just past the seared surfaces
of my bruised retinas
my feet throb swollen
now depressing
releasing
pedal
push.
One may be "Touched" in physically, mentally or spiritually.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
I can’t say
where life begins
and death takes over:
Oh! I know of birth
and funerals--
what the church says
and what my gut
further tells me…
but my heart often
wanders above wings,
parting shadows
to a place alone
where I encounter
a loving presence
my feeling no need
to define...
I have read those volumes
both blessed and cursed
tongued caramel ecstasy
and licked the sacrificial fires
(sweat-making chilies
and artery clogging rinds of life)
but remain
mostly confounded
though comforted somewhat
by the little I know
and concisely name--
admitting more of me
has always existed outside
my libraries of
leather diaries
and embossed references….
There are so many things in my life
That just seem to get forgot
My brain is a dampend sponge
Stuffed in my head that has begun to rot
I can't remember Sh#t!
In my simple life from day to day
I can't blame any of it on God
For it's my own fault that I am now this way
Younger days of partying
Along with the medication that I'm now on today
Keep wiping my memory slate clean
Causing all memories to quickly fade away
Forget,forgot,forgotten...
Those three words to me are all the same
Sitting in a tub full of missing memories
With a rotting sponge that is clogging the drain
7-10-12
cerebral
scrabble babble
is coughed
into
empty couloirs
words lie
disassembled
on jaded
crossword
squares
dumb logic
acronyms
spill
from your tongue
with the intensity
of angel falls
flooding
the tower
of babel s
non existent
dungeon
taut and terse
phrases
are spit
into my mouth
clogging
my esophagus
with the
sweet bile
of your
bitter love
for me
twisted explanations
mixing
with fragments
of admitted guilt
speak
in reverse
similar
to the
uncanny
way
we uttered
our final
wedding vows
do i
poke a spoon
into a puddle
of campbell s
alphabet soup
as I peruse
my leather bound
thesaurus and
nightmarishly
daydream
of you
and now
i m
beginning
to realize
that the
sole existence
of one s
warped sense
of commitment
fortunately
relies
on a duo s
consistent
use
of insensitive
verbal
cryptograms
during the
sharp and
neatly shredded
paper years
when
punctuation
and falsified
adjectives
were hardly
ever
necessary
you love i
Author's Note:
Punctuation marks and capitalization of words
were deliberately omitted for poetic effect.
GUTS and GAIN
When only hymns of old memoirs and faith starred,
as I lift my eyes, black! Blue is the sun and moon,
will shadows be my frown and sins my ground?
(Gone are the days of pleasure and days of sleep...)
Anxiety escalates clogging the wise thoughts flow,
light saving courage, bravery where are you?
Let your whispers hiss amidst these dreary earth,
stillness the loyal choir escorting my shuddering nerves,
strum! Strum of strength and speed on two heartstrings
nudge like that of a dove, pure to drop: dash of love.
Spin and turn, crash and burn tests a true heart
though no medals, no points there to earn.
Ah! Mercy... within dreich woes is a distinct voice
handing a probable answer blowing mists of confused
An instinct. An impulse, should I believe or not?
I … listened but only a true love call casts our viscera to churn
sensing the tunes, steps ain't easy but I patiently learn
to taste the essence, I let my lips sway in liftless dance.
Please lie still yet moan on strums~ strums of my tips,
"Maiden, forbid me to go..." Trembles, trembles run echo:
one tenor, one alto, various pitch for evanescent tones
with a passion drenched within warmth of sheer ecstasy
the blend of love will spark, heating eternal flames
and if the world brushes darker shades of light--
consent our tomorrows to paint a canvass of life...
________________________________________________________
James A. Fraser and Olive Eloisa Guillermo
9:21 pm, July 04, 2015
At one point in my life i was an artist
I used to paint and draw
Covering a piece of paper
In beautiful colors
And my art told a story
The sort of story you couldn't talk about
I used to go to school every day
Showing up late
Wasn't something I'd do
But i dropped out
Leaving my education behind
I played the bass guitar
In a band called
The Nocturnal
My fingers ran against that bass
Pure magic
The sound of the gods
Setting out to destroy the world
Pure Punk straight from Seattle
At one point i was clean
Sober and pure like a new born baby
Falling further into
What you now call
"disapointment"
Screwing up my veins
with every shot of herion
Killing my brain cells
With every joint i smoked
Clogging up my nose
With every pill you could have known
I used to write lyrics
About my life
My childhood
I used to write journals
The ones you read in the book
that was published of me
I got up on that stage every night
As i was
Nothing fake
Nothing glamourous
Only a few scars
One shot of heroin
Come as you are
The words only speak for
Themselves
Hello
Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Filipino, 38 years of age
Got disabled on October 11, 1999
Was diagnosed on 2013
With Depression Mental illness
Last February 2012, saw a vision
A curly blond baby angel
Appeared to me
Looking at me intently
He said to "Tell the priest that the babies are safe in heaven
God, wants to give women chance (on the left ear)
Choice (On the right ear), to save themselves"
Saw my previous tragic car accident
Spiritual Director said "It's turning point of my life"
Its called private revelation
After searching for a spiritual director
Thought, Fr. Alex Legaspi
Thought, Fr. Jesus Labor but
Eternal God said he is my soul mate
Really cannot be
Eternal God gave Fr. Piers Lahey
Pastor of St. Andrew Catholic Church, Daly City CA.
Christmas Eve 2012, Eternal God told me to write a litany
After many trials of finding a title
Eternal God gave me “Litany of Divine Truth”
Failed to write the date when Sacred Heart told me “shave my hair”
Our bathroom is always clogging
Fr. Piers sent me to Legion of Mary or other smaller groups of the Church
Start sharing my vision, see what they say
Father Christ said “Reverence is for the Righteous”
Called Him Father Christ, Mother Mary
“You say please when asking for something”
Called Him Father Christ, He’s a High Priest
An Eternal High Priest
Propagate it
Didn’t want to, it just came from me, I’m nobody
Sensed He’s sad
“Okay, You will help me okay?”
Result, made Reverence Rosary
Novena for the abortion
Gave Fr. Piers
You have questions
Call me #(650)-307-2062
The lustrous surface of your sea is
urging me to drown in its intriguing blue.
Afraid to go further, I stand hesitantly at
your mysterious shore, yet allowing your
tides to lick my soul!
Your waves grow in me rapidly,
clogging the flow of my breathing!
I hark keenly to the whispers of the cowries
wishing to unfold the secrets of your
inapproachable depths!
In my dreams, I invade that misty
portion of you, dismember it into
crystal clear droplets which
permit me to see through the secretive
fabric of you, to transfigure fractioned
doubts into certainties…
Your heart, edged in mysterious sweetness
becomes the center of gravity,
drawing the straying grains of my
Being into its infinite grip …
And I so wrapped up in this ageless
shawl of sadness find a refuge in this
turmoil of tussling
emotions to elude a devious stillness..