Best Diarrhoea Poems
Mr Bombastic
So sycophantic
Spins discs of plastic
He’s so sarcastic -
Thinks he’s fantastic!
He’s on a health kick
Eat prunes in aspic....
His guts turn spastic
Diarrhoea quite drastic!
02/10/20
Simple silly scribbles after eating prunes for breakfast whilst listening to an 'in your face dj' on internet radio!
A chambermaid whose name is Marlia
Had the most terrible diarrhoea
Whilst scrubbing a loo
She needed to pooh
Poop flowed freely from her posterior
It splattered on the newly scrubbed door
Gloopy poop was all over the floor
There was a huge mess
It covered her dress
Her poor tummy was ever so sore
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Marlia was filled with sorrow
A clean dress she had to borrow
flies were attracted
The mess compacted
clean up required a harrow!
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
If only she'd have taken a Tums
No mess would be left on her bums
she's still in despair
a stench in the air
To the scent of poop she succumbs
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
Marlia was dumb, thinking it was just gas
But it was much more that she had to pass
The day was torrid
Her stench was horrid
Now everyone knows Marlia has no class
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Marlia tried hard to sneak out
the trail of her poop left no doubt
Lysol was sprayed,
Her funk still stayed
cause her poop kept running out
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Poor, poor Marlia stunk up the room
Her hubby left and she has no groom
He ran for the hills
No more night thrills,
Now she's alone and her life is doom
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
21-07-17
“Doctor I have chronic diarrhoea
And I think it’s hereditary”
“Nonsense man I can assure you
Diarrhoea is not hereditary,
And no matter how chronic it is
It’s not as bad as it seems”
“But doctor I know it’s hereditary
Because it’s in my jeans”
"Placebo - Part 1"
Deals with God?
I don’t think that is possible.
Depends what cards you’re playing with
and what the trade off is
do you bluff? or
play it safe and lose all your tricks?
Let’s talk about SIN,
it sounds delicious
but once swallowed
it comes out just like everything else.
The thing with Sin is,
it’s a bit like diarrhoea,
depends what you’ve taken in
and how much has tainted you
pathologically, i.e.
Virus, Bacteria, Parasite?
A little diarrhoea, with the right prescription
easily blitzed.
If it’s totally infiltrated your bloodstream,
well, you're cactus really.
It’s the gift that keeps on giving.
I call that, with regards to Sin -
Divine intervention.
For a severe case as that,
you would be required to be kept out of reach
and monitored on a daily basis, away from
passing on the contagion to anyone else.
If you’re locked up in a small room
and the toilet paper rations run out -
it can get real messy.
Particularly if your room mate’s in
Prison Greens, is twice the size of you
and a Psychopath with a propensity
for knocking your head into the wall
whenever you ignore him
and while he’s at it, takes the opportunity
to rub himself up against you – he’s
marking his territory….
and well, you’re at that point where
you’re thinking,
“Do I bluff? Or play it safe and lose all my tricks?”
At that moment, it’s a safe bet
you’ve lost all your tricks.
And you’re thinking,
“This ain’t Protective Custody,
where’s God in all of this?”
(Lovejoy-Burrton/2017 Dec)
"Placebo - Part 2"
There’s little sins and HUGE SINS
Little mistakes, possibly forgiveable.
HUGE MISTAKES, HUGE SINS?
That’s a different kind of metronome
marking time over a head, while
a recidivist waits for his deal with God.
You ask those little girls and boys
who are divested of their childhood,
their pure innocence in
the most heinous ways -
if they think you deserve a deal with God,
while you look at photos of them being defiled,
or worse, you are in the filthy piece of Celluloid with them.
You ask those little girls and boys
who have been divested of their childhood,
their pure innocence in
the most heinous of ways,
who have been killed and thrown
like bags of rubbish somewhere -
if they think you deserve a deal with God.
You ask the families of all that have been
inflicted and their lives unalterably changed -
whether they think you deserve a deal with God.
They say there is no God.
Well, perhaps there isn’t.
Why would a just God let that happen?
“Suffer the little children” etc
What if God is truly “I Am”? And that
“I Am” is in you.
And the you that is lying there
concerned for your own remorse,
your own deal with God -
not the deal and mercy
a child deserves to be given by God
(even at this moment, somewhere in the world,
a child all alone crying out for…);
well, you just
turn over in the cot in your crib and cry like a baby,
thinking you are all alone.
What if God that is the "I Am"
could kick out of your body
the other lesser god, the god
that is the "I Isn’t"?
Is it possible at this point, I wonder?
I guess it depends on what stage of diarrhoea,
you’ve contracted.
Because when you get down to the
nuts and bolts of it,
this Life we have,
is all about Contracts.
The officer on duty knocks
opens your door hatch, and announces,
“You’ve got a visitor”.
You swing off the top level of the bunk
you’re dying of boredom in,
trying not to kick the other “effer” in the head
and you are let out of your crib.
You’re off to make your deal with God.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
“MOTHER, is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children” William Makepeace Thackeray
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_bYLcTjnPA
I bow my head down in compunctions and in shame
For a contributory factor I had been to that which I blame
Oh Yes indeed I take no pride in that and my blame I will claim
But, to why I had done that, which you are doing, I seek to correct
Open Defecation (OD) is that wrong which we must all melee to right
But the battle as mostly waged by the unaffected are defeated in fright
For the mostly affected ones stocks the fire as you try to extinguished it
My fingers were crossed as I bring to memory the things I had seen at night
“The right thing must be done” to myself I said and for that I must write
But firs, to know the true cause of the menace I must indeed investigate
And for that my journey had started
Open defecation is indeed with us for long
And shall not persist here with us in Dagbong
Painful it shall be to consume that which you defecate
But indeed possible such is for your home alongside you go with it
It is a nourishment to the houseflies that descend on your food
Cause no more sickness to the children with that act
A cause of many sickness it is including diarrhoea, it’s a fact
340,000 children under five died in 2013 from diarrhoea related diseases
SayNoToOpenDefecatioN
God is wonderful, God is great
Tens of thousands of years ago, people were scared of the dark
So they worshipped the sacred sun, the moon and even a spark
God is based on fear, God is in self
God is an illusion, he might be an elf
As people started to live together and share their lives
Each working for a common cause men children and wives
God is law, God is good
God is an illusion, from childhood
The church took the power and made Jesus great
All designed to control people's fate
God is power, God is to blame
God is an illusion, there is no shame
People would preach the bible kuran and other ideas
Brain-washing their children with their verbal diarrhoea
God is words, God is read out loud
God is an illusion, not to be bowed
As religions met one another, there was conflict wraith
Wars started, each with God on their side of faith
God is many, God is contradictory
God is an illusion, he wants victory
We are all allowed religious freedom, even is it is nonsense
We can say what we believe but not denigrate another's concept
God is a virus of the brain, God is a game
God is an illusion, just a name
The world has opened up to a new age with communication rife
The foundations of religions are now in strife
God is cyber, God is shared
God is an illusion, laid out bared
The church is losing its power and soon will marry gays
As logic looks more closely at the words the bibles say
God is false, God is true
God is everything, God is nothing
God is nowhere, God is everywhere
God is man, God is woman
God is transsexual, God is bisexual
God is here, God is there
God only exists in your head, but he is really dead
God is what we don't understand, in this great big land
God will never be ever seen, he is just a meme
God will never disappear, as he is based on fear
God is wonderful, God is great
God is an illusion, made-up mate
God is wonderful, God is great
God is an illusion, made-up mate
People tell me that I’m now a poet
I've still got a lot to learn and don’t I know it
I like to write with humour and wit
You may like my writes or think they are rubbish
(couldn’t think of suitable rhyming word here)
Some days my ideas just flow and flow
Other days my muse has a long way to go
I hate the days my brain is constipated
When I can’t find the words I get so frustrated
I need a dose of Movicol to get my movement going
Blockage will be cleared and my poems will be flowing
Other times my words gush like verbal diarrhoea
Inspiration flows like a river and I whoop and cheer
Thought I’d share this with you and keep you in the loop
You can read my outpourings here on Poetry Soup
Jan Allison
1st October 2014
Spirit of the night
Spirit of the night soil man
Spirit of the night soil man is awake
Spirit of the night soil man is abroad,
Here, the emerging mystery, more a sinister from a
dungeon,
When twilight sat on sad rooftops,
Lurking eyes, creeping limbs in the damp backyards,
To Loo looking gunt in the gloomy moonlight
Where broiling broths in chamberpots and bedpans are
emptied.
A structure of planks led upstairs
Ushering to crouch in a crouching mode,
Over hot hole on the pedestial,
Displaying buttocks lob over poe
Began the winced and windy screeching sirocco,
Screaming complaining bass and solo guitars,
Can be irksome when catch unawares
Of habitual sacrificial ritual of defecating,
On other hand, when afflicted in fora,
Go gawky limping along all the way
Any convenience found,
Unleashed mixed vortex of dark diarrhoea,
Ascendancy of curl buxom python laid,
Windy circular terra-cotta thin rope
And from top, short brief beef cake grenade drop,
After, some bruisers clean with dry cardboard
Or old newspapers that headline "Hard Times"
All add up sure riches to wealth,
Well soughted out after in heap chest.
It was on one Tuesday arvo shopping at the hardware store,
When I noticed Vicar Prendegast come walking through the door,
He walked up to the counter with a strained look on his face,
I could see that he’s not happy so I let him take my place.
Gerry who’s behind the counter asked the Vicar what was wrong,
The Vicar mentioned that a thousand bats are not where they belong,
They’ve settled in his narthex attic, as well as in his belfry too,
And leaving such a flamin’ mess, so is there something he can do.
Well Gerry looked across at me and asked me what I thought,
But the only answers that I had so quickly came up short,
I mentioned cats and noise or maybe, an evil smelling spray,
But the Vicar said he tried all these to scare the bats away.
An owl or two would do the trick, so I picked up the phone,
And rang up a taxidermist asking if there’s one on loan,
But his response was negative. Where does the Vicar go from here?
To rid his Church from pesky bats who seem to have diarrhoea.
We wracked our brains to find a source and help the Vicar out,
Suggesting that a smoke bomb might be just the thing to rout
the bats, but in frustration, the Vicar quietly spoke,
I filled the Church with acrid smoke, but it’s I who got to choke.
So in a last ditch effort Gerry asked the Vicar on the score,
“Have you talked about this problem with the Parish from next door?
I’m sure you’re not the only one these bats have taken too.
Have you got their Vicar’s number and I’ll ring him up for you”.
When Gerry put the phone down there’s a big smile on his face,
“No worries Vicar” Gerry said, “Theirs took off without a trace”,
And when Gerry added what was done, it made our Vicar wince,
“He baptised all his bloody bats and hasn’t seen ‘em since”.
©2006 Lindsay Laurie
Some poems I can’t comprehend
I struggle reading to the end
Flaunting a complex word
Its usage quite absurd
No comments not e’en from a friend!
I love learning new words on soup but get frustrated when I see poems peppered with long words, especially when trying to force rhyming and the words don't make any sense at all in context to the subject!
PLEASE SOUP ME ME YOUR POEM AND I'LL ADD IT TO THE POEM
Those pompous poets totally bore us
With clever words like 'radiciflorous'
But what you should know
Those words they borrow
From the pages of Roget's Thesaurus
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Ben gobbled a dictionary whole
and verbal diarrhoea took its toll
Now he's spewing words
flowing like loose turds
I hope he’ll regain vowel control!
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON - INSPIRED BY LIN'S POEM!
These wordy poems they are making
I find discombobulating
The syllable count
Continues to mount
As their egos are greatly inflating.
WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH
Jake ate the whole encyclopedia
Then it was covered by the news media
An instant wordsmith
But it was a big myth
Now he’s in a state of Acedia
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
There was a poet on here called Fred Flynn
Composed a verse about scabies and gin
Was poem of the day
To everyone's dismay
It should have gone in 'soups' recycle bin.
WRITTEN BY TOM CUNNINGHAM
A pompous poet always thinks he's right
And stays up making rude comments all night
With rude words that spit and spew
The idiot has no clue
That all of His poems need a rewrite
WRITTEN BY TANIA KITCHIN
I've got a good word but wait let me see
Possibly change two syllables to three
Your big pompous ass
Craps sweet sassafras
Insults disguised as complimentary
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
KEEP IT SIMPLE
Using words with hidden meanings
is for those with intellectual leanings
Poems that are complicated
are strictly over-rated
Give me a poem with simple gleanings.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet Copyright: 12/31/2018 “All Rights Reserved”
12/29/18
Sue suffers from constant lorgorrhea
This condition has no panacea –
Like a parrot who’s squawking
She just cannot stop talking
It’s well-known as verbal diarrhoea
7/13/18
The Groom of the Stool
(Two meditations on an ancient post: see below)
I.
The Groom of the Stool needs some time
To commit his experience to rhyme.
This commodious peer
Detests diarrhoea
But thinks constipation sublime
II.
See where the philosophic King
Sits Rodinesque upon his “throne”.
The patient Groom stands wondering
And draws conclusions of his own.
As often at such times as these,
He thinks of Plato, Locke and Kant
And their epistemologies —
And of his own ingenious slant:
“His Majesty – though no-one’s fool,
A veritable Marc Aurel –
Rises still wiser from his stool.
From which it’s possible to tell
That wisdom comes not only a priori,
But also, sometimes, a posteriori.”
Note: These two tasteless pieces were prompted by a colleague’s discovery of the post of “Groom of the Stool”.
This was a highly-placed courtier in 16th Century England, whose prestigious task it was – I regret to say, gentle reader – to wipe the Royal Bottom, at least according to some sources:
* https://www.tudorsociety.com/groom-stool-sarah-bryson/;
* http://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/king-toilet-attendant-england?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=atlas-page
We fell – as one would – to speculating about the philosophical and poetic potential of this post....
Everyone needs to be conscious to stay safe or alive
Because Ebola(named after a river)virus ravages with a mission to kill,
Often hand washing with soap or alcohol burns like grill,
Loss of appetite,vomiting,diarrhoea,sore throat,fever are imminent.
Animal vectors like bats should not be consumed which is very pertinent.
*May God save us from this dreaded disease that is deadlier than AIDS and Cancer…
*No vaccine yet...
The best waakye in the community is sold by the gutter,
Gutter choked with rubbish and litter,
Litter that stops the flow of water,
Water, contaminated as it is, the breeding grounds for mosquitoes,
Mosquitoes that cause malaria,
They hover around the food that we love,
And so we eat,
Eat to our hearts’ content,
And we enjoy every single bit of it,
And we fall sick; we get treated for cholera or diarrhoea,
And we still run back to the gutter-side,
We run back for more, more of our destruction,
Because that is the home of our favorite food, the gutter-side.