Best Excrete Poems
In an abyss of mar;
I was sunk.
My thoughts swimming;
in a pool of masquerade shame.
A dagger in my head;
All I could see was an evening of score.
With a flip of a hand;
Like an angered red dragon.
I breathed fire and redemption;
In the midst of rage and terror.
I had blood on my hands;
All I could hear was a cry from the soil.
In a faction of a second;
My heart had raced.
Thoughts crumbled with confusion.
A wanderer in the desert of oz.
My legs felt like shattered glass.
And all I could think was vengeance.
He had tainted her hands;
Abused them in pain.
She had screamed inside.
A caged animal in a circus.
Unfamiliar territory scared her.
And all I could excrete were tears dry.
With a bow he had decorated her.
A misdeed he did.
It was physical for him,
Emotional damage for her.
Humanity lost inside a cave of bats and bears.
And all I could hear were screams.
Murder she wrote; the opposite.
Beauty like a bunch of roses; yes.
Heart like a garden of roses; yes.
A cactus environment she delved;
With eyes wide shut.
All I could hear were whispers.
With pique like that of a tiger.
I bore teeth, muscle and archery.
Blinded by a trim cloth of red.
A knight’s tale it foretold.
He had hurt my offspring.
All I could see was night.
Emotionally; I covered him with guilt.
Overt, I smeared him with shame.
Physically I scathed him; barbarian.
A man’s title he does not deserve.
Physically I had marked him for the world to see.
And all I could still see was darkness.
He had hurt my offspring.
All I could see was red.
The knots have knots…God?
Threads of needing, want, desire;
passion spent on barren sod
left to burn on flaming pyre.
God, the knots have knots?
Nodes and nodules, full of spoor,
planted upon poisoned plots
hoarding, warmth, desire and more…
God, the knots have knots!
Pulse, and pump; push, and explore
lose the beastly cankerous clots
excrete angst, open the pore,
Free the knots, God, please…
By root and rote, the seedling pleads.
Contest: Me Against Myself
Date 6/30/11
D. Guzzi
Where the haze of the soul and heart meet
As darkness wiggles and enigmas excrete
Whispers hit over an unfathomable abyss
A story of love and shadows starts to wiss
Amid a mist of ambiguity and skepticism,
an opus of whispers bursts aestheticism.
Invisible hands oversee the visceral dance,
When light and shadow share a glance.
Soft, seductive, shadowy muttering,
Raising awareness over innate yearning
Such ethereal sparks on a gloomy night
Sparking zeal to sustain the fire bright.
Within the eerie abyss of one's heart
Love and gloom share an intense start.
Our bond is a tango of dim light and shade
As tales disappear and real facts are laid.
"In the misty corridors of the soul"
The harm of gossip is lasting and taking its toll.
Inextricably linked with affection and gloom
A dance of lies for all to witness and bloom.
Murmurs resound with an introspective tune
We're reaching closer as we quest and swoon.
Digging into the worst depths of our appetite
Grasping the reality that generates love tight.
*3
Green Luna moths, cardinals and dragonflies too
Freeist beings on earth is butterfly
Dusky moth form a spiritual tree.
All effortlessly gliding from heavenly sky
Each being born from angel’s heartfelt cry
Exuding great beauty without a try,
Eretheal angels like to sit
Their enhanced beauty great as star above.
Great snapshot moments as they flirt and flit
Excrete whispers to each by sweet morning dove
Keeping warm counsel from me and from you.
Fully aware they are expressing love.
Landing lightly for a sip of warm dew
Garden minxes and brownies they do play
Heavenly secrets are less than a few
Giving us this joy each and every day
Reminds us of Father God in every way.
A man sitting on a toilet seat giving strength to his belly,
though resting his chin on his hand imitating the thinker
who is sitting in front of the gate of hell with deep thoughts,
naked on the bottom-half because he couldn't get completely naked
like the thinker, excretes waste from his body.
Although the waste excreted from his body can be flushed out
it may alleviate him for a while, the belly still is a bit uneasy
from the accumulated evil thoughts he kept in his body for years,
won't be able to flush out.
That's why the toilet seat starts to crack,
and because overly abusing the lower body
the pain creeps up from the bottom of the pit,
and that would be the entrance to the little hell.
If you see it from another angle, you can say that
the water from the toilet is the water of Lethe, which
will merge into Elysium, and therefore it may be Utopia;
then why squat down on the toilet seat troubled.
It's rather interesting to watch life,
since he is unable to filter the root of the larger hell
that is lurking somewhere in his body, though,
he fell into own dodge, condemning the lower belly,
unable to leave the toilet.
You are a weary wanderer going after a soul that drifted away;
you are a befogged soul facing hell but turning away from it,
and anchored the weight of your mind to the hell that is
on the other side of the world, sniffing a nauseous smell of sulfur
bubbling up from the bottom of the deep sea.
You are a wounded charger dashing aimlessly through the midst
of the smoke of battle and the rain of bullets, therefore, though
you have a mane you are unable to rise or call the wind, yet carrying
a self-conceited pedant who favors the use of unfamiliar words and
invents odd phrases to show-off on your back.
Why don't you, instead of pacing in hell,
swallow a handful of powder to help loosen the bowels excrete
the layer after layers of evil thoughts and the heaps of wastes
accumulated in the body for decades.
Here’s the best thing you should know,
if ever to Australia you go.
Don’t ever wind up as a feast,
for this voracious reptilian beast.
For your reasoning surely would be faulty,
if you ever “muck about” with a “SALTY”.
And don’t think he was born with a tooth that’s “SWEET”.
To him you are just another piece of meat.
So if you must visit his polluted “Billabong” retreat,
make sure the only thing he swallows is what you excrete!
For the Sweet or Salty contest
They say they want to play
their games in shades of grey
as smiles hide their deceit
and lead our souls astray.
The words they speak so sweet
like sugar coated treat
while looking in our eyes
their lies they will excrete.
They tempt us with these lies
in shades of grey disguise
and prey upon our dreams
as they perfect their guise.
With deft, their wily schemes
are played with skill it seems
while feigning to console
beneath the soft moonbeams.
And as they gain control
we slowly bare our soul
and then their laughs beset
for they have reached their goal.
Beware the cunning threat
we mustn’t e’er forget
that games in shades of grey
will lead to our regret.
January 17, 2021
As Several look all the way up
And stare at the sky
Some will ask what and how
Others will ask what and why.
What must I do to get there
And how long will it take?
What did I do wrong,
Why me oh fate?
Because as several look up
And see the birds fly,
They'll also see those
On their magic carpet ride.
Those with patience or smarts,
Or just a pure stroke of luck.
They obtained their carpet
To rise and soar above.
So as several excrete blood, sweat, and tears
Working their fingers to the bone.
Day-in day-out
They sew sew sew.
Putting their souls into the dream
Hoping one day to take flight
On the magic carpet,
Destination: the good life.
If you were to embrace me one moment,
I would melt in the fissures of your throbbing prestidigitation
My heart would dare not let me see the poison you excrete
My mind would make excuses, to be in your arms again
Devil! how you break me down so lovingly,
With fingers so candid on my gyrating frame
I am frightened by the chords you play on me
With those magic lips and that impassioned tongue
I befall speechless as I clutch you
Your auspicious words keep me partially consolidated,
As I tremble with every whisper in this gelatinous agitation
I mean to divorce my pleading fervor so that I may breathe
And overcome this pressing desire to please you
Devil! how you weigh me down so blithely,
I cringe, and I recoil—you merely close in
With certainty you plunge unwavering
Your sorcery slaying all of my resistance
If I were to embrace you again,
The fires of promise you enchant me with would die, and slowly
The ice of your soulful lies would shatter my mind, so fixedly
And my stubborn heart would cry, cursedly,
“You have endured thus far, and forever always!”
I nestled my bottom on the seat
Of the toilet - I’m being discrete
I finished my job
Now need a lynch mob
It’s a good thing I didn’t excrete!
There’s no paper left in the loo
My language is turning quite blue
If you use the last sheet
Will you kindly replete
Or there’ll be a hullabaloo
Contest -I’m so annoyed
Sponsor Mary Oliver Rotman
01 08 15
This Poem is dedicated to all those who have lost their
lives in Orlando Carnage in the hands of hatred and violence.
HOW LONG THE GUNS
How long the Guns
Would continue to excrete
Their stream of hatred and death
How long the innocents
Would continue to be the target
Of those
Who were born like humans
With the same sweet heart
Which beats and breaths
Similarly like a heart full of love
But now some of these have converted
Into nothing but the statue of stones
Which likes the sounds of killing
And hatred only. 01
From where this much of hatred
Has emerged
In such human minds and hearts
To convert it into a barren land only
Where grows the culture of hatred
Violence and death
On every branch of its thinking and deeds. 02
These very minds too
Were made by the same almighty God
Who gave us the gift of life and love
And of kindness and compassion for all
To spread love and peace
Benevolence and compassion
To sing the song of happiness and joy
Even when the darkness surrounds
They were taught to pray and sing
The Song of love and compassion for all. 03
Are we on the right track?
To give birth to such human minds
Where love has lost
Its ways and roots
To shape rightly the minds and hearts
So that these distracted souls
Have become heartless like stones
And try to seek peace of mind
In killing the innocents
Thinking that this the aim of their life
Or we need to ponder
On what actually went wrong
Which needs to change our ways and means
Which has given birth
To such unquenched hatred and
A life of death and killings and killings. 04
Do we need?
To call once again
Some Buddha and Jesus
Or we need
To change our upbringing?
By giving more love and care to our children
To bring back these lost souls
On the track of love and kindness
So that the world may live and flourish
In the harmony of peace and happiness. 05
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 15th June 2016
Teach me how to cry
So that when it hurts I may be able to untangle what pain lies between the angles of my arteries
I want to excrete what is obsolete
To pave way for the exit of that which makes me incomplete
I want,
To never hold on to what could have been
Or what I imagine with crippling confusion may somehow... become
Rid me - of inexplicable intrusion
The kind where I can not comprehend
how a piece of entice consumes my insides only for it to shrivel up and die before my inner eye coincides with my mind to make sense of why the though of it was so intense
Give me the wisdom to reject pretence
Let all that is not meant to be leave me
Fill me with the kind of something it takes to embrace what is real, even when my perfectly constructed fantasies are hot on its heals
Give me strength
To no longer just inhale to survive
Teach me how to breathe so that I may find release on those days when even a sigh is out of reach
Share with me what women were given to thrive on those days when the heaviest clouds burdened skies and it seemed,
That even heaven had fallen deaf to her desperate pleas for a little bit of sunshine
Hand me, my generous dose of what its take to make women smile on those days when the knives in their chests pierced the very place where they're faith was set to emerge
Where, the pain was so fierce that each time they heaved they're bitter tears were met with a lukewarm sorry at best
And when my heart is left in pieces
Guide my soul to where His peace is
I pray for my dreams to never shut their eyes or hide
I pray that nothing ever beats me cos I never tried
I pray that I find truth where reality lies
That I may learn to sift through the dirt and discover, what little bit of bliss is mine
Tell them I did it
Tell them when possibility was no longer revered I was the one who pushed beyond fear
Tell them that I will dream until the oceans reject the streams
Tell them I did it
Tell them I dreamed
Sloth hangs upside down in a tree
I look up and unfortunately
Golden pee it releases
With a week’s worth of faeces
I’ll admit I am far from happy!
A sloth only excretes once a week and can lose a third of its body weight
A little poetic licence, they actually excrete on the ground
10/21/21
I drink poetry and excrete it in my imagination to the taste of soup, inspiration in my gutter of sky, the farces run the barn of wood crawling fingers, digging deep into the fury velvet twilight map the location
Entertainer decapitate loyal crew to the kingdom of kingpin round morning blessing brother meek of submerged answers never to be repeated to the third person singular, but lukewarm of appetite detached morning mum.
Line of angry dull pin the sharp hap to the loot of moon pointing straightforward to the faded Antilles, Western Indies scruffs of limitless anchor of my days to that thwart of subliminal good to go.
Smiling moon to the center of the sky peep into my prison of imagination, padlock to the gallows mistake shaking the dignity of arrow to the cloak the tempest banana republic to repugnant whistle sound
The kilos of rhythms backed up my pant of pain to till sunshine yet to blame the belated from the bereave lure to deputizes the post of ray to tray of mishaps, the din of lion claws of fun rub truth leaning side by side sip the peg of life to the smile of hyperbole.
The sharp thoughts quick under my pillow from voices of an Island crying to trembling hawk jog of bug nails sound decontrol of hail night and the root of thief.
PAPERBACKS AND COKE
Two partners in crime, my love affairs…
Bookmarked pages dumped on my soft bed
An urge to roam among fays and lords,
With visions of despair or triumph
Knowing insomnia is the nemesis;
While Advil cannot comfort night’s plea
A hubris …firing my imagination.
While leafing through chapters, I find relief
From another quirk; an ally so sweet…
Oh,cold fixes of Coke Zero quench
This need to satisfy all day’s thirst,
Eluding water therapy…how bland
How tasteless when hero and villain
Begin a venture of mighty feat;
Jittery, hand reaches for the next soda
As my brain excrete adrenaline…
With paperbacks and Coke at 3 am,
I conquer twilight’s watch, quite drained!
But life is short, my love affairs agree;
Did I include the M&M’s cravings?
For rob carmack, A Vice You Love
11/21/2015