Best Excreting Poems
I didn’t do my math homework!
I watched T.V instead!
I better come up with an excuse... and quick!
Or else I’m surely dead!
My brother tore it!
It’s in the garbage!
Mom says it causes brain damage!
My power was out!
I had the flu!
I was having trouble excreting my poo!
You know, why even bother?
My excuses are so lame!
I know! My dog ate my homework!
Now to find a dog I can blame...
I'm but a frail bird tasked to bring hope and spread peace.
How shall I fly high in the sky with such a brittle burden!
My heart pounds in dilemma like a ping pong ball as I release
my wings in the air to take a flight at the height of a dark sky.
As dark as it can be, above me, the cauldron-black sky
with scary scars of blazing explosions emitting blinding light.
Beneath me, the brazier ground groaning with an outcry,
shedding tears of sparks that vaporize into nebulous smokes.
In between is the whizzing of weapons, excreting smokes
and urinating radiation that smothers the air with brutality.
Warhead rockets, firing aircraft, missiles, bombs...stoke
the fire of war for the sake of supremacy by killing morality.
Shrills of ruination buried under the roars of madness spree
while the two-legged demons having a bloodbath with big guns.
Colors of bliss faded away and helpless time trying to flee
as achromic misery taints moments with grim stains in gallons.
Ember red blood is the only bold color that flows in streams
dyeing the soil and water with a stench of rotting death.
Once cultivated verdant fields are now burned into coal seams.
Marred by violence, houses crumble like ashes in hearth.
Such horrific images I see all around me as the hearth
of fierce war burns with glaring flames and crackling noises.
I fly, hover and fly with my singed wings as there is a dearth
of safe shelter; my exhausted body trembles with fear.
Would I be able to stop the war? I questioned myself with fear.
Quite a hard-hitting answer I received in the form of a bullet
that pierced my heart and I fell on the ground with tears.
From my smeared blood, poppies bloom around me as I die.
Date: 11/12/2017
Feed them,
feed them lies
Feed them the lies they love so well
Give them gut rot,
make their distended bellies swell
Excreting lies so disgusting,
they leave an awful, putrid smell
Feed them,
feed them more lies
Let them taste the rotten fruit
that yield the swarm of flies
Let them take the moldy bread,
and put it in the maggot dip
Open wide their sepulchre mouth,
and spread those crooked lips
Shovel the lies down their throat,
let it come out of their nostril
Lover of lies who love to boast
about all the souls they do kill
Feed them,
give them what they want
Feed them lies,
til it come out of their eyes
Haters of truth, will never hear it
Don't give them that, please don't
Lover of lies,
lover of sin
Vomit out the vile lies,
then lick it up again
Hounds of iniquity,
got the lying tick and the lying flea
Love to wallow in the filthy mud,
love to lick their paws covered in blood
Keep feeding them lies,
lies they love to hear and tell
Greedy dogs who never get enough,
send them all straight to hell
Monah Kaur and Robert Kumar fled from London, came to ‘Hindustan’; tied the knot
The 'Singhs' stopped their songs and 'Kumars at no. 42' burnt their studio; this rebellion; they will forget not
A petite piece of land was gifted by Uncle Prem to mark their freedom
With much thought the newly wed called it Garden of Eden
They cleared the plot from crawling matters and built a woody farm house
Within a year, Monah gave birth to twins; Lisa died; Minnie who survived became quiet as a mouse
The air around still polluted in invasion and many cuffed in iron
The sun and moon fairer than in London but nothing seemed fine
The couple laboured and fostered peaches for Mr. Big Ben; returned home clad in blisters
Minnie cried; and cried; her parents had no time and she desired a couple of sisters
In financial distress the duo approached the heroic Farmer Bachan to assist his flock
Pleased with their dedication he gifted them a Peacock.
Minnie cried louder now, seeing this English present; she wasn’t a fan
Bachan who was fond of the child, sent her way, a young Indian Peahen
Minnie’s tears lost its way in the Ganges as the new birds found their click
Around Christmas added to the family was a cute hybrid Pea-chick
What adorable ‘chana’ like eyes had she!
Without delay, Minnie named her Chick pea
Eden now a 'Rangoli'; 'Ranisas' and 'Nawabs' soothed in ‘Masala’ tea
All engrossed in the lights and sweetness of Diwali; no attention paid to the growth of The Serpent on that Apple tree.
Those daffodils patented to Wordsworth, danced in the air
In its abode, the serpent watched Eden, what a scare!
One morning, Minnie fetched a Brown ladder to reach the tree which dazzled with rounds of juicy red
The ladder attacked and killed; the child returned home badly bitten, almost to eternal slumber she bled
Bachan’s sheep strayed to the road that was not to be taken, decreased from many to few
Eden cried for The Good Shepard; The Foreign Raj ruthlessly bottled native stew
Prayers were answered and on a Tiger came a Flying sheriff called ‘Shroff’
Bedecked in turfy ‘ceps’ and ‘pecs’; this essence fought in ‘huff & puoff’
Over time; in years almost equal to Tendulkar's century; the Serpent grew wicked miles
The gladiator fought till his last breath, excreting the treacherous reptile back to the British Isles
Food
mouthful, bellyful
appealling, inviting, arresting
satisfaction,happiness,urge,want
digesting,absorbing,excreting
rejectful,ejectful
waste.
Brains excreting pictures
dreams
stories
"Chia Pet Poets"
exploring emotional trade winds
escaping reality
for SIX minutes
returning
for seconds
entranced
for SIX hours
thunder
from fingers
for days
therapy
for nights
grins hidden deep
beneath booger eyelids
crusted
wipe clean morning's green sleep
disappearing dried dreams
wetting the head
in bed
freeing sick insecurities
exiled
for years
horror flicks
on repeat
since haunted childhood
frozen within vaults
SIX feet thick
sledgehammer
wrecking ball rehabilitation
cannot promise demolition
for good...
diffusing demon whispers
I'm dreaming of bleeding
My hearts in receding
A darkness descending
In chambers unending
I just want to flippin die
It's so putrid, I could cry
Could you please tell me why
The root of my disease
Will I rise from this beating
These pieces are excreting
Or, will I wither away
Decaying and replaying
The love that you gave
Dusted poison apon my grave
Your shovel was digging
Into my soul, it was stripping
Away with your laced pain
Taking a bullet, to your domain
I survived, unscathed
Or did I, really
I walk into my room every day
seeing that closet. I wake up
and I think in my mind "there's
that sin."
It's a eternal evil, it's clawing at
the door, gnawing at my skin,
growing and groaning more and
more.
It's big and ferocious, my past
life it is. It's mean and scary
and I can never win.
My broken past met with my
brain and made memories, I
can't let go of this pain that is
forever chasing me.
I tried chaining it up, I try
holding it down, but it's no use!
My strength is no match for its
conviction and blood-shot
reproof.
I can't take this anymore, this
isn't fair! I'm not even that
person anymore and yet there
are scars I bare.
Manipulating, hideous,
tormenting, dangerous.
This present evil is tied at my
doorstep, tied at my post.
I want to burn it at the stake,
and leave the ashes to rot. I
want to forsake it so bad, but I
know it will forsake me not.
This terrible folly can go on no
longer, I've made no deals with
the devil and this is too much.
I need something, or someone
to take this animal away so it
will stop hurting me.
I need an exerting of a pain-
free peace, I need an excreting
of this soul-eating disease, I
want to be free!
God***
Daughter, Daughter! I'm right
here. I'm right by your side.
I've never left you, all through
your lows and even through
your highs!
You see that evil that gets at
you, you see that pain that
won't escape you, I can take
that off your shoulders.
Ill make it to where that
burning flame of evil is nothing
but a dying smolder.
I can take that evil away but
you must give me your past.
I can take that pain away but
this battle must be your last.
Give me the reins and ill drive
it away,
Give me your darkness and ill
give you another way.
Gods cares about your pain,
He cares about your struggles.
He has no fear in anything and
there's nothing too big for him to
battle.
He will take your sin down,
pumbled to the ground.
He'll make it look simple, like
popping a small pimple on the
face of your destiny,
Because he's got everything,
under control.
So give him full custody to your
past, and he'll give you a
limitless future.
-Elizabeth Cary
Hi guys go through my new poem.
OCTOBER-SOARED TEMPERATURE
Extemporing October heat, October heat,
You always dance with the flaming beat.
Not like September, Sophisticatedly you treat,
Removing water from taste buds when we eat.
Oops, not again you act like an evil!
Exchanging heat, You rose a notch,
Excreting perspiration through the pores of body, You hikingly botch.
Blending the temperature with moistened air,
Bless us with the Somatic sensation of cold, which is obviously fare.
Whoa, by then everybody will be amazed!
Ivory nuts of the earth's palm,
Stresslessly you be so calm.
Awfully you pour some rain,
Frantically we will be so madly insane.
Dont inject blusterous blaze on the seashore.
Ouch, that really hurts!
Flaring star with high intensity,
Melting down the earths dignity.
Scotch your heightening desire,
Briskly inhale refreshing breathe.
Ohhh boiling Sun, shade under your sheathe!
As like tempting cheesy dip,
Magical smile will appear between the paired lips.
Hold your stubborn heat back,
Begging you please not to swindle and smack.
Alas, mercilessly accomplish your goal!
Radiating solar, dont propagate your burning rays,
Serenely shower your pleasant warmth, every day.
Glacial winds please wrap around,
Happily waving everybody I will found.
Woohoo, Rosaceously waiting for glint of dawn!
By Madhavi
Brittle to the touch
So fragile these walls
that are put up to hide
happiness in exchange for anonymity.
On the outside looking in
Cannot fathom the reasons for such insecurities
I, the mirror, adore what i see
The other, the refugee, squatting in front of me.
What figments of our psyche, what imagination
Are these metaphoric arthropods under skin
Shifting about, changing shape and contorting
Consuming the Tangible. Excreting Fiction.
Shed shells of these askewed you's
Be perplexed no more
Cease projecting worst on others eyes
Take deep breaths again.
Tool-Parabola, 46-2
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/processes-of-life
The basic essence of being alive
The process to live and thrive
Movement as the ability to move
Respire to release energy from food
Response to changes, sensitivity
Building blocks, growing steadily
Reproduction of offspring
Excreting waste, healthy living
Food for energy, vital nutrition
Life processes of healthy condition
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Part Three
Did you not notice then
How uneasy I was in the eye of abundance
How hiding from the surfeit of joy
From whose very object I
Learned not to cry
And so all through with fear
Fear opening fresh fear
Without respite, without cause
Deft day handling stolen night
Within the walls of our breath
Smarting, whining
Nudging through illusory pretences
Waking and making our presence
Forever shy of ourselves
As if all this were not true
Heart closing on heart
Excreting gratitude
You have done your part
What more could I ask
Could you then blame me that I fought
Every step of your way to me
For what I was worth to you
I was ready as a knave to soot
And when indeed you took a man
You took to bed a goon not a man
Though we account for ourselves
and whatever we have accounted for
We do not take ourselves apart
and when we have to account for ourselves
between you and me
Then what we have to account for is three
You, the goon, and the man or me
But when we have nothing to account for
There is but one lonesome count
And so you came to me
A thwarted child
and you told me
"You .... Me"
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: Rayirath Publications, 1961.) Rev. 2012.
In Nkporoland, filled with milk and honey
We read the hand written on the wall under
The milky moon with our stomach painted with the earth
When we ate those roasted black yam with red oil,
And pink kola nut in grandpa's mouth speaking
He would gather us under the Ugba tree.
He told us tales of Ndimgba, the tortoise
The tales of Nzogbu, the oracle
How Eze aja was coronated on those stone age
We sat under the smiling pretty moon smiling
No one to murder our joy and dreams.
We were in the world of our own ruling fate and passion.
so long and sweet, they were, Nkporo tales
So delicious and appealing that some times we left our food
And forget to wear our pants after excreting
So we could listen to those tales told in a fantastic and refined way
Nkporoland, where the ikoro never cease to sound like drums
Of emotion and passion hold high in admiration.
Nkporo Amaka... no place like home
We said rubbing our stomach down of the delicious food.
We ate with tales, sleep with the tale of evil
Spirit sounding their gong in our ears and fear
Gripping our heart, we never give in but
Strife to chase them away just like Grand pa told us.
Those tales reminded us of peace and purity of man
Kind but all those are gone.
Tales are gone because mother and Grand pa had gone beyond.
Now we hear of wars, fabricated tales mixed
With watering mouth which makes the ear bitter sad.
Those they told us are foreign made not home made
Truth is an elusive beast.
Veiled by the cloak of deceit.
Truth is a laser light.
Only found by those who seek.
Truth can cut one to the quick,
When square in the face it hits.
Truth a precision scalpel,
Surgeon tool that does the trick.
Severs bonds of hypocrisy.
Removes the blinders of hate.
Truth never arrives uninvited,
Thus, dull darkness of deception,
Eases into every ideology.
Feasting in minds of educated arrogant.
Flowing out from intellectual ignorant.
Excreting greed, graft, hate, and hypocrisy.
Truth never resides in the middle.
For it is always right of left,
Occasionally appears left of right.
Truth by its nature must choose sides.
For when it comes to wrong or right,
Truth in the middle cannot abide.
Light of truth the great surgeon.
Seek the surgeon he will set you free.
am i alive?
what classifies something as alive?
respiration
i am breathing
but just barely
trying to capture any air i can between sobs
growth
i am growing
it becomes increasingly difficult
recognizing myself in the mirror every day
and believing the next age i'm turning
excretion
i am excreting
i sweat when i do pretty much anything
even though i'm always cold
is there something wrong with me?
or am i just overthinking again?
reproduction
i am not reproducing
i can
but i'm not sure i want to
i wouldn't be a good mom
i'm worried i'd be too much like my own
metabolism
i am metabolizing
i always claimed it to be fast but maybe
it's since it doesn't have much to work with
movement
i am moving
my body does it without me knowing
or being conscious
it just moves
response to stimuli
i am responding
i respond too much
too dramatically
too sensitively
i fit all the criteria
so i guess i am alive
i'm just not living