Best Faeces Poems
A collaboration by Tania Kitchin, Lin Lane, Jan Allison and me that was inspired by Charles Messina's recent POTD.
It's a pooper scooper; that's what we need
But I doubt they will willingly concede
It'll take jury and judge
for those who refuse to budge
No matter how many of us agreed.
Cara never wrote an honest line
Her poems just stink, they're not sublime
They all just reek like poo
Should be flushed down the loo
Needs to stop stealing poems online
Ken was so ill, thought he had a bad flu
And freaked out when he saw his poo was blue
He went to have some tests,
Praying his bowels rest
Told he ate too many berries, who knew
Poor Tania's cat pooped on the floor
Then wiped it's butt on the loo door
It's too late in the night
To see this poopy sight
Cat faeces in house folk abhor!
She lets her dog out for a pee
When under a bush she can see
A skunk ready to spray
She gets her dog away
Phew! no skunk spray on poor Ziggy.
I suggest the site be fumigated
For some who need to read it translated...
"People who post their poop
Don't belong in our group"
Hope this current trend becomes abated.
In the past folks wrote their own poetry
On display for the whole wide world to see
But many are quite sly
Use robots and AI
It's cheating and reeks of dishonesty.
Written on 4th September 2026
Cat faeces in piles on the grass
I’m tempted to butt plug cat’s ass
But two solar cat scarers
Have stopped cat crap terrors
Their solar charged tone works first class!
No kitty poop piles this week
Though daily its cat poop I seek
There’s no turds on my lawn
I’m no longer forlorn
Cat’s crapping elsewhere, YES! I shriek!
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Durin' the time I was passing my urine
My faeces were falling to pieces
Submitted to Juvenilia Contest
13th March 2015
INTERNATIONAL!!
Criminals a'caught here.?
Send masks to cover faeces.)
Naked death
…the barred and sealed cattle wagons
disgorge
at the Konzentrazionslager
the faux pas relief
from urine mud faeces sweat and tears
unkempt armpits buttocks best wear
turned to damp rags
reduced to moaning cattle
nameless
even the heifer wan straggly limp
Alles! Raus!
…the last quick dab of face powder
the lipstick dried blood tan
the felt hat lying soggy stained
through bellowed haste
on the mudcaked barrack floor
the wampumpeag plucked by the helmeted claw
stabbing on sole-cold cutting cement platform
averting glances on sapped sagging busts
shoulders hunched buckled in
fingers reaching to scratch loins
nostrils quivering
whose the naughty stench
then the trooped Indian file
stray belongings dumped
in a wasteproduct pile
the once highheeled gait
slumping to a side
from the hips down to a jaggedknee limp
prodding the miasmal mist
the exposed varicose veins
the knotty pubis
the mons veneris
the intimate warts and moles
last year’s Ceasarian stitches
the rump twitched less
the lack lustre sentry gazes
the unmasked leer
the disdainful pursed lips
neither shame nor pudeur
and then the last gangway to nowhere
the Ave-Maria road to Himmelweg
a reprieve
From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes ( a binding of poems), 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 1999/2016
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
(continued from PART ONE)
Why I’ve seen him countless times, regurgitate old dog faeces onto fresh bread
And listened to his quiet voice exhorting me to do the same.
This fly was a born teacher.
There can be no greater accolade for a teacher than to be followed by his students.
He used basic good common sense, but spiced-up with a dash of excitement.
The well-known excrement-with-fried-egg, the easy-to-recognize urine-flavoured
Chips in the gutter, and the now commonplace saliva-over-spoon trick,
Are today almost standard delicacies for us all. Yet it was Hector who pioneered them.
He ignored the scorn and catcalls from younger flies, as he disdained a baby’s diaper
In some trash can, and went winging his way up to the second floor of the hospital
To select the juiciest old blood he could find.
No - Hector was independent, he was truly his own fly.
He stuck with pioneering ideas like the then-untested skid techniques
For escaping fly-swatters wielded in kitchens. It was Hector’s brave soul
Which brought standardized fly-patrols into being to catch a greater proportion of
Unsuspecting open-mouthed sleepers at night.
Uncle Hector went where no fly had gone before, and he did it with style.
He often said,“If you can make it on this heap of cat-dung, you can make it anywhere”
And there’s the lesson for us all today, ladies and gentlemen.
Let us not grieve for the loss of such a fine fly, but rather
Celebrate his life of discovery and progress. Let us go forth from this cat-crap
To a brighter future illuminated by the searching curiosity of Uncle Hector’s mind.
Younger generation, you must go forth boldly and find your own rotten cucumbers,
Your own half-eaten porkchops, your own dandruff-laden combs,
And be not afraid to mix them with relish as you choose from the delicacies
Of the knacker’s yard or the remains of a crow hit by a ten-ton truck on the road.
We stand - or hover - now in silence for one minute, as a token of respect -
And as we enjoy the gentle aroma of this cat-crap heap,
Allow the memory of Hector to inspire us.
God bless you all.
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
(Continued from Part Two - 2)
While those that lay claim, nay, boast of
to the largest democratic state
a bi-cameral constitution
simply inherited from Westminister
as much as the unifying language
and the soi-disant socialist stamp
transported lock stock and tablier
from a Cambridge freemasonic lodge
by the Nehru dynasty progenitor
look the other way
with thumb and index closing on nostrils
when their pariah cart their faeces away
and still after millennia acknowledge and uphold the Brahmin
the self-proclaimed superior priesthood caste
those who speak for the Godhead Brahman
albeit speak with Him in the only sacred Sanskrit tongue
thus to be enthroned
on the highest pure-blooded pedestal
Can there be an Asia
the cradle of quarrelling Gods
which can listen to the little voice within
the voice of innocence
Is there an ASIA
or
are there asias
As there were warring Euro-nations…
[ to be continued ]
© T.Wignesan 1996/2001
(Written between April 7th and 20th, 1996; revised February 2001/2012 and published in The Asianists’ Asia, Vol. II, March 2001, an on-line journal [from the “original version” in the collection: longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999]
Published in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
A professor has published his thesis
On removal of impacted faeces
Use the end of a pencil
Or a kitchen utensil
to dislodge clumps of faeces in pieces!
Told you it was a crap poem!
05/14/20
The bird said to the bee"I am the best",
The bee replied "the best is in my nest",
My sweet waste serves as honey,
as your singing is funny,
buzzing or singing we fly like the rest.
The bird added"though your faeces is sweet",
"I move with my two wings like a fast fleet",
Your sting is very painful;
much annoying and dreadful,
But,we are both dancing to the same beat.
My toilet was blocked, what a bummer
I texted Curtis, he’s a plumber
He got out his long rod
Gave my blockage a prod
If lucky t’will be fixed by summer!
The plumber has read a food thesis
Why faeces aren’t falling to pieces
If you go the whole hog
You will poop a bog log
Our diets needs more oils and greases!
Occupation chosen Plumber
Limerick's poetry Contest by Joseph May
syllable count 9.9.6.6.9 both poems
checked with how many syllables
1/4/19
An in-patient named Mustapha Dump
Said his faeces were wedged in a lump
His diet must improve
So the blockage can move
Or his treatment’s a huge suction pump!
08-29-17
A student at Turdbois Uni
Is studying Scatology
Sue must write a thesis
On impacted faeces
She admits it’s a crap degree!