Best Fart Poems
A constipated vicar named Bart
Was in church when he dropped a huge fart
He said 'Lord I have sinned'
For I’ve got pooey wind
Blushing scarlet he did soon depart!
26th April 2016
BREAKING NEWS
We have breaking news right here on the soup!
You can travel back in time if you write about poop.
Back to sixth grade is where we’ll get sent.
There is a time machine waiting that’ll send back our scent.
We can giggle at farts that we rip in the hall.
Or maybe grease one out when we pick up a ball.
Back to sixth grade? Where do I sign?
That would be better than reading poems that whine all the time.
From the seat of our bikes, we’d pass gas all around.
A smellier bunch would never be found.
Just don’t lite a match, it could blow down your door.
We all could read comics about Iron Man and Thor.
For a seat back in time, a stinker I’ve got.
If it’s all about poop, then I’ll give it a shot.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this rhyme I’ve sent forth.
It’s a fart just for you, sent down from the North.
I awoke last night and fell out of bed.
A fart from my Pit bull nearly left me for dead.
It was silent but deadly as it stunk up the house.
None could stand up not even a mouse.
I hit the floor hard her toot was sure ripe.
Tangy and pungent with an everlasting bite.
I crawled through the kitchen and out towards the door.
I couldn’t believe it was somewhat worse than before.
Shaken not stirred I caught some fresh air.
How can something so strong come from such a small derriere.
An emergency button installed in plain sight.
It opened all windows and brought peace to the night.
There’s a moral to this story, be careful what you eat.
Don’t share with your dog, its not a good treat.
A surgical mask and some good rubber gloves.
Will go a long way for the Dog that you love.
THE OLD FART SONG
(sing to the tune of "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys")
Verse one:
Old men ain't easy to love and they're harder to mold,
so train 'em when young, girls, don't wait till their bones have turned cold.
They're slow as molasses, wear cheap reading glasses, they're hearing aids give them away,
they grumble and mumble, they bumble and stumble, what hair they have left turns to gray.
Chorus:
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
Their best parts get limber, their brains turn to timber,
they spend too much time letting farts.
Ladies don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
because when they're home, you will wish you're alone
and they think they have all of the smarts.
Verse two:
Old men like old stuff, ain't that some strange stuff, how antiques will make 'em feel young?
They whistle like thistles, sling advice like missiles and sing like their a**es got stung.
They're always ploying and tinker toying, they usually, always repeat:
What did you say dear? SPEAK UP NOW, DAMMIT! and, When in the hell do we eat?
Repeat Chorus
Verse three:
Old men like talkin' way more than go-walkin', but listening, well, not so much.
Don't try to change him or even "re-range" him, or mess with his habits and such.
Changes upset him, so you better let him, still think he has plenty pizazz,
or he will snuffle, kerfuffle and shuffle, doin' stuff that's a pain in the azz.
repeat chorus
Verse four
They say that old soldiers don't die, that they just fade away,
it's the same with your old man... remember each dog has his day.
Don't nickel and dime him, remember to prime him, be kind as he turns into dust.
Through thick and through thin and through silly and sin, you're together for better or bust.
FInal Chorus
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
let 'em be babies and let 'em be children
and let 'em be heroes again.
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
When they hit bottom, be thankful you got 'em,
'Cause soon enough it will all end.
Jan caught a jet plane to New York
Where bacon does not come from pork
To end her trip
Jan let one rip
The Captain delivered a stork
Jan's flight was Economy grade
Stuck between an old man and old maid
In the middle row
Which way should she blow?
"Hey! I've got a new hearing aid!"
Hot air will rise up to the Heaven
Where degrees are numbered to seven
But Jan's chocolate farts
Broke all of the charts
And bounced back to suffocate Devon
Donald Trump and May made a pact
To abolish the Clean Air Act
For with Jan on the loose
Even Trump could deduce
Air stinks as a matter of fact
Jan could hear the wind in the willows
And lay down her head on the pillows
But one gust of wind
Would quickly transcend
Her sheets into shuddering billows.
So Jan wanted to go back home
But her agent booked her to Nome
The crews final task:
"Get oxygen mask"
Jan's luggage was blasted to Rome
Jan thought that she needed a rest
So she flew off to Budapest
She let off a few
For Captain and crew
Now she oompahs Oktoberfest
I'm like a fart
Puff I'm here
There is no easy escape
Once I am here
No one gets away
Once I've gone
It's only a matter of time
Before I return
For my husband on chili night... Love you!!
bum pun fun
bully's hot air~
not so much
***
and so it was that after a good run of
great sex & many lovers,
s/he came across a period of time unlike
any of her/his friends could come close to comparing,
a time of
frustrating
hiccup-fart
orgasms.
each time s/he was getting towards that final punch of that final round
rockin’ & a sockin’ like the robots themselves,
off went the gas pumps inside &
oh
the
embarrassment---
the kissing went ripe as the
hiccups blew in the face of the lover still trying to concentrate
(and dinner only a few minutes/hours ago, now cascading in a fine mist across the face) &
as if that wasn’t enough to drive a stake in any
romance of any satisfactory quality,
out came the blast from the other end
filling the scene with
custom methane &
sooner than later
(as if it was anticipated anymore by the other party),
the end result of
what coulda’ been,
shoulda’ been,
but clearly
wasn’t.
I have to admit I’ve got a confession
About my unhealthy obsession
Other kids love pop stars with all their heart
For me it’s the Bristol Stool chart
There’s seven different types of poo
With pictures that give me a clue
to how long the poo’s been in my bowel
Poos that’s both fresh and some that’s foul
Each morning once I get out of bed
For breakfast I’ll have brown bread
The chart is a handy tool
To identify your type of stool
Now I’ve decided to tell
You about the different poos that smell
Cos it’s clear that the Bristol stool chart
Can also indicate your type of fart
Type 1 is as hard as a nut
And stays longest in the gut
Type 2 is a sausagy lump
That’s hard to squeeze out your rump
Then there’s types 3 and type 4
These are the poos I adore
These are the poos I prefer to make
A cracked sausage or smooth like a snake
Types 5 and 6 are easier to pass
Blobby or fluffy ones from your ass
Type 7 is the worst of all
It gushes like a waterfall
So now you’ve got all the scoop
On all the different types of poop
I love identifying my poo and type of fart
The Bristol Stool chart fills my heart
Can't believe I'm penning this mess,
but I must address the gifted poetess,
Jan Allison has a degree from the
distinguished Poot-Toot University,
she has a PhD in Fartology.
An expert she is,
and, gee whiz,
anyone who writes of farts
so funnily,
is the "Queen of Flatulence,"
a PoetrySoup decree!
And yes, I know some are offended
by potty humor,
but we need comic relief in
the literary til we laugh ourselves
into a stupor,
as this world has much strife,
even if it's gaseous,
laughter heals life. ~
Is the word “fart” a naughty word
Hope not... I find it cute and giggly
But don't go by me, my mind is a little warped
Words are just words with letters strung together
Strange how any mention of our private parts
Should never be said in public
“Uvula” sounds really naughty
But the dictionary describes it as
“a fleshy extension at the back of the soft palate
That hangs above the throat”
Now if that doesn't sound naughty, I'll eat my shorts!
Here's an old English expression... “bollocks”
Of German origin... related to BALL
And how about “tit”
Again the old dictionary says
“refers to a small New Zealand bird called a “tit”
How can just three innocent letters strung together
Cause little old ladies to titter!
Last but not least we have “dong”
Sounds like a gong as in a bell
So I guess that's where the old expression comes from
“I sure rang his bell!
In closing, I'd like to say this
I had a freaking good time writing this one
But we all know what “freaking” is
It's a sort of polite way of saying
The granddaddy of all swear words
Just seven letters starting with an “f”
It's “farting” of course, what were YOU thinking?
© Jack Ellison 2014
My cousin’s just earned his degree
He majored in fartology
Now he can impart
What foods make me fart
He’s obsessed by scatology
I confessed that beans give me wind
(It matters not if fresh or tinned)
And onions and sprouts
In any amounts
cause farting that I can’t rescind
The wind I produce is quite drastic
as medics say my colon’s spastic
my poor tummy swells
I release foul smells
I’m thankful my waistband ‘s elastic
FICTIONAL POEM FOR FART-TASTIC CONTEST
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
09/15/21
Big Fart
Jack has a bulldog. Boy can he fart
Phooey, they do not come from the heart
Don’t ever feed him beans
Or the odor gets mean
Never needs a battery to start
Tickle me pinck contest Oct 31
I've checked the date it’s not April Fool’s Day -
Trump’s President of the U S of A
These words to you I impart
To me a ‘trump’ is a fart
In the White House this old farts gonna stay!
01~21~17
in the cold dark depth of silence
hallow "insert name"
fart insurance was created
so i could pass the blame
the odds have never been so great
nor has the passing pain
when the butler has to hang his head
and just accept the shame
fart insurance is the reason
rich folks don't pass gas
instead they like to tell you how
flowers shoot out their ass