Best Fecal Poems
I believe that poetry is and of is was were have has been of as one pretenses a
poetic practical pompous, pro (p) ransomedramatical postenses
pretending to prose promise a
predictive premise primatory practicum politicallty
polishing practcoriam process of primary
preliminary postures pragmatic promulgates
telling the ta ta tumultuous tillo tales of tawdry
banal blog lists calling me to quali-quantify the reso-resolutes
resounding in resilient quo quotients that bear a
breach bridgeborn badge billed
barometer bearing broad billboard
catatonic catashrospies creating caustic crill
coffinistic coiffures canonizing
socio unsettling leo linguistic lies in a somewhat
lovevoid livid liquiditoria regal
ransom based regalia resonating
rawbone residual retinal real time
tombosoties transitioning with
toying transient trio tide tooth
crass cavity craino creep mandibulo master mildew
mold molecular mamsy-pamsy sillopsuedo master of
ever me present I , me , mine, maestro
sitting back and looking at the world as a place to be
not to be, hope to be, wish to be, be to be, in the
proper primer of humino yesnomenclatureculture of that which is u
me us our belief sem radical of our prim-ordeal sociodiscontentselfevident
irrelevant mean fullness, to countercure our quick/quack quotient
umbrella upbringing to say do write feel text tank athink
all that is emo exit everpresent to keep the fecal faces free of
founding father status inquo man although time is time in place.
Mindfulness is a mute place ill unattended by sociocrap everlasting.
Treasure travel inviting innate needs netherly nodding to the primo positive
practitudes of acoustic ancillary annotated awareness, allowing all annuities
ancient archaic to willfully wind wind waveringly wish away intrinsic id-ideas.
It it is what u want it it to be, say, scroll, live, plural, self to self. Use it, lose it,
share it, beware it, con-cure it, it. Know it it's criminal capitol is wary for before
u know it it, life it before it its u, and will its it and
ego ale all eek out the precious profit of its itdom idiocracy illusionary in its
illogical inness so mad made as not to gravely gravitate ungracious griefs
upon your its it.
scary huh. Karma it, Big Daddy.
Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees
Bulimic Barbies browse media monkey banalities
Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios
Dopamine dreams delineate check cash desires
Echo endophfins eulogize bullet brain excrement
Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivolities
Gonadal grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities
Helical hemorrhoids hinder senior stricken hemocraps
Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate postpartum iconoclasts
Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers
Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs
Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies
Malevolent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules
Nevertheless nightingales nourish ruby rich noonbeams
Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages
Pensive pisces picnics lovelorny passions
***** quiet quintensials release rancid quotients
Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble repercussions
Silky seafoam silhouettes fornicate frothy sandlets
Tepid torch trilogies belie belligerent tourniquets
Useless utterances utilize organize orgasmic utopias
Venomous vixens violate cruel.com visions
White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds
XX XY xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms
Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yields
Zen zealous zions mirror magnify Zoneotones
“Nobody likes a clown at midnight.” Stephen King
CLOWN AT THE ABYSS
Darkroom abscessed
with neon blush and black-blood —
sunken eyes look surprised
to find oneself in a dank dungeon.
Fecal stench, not humorous,
screams on each bold painted-on face.
“Are we dead?”
“When did I die?”
“I didn’t want to take along this honking nose! It never quits!”
“These humongous shoes, like flippers, so cold they grip!”
The clowns, their smiles and frowns,
continue to gripe in the big tent abyss.
The epic fail of their lives an applause
from the demons who have them in grip.
Like fools, they suppose, they can feel their way out.
They march in one straight line with clanging chains,
chortling, “Heigh Ho! Heigh Ho! It’s off to work I go!”*
You see, they can’t help being funny - never could.
So on they march clinging to claustrophobic walls.
Yet they, one by one, begin to notice no floor exists.
Squalid birds, their chains rattle and roll,
with cheap jokes that never cease.
“Take my wife…please.”
Rings through the air. The demons cackle and boo
their despair, occasionally deflating the roof of the tent
on their heads - it sticks to their gooey faces, causing
them to run out of hot air, go limp, confine their space
even more - no audience to exploit. When the roof rises
each one finds water caterwauled at their faces, then
strapped to a chair as sufferable makeup - acidophil -
leaks behind their eyes, into their pores, maliciously.
Clown at the abyss digs his nails into the soil, climbing
a mountain of ill will, always failing...falling, and then
the jokes hammer again...over and over, head over heels.
...head over heels,
with no end…
2/27/2020
Clown at the Abyss Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
*Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
Now Beetle's tale's done no need for a sequel.
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal.
In fields green and fetal past signs with a decal
He'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of things fecal.
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
And warn all the people of dangers so evil.
This Beetle was legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle.
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles.
Again there once was a beetle so feeble and small
Who lived in a steeple with people so tall^-^
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel.
This Dung Beetle was again legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle
And warn all the people of dangers so evil
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
Again, he'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of more things fecal
In more fields green and fetal past signs with even more decals
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
NOW Beetle's tale's ended again no need for……….a sequel
His adventures were splendid each moment so……….regal.
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
A lesson in language both _^_ playful and………. legal
The Dung Beetle though small had a heart brave and true
Proving size doesn't matter in all that we do.
There is a corruption we all should abhor,
It starts on the left, and corrupts to the core,
Cancer of the soul, if left to go on,
It takes bit by bit, ’till the whole soul is gone.
Makes people think that there are no values,
That everything’s fine if it’s ‘true to you,’
Moral absolutes they loudly disclaim,
Then turn and wonder why the world seems insane,
Why their true feelings don’t bring happy lives,
Only leads to a black rage deep in inside,
‘being true to you’ is a moral perverse,
With no standard to judge, things get much worse.
What’s ‘true to one’s self’ for those fond of rape?
Should the serial killer show his ‘true’ face?
And what of the types who change ‘truth’ every week,
Then act offended if anyone speaks?
The corruption permits them to silence all,
Pushing more and more, until it all falls.
The corruption pushes out all real beauty,
Replaces it with the fecal and ugly,
Throws out the masters who’s work defies time,
Declares that splatter and blank space is ‘sublime.’
Renir, Bougereau, Bierstadt, and Degas,
Masters whose paintings amazed all who saw ,
Now me have charlatans, ‘artist statements,’
An art world that can’t uplift, just dement.
The same trend pus music into a plight,
Ignore Beethoven, ’cause his skin as white,
No longer to Mozart do critics clap,
But ‘es and ’hos,’ that’s where it’s at!
Celebrate decline, claim that it’s ‘sincere,’
As it there’s no ‘real’ behind beauty and cheer...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
With John Wayne snarling at me
from the television screen,
I quickly glance at my watch;
five minutes to the end
of a year’s journey through
what the Psalmist would describe
as the Valley of Death,
and what Dante would describe
as a descent through hell.
The little small ball of white fur
whines at my feet,
his almond dark eyes
begging for the last bit of cheese
I have in my hand.
Take him out now
for his nocturnal constitutional,
Or wait until three in the morning?
It is not a difficult choice.
The puppy and I head for the door.
The puppy runs hither and yon
around the yard,
sniffing and searching
the frozen ground
for the perfect spot
to make his nocturnal emissions.
I reflect upon the arrival
of another year In Anno Domini,
with dread, or is it anticipation?
Another year of grace
is what they always say about
the turning of a new year.
Like the puppy running from
one frozen turd to another
in the yard, I, sniff and search
among the heap of promised
“grace-filled moments?”
from my past year.
The church bells begin
to peal out the old year
as the puppy stops and
stands poised upon a
strategically chosen location
to unleash the grace
contained within himself
upon the frozen ground.
I appreciate my puppy’s
brilliant metaphor of
crapping out the old year
to make room for the new year.
There are some years indeed,
in which grace is bestowed
in abundant quantity.
And, there are some years indeed,
in which one must sniff
and scratch to find the grace
hidden within the dung heap.
The church bells cease their tolling,
as the puppy, in a triumphal display
Of accomplishment,
kicks with his hind feet,
bits of ice, snow, and fecal matter
high into the air.
The puppy, head held high,
small tail wagging, and I,
retreat from the frozen yard
toward our house.
Warmth and a hope for new grace
greet us as we enter the house.
And, as I close the door,
I glance once more at the frozen yard.
I leave the old year
and its promise of grace,
lying in a heap
upon the frozen ground.
There's a point blank
Just south of Soulsville
where common pit desires exude
extreme ego ratios rotating on human gutlike
socioshadow experientials. Slow slug immuno
pain gestures cloud coilshaped reason
with limited intellirespect ids--only
that lonely by product of talking to
the mime chip on your shoulder clasped
hands in a froth frame of zero quotient
personality tolerance. Socioscan the fluid
flawed internoschism and plug yourself
into those autothoughts so socioprevelant
as to walk away and call it a draw day. Never
the tweens shall resolve. Sharp footsteps
with no meaning will evercast jaded overtone half
with tongues that bite their own limplip droppings
wag wash in cumulative deceit doings.
Drag your dill depths with an ether
grappling hook and sociosoothe your
infection---massage your emo entrails
with an existential ease of a
junk jolt to colon ize another
fecal space of cleansed renewal--like ripping
the tape from a well wound
dancing scales up and down
to a new brainbeating--livid at living
fax a look outside your self and erase
your exit embarassment for a beholding
chance at adding a new socioscore to your
puss life tax deduction. What a rectal return on your
individual invest mint-- ass the rich get raunchier
the poor prey prime evil----sign here, please.
Watch me creep upon your virgin abode
without a husbandry humping request
to take what is mine from no/mo/mojoe months of
exsocietal solutiservititude of sexlessages unimpressed.
Finally, the the universaladity of our fauxphysicosexual spirits melding
into a one promiscus misspromise delegated by past powers
at be to a false fulminate the sexual prose prowess that we hide
in the nether neath of neutral neuder nuisances hopefully negating
turn raging torrent treasures into mystical monument molecular
memories into that never non-known nil complacent coiture of everpresent
For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge destitiute desires, drearily socialsoft
shifting freefall forever orgofaked fawned populace pleasures deso
designated by an eager ego-stential ergo everpresent freudian fliked flaked frail fixed feverent list of lost lucid loveless latent ladies and gential guised gilded gentlemen to go gonad gender hide a post penal predisposition to pissed off passionate penetration for the sake of wifeful wishes and mistress missed moments of heretofore hideous hiden and psuedo sexual seek/sought preluplentitudes to the other side of a risky/retro recreational ripe respite religiousness that alter states the sociosick
sanctioned **** covert severences, residue that fecal foments our current agast crestridge a----ffairs.
The TimWeiner takes all is fair in love and Warr-----anties;wishful textinking.
E X tendedness will costco create yr penalpussypoliticoplentypiousness. Third party poster plates plenititudes procrastinating???
Fair and balanced banalaties beliguered by biased bigot blogosites. Get Real and How love stinks?
It has become painfully obvious that the only way to be heard
is to pay through the nose to be a lifetime nerd,
the way to be read in on this sight
is to pay through the nose with disdain-unslight
the drivel/dribble practicum that is profound in it's reading
is a joke, sickening jest this side of profane with often open ended
vocab blur bleeding from a finger up my butt countenance, hey I can be a pooret
yet as in all ways money that talks/squalks/walk the bills
up/on cuming and its resolute intercourse interims the slash good words for the sentient freefall to the ills of my **** really mean/matters/ ratiorationale reticient/demeanor/demonstrative/destructive co cliff effervicient
sentient fecal savored poetic prickprofundity perversing on pisspoor gobetweens
prepostured with sitesucking positiveprevelance performance preludes of lifetime member promises. GoThe usual suspects figure.
As GMarx once reveled in his Libra coutenance, "I would not want to belong to a any club that would have me as a member"! So be it as u quali/quasi/qualify your
intermiserable inputs from lowly wantobe"poets"? Really, where do you get this chum encrusted fecal crap?? Love, beholding, misery, misertudes of life and sequesters of social misfitted miserdoms as to your innane, irrelevant, idiotic, interpretation of the serial social merits of human america and its poetic sense, and the globe as it is. I haplessly hope that in the humo state of written wrongs that u hate my stuff sur-plenty of desolution row and the good of for what it's worth in my non sequential birthday of sixty something nothings per social senses.
my money nevertalks, even on this lice level. D--aaamn.
Never let it me be told that for me
to be hold in an equal fake frequence with all of the hard-on Dr. Filth viagra statue status that I can speak from my borrowed loaned loins and be heard to a pro poem status dollar of signoff significance.
I know I am being obtuse and indifferent as I don't want to play the $$$ poe whore game that would catapult me to the upper stratosphere of a poetic Zeus, Oden and the like in your eyes, as talent not matters. WTFE. But alas
keep me in your prostratic/pussitic poetic poison prism, Dave. "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers". Otherwise, FU. Keep the faith.
Oh I'm sorry I didn't get it,
not to worry I won't forget it.
In order to win, it's not the contest,
but rather the spin. The more stupid
the parameters, the more ignoresponses
from amateurs. The more moronic the
directions, the more sophomoric
the reactions. Could u b more
histrionic in your language
glucolic, never ending of cliché
pre ponderunceses of innane
uninteresting plainjane, U r a poet because u
have PAID the big $$$ dues and have special
powers of words/phrase lifeology. All will be yours
in member recognition, regardless of yr ignonill offerings
according to this site NOTALENTU.
True is the phrase you
really do get what u pay for. (Please don't end a sentence
with a preposition?)
Real words, dimensions come from a place within;
deep, dank, dark non existant and incoporeal of anything reality based.
U can't pull emo tensions off the top like adding cream
to yr coffee. Poetry is a gutterial personification of the fecal life
that inhabited u as an earthling offspring not chosen
to a family of illgotten gain origin. Given the noncapacity to provide the common
requirements for sociosill survival.
All of u can smooch my **** premise, bend over to shake my
gonadal good interntions as u pissprose praise one another
each other as OMG, yr choice of emotional integrity resonates with my
soulful intent to do better in the world. Throw up here. Vomit
victims filled remorse and no coital containment
u must be kidding when u set up these contests and yr stupid
rules that only u r to privy. To make yrself look literate above all others.
U stink like a skunk that is dead in a trunk. Oh the stinch
is so much that my nose I must pinch. Get off yr high
horse and get with the crowd, as yr present purpose I must protest
to LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Write what u feel and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge
forget the rest. Bend over.
Room full of people, how could I be lonely?
these days it's harder than ever to find a true homie,
I'm trying to keep a grip, but I'm losing it slowly,
filling our voids with mediums of instant gratification,
how do you not see the ramifications?
we've been desensitized and overstimulated
our thoughts and subconscious inculcated
by news feeds, timelines, snapchats, and the latest,
pseudo friendships masking this hiatus,
can we talk about something besides other people?
it would be different if it were positive, but it always seems to be fecal,
do you realize the power of your thoughts and words? gossip is lethal,
where's the smart girls at? I'm over all these (drunk) barbies
And, i've had enough of the bars and house parties,,
I just wish there were some more options for a social affair,
Don't get me wrong though, I've had more than my fair share
I've been down that path and it reeks of despair
honestly, does this generation even know how to have fun sober?
You can't talk to a girl without a buzz and you expect things to be kosher?
Look, i know we're young, but I won't settle for mediocre,
Don't run from yourself, it's only harder as we get older,
is anyone else with me? or am I just blowing hot air?
put down your phone, turn off the tv, read a book, that's a dare,
i'm nowhere near perfect, I'm just trying to make ya'll aware,
time is so precious, quit wasting it, take care!
Oh, damn, I get it, nowhowbrownsowcow-----that it's to be accepted on this site you need to be
the FATTED cow. Low of intellect, yet high on countenance, high on payment
and low on quality! Please forgive my lowly louse langiuse as I plead my
pleb pirrah poetic case in cause $$$$ celeb. RFR? do u take up the capitalistic
crotch clause that payment is prose promised to a clueless culture climaxing in
its own caustic circumsized circus?
Such fecal findings from finger felonies, that use wish words for regal for the future rangling rights to the right rear-renderings, renditions,
thusly l navel nauseous neverthelesses negatings, awkard thimble thoughts.
Try and
get a regal rectal, sorry, reckoning of an inter-rational corporeal capacitical concept of a before u igno/after gnoi and a post graduated spiroscape initiate yours after our
psuedo poetic prowess, upon this site-------swells free of charge if u have half brain
and your wallet in awash in ego endless endeavors that u unengage in urine
intrepid word worn passages of I think I can, when u really can't sorry u suck,
and retry your gloomy gumption as to the positve **** retention given cause u r a
paid prosti soup sister,broth brother, no talent intended. Dreams given an expired
expertise that end clauses into a missed used muse of integral ignorant id
intentions. Sorry for our/your word worn wishful wisdom and not my fault that I can
crea command anall allowance of alphalbet antiques, amiable and accountable in all
annotomical acquired acquatinaces' as you try and make memorable in and of you
sorry, silly, shallow, socialized self, again
no pun intended. Ridicule not want not with not why not get not not. Prelude
your relative innane imagary and sequester your inability to that which is stiffled
well within and garb your you grievance by the gonads, look interpresent and fail
follow yourcreep mismatched mirror of what u compel that works. Call me, I'll tell u
what's what that's that, it's it, nots not and snot is snot. Go blow.
My Briefs Lorraine
Fecal stains on my briefs
they must be washed
but to my dismay
they’ve gone away
I left them in a drunken stupor
on the floor by the pooper
and now they’re nowhere to be found
It’s not that I should have a care
I have many other briefs to wear
but my Lorraine is dear to me
they’re brillant blue and such a sight
reflecting in the pale moonlight
what shall I do, it’s such a plight
If I don’t find Lorraine tonight
© Ralph Sergi
When I see say saw saunter suck the poetic
pilferings on this site, I rear back and wonder why
there is no sentient sanctioned sickness
that benefit brash bountifuls
coporeal clasmic clippings clasping
amiable ambient anticdodal antics
delivering didactic ***** diversitiers
exiting **** exo entrinsic skeleto
scanismic sanctinomalities saying
kissmyassmuss as u r no
poeticealismuss with no talentpuss
wordless, relentless, assusmus, rediculopuss,
candorlessmuss, patternmussless,
assinemusless, predicator, massless
mentorless, missled poetic mirror maggot. Hi, I write
because my friends will sound me out as a mentioned motion
member paid for life lifer all expensespaid
with no real being bing given to look at me as a
loaftime commrade given to special poetic privilidge
barushka boris and natashsa! Pravada primrose paradies predelivered
postumastively pastored to a patterened
priority let me tell u that your stuff stinks from
Azore to Zinc with all the innnnnnnate idiocracices
to zoozanyzillnill nothings nounce nill neverences to
keep yr stupid sanguine sillo syallble sayings
to your inner gonadial gofferings as u say nothing
in your asso sin cycle of I Me Mine importonto
life is everything piss portal of premise promise.
Sorry, don't believe a word of it and keep it to yrself as
a premium member, screw thyself and one another
let the poetic pleasure begin if u have half a brain and
that half is fecal froth
driven................................................................................
Now that I'm in my 50's and over the hill,
I'm getting more and more medical mail,
lots of it pertaining to a certain ailment,
this one being in the can't poop department,
claiming that some people have it stuck in their colon walls,
and that they are walking around like a ticking time bomb,
well I for one don't want to be around when that person explodes!
Also saying that these fecal reservoirs are going to kill you,
I just look at the colon pictures and sort of bristle,
thinking why are they sending me pictures of colon crap,
why I'm a vegetarian and clean as a whistle,
I start the day eating cereal called Fiber-one,
then for lunch have a hugh salad with lots of onion,
for supper its fiber rich 15 bean soup,
and when I go on trips bring my fiber pills along,
thats why every chance I get I stop at a restroom,
so doc if you schedule me for a colonoscopy,
you can see for yourself that
I might well live to be way over the hill,
unless of course I o.d. on my fiber rich pills!