Best Feces Poems
‘Hey stomach,’ says anus,
‘Would you cut the crap.’
“It’s not me,’ stomach says;
‘I won’t take the wrap.
It’s what they’re eating,
So blame teeth and mouth.
I’m innocent,’ says stomach,
‘For that filth down south.’
Brain has a good laugh
At organ expenses,
By prodding infighting
Over false offenses.
‘Are you kidding me,
You two dumb kidneys.
Always a teamed pair
For a fight that’s not fair!’
Roared livid liver
Who was hardly pleased,
That they blamed him
For the smelly feces.
‘Oh stop it now, liver
Just sit there and filter.
We said no such thing;
Don’t get out of kilter.’
‘Tee-he-he,’ laughs brain.
My plan’s working well,
To keep each organ
At odds over a smell,
That they have no power
To change or repair,
And since they can’t think
They’ll stay unaware.’
Hands and mouth kept
Eating junk by the hour.
Having been brainwashed,
They blindly devour.
Long ago brain trained eyes
To focus on the news,
Now it was time for all
Parts, to pay ‘their’ dues.
Bones pipe up, and say,
‘Something doesn’t feel right,
Hey muscles loosen up;
Why do you squeeze so tight?’
Muscles answer and say,
‘Colon and intestines
Are the guilty squeezers,
Causing congestion.
I’m just doing my part
At the request of the brain.’
‘But muscles,’ says bones,
‘It’s causing me pain.’
And after a while
Brain has all body parts,
At odds with themselves;
Over endless bad farts.
Organs, blood, and guts
Could not get along;
They once did their jobs
Keeping the body strong.
But brain has the answer,
‘Let’s vote on what to do.
Either I run the show,
Or you deal with bad poo!’
Yes, brain got them quibbling
And each held a grudge.
All based on false info
That made brain, ‘King Judge’.
So each part gave in
To that sneaky design,
And waited for orders
From brain to assign.
But brain was a liar
And steered organs wrong.
The body collapsed;
It didn’t take long.
Just like brain, most statesmen,
Fool us like we’re tarts.
Let’s not die for their lies,
But stay whole, not apart.
Categories:
feces, analogy, betrayal, body,
Form:
Rhyme
My mother starts moaning, with another one due.
She won't live to see, as she struggles to wheeze.
I never knew famine would produce skies so blue.
But no need for toilets, I forget how to squeeze.
Searing sun inflates skulls into baroque balloons.
One whining dog, dying , from a surfeit of fleas.
I squint as my sister beats a roach with a spoon.
She's holding out hope, with a morsel to tease.
My eyes can still water from the feces and trash,
tossed up by vultures to release fresh disease.
I dig up what moist dirt I can pound into mash.
An old man collapses, not a single one grieves.
What passes for corpses- baking black as they pop.
Now the flies feel the heat and retreat to the trees.
My brother keeps wailing and I wish he would stop.
My breathing grows shallow in the oven fed breeze.
If it helps each of you,
I am down on my knees.
I beg you.
Hand me one piece of bread.
Would you, please?
Categories:
feces, death, health, introspection, life,
Form:
Quatrain
The night takers come when the sun goes down
When there's no one around to hear the quiet loud
They are the shadowed clouds feared by the proud
Seeping in through ears with maddening clapping sound
Insane clowns with razor sharp teeth poking around
The mind pounds until it's fully unwound
Once it's lost it can never be found
The brain twitches and seizes until it freezes
Epileptic diseases permeating the creases
Too late to call out or to cry to Jesus
Life never owned each one of us leases
Man thinks he can do whatever he pleases
Monkey like minds relating to rhesus
Trying to pick up all the evolutionary pieces
**** disguised as treasure but it's still feces
Witness lowly ones described as meek
Traveling along a narrow path to seek
Listening to prophets from the past speak
People laughing and calling them Jesus Freaks
Thinking they're feeble minded and weak
Are the wise and powerful really so unique
Who will be left to listen to their critique
For the night takers came and took them in their sleep
We live in a world of wise people who feel Science
is our salvation. Yet each attempt man makes to improve
upon creation seems to destroy another part of it.
Eventually we are the takers and the taken.
Categories:
feces, earth, environment, lost, men,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Demonically Dispossessed
...man has the ability to express great love,
and dispense great evil...
The legions of darkness descend as they beastly bewilder and offend
The serpents of Babylon attend as their ecumenical evil does extend
In a pandemonium plunge with pernicious pains and succulent sponge
With tenacious tongues they lunge and fast fade away as they expunge
~~~
In their fallacious faculties fermenting feces frolicking the wasteland
Demonic disciples preach profanities before the sanguineous sand
As they efficiently eviscerate exigently under their hellion command
For they are curious to castrate the condemned as their cries demand
~~~
Within their taunting tantalize as hearts bleed amidst the scarlet skies
Their goal the soul to compromise and for love to cripple and capsize
In a vortex venomous vile blasphemous broods of a damnation defile
For we must battle the bile as warriors of light with a sagacious smile.
Music by Slipknot-'The devil in I'
June.28.2018
Eight word challenge-7
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Placed 2'nd
Categories:
feces, conflict, evil, fear, humanity,
Form:
Rhyme
We see them sitting in towers
carved from ‘learned’ ivory,
insulated by their tenure
from the world of reality,
poisoning their students minds,
putting bad ideas in their heads,
the kind that in a century
left one hundred million souls dead.
They know they face no consequence,
they even blacklist all others,
it’s the students who pay the cost,
in the real world they all suffer
for imbibing leftist nonsense
that they learned at academy,
betrayed by malign professors,
by ‘elites’ who are not elite.
We see them strutting in Hollywood,
convinced that their fame is greatness,
they want us to watch ever film,
yet our values they dismiss.
Thinking they’re on the cutting edge,
and the we’re all just inbred proles,
they think that lying well on film
makes them the people in the know.
Yet most of them have more spouses
when most people have fingers,
all their rapes are upsetting,
the pedophilia disturbs.
Once called the city of angels,
now just a Sodom on the sea,
a mess of ruined human souls,
an ‘elite’ who are not elite.
Glance upon the creative scenes,
you’ll find many more of this kind,
like the ‘artist’ who wants thirty grand
for a spray-painted orange rind!
Or maybe the plotless writer
who calls it ‘literary fic,’
bad characters just moaning on
about how they’re damaged and sick.
Don’t forget today’s architect
with his swiss-cheese ‘masterpiece,’
it’s supposed to be a building,
nut I looks like concrete feces.
I wouldn’t take any of this
even if given out for free,
they’re making all art hideous,
these ‘elites’ who are not elite.
Then there are all of the blowhards
who make up the modern news,
thinking that you will only see
the things that they pick and choose.
When any man with internet
can see through their partisan crap,
and lord do they get all annoyed
when you call them out on that.
If they cannot win they censor
and double down on their madness,
the idea that they can’t control us
is one they cannot stomach yet.
Those fools will tell me it’s raining
while I walk down a sunny street,
it is far time we tear them down,
damned ‘elites’ who are not elite.
Categories:
feces, corruption, culture, how i
Form:
Rhyme
If you attend one word I say, then read, dear child, please 'READ,'
Life's not like golf you score yourself though Donald feels the need!
Golf's time you waste, scant aid to health (so you're a fool indeed),
Your feces is your life's extent, a 'dinosauric' creed!
The "Donald" lusts to be earth's King and can't let others in,
While whole earth knows that Donald's odd, and daily bathes in sin,
He bows each morning to one God, "If you lose then I win!"
And tearing's down what builds him up, to say he cares, just spin.
But widely reading exercises muscles of the soul,
And helps you to feel less alone, that's quite a worthy goal,
A book's not looking for your praise, or spotted like a foal,
For camouflage is not required, nor book's home just a hole!
A book's more like the air we breathe, its wonders all can share,
And lives or dies by truth therein, not quailed by bully's dare,
"Fake News" cannot survive its scorn, won't grab you by 'short hair!'
A book provides like flowing spring; it's there is truly there!
A book's a servant, can't demand, imagination's time,
Can launch new thought, but never help a poet find his rhyme.
A book can be a worthy friend, its treasures quite sublime,
Invest your life; read any book; it's always worth your dime!
Long Tooth
May 19, 2018
Categories:
feces, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Life in Africa was full; years in the bush, a treat.
Music made us happy; drums sounded for dancing feet.
A loving life with family always made us smile.
Living together freely, we never knew defeat.
Greedy slave hunters sailed down the Nile.
Chained us below with feces and bile,
Our curiosity was a big mistake!
We lived like that for a long bad while.
Sold to the highest bidder at the market by the dock,
Herded off to cotton fields, we became their livestock.
Forced to do hard labor; whipped until bare backs bled.
Rest would never come as time ticked on the clock.
The life of a slave was hard work; at least we were fed.
Some rested in cottages, others in a shed.
Scorching sun, sweat, blood, the whip did not feel good.
Calling a white man, “Master”, a slave’s daily dread.
Even in the best conditions, the human spirit was not free.
Mistreated; folks who could not take it were shot trying to flee.
A man could dream of Africa and his family all day.
Divided and sold into slavery a painful loss to see.
The Underground Railroad helped slaves run away.
Their owners and hounds tried to catch each stray.
Some of the lucky ones were never found.
Those who were caught for their lives had to pray.
Lincoln tried to free all slaves; the Klu Klux Klan still frowned.
John Wilkes Booth picked up his gun and shot the President down.
Slaves were free per history, but it was not as expected.
For even after the Civil War, burning and lynching did abound.
About one hundred years later, the issue was resurrected.
Rosa Parks stood up for her rights; NAACP directed.
The Civil Rights Movement brought freedom at last.
President Kennedy addressed the nation; equality enacted.
Categories:
feces, africa, america, black african
Form:
Rubaiyat
The eyes with chains around the feet,
they can never see the beauty
Beyond the sounds, colors and smell
you get sucked up by the darkness
Sweep away dust and rat feces
the shadows of evil demons
The rainbow is a miracle,
next moment will never come back
Please give life back to these dark eyes
Escape from your inconstant mind
I swear: even the weeds will shine
This song will blow away with time
08.11.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- Eight syllables in each line
- www.howmanysyllables.com
Categories:
feces, dark, deep, horror,
Form:
Couplet
Nopalero = one who deals with/sells nopales [edible prickly pear cactus leafs/pads]
Aiiiii, Jimmy --
what shall we say, now that you've gone,
worst fear realized: your body discovered,
days later, in your filthy Mexican rooms,
amid the soiled paper littering the floors,
reeking of cat urine and layer upon layer
of dried and fresher feces. These feral cats
were your most faithful companions.
You thought yourself their benefactor and,
perhaps, their savior. We were told that,
after your demise, when the door opened,
all 21 fled, never to return.
You left us, unbathed, smelly, shunned,
just weeks before your birthday,
having almost (but not quite) suffered
through 80 years, the last 30 spent in
bordertown Mexico. You, daily, crossed
the bridge to claim your mail -- which (for a fee)
promised to guarantee you would be a winner
of lotteries, sweepstakes, miraculous windfalls.
You subsisted on senior coffees at McD's,
and your pitiful government assistance.
You blamed your life on abuse by brothers
(all dead long before you) and you could not
understand why richer acquaintances --
virtually everyone -- were unwilling
to share with you their bounty.
In the plazas, you were a familiar sight,
selling whatever you could: you were
"el viejo gringo," "el Jimmy," "el nopalero,"
and other less generous but, perhaps, appropriate
"apodos". You knew animals, had some expertise
with birds. Your chief preoccupation was
yourself, and your main complaint was
that you never got your just deserts.
No one deserves to end as you did -- unclaimed,
a foreign body, interred in Mexico
in an unmarked pauper's grave:
a "fosa comun." You only wanted to be loved.
RIP my friend; I did not mean to be unkind.
James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.
Categories:
feces, abuse, age, angst, cat,
Form:
Free verse
es 1/29/11
Dead puppies are no fun
Dead puppies rotting in the sun
Dead puppies have no soul?
Dead puppies it takes its toll
Dead puppies no fun at all
Dead puppies don't chase balls
Dead puppies stuck in walls
Dead puppies hit by cars
Dead puppies out side bars
Dead puppies succumb to Parvo
Dead puppies named Pete and Margo
Dead puppies Frozen cold
Dead puppies never old
Dead puppies never yap
Dead puppies in a little girls lap
dead Puppies euthanize
Dead puppies, Owners out side cry
Dead puppies missing eyes
Dead puppies covered in flies
Dead Puppies covered in feces
Dead puppies torn to pieces
Dead puppies with IV's
Dead puppies with broken knees
Dead puppies that where once sick
Dead puppies do no tricks
Dead puppies do not run
Dead puppies are no fun
***NOTE*** This is a bit morbid but it is the realities of an Animal hospital. I worked at one and unfortunately this is the dark side of the animal hospitals. We deal with a lot of dead puppies.
Categories:
feces, animals, death, on work
Form:
Burlesque
Art rejoices through my special handy exhibition
but a parent’s call for a prestigious profession makes me freeze.
I’m simple with a mind so soft and a hand so helpful
siblings dive into the pool with liberty to put my charity to a tease.
My happiness, my pride, my life and my child,
out of wed luck, she exists but religion demands I call her niece.
The path to greatness and narrow road to this high placement has been solo
but now a baptized celebrity to manage so many friends like bees.
Enjoying what I had sweat for with the liberty to be cheerful or not,
refusing the society’s wish to give half of that, tags me with a moral disease.
Not conforming to the luxurious flaunting of the class of my colleagues
condemns me to a foul-smelling stain in the brotherhood like feces.
A constantly smiling boss, so gentle and understanding
uncharacteristic freedom, my subordinates disrespectfully request a lease.
Living up to the standard of the public, I always try to please,
it’s so tiring and fatal with the media in possession of my keys.
Negotiating a diversion to the demands of the environment
subjects me into a suitable slave for the satisfaction of others.
I extract my mind, limbs and heart in philanthropic donation
what then would be left is worn out remnants of slaughtered geese.
Selfishness is a good control mechanism in a crude world of opportunists
I’ll use that to protect my happiness, loyalties and peace.
Categories:
feces, anxiety, character, community, education,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
No Mickey, Minnie, or Goofy- no Jimmy The Cricket
The spirit of Sodom is Gomorrah...what I see is plain "Wicked"
Neon lit buildings and business bright nights...
A terse description of 8th Ave - I see somethings not right
Jailbait pimps fishing for girlish age bodies
Port of Authority freaks craving school boy young hotties
A bunco, a scam - the cards of "Monte" are three...
White kids from Jersey seeking fake/fresh Ids
Cabbies waiting for fares/get their plates/it's too late
Little courtesy or English and overpriced rates
Electronic stores, you have restaurants; a myriad of stands
that vend snacks
You can have a wad roll of money, yet still looked at if Black
The Homeless Are Human, it's the truth not conjecture
It seems to keep them sans housing gives Midtown its texture
Fleabag hotels are great bargains/I've heard there's four legged pests
You've paid your money - there's danger, but you still can't have guests
Mounted units, Blue grunts to keep the rich ones protected
The last Toe Tag said "No One", why wasn't that crime detected?
A Vagrant says that he's hungry to everyone that he greets
You can't see the flame touch the Pyrex/it's the crack that he eats
On the trains I see animals, sometimes you'd think a new species
Most of those stations need cleaning....in my sight Human Feces
Poetiq visions/my heart troubled/ I had no choice but expound
It goes down daily in the Crab Apple/New York City....Midtown
Categories:
feces, inspirational,
Form:
Couplet
A BALLAD TO THE ANCESTORS
Like ripened fruits plucked from a flourishing tree,
They were stolen from a lush paradise garden;
A self sustained dwelling having no need of a warden;
A beautiful paradise where all could work and live free;
But the thieves of the sea came, taking them to the shore.
Cabled towed neck to neck; waist shackled like others before.
They were stacked in ship bellies reeking with death, feces and pee.
God please let their souls’ survival spirit always abide within me?
Though many of our ancestors chose the freedom of death
Over the slavery of life, others chose for one reason or another,
To survive the Middle Passage in hope of returning to the home they left;
These arrived as chained exotic human cargo for trade and barter.
From sea ships’ corrals to auction blocks, they were bought and sold.
Skilled craftsmen they were—intelligence secret—skills used later to get free;
Fooling bidders believing the dumb beasts were well worth their weight in gold.
Oh God I pray their souls’ survival spirit will always abide within me.
Four hundred years of bloody slaving labor from can see to can’t see—
Our ancestors—bonded—free fodder fueling a peculiar institution
In which one had to be fully white in order to really be free.
And all blacks—objects of pleasure for all whites’ ravenous satisfaction.
The black woman—fertile young and old—became its chief breeder.
For pleasure or profit—fertile mother of bastards she was branded to be.
For all children, black, mulatto or white, the black breast was the leaking feeder.
God please allow their souls’ survival spirit to always abide within me?
Yes, through skills, blood, sweat and tears, our ancestors learned to prevail;
Leaving us here still able to struggle and fearlessly fight to be totally free.
With the undying spirit of our ancestors’ audacious faith and hope, we will not fail;
For God has decreed their souls’ survival spirit to always abide within you and me.
Categories:
feces, allegory, black african american,
Form:
Ballad
Barred and chained human cargo
Cheap labor and debt of the motherland
Rotting flesh and thought
Silenced and defeated spirit
Cheap labor and debt of the motherland
Freedom and dignity --- denied
Silenced and defeated spirit
Feces, vomit, disease-bathed
Freedom and dignity --- denied
Auctioned, lashed, lynched, and drowned
Feces vomit, disease-bathed
Song lost in the midst
Auctioned, lashed, lynched, and drowned
Rotting flesh and thought
Song lost in the midst
Barred and chained human cargo
Marckincia
A Pantoum
3/07/15
Categories:
feces, america, black african american,
Form:
Pantoum
This is my ode to the feces of this site. I write, compose, think, delve, soulsearch and what do I get???????????????? Poems too long, poems that won't load, deleted, not copied not updated, nonsubmittal due to some site circumstance. I am not that kind of P O E TTTTTTTTTT who filters in a nutshell, follows the rank rules and love laments their own sillystrengths nas to how people shoud write. Write to yr strength and discount the masses, of which I am not associated.. I posted a pretty good poem but every time I tried to add/subtract whatever, It was erased or timed out. Maybe that's a message Don't have a site that is dysfunctional. I have list more words on this site that I have been able to post. Not that means anything since poetry is a dead art form. Nobody reads, but everybody writes. Rejections outside a site that is not incestual brings dreary defeat. Been there bought that. Fix your site so I can take my time composing and not have to hurry so I don't run too long or out of thought time. Here I f-ing go again. Rewrite rewrite rewrite rewrite againagainagainagain because of yr time oput or something stupid. I am about done with this site. Hey, don't worry,,,,,,, be happy!
Categories:
feces, angst, corruption, feelings, my
Form:
Free verse