Best Soiling Poems

Imagine if our poop was a pretty pink
Or smelled like a dozen red roses
Beautiful music was heard when we tooted
There'd be no need for holding...

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Last flickers of a dying flame still burn 
I strain to see every bitter remembrance     
lain before my feet     
pain stained...

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Original version:

Phone for the fish knives, Norman
As cook is a little unnerved;
You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes
And I must have things daintily served.

Are the requisites...

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We have so much color all around us
so much beauty to fill our senses
everything we see and touch and taste
in the songs we hear
in the...

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Unblemished pages without soiling mark
stretch out ahead of these expectant eyes;
trembling I wait dark midnight to embark
upon my journey, promising and new;
what delights, what sorrows...

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His words stung me, as the cries from the maelstrom seem to retort
Their scattered, foreign words and wails retching their say
I listened, almost mesmerized,
Pulverized

“Come,” Said...

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The Tender Weight of Her Sighs
by Michael R. Burch

The tender weight of her sighs
lies heavily upon my heart;
apart from her, full of doubt,
without her presence...

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Oh how I hate thy haughty hours oh Halloween!
Your thorns and thistles are these terrifying teens
who wear worried looks, walking, wobbling…woeful;
daring doors and deeds that...

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The mirtangist may never willingly hear
may not want to hear
the multaiyam announcing his cue
nor the melodist aware of the flautist's right
to the change in the...

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The Ancient mutiny of the Twain

In the beginning were both made
To dwell in unison and not to trade
You abode with each other in Eden
And never...

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It is around the third or fourth pint
From reality you disconnect
And after about the fifth or sixth
Those beer goggles do take effect

While looking through beer...

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...In my country children die... 
not of war...for soiling, their pants 

...here, they're beaten, until 
they stop breathing... 

...spiritual distance... 

...the forgotten on a file......

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Hope I'm not putting a big hex on myself
But till now I've had no serious medical problems
Don't know how many can say that at seventy-eight
But...

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The grass is trying to squeeze back through cement cracks. 
Dying to breath. 
Though we're dying for it. 

Black sheets on top of dirt comforters....

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Remorseless sweaty palms

despite being prescribed glycopyrrolate.

Though the angst riddled psyche of mine crafted youth, long since receded, ebbed in the past, infringement, impingement, and indecent...

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