Best Toilet Roll Poems
There's something I'd like Santa, may I ask,
I don't want lots of presents, just this one,
delivery won't be an easy task
so do the rest, leave mine till later on.
As long as you can drop her off by dawn
since I don't want the neighbours all to see
and start the gossip rounds on Christmas morn
it will make life much easier for me.
Her graceful curves are bound to turn some heads
she's cool and smooth, an object of pure lust
adorned with one shade, Queen of all the reds
mirror polished and not prone to rust.
Mankind has still not built a motor yet
as gorgeous as the '69 Corvette.
If I am on your naughty list may I
humbly offer some words in my defence
for maybe you will then understand why
what I did, and thus it may make some sense.
Inside a restroom stall at work I took
from it's dispenser all the toilet roll
and left one sheet inside so it would look
like it was full when viewed through the small hole.
A guy we hate goes in there every day
to sit and read, and do a number two
so pulling this prank was our little way
of getting our revenge,as one must do.
And the prank worked, for soon it came to pass
he used his newspaper to wipe his ass.
Now, nobody got hurt, no-one got blamed
it looked like an unhappy accident
but he got his comeuppance just the same
and that was fine, since it was our intent.
Let's face it if you read from front to back
it's mainly crap in all the newspapers
and he just added more with our 'attack'
and still is ignorant of our mean caper.
Santa, I know you preach goodwill to all
and don't like to wish anybody ill
please forgive me I hope that you'll still call
there's mince pies and drinks on the windowsill.
Just park it on the drive, and if you please
through my letterbox can you drop the keys.
For contest 'From your lips to Santa's ears' sponsor Phillip Garcia
December 1st 2017
Life
is
like
a toilet roll
~when it's half way
it finishes faster
Oh, Imodium,
Constipator of my colon,
Immobilizer of my bowel;
You make it possible
For me to leave
The house and take
A long walk in the
Countryside, without
Having to remember
To pack
Toilet roll
And a small trowel.
The art of writing pooetry for John lawless
I never know when I’ll write poo-etry
So I keep a pen and paper with me
If inspired when I sit on the loo
Toilet roll can prove so handy too!
My writing it looks like a spider
who’s drunk on strong apple cider
I may strain when I use a long word
Oh yippee I see word rhymes with turd!
I can class myself as a poop poet
my poems are ‘dire ere' and I know it!
But I try to bring some fun your way
and sometimes get Poo et of the day!
12/8/18
Did you rinse your plate after dinner?
pull the covers back when you got up.
Leave the empty toilet roll on the rack,
Or rinse the tea residue from your cup?
Why do you load the dishwasher wrong?
How is it I always tidy up the table?
I’m the only one who empties the bin.
Is it just that you are not able?
Can you not leave the toothpaste out!
and there’s spatter all over the sink.
Where is the note I left on the bench?
You throw things out before you think.
It’s not that I have misophonia,
because I don’t like to hear you eat.
Don’t cut your toe nails inside the house,
do you really have to pick skin from your feet?
Our pettiness can know no bounds.
Why do these small things provoke?
Do we just look for judgement to pass?
Not contemplate a word before it is spoke?
The first year you pledged your love for me
Then we became friends with benefits
Now you look in my eyes and say you feel “empty”
After four years, you want to call it quits
Where is the man with that captivating smile?
What became of the compassion he gave?
This hurt I feel now, was it worthwhile?
Did you know your words would hit like a tidal wave?
Just one day after learning of my illness
You logged onto “makelovetomywife.com”
My feelings I have tried to suppress
But the anger inside is a ticking time bomb
Should I lash back, spread the word you have no soul?
Or should I just learn to live alone the rest of my life?
Am I to waste tears on a man who can’t change a toilet roll?
I never asked to be your wife, but who could expect such strife?
Ready, willing and able I ran
Each time you called with a concern
Perhaps I was just part of your game plan:
Pick a victim and watch her heart burn
I won’t let go of the good memories we shared
But you'll soon be a castaway drifting on the sea
And even today, if I thought you cared
You’d have a chance to inflict more pain on me
Unhitch the ropes and let your ship sail away
Leave only some tender moments behind
Please leave today, don’t delay
This is your future, by your own design
*Entry for Lisa Hiatt’s “Letting Go” contest
With the world in lockdown
What is left to do ?
But log onto soup
And write about it
It's a sorry state of affairs
In solitary confinement
Such as doing simple math to
while the time away
Like
Counting how many sheets are on
a single toilet roll
Or
How long it takes for a kettle to boil
Or
Just how many repeats there are
these day's on television
It's at times like this i suppose we should be grateful for the internet
Even if it mostly doom and gloom
and tales of woe in our future ahead
With just a smattering of Fake News
for good measure
And 1 or 2 funny videos of cat's and dog's
For the loneliest of them all
With no family or friends
To count upon
A troll followed me home one day,
Looking to bring me down.
I told it I didn’t want to play,
To go dig a great deep hole,
Roll its little soul into the black hole.
It didn't matter where I went
It just wouldn't go away.
The troll climbed up the phone pole
Stuck its drooling tongue out and scolded.
I had troll in my soup bowl,
Troll in my egg-roll,
Troll my keyhole,
Troll in my buttonhole,
Troll in my toilet roll,
Troll in my toilet bowl.
It followed me to school and crawled
Into my cubbyhole.
It followed me to the barber shop
Sat on top of the barber's pole.
It followed me on my date
Sat between me and my date.
I finally decided I was going to get control,
Ignored the troll and foiled its day,
Until one day it got bored
And slithered away.
3/12/2021
Children Story
Love has no limits as we grow older
Excitement's a spice rack and toilet roll holder
We bought from the shop down the road
Comfortable in silence together alone
We watch TV garbage on our throne
Our sofa's now moving to lover's mode
Its squeaky and creaky it'll wake the kids up
My backs out of place and I can't reach my cup
It's my lover or my Darjeeling tea
We tried something different from our foam bed
It didn't work out so my lover then said
"Upstairs you can have tea and me"
Two metres apart
Is where we start
Then self-isolate
Before it’s too late
Wash your hands
Else virus expands
Using PPE
Helps safety
Society shut
We all stay put
Food shops empty
Used to be plenty
No supermarket trawl
Just Internet haul
But what of the old
Whose lives now unfold
There’s no face-to-face
Now virtual place
We laugh, we sing, we joke
Keeps spirits up for us folk
Videos to see
WhatsApp glee
Woman’s sneeze
Toddler flees
Toilet roll
Not cash he stole
Human environmental attack
Pandemic weapon – nature fights back
World at war
Like never before
So many go that extra mile
Never happened for such a long while
Good things can come out of so much pain
Self-centred actions we all must refrain
Once over it’s time to rethink
As humanity steps back from the brink
Wake up call
For us all
My mother was talking to her friend and I was drawing fruit on an Izal toilet roll.
Only because we didn’t have any writing paper and Izal because it was the cheapest
Unfortunately it was shiny and thin
And my wax crayons wouldn’t stay on it very well so I had to press down hard to colour the fruit in.
The friend said why is she doing that on the toilet roll?
My mother replied, she’s different.
I went to a cousins wedding with my mother and I wore white flat shoes that were too big
The woman next door had given them.
I stuffed the confetti into the toes
Aunt Mary was watching and raised her brows, sniffed her nose
And said, why is she doing that with the confetti?
My mother sighed and replied, she’s different.
I read the Bunty book annual, a Christmas gift at that time. It had an address for R.A.D.A.
I wrote and asked for an audition to act out in a play
Whilst waiting for a reply my parents took us all to live in South Africa a long way away.
My father questioned, why is she so angry
My mother said, she’s different.
My mother died at the age of 90, my father gone ten years before
I cried when they wheeled her coffin past my pew
And thought of how she never cuddled me as I grew
I guess it was because my mother too
was different.
From China, Covid-19 its name,
Travelled west, and here it came.
Affecting many, making them ill.
It’s one purpose, seeming to kill.
Coughing, spreading, without knowing.
Events cancelled, no movies showing.
Calls for calm, as it takes its toll,
Morons stockpiling toilet roll.
Panic buying, hand gels and soap.
People dying, a loss of hope.
This virus, it cares not.
Though it hates the weather hot.
Take extra care, if you’re unwell,
And it will, be just swell.
Wash your hands, to stop the spread,
Else you may, well end up dead!
boxful of Scotland souvenirs at a car boot sale
a life’s possessions
in thirty or so boxes
from the back of a white Transit
knick-knacks from Scotland
a wee man with ginger hair
tam o’shanter
and a corkscrew
a picture of Ben Nevis
with all the red vibrancy
sucked out of it
by years of rising suns
through flat windows
a toilet roll holder
from Edinburgh
cartoon spider and an inscription
taken straight from Robert Bruce
“if at first you don’t succeed,
try, try again”
an empty whisky bottle
shaped like a hand bell
a small bundle of colourised postcards
in brown, green and purple
of the Scottish Highlands
a tea towel with a stubborn brown stain
of the Isle of Skye
a pint glass with a colour scene
lettered Aberd—n
and a dried bunch of heather
bound by a tartan ribbon
from the banks of Loch Ness
that bunch of heather,
forty six years picked
owned from honeymoon to death
thirty or so boxes
of worthless detritus
to rummage and ransack
on a summer Sunday morning
a life lived
in one of thirty boxes.
6.6.2011
revised 6.6.2022 6:45am
I’ve picked at it, tore at it
Pulled it with my teeth
My mouth filled up with nibbled bits
Which gave me loads of grief
I had to rinse and gargle
With diluted chlorine bleach
Every time its just the same
Success seems out of reach
It’s like another groundhog day
It’s never any better
Well this time is the final time
I’m gonna write a letter
They say a job ain’t finished
’til the paperwork is done
I chuck this one across the room
And try another one
I’m trying hard to calm myself
But feel my anger grow
Someone needs to tell me
’cause I really need to know...
Whoever has a job
Where their single daily goal
Is gluing down the the first ten sheets
Of every toilet roll
26 June 2021
Contest: Let Er Rip #3
Sponsor: John Lawless
The clocks go back on Sunday. Don't forget!
Another hour in bed for those that sleep
For those that don't, another hour to keep
On thinking of the things that we regret
Time rumbles on. We fumble to reset
Our cuckoo clocks and watch as all the sheep
We counted slowly slide back down the steep
And stony mountain in the mud and wet -
Oh wake me when the winter ends. I'll leave
The money for the shopping in the porch
Enough for tea bags, toilet roll, and torch
No need to stop, just knock and I'll retrieve
It later. Thanks. Don't call me, I'll call you
And don't forget the clocks! Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
© Gail Foster 31st October 2021
(In England we put the clocks back an hour at the end of October and forward an hour in the Spring, and try to remember which way round it is with the phrase 'Spring forward, fall back')