Best Vomiting Poems
Drained of opaque innocence
Perfected by your toxicity,
I was laid bare beneath the narcissistic sun,
Searing deep within dehydrated pupils,
Stripping my soul of all humanity,
until your sinister tongue was all I could hear.
Your empty promises clothed these bones;
running was no longer an option,
as hiding became nearly impossible within your shadows.
Voices, eating through my cerebral cortex,
tainted even the demons that resided within my mind.
Minuscule reminders of my life before became particles of dust,
floating through suffocating air,
choking the little oxygen you let me breathe,
until the poison became too much to take.
Falling to my knees, vomiting your vile lies,
my life flashed like motion pictures before my eyes.
A choice was given:
either purge—rip the cursed, stinging nettle from my veins,
or die under your cruelty.
I will not rot for an insignificant monster;
a cleansing is long overdue.
Heat of the day sun and fun
Swimming and diving
Signs read do not swim or dive
Young and immortal
Swimming until exhaustion
Time for one more dive
A graceful dive, but too deep
Trying to surface
Forces are pulling downward
Trying to surface
Grabbed this hand just within reach
Safe at water’s edge
Exhausted and still vomiting,
I witness no one to thank.
Edward J. Ebbs - April 11, 2015
Allow altruistic artistry among ailing american adversaries.
Bartering begins before begging beasts break brothers.
Capture calamity controlling catastrophe calming castration.
Dedicate decisions directed down dreary deaf disillusionment.
Eradicate equality earning efficient energetic epiphany.
Follow fallen foreigners forgetting faithful flight from fluid folly.
Gasping greatness growing grapes given golden goodness.
Halt hollow hearts hearing helpless happiness.
Imagine impurity imitating indestructible ice inflicting impotent illness.
Justify jolly jerusalem jingling janitors joining january’s jewelry.
Kill kindergarten kings kicking kindly kindred kilts.
Lament likeable links lingering lowly light like lavender letters.
Mount monetary moments melting motherly marshal monuments.
Negate nightly notions noticing nurtured naughty nakedness.
Open oblivious obligation of odd operative oceans.
Propagate proposed premonitions producing proud pirate papas.
Quiet quilted questions quickly quoting quaint qualm quandary.
Remember righteous royalty returning rotten remnant rage.
Skip silent sulking surrounding super salty sounds squeezing sanity.
Teach talented tearful tyrants total trivial topics training treason.
Utter utopian universality upon united unitarian usurpers.
Violate vermin validity valuing victorious vomiting virgin volunteers.
Wash wandering women wondering whether western whiteness welcomes war.
X-ray xeric xenophobic xylem-made xebec.
Yearn yellow yearlings yelling yonder yuletide yachtsmen.
Zebra.
Daggled and bloodied, the young man lay upon the ground where he’d been
left.. .left by vile men who, spurred by senseless hate and ravenous for a taste of
violence, had lured him with false fellowship and brought him to this secluded spot
by veil of darkened day. At first, they bound his arms, rendering him defenseless to
what was to ensue. After dragging him a small way from the back seat of their van,
they proceeded to pummel his stomach and his face, breaking his nose almost
instantly. When he stumbled to the ground, he received the heels of their boots as
they kicked at his extremities and then again, he received their cruel blows to his
stomach and face. When certain they had done enough damage so he would not
last a night in the cold, they spat on him and drove away.
As his attackers sat far away in a bar, drunk and boasting how they’d “done the
world a favor,” he’d already passed the stage of vomiting and gasping for his
breath. And though his brain was writhing with awful pain, with knowledge of his
sure obliteration, his chilled and broken body stayed inert. Reposed as if inside the
womb, he felt the ache receding, and before night’s shadows passed into the dawn,
his blood had stanched.
Now as flesh turns into carrion lying undiscovered in the dust, his spirit… never
quashed. . .cries out for justice.
Author: Runping Chen
The desk sends forth its particular fragrance
That gladden people’s hearts.
That is the sweet-smelling of the old camphor bodies
And into the impression of my childhood immerses.
The shade extended my fellow villagers’ strolling;
Countless summer nights embraced people’s joyful cooling.
The huge and tabescent trunk held up
The wind and frost for generations’ living.
The refreshing breeze was kissing the head of the tree.
Kindly pulled the old camphor closer
Some strands of cooking smokes
Vaguer and vaguer.
The production teams’ whistles were resounding over the village,
And grownups shouldered the sun and moon
Hurrying to the hills and fields
While the old camphor collected the children’s imaginative yields.
--In its chest
The childhoods would not be lonely and flurried
Counting from the stitches of leaves
Thousands and thousands of suns.
Many rivers of time were flowing around;
With no sense of time, the sadness I’ve known.
Since I was away, many shifts of the sunrise and sunset
I came back home and found the old camphor fallen on the ground.
It’s lying on the ground with no voice and sound,
Being dying and breathing
The merely last fragrance of its life
In front of the horrible carpenters who circled around.
The carpenters held their stainless saws
Ignoring the old camphor’s itches and aches.
On its shoulder was an owl
With the mouth open, and family ruined after all.
Prizing up the mouth for no use of vomiting sadness,
The birds sang no songs any more in the sky
Because they could hardly find back
Houses and household articles among the green leaves.
Children carried in both hands the remains of the old camphor’s bones,
Hating to pile them in the firewood house.
When the setting sun was sliding down the west hill ridges,
I walked back and forth around the old camphor tree.
My love...let me explain this situation,
I had no intentions of cheating on you.
I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
You saw me with her and it meant nothing,
I just held her for a moment in my hand.
Your skin glows like the moons reflection on water,
She looked anorexic sick...and pale green before vomiting.
Your scent’s like liquid caramel whenever you move.
She smelt like salty...sweat on a hot day.
My yearning heart throbs to your sloshing voice,
And I salivate to the sound of your name.
The evening flutters like butterfly wings.
I am calmed by your taste that I carry into,
The twilight of my soul and hold dear to my heart.
I’m filled with hope, may I dry your condensation tears,
That steadily stream down your plastic face?
I didn’t mean to make you cry...my love.
As my taste is satisfied, it reminds me
Of your moistened contents when I first met you.
In the hush of night, hearing you psss... turns me on,
My taste...buds leap to my mouth‘s palate.
I wait in the moonlight for your secret 23 flavors,
So that we may merge as one, liquid to stomach.
In the search of glorious satisfaction,
Of having my life...moistened by your touch.
Please believe me...she means nothing to me.
I just held her in my hand for a moment,
I’m loyal to you with all my heart and soul,
My lips never touched hers, I promise.
I would never switch to Mountain Dew.
I’m in love with you and only you,
Satisfy my life with your liquid...love.
I longed to hold you in my hand,
You...my Dr. Pepper...come here let me kiss you.
I'm in love with your cool and refreshing taste.........ahhh.
Nine months I carried and waited
for you to come into the world
so I could hold you in my arms.
I knew you were in my womb when
my moods changed and certain smells made
me nauseated sending me
straight to the bathroom vomiting.
Flavor for food had also changed
craving strange foods and lots of ice.
You would stretch, punch, kick, flip, and turn
when you were old enough to move,
even hiccupped once in awhile,
your way of letting me know you
were healthy growing in my womb.
The day arrived; you decided
to make your heartfelt appearance.
The contractions started while I
sat in the bathtub relaxing.
The pain subsided for just a
little while; five minutes later
I knew I was in true labor.
Your dad rushed us into the car
and drove straight to the hospital.
I was told it wasn't time, but you
decided to proof the nurse wrong.
Those memories long forgotten,
the second I laid eyes on you
at that moment all I desired
was to stare with awe as you slept.
I was intoxicated with
your blissful scent, the feel of your
soft skin, the wrinkled tiny feet
and tiny hands, and charming smile.
Eternal sunshine that was mind
is still my whole joy in my life.
Don't you ever forget you will
always be the love of my heart.
10/14/2017
Many a hunger goes unfed.
Some adjust and live with it,
finding satisfaction in suitable activities.
Others push that hunger down, deeper and deeper,
filling the empty hole inside themselves
with dangerous addictions that take the place
for what they hunger for.
Starved for the attention or love
they never received as children,
voracious some become.
They fill the void with things like gambling,
***********, drugs or alcohol.
Each addiction follows its victim through life
like a dark abiding shadow.
Some, needing control of their own lives,
literally starve themselves of food deliberately,
becoming anorexic or bulimic and vomiting their food back up.
The remedy for normalcy becomes
nearly impossible for them to achieve.
For others, life is boring or unfulfilling.
Ravenous as wolves, they stuff their faces.
A paradox is this – for they are not feeding physical hunger.
They need guidance and understanding,
and the will-power to resist
an over-abundance of food, which some mistakenly
believe they hunger for.
Too many hunger for money or material possessions.
They cannot satisfy their cravings,
and this may lead to crime or even murder.
Look around and see the many people hungering
for what. . . they may not even know.
How sad is a society
when what’s considered harmful or immoral
becomes the norm for what we choose
to engorge ourselves upon.
Like the swollen bellies of children in third world countries,
the substitutions for what many of us hunger for
will become the death of us.
Scarecrow Addict
Gritted and dusty
Powered by flack jacket eyes
Bootsteps through grey puddles
Flotilla of cigarette butts
Trash kicked aside
In a desert of litter
Seeking the soulless of death
Chattering on split lips
The grimy irk of air
Festoons the rink and rack
The floating black
Sucks unbidden
Horses into battle ridden
Scream through his lungs
Broken weapons
Filled with empty bullets
Enemies in their colours run
Demon angel
Of the iridescent metal
In the bars of sculptured hell
For the hot choke of alcohol
Has squandered his nights
And burnt his will
The vengeance of mirrors
He cannot defy
He has become
The man with the gun
And rabid dog bark
Is the music
The fang gangster rap
Chews on his pride
Coughs back and spits
Too many drugs
To fill his hate
As he seethes through the alleys
The ricochet sound of poverty
Slaps hard at the cold
Whistle through the doorstep
The vicious snide crack
Scavenges his chest
Scarecrow buckshot
Trammels his lungs
And coughs up plastic
Iron girders against shattered walls
Where the whole world threw up
His sick
Chokes on the disgusting chuck up
Of need
So full of promises
But still lets in the freezing winds
To whined up urine stained
In the pallor
The colour
Of his sky
Bandit warrior and loser
This brave young man
Watched this driven and ploughed memory
Eat away
By iron vice drag
Devastate his pale haired wench
Leaving blood trailing on her breast
Pimped
She was
And hate in grey battered uniforms
Drove the callous on
And lifted him from the reeking cans
Of his desolation
Bled him through nights of sweat
And cold turkey chewed regret
The plaster wet billboard and pealing advert
Have no idea
What they have unleashed
Brittle as long dead bones
And screaming head
No longer hates
But still sneers revenge
In tattered loose rags
He staggers from the vomiting pit
Emaciated wolf
The grinning scarecrow eyes of merciless
And the jagged teeth of candle lit
The reek of vendetta
Hangs ever about his lips
And woe betide the gun smith
Woe betide indeed the needles
Wet prick
Nothing left to fight for
Other than
A long dead
Lover
If you hear the sound of rat-tat-a-tat
It's not a woodpecker or a chattering cat
Tis George F. Latulence an aristocrat
Playing ping pong with his gold crested bat.
A competitor and show-off he deems to be
Dresses each day in his noble finery
Pantaloons his normal fancy day wear
His ancestry, finery, regalia, style flair.
He never shares glory or plays with a partner
Winning trophies for himself, what he is after
Agile and swift, rarely points he would miss
The downside came, when you did get that whiff.
To gain advantage, a parp he would do
Clenching bum cheeks, in case he followed through
High class energy foods for his body to sustain
But his parping was every one else's nose bane.
George on first serve, parped, as he hit the ball hard
Swiftly attacking, George butt did bombard
In that spilt second threw off his opponent
Point gain to George, aided by his flatulent moment.
Silent and deadly they all came out fast
Odourous gas from George nuclear fueled ar$e
If one made a noise he'd give a loud grunt
That was his bum burping cover up stunt.
Knew there was trouble when audiences pulled faces
Some even fainted, brave stayed in their seat places
George didn't care, just wanted top podium status
His methods and thinking obnoxiously atrocious.
Audience faces were different shades of green
People were swaying, some even vomiting.
He called it his ping pong, parp-crafty-art farts
Next point to win, final round about to start.
The ball went to and fro like a speeding fast bullet
George, with match point, he was about to secure it
Hitting an ace, made a spark, that caused a boom blast
Left the audience with mix feelings of relief and aghast.
Breaking news of his death headlines did broadcast
Even able to download from what's called a podcast
George F. Latulence died from a blast from his ar$e,
He blew up one too many, too dense and not sparse.
May The Gas Be With You Farts Part 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Written 07.10.21
When This Broken, Only A Dark Sonnet Will Do
In deep melting pot of sorrow's dark, seeping doom
nightmares, I saw hearse caravans rolling through gloom;
with sad echoes of creaking wheels and painful shades
came immense agonies of ever piercing blades.
My soul sought shelter from splinters of dying wood
shielding grief stricken heart from dark barely withstood;
curse that penetrates spirit's armors, valor's halls
with clouds of poison gas, seeping through castle walls.
Midnight shadows came, danced in repugnant scenes
vomiting spittle, with hideous stagnant greens;
Fate and Time, delay dawn's lights, its needed reprieve
enjoy all the more, epic loss as crushed heart grieves.
Dawn, its promise reminds, faith saves from sinful life,
I remember death's terrors and its bloody knife.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-23-2018
Dark Sonnet, ( Fate's Curses and Its Deep Plunged Daggers)
Life is all white butterflies and yellow flowers
For the rich and blue eyed you
You want for nothing except perhaps
Teal tribulations
What do you know of amethyst angst
How it reels from your gut
And paralyzed purple souls
Vomiting violet verses of pansy poems
You lack liquid death felt by
The mother of a soft stillborn infant
How could you know peach pain
When your long lashes flash as magic wand
Instantly your wildest wishes are granted
You’ll never know hunger harm or hell
And I desperately despise you for it
Because you lack emerald empathy
You gloss over others loss as “God’s will”
Disenfranchising demise of dandelion dreams
As if death is a green gift to be opened
Your happiness is snorted in white lines up your
Nose leaving psychedelic rainbows in your spirit
An artificial light illuminates your mind
But you feel elaborately enlightened even elevated
Your life is rich your words your food even
Your grief seems scripted by gold and silver pen
The soft satin lavender lies you tell yourself
Are a jaded justification of lack of life’s joy
You dig a grave for the less fortunate in
Your poetic world full of magenta misery
Dressed up as colorful inspiration
You feed off others like a blood thirsty vampire
Never quoting never worrying at all
That AI stole your doily soul
No your rehabilitation is red white and blue
A flag burned by drug paraphernalia and
False imprisonment in cranial concentration camps
False because your mind doesn’t have to be there
You have all the tools you need to bleed
Feel reveal and write truth but
You chose not to
Your verses in ash smell of smoky hell’s dissent
Government policies that toilet stink
Presidentially approved
by a potty-mouth politrician rat-fink
Give the progressive town halls
more executive bathroom stalls
Read the foul language scrawls
on the Oval Office latrine
dollar-bill green painted walls
Flush the rank noise
with a few
smelly issue tissue tweet bawls
That dung aroma gon make your nose blink,
bowel vapors
will have your thoughts vomiting in the sink
Get the voting public
standing at nausea attention
Prep the ballot masses of breathy dissension
with sound bytes
of bitter chocolate bung mint,
duly veto sent
Tell ‘em it’s their sworn patriotic duty
to greedily eat the excrement
Taste the butt-hole flavor
of nasty worded inhalation torment
Truth got swallowed whole ... intestinal sold
Filthy lucre lips
do love the ruble con savor
Condition the brownie-nose party bound chumps
to double dip the cow chips
into the raw sewage salsa with the brown lumps
Be stricken by the loose tongue,
back-end diet
of diarrhea verbose crying
A cheeky butt buffet ...
odious motives with odoriferous intent
Buy the all-you-can-eat lying,
go feast on the swirling fear excrement
My God, i cant stay quiet,
for i took the wrong diet,
maybe i should have cooked it,
but impatience made me eat,
could not wait for lunch,
for i was hungry that much,
the dished passed across my nose,
waking up my hunger dose.
pass me the dish please,
i said with ease,
for i am hungry,
and when am hungry i get angry.
A thrust into the plate,
with great ecstasy i ate,
feeling happy,
each spoon had a different story.
Things later went sour,
felt bad at the wrong hour,
vomiting, my stomach broken,
whats the cause: food poison.
EzyFabanatu All Rights Reserved © 28th
March, 2014
Gorgeous green garden
Filled with fantastic flowers
Three tremendous trees
Tall enough to hide tormented towers
There dwells a dark demolisher
In this garden, green with grief
Suffocating me in senseless sorrow
Being brutalized, my breath becomes brief
You might see many marvelous plants
But these plants grow a poisonous pain
Vomiting very venomous fumes
As agony fills me up again