Bowels Poems | Examples


Premium Member I Live In the Bowels of Strange

So are you a rabbit then?
I stare at the weird little guy.
What is he?
Salesman? Coffin seller or news reporter?
Who wants to know? I ask.
Putting my pocket watch back into my giant pocket.

You might be the Easter Bunny, he surmises.
This is November, is the fellow daft?
I love strange; I live in the bowels of strange.
But this inquisitive fool is beyond belief.
I hop away, and do not look back.
me

Premium Member Bowels of War

BOWELS OF WAR

Putin death-drone bombs;
Diarrhea-hate flowing down—
Children flushed away…
Form: Haiku


Premium Member Apologize To the Platters Now

Only poo can make this world seem bright
Only poo can make what's heavy light
Only poo and poo alone can thrill me to the bone
So I fill my toilet to the brim with poo.
Form: Lyric

Premium Member Africa My Continent

Africa my continent
I remember you today as always
The cradle of civilization
The land of great and revered warriors

Endowed extravagantly with all God’s natural resources
Africa my continent
The land of great promise
Africa of Achebe’s Things fall Apart, I salute you.

Rise up and take your destiny in your own hands
The   abundance of wealth in your bowels
Should be a blessing to your poverty-stricken children
Africa you must stop disappointing God

Africa my continent 
It is time to purge your off-springs of notorious acronyms
Which have become their lot
The poverty capital of the world
The corruption infested countries
The third world countries
The least developed countries
Developing countries
-hole countries 
Emerging economies
Underdeveloped countries
Arise Africa and shine for your star has risen!

Bowels Fowl

The corn flakes flew acRoss the room,
The raisins hung in air,
Eruption sticky as the glue,
Vibrating rectum fair,
He slung a towel about his waist,
He needed a a flaming shower,
But then the bowel in recital haste,
Did paint the walls a shower,
No need 2 sit upon the throne,
He quietly closed the door,
And whistling a  regretfully tune,
Sultana .brand he swore
Don Johnson
Form: Ballad


Premium Member Rondelet: Nuclear Rot In Bowels

Rondelet : (Nuclear) Rot in bowels

Rot in bowels
Sealed tight in cans, retarded bombs
Rot in bowels
Nuclear waste Earth sucks capsules
Poisoned gift to children in dumps
Let’s dance in White Night till Hell comes
(Nuclear) Rot in bowels.

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013
Form: Rondeau

Angel Vaulting, Bowels of Madness

The bowels of madness
Trekked with dark watchful eye
Through terror and agony-
The fever of society unconscious
Vault these cliffs
With steel backed bone
Alone, dangling

Then, as the dawn shown
The most riveting surprise
Rejuvenation through soil
Rushing, penetrate the surface
Of mass hypnosis
You will soar as phoenix-
reborn in the beastly beauty
Sainthood to walk with man

Premium Member Bowels of the Pyramid

From the bowels of 
The Pyramids
Like the spinning drip of an
Atomic molecule
She rose above
Sizzled my soul
With sweet sensations of love
Ah, Isis, godess of magic and fertility
melted away my icicles
With flamed passion of fire
Satisfied those touching thoughts 
Once buried and lost as desires
Enlightened essence of fragrance
Such a mummy was I
Until she unwrapped my light 
Unleashed such sensationally 
Spectacular splitting sparkles
Now awakened!
Transformed from tomb to life
Aphrodite godess of love
Who send thoughts 
From a floating cloud
Motivated her to 
Passionately touch
As Apollo god of poetry and music
Released My mystical muse
Stimulated souls’ sensations 
Snow melted by fire
Needless, 
I articulate more…
But tonight, I will
Belly-up to the bar
Brightly blushing 
While whispering: 
 “Ein anderes Bier bitte!”

© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 6/15/2010
All Rights Reserved, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
Senior Advisor, to Founder of Motivational Strips
Ambassador De Literature
Noble Star of Literature 2018
Living Legend of the 21st Century
Pentasiv B World Friendship Poetry Featured Poet 2019

Satan In My Bowels

Satan in my bowels
All I can say is 'ow'
Cringing and churning
My biscuits are burning
I’m praying for relief
Some sort of lanolin leaf
Wondering why I wasn’t born
Before the devil had horns 
Squatting in the bush
Mourning my tortured tush
Asking when trees portend
Charmin is our friend
So if you hear me cry
Shouting Jalapenos must die
Remember that camping is fun
Except when nature’s on the run
Form: Burlesque

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