Defecating Poems | Examples

Absolute proof that I am the queen of poop

I often voice record poems when I’m defecating on the toilet –

I wonder, could this be considered as poetry dumping…

just askin for a friend lol

NB As the Queen of Poop I will NEVER be 'de turd' from posting my poems on what is a poetry site

Bottle Garden

Olive green bottle garden
once beautified her perfect patio.
Resplendent with venust foliage
and pretty alpine flowering cacti.
Sadly, with declining mobility
its owner no longer ventures outdoors.
Now grungy, its only visitors
are two defecating pigeons.

Feuding Cattle

I badly fear feuding cattle,
Vexed into a ferocious battle;
An endless shudder at the goring horn
To them granted when they were born.

I could imprison the defecating cattle
And off and on heatedly rattle
About their messy-looking hilly dung,
At all corners of an expanse, filthily flung.

But I do pity the knife-facing cattle,
Just as I would an on-a-slab-turtle,
Of resistance dispossessed, no less of mettle;
To soon in active kitchen pots settle…

I could Imitate journeying lazing cattle,
This intently doing and not a little,
If my destination be an object funeral,
No lucky grabbing of a bottle of mineral.

A Colonoscopy Sounds Like Fun

Tiger me growls, kicking the dog on the floor.
She yelps, giving me the “I love you no matter what” eyes.
That makes Tiger me mad, so she wakes up Trixie.
They start wrestling around, growling and biting.

Trixie is scratching her eyes out. I get to work and get sent home.
It was not a dream. I have pink eye.
I guess all that crusty stuff I did not see in the mirror meant something.
I do not look into mirrors any more.

Or closets.
There are probably raccoons in there
And as much fun as it is thinking of them trying on my clothes,
What if they are also defecating in there? Who is going to clean that?

My day is beginning with a bang.
A colonoscopy? Sure. Sounds like fun.
How about next Tuesday?
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Fear Not Thy Death

Fear thee not, for thy sweet stench of dormant death is in the aboulic air
Thus in thy fraught, and benighted breath to ask for thy life to shamely spare
Or be quick thy death, defecating and releasing thy sacred salubrious soul
For thy wick in candle, awaiting a chastising seditious smoke streaked stroll

For is not a man, peacefully protected by graceful gods and ascending angels
Or be thy heavens plan rigorously rejected by those who sever thy carpal cables
Alas in thy fetal fright, I bid thee a fond adieu with a savourless somber sorrow
For thus our festive flight with holy honeydew and minstrels musical morrow.




02.20.2017
Fear
Sponsored by/The Seeker

Morphological Moods

Turtle wrap is a turtle entwined. Eh. Ooh.ball is the only thing for a bit. Among a fish baked grass. And a farting squid in a barrel of pickles is a introduction to a heifer dance. So many beef goats for a merry massacre. And burping with a turtle heated bead head is almost as invested as Abdu ii  spinning in a meeting. Serpentine meeting a jalapeño in an arena. Melting no cooking pot. Dinner divination duty dropping deeds divinely. Pontiffs place Peahen properly and a propulsion of a prism point is a didactic rhythm guitar and drums and bassist sailing on a small rectangular seed. On a stream. Several streams singing watertight winking walls. And the beast of the brick is a linkage of a lineage. Lint no linguistic lounging lolly. And a nice fantastical fabric. Xxxx and hahahaha now defecating drives. Hahahaha and a numerical swift swimming. Xxxxx educational establishment two vertical vestryman nil. Xxxxx morphological Z z z Z

Why I Hate Pigeons

They are perched everywhere just waiting. 
If you feed them, they will start defecating. 
Some people consider them rats with wings. 
Pigeons can do some of the nastiest things. 
I went to the car wash to get my car clean. 
What a flock did was nothing short of mean. 
So today, I wasted a little of my money. 
I want to do with my shotgun something that's not funny.

Inspired by another member's poem.

The News Today

The News Today 
Louvre in Paris has closed its door the staffs stand 
on the steps and sing the national anthem they have 
no lifeboats and can`t stop Louvre being filled with
the art of debris, cleaning up will be a headache 
what is art and what is rubbish.
Meanwhile, 80 million rats have sought higher ground 
occupying rich people’s homes sleeping and eating silk 
sheets and Foie gras get drunk and aggressive on rare 
wine and defecating on Persian carpets  

Also in the news, a boy in Japan has been dancing with
bears and eating their blueberry jam.
The boy says he will be a zookeeper when he grows up 
to put his parents in a cage. The rest of the news is boring 
the routine stuff about useless wars on sand dunes

Lament of My Life

Am I not an empty shell?
A crystal egg if you will, as I slowly swell...
In my excrement's of love,
Am I not a fetus freak?
Abandoned by the love I seek, void full tears...
Am I not a decaying embryo?
If not your love be my foe, a sacrificial lamb...

Forgive me for I not ponder at your empty words 
For they are daggers that indiscriminately wander, toward my heart...
Oh such treachery, such calamity...I am defecating in my shell
So full of apathy my love, as you chain up my soul...

Be not thy name of thy bride be sorrow,
For I not see such tomorrows in the skies above...
Am I not a speck of dust?
Floating aimlessly in the cyclone of love,
For I land on the crust, of wasted years...
Am I not a contorted thought?
A tasty morsel left to rot for the vultures...

Am I not buried in a shallow grave?
Where corpses crave love again...
Is not my heart a waking wound?
For it be marooned on the island of Lost Souls
Such tidal waves of Destruction...
Soon my heart shall cease to function, for I be not in love,  no more.


March.08.2016   For Contest   Lament Of My Life

No Rest

No rest for the wicked...the torn and the twisted
The devils enlisted
Shots to my soul but they missed it

No rest for gangster goons and ghouls
fiends and fools
Chopping up lines and lighting up spoons

No rest for the angry and addicted the condemned and convicted
No end to that neverending supernatural sentence

No rest for mortals and monsters
Bad men and beasts...digesting power and defecating on peace

No rest on sin streets paved with fools gold...1000 miles an hour down dead end drives straight into bloody brick walls

Rise and fall to run and flip...dropped like a dime in a bottomless pit

Far beyond or far behind...No rest for lost losers at the end of the line

Bringing Out the Worst

For a strange incident, I can’t think of anything greater.
This is what I saw one night at the top of the escalator:
This pleasingly plump woman was naked below the waist.
A male and female security guard escorted her away in haste.
They both grabbed this disgruntled patron by each arm.
Away went this woman where she could do no more harm.
She wanted to get even with the house by defecating on the floor.
It’s a sure bet this woman won’t be seen around here anymore.
This is just an example of how people act when they lose their money.
Casinos usually bring out the worst in everybody.

Life Can Be a Joke That Makes You Cry

Sometimes people manipulate circumstances point fingers;
And paint accusatory renderings of destruction;
Muted with the colors of intention to misdirect and discredit.
But when the dust settles the flags of honor can still be seen flying
And even though a house of love may be under siege;
There may be some still looking to acquire entrance;
Because there is often kindness; 
And encouragement to believe in one’s self;
Even though the finger painters have told everyone they shouldn’t.
And some defenders may grow weary but continue on for reasons unknown
Yet dare to stress the importance of;
Never defecating where you eat;
Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer;
Because life can be a distorted reflection;
Of what seems larger than it really is.

Spread

Fundamentally speaking love strives to keep death alive,
It is the means to an end, 
And the end to a beginning
Its touch defecating,
Subconsciously & Physically
Like the revelation you feel,
When unknowingly true love
Is kissing your lips 
As all kisses, once sweet
Now blisters,
Purged from your lips
Fundamentally speaking love envisions creation
Now visualize the rhythm of void,
To the point of death   
In blissful union
Like Man & Woman
Creating a creation called life
It is a creation of thoughts,
Fundamentally speaking love sparks these thoughts
Think and Speak of these thoughts now,
And see the color of death 
Holding an undying Sensuous 
Feeling as its Exploding
Like 
Like of me and you
Or you and her
And her with him
It is a feeling of the most intense 
Let your mind wrap and shape around
The thought, that truly accepting death 
Is a means to understanding life?
Fundamentally speaking love does NOT cower, before death
It simply kisses it, and gives it another life.

At the Eleventh Hour

At the eleventh hour
Silence falls
Heads bow in reverence
Reflecting remembrance
Ordinary people
Stop to show respect
For those who fell

At the eleventh hour
A small group
Of Muslim youth
Chant descent
And wave banners high
“British soldier’s burn in hell”
And this small disrespectful group
Of Muslim youth
Burn poppies in the street
Desecrating that symbol
Of solemnity
And remembrance
Burning the poppies
In symbolic disrespect

Spitting on the dead,
Urinating on their graves
Or defecating on the cenotaph
Would be a less abhorrent act
By that small ignorant group
Of Muslim youth
The poppy does not discriminate
It doesn’t just represent
The white race
The Christian faith
European culture
It represents so much more
Every race
Every faith
From every continent

At the eleventh hour
That small group
Of Muslim youth
Who burnt the poppies
Disgraced themselves
And disgraced the memory 
Of every Muslim soldier
Who fell on battlefields
Across the world

Stampede

When confronted with
edicts of expendability,
the sanest of minds
condemn usury as a practice
defecating on
the nobler edicts of survival
until all herded
charge the very gates of compliance.

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