Alligators with stiff necks and jaws
Boars roaming and munching without trimmed claws
Cats that nap all the time
Dogs that snap overtime
Elephants of trumpet, splash and bow
Foxes gekker, gnash and chow
Goats that rap, blitz and bleat
Hares hop with furs so neat
Iguana with spikes and protective tail
Jaguars of the cat world that rarely wail
Kiang of the wild and meadows
Loris of the night without pillows
Mongoose of bravery and viper's nemesis
Nandu of strong femoris
Olms of the cave and false mimesis
Pikas of the puff world
Quokka of the smiley world
Red fox of historical Ethiopia
Storks that bring luck in utopia
Tapirs of animated and mythical world
Uakari of the New World
Vicuna of long eyelashes
Wallaby, big foot of dashes
Xeme of the gully world
Yarri of the lost world
Zebras that play chess and checkers
Animals of the nutty world
Carnivals of naughtiness
Festivals of display and vivaciousness
Intestinal relief of the blessed world
(Prosebite)
"Some places are pitch black"
Deserted by other children
The darkened playroom confronts The Kid
"I must be supervised"
By which he means
Protected from the powers of darkness
The would-be supervisor
In turn is confronted
With tight tunnels and tiny staircases
And an accumulated coating
Of kiddy grime
Which doesn't bother the Kid.
He is unamused by pulling of scary faces
From within the labyrinth's cramped atrium
But instead requires illumination for his explorings
From a torch he has handy.
Disappointed that he must proceed alone
For reasons of size and stature
Exhorting "Try! Try!"
Yet he goes bravely forward.
Crawling through intestinal convolutions
Lit up as much as possible by the torchlight
Up into the high reaches of the system
Sliding finally down a long tube and out
Through a slippery exit passage
This is a prototype
Of a non-living carnivore
With which we can peacefully coexist
Relatively unscathed
If love were 'dark matter'
it would be the size
of a small kidney stone.
Hate is
an intestinal tapeworm
that gnaws at our vitals,
though most folks
remain unsure just what 'vitals' are.
The human brain
does not write poetry,
it merely crouches inside one ear,
while shouting into the other.
Poetry abides at the center
of an ever-expanding constellation
deep within the pineal gland -
that physical presence
manipulates, as many as
ten fingertips or toes
plus, a sloshed Calliope
swinging back and forth,
as she clings precariously
to chandelier-like Adam's apple.
Lips learn to think for themselves,
with the help of undocumented
angels.
Thus, naturally
organically produced poetry
can easily be manifest
while a nose dips deep
into a foaming glass of beer.
"Running through a mile of wasted compiled vile
I find myself conflicted sitting in a position
groaning I'm foul planting a seed of tan and brown
the snake comes out of me and it flees deposited manure
Gastly every movement is not pure, sometime it's deterred
so now I gravitate as I clasp my cheeks
out from the plummets from the tests intestinal ...
verbiage I'm not on my knees
Yet, yes I bow down bowel comes out of me
What I just planted was healthy indeed
it was a groupings of so many seeds
running in through my garden
or would you pardon
Me as I sit posture above a toilet
and now I let Go of the grouping for you see is my bowels moving
My waste has been displaced
into a porcelain throne filled with water clear
as I touch the handle it's spirals down
Maneuvered Manure
the tunnel to eventually become one with the sewer"
The pressure is on, can't let a day go by
Without writing a poem... that would be unthinkable
The Poetry Police would be breaking down my door
And exacting severe punishment
Us poet guys are committed (or should be! LOL)
A bit of humour there...
Even on those days when it feels like we're brain dead
We must call on all the intestinal fortitude we can muster
Even if it's a five line limerick
What about a five line narrative?
Does that work or am I twisting the rules?
What do you call this thingy dingy that you're reading now
Ha! Gotcha... it's a POEM!!!!!
What a tricky guy I am...
When writing about writing a poem, I'm writing a poem
(titles are everything)........
These blatant lives we lead
with our guts hanging out
between pretty words.
I remember (after the failed gastric surgery),
when gore spilled out of my prone body;
that slow unwinding of blank verse,
(the wordless made flesh) - uncoiling
in bold inarticulate sincerity.
An intestinal serpent – seeping,
and I the author of that preconscious serpent
still attempting to fill empty shells
with delusions and other ill-formed proofs
of existence.
Then from out of that open wound,
out from that that visceral self-revealing,
the pulse of my life so starkly exposed
at last, saying something -
true.
The pressure is on, can't let a day go by
Without writing a poem... that would be unthinkable
The Poetry Police would be breaking down my door
And exacting severe punishment
Us poet guys are committed (or should be! LOL)
A bit of humour there...
Even on those days when it feels like we're brain dead
We must call on all the intestinal fortitude we can muster
Even if it's a five line limerick
What about a five line narrative?
Does that work or am I twisting the rules?
What do you call this thingy dingy that you're reading now
Ha! Gotcha... it's a POEM!!!!!
What a tricky guy I am...
When writing about writing a poem, I'm writing a poem
Strange eh!
Well here we are us happy guys
At the start of an exciting new day
The sun is shining the boidies are singing
What more is there to say!
Perhaps it's that second piece of apple pie
Or that box of chocolates you consumed
I've seen you down an extra large pizza
It's a while before your breathing resumes
There is a cure for this age old problem
It's called pushing away from the table
But it sure takes a lot of intestinal fortitude
For some of us we're just not able!
Do you ever get totally discouraged
And think you're losing your mind
You're definitely in the majority today
The country's sliding in the brine!
There's still hope for all us tubby people
But we really must try to persevere
Forego that second large piece of apple pie
And a trimmer you will appear!
Today is all we need worry about
Tomorrow will take care of itself
Yesterday is gone, no changing that
Good advice for our mental health
So many factors can influence us
And create a mood we can't hide
Being strong in the face of adversity
Shows strength of character inside
The news of the day is ugly at best
Depressing as world news can be
It can make or break the kind of day
So ignore it and set your heart free
Intestinal fortitude is what we need
Nothing more extraordinary than that
To face head on the challenges to come
Move forward, let nothing distract
Before closing I feel I must add
It's in everyone's power to succeed
Intestinal fortitude and a strong desire
Once you have planted the seed
Today is all we need worry to about
Tomorrow will take care of itself
Do you believe it, been hanging around
For the last twelve years or so
Haven't youses guys had enough of my silliness
But my tired old brain is still rattling around
Funny stuff keeps poppng out
I try to minimize the number but somehow
Words just pour out like an intestinal malfunction
Maybe something I ate last night
But d'ya know what... life keeps moving ahead
Was thinking of running for prez of the U.S.
Not sure I qualify though, I'm Canadian
Oh well, here's to the next twelve!
Does your back end waddle like a duck?
Does your rear sway from side to side?
Is there a rumbling sound when sitting down
With large ripples in your hide?
Perhaps it's that second piece of apple pie
Or that box of chocolates you consumed
I've seen you down an extra large pizza
It's a while before your breathing resumes
There is a cure for this age old problem
It's called pushing away from the table
But it sure takes a lot of intestinal fortitude
For some of us we're just not able!
Do you ever get totally discouraged
And think you're losing your mind
You're definitely in the majority today
The country's sliding into the brine!
There's still hope for all us tubby people
But we really must try to persevere
Forego that second large ice cream cone
And a trimmer you will appear!
Hard to tell with the movies these days
What's real and really what's not
It's totally amazing what they now can do
Yesteryear it was always the plot
For old guys like me it's hard keeping up
Changes are happening so rapidly
Thankfully though, my guru-like son
Helps me and quite happily
My brain's used to suck up new information
With the power of a Hoover vacuum
Now I need strength and intestinal fortitude
Just for my trips to the bathroom
Where is it leading, technology I mean
Electricity will be driving our cars
Gasoline will soon be a thing of the past
We'll make regular trips to Mars
Really kinda happy I won't be around
My old fashioned brain might explode
Pretty damn sure my out of date cranium
Eventually will read “overload”
Oh, for a land full of “nope”
for leaders with enough gumption,
and intestinal fortitude
to say ….”NOPE!”
as in NO, NADA, NAY,
absolutely, most certainly not,
by no means, never, no thanks,
under no circumstances.
For one, nor many,
can meet the needs of all
nor should the one
or the many
hold power over all
nor all bow down
to the one or the many.
For the one should be
the individual
free to think to decide
to speak without fear
of the “many”, the “one”
or the “all”
John G. Lawless
©4/11/2022
We live in the jaws of Leviathan
locked in His tendrilled tongue, twisted and
gasping for air
a second to breath
as it's scaled spit scales across our head
the saliva corrodes our flesh with a painless
hiss that pours into our pores
We fall into the creature's throat
descending into the pitch black
We feel it's waning heart beating us
To batter of meat and crushed dreams
smothered us with lullaby
We are not scared.
We know what's to become of us.
A footnote of history.
digested over time whilst we
drown in its intestinal fluid
until we are spat back out
from His rectum with
our remains remaining
a fable for future kin
For God has created this creature
that we had the misfortune to live in.
The pressure is on, can't let a day go by
Without writing a poem... that would be unthinkable
The Poetry Police would be breaking down my door
And exacting severe punishment
Us poet guys are committed (or should be! LOL)
A bit of humour there...
Even on those days when it feels like we're brain dead
We must call on all the intestinal fortitude we can muster
Even if it's just a five line limerick
What about a five line narrative?
Does that work or am I twisting the rules?
What do you call this thingy dingy that you're reading now
Ha! Gotcha... it's a POEM!!!!!
What a tricky guy I am...
When writing about writing a poem, I'm writing a poem
Strange eh!
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.