Young mother, did you know?
Flowers will wither in concrete and cold.
Don't fool yourself.
Did you ever see a petal bloom in a bottle or syringe?
From outside the embrace of the son.
Or the glade of free will?
Has anything ever flowered from a crack house latrine?
From the mouth of puking guns or fatherless streams.
Young mother, don't twist the sky
your garden is in flames.
Don't let them pearl your mind.
Gather up your yearlings before they catch fire.
Nothing will grow in concrete and cold.
Young mother, did you know?
Just to keep up with a new style, while the Sand man sticks to a plan to hence understand the sentence one tense to be rinsed as the Grinch defends his tent in a pinch despite its foul rotten odor of a stench mouthed one voter who was NOT that dense in past present and future tense hence the bench warrant quarantine latrine screaming beanie baby trading card retarded jarred smarties party past time hardly hardy bartering shotgun runtime bubble covered in Nick at night slime time grime crockery stole bike spike Lymes disease treaty spiked seizer sky high geyser lightning bolt jolt soda colt cold shouldered boulder scolded holding smoldering diamond ring rugged bug-eyed smuggler tug of war tare of a care bare share holder folder to be both bad and bolder like gold oil and drugs with extra hugs and butt plugs underneath the rugs for the fuzz buzzing love jugs whatever that was or wasn’t but not my cousin nuzzling the guzzled puzzling Charlie Sheen screaming ice cream machine that feeds a team and the b team both green beans and brings the fiends back to their gene’s roots and boot scooting things... Let us see what else life brings. The Time is NOW! POW!!!
Trailhead latrine,
cracked mirror—
three of me grinning wrong.
A soap shaver's chewed itself down,
there's a beetle on its back in the basin.
I clean my hands as best I can,
wipe them on my pants,
get out,
back into wilderness,
where I don't have to face them.
Febrile Fog obfuscates palimpsest varnished promises..
Naysayers hoodwinked... deluded players peeling layers..denuded..
Deafening din of our chagrin...
Espoused by rabbles roused by mandarins’ sins..
Tarnished...pampered pilferers pickpocketing public purses...
Deploring the warring cacophony of citizens curses..
Ignoring the boring nagging nadir of nurses...
Corporate castles built without stilts on hourglass sands..
Placards versus lanyards..
Culprits preach parsimony from privileged pulpits..
Civic critics.. protests...pyrrhric..?
No tut tuts..relax…gluts of tax cuts for property sluts..
Licentious larcenists..lust for boom then bust..
Lavishly lacing our lives with lies..
Yet the more we holler...hanker..
Murky truths get darker...muckier.. starker..danker..
Avaricious arsonists torching our cries of why...
Leave us lolloping in a regret & forget.. leaking latrine...
Reeking of what could & should have been..
I was never fond of the word or the color
it reminded me of ceiling stains in cheap hotels
infinite shades of latrine piss
bony cigarette fingertips
grandpa's stage 4 jaundice
the forever scar of cowardice...
I'm contemplating painting the kitchen
in this forbidden color.
I'll have to think on it a while
...it's a critical decision
maybe the most important of my existence.
The evolution of my inbred forgiveness and
hobbled optimism heavily depends upon it.
Peanut butter, Jack’s favorite cuisine
‘Til he ate a sandwich that turned him green
Jack overlooked one thing
That gave his sandwich ‘zing’
Pea was spelled ‘Pee’ ~ smelled like a latrine
Every day, same routine
out of bed, in the latrine
Cup'a'joe, out the door I go
Work's a bad trip, but I owe
Phony-smile time: 'How was your weekend'
('Still datin' that tired old girlfriend')
Jumpin' through hoops way too small
insufferable boss, cocky know-it-all
Liberty bell rings at half-past-five
the hour the dead come alive
Off to the bar for a tall cold one
hand on the trigger ~ all done
Yesterday my drain was clogged
Woe was me my brain was fogged
No toilet, sink or washing machine
Whole house smelled like a latrine
But a bottle of black did the trick
24 hours the drain was slick
The sink went down the washer works
The smell remains rotten eggs it lurks
It wasn't all that long ago when a hole in the ground was where people would go.
Many grew sick from lack of hygiene so some one invented the pit latrine.
This greatly prevented the spread of disease. People squatted over a slab
and bent at the knees.
The first flushable was used by British royalty, a toilet that the commoner
would never see.
Chamber pots and out houses were used by many.
They composted the waste and saved a lot of pennies.
Years later dry toilets were used in most homes.
They had a wooden seat as their throne.
Some time during the twentieth century flushable toilets were
in every home you would see.
Tout allure and hello to a cleaner way.
A clever French man invented the bidet.
Is this too much information? Don't go yet.
The end of my evolution of the toilet.
Don't dare joke with their doctrine
Nor raise it in a latrine
Like had tried Goofing Kathrine
Now melted like margarine!
Their Doctrine not in bathrooms:
Bathtubs never living rooms;
Their camera can scenes zoom,
As one body choose your doom!
One they won't mind battering
And one's tressure scattering;
No rowing of one's bought boat
No testing of one's new coat...
You they shall tell with cleared throat
" Your body shall in pond float!"
Its Malice that won't Vanish;
Evil thoughts they won't banish.
Cascading waves of azure wash ashore
while cerulean curls color the sky;
subservient to time and nothing more.
The Sea absorbs a zillion drops of rain,
from a melody of showers and storms;
a dominatrix of pleasure and pain.
From indigo shades to aquamarine
She is the heart and lungs of our planet,
but, we have turned Her into a latrine.
Sullied by centuries of pollution;
Her shores are littered, no longer pristine;
for we lack a practical solution.
Our once-thriving, living Sea is dying,
placing the whole world in grievous danger:
till one can almost hear Nature crying.
I know about uncompleted building
A Terrible lot it could start wielding:
Perhaps, not in Far-Away Siberia
But, quote me, here in Lord God’s Nigeria!
A Receiving Camp for Smokers of Weed,
The Thickest Spirals in times of vile Need;
All The Depraved in Neighborhoods shielding,
Cries of torture as victims are pleading …
Get ready for the Truest Euphoria,
People down with The Falsest Malaria;
A Scenario for The Angering Deeds:
How dare you there recite The Apostles’ Creed?
Also, a venue for Helpful Latrine,
Unless Keep-Off Signals you meet Urine.
The Volunteer
by Bob Moore (c) 2019
A volunteer is worth, a thousand conscripts so they say
I would never volunteer, if I had my own way
but when the sergeant says, two volunteers, that’s you and you.
you have to grin and bear it, and do what you are told to do
It may just be KP, or police the parade ground
but it could be latrine duty, digging trenches in the ground
then you have to go, and fill the old ones in
hold your nose, and gag a bit, the air in here is thin
Sometimes you go out on patrol, to see what’s to be seen
I’d rather be warm in my bunk, than walking jungles green
then someone yells out “contact” and you just hit the ground
and swear and keep your head down,
as you chamber another round
Then contacts lost, if it ever was, more than a nervous call
now back to base, and thankful, as into the bunk we fall
tomorrow it will all start again, and if good luck goes my way
I will not be volunteered, and I will last another day.
She was like a big doll, he thought,
As he watched her standing stoically
So prominent in the window display.
A window shopper looked in. So attractive, he thought.
Suddenly all reminiscent ideas fled,
As she had disappeared from view.
He walked towards the window display.
There was the dummy wearing a coat
With a large mirror behind it.
Not a coat of fashion, though around the neck
It had some expensive fur, a mink no doubt.
It was not beyond his means really.
He mused whether he would dare offer it to her.
But he hardly knew her and was not rich really,
Just a poor latrine attendant with no schooling.
Dreams! He was a fool for out of the shop
She came wearing the coat and she was not alone.
A hunk of a man strode confidently with her.
He looked back at the window now without the coat.
Only the mirror remained. His face leered back at him.
Was his face that ugly that he resembled a mink?
Ah well, even minks have a loving mate!
The pastry chef made some cuisine
Then he went to use the latrine
He played in his pants
Which was covered with ants
Then fell into the mixing machine
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