Long Enema Poems
Long Enema Poems. Below are the most popular long Enema by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enema poems by poem length and keyword.
Her name was Ethel....(yes, like the gasoline)
She smelled of menthol...(much like Vick's Vaseline)
A long time neighbor, from down the lane
She was married twice...(or was it thrice?)...
A widowed lady, we knew her well
A bit disgruntled, and a bit dismantled
A bit unusual.....a bit disturbed
and most the time, seemed quite perturbed!!
And as a kid....of her, I feared!
So scared of her that when she came .....Holy Moly, off I'd run!
And hide away..........'til she was gone!
She was a mix of ice.....a tad of nice....
But my mother trusted her sage advice
She had a cure for most everything....some seemed rather sensible
Some quite extreme!!!
The worst indeed..............(Please excuse my dilemma!)
She believed in the (OMG!!) THE ENEMA!!
(Well....now you can see .....just why I hid!!)
And castor oil..............gahhhhhh.......how disgusting!!
Should only be used when parts are rusting!!!!!!
And an old rag wrapped and rubbed on your wart
Then into a hole.....dug out by the fort....
Yep!! Now, why would a dishrag buried in the yard
Could have such power to rid.................................A WART??
Ridiculous notions....all of her potions......but...
Golly, Gee Whiz! , I'll have to say...
That I've been wart free.........since buried rag days!!
Oh, Miss Ethel..............perhaps you were weird....
but you would fix a mother's fears...
Could you still fix-up all my own....
all of my fears....after all these years?
Just NO MORE ENEMAS!!! Please Miss Ethel.....
Oh !! my dear !!
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Some have said Jan has dung for brains
How rude are those who place disdains
on her poems in the soup
Their words are full of poop
Jan sits upon her throne and reigns
From porcelain commode she rules
Toilet paper and pen, her tools
She takes a morning dump
from a crack in her rump
One day she found dark colored stools
Her doctor arranged for a scan
So, off to the UK, flew Jan
From her brain to her feet
First an enema... Fleet
That kept Jan sitting on the can
Days later, she read the results
With mirth and laughter, Jan exults
She'd eaten licorice
Rumors were gibberish
Fools, were those rumoring insults
Jan's brain scan proved that she's alright
If her poems offend the 'uptight'
She just couldn't care less
If it brings them distress
Because she doesn't give a s.h.i.t.e
Archetypes flash straight from a pack of Tarot cards
anti-terror Jing Jang synthesis with neuro-spiritual precision
implants explosive animation from the deep unknown
like a taro rootstock growing wings to fly with found suspension
Stereotactic stereotypes archetypes semi-circling soothing storm clouds
thunderbolts and enlightening darkness are my enema of anxious anger critique
of the mono-morph collision of the scalpel shadow ‘Prozacian’ nemesis
neology of ‘animusity’ of ‘newfoundlandel’ comprehension
Dialectical complementation rises higher and higher culminates in
ethereal transcendence where collective personal unconscious
presents my animus in wishful thinking and projections as
soft and gentle revel rebel raising entropy in tender conservation to escape from
Dogma categorically demanding artificial classification replacing with dimension
flow and rivers stagnant pools of stream of consciousness evading
sexist fragmentation disenfranchising marginalisation assigning male
and female emasculated o-variation where seminal origin implantation
Precedes nurture socialised indoctrination assignment of celibate promiscuity
My animus refuses to accept in emotional rejection whether Jung and I read
symbols from the same page or not of masques façades and liberated self
where academic artistry split hairs and personality for the premise of debate
I am a rebel and claim no higher lower ground of superior distension
He or she who animates friendly animosity is right and incorrect whatever
common ground belies the provocation I propose but possibly my
presentation of what others mean in kindness is too neutral neuters psyche
While anima and animus illustrate conclude a symbiotic destination
the starting point of this and that left right up above and side by side
is far too circular an argument when we should start not end in union
Male and female are constructions of disparity of power and repression
Archetypes are not therefore I am
11th June 2016
Animus-Anima Part II—Animus – Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tom Quigley
Encapsulation Versus Elaboration...
Therefore, I opted to
reduce heavy sedation
within unsuspecting reader rabbit
summarization superseded elaboration,
less reason spurring salacious secretion
i.e. a-z expletive epithet, et cetera laced
verbalization crucifixion subsequently,
neither nameless nincompoop (me)
crossing verboten drive,
nor this ditto anonymous
poetic purveyor to burden heavy
onlookers with elegiac colluding bugaboo
even daunting grizzly Adams,
endeavoring exclusively exercising
"E" valuation in futile attempt
to express mild exuberance
entailing English language.
Essentially erudition wrought
elucubration, ecstatic emotion,
enunciation, enumeration, eradication
narrowly avoiding writer's block
concomitent ebullition, emasculation
exacerbation, exasperation,
stepped up escalation elevation
malignant hypertension, encrustation
elementary (my dear Watson)
extemporaneous embarkation
severely affected non exlax induced
emergency enema evacuation,
but not even for the grace of dog
unstoppable elimination, ejection...
exhausting excavation
water closet expedition
elucidation, elation, edification,
vis a vis emancipation,
despite literary emaciation malnutrition
near extinction yours truly,
nonetheless... faint eruption
eureka ejaculation elongation
emanation awoke new edition
regarding neigh saying kid on the block
elicitation, elocution, energization,
eroticization, estimation, excitation
activated skeletal echolocation
eye opening entrepreneurial effectuation
analogous TVA electrification,
hence enervation equalization
relieved self cannibalization
thankfully discouraging envenomization
invariably in conclusion,
no exaggeration pronouncing
exemption verdict against
my extirpation sore disappointment!
Lower gastrointestinal war civil declared
because sweet tooth (er...rather dentures)
craved absolute zero sum game yoking,
wickedly villainous, x'acting tummy
upsetting Pavlovian salivating, romancing,
quid pro quo woe pea pie us, orthodox,
conventional, nun habit forming (Lie),
mouth watering, lip locked, kickstarting,
Je Suis ill lust trios, hymn bracing, gob
stop ping, feasting immediate enema
inducing, decadent chocolate baneful
cake courtesy of adoring bubela, (the
same over stuffed ego freezer oft
mentioned counterpart), charming,
hugely overpowering tenderly loving
zee missus diabolically exuding
"FAKE" gracious humane insinuating
jabbering, knowingly loo man hating,
needful offal pestiferous quasi rip
snorting, tush under fire, violent
whooshing, expelling xyz lower
abdominal contractions, indubitably
kindling, jumpstarting instagramming
howling, fostering execrable, debilitating,
besieging posterior, automatically
clutching derriere, experiencing ferocious
gluteus maximus intractable jabbing, knifing,
lacerating, mutilating nameless oaf (me),
painfully quaking das simian, torturously
undergoing vicious wretched excessive
yawping worse fate than death!
Otherwise ass hide from irritable bowel
syndrome this second July Sunday 2019
quite yawningly wonderful, uneventful,
sedate, quiet, ordinary, mundane, languid,
joyously humdrum, fabulously drab
characterizing local buffoon, i.e. yours truly.
Shall I cut thee a slice of outrageously
luscious, keister heavenly gourmet deluxe cake?
I have nothing against
traditional presentations
of poetry –
Though, not for me! –
personally liking a winged start:
projecting freely...as a good
enema or vomit....
letting my expressions splatter loose;
somehow mentally, spiritually willing
them to frenzied, explosive evacuation –
spewing them, by simple prayer, or devout
incantation, trusting they will somehow,
miraculously, morph into intelligible, literary
art for the less pompous man –
Indeed, I feel poetry, like a painting, as
with a sculpture is an extension of one's bleeding,
pleading, confounding, lovable, adorable blood-pumping
absolutely essential-circulatory-driving-part –
Words coming in all shapes and manner
of phrases; but mine, truly written to
slide off numbered pages – composed
for street-type rebel-folk – leaving more
learned forms to Academia's demagogues
and sages; tenured tyrants of esteemed
taste, whose treasures, to me, often have
little more appeal than dime-store paste –
So, let the suits and ties have theirs –
while my fellow Loin-clothes the choice
of these – not advocating necessarily for naked truth,
when it comes to all poetry – but do enjoy also
a good earthy tease –
This poem is being edited
From all the wrongs you read
The mistakes I've made along the way
Are not for the eyes to see
There are words that lose all their meaning
Turning misspelling into an art
Or the flow don't go the way it's suppose
Because of misplaced punctuation! marks
And I too often rely on spell check
To move my poems along
Which can turn my enemy into enema
I guess that's not too far off
There's so much more to poetry these days
Than running out of thoughts and ink
And me with only half a brain
It takes twice as much time to think
So while this poem is being edited
Please sit back and relax
If you see any mistakes that I have made
Speak up now cause here's your chance
It has been drawn into attention that you constantly mention my faults. Point one at me and three you'll see point back at the enemy. You're no longer a friend to me; woman! My mind is like an anus. I'm in need of an enema; flushed from your hatred and cleared from your betrayals. I need a clean slate to scratch new records to turn tables. My head is stuck into a kink; of sorts. To name a few things, my shoulders have shrugged often; leaving my neck at your mercy; woman! Torture is my eternal chamber when I'm in your grasp. A bubble from my nostril; water fills my lungs. A hand pressed firmly atop of my face as the hot and cold water runs.
An illusion of the mind... Good one; woman! A falsehood created by manipulation of my own being. A battle with one’s own self righteousness as another holds the strings; the puppeteer is almighty; believes only in herself. She will cut your neck and wrap the strings around your throat. Left for brain dead and mentally broken; but I… (Yes! Me) I still want to help you. I care about you…; woman! For some unknown force compels me so. I can't place the blame because the blame hasn't a place; you know. It leads back to me. You control me because I let you; woman! You lie to me because I let you convince me; woman! You control me…; woman! But I (yes me!); I love you; woman! I love everything about you, even though you make me feel like **** and only care about yourself. You're an infectious disease which effects mental health. I love you more than I love myself. Woman…; lying, cheating, manipulating…; woman! But wait; just you wait a minute… man! (Minute man) I've heard that not all women are like you. I know its true (yes! Me) I really, really do! I met a few. They care about people and don't feel entitled to things that they haven't personally earned. (And-Even) Offer respect and help when a man does his part. Work is an obligation to provide. Which should be rewarded; not discarded as a lack of parenting that cannot be replaced with any amount of money; but give me a break; woman! We all must survive. I love those kids and want to have them in my life and I want to be part of the decision making…; woman! I hear there are many, many women would respect this. You are who you are; women! Please let me be who I am... There's a rumor floating around that not all women are like you… WOMAN!
2014