Long Excrete Poems
Long Excrete Poems. Below are the most popular long Excrete by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Excrete poems by poem length and keyword.
While out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting potty trained undone
via my tushy ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m*****f****** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with rectal spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now royally flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to the verizon with a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with lamb basted,
and sigh lance warrior whoosh!
Woke up (September 6th, 2020)...
Got outta bed boot
did not drag comb against head
of beetle browed foo fighter,
he did not arise
bright eyed (by George), nor bushy tailed
to bucket flush toilet.
After attending her asinine
morning toiletries, the missus
lovingly nudged me awake
quickly urging me to betake
sleepyhead husband pronto to bathroom,
(no matter I got bowled over from behind plus
additionally getting flush while hurriedly
caught up with current movement),
nevertheless despite being anointed
de facto proxy plumber,
crowned emergency attendant
incorporating obligatory undertones
yours truly summoned
one man bucket brigade
to block and tackle
messy task at hand,
cuz jack (ass) of all trades
and master of none
immediately got jibberjobber
self into action.
Accessible bathtub and shower linkedin
as washing facilities,
hence after pouring voluminous hot water
into maw majesty,
viz Ms porcelain goddess,
she gurgled and gushed with delight,
thus avoiding the need
to call maintenance man,
whose availability of sundays
(September 6th, 2020
no exception to rule)
more difficult than
finding needle in haystack.
Once morning dirty deed
done dirt cheap duty completely done,
cuz sudden necessity to evacuate arose,
strong bodily need,
to excrete I could not ignore, but only heed
lest aging garden variety
long haired pencil neck geek,
would figuratively experience
a posteriori his bottom dropping out
subsequently with dog speed
donned in Scottish tartan
and Harris tweed
pink frilly ("I hate boys")
nonetheless monogrammed underwear
adorned with precious venerable bead
hmm... methinks hyperbole
token heterosexual doth exceed.
Ass side resorting to poetic dramatization, eh
generic guy relishes word play touché
so please pardon me this literary antic okay
a non believer regarding conformity
also atheist, which confession he will pray
fly high wherein realm harboring soul of
Antoine Marie Jean-Baptiste Roger,
comte de Saint-Exupéry.
A man sitting on a toilet seat giving strength to his belly,
though resting his chin on his hand imitating the thinker
who is sitting in front of the gate of hell with deep thoughts,
naked on the bottom-half because he couldn't get completely naked
like the thinker, excretes waste from his body.
Although the waste excreted from his body can be flushed out
it may alleviate him for a while, the belly still is a bit uneasy
from the accumulated evil thoughts he kept in his body for years,
won't be able to flush out.
That's why the toilet seat starts to crack,
and because overly abusing the lower body
the pain creeps up from the bottom of the pit,
and that would be the entrance to the little hell.
If you see it from another angle, you can say that
the water from the toilet is the water of Lethe, which
will merge into Elysium, and therefore it may be Utopia;
then why squat down on the toilet seat troubled.
It's rather interesting to watch life,
since he is unable to filter the root of the larger hell
that is lurking somewhere in his body, though,
he fell into own dodge, condemning the lower belly,
unable to leave the toilet.
You are a weary wanderer going after a soul that drifted away;
you are a befogged soul facing hell but turning away from it,
and anchored the weight of your mind to the hell that is
on the other side of the world, sniffing a nauseous smell of sulfur
bubbling up from the bottom of the deep sea.
You are a wounded charger dashing aimlessly through the midst
of the smoke of battle and the rain of bullets, therefore, though
you have a mane you are unable to rise or call the wind, yet carrying
a self-conceited pedant who favors the use of unfamiliar words and
invents odd phrases to show-off on your back.
Why don't you, instead of pacing in hell,
swallow a handful of powder to help loosen the bowels excrete
the layer after layers of evil thoughts and the heaps of wastes
accumulated in the body for decades.
This Poem is dedicated to all those who have lost their
lives in Orlando Carnage in the hands of hatred and violence.
HOW LONG THE GUNS
How long the Guns
Would continue to excrete
Their stream of hatred and death
How long the innocents
Would continue to be the target
Of those
Who were born like humans
With the same sweet heart
Which beats and breaths
Similarly like a heart full of love
But now some of these have converted
Into nothing but the statue of stones
Which likes the sounds of killing
And hatred only. 01
From where this much of hatred
Has emerged
In such human minds and hearts
To convert it into a barren land only
Where grows the culture of hatred
Violence and death
On every branch of its thinking and deeds. 02
These very minds too
Were made by the same almighty God
Who gave us the gift of life and love
And of kindness and compassion for all
To spread love and peace
Benevolence and compassion
To sing the song of happiness and joy
Even when the darkness surrounds
They were taught to pray and sing
The Song of love and compassion for all. 03
Are we on the right track?
To give birth to such human minds
Where love has lost
Its ways and roots
To shape rightly the minds and hearts
So that these distracted souls
Have become heartless like stones
And try to seek peace of mind
In killing the innocents
Thinking that this the aim of their life
Or we need to ponder
On what actually went wrong
Which needs to change our ways and means
Which has given birth
To such unquenched hatred and
A life of death and killings and killings. 04
Do we need?
To call once again
Some Buddha and Jesus
Or we need
To change our upbringing?
By giving more love and care to our children
To bring back these lost souls
On the track of love and kindness
So that the world may live and flourish
In the harmony of peace and happiness. 05
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 15th June 2016
Teach me how to cry
So that when it hurts I may be able to untangle what pain lies between the angles of my arteries
I want to excrete what is obsolete
To pave way for the exit of that which makes me incomplete
I want,
To never hold on to what could have been
Or what I imagine with crippling confusion may somehow... become
Rid me - of inexplicable intrusion
The kind where I can not comprehend
how a piece of entice consumes my insides only for it to shrivel up and die before my inner eye coincides with my mind to make sense of why the though of it was so intense
Give me the wisdom to reject pretence
Let all that is not meant to be leave me
Fill me with the kind of something it takes to embrace what is real, even when my perfectly constructed fantasies are hot on its heals
Give me strength
To no longer just inhale to survive
Teach me how to breathe so that I may find release on those days when even a sigh is out of reach
Share with me what women were given to thrive on those days when the heaviest clouds burdened skies and it seemed,
That even heaven had fallen deaf to her desperate pleas for a little bit of sunshine
Hand me, my generous dose of what its take to make women smile on those days when the knives in their chests pierced the very place where they're faith was set to emerge
Where, the pain was so fierce that each time they heaved they're bitter tears were met with a lukewarm sorry at best
And when my heart is left in pieces
Guide my soul to where His peace is
I pray for my dreams to never shut their eyes or hide
I pray that nothing ever beats me cos I never tried
I pray that I find truth where reality lies
That I may learn to sift through the dirt and discover, what little bit of bliss is mine
Tell them I did it
Tell them when possibility was no longer revered I was the one who pushed beyond fear
Tell them that I will dream until the oceans reject the streams
Tell them I did it
Tell them I dreamed
Toilets are uniquely designed for one purpose only,
And as we know them, they are dispellers of waste.
Our human waste is a byproduct of consumed food.
The body extracts useful nutrients and expels the rest.
We excrete the waste into toilets that deliver to sewages.
Such tools as toilets would have no useful function in heaven.
God never intended for us to be informed about every heavenly matter.
So far, I have not read any scholarly dissertation about heaven's waste.
Of course, my reading has its limitations, but basically, by God's own choice,
heaven houses things celestial, and earth is equipped for things terrestrial.
I cannot imagine toilets nor waste products in the present nor new heaven .
There will be a new heaven and a new earth-emphasis on the word 'new'.
For one, we will have, not mortal, but immortal bodies in heaven. Some
might infer that our bodies will be like Jesus' resurrected body, but we must
keep in mind that although it was raised a different body, he still was able
to consume earthly food at breakfast with his disciples. Therefore, still
an earthbound human, Jesus had components required for earthly existence,
even if for only 40 days.
I suspect, and I can easily imagine, that the foods we consume in heaven
will be foods having all nutrients, fully consumed and processed, with no waste products. In other words, whatever our immortal bodies require from the heavenly foods, energy for example, our bodies will fully absorb, leaving nothing wasted. By the way, I find the entire question very interesting and fascinating. I commend the contest sponsor.
100621PSCtest, The Throne In Heaven, Jack Webster
I am from that street where people are neglected
Never bothered about but exploited .
the street where hopes and dreams dish
Away through frustration and disappointment.
We are seen always with spoon in our pocket
Wandering from hut to hut in search of of food,
Bare footed in our ghetto home.
We run around with food from street to street
looking for the fittest among us to eat eat the largest.
The street of pains where destitution and sorrow lived
That is where i came from.
Every one is a no body until you conquer fate
with an extraordinary move in your heart.
That kind of street where no one help you but
They are there to push you to the wall, then mock you.
And make nothing out of your dreams.
There, we live in an uncompleted building with no toilet and bathroom,
The lizards were our play mate and the snakes our neighbours.
We pass out our excrete in the bush behind our humble home,
And eat from our vomits yet happy and fine.
No one is ready to give you but ready to take from you.
The dark street filled with hyenas and wolves
With a mental, disordered commoners from the west bridge.
Little light penetrating in brings hopes but always quash by the
thugs.
The pick pocketers never sleep nor slumber, they lay awake under
The bridge trying to invade on their prey.
Thugs sing war songs in merriment of their stupidity
And those songs sent our heart in their bellies in fear.
In the vital part of the street are occupied by dustbin.
I am from that street of homeless children with torn clothes,
dangling on their stomach.
No one pity them rather they kidnapped and used them for rituals.
We never sleep at night without a sleeping pill
Yet you sleep awake.
I was once from the street of pain
Think not that all was well with me from the genesis.
In an abyss of mar;
I was sunk.
My thoughts swimming;
in a pool of masquerade shame.
A dagger in my head;
All I could see was an evening of score.
With a flip of a hand;
Like an angered red dragon.
I breathed fire and redemption;
In the midst of rage and terror.
I had blood on my hands;
All I could hear was a cry from the soil.
In a faction of a second;
My heart had raced.
Thoughts crumbled with confusion.
A wanderer in the desert of oz.
My legs felt like shattered glass.
And all I could think was vengeance.
He had tainted her hands;
Abused them in pain.
She had screamed inside.
A caged animal in a circus.
Unfamiliar territory scared her.
And all I could excrete were tears dry.
With a bow he had decorated her.
A misdeed he did.
It was physical for him,
Emotional damage for her.
Humanity lost inside a cave of bats and bears.
And all I could hear were screams.
Murder she wrote; the opposite.
Beauty like a bunch of roses; yes.
Heart like a garden of roses; yes.
A cactus environment she delved;
With eyes wide shut.
All I could hear were whispers.
With pique like that of a tiger.
I bore teeth, muscle and archery.
Blinded by a trim cloth of red.
A knight’s tale it foretold.
He had hurt my offspring.
All I could see was night.
Emotionally; I covered him with guilt.
Overt, I smeared him with shame.
Physically I scathed him; barbarian.
A man’s title he does not deserve.
Physically I had marked him for the world to see.
And all I could still see was darkness.
He had hurt my offspring.
All I could see was red.
(Moses Gava Featuring Kudakwashe Victor Shoko)
Neither did it start yesterday
Nor yesteryear
A scroll further backward
Deep into the historical era
I could see him crawling
During those years of polling
They were born egoistical
I wish I were not
Philanthropic, I would have preferred
To see them holding my trifles
At them I would fire a rifle
Only that my fingers couldn't shoot to kill
With strong aversion
I behold them thriving
Because I'm striving
At them I'm diving
Only to interpose
To forslow them Of course
If jealousy were a disease
Surely I would be among the ill
Opting to get well soon
And so, Starting Today
I will loathe no more
I will cheer evermore
Economically and Socially
I am ailing
Starting Today
I will retreat into writing
My treasure, My company
Lies in that realm
It's my world,
I create what I want
This world
Is an awfully awful place
I'll shrink from it
And venture into were I find solace
Starting Today
I'll excrete sadness and sorrow
I'll take gulps of happiness,
Today not tomorrow
Things cannot go in your favor always,
Let that sink in
You can't create happiness in someone's world
You'll be altering its design,
Create your own world
Happiness or solace,
You'll put what you want
Hell or paradise of your making,
How is that?
The orator is Starting Today
When is your today?
Today is today, Start Today
Starting Today, let's all Start Today
You know what you want, get it Today
Dedicated to those who have helped me to confirm these factors:
Grace, Ernest, Charlie and Howard
Three Love Factors
There are three love factors
Now confirmed in my book
Each one tested thoroughly
Come with me to take a look
These factors are the basic root
Of requirement for love to be true
Sure one can survive in a relationship
If you want love with it, this is what to do
Factor number one
Is where we first begin
It starts with the best hug
You have ever been given
You know that kind of hug
With a passionate embrace
Each squeeze lifts you up
Heat radiates from your face
Once you know that hug is real
Then you’re ready for factor two
Of course you might’ve guessed
The kiss has to do something for you
The kiss should be sweet and sexy
And you should really get turned on
As you keep wanting more and more
Especially when you feel that tongue
When the first two combine
It should trigger factor three
You know the seductive scent
That seems to excrete naturally
The scent seems to travel
Right through your pores
Every pheromone whiff
Makes you long for more
When all three factors are blended
The touch goes down in your soul
That feeling without a physical touch
A virtual feeling that you’ll just know
It will make your heart feel happy
It’s the sign of true love formation
That brings you peaceful surroundings
Filling your heart with total completion
Florence McMillian (Flo)