Long Faeces Poems

Long Faeces Poems. Below are the most popular long Faeces by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Faeces poems by poem length and keyword.


Guilty But Not At Fault

Guilt,
is an influence better served chilled

And only time will tell

If this is to be the beginning 
or the end of mine

Was my lasting thought as the ambulance sped her away 

Not a doctor merely a son 
witnessing his mother fade to grey

So down and broken my skin had
turned to green to mask the darkness
of my mind and heart within

With hands still raw from the constant
bleaching undertook to rid or hide 
this house of her stagnated faeces scent she left behind

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be
kind if you wish to preserve your sanity

If the choice of weapons to wage this duel with are tugging at a loved
one's heart strings 

And how can you still be filled with regret if you have supposedly done 
the right thing

Because you know they are only
going to hate you and resent you
for it afterwards

Dad dying was both cruel and sad
but what you are doing to yourself
can only be described as tragic

Dad wasn't given a choice whereas
you are doing this to yourself and 
by proxy to me to

And yet somehow you always
still end up making me feeling guilty 
no matter what i do

Maybe if i was an alcoholic as well
then this wouldn't hurt half as much 
as it does and i wouldn't be forced
into caring so much either

But worst of all is being forced into
buying it for you knowing it's the
only reason you choose to carry on 
living for


AI Detectors or Art Detestors?

Despite your intelligence mimicry,
You still come far short in your gimmickry,
Throwing down the drains fine masterpieces,
Flushed away as a fresh bout of faeces.

Nights without sleep to pen wonders on sheet,
Yet a lame detector brands one a cheat,
An app claiming to be a true genius ~
Is far from being labeled ingenious.

How long will your pretence rule human minds,
Before you're swept off by the southern winds,
That your charade may stop to fool the world,
And your foolishness may at last unfurl.

Strange how your fanbase keeps on increasing,
Even the most smart, you're daily fleecing,
These cursed detectors come in many brands,
Some free – yet some charge dollars and rands.

I'm amazed you didn't claim this was by you,
This bitter pill, your pride has had to chew,
But that won't stop me from calling you out,
To nip in the bud your infamous clout.
Form: Rhyme

My Thoughts

My thoughts was that
She'll wait.
But she crept away with
my emotions.
She'd arrived like a lamb-
Even wolves in lamb's clothing.
She feed me with milks-
Fluids that has the looks of milk.
I gulped her milks and farted-
Never knew was farting away
My freedom.
Farted till i began purging-
Purging my desires and wills.
Then after causing me such harms;
And I cursing her arms.
She fled like a cheetah,
Whose prey made jest of.

I thought she'll stay,
I thought she'll spray
Lovely trends on me.
Thought she'll be my meal.

But never knew was:

A lamb with mild hoofs,
Who metamorphosed into wolves of scattered nails.
Digging misfortune in my way:
Dumping faeces on my path.

But she'd skedaddle,
All her proclaimed love are now fables.
She for years had me as fool:
Please what should i do?
       17:21:17:13:42
Form:

Loved By Few-Hated By Many

An expression of a Nurse

I am a Nurse,
I am loved by few and hated by many
Everyday I dedicate my life to saving lives of others
From 7 o'clock in the morning to 7 o'clock in the evening
Whether its winter, whether its Summer

Day and night I sacrifice my comfort
And put myself at risk of developing deep venous thrombosis
Through standing
Swimming in life threatening infections
And deadly diseases
Yet I am loved by few hated by many.

My dedication, my determination,My willingness, my passion, my care
They are all never recognized
Only my mistakes are visible in the eyes of everyone
Because I am loved by few hated by many

From vomitus to faeces, Urine to blood, sweat to sputum
My hands discriminate none
In all body orifices they navigate to heal where it is injured
Assess where it is wrong and comfort where there is pain
From head to toe they travel to provide holistic nursing care
To bring back good health to those afflicted by sickness
Yet I am loved by few hated by many

I am a Nurse, hate me, love me
My hands will always be receptive 
To accomodate your entrance.

Effective Plans

It will take time
to phase out oil-based 
technology people from 
the oil industry

Could also be used
creating, pipelines
building desalination 
plants o get water 

Into the mountains
means plenty of work 
for people 
Imagine all the pipelines

you would have to create
Granted if we started today
with rich people buying electric cars
it would take time for that technology

To filter down to the poor
granted you all want jobs
you all want healthy economies
take time to change

Take time to adapt to change
create plans that include the needs 
of all people God created 
a balanced world

where nature had the ability
to clean the air 
and create a stable environment
in reclaiming arad lad

spreading plants into places 
they couldn't reach
in growing trees on mountains
that where arad before

you would be giving nature
the chance to heal the world
at one time the human race
through faeces into the street

urine and faeces in the street
created the breeding ground
for the plagues smallpox 
and many more 

The world looked at God and blame him
but in truth, it was their fault
they changed, they build toilets
they build sewage systems

They learned about viruses
they built hospitals 
they started scrubbing hands
they overcame their pollution problem

now we face another pollution problem
one man's problem 
is another man's challenge
working together 

We can overcome 
these problems
accepting climate change
is the first step

building plans 
taking time to effect change
helping people in a job transition
there is plenty of work for people

if we use our brains 
to make effective plans
Form: Narrative


Premium Member Have a Cuppa

We used to just have a cup of coffee

	Black

		Possibly with milk

			Maybe with sugar

Mostly on Sundays and with cream as a bonus


Today they call it caffe latte or cappuccino

	Americano for the purist

                From a fancy machine

			With intricate pads

Anytime everywhere all day long


Espresso and hard pressed for choice

	Salted caramel mocha

		Strawberry frappuccino

			Machiato or Mochaccino

Did the wallet grow with the taste


But the ultimate gimmick on the luxurious decadence scale

Chewed and spit out seeds collected for Monkey Coffee or

Kopi Luvak or palm civet beans basically half digested poop


For one hundred dollars a pound I volunteer to add enzyme

And flavour to mucus secretion purely organic and human

Free trade maximum wage and organically tested intestines


At a price I would consider to s(h)it in a greenhouse in Iceland

Or gaze at Taj Mahal Paddington Station or the Eiffel Tower

Volcanic eruptions with Ricinus oil are available at a surcharge


Gluten free habitat and vegan production site can be arranged

Hypo allergenic and guaranteed lactose tolerant for milky coffee

The crap has no limits and animal welfare comes at a premium


Ingenious and indigenous I vow to cater for all upper class smells

Calibrate flatulence and ingestion ablutions elimination and harvest

So you my dear customer can metaphorically kiss my solvent behind



Who says that one cannot turn faeces into money by milking some fools

09th January 2020

Why are there so many Billionaires any way

Endearing Ms Eilish not willy nilly a silly Billie got her wish despite the stares 


Crys of why guys are there any let alone so many glutton button billionaires?


Not adhering to age old sage adage share if you've enough stuff to spare


Uncouth domineering untruths sold smearing sleuths as society tears


Sneering about profiteering mining shining spiting climate crisis scares


Cheering racketeering careering all about that flocks stocks & shares


Leering snares creatives gold left bereft fearing they're not their flair heirs


Persevering with cold jeering at hearing protests that then fold no one cares


Scold civic critics nearing the facts spearing by acts.. pacts & unfair flares


Cost of disappearing rare species now just pieces of faeces in their lost lairs


Searing temperatures rearing still somehow our despairs never even airs


Gearing up for the veering apocalypse peering as the sun stun gun glares


Must be bold steering pioneering derring do clearing these nightmares


Who dares volunteering to stop the interfering engineering by the billionaires?
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Rub It In, Why Dont You

I never had much of an inflated ego
Vanity left me at birth
Our self esteem should travel wherever we go
But I always doubted my worth

The awful commotion of plane hitting ocean
Woke every shark in the sea
And I’m left alone with a gut wrenching notion
Why did they overlook me

The crash had killed plenty, the sharks had took twenty
So why did our lord make me last
I doubted a sentry was there to defend me
The next shark did not just swim past

‘My lord,’ I called out, ’what was I about?
Deliver some meaning to me’
That shark chewed me up, and then he said ‘YUK!’
And spat me back into the sea

He coughed and he spluttered and then the shark muttered
’I thought that I’d tasted it all...
I’ve eaten your species, but you taste like faeces’
And that made me feel really small.
Form: Rhyme

Circumspice 2

Part 2 - The Great Fire of London, 1666

Just think of a town, put up with no plan, 
where people build houses wherever they can. 
The streets twist and dip, hugging ditches and streams, 
and safety's a thing of which nobody dreams. 

There aren't any rules, or best practices, codes, 
regulations, fire stations, no hydrants or nodes. 
The street where you live has no concrete, just clay, 
and it's narrow, foul-smelling, and no light of day 

can squeeze in. Your ground floor is brick-built and stout, 
but your upstairs is flimsy and jetties right out, 
almost touching your neighbour's. You thus form a tunnel 
through which rats, cats and faeces can constantly funnel. 

Well, come with me now to meet Thomas and Jane, 
who live, work and worry in just such a lane: 
it's always called "Pudding", which gives us a clue - 
for baking is what all the people here do. 

September the second, the year sixty-six, 
and Old Mother Nature's been up to her tricks: 
we haven't seen rain since the start of the war, 
and timbers are shrinking, and drier than straw. 

Tom's oven malfunctions. The house catches fire. 
Our instinct, in peril?  To try to get higher. 
Tom, Jane, the children, and Sukie, the maid 
(Sukie is thirteen, and very afraid) 

climb out on the roof.  Oh, the smoke and the heat! 
The roof tiles are baking, and hurting our feet! 
We've all got to jump to the roof to our left: 
but don't glance below as you're leaping the cleft! 

But Sukie can't do it.  It's asking too much. 
She'll be the first to be killed by the Dutch. 
The signals aren't vaulting across her synapses. 
She's lost from our sight when the storey collapses. 

Four days blazed this greatest of all conflagrations, 
engulfing some thousands of poor habitations 
and scores of old churches, whether timber or stone. 
The tally of people will never be known. 

A square mile of ruin.  A city destroyed. 
A blackened and acrid and comfortless void. 
Saint Paul's is a shell, its rubble still smoking. 
But who is that gentleman, measuring, poking?
Form: Rhyme

In Search of Documents

“Hello, officer—why block me from the site?”
“Mr. Minister, orders from above.”
“From above? Your building has no papers.”
“No sir. Soldiers don’t need papers to build.”

No one defies an order from above—
illegal or not, it still stands tall.
Oga is always right; no bloody civilian
dares question the law his mouth is the law.

But Minister, must you chase ghosts to every site?
What if the gentle officer had pumped lead
into your belly—an accidental discharge?
Next time, wear the vest; save us the funeral.

Fifty-something is too young to bury a thief.
Generals never retire; politicians only
cross-carpet or vanish. 
Focus, sir—
embezzle cleanly, let the vault stay fat.

Why is your tummy still flat?
Have snakes and rats swallowed the cash,
or is it mixed with faeces in the soakaway?
Spend it, sir—septic money never smells.



NB: "Oga" is borrowed from Nigerian English meaning "boss".
"Bloody Civilian" is the derogatory way Nigerian military men address Civilians trying to challenge their authority. 
"snakes, rats swallowing money" and "money buried in soakways" are some of the ways Nigerian corrupt officials have used to describe how money put in their care disappears.
"soakway" means septic tank.

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