Long Toilet Poems
Long Toilet Poems. Below are the most popular long Toilet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Toilet poems by poem length and keyword.
In this particular scenario or case
The actual amount of Zeroes
You place or add on the end
Does not represent it's actual
Real value or true worth
Because the difference being is this
Although I may have only been able
To contribute $ 1 Dollar
It's a $ 1 Dollar I can barely afford
And may equate and come at the cost
Of me stealing a meal out my child's mouth
Far more than I can afford to give
Whereas your large contribution
Of $ 10 k plus Dollar's
To you isn't even pocket change
Whereas you on the other hand
Tomorrow will be front page news
Having your picture taken
Handing over that Cheque
I read over someone else's shoulder
Because I can't afford to buy the newspaper
Unless I can no longer afford
Actual Toilet paper itself
A garden sun chases our ginger cat.
Dad watches World War Two
up close on the TV
he grinds his teeth,
a general forced to take a back seat.
Mother in the kitchen,
not her natural territory.
She opens cupboards exploring contents.
It is a blue and white kitchen
made of trees that died in 1964.
She shakes a martini like a
blind cardsharp. Her wrists
heron bones
that click a gold-toothed chain.
Flashes of recollection
follow me up beige carpeted stairs.
Small bathroom-toilet to the right,
where once I saw mum naked.
Oedipus lives down the hall
as a young teenager.
From my window
I see the long narrow garden
with its back gate.
Passion-flower crosses
entwining pine boards.
When the Nazi Storm Troopers come
I will fire down at them
lobbing hissing grenades
that land like angry cats
onto their fleeing backs.
Charley company lives in Vietnam
they shoot from the hip.
I am not sure which side
of this on-going war they are on.
In my British school atlas
America is colored, blue or yellow,
not Empire red like us.
A patriotic gas stirs vague imaginings.
A knock on my bedroom door.
I can hear myself breathing heavily,
as I jerk off. Keep out!
Mum pauses to catch her breath.
She is out of uniform,
and speaking in Slo Mo
to a camera in my head.
There's something I'd like Santa, may I ask,
I don't want lots of presents, just this one,
delivery won't be an easy task
so do the rest, leave mine till later on.
As long as you can drop her off by dawn
since I don't want the neighbours all to see
and start the gossip rounds on Christmas morn
it will make life much easier for me.
Her graceful curves are bound to turn some heads
she's cool and smooth, an object of pure lust
adorned with one shade, Queen of all the reds
mirror polished and not prone to rust.
Mankind has still not built a motor yet
as gorgeous as the '69 Corvette.
If I am on your naughty list may I
humbly offer some words in my defence
for maybe you will then understand why
what I did, and thus it may make some sense.
Inside a restroom stall at work I took
from it's dispenser all the toilet roll
and left one sheet inside so it would look
like it was full when viewed through the small hole.
A guy we hate goes in there every day
to sit and read, and do a number two
so pulling this prank was our little way
of getting our revenge,as one must do.
And the prank worked, for soon it came to pass
he used his newspaper to wipe his ass.
Now, nobody got hurt, no-one got blamed
it looked like an unhappy accident
but he got his comeuppance just the same
and that was fine, since it was our intent.
Let's face it if you read from front to back
it's mainly crap in all the newspapers
and he just added more with our 'attack'
and still is ignorant of our mean caper.
Santa, I know you preach goodwill to all
and don't like to wish anybody ill
please forgive me I hope that you'll still call
there's mince pies and drinks on the windowsill.
Just park it on the drive, and if you please
through my letterbox can you drop the keys.
For contest 'From your lips to Santa's ears' sponsor Phillip Garcia
December 1st 2017
In the fifties
it was the suburban icon
that survived the start
of the renovation phase
and still graced the backyards
of most houses in the neighborhood,
the ubiquitous Australian
outside dunny.
Ours was a corrugated iron
oven that cooked you in the summer
and would freeze even the most proud
member down to a modest size
in winter. Daddy long leg spiders
would watch from the walls and ceiling
and bounce about in their webs
when the chain on the overhead
cistern was pulled
and water gushed out.
One hot summer's day my Dad
was sitting on the loo
with the door open and saw
a snake crawl across the lawn.
Up with his trousers he pursued
the snake until it slid into
the shade house, grabbing it
by the tail as it slipped through
the wire netting fence.
For an hour he called out
hoping someone would hear
and help him deal with the snake.
Back then there were no
snake catchers you could call,
you either killed it or let it go
and worried whether
it would come back.
Finally our neighbor, Jim Ireland,
came running in armed
with an axe and as Dad slowly
pulled it back out,
dealt the reptile a fatal blow.
When I came home from school
that day, there was this four foot
brown hanging on the clothesline
almost cut in half.
It seemed too small to pack
such danger, its jaws sealed shut
in death over those lethal fangs.
I couldn't bring myself to touch it
in fear that it might spring back
and bite me in a final revenge.
That year, my Dad kept
the dunny door open
all summer. He never saw
another snake. I should have been
a better son.
Notes.
Though rather obvious, the term
“dunny” refers to an outside toilet,
a good old Australian colloquialism.
It's rare to find snakes in suburban
backyards these days unless near
open areas and waterways.
As a matter of interest, the snake
referred to in the poem was
an “Eastern Brown” whose venom
is rated as the second most toxic
in the world, the most toxic being
the Inland Taipan another Australian
species.
When I am scared and all alone
I close my eyes and think of you
I see your smile and dark brown eyes
You ease my fears and calm the tides
You oil my parts
Cause I get rusty
But I promised to be a well oiled machine
Just trust me
Moments like this get me mushy
You're the person I need and the one who is there
I have you right now
And it doesn't seem fair
It doesn’t feel real
I’m a little man
But being around you makes me feel like a man of Steel
And If I lost everything tomorrow
I wouldn’t want any Pity
An Apple Juice case of 50
But most important I would want Whitney
Most importantly I want Whitney
When I am lost and lose my mind
I close my eyes and think of you
I feel your touch upon my hand
And you turn dark days to baby blue
You lead me home all safe and sound
And to my life some days you are the superglue
And on the days I’ve been hit by a Subaru
You help cover every cough
And bless every one of my achoo’s
And in these 4 and a half years
I have grew
I have grown
I’m am grown
I want you to be mines forever
And a marriage license would make that set and stone
And it brings tears to my eyes
Because 5 years ago when I put your number in my phone
I never thought
You would be the one I think of when I think of home
And If I lost everything tomorrow
I wouldn’t want any Pity
A toilet to flush all my pissies
But most important I would want Whitney
Most importantly I want Whitney
It is hard for me to just write a normal poem
when i have to deal with the
meaning of human beings who stink
who are selfish in every step of the way.
This earth was given to us by mistake
we did not deserve it because we are a waste
there is no good human being
there is only human waste floating
like on top of the water
someone needs to clean all this waste up
including myself including my brother
he is the real human piece of human ass gas
a real piece of fart including my uncle.
Why was i brought here from war to
an even bigger mistake this place
does not deserve me and i don't like it anyways!
Many would disagree but it don't matter
because it is true, this jungle of farts
and rotten lies and stabs who cares
to even get to know us who are we
why all the gods and homeless at the same time?
Because we have become rude to our own
brothers and sisters our families, our mothers
our fathers, where is all the respect
like i said, my father was a great man
but his mistakes have ruined me
from war to an even bigger gore
and horror, this giant toilet of life
i still don't understand why
i was brought here this isn't
the bathroom i want to use!
Miles and miles of open country pass as the train moves.
A sudden thrust, jolt then nothing. The earth stands still.
Wind circulates pushing branches, leaves dance with the melody..
We sit..
Or movement halted by a slow moving freight,
we do an unheard of twenty five miles per hour.
I need a shower, shave, clean clothes.
A bathroom stench overwhelmingly horrific,
waste scented essence in the air,
mixed with the body odor of many
who share.
On the toilet seat,
look,
a pubic hair..
Finally, we slowly begin to move.
A conductor walks past checking destinations screaming:
"Next stop Chicago."
Passengers gather their belongings furious for the twelve hour delay.
Glossy eyes, scowls, a common look amongst the strangers.
Again, the train stops, deep breaths and a few colorful phrases
spout from a dozen or so.
A group of five sit and curse the situation,
hoping for a new permutation.
Hunger, fatigue, and back spasms corrupt my mood.
I am in need of food.
Sleep is not something that my body has seen.
The ride so far not peaceful, nor serene.
The delay has caused my lay-over to cease
causing me to jump trains hungry.
Where the meals range between $8.50-$15.00 a piece.
As I run to my next long acting bedroom on rails,
I smell food in the distance, hamburgers, fries, and chicken.
Oh, how this experience has sickened me.
........:JP)
gluteus maximus left and right half moon cheek
re: byte size buttock attached via usb
(uniform firm behind) to this freak
with bowel movement
incontinence + gas filled gut evoking contortionist
frown stretching to lowest peak
perched upon porcelain goddess
where elimination did jut held captive hostage
atop toilet seat for many a week
exertion to expel rock solid turd required utmost effort
to force jammed bowel movement free
inducing excruciating abdominal cramps really hurt
plus sharp jabbing spasms within high knee
innards rent asunder
obstruction as canon gun size BALLS did spurt
lodged fecal matter refusing to budge from me
caused by severe constipation
whereby prayer a waste delivered only increased
sphincter muscle to scream
for rectal relief this mortal man faced
a worse fate than death, he would deem
since demise would allow alimentary misery to cease
versus remaining in this impasse for what might be years
unless perchance **** lubricant or special grease
would bust loose abominable
constriction in arrears finding me unable
to pay rent or renew lease
best prospect of remaining stationary
with words to wax
poetic found a glimmer of luck
when a kind wildebeest
delivered this message via fax
to help this male in dire per situation getting
pam purred poop unstuck with outsize mug of exlax
to help unclog rectal muck
access to get expunged to the max
but once expulsion occurs
DO DO PLEASE DUCK!
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.
Grizelda the witch loved
cooking chubby children in
her bubbling, green broccoli
stewpot.
She wore a pointy hat that
constantly leaked bright pink
glitter everywhere she
walked.
Her magic wand was
actually a stale, half- eaten
pepperoni pizza crust from
last Tuesday.
"Mmm, boy- and- girl soup is
my absolute favorite!" she
cackled, dancing a silly jig.
She captured little Timmy
and Barnaby, aiming to turn
them into tasty dinner
snacks.
"Wait!" shouted Timmy, "We
taste exactly like expired
milk and gym socks!"
Grizelda sniffed Barnaby's
shoe and gagged loudly, her
green face turning bright
purple.
"Gosh! You need seasoning!"
she cried, dumping a giant
bottle of ketchup inside.
Barnaby secretly pulled out
a massive feather duster
and tickled the witch's nose.
"ACHOO!" roared Grizelda
blowing her own ugly
hairpiece straight into the
boiling soup.
The bald witch gasped as
the boys threw popping
candy into a giant
cauldron.
BANG! POP! FIZZ!" The green
stew exploded, covering the
kitchen walls in goo.
The magical blast turned the
evil witch into a harmless,
pink fluffy toilet brush.
She hopped around
frantically, squeaking angrily
because she couldn't eat anyone
anymore.
Timmy and Barnaby laughed
so hard that their bellies
hurt, doing silly victory flips.
They grabbed Grizelda's
pizza- crust wand and waved
it wildly around the messy
room.
The spell instantly transformed
the spooky potion into massive
hill of chocolate pudding.
The boys are their way out
of the creepy hut, laughing
at the brush.
Grizelda stated stuck in the
corner, forever sweeping
dust bunnies and crying
softly.
Now she only eats moldy
cheese crumbs and hates
the smell of broccoli soup.