His smelled of semi-soft cheese
with a low moldy blue undertone
I had no tolerance for his smell
for compared to gym socks,
ammonia,
or barnyards,
it was pure Eau de Toilet !
After a game of indoor soccer
he'd break wind
while holding up one leg.
He smelled of rotten egg
formaldehyde,
and sour pickles,
from New Orleans....
While they chased after him
with bottles of perfume
He'd do the armpit fart
then run away.
Leaving behind,
a skunky smell of Cannabis.
Frog and elf at river’s edge
Did some square dancing on a ledge
Frog fell in and elf jumped on his back.
They rode around the pond without a snack.
I need some flies the frog finally begged.
The elf threw down and broke a rotten egg.
Flies swarmed the egg, and elf captured the flies.
Frog had a tasty treat, and was thrilled, no lies!
I heard the echoes of each gassy squeak
Held my breath when I sniffed his stinky leak
He let out a few more
So I ran for the door
Before his toots made the entire room reek
Others came out, while pinching their noses
His flatulence poured out like fire hoses
Oh, what a horrid smell
Worse than rotten egg shell
And can't be cloaked by the scent of roses
Woe to the innocent who are around
When his odiferous vapors abound
Just get ready to run
When the son of a gun
Cuts one loose with a squeaky little sound
September 24, 2021
Fart-Tastic Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
******************
I said, do you fancy a drink, Tom?
He said where the hell is that stink from?
My dog cocked his leg
We smelt rotten egg
Because he had eaten my stink bomb
*
My cat swallowed my whoopy cushion
He can’t get it out but keeps pushin’
But each time he squeezes
He makes noisy breezes
My mum holds her nose and keeps shushin’
*
They stroll the prom in their best finery
Some stop for alfresco China tea
Silly, not brave
With one big wave...
They look like they’ve come from a winery
*
She gracefully ambled the prom
I’m sure somewhere posh she was from
She patted my dog
Who ‘issued a log’
She left with a lot less aplomb
I never knew this is what it was called until it
Happened to me
In public.
At first it was traumatic
As it came out bellowing like a banshee
And the aromatic bouquet wasn't flowering it
Was a catastrophe.
Rotten egg smell is atomic!
I never knew this is what it was called until it
Happened to me
In public
There was every one staring at me as if I had
Committed murder in the first degree
Over something that is erratic
And the body does automatic
I sat down on the closet bench I laughed
Until the tears rolled down my face as I was
Catching my breath my grandson wondered
If I was alright. I said I don't think my heart has
Felt this free. It is time to finish my shopping
Before they decide to charge me with dispersing
Atomic energy.
I never knew this is what it was called until it
Happened to me
In public.
A fire Pumpkin monster
On lawn with eyes ablaze
Children laughing
With dead souls painted on their faces
Masking terror
TIME to TRICK or TREAT
Fly by moon witches
Unleash magic on the streets
Doorbells ringing
Colored candy pour out galore
High on cloud sugar
Wicked deeds we Will explore
Rotten egg balloons
Are the favorite tricks I Know
If I Don’t get dark chocolate
I'll be stinking up your floor
Enter wayward spirits
Through portals of After Life
Come Dreaded WINTER
Foretell the many who must Die
Choose the mask you put On
It may NOT come Off...
HALLOWEEN is coming to your home
Grim REAPER is waiting outside your door
Imprisoned within an anarchical circle,
In a misery of annoyance and mortification,
The blood in my eyes drops as my pen bleeds,
Almost indulging me in pleasing discursiveness.
Yet, a tangle of beautiful words uglily written.
A veritable spring-cleaning of the soul and environment I yearn,
It seemed intolerably tragic to behold,
Especially this day the decay in civility smells like a rotten egg,
Portraying a torture of the mind and sight in most exquisite kind,
Leaving me so ashamed.
Appalled in speechless disgust,
As if smitten by a sudden spasm,
A new trouble dawned on my thickening mental horizon,
Like a piteous aspect of woe,
But a true similitude of what befalls many men and women in this society.
The tumultuous rush of sensations in me is endless,
Tearing me apart like a twinge of embarrassment,
A vague and wistful melancholy yet to be known by all,
I pray for a total overhauling of religions and politics in the Giant of Africa,
Because I’m so ashamed…
So Uranus smells of hydrogen sulphide
In the atmosphere on the higher side
With the planet’s unfortunate name
It is the butt of most astronomy jokes to blame
With hydrogen sulphide so flatulent
It enhances the jokes and is heaven sent
With the gas of the rotten egg smell
We can laugh on forever and chuckle so well.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Living in fantasy
Easter bunny to none of thee
Rotten egg on the street corner
Hope she finds a client soon
Dropping her pen and letting us free
That’s the end of this poetry
Writing this while entities, ghosts are present --
Not able or willing to make themselves appear.
How could I know? You might, rightfully, augment.
I've always been able to sense when they're near.
But, alas -- time after time, there is nothing there.
I said, "they're," a lie -- you knew I meant "she,"
Didn't you? Why would I otherwise be so concerned?
At the peripheral of vision, mad treetops shake free.
In those shuckling movements, the wisp is returned.
The room I light, windows sealed, mirrors all turned.
I call friends and toast a garlic grilled cheese on rye.
There are occasional pests of undetermined colors
Scurrying to escape my wrath and condemning eye;
And, a sulfuric, rotten egg odor like old car mufflers.
I want to leave; but, am wary of moonlight shufflers.
On the roof it is peaceful, quiet. I am alone -- for now....
It is frustrating to not be certain if a person is tethered
Or crossed over -- a condition not only does death endow.
A face flashes. The phone rings. Her page is weathered.
Too few glimpses, hearsay, rumors -- I am surrendered.
Her scrambled pessimism flowed like lava streams
Her yoke incubated more than just hopes and dreams
A alien world that resembled a festering wound
Smouldering ash, toxic gas was all that could be found
Her primordial soup had the chaotic future of a rotten egg
Tomorrow was a dark blanket - overcooked solid like a boiled egg
Her yesterdays were a ghost town of erupted volcano's
And life was - an overheated oven - a raging inferno
Before the first fish hatched to become seafood for the shark
I craked open the atmosphere to release a spicy aroma with a fork
Before the first dinosaur wore the scales of her costume
I gave the world more than all the oceans could ever consume
I was an unknown element nourishing in the stifling enigma
As a master chef wailing onions and chopping red magma
I was an unknown flavour preparing for this exquisite moment
The main ingredient - beaten into a beautiful omelette
Lumpy Rumpy, now a high school lad,
I'm afraid is still acting very bad,
In his school laboratory he did amass,
Some stinking, self-made, rotten egg gas.
He corked it up in a chemistry vial,
Then down the town, he strolled for a while,
Choosing a site, the local paper shop,
He went in with the vial and took the top off.
He hid it behind a large magazine rack,
Waiting outside for the putrid gas attack,
In three minutes flat the shop emptied out,
People holding their noses as they ran about.
The fire brigade called, putting masks on,
To find the rotten aroma, so very strong,
Finally the brigade captain emerged holding the vial,
Lumpy grinned to himself,
Another prank done with such style.
She ate the cake and had it too
Hide your face Sarah peekaboo
The cake had a rotten egg
Fell on baker's trouser leg
The baker made much of his shoe
Today's Limerick 21 November 2014/Limerick/ Copyright (c) Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
No ,I did not want holiday ,
I did not want to go to site
Where blocks or bricks I had to lay
Or pillar and beam I would cast
I did not want dad's dirty Job,
Where cement would mar school boy up;
Egal where you were in the globe ,
Sand to mix or water to mop .
The stench of rebuilding cesspool
Like the foul smell from rotten egg;
No I would not be such a fool,
To put leg where he put his leg .
Now I am older than he was;
He was lion,I am a mouse.
Contest: Job( 8 Syllables)
Sponsor:Sara
Date : Nov 14,2014.
the chimney stacks
of the old power station
claws at the belly of the clouds
and with its sulfurous billowing
it bellows its stench
tinting the clouds, yellowing nicotine stains
as its cadaverous fingers clench
and releases, as it pleases
the painted nails
sport red flashing lights
as the bellowing smoke
for airspace fights
the dawn is cracked open
under the grey steam-pot lid
like a rotten egg
and the horizon is broken
into blocks
between the pedestal legs
of the spindly chimney stacks
progress clangs and clacks
on blood-rusted
unused train-tracks
the scars of progress on an old landscape
- weals healed over in ageless veldts
whilst weeds pimple between the stays
a last gasp of green displays
the gangrene death
of nature
oozing from the suture
as we break the past
to build the future
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