Short Piss Poems
Short Piss Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Piss by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Piss by length and keyword.
Your full of piss and vinegar
My dad used to say
I don't want to smell like pee
To my mother I'd cry my way
Since I wouldn't use the toilet
The pee turned to vinegar over time
This is how my dad potty trained me
It still works on grandchildren of mine
Today I cooked some steaks,
I do believe steak is great,
I don't care what vegans say,
Maybe they should all piss off today!
Just kidding, believe what you like, I say,
I am cooking great steaks today!
No need to fuss, hold the bus,
Signed, one of the 'carnivores are us'!
Early morning
I get a pissy look
from a worn-out moon.
Off to work
From a pissy guard booth
I get a pissy look.
Next. I get a pissy look from the supervisor.
Who got a pissy look from the manager.
Who got a pissy look from God. I presume.
Lunchtime, an old woman baking minimum wage.
Serving food to a thousand pissy faces.
Her smile is worth a million bucks.
An island of diamonds in an ocean of pissy.
If they toss coal and glass.
Just chew it up and spit it out.
Every now and again you'll even find a diamond.
Laying infinite shine to your soul smile.
So, when they sling those hateful things.
At the stained-glass window of your being.
You can clean your caliber and hone your cutlery.
or spit back a fountain of jagged love.
If you don't do something, they'll bury you alive.
Then piss all over your busted skull.
Ammonia-ed clumps of damp, dunged straw
forked onto her cold barrow, then rolled outside.
Across the field where her ninety pounds
thrust up the dray atop a mulching mound!
Nineteen times before the sour dregs
are swallowed by the day.
Bowed tendons stripe her calloused palms with pain.
She racks each open with a metal comb
to rake her horse’s mane.
Stall cleaned; horse fed, mane combed to shine as gold-
Showered, she brings her smile to our bed.
There are Dogs barking at the tweakers
Throwing up in our garden.
Their merciless chains drag them
Clawing into the dirt
Digging into their frothing throats and I
Am happy for the tiles
For my two cold feet on the floor.
I am picking your tonsils
Out of my teeth
And spitting into the stream of
My feverish thoughts.
In the other room
I watch through the mirror
As my mother crawls into the comfort
Of her bad dreams.
And I
Am so very soft.
Or so she says.
Suzy Baker was genuine white trash
Scorning fiercely, her teeth ready to flash.
Fending her homemade trailer park jungle
Dodging her dark and imminent funeral!
Lucy Walker was a pretty lady
Smiling friendly her lips always ready,
Living quiet in lovely suburbia
Meeting non-whites with xenophobia.
Why did the potter create them this way?
Was it because there were two types of clay?
One forged as a Cistern the next as an Urn
And exactly whom should this mess concern?