Squatted Poems | Examples

Flicker Fall

O parachute, thy rider.
How to keep one aloft?
Spread thy edges to defer!
He who squatted coughed!

Unity, sing in unison.
Each louder than the last?
Vittle, side with venison?
Legs in traction plast!

Thus refuted, O my rock?
Lines around in chalk.
Broken is the bowl, O block.
Corn, thy tattered stalk.

So you've been feeling stifled?
Just flicker as you fall.
Soldiers, how you rifled!
O banshee, how you call!

Ghoulish was the repast grim?
Crater, nurse thy rim.
Light of harpsichord, draw dim.
How about her or him?

Rain on us, O lightning!
O thunder, now to roll!
Fain would it be frightening?
Soak in gin, my soul!

The cone or the caldera?
What kind of choice is this?
Ergo, O my era...
O death gods, blow a kiss...

A Defensive Action

How fortunate that I, correctly versed,
knew hand-grenades are passive. At their worst,
they maim and kill. But this is interspersed
with usefulness: defenders have no thirst
for carnage. Since the enemy had first
used violence, they had to be dispersed.
It fell to me. How often I’d rehearsed
in nightmares what came next, how often nursed
this killer in my hands. Like Damien Hirst,
I knew that I was certain to be cursed
by those who only see a shark immersed
in urine, not a work of art. Lips pursed,
I threw my bomb, and squatted, for I durst
not look upon the mayhem, when it burst.

The Conversation Between the Catcher and the Pitcher

Diving for the ball,
Balling into a dust-
Orange roll,
The catcher tossed it back to the pitcher
After a ball three, and walked up to him.
The descent of the night's sky 
Made the ballfield lights a sudden relevance.
The catcher's cleats hit the ascending tip
of the diamond. He threw back his mask:

"You got this."
"I know I got this."
"Just throw how you normally throw."
"I know. I will. I know."
"You know what to do. Let's do this."
"I got this. I got this."
Then something was said 
From the catcher to the pitcher
Not even the poet's ears were privy to.

Anyway,
Catcher ran back
Behind the diamond 
And squatted, throwing out 
His target glove with a deft pause
So not to tip the batter off.

The next pitch was a swinging strike
High up in the zone.
The pitch after that was a home run
Caught by a nun
Out on Yawkey Way.

Oh well, there's always the next day.

By the way,
She blessed the ball
And gave it away.

The Hunter and the Doe

It is a tale known throughout the ages 
Of how a hunter ventured into the woods 
In search of a doe. 
And not just any doe,  
But rather the most beautiful,  
Wild, 
And graceful of them all. 
A doe that strutted across the evergreen 
on slender legs that held her frame  
as whistling winds converged on the scene. 
The hunter squatted, 
Scouted, 
Waited, 
Scaling the woods for the scrapes and rubs 
And when he discovered the bedding 
And caught the first sight of her  
Upon the mound, 
The hunter reached to aim his gun 
But found himself enamored, 
Spellbound. 
That trophy hunter, 
Stalker, 
deer murderer, 
Felt his chest heave and from his forehead 
Escaped the sweat 
Of a man who found love at first sight. 
For she was such marvel to behold 
He feared that his bodily scent  
would alert her sensitive nose, 
That she would bound away 
Far, far away as if on magical toes. 
He held his breath 
For all the years he hunted 
None more elegant existed  
in his wildlife land of does

yum yum honey

Sweetie the bear followed the honey smells for a mile.
When he reached it, he gave everyone a growl and a smile.
When they saw his large teeth they backed away from the barrel.
He headed toward the honeycomb, straight as an arrow.

The bees were not happy, so they tried to sting.
But his fur and skin are so thick, it was not a thing.
He squatted down and stuck in his giant paw.
The rest of us were gone now, it is all I saw.

My Aunt

My Auntie

When he entered his aunt’s basement flat
I had been in the yard when she called me in
she squatted over a bucket of water, cleaning her fanny
I handed her a towel and a bottle of spray cologne 
My aunt was not like other aunts took no interest
In knitting woolly socks for African children
She was a free spirit and loved men, but she preferred 
Teutonic men and disliked the Latin types, except once
When we children brought home a black cook from
A banana ship; he spent two nights in her bed but looked
pale when the captain came to fetch him.
Once, after the war, she sat on a leafy tree for three days
when a band of righteous men went looking for and rape 
women who had been friendly to the Germans.
Once, on a bus tour to Germany, she visited her former lovers 
who, by now, had grandchildren; I don’t think their wives liked her visit. 
When she moved to a roomier home, I liked nothing better
then on Sundays, sit in her kitchen, eat pepper cakes
drink coffee and smoke cigarettes.

The Evolution of the Toilet

It wasn't all that long ago when a hole in the ground was where people would go.
Many grew sick from lack of hygiene so some one invented the pit latrine.
This greatly prevented the spread of disease. People squatted over a slab
and bent at the knees.
The first flushable was used by British royalty, a toilet that the commoner
would never see.
Chamber pots and out houses were used by many.
They composted the waste and saved a lot of pennies.
Years later dry toilets were used in most homes.
They had a wooden seat as their throne.
Some time during the twentieth century flushable toilets were
in every home you would see.
Tout allure and hello to a cleaner way.
A clever French man invented the bidet.
Is this too much information? Don't go yet.
The end of my evolution of the toilet.

A Birthing Person From Perth

There once was a birthing person from Perth
He/She/It battled quite a hefty girth
  Couldn't sit, so she squatted
  Reputation mud-spotted
But oh man, could she push when she gave birth

Eden Earthed Over

The apple fell already bitten upon,
a mossy soil coated where the tooth-cleaved.
Soon grubs worked their way out
of the pith
creating a teeming mulch.

Adam had fallen asleep again,
in his gut overripe grapes fermented
turning now to drunken snores.

The apple was changing, morphing,
the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration,
the copulation of dirt with air.

It was the flood of the moon;
Eve squatted. Her body was changing,
tidal rains washed her blood,
travail begot a tillage of arousal. 

Her belly swelled,
instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.

She grew large, gravid, a tad snappish.
she sensed deep in her belly
that this coming birth
would be both sour and dewy,

an innominate delivery for sure
riddled with good and bad seeds,
and she knew not what to call it.

Grant Me These Wishes

Make me a flower delicate and sweet, 
spewing fragrance into the blowing breeze .
Make me a violin from whose strings 
melody flows to soothe the ailing nerves .
Make me a rain cloud sailing over the breadth 
and length of the skies showering cooling droplets  
on to the thirsting mouth of the Earth.

Make me a lamp shedding beams of light
dissipating darkness from the mazy depths of gloom .
Make me a vessel full with love to pour out 
into all the empty pitchers.
Make me a yacht with sails filled by the wind
that I can ferry the sinking souls to safer shores of life.

Let every atom of my being throb with Thy filling love
Let it spring forth in jets to form the gushing stream
Let many drink from that fountain and taste
the sweetness of Thy nourishing love
Let the land be watered, let the dirt be cleansed
Let the Earth wear a celestial charm 
Let the plants celebrate the carnival of colors

In my basket shall I gather many a fragrant bloom
to be offered at your feet with love
and remain squatted in Thy presence ,
not losing in the pageant of this transient life. 

Winter Wishes Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Chantelle Ann Cooke

Struggle Continues

A homeless woman squatted on the pavement 
Empty bottle of mineral water by her side. 
It was a hot summer noon …the stench 
Of poverty makes me ashamed as I ride, 

The swanky metro. Brooding… get off at my station, 
Impatiently, walk as the street urchins extend hands to beg, 
For money, for food; wonder should I buy rations 
With dismay, saw one was hopping, had only one leg. 

Anger welled up against the mafia that maims these kids, 
And trains them in art of begging, recognise the victims. 
The so called slum dogs, with resignation and grit 
Grow into petty thieves or whores, at the mercy of pimps. 

The dance of Democracy reaches a crescendo. 
Candidates come with promises and folded hands. 
Smouldering eyes, one asked with bravado, 
How come in the name of growth we see a helipad? 

Young nation, been six decades, since independent, 
Learnt, after Kosi floods, kids sold for pennies by parents. 
Common man’s plight worse than that of pigs and insects. 
Live on hope and prayers, a great leader will finally resurrect.

          #FECUND_WRITER

Halitosis

A man has gone once to a fake dentist,
Complaining of his decayed tooth and halitosis;
He was asked to take big deep breaths with open mouth,
While squatted long on a high dental couch.

Few moments later, silent bomb exploded in the clinic,
Rotten smell wanted him and the dentist to panic;
He said, “Sorry Doc, I’ve farted out loud by chance”,
 “Fart-tastic!” said Doc. “Halitosis has moved down and gone!”

Sept. 26, 2021  5.29pm

Virgin At the Outhouse Door

JANUARY VIRGIN AT THE OUTHOUSE DOOR
Not much of light, the cold had settled in,
and made for her, sweet Laura of the farm,
the quick of flight, down path direct and thin,
and well known, for relief of her alarm.

As farmer's daughters, she could be the tale
of trav'ling salesmen, if one came around,
but all her heat, her passion, old and stale,
gave witness to the ice there on the ground.

So needing love, but needing more to pee,
she pulled upon the door, it opened not,
and so she squatted, as no one could see,
but froze onto the ground, her sudden blot.

They found her in the morn, a chunk of ice,
but didn't take her in, she looked so nice.
                © 2003 ron wilson
aka vee bdosa 
the doylestown poet

Just Liven With the Virus

The bug moved in
squatted
stole from the fridge
soiled the bathroom
played loud music all night.
That bug can't live without us
it can't spread without us
it can't live alone, ever.
Yet now we're inviting it
in to stay.
Just liven with the virus

Eden Unearthed

The apple fell to earth. It was bitten through
it rolled; mossy soil coated the tooth-cleaved part.
Already grubs were working their way out
of the pith creating a teeming mulch.

Adam had fallen asleep yet again.
the overripe grapes fermenting in his guts
turning to drunken snores.

It was the flood of the moon. 
Eve squatted behind a mulberry bush 
wishing she were more fair and slim 
like the angels in her dreams. Her body was changing, 
tidal rains washed her blood
and that travail begot spawning buds,
the tillage of arousal.

The apple was changing, dissolution morphing 
into beauty; the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration, death, and life, 
the copulation of dirt with air.

Eve’s belly swelled, growing as round and burnished
as an autumn apple. Instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.

She grew large, gravid, and snappish,
stamping her feet impatiently;
this birth would be a paradigm of progeny to come,
a dewy innominate offering
quilted from angelic and demon seeds
and she knew not what to call it.

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