There was a young laddie named Pefecation
Who passed hugely and frequently, defecation;
But the social disdain
And the blockage of drain
Made poor Pitt dig a pit for his defecation.
quote by by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
C’est La vie!
I gaze above from my grassy station
While lying on my back, the cumuli
Traversed the sky in noiseless slow-motion.
Great day! I thought while fixed upon the sky.
Then casually a bird flew overhead
And dropped its cargo off all over me.
In life a little rain must fall, instead
A bird brain passed its bowel of feces.
What does one say after being pooped on?
C’est La vie! What else can happen to me?
I’ve been a target of defecation
If I’d a gun that bombardier be shot.
I’m not that feathered class aves port-a-pot.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Better Dead than Alive!
A vulture sits behind a little boy,
Who squats for ‘Nature Calls’ amidst a field-
A village practice (without safe toilets) ,
And wonders if the kid’s alive or dead!
Mal-nourished grossly, looking ‘skin and bones’,
The child appears so sick, with weakened frame;
He struggles at defecation at noon!
The scorching summer sun adds to his woes!
A snake lies curled around the neck of boy!
The child looks blue as if bitten by it;
His naked body looks so very frail;
One wonders if he will complete his task.
The vulture could have mistaken the boy
For some kind of a beast about to die;
It waits to peck the frame if motionless;
’Tis all the same if boy is live or dead!
Such ghastly scenes are rife in poor countries,
Whose villages are poverty-stricken;
Where illiteracy, lack of hygiene,
Lack of good food- affects most of their young.
While affluence afills the posh cities,
Stark-nakedness stigmatizes suburbs;
How does a nation boast of great progress,
When kids by millions stay ravished and sick?
Is it man-made or scourge of wrath of Gods?
Blame ourselves for this sad state of affairs;
When ‘Big money’ goes down the drain always,
Why human kids stay starved, naked and sick?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-11-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To love all is to love none.
To love is to eat,
To hate is to defecate.
Defecation is as much a need.
Not to hate is peril
Choose someone to hate.
All love for all is a myth.
28.09.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Natural Instincts...
urination is always a delight
an act of emptying and this time
when it is over
one feels the happiness of that
emptiness that i have been
telling you
not just the defecation even
but the vomiting of something
poisonous
this is our natural body
it excretes what kills it
what discomfort that has caused
its inconvenient moment
it excludes
segregates expels and
does not want to recall
trust your instincts
when you feel like vomiting it
by all means
vomit, vomit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pile of Spit
These words plopping down onto the paper
Resemble a big, steaming pile of spit.
The pungent smells of the putrid vapors
Choke my nostrils in a great, gasping fit.
My eyes go blood-shot while seeing the stink.
My throat clenches, closing from the foul air.
My disgust rots at the way that I think.
My mind suffocates in a teary glare.
Then I flush the crap down the clogging drain
That contains my spiritual plumbing.
I try to remove the residual stains,
Plunging at the rank source of my dumbing,
But there's a blockage deep, seeping and thick.
This diarrhea makes my stomach sick.
Ok, it's not spit. And I know... this poem was made in poor taste.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Jamie
Ither laddies may ha's finer claes, and may be better fed,
But nane o' them a'has sic a bonnie curly heid,
O sie a blythe blink in their e'e,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When I gang oot tae tak' a walk wi' him, alang the Magdalen Green,
It mak's my heart feel lichtsome tae see him sae sharp and keen,
And he pu's the wee gowans, and gie's them to me,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When he rises in the mornin' an' gets oot o' bed,
He says, mither, mind ye'll need tae toast my faither's bread.
For he aye gie's me a bawbee;
He's the best little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When I gang oot tae tak' a walk alang the streets o' Dundee,
And views a' the little laddies that I chance to see,
Nane o' them a' seems sae lovely to me,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
The laddie is handsome and fair to be seen,
He has a bonnie cheerie mou', and taw blue e'en,
And he prattles like an auld grandfaither richt merrily;
He's the funniest little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd Iaddie, Little Jamie.
Whene'er that he kens I am coming hame frae my wark,
He runs oot tae meet me as cheerful as the lark,
And he says, faither, I'm wanting just a'e bawbee,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A New Definition Of What Is Poetry
now i think i know
what poetry is
it is
everyday
it is not
a form
but a thought
it is beyond thoughts
even
it is a stream
of emotions
and there is a boat
that sails beneath them
there is no rudder
neither sail
there are only hands
that feel
the cascading waters
feet that dangle on the
river
straining the coldness
of the eddies
there is the peace
of the sky
there is the freedom
of the drifting
of the clouds
it is foremost
a dedication and hence
it is as i am telling you
and everyday
affair
here
is the ordinariness of poetry
that most men
do not take seriously
that the world
cannot really believe
thinking that this is talent
and tact
no,
it is everyday
it is defecation
it is breathing
it is strolling
it is eating breakfast
and smoking at the park
it is sleeping and running
and holding hands
it is everyday
it is everything
it is not peculiar
or extraordinary
this is my
poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Runners Competition Counted
we enjoy counting the rats
running around at night,
when we are arriving home
on our faithful motorbike,
usually two or three rats to see,
Kayla and I have a competition
counting first spied rats we see,
who can spot local drain rats first
the biggest rats seen truthfully
are as big as healthy pet cats,
we go look at pets frequently
in BSD once a week we peep,
in at a pet shop when we watch,
a movie in expedition BSD every week
a family movie is a special treat,
our two happy daughters think it so neat
our neigbour concreted over their open drain
next door rats love their drains seldom stray,
so less rats outside rats too close we do disdain
rats who venture close in life peril cannot stay,
if any bold rats venture into our house ceiling,
these rats are disposed of poisoned very quickly
our rule is no entry for any rats poison strictly,
tropical rat best learn trespass has no pity feeling.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Girl Named Paige
A girl named Paige
With eyes and a face so bright
A girl named Paige
Came into my dreary life
My life, so dark
So full of strife
A girl named Paige
About her I was told
To keep me away until I was old
A girl named Paige
A lesson she did teach
For me to keep sight of my reach
A girl named Paige
Broke my heart
As my world fell apart
A girl named Paige
Perfectly took the part
While adding another fool to her cart
A girl named Paige
Shook my whole world
My eyes were on no other girl
A girl named Paige
Fooled me into loving her
While she secretly lusted another, and another
A girl named Paige
Caused me endless pain
Of this, I'm not ashamed
A girl named Paige
Made me go insane
This girl is love's bane
A girl named Paige
Caused me to do so much
To love her such
A girl named Paige
Made my heart bleed
The woe of pain it did heed
A girl named Paige
I'll never be the same
In that group, she came
A girl named Paige
I loved a whole whole lot
A feeling she returned, did not
A girl named Paige
Others showed me how she was
She screws around just because
A girl named Paige
Has had several boyfriends
She shares between her and her best friend
A girl named Paige
Is sleeping around
Like her mother, she's been around town
A girl named Paige
Has 4 sisters
If you see her vermin family, you surely won't miss her
A girl named Paige
I felt so much emotion
Caused so much devastation
A girl named Paige
Fooled me she loved me so
She can't fool anyone no more
A girl named Paige
Has no future for her
She'll be working as a stripper
A girl named Paige
Will have a horrible existence
For her whole being is full of pestilence
A girl named Paige
Makes you love
A false gift from above
A girl named Paige
Should be gone from this world
She gives a bad name to all other girls
For Paige G.
With love, Joseph
poem by Joseph Shofner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Illiterate
There once was a housemaid named Dang,
Who was illiterate and young,
Put the dish washing paste,
On her bread on a plate,
Oh what a poor young lady Dang.
poem by Rose de Ramar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Limitations Of The Body...
sometimes i forget that i have a body
it is only when i eat that i remember i have one
but most of the times
i am full and so i almost forget all about this body
i am feeding it with wrong things
ideas, more ideas,
i am covering it with mysteries that it cannot relate because
a body is just a body
earthly, mundane
clay,
stick, creepy
skin, hair
sunken eyes,
trembling hands
it is flesh, bones, cartilages,
and
nerves, and when all these nerves take revenge on me
i shall finally lose this body
which i welcome somehow
because i have not experienced it yet
fully
i live in the mind,
my castle is in my imagination,
and i eat nothing for the day
but words
and i drink nothing for the day but ink
and i touch nothing for the day
but keys
the body is forgotten and so are my chains,
my prisons, my
dark rooms,
my body, this fetter,
this
ball and chain that hold me
in hunger and pain and
thirst and
constant urination,
disturbing
defecation
sometimes i like to become nothing but air
so you cannot see me anymore so i can go places and be lost forever
because i am not this body,
and i do not want to be caught in here
a little longer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Girl-Gladness
It’s holiday time on the hollyhock hills,
And I wish you would come with me laddie-love, now,
The butterfly-bells, from the Folly-fool rills,
Will ring if you listen, and drop on your brow.
So, dear come along,
I’ve a kiss and a song,
And I know where the fairies are forging a gong
To ring up the elves to a festival fair
Of snippets of sunshine and apples of air.
O laddie, my laddie, quick, run out of school,
And away with a shout and a shake of the head;
I’ll pick you a pearl from the pigeon-pink pool
Where cuddles and kisses are going to bed,
Away, come away To the lands of the fay,
For the afternoon tinkles your lassie-love’s lay.
Play truant with Time, and while Age is asleep
I’ll give you the heart of my girlhood to keep.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Actors Echoing Inspirationless
Poor plasticine people
trying... to be
someone somebody else...
unable
at introspection inspection
frequently
to find manifest
talented artistic transition...
Have not they
historically taught thought
inquired looking searching out...
in musty dusty
misted mirror reflection yet?
Role models
modeled frequently
upon societies fatally flawed...
Poor plasticine people
trying desperately to be
someone somebody else...
Imagined inquisitively
looking searching in...
magic mist... for mirrored... images...
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Back To The River Of Time...
for what is poetry? did i tell you that it is
merely defecation and all i excrete are
trash, garbage, e coli?
you keep on saying
i disagree, i completely disagree
i am recollecting your pieces and put them
in an album and i will make
a publication, ...jesus!
socrates did not write a word.
Jesus neither.
(i am not what they were.
i am just a sigh, a sort of
a morning exercise, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale
thing)
and stephen king who says he does not write
but all these are still here...
silly life, silly life, looking for a wall
and a spray net, spray, spray, write on the
wall, draw on the wall,
keep things intact, mementos, refreshing meal
of the river of time.
i do not know. I keep on telling.
chanting. I got no book of my own.
I have nothing to own.
Let no word come back to me
and tell me
' i am your creation
and you are my papa'
for at the end i shall deny all of them
for i do not belong here neither to somebody
nor some reason.
pilgrim am i. in this river of time.
leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the order I was in, each brother takes five vows, one of which is teaching the poor gratuitously. As a young person I was seized by this idea of social justice and I wanted very much to follow my vow of teaching the poor gratuitously.
quote by Godfrey Reggio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Social Plague
It's a joy in the life of being me
Social changes
The blackest dust can cover their eyes so they can't see
Social stages
The children modify their own monopoly
Social changes
The KKK wants their own STV
Social places
You must understand that I'm made this way
Don't give a damn if you can't change
Your little narrow mind today
I can't wait for the changes
You can't understand my rage
This thing's going on too long
I can't understand it
Social plague now
2000 strong, they back up white supremacy and I can't take it
I can't take it
Can't prove a thing, one day they'll see
That I'm staying
Within this shell there lies a menace to the core
We can't change it
That's the day when there be no more
Social changes
song performed by by 24-7 Spyz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Do I Think to Feel or, Feel to Think?
Sonnet variation of Tease - see below
Do I Think to Feel or, Feel to Think?
I think I think I'm really me,
I'm me, who looks through God each day
when venturing to fight life's fray -
I'm free I think to think I'm free.
Life’s little fish in fee pond see
me swim till In_turn Net casts phish
upon identity to dish
life's causal quest: eternity.
Trace race reels on haphazardly
till passed up, by time's bank foreclosed,
to ‘Standard Poor’ metamorphosed
as mind grinds heartfelt hopes at sea.
Though verse divine is made by me, -
what's cause/effect, and where is She?
29 July 2009 robi3_1891_robi3_0000 SWX_JEZ
Tease
I think I think I'm really me, -
I'm free I think to think I'm free -
I'm me, who looks for God each day,
and then goes out to fight life's fray.
I'm me, life’s simple little fish
who swims till Inter Net casts phish
till passed up, by life's bank foreclosed,
to ‘Standard Poor’ metamorphosed.
I'm me, who may forever bear
more kids till old age dyes my hair,
whose bosom beats till Time rhymes drain
with dreams of castles lost in Spain.
Poems divine are made by me, -
but what is God, and where is She?
(c) Jonathan Robin Parody Joyce KILMER 1888_1918 Trees robi3_0240_kilm1_0001 PWX_IMN
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Social Plan
I know a very tiresome Man
Who keeps on saying, "Social Plan."
At every Dinner, every Talk
Where Men foregather, eat or walk,
No matter where, -- this Awful Man
Brings on his goddam Social Plan.
The Fall in Wheat, the Rise in Bread,
The social Breakers dead ahead,
The Economic Paradox
That drives the Nation on the rocks,
The Wheels that false Abundance clogs --
And frightens us from raising Hogs, --
This dreary field, the Gloomy Man
Surveys and hiccoughs, Social Plan.
Till simpler Men begin to find
His croaking aggravates their mind,
And makes them anxious to avoid
All mention of the Unemployed,
And leads them even to abhor
The People called Deserving Poor.
For me, my sympathies now pass
To the poor Plutocratic Class.
The Crowd that now appeals to me
Is what he calls the Bourgeoisie.
So I have got a Social Plan
To take him by the Neck,
And lock him in a Luggage van
And tie on it a check,
Marked MOSCOW VIA TURKESTAN,
Now, how's that for a Social Plan?
poem by Stephen Leacock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
James! Of Four!
This father to James is funny
He has a very funny naming
Not only to what he sees
But also what he sires
He's monogamous
Married to the mother to James
His wife is the mother to
These only four kids of his
His firstborn was named;
Firsterson
And the second was named;
Seconderson
Now he made the botany as funny
When he named the thirdborn;
Thirderson
Wonders had to form a chain
I wonder
I wonder how he named the fourth!
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ninon De Lenclos, On Her Last Birthday
So let me have the rouge again,
And comb my hair the curly way.
The poor young men, the dear young men
They'll all be here by noon today.
And I shall wear the blue, I think-
They beg to touch its rippled lace;
Or do they love me best in pink,
So sweetly flattering the face?
And are you sure my eyes are bright,
And is it true my cheek is clear?
Young what's-his-name stayed half the night;
He vows to cut his throat, poor dear!
So bring my scarlet slippers, then,
And fetch the powder-puff to me.
The dear young men, the poor young men-
They think I'm only seventy!
poem by Dorothy Parker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!