The Gardener XI: Come As You Are
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
If your braided hair has loosened if
the parting of your hair be not straight,
if the ribbons of your bodice be not
fastened, do not mind.
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
Come, with quick steps over the
grass.
If the raddle come from your feet
because of the dew, of the rings of bells
upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop
out of your chain, do not mind.
Come, with quick steps over the
grass.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the
sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the
further river-bank and fitful gusts of
wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls
in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the
sky?
In vain you light your toilet lamp
--it flickers and goes out in the
wind.
Who can know that your eyelids
have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker
than rain-clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp--
it goes out.
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who
cares; if the wrist-chain had not been
linked, let it be.
The sky is overcast with clouds--it
is late.
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Related quotes
Plexiglass Toilet
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
A boy of 5 stands close to the toilet
Holds the lid up with one hand
Won't let go the lid for fear that
On his banana it will land
Don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
Boy goes up he eats the enchilada
With the sauce that burns the heart
Family comes to visit family
Momma says don't belch and fart
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
Everybody Sing!
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
song performed by by Styx, music by John Curulewski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lily Licked the Toilet
Lily licked the toilet,
And then she licked the floor.
You can bet I'll never
Kiss Lily anymore!
Lily licked the toilet,
And then she licked the sink.
She's full of germs and worms,
At least that's what I think.
Lily licked the toilet,
And then she licked the tub.
It's safe to say her tongue
Could use a real good scrub!
She was the cutest pooch! (To Smooch)
Why'd she have to spoil it?
Nothing's been the same since…
Lily licked the toilet!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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Two funney
Young funney
Boy...
go
The toilet...
Pass urine...
Not clean
The toilet
With water...
why...?
The boy was
funney...!
The toilet was
funney...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Toilet
Every one
use
The toilet
Clean
Take water
And clean...
Clean is
Importent
her clean
Is not
Impress other's...
It is helpfull for
Healthy good
Life...
For clean
Toilet...
All ways
With your use...!
Some
human are
Use
The toilet
At animals...
You...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Privvy.......Toilet Trolls
Twas sordid that thought
Midwinter handed a lit
Oil lamp
Glowing
Showing the way outside to the shiny black paint of
The toilet door
Lift the latch....clunk! as your eyes scoured the darkness the bushes
For bogey men, trolls and murderers
Place lamp on window sill
Put small buttocks on the winter chilled toilet seat
Heart beats at a quickened pace
As a small scared face gazes
Out
Eyes foraging the white painted walls
For spiders and daddy long legs
Anything that crawls
And flys
And eats small, small children
Eyes down on two chubby little legs
Distant from the floor
And go girl go!
As quick as you can
As the sounds and rustles blown outside are
Definitely
The bogey man
He's coming after your guts and gore
Push little lady and try to be gone
Before
The doors ripped off its hinges
And you are dragged into the abyss
And they will all read about
The little lost Miss....
poem by Karen Sinclair
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It’s No Fun Going To The Toilet
it’s no fun, dearest friends,
going to the toilet
with your entrails full
and at zero hour
and rushing to the toilet
and finding every cubicle shut in your face
and you run to the next
and there are grunting pigs
behind closed doors
and you are truly full,
and you know you are in big trouble
and there is not even a discreet bush corner
in the god-forsaken damned city;
and you are walking up and down outside the doors
like an irate Principal at a school assembly;
it’s really no fun
putting yourself through such agony
to put yourself on such public display
going to public toilets
when you could have cleared all
and achieved dignity
with proper timing
and good though boring habits
it’s no fun, really -
dearest friends,
hastening to the toilet
when your pipe is nearly at bursting point
and you rush in to the toilet
and though lucky enough
to find an enclosure
it’s really no fun, is it? -
all that hurry and urgency
at near bursting point
as you pow-wow before the toilet bowl
and your buckle is stubborn
and you plead to your private self:
O no, no…don’t burst…not yet…
and your damned zip gets stuck just then
and you continue your war dance
and you plead to your intimate self:
O no, no…don’t burst…not yet…not yet, please;
please don’t do this to me-self –
and just then the zip comes asunder
and you pull it down like thunder
and oh, what a relief, no doubt –
but it certainly was no fun
going there to the toilet at near-breaking point;
and how are you going to face the world
with your zip burst
and your buckle broken and hanging over now?
oh, so, dearest friends,
trust me
(no wisecracks here, please)
oh all you children of the earth
all infants and old
and the genteel and the virile
and the incontinent
and the humble and those with golden toilet bowls –
it’s never fun to rush in to the toilet
at near breaking or bursting point;
and though good routine
and roughage may never be fun either
it’s safer than trusting in City Councils that
do not plan for citizens at bursting point…
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride
Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?
See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not over-
hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the court-
yard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.
Have no words with him if your are
shy.
Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?
Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?
Let your work be!
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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My Mind Had Been Wasted Many Times
The mind is a terrible thing to waste.
'How would you know? '
My mind had been wasted many times.
And the last time I remember being wasted,
It took me at least three weeks to recover.
'How have you managed to stay sober? '
I remember kneeling in front of a toilet.
Professing my undying love and marriage,
If I was ever able to get back up on my feet again.
To have my head stop from spinning...
To enable me to find my way home.
'What happened to that marriage proposal? '
I don't remember where I was or how I got there.
But I do remember waking up feeling terrible.
And hoping that toilet forgets anything I promised.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Short; Silly: Ode To A Commode...Or....A Poem About Toilets
modern 'toilets' are large flushable porcelain bowls
which catch waste from both your and my exit holes.
i'm used to white ones with large flush-water tank.
a hidden pipe carries off stuff that often does smell rank.
some in japan were quite different……with no way to sit!
i'm glad i found 'my style' when t'was time to shit.
and if from toilet-paper usage you're leaning,
some toilets have the choice of an in-bowl shower, for cleaning.
toilet seats are sometimes colored, or cushioned, or even heated;
for me, more important (at times) is JUST to be SEATED!
toilets have changed since they were just holes in the ground.
i hope, when i 'need' a toilet, one's always around!
(4-4-2010)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Surprise in Japan - Drain as toilet
first world country
oh these quaint toilets where
you have to do it into a drain
I was terribly surprised that in some parts of Tokyo a toilet meant
you do your business right into a drain. You wear a pair of clogs into the toilet which is nothing more than a deep drain. I am still trying to find out where the shit would flow to till this day.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Dirty Beast
Your endless bouts of masturbation
Will do no good to your reputation
And I have to say I do deplore
The way you piss on the toilet floor!
Don't worry, I'm not complaining
About your lack of toilet-training
But I'm sure that even Sigmund Freud
Himself would be a bit annoyed
If you didn't make it your firm intention
To curb these habits that I mention!
Please show some self-control at least
Before you get known as 'The Dirty Beast'!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Toilet Seats
While I am emulating Keats
My brother fabrics toilet seats,
The which, they say, are works of art,
Aesthetic features of the mart;
So exquisitely are they made
With plastic of a pastel shade,
Of topaz, ivory or rose,
Inviting to serene repose.
Rajahs I'm told have seats of gold,--
(They must, I fear, be very cold).
But Tom's have thermostatic heat,
With sympathy your grace to greet.
Like silver they are neon lit,
Making a halo as you sit:
Then lo! they play with dulset tone
A melody by Mendelssohn.
Oh were I lyrical as Yeats
I would not sing of toilet seats,
But rather serenade a star,--
Yet I must take things as they are.
For even kings must coyly own
Them as essential as a throne:
So as I tug the Muse's teats
I envy Tom his toilet seats.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Life Of A Turd
You don’t know what it’s like,
being in a toilet most of your life.
Yes, I am a turd,
I know it sounds absurd,
but hey, at least I’m not a nerd.
Now I have a family that went
down stream ahead of me,
Then went down the toilet
along with human pee.
But I’m not going to sweat or even fret,
I have lots of miles ahead of me yet.
Written by Christina Sunrise on October 1,2011
www.puppetpoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Read Me Now
read me now
read me 500 years after i am not around
after that flush me down the toilet
that is if you are still using flush toilet
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Dark Night
There is darkness everywhere,
the night is darker than black,
strange shadows loom on the wall,
as light flickers and flutters
on the oil lamp
The merciless wind is blowing hard,
harder than ever it was,
sharp like a sword,
piercing and reaming my raw wounds,
the flame on the lamp flutters violently
and then is blown off.
The wind smiles and then suddenly it is gone.
I light my lamp again.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
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Metamorphosis
a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed
cleaned the toilet
the bathtub
scrubbed the bathroom floor
and cut my toenails and
my hair.
then
all on the same day
the plumber came and fixed the kitchen faucet
and the toilet
and the gas man fixed the heater
and the phone man fixed the phone.
noe I sit in all this perfection.
it is quiet.
I have broken off with all 3 of my girlfriends.
I felt better when everything was in
disorder.
it will take me some months to get back to normal:
I can't even find a roach to commune with.
I have lost my rythm.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I have been robbed of
my filth.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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At the time...
A car pulled up, in front of a house, at four o'clock in the morning.
A man came out of the car, and stood in silence in the dark, dark dark.
Quiet as a mouse, a woman came out of the house, opened the gate and walked into a garbage bin, making a godawful clattering.
Drowsy neighbours, across the road, peeked out
from behind the nosy curtains of their boring bedroom.
But nothing happened, while the clouds moved on,
and the frail moonlight was well again.
Under a blanket of glittering stars, she handed him two suitcases
and he hurried 'round to open the boot but just then,
the toilet lights on the second floor came on.
The neighbours behind the curtains froze like statues.
Swiftly, the man and the woman crouched down behind the car.
In the quiet of the night, they could all hear the urine
gurgling long, loud and plenty into the toilet bowl.
Behind the car, the man and the woman started
groping and kissing and groping and kissing furiously.
The neighbours saw them do it by the light of the moon and stars.
When the toilet flushed, they quietly shut the boot,
tiptoed to the front, got into the car,
and the roar of the car engine died away.
The neighbours closed the curtains. Didn't say much.
Ate sandwiches and milk. Still couldn't sleep.
Started to make love loudly, as if to drown out forever
the drunken snoring beginning again
across the road.
Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
(1989)
poem by Simmon Tan
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Unchained Melody (Parody on 'The Streets of London)
(John London’s Radio Talk Show when he was
accidentally locked in the toilet)
Did you hear the shrieks fo London
From the toilet in the station
Calling for Jon-Jon
To come and set him free.
Armine let forth a sigh
Should it be one or two-ply
Nobody worried
The show must go on.
So how can you say
You were lonely
…and things about
where the sun don’t shine…..
So Jon-Jon took you by the hand
And quelled indeed the
shrieks of London
Back to the station….
Unchained melody.
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Noon Break Eroticism
the night shift must have been so
damning
the dying screams, the latest victims
of the night wanting emergency attention
the doctors are at home sleeping
and some nurses are sleeping
on their desks
and there
marvin wakes up from his deep slumber
washes his face
combs his hair
and does his routinary toilet
gets this tissue
and wipes his
skin under
reflected by this dirty-white
bowl
he stands up, pulls his brief
and pants and zips
and then he washes his hands
with soap and water
goes out of the toilet
faces the coming nurses
and takes his
late breakfast
the morning is so boring
and it is noonday
back again
to this eroticism
the shemales with
some blowjobs
the virgins with fears
and his groans
that no one hears
in the government hospital
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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S00 Bawls
Pretty little mongo
Everybody wants her toilet
Same old story
She wont let nobody near it
The way she teases them
Its such a shame
Shes got all the huboons
Crying out her name
Soo bawls soo bawls
Shes got em howling
Shes got em growling
Soo bawls soo bawls
Shes got em going clean out of their minds
Soo bawls soo bawls
There aint a man in town who wouldnt
Have her for his daughter
Theys all trade their brains for
One taste of her toilet water
1-2-3-4 tell the people what she wore
Theyre all trying hard to call her up
But her phones been disconnected
Since she sold her butt
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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