"digestive" poems
He was large as frogs go
Fist-sized happy rotund dweller
of backyard pond
Garter snake large, too large
with his ominous yellow stripes
and jaws to take
a larger than average mouthful
Choked by abdomen's girth
Legs drooling from his glut
Before the victim's even hit his gut's
digestive juices
Kid with hockey stick makes him puck
for his sin
Frog makes desperate
slim swim for rocks
Where he lies in recovery
from shock and
teeth marks on his belly
Underdog gets defense from phone call-- Eve
150 miles away
intercedes
Frog gets mercy of a transport
to another backwoods pond--
to find his life
forgetting trauma
Suns himself and swims
Eats the bugs
and ***** the froglettes
of another day
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
The chocolate digestive is a marvel of invention
Custard creams are sickly, but worthy of a mention
Shortbread can be gritty, steer clear of the cheap ones
For if you love your biscuits, your pockets must be deep ones
For perfect dunkability, the hobnob leads the field
But prone to going chewy if their packet isn't sealed
Bourbon creams can satisfy when nothing else is offered
Avert your eyes from pretzels, no matter how they're proffered
The lowly Garibaldi is an underrated treasure
A macaroon is excellent for eating at your leisure
Enjoy the home made cookies and the chocolate crispy nests
And save a pack of party rings for fobbing off on guests
But biscuits can be functional, with keen survival craft
A packet of pink wafers can be used to make a raft
Penguins can be hollowed out and used to smuggle crack
And if you throw a ginger nut, you'll always get it back
A Jaffa cake is handy as a snowboard for a spider
And flapjacks are a sustenance and energy provider
Wagon wheels are lethal when they're wielded by a ninja
Brandy snaps cure cancer with a tiny hint of ginger
Experiment with biscuits, they're a versatile thing
Try horizontal dunking or the highland shortbread fling
Keep a packet stashed away for when the end is nigh
And always have the kettle full, and milk in good supply
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
But soft, what flatulence through yonder rancid window breaks. If it is the east, well then I’m heading west.
I wish I could recite this and I wouldn’t be talking about my life, but life is fair… just not for me. So I dive right in unfortunately. And I bask and I bask and I bask. Hold on, wait, please allow me to retract, as this occurs numerously within occupation. I firstly divide the **** cheeks, as if Moses dividing the seas. Like Jesus I break bread… anyways… my life is literally spent with my nose sandwiched between numerous people’s backsides. This brings me to my next point… I love my job… because I love people. My favorites are obese people because they suffocate me and for a brief moment I am without consciousness and have not a clue of my reality. The people I do it for the most though are the unstable people, you know?... the people with digestive problems that are so unstable they sometimes slip and instead of their body gas I am left with a face that looks like a diarrhea toilet. I am a poet though and therefore I hold onto the only significant job related poem that I’ve seen on our restroom walls… “Here I sit lonely hearted, came to **** but only farted.”
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
White as winter skin,
expressionless faces z i p on by,
looking straight ahead
Timepieces remembered,
drudgery over leisure time
All in cadence, same beat, same drummer
Putting on Mona Lisa smiles
and handing out business cards
Numbers dominate words,
words mesh with numbers
Fast food, fast digestive systems
join Popeye's Whimpey ranks
Plop Plop, fizz fizz
Companies, corporations, amalgamations
merge then COLLIDE!!!
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
young love disgusts me
like an infected cow’s mammary gland
your milk is full of antibiotics and ****
you drink it
you like it, want more of it
it wants more of you
but it’s really just making you sick
although nobody really tells you that
you just drink the milk, easily satisfied
until it makes your way through the digestive tract and destroys your newly infected insides
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
In biology today,
We learned that a lysosome
Digests old wornout organelles,
And once it becomes too full,
It will burst,
And its digestive enzymes
Will destroy the cell.
I wonder if the heart will do the same,
Take in
all the lonelys,
all the misfits,
all the hurting,
Take it all in,
Until it bursts and destroys you.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
The broken biscuits lay in a tin
An ordinary oblong tin
With turquoise pattern
And pink embossed flowers
Gold edged to finish the job.
How many times I visited
That tin on the middle shelf
In the top half of a cupboard,
Sawn door, to allow for fridge,
And quietly took out the tin.
Broken biscuits were my delight
All shapes and sizes tasty bites
Wafers, bourbon, custard creams
Rich tea, digestive all suited me
Sometimes fig sandwich, pleased.
Love Mary
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
Some of the first mecha featured in manga
& anime were super robots [スーパーロボット _sūpā robotto_],
ultimate, sometimes transforming into weapons
w/ superpowers. They are often one of a kind
products of an ancient civilization, aliens or
mad genius, are usually piloted by Japanese teenagers
& often powered by mystical or exotic energy sources;
Getter Rays, Photonic Energy, Ide, Spiral Power &c.
Sometimes they are formed from
a combination of a few weaker robots;
their abilities described as "quasi-magical";
w/ Miss America becoming less & less
a beauty pageant, it's only a matter of time
before Medusa inherits the mantle;
the revived gods of the ancient world
crossing the rainbow bridge to do battle w/
high-tech monster robots; AI meaning nothing to a flying fist;
Apotheosis, from Greek ἀποθέωσις from ἀποθεοῦν,
apotheoun "to deify"; in Latin deificatio "make divine";
also called divinization & deification;
is the glorification of a subject to divine level;
The term has meanings in theology, where it refers to a belief in art where it refers to a genre;
Defecation is the final act of digestion,
by which organisms eliminate solid, semisolid,
or liquid waste material from the digestive tract via the ****
Humans expel feces w/ a frequency varying
from a few times daily to a few times weekly;
Waves of muscular contraction known as peristalsis
in the walls of the colon move ***** matter
through the digestive tract towards the ******
Undigested food may also be expelled this way,
in a process called _egestion_
Open defecation, the practice of defecating outside
w/out using a toilet of any kind,
is still widespread in some countries,
for example in India, home of the
heroic deities of Hinduism that evolved
from the Vedic era 2nd millennium BCE
through the medieval era, 1st millennium CE
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
Coffee, coffee
Wake me up
Coffee, coffee
Until my day is done
Coffee, coffee,
Keep me from killing others
Coffee, coffee,
I'm turning out just like my mother
Coffee and its addicting creamers
Coffee makes my digestive tract cleaner
Coffee coffee
The love of my life
Coffee, coffee, coffee
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
With no argument I think most people agree
With the adage stating that, "you are what you eat"
But it's possible there's information not known
Having equal importance or maybe more so
All the nutrients eaten; We intake our food
It will travel through digestive tract once consumed
Same can also be said of our actions and thoughts
They're the building blocks making up all that we are
Brains are not like a rigid or fixed type machine
An old dog and new tricks go together it seems
Our plasticity will let us both change and shift
It makes pathways; New neural links over the rifts
These connections might possibly benefit us
But this same mechanism can also do stuff
With a negative scope, the outlook and belief
We might think we're no good; Our lives filled with much grief
If we're constantly saying things inside our heads
Like self-doubting, self-loathing and feelings of dread
Then our brain will re-wire to fit this outlook
Once ensconced in this spectrum; Not easily shook
The same way that a person engages with time
Like activity, also is true with the mind
A small change in the way that we look at ourselves
The new thoughts and beliefs in our mind start to meld
With the make-up within that each one of us holds
Self-beliefs and self-doubts from our birth till we're old
Like a painter with ink; Our brush never is dry
We are always creating what's in our mind's eye
So don't hinder yourself with a picture that's bleak
Just believe in yourself and go get what you seek
You are capable of so much more than you know
All it takes is belief and in time it will show
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
please, sir, a moment's
silence, i am having a
digestive crisis
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
Pluto was just like the rest,
Complete a full rotation, wake up and get dressed,
Open his eyes, feel the weak beams of sunlight on his chest,
Looks upon his brothers and can’t help but be subtly impressed.
There was Earth, a real people’s person,
Wore turf like makeup, but not in equal proportion
To his ever rising water level that always seemed to worsen,
And a high population that could sometimes be a burden.
Riots and drama and wars blemish like acne,
His inhabitants each day getting slowly more crafty,
Some think he’s round, others prefer to live flatly,
I guess being the most popular isn’t so classy.
Jupiter was closer, a real gas giant,
Lived all alone with no people to be her clients,
But stuck in constant alliance with a star filled tyrant,
The universes ring around her finger, a constant engagement.
And then there was Pluto, a boy with a strange condition,
A condition made worse by a long stellar distance,
In a world seemingly endless, it’s time that this came fourth,
What was wrong with Pluto you ask?
Well he was a dwarf.
Due to his small size, Pluto just didn’t quite fit,
The little guy in town, but with a slightly bigger orbit
The shortest, the furthest, not reachable by any rocket,
Until one day the universe did something even more horrid.
2006, the year the family would die,
God took his power, and cast Pluto aside,
No longer a brother, cast him out and took his pride,
Now forever a dwarf planet, it was planet genocide.
From that day on, Pluto became distant,
He was the same as them, same digestive solar system,
But he was victim to prejudice between organisms,
A broken existence, due to planetary feudalism.
By Thomas Charlton
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
Have you ever heard those flat harmonies of death, where operatic assertions resound throughout damp and ancient crypts of macabre folklore?
Time is slowly running out, and the flame of life is flickering in the winds of captivating finality.
Although haunting screams are like echoes which transcend fatty spreads of digestive mediocrity, the stalagmites and stalactites of gothic caverns display their ***** features which defy rational explanation.
Feel the depths of soulless forests as they chant messages of reconciliation amidst tangled weeds and branches of self-stimulation.
Amitriptyline can facilitate sleep at the end of an indulgent evening.
S
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Fathercraft
has been passed down
from father to father
losing and gaining
at each slow bequeathing -
less heavy-handed there
more soft-hearted here
as each generation rejects
the disciplines of the past.
So much so that I wonder
what's left of the original art
and what we've lost.
This is my food for thought
as I feed my daughter -
crumbled digestive
with mashed banana -
perhaps a favourite of mine
and my father's,
while she grins and chortles
blowing biscuit dust
and spittle bubbles
with absolute child-delight.
Food for thought
as I drink in her smile,
wipe my cheek
and laugh along,
prolonging the rare perfection
of this father moment.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Today my feet did not want to touch the ground
My face did not want to break away from my pillow,
My body did not want to move from its embrace with the mattress.
Tomorrow doesn't look good for the floor either.
Today I want to sleep for a very long time,
I don't want to have to wake up until I'm really not tired,
I don't want to have to face another day of fatigue.
Tomorrow doesn't look good for being awake either.
Today I don't want to eat anything,
I don't want to drink,
I don't want to have to wake up my digestive system.
Tomorrow doesn't look good for my stomach either.
Today I'm not feeling up to changing,
I don't want to wear my outdoor clothes,
I don't want to tie my shoe laces.
Tomorrow doesn't look good for my wardrobe either.
Today I want to be depressed,
I want to lie in bed and wallow,
I want to feel sorry for myself because I am not important.
Tomorrow doesn't look good for feeling good either.
Today I don't want to be me,
I don't want to ever be me again,
I won't want to have to look in the mirror.
Tomorrow doesn't look good for my reflection either.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
I dream of you -
My skull all draped in leather and
Badly lit,
And your hands punch
The tusk of my cranium
To get me started.
I dream of you
Skulking around a videogame,
Stealing trolleys.
I dream of you,
Talking in a language
That doesn’t translate,
You’re laughing at something I’ve said,
And I’m laughing back,
Because I don't understand
That I don’t
Understand you.
I dream of you cooking a fry up and
saving me from
Spiders,
I dream of you
In all butterfly colours,
Stuck at one age,
Face changing,
Pixels smattering,
Digestive biscuit hair
Crumbling in the wake of
waking.
I dream of you playing dice in the corner,
Or running from bombs.
I dream that you are bigger than me,
Far bigger than you
Really are.
I dream of you,
Wet dreams of you,
******* me from behind
Like a gold shadow that I can’t touch,
And when I wake up,
I feel like I've done everything with you.
(I dream of my sister,
My father,
And you.
I dream of the healthiest people that I know.)
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Passed a young soul going north on the river
Crossed up his path southward bound was I headed.
Young man could you tell me where you travel from.
From the land of the misty he spake by and by.
From the land of the smitten and and the eye for an eye.
******* says I. There be no such place as the eye for an eye.
Then passed a fair maiden our eyes never met
She toiled and she labored against furious tide.
What therefore awaits thee I asked with great dread
A dull blade in yon castle now beckons my head.
Twas now dark in the distance . Now hollow and dank
So I made for the landing not sure of the tide.
Now the wind rose around me now blew me to deep
It was then It came to me, surely I sleep.
Tis no dream I assure thee . No digestive woe.
It is written you go down, and down you shall go
******* says I tis naught but a dream.
Now the waters grew angry
The wind whipped about.
It was then that I fathomed the fix I was in.
I had earned my full wages let the payment begin.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
Truth enamored of itself...based upon
the forever following.
Flow's entrails--the
seven circuit labyrinth pends the
recollection that yielded it.
Thus, the unsound voice pouring
voicelessness.
Minotaur's digestive sound bite.
Where Once, as only Once allotted
the victor of Truth.
As told, as held...now confounds
with a self-fabricating prophesier,
profaning all telling.
Disconsolate swipes of emotion
make and remake the barren.
Pray tell the lessening visage of thee,
where by and by shall deem thee
bygone.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Teething abdomen,
We've eaten ourselves into abundance!
And we're so very desolate,
Lonely,
Beside our digestive pile of excremental idioms.
I am God,
He said,
Then choked to death on a raisin.
God is subject to nothing!
Except raisins,
It would seem,
Then he woke,
God was having a dream.
I killed God,
It said,
As it sat snugly in the throat of God!
No figment of imagination,
Could make believe me,
It said,
Then poofed,
And became nonexistent.
No more late nights he said,
Then went to back to bed three days later,
And dreamed himself a woman to make love to,
And woke alone.
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 12:02 AM UTC
she doesn't like her eggs like that!
she steals the spatula from dad's hand and slices open the yolk dad had preserved
I hear my name being called from inside the kitchen every three and a half minutes
briana don't forget
briana you have to do this
take us to the airport tomorrow morning
we have to leave by 8:30 am
dad what do I do about my car
take it back he says
and he yells at me
and that's how I know I am home
so I disappear into my room to light up a joint I've been saving
he gets a question right on jeopardy
two commercial breaks later he tells me a story
about bejing
and that's how he knew the answer to that question
and I said okay
and he said isn't that weird that I can remember that
and I looked away and thought
no, because you have aspergers
honey, don't forget to take your digestive supplement
okay mom
ok
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 8:51 PM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
I am tired of the tiredness itself
which is even to tired to consume me,
so that I could go through the digestive system of tiredness
and come out again,
at least those parts of me,
that the bowels of tiredness can't digest.
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 10:16 AM UTC
The Fifteen (capital F is important),
is a tray bake unique to the North of Ireland,
i believe.
It consists of cherries (these are a must),
Marshmallow, coconut and digestive biscuit,
I love them.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC