"excretions" poems
foundational fluctuation
as flatulence is introduced
that’s right
**** jokes
pppfffrrrttttt
destroying families
undermining relationships
damaging friendships
ending love
breaking the mold
extinguishing the fire
eliminating the excitement
drowning fun
and smelling bad –
pretentious vegetarian
wind walker
kale excretions
cabbage attack
cauliflower bandit
spreading propaganda
and funk
while talking trash
about cigarette smokers –
I could go on for days
making egg comments
referring to the arrival of Eddie’s
big brown shark –
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
Four parts, woven together
Uniting all universal truths
What others do with it's powers
Only the future will prove
The first strand displays the world's true nature
Destroying everything it creates
We become unwanted children
Who have learned to incorporate
Killing in our communities
Biting, grinding flesh and bone
Swallowing with guilt free demeanors
Only leaving foul-stenched excretions as evidence
Second Strand speaks of our basic biological anxiety
To deny the terror of death
Imperatively born, emerging from nothing
Given a name and consciousness
Hopelessly abandoned from the beginning
Only to be fated always with everlasting death
Strand three
We hide underneath the
"Vital lie of the character"
Pretend to be shining knights in armor
Who will make us forget our
Unconscious anxiousness of death
We all work to attain prestige, money, and the
Fleeting feel of immortality
Worshiping Gods with clay feet
And when our beliefs are attacked
"Holy wars" becomes the pseudonym for
Our immortality projects
The last strand
All the efforts we put into
Making this Earth perfect
By eliminating scapegoat "enemies" and "evil" deities
We end up making everything filthy
In the effort to make everything right and pure
We turn the Earth's soil black and color the sky red
We strived for utopias, making dystopians
All these actions seem unconscious
But it is not the animals nature or
Evolutionary process
It's just us trying to pretend
We don't have perishable bodies;
Trying to deny death
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
The
Pomegranate
Bleeds for you,
Excretions of red juice.
Eat its seeds, let life breed
In your stomach it will brew,
Like love birthed fresh and new.
Tasty lips with bitter kiss
Heart beats miss
My skin splits.
Emotion
Emits...
The pomegranate bleeds for you,
My heart, it's bleeding too.
-SLuR
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
Self Righteous indignation, separation, and a flare for othering
the man who strove to bridge the gap between himself and the world
made himself an island to be safe from the chaotic trade winds
Here, he felt, hell, he felt stronger than he was accustomed to
but this only tempered his approach
kept his destructive tendencies at bay
and filled his time
His ennui and his thirst for consequence
His self deprecation, his lust for power, his empathy unbidden
He knew of his own privilege, he knew other's pain was greater than his
He knew other's success, and had tasted glory in doses unsatisfying
He was meant to be satisfied with stagnation
and was tailored to disapprove of the play by play
but was forced to place bets on the rat race
and to have his mind occupied by symbolism
while he realized the cross was only two lines placed adjacently
He was forced to explain to his lover, what love means, and how to believe
What it meant, how it was, and why it was held in such high regard
He comforted an ailing cherub, watered her roots with his own excretions
For in appeasing her, he cut into himself
All he wanted was to be big enough, to cut himself down enough
that when he gave of himself, he could give what would have been his all
while still holding on to what could be all he was.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
Kinda fainted Friday nite,
De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son you done
give us a genuine affright."
De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son, it's the end o' day,
Get your **** in bed straightaway"
"Here's what you be needing:
twelve tablets of hourly salting, no halting
eight hours bed rest, no dreaming,
four gallons o' tap water, drinking,
no stopping,
***"and for god's sakery,
cease and desist from
this writing,
poetry nonsense fakery."***
Weakly, I protested,
"My poems are the waste products,
the excretions of salt water tears,
a thousand years in the making,
dreams foretelling and retelling events disturbing.
If not removed, disinterred by their inscribing,
these poisonous emotions,
shall surely cause once more
my fainting and falling demotion."
He frowned, de doctor, he was perturbed,
his medical thinking cap was for sure disturbed!
With sighs that made my heart to be a stirring ,
De doctor, he come, he say,
held forth as following, quiet murmuring:
"Here is my prescription:
if you musting,
but with strict limitations it be enforcing:
*No more than four po-ems
De doctor permit to be writ*
per hour."
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
There is no objective meaning to life
So how do you expect me to get down and deep
With limited eyes seeing blinders in the corner of my peripherals?
It's residual, I begged to shake these thoughts like snowflakes
in a crystal, they have scattered up and down til I can't
See the image plastered down the walls of my illusions
Confusion? If only that was true, I see more now than I see in you
How can I feel deep and meaningful when all of this contrived highlights
It's all just my brain bleeding, scattered my drip drops of rage
Do they flip flop? The page has hit lift off, I'm out of the realm
of what I knew to be self development hell compelling me
To scatter fragmants of wanton and wear
But see unless I point that out you'd never know it's there
Because I'm supposed to plaster on a smile and feed you lines
that you desire to add meaning to life, or add a voice down the wire
If I sit upon my laurels you'd think that I had nothing new to say or never
thought about abstractions til they bubble and boil to heady
broth overflowing staining the floors screaming "my god make this stop"
I don't wear my head upon my sleeve, I keep my helmet on
So go ahead and think I'm surface level, I also like to be wrong
Talk to your friends, I'm sure they're dark and mysterious
They have such strong perspectives, they're in touch with the furious
I need to voice at all times? Does my bark not befit you
I'm not a dog meant to bark at every meaning that drives through
I take no solace in wallowing in the depth of another
I don't expect you to read this and gain a sense of the other
I'm not writing to bring you a route down back to your soul
Because you're soulless and weary, I don't claim that I have control
We're spinning in the toilet in a chamber of meaning
Whose **** stinks more than others, why lets compare them and eat it
Consuming excretions is all you get from your dealings
Because nothing is deep, when the bottom is fleeting.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Break the mold not your mind
Two different things really so close
Their breathing together
What is which you choose
No others job
Suffer/suffer experience/suffer
Learn and live
Don't learn and live
Feel cause and effect
Yearn and seek
Stop yearning and be
One grain of sand
Precious universal jewel
All in all yin yang
Together rhythm creating
You perceive my excretions
I perceive your excretions
Thought volumes cosmos particles
Karma freedom
Top bottom side side
****** physical something moves
Light dancing
Body slow
X-ray fast
Rock solid
Not
Think thought thunk kerplunk
Think thought thunk kerplunk
Or
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
the ***** , the ugly
the appalling rot
that maggots hide deep
within the deep dark spots
the dark, the wet
the creepy earth
the hideous fungi
in waste , in foul air in ....damp cold
places where worms live
and icy fingers grip hold
where dark demons possess
your very soul
the slimy excretions of toads
with mucus generously
shared
on tiny tip feet walks
toads in curious stare
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
I write these words
Whilst sitting on the can
Can you fold paper?
The paper man can!
He is sitting right next to me
Stuck to the wall
He's rolled up quite neatly
In a cylindrical ball
I'll pull a few sheets
Cause I'll need them for wiping
I'll do it right after
I finally stop typing
I'll wipe once or twice
And turn around a check
I think I'll wipe thrice
To be sure, what the heck?
I'll flush it all down
In a brown yellow swirl
I'll wave to it goodbye
Then curtsey like a girl
Wash my hands, wash my face
I'll grab for Fabreeze
I'll spray it like mace
Smells like sweet island breeze
I feel so relieved
As I head for the door
That my ****** excretions
Are in me no more!
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
———
“called alveoli, where blood and air are separated by such thin membranes that oxygen and carbon dioxide can pass into and out of the bloodstream, respectively. Between them, the lungs have somewhere in the neighborhood of six hundred million alveoli.
Severe COVID-19 causes many of them to either collapse or fill with fluid. The virus attacks the cells lining the alveoli; our overactive immune systems, in trying to fight the virus, may be damaging them as well.
The result is that not enough oxygen gets into the blood.”
§§§
we forget to marvel at the finery of our bodies,
the microscopic interactions, the minute particulates intersecting,
the multiplicity of languages of each limb, each system, multilingual,
the beauty of all this communicative combinatory,
that enables the gossamer threads
that make the ordinary a repetitive miracle, understanding both the
wonder of our instinctual, our five senses, and their finite limitations
we tendency focus on the visible,
the skin, our excretions,,
accepting even normative, please go away, periodic pain,
but the exceptional,
that states loudly,
what you cannot see can ****
we ignore until the last minute
hopeful that the clues that are maybe contained,
re the tearing of the fabric of six hundred million
sacs you were unaware you possessed,
can be rewoven, the palpitations your fear be calmed,
the chest muscles quaking, the gasping for molecules
of oxygen can be ventilated, just like the truth that too,
needs a good and a proper airing, without the artifices tubular
now that you are fully conscious of the unseen beauty upon
which each depends, and the masks we wear proudly lest others
we infect, greater irony that we mustn’t pollute our atmosphere,
perhaps, will it make you question the supposed certainties
we sarcastically,
say we know for sure
and respect the uncertainties by which we live and breathe,
the poetry of the body internal,
every second an exercise in risk taking, the miracle of each moment
a blessed privilege, not being conscious that our physical subsistence
is a near thing, depending on thinnest membranes unseen,
not fooling ourselves that we are each a human god,
an Oz, great and powerful,
who hides behind a curtain.
§§§§
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 5:49 PM UTC
She cries
She cries glorious drops of sweetest honey
Tears that melt away the obdurance that has become my heart
It's a world we know
Where man grows cold
Skin a minefield
Love a faded tombstone covered in vines
Soul a name that can't be read etched upon a stone
Decaying bones
Frozen wilds
And her warmth
She cries
She cries a boat on a mythic river
Excretions from some north September skies
Her salt a raindrop
On my barren dusty life
She cries the ocean from her eyes
And in her face I'm drowning
Dying for a taste
She cries
And it reminds me
In a stark and ugly world that made me numb
There is still something
Worth feeling
She cries
She cries ink down her cheek leaving a tattoo of my name
And giving me hope
She cries
But I will be the one to dry her eyes
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
I have returned
Although I must,
To this glittering bowl of dust
I had to,
In this so similar form
The jackals recognize my shade
In the dark, they watch and stalk,
My moon to daylight sun
The seasons of my change.
The pupae without
Awaiting for grand mals
Or some winged departure
Of my light
Expecting me to fall...
But seasons stir with lightfoot
Pages turned,
Between the numbers in all that
Man's made
Hands knocking hours
Ticking seconds
Minutes crawling
Under every door
Like a shadow unnoticed underfoot
Moments walk on wires
As life watches from below
Or is it vice versa?
The Circe du foils
The urchins that we drown to be
Voila! Not much ventured
In the rings and side shows
We spectacles
Of flesh
Fallen and fearing
The feelings
Of just before
Steps
(Beyond)
If catlike careful some nimble beast
I must be
To return from the place
That once birthed and attempted
****** the unlearned me
I am too
American in the humidity
The parasitic biting
The heat
I'm a stranger in strange islands
Beautiful mystique
Of superstitious super strength
The beliefs become aswang legends
Come true life
The slaughtered pig as sacrifice
I vomited and **** out
My inner being
Waters of life projected out
The length of tongue and the depth
Of insides
Gushing out
Even through my tears
And delirium...
Possessed as tho' a lever had been pulled
To reverse what flowed in
The nutrients
The rehydration of excretions
Sucker punched to spew
And thru the pain I knew
The swine and its smug snorting laughter
And the old ones in the villages
Living among their own dead
In the trees and sands and sea
Their jealousy of City boy me
The threat I must be
Fearful of what I might ****
Tho I dare not and have not
Done
Unto
As they have now done to he
I have karmic grace
To make them mine,
But what and why would I want
Such long gone then and agains
Or rage against
In revenge?
At my beautiful motherland
The face of my race
The home of my blood
I keep my silence as their defeat
Render them
As a breeze through palm trees and hiss of sea
Rumors of the weather
Food poisoning
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
Blemishes start to fade away
Excretions are no longer strongly colored
My sadness transforms from hatred
My happiness transforms from sadness
My eyes are slowly smiling
My weight is slowly increasing
Over-the-counter vitamins are just what I’m taking
Water and coffee are just what I’m drinking
Three daily rice meals and snacks in between
Juice on the side and sweets for the win
My hair is growing faster than before
Confidence is back like never before
My extra work is improving
My expenses are slowly diminishing
I feel like my outlook has recovered a lot
I feel like my beauty could be seen on the spot
Why would I ask for more?
I always get what I aim for.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
Scarred and thrown into ruin where the hooligans fly in
Hurt to the swells of the most troubling and aching smarts
Spurting heartbreak and all the weaving of all that is hollow and dark
When I was a slave I guess I had no DNA or human mark
But in the eyes of the spotlight, you're a star and now your attention is what keeps focus on par
Endure then the hells and swings so bitter as if you had no showings of a human better
The obsequious gods expelling only supercilious attitudes; then it's right
when the deed is done by the one high on the steeds of time it is no crime
But a common man doing harm will be thrown to the wolves like he is not worth a dime
It's okay when the master whips and steals bonds but the lower man trying to thread his life and bond with a love will be manipulated into despair and forms concocting separation will be effected on the pair
after all tears and inhumanities; NOW YOU CAN BE COUNTED AS A PERSON
After eating their excretions and being made to feel as less than a thing - now you matter
Where feminism would be on a high but with much oblige,
She hurts others and steals and lies and cheats on her lover but granted, pardon your highness, she has done no wrong She is The victim
Oh dear oh dear; where is justice - it a force so fair
dear oh dear, where is love? it a feeling so clear so cheer
---- Man hurts others and steals and lies and cheats on his lover, oh grant not such nonsense your honour for he is no different to a murderer or a ********* or ******
oh tear oh tear this man can only read about justice in his jail cell on his long walk to mobility
Oh sail oh sail, tears fountain his face and drain his heart of sensitivity -- love rots with the amount of his teeth cavity
where push-ups and mopping the floors gives him levity
But woman or man; shouldn't we be counted human all the same?
Once you undermine the divine feeling that can be expressed by another; respect, love, empathy, trust, honesty, appreciation - then you have begun a war against your own liberty, dignity and humanity... But if you free these feelings or angelic gems then we open up the gates for the sacred and heavenly divine
and then perhaps each person can be counted before they are classified.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
A low rumble in the distance
The ground trembles and turns
My knees betray me
The earth quakes
The rumble grows louder
A dust cloud draws near
A cacophony of hooves and heavy snorts
I blink, and they’re upon me
A stampede of hogs
Trampling me
Stamping me down
I contort
I cry out
I bleed
Mangled, through swollen eyes
I watch the mob reach the horizon
I’m left broken
Tattered, bruised
And coated in slime
I snap back to consciousness, and I’m sitting up in my bed.
That’s the third time tonight, I think to myself.
It’s dark, so I listen. A powerful snore echoes beside me.
My drooling, snot-faced daughter has snuck into my room again.
I wipe her excretions from my shoulder and scoop her up.
Navigating the dark, circumventing the tissue-laden floor,
Taking extra care not to startle the guinea pig this time,
I clean and cover her up, then gently kiss her forehead.
I linger and brush her hair aside. Snorting loudly, she turns.
With ballerina grace, I tiptoe over Barbie Dolls.
In the kitchen, the dishes overflow from the day before.
Cleaning till I’m exhausted, I ascend the stairs to my room.
A familiar rumble fills the hallway. The hooves crushing my ribs.
On my side of the bed, my daughter in a drool-filled, snotty puddle.
These dishes are getting done tonight, I think as I scoop her back up.
Mar 5, 2020
Mar 5, 2020 at 6:50 PM UTC
I'm not hard, my *****
Erecting ideas hands free
Fluctuating thoughts up and down
Sweating emotions like my heart is on a marathon
Curving negativity directing it to positivity spots
Ideas crying out of my soul
So writing gives them holes
I point in metaphors
They pore out through my pores birthing hairy sentences
I brush them into verse
They grow teeming up like a curse
I act fulfilled but the fool of me feels empty, parched so I queench my thirst
Drinking my own excretions
Hoping for someone to take me to an ****
So I can shave some and that's the sum of how I can save the paper I write on
It told me stories of its native habitation
Beautiful barked tapestries called a tree
But I have to put it out of its misery with a fruitful full stop. So writers do like Adam and bite this
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:42 PM UTC
Grains
Fields
slipping between the fingers
everything good is lost
in the sands
torn shreds
vocal cords
twang
my words and wisdom
petering like a flame
in the wind
my screams
stuck in an empty box
A planetary dance
the ink of night
that fills the void
dotted with grains
of light
the sound of music, haunting on the winds
rain
to wet the fields
I have waited for times
innumerably long
the grains of youth
loose in my palm
rhyme and reason
scope and measure
incongruent and failed to calibrate
calcium oxide
lithium hydride
explosive shells
exiting heat
dying mass
compressed gas
the ears of eden lost
the echoes of crying,wailing eyes
a glimpse of pain
grains of sand
I am violently vomiting excretions of words
that may mean naught
fought and died
dead soul of a long ago
wise words of a passing lad
screams, screams, screams and shouts
empty and wholly without
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 9:57 PM UTC