"faecal" poems
We’re always taught in English lessons
That in language, less is more
So why say ‘lady of the night’
When you can just say *****
Why on earth say ********
When you can just say ****
And why on earth say ‘faecal matter’
When you can just say ****
Why say ‘gluteus maximus’
When you can just say ****
Saying ***** instead of ****
Is a total ******* farce
Saying ****** ***********
Instead of saying ****
Is a bit like saying ‘waterborne bird’
Instead of saying ‘duck’
Why would you say ‘I didn’t enjoy it’
Instead of ‘it was crap’?
And why say ‘could you please be quiet for a moment?’
Instead of ‘shut your ******* trap’?
That last one’s a bad example
It appears forceful and rude
I suppose the point I was trying to make
Is that swearing ain’t always crude
If you think a lack of necessity
Is a reason not to swear
Then prepare to ****** all unnecessary things
From out your tender care
Chuck away your scatter cushions
And candles you’ll never burn
If you don’t throw away your cookie jar
This debate will be adjourned
For a lack of true necessity
Doesn’t make something offensive
Cursing has too many critics
That’s why I’ve come to defend it
And if you disagree with me
Prepare to bare the brunt
You may think I’m ******
But I think you’re a ****
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Sweet Catherine Eddowes,
Second lady one of two,
On a night of grisly finds in the square of the bishop's headdress,
In London's not so fair city,
On this the Sabbath's tragic night,
'Kate' tragic shrew was tamed, not by Petruchio,
This murdered lady from tragedy of night walk,
Tatooed lady, hazel eyes and fiery auburn hair,
Bonnet left on after death, protected her beautiful hair,
Perhaps the ripper cared,
Kate filled usually with vile temper,
Her temper not apparent on that sad night,
Appeared to put up no fight,
Her beautiful face was sliced to ribbons,
Cruelly disfigured by this evil,
Usually was a jolly gal, loved to sing and dance,
Unable to make a flight to escape the merciless wrath of this mystery man,
Carotid artery slashed and dashed,
No blood left on the ground,
Smeared foul faecal matter all around,
As ripping evil stole, her bowels,
Lain, like sleeping naturally ,
Still warm corpse discovered,
Fellow passing by saw a woman pass,
May have been her with a chap, fair haired,looking shabby,
Different description from the others,
Poor Kate left family of three behind,
A daughter and two sons,
The sun had set for the last time,
For their poor dear mother.
The forth ripper victim!
By ladylivvi1
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
One way or another, the streets would be paved with gold.
It was a matter of time, sure. But more importantly,
it was a matter who the **** would help a town like this.
Shitsville, New Jersey: a faecal suburb.
Years of dead and still rotting potential
with an ugly face,
the eyes of a hawk and a sense
of remorse an executioner would be proud of.
The day I see a kid sleeping as sound as they should,
I'll drop to my knees, pull my resentful fist
out of God's *** and
kiss it for forgiveness.
But the streets are ****** now.
And the janitors have drugs and hookers,
not mops and brooms.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 5:01 PM UTC
From in his pants, the sound of wind
Breaking from betwixt his cheeks
Her nose, it smells this stench, but cannot move away
For between the cheeks she is attached
In there, she must stay
When he sits upon the ground
Her face, it makes the sound
The sound of bones breaking fast
Because he never turned around
And when he sits upon the toilet
And farts the night away
She vomits the faecal matter
Vomits night and day
For Jordan's crush is now his ****
Because his time has passed
The only way they could be together
If they were moulded by fair weather
So what I'm saying here today
Is that Jordan *****
He could never get any time with Bella
Instead, he fused her to his ****
Also, **** rhymes.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 4:57 AM UTC
Blood under my nails
And in between my teeth
Hair-and-bone-and-skin.
Faecal Matter
Ground into my knuckles
*****
Coating everything.
I am tainted by things of the body;
Of your body.
I remain unclean through choice
I need you in
And on
Within.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Doggerel for The Grunt
I got the 'shits' with panji pits,
When in Vietnam.
Pits they dug both round and square,
Whatever shape, the things were there,
'Cammed' to look just like the ground,
Crouching there until, when found,
Springy stakes of poisoned wood
Would pierce the finder's legs right good.
Then, liberal smears of faecal stuff,
Would swell the limb and make it puff,
Turn purple, yellow, awful stuff.
Requiring treatment PDQ.,
While thanking God it wasn’t you.
No - panji pits
Gave me - the 'shits.'
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC