"flatulent" poems
Who are we dealing with today, the psychopath on the left or right? All hail to mouth from the North, East, West, and South; how else will you convince your audience with all that inner charm you truly don't possess. Your heart is never in the right place but your full lips seem to flap about like a flatulent **** hole. All things considered, you try to come off as, "I can do it all", but we all know deep inside you're one of the laziest of zodiacal signs. Who else is going to catch up on Hollywood gossip and the latest in tacky fashions, most you Geminians seem to don and adore. It's not all bad, I mean, about the only thing you might be good at is reading this critical review and dismissing it because, like all true psychopaths you still refuse to take a look at all 36 personalities.
Advice: Don't breathe...just leave this Universe, you piece of ****
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
would that capability
did not exceed the concept of a task
were that tasks did not multiplay
err, the capabilities of the deceiver
the greatest con
stipation
is wished on the least
flatulent
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
If a tale need be tattled,
the snawky Snawk would arise.
With its snickley tongue of arsenic blue,
and loathsome gamboge eyes.
To the King of the stickley Snicklers,
the Snawk would spill his talk.
But scuttlebutt was all t'was,
for he was but a snawky Snawk.
Might you ask
who am I be?
I am a jawky Jawk
who talks incessantly
of the snawky Snawk,
with his snickley tongue,
and his breath of kyarn,
and Beelzebub dung.
You see I knows of him all too well
and well he knows of me.
Invidious brothers, one of the other,
same Mother both have we.
Now the snawky Snawk spins yarns
so dark and thick and odious.
One might find his fatuous canards
to be though flatulent, commodious.
But If ye be a gawky Gawk
of the snawky Snawk beware,
For his loathsome camboge eyes
can squinny a ribald stare.
To your knees his gaze will bring you,
you'll tell all the tales you know.
Then he'll tattle them to the Snickler King
and off to the headsman you will go.
That is, unless, you know the ballad
the Snawk is most offended by.
'bout the frowzy blowzy stable boy
with only just one eye.
He lost his eye in a snickering match
twixt The Snickley King and he.
But got the best of the old nabob,
for he could cachinnate you see.
He did cachinnate and aggravate,
till the old King did concede.
The stable boy was the better of the two,
his tongue cut like a snickersnee.
For the frowzy blowzy stable boy
was not able to tell a lie,
nor could he mince his words with honey,
of the truth he could not hide.
And if one day you find yourself
in the land of the quidnunc kith.
Shun the snickley Snicklers,
and their sniggering King forthwith.
But if ye meet up with the stable boy
though untidy he may be.
Dare not tattle of a soul,
he'll let fly his snickersnee.
And remember well, the ballad he sings,
of the King he did do down.
Drink in its waspy strain and keep it nigh,
lest the snawky Snawk cometh 'round.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
A flatulent king sits
Slouching, scratching,
Congealing to his throne of gold.
His army of a billion men
Are clad in ****** bibs
And grins.
Equipped with hate
And hollow eyes
They stand redily assembled.
The king is a miser.
His face is a lie.
His motives are equally clear.
Royal subjects within the walls
Respect only of weakness and fear.
They are taxed and harassed.
For knowledge they're knived.
The wisest of Wiseman
Are forced to take bribes.
Their children are taken and
Hidden away
At the mechanized dawn
That announces each day
To learn to be
Ruthless and cruel.
To take advantage of fools.
Greed and malice are tools to be used
At their s and m brainwashing schools.
So their eyes turn jade
And their words turn black
As they cut up their hands
Stabbing themselves in the back.
They're just being taught
How to buy and be bought.
To serve the king;
A gear in his machine.
The ones who concede,
Buy into the greed
But their weakening teeth snap!
One by one
As they go round the vicious circle.
So they end up
Defunct,
Sunken eyed.
They dangle their
Dot spangled
Hands at their sides.
And although they loose,
Somehow they win.
They end up running
The world we live in.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
They fought like crackers
for the coveted prize
from the green bud banter
to the Sunday guise
whipped in a frenzy
by the Callaway score
torn asunder
at the elfin door
The hoodwinked watchman
holding council at post
stung by the folly
of the second floor host
a wild card shuffle
from numskulls and fools
high on their trade
and obstinate rules
Trenchant voices
remarkable cures
Billy’s brigade
and gob smacking boors
wreaking havoc
(in a flatulent way!)
staunch and bitter
and riled foul play
Scissor tailed catcher
and one eyed crow
trolls and packers
unfortunate woes
Lloyd’s forgiveness
and scowls at the chart
***** of fury
from a shot gun start
Gadfly’s and gripers
are unorthodox
the nineteenth hole
for **** in a box
tribunals and judges
a cold reverie
another fine year of the M.O.D.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
I have never been a man of many words.
That is you would not call me by any stretch of the imagination bombastic. Nor would you refer to me as long- winded. I try to be as concise as possible.
I feel that most people have a select few adjective to describe themselves.
Personally chatty, diffuse, discursive,flatulent, loquatious, palaverous, pleonastic, prolix nor verbose would be on this list.
My words are not ample aplenty bounteous bountiful generous plenteous plentiful profuse or super abundant.
And when i make a speech it is not oratorical or overblown...
I am not pompous...I try to be as consise as possible.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Now blissfully engaged, in this most intimate act,
Our bodies do frolic in the playground of our loving boudoir.
I have committed to sightless memory, every curve of your beautiful form,
And my hands slowly recall your soft geography.
Your deep coos and murmurs stir my primal senses,
To a heavenly plane, elevated, as I extend lingual kisses to the center of your soul.
Your impassioned and skillful ministrations upon my ardor, I can't catch my breath;
I read the emotion and devotion in your eyes as they look up deep into mine.
Me aloft of you in slight embrace, I deliberately yet slowly ingress your warmth,
You hold me still, savoring this space, before now riding this ocean's waves, ebbs and tides.
Perhaps due to the intermittent pressure of our coupling upon your abdomen,
You give way to an audible flatulent moment, we laugh uncontrollably in each others' arms.
Our noses and our cachinnation stem the tide of this ill-timed olfactory assault,
The blush in your cheeks from embarrassment only makes me hold you closer, tighter.
In synchronous ecstasy, we continue our **** horizontal dance to joyful satiated fruition,
Your head lies resting upon my chest, as we hold hands over my heart.
Despite what smells should ever emanate from either of us on any occasion, any instance,
I want you always to know;
I love you for the life of me,
I'll love you 'til the stinky end of us both.
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Blankly, fish-eyed
staring down the weighing scale
again the weight of her own
body pulled her under
to the cycled drug abuse
but since the pills begin to choke
gagging where once slipped through
melting her esophagus
**** and filled
****** scars scratched
live upon her bare bone arms
scorching the past upon her limbs
so far from what she wished was truth
Words, no longer will define her
for she has none she will ever call her own
only allowed to listen she endures
those flatulent and birding calls
fat is what she felt
anorexic is what she was
lips, chapped and dripping blood
from the biting need to learn to speak
with the human carnage she's begun to carve
in an attempt to shed the excess poundage
mirrored with each slice growing thicker
aroma's filled of steamed internal fluids
hacking away until her mouth is the only piece left
Has she begun to be thin enough yet?
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
A poetic
password feels
right today
as she
drew lines
parallel with
her cadence
that logic
shorten arc
of real
flatulent her
desire now
circumcise blind
interaction to
dissect lateness
but to
ensure righteous.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 6:18 AM UTC
You’re not a man
You put me on a pedestal
You listened when I talked like you actually cared about me
You made me laugh and forget about all of my baggage
You made me feel like I had purpose and that I was here for a reason
You attended like I actually mattered
But I was fallacious, it was all deception
You came off as a sweet and innocent guy
But deep down you’re not
You’re just an abominable boy
You don’t actually care about me or anyone else
You’re just a player and you only care about your own personal gain
You are an atrocious idea
You know the things you do are flatulent and shameful
You do them anyway because you don’t care about anyone else
You have no self-respect for girls or women
You are definitely not a man
You are an immature adolescent
A boy that needs to be put in his place
An taught a lesson
You insignificant pompous, egotistical, bombastic, narcissist
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
none of the editors reside in my head
nor does a matrician's need to coddle
sidestep
be nice
when I see ****** I say that is
******
have no points in the bank for guile
for correctness
for matters are fact
attitudes solid concrete I can see
like windows on the Trump tower
just hiding ****
brevity usually my habit
and preference
but at times I get windy
flatulent
****** me off when, shew!! it happens alone
I love to share
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Today she wore curlers in her hair
looking like cannons staked out ready to blare
Her lipstick and powder
like bouillabaisse chowder
And when she demanded a goodbye "peck"
I said "No way!" to the wreck
Which made her rear back and bray
"Go home then and kiss a stingray!"
She cackled and cackled
raising my hackles
Thinks she is the second Joan Rivers
but she only gives me the shivers
Soon I was fearing another fight nearing
seeing her witch's eyes evilly peering
And when she rose in those clumpy army boots
I heard an arpeggio of loud flatulent *****
Forcing me out the door needing fresh air
and away from her threatening glare
But one day I'll be back
once I can align myself on the proper son-in-law track
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
There was a young lad, whose name was Ben,
And he had the worst gas of all of his friends,
Every time he’d cut the cheese,
He’d bring them pleading to their knees.
“Please Ben, be a friend, and go seek some help,
For your gas is so potent that even the skunks yelp!”
Well Ben sat and thought for a second,
I’ll just break wind into a jar he reckoned.
Ill twist off the lid and plug up my ***
And fill the jar with my putrid gas.
For weeks and weeks he collected his farts,
Til the air inside the jar was thick and dark.
He placed the old jar on top of his shelf,
I’ll get rid of you tomorrow, he said to himself.
Well something happened that night, and Ben’s life was taken,
When a violent storm left the whole house shaken.
The jar that Ben placed on his shelf with such care,
Had fallen, releasing his gas into the air.
Ben proceeded to suffocate slowly but steadily,
A victim of a crime that was silent but deadly.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 6:18 PM UTC
There’s safety in numbers
I’ve oft heard it said-
Unless there are ninety cows
stuck in a shed.
Those numerous ruminants
Munching on hay
Produce mucho methane
in the course of a day.
Ninety odd bovines
Snacking on grass
Take in the fuel
And produce moos and gas.
Those flatulent heifers
Many cow pies produced
Until a stray spark
blew a hole in the roof.
It was shocking to the farmer
And a blow to the farm,
But at least we take comfort
That not one cow was harmed.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
I am the night clerk
I work the graveyard shift
I've checked in many people
Never saw anyone check out
When they walk in
the night bell rings
I think
What's all of that crazy thunder about
I've checked in
the wild and weary
the tormented and scary
The pious
the martyrs
the dancers
the fishermen
Even
Bob & Ted
Carol & Alice
Clark Gable
he stayed here too
Everyone looks me in the eye
pleading for a room,
I have many
the night is late
only the dead are awake
Some nights, though, it can be quiet
I put my feet up on the desk
watch another season of the soap opera
The Young and The Restless
There are no regulars
No one returns
Not even
the dopers
the smokers
the flatulent
the token takers
When everyone is checked in
That crazy thunder it stops
But the night is long
There's sure to be another storm.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
Flatulent Franky
Flatulent Franky now he is a hoot
every other minute he has to toot
doesn't really matter where or when
he'd run and hide in the bushes or den
clouds of blue clouds of green
clouds of every color you have ever seen
his face of red just added to the chart
people would gather just to hear him ****
shock waves tidal waves and waves in the stands
people were standing clapping their hands
but then run away fast run like hell
trying to stay far ahead of the smell
some brought masks prepared for the gas
the odor emanating out of his ***
he tried Pepto Alkaseltzer and Pepcid AC
but all they did was make him have to ***
there just didn't seem to be any kind of fix
sure wasn't helpful in picking up chicks
if he lasted five minutes without a blowout
he'd do a small jig and let out a shout
poor old Franky haven't seem him in years
last I heard he had ruptured his ears
from the explosion last year it was on the news
at a gas station they're still searching for clues
Gomer LePoet ....
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
~ Peter peter pants aflame
Danced around while screaming names
As he stumbled faltered fell
Went through earth and down to hell
Now its there he blindly dwells
All for a ****
that burned to well
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
I thought about how, if I were
able to enter other people's minds,
that the world would seem to take
on different hues of experience; dark,
bright, gentle, sharp, doomy, gloomy,
fuzzy, scary, warm, cold, a warmish
coldish synthesis diving between a
freezing.. naked.. sorry slugger on
a dimly lit island in the dead center of
the ocean thinking of how black and
desolate a place the world is only because
the potential for cold pangs of death wish
are there at all (whatta shock!) whilst he's
passed a blanket by a friendly nowhere pedestrian
and all of a sudden with the help of some agency
in the cold night, he is warm with the freeze only
nipping at exposed heels and neck and nose and
face.
sitting empty, expecting nature to clothe him, he
forgot that nature includes his ability to sew quilts..
adorn himself in developed fur.. accept help from the
endless parade of nowhere pedestrians eyeing with
worry, compassion.. that this concern is as intrinsic
to universe as empty breathless space and biting,
flatulent wind..
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
a twinkle in my mezzo
is a wrinkle in this forte
where flatulent is an eggplant
but virulent is my phone
that screamed from my soul
as she'd walk in a box of rings
that made me sing her too
With sheet of tears did blanket
Around her bed of posies alas
if heart truss sung to their content
tonight the hour grew dark in Jodrell Bank
as this virtue of love did radio a Lovell
and sealed my fate in spite of her again
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
☭ ♡ ☭ ♡ ☭
You posed yourselves (in radical English)
with fellow-travelers on the barricades.
recalling bygone barrio fusillades
though you speak only red diaper Spanish…
Beholding the party cooperative
where ****** tourists are shown Cuban truth,
you cherished the lies of your leftist youth,
half-informed, predictably progressive.
Stuffed full of radicalized rice and beans,
flatulent, dreaming of ignoble Che
you charmed the sultry proletarian queens.
In your new Guayabera, bonafide,
you hailed the revolutionary day;
pale thorn in the suffering People’s side…
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
The man on the flying trapeze,
Who loved eating chili and cheese,
Could travel much higher
Than anyone prior
With help from a flatulent breeze.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
The 1950's kids' show host stopped his routine in mid-sentence.
Several young boys in the audience were reeling, laughing, pointing...
Captain 5 asked one what was so funny.
"Luther pooted" was the answer.
Another said, "Harvey farted"
The Captain, an English major, grinned and said:
"Flatulent assonance"
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
a rabit
that ******
in the
garden beckon
the ***
with flatulence
there still
makes ***
green though
hallowed the
leaf with
chocolate and
a grieve
to blur
**** with
farming now
a thrill
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
a morning's
sustenance here
with supposed
tallow grease
will plop
for quest
of subsistence
with its
logical solution
of flatulent
peace has
expired herd
with mahogany
dessert while
playing a
whiter shade
of pale
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC