"lavatory" poems
The English vice,
Some Etonian curse –
Set down in grass
And purple verse,
Lavatory bred
With ransacked blood,
Skin slapping and
With a falling thud –
Takes boys at childhood,
Wishes them away,
With promises of popper fuelled buffets,
And poisons them with
Vice and virus red,
And sees them unmarried
Giving head.
I don’t regret a single thing I am,
I’ve tried it out
And can’t abide the sham –
I’ll **** men
And make them beg for more,
I’ll scrabble for their love upon the floor,
I’ll love men
And love will love me too,
I’ll love for love’s own sake
And when I’m through
I’ll die and I’ll be thankful that your hate
Never made me beg that I was straight.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
I'm a classy lady
Or so I say
I cannot always trust her
I'm the sort of gal that would sit and write this
while at the lavatory
Don't worry me none
Because I'm classy
Trust me, I would know
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
I really can’t stand women who feel like
they have to bury themselves under
six-feet of makeup and drawn on eyebrows.
To be honest, if I did prefer women to men,
I’d date a woman who didn’t have a face
that reminded me of a painted mannequin.
I mean, the only thing I’d be able to think
when we’re together is, “What the hell
is actually waiting to come up from the
depths of the long-lash lagoon or the foundation
forest?” because I’m pretty sure it’s not
some sort of welcoming party.
And what about the whole traveling to
the bathrooms in groups thing?
Sometimes I have to wonder if there’s
some sort of secret society of warrior
women waiting to come charging out
of the lavatory and straight at me just
because I was born the wrong gender
in their eyes and that I have no idea
what they feel or who they are.
Women just terrify me at times.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
there is a certain liminality to airplanes
even the ones now fixed to the ground,
all museum tours and rot held at bay,
for a while.
yearning for the strain of metal,
a voice calling out safety procedures
(don't tamper with or disable the smoke detector in the lavatory),
and someone who loves them to come back to brush
knowing hands, since gone to claws, over their instrument panels.
in the air there doesn't seem to be a good reason
for planes not to tilt,
tilt down inexorably,
till they kiss the earth again.
all crumpled aluminum and fire
and a small black box
to tell those we left on land
some of how it happened.
I can tell myself about physics and engineering,
about this being my second flight today,
and about how (if nothing else) I made it onto this plane.
the turbulence pays me no mind.
touching down, touching ground, it hesitates.
there's a ghost of movement still.
a waiting. a breath.
the rush of air and engines,
not gone so much as paused,
halted only for a moment.
I am a little afraid of flying
but I'm more afraid of moving on
moving past this moment,
all muscled grace and limbo,
a portion of earth held up in sky.
then we land and walk to baggage claim
while behind us the airplane-
the airplane holds.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
"Hello,"
said Charley,
the elder of the two.
"You may wonder
what I am doing
in your lavatory."
"Oh, there you are,"
said the younger
"I wondered how
you had left
so quickly."
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
On my graduation day,
I ripped down all the flimsy paper signs
hanging from the ceiling,
like Judd Nelson does on The Breakfast Club.
I just wanted to be that cool.
I also poured glitter into the water fountains
so it could reflect off the drinkers eyes,
as a reminder that even when you leave here
you can still shine.
I put my lock on backwards
so it would be a ***** for faculty to take off
my locker when I was gone.
I turned in my cap and gown inside out,
and wrote
"see you then"
on the tag right next to the size,
hoping someone might laugh when they read it
or think it was written by someone real wise
when really it was some moon-eyed girl who heard it
from a friend she knew long ago.
I did a donut in the parking lot
with my beat up Cherokee
who had been down all the back roads
too many nights in a row,
just because I wanted to.
I didn't wear underwear to the ceremony,
because it made me feel free
like I was finally going to be.
I also sketched every dream I had
on pieces of loose leaf
and threw them in random places throughout the school,
praying someone would find them
and maybe have them too.
I almost punched you,
for all the times I should have back in middle school
but I didn't want the principal to ask
why there was blood on my hands
when they handed me that fake diploma
that wouldn't really come in the mail
for weeks.
It was just a day to congratulate
all the **** you got away with as a kid,
and to remind you those days are over
it gets real
from this point on-
how comforting.
I left the stage with my tongue out,
hands raised saying goodbye
here I go
thanks for teaching me all the stuff,
I never really wanted to know.
And by the way,
I put 20 goldfish in the girl's lavatory toilets
so even when I left
there'd be something hard to get rid of
something you'd never forget-
like me
when I was gone.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
I.
You can always tell the
Virgins from the way they
Glide—cerebral giddy with nectarfilled
Hearts and earlobes full of
Wax/
Wane moonshine turf if you’re not
Dying for astronomers’ loves and what makes
Ptolemy different from Claude is
Given prove:
Equal and opposite reaction.
II.
Shove knife down pork
Wasn’t so hard, was it.
III.
TWO SOLIDS INTERSECT
In a plane. In the bathroom, to be exact.
What follows is not
Essential to the proposition;
Calculate the spatial
(surface area, volume of cubicle,
conclude insufficient is <
where escape
velocity is )
useless to
resistance factor 7 [prepare
for lift-off landing
taxi
To the Bronx of course where else would I
Be on a night like this it’s raining in the parlour
Wont you step outside?
III.
anemic & half-
starved half-
sandwich
go on,
have a bite.
IV.
in arm will undulate bloodcellspouroutcantstoptoowide
are you just imagining this?
What would they tell you in school blood is
thicker than water
i’m not sure they eat
carnivores here.
CARNIVAL
festival of meat.
Flesh
LIVE
trembling
quiver SWIFT shoot through air DUCK dead swandive nosedive outplug
BOOM go the couple in the cabin
lavatory
laboratory? Rats go bang in the night
crash & burn debris over Detroit is our
favorite way to die
colorful isn’t it rainbow—
brushfire—
bruises and fire storms out and around the
populace to decimate seems like mating by a factor of ten
V; or. X^2+i(70x7)=
aftermath:
my ex squared
with me seventy times
seven
equals in
fortitude (labor-intensive)
tea costs sixpence in dallas what about
you so
integral to my
being that sometimes I wonder if you’re just
imaginary or if
what it takes to be transcendental is
beyond what’s rational or even what’s
real to me:
eight is
enough for the eggs.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
In a lavatory a pink transvestite
Applies ruby and rouge
To my cosmetic mask
Hoping for a wished encounter
A fiction overcomes us
Conveys us as strangers
Into an unknown territory
Leaves us there
The two of us, stranded
Our location inaccessible
As intuitive yet unpredictable
Thoughts cluster
In constellated
Images around
The rehearsed persona
Of myself
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Firdous was what I wanted to name a daughter I hoped to bear,
After marrying the most perfect man and making myself the most perfect wife,
In a nice house with walls that springs delight and
With many specialized rooms only waiting for the memories I hoped for us to make.
Only to find myself in the lavatory within the office,
With a pregnancy test that glows happy with positive,
And I should be happy,
I know I should be -for I may finally be able to bear my precious Firdous,
Oh precious precious Firdous.
But with what husband?
With what house? with what walls of Delight?
And with which rooms to fill with her laughter and tears and....
What do I do? Dear lord what do I do?
Do I ****** my chance of this happiness?
Do I ****** the bliss of the future I dream of?
Or do I disappoint my mother- the one who bore me?
Do I choose to bring my precious in a world I'm yet to figure?
And I'm yet to find my place in?
Should I curse my baby with the burden of having no father?
Should I curse myself with the burden of a child that could suffer?
Because of having a mother that failed to provide efficiently?
What do I do dear lord?
Should I condem myself to hell or should I condem my beautiful baby-
unborn and unnamed,
to the hells of this world as an illegitimate with miserable likes of a mother like me.
-fir.m ♡
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
scurrying to the lavatory
frantically fumbling
belt unhooked
button fly, de-flied
hook thumbs against the skin
and drag the bottoms down mid-calf
feel the cool breeze on your
recently freed junk
bent at the knees ya’ll
and set gently
the plastic cap to the porcelain god
diligently protecting your **** cheeks
from the cold damp germ-laden white
doom tube….
relax, don’t push too hard
this is a natural as the rain
buzzing bees
but more like a waterfall
after a flood
debri passes
logs fall
mud and grime
crash down
down
down
reach over and begin to gather your specified amount
of toilet tissue
go ahead, don’t be scared
be sure to cover your hand skin
we don’t want a poo finger
then
wipe!
wipe, again
wipe until there’s nothing left to wipe
we all want a clean bootyhole
don’t we?
grab up those trousers
or elegant gown
and reattach or fasten
the button, zipper, or belt
straighten your gear in the mirror
and wash
wash
wash
we don’t want a poo finger
do we?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
This is a subcultural song
Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy hard core; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.
There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.
***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
Sitting on trains plastered in rainbows
Hues of the fairest gray periods
Heart tired
Eyes glued
My grandmother always said not to stare...
I got caught in the naps of his hair
His 6 foot awesomeness
Maybe he's texting about business
His holiday arrangements...
Maybe his locs long for her
Maybe he tells her she's amazing
That he cant wait to see her
He'll kiss away her fears
Install the mirage of his emotions
Hold her, rub her back
3:00 am "you're beautiful"
Dreams of morning oral soliloquys...
Awakened by his agenda
She's remissed she couldn't wake earlier
To spend those last moments glancing out
Into the moments paradigm
To play a lil' house within his eyes ...
Suddenly
A faint streak of saliva on her cheek
muah
He's off...
She walks into the lavatory
Wondering why the hell the bathroom light's on...
LP
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 3:08 PM UTC
Addressee:
Department Head of Creativity,
HP School Of Rhymes and Poetry
Dear Mr Cole,
I write an ernest plea
To crave forgiveness for my little Tryst
For as you know the homework set by thee
Is overdue, the deadline has been missed
He’d done the work, the best I’ve ever seen!
You’d be so proud of all his clever puns
But then we had a visit from the Queen
She’d taken ill and suffered with the runs!
We let her in to use the lavatory
But then we heard her banging on the door
She’d run right out of toilet paper, see?
And ordered us to quickly fetch her more
We did the only thing that could be done
I hope you understand Sir
Signed,
My Mom
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude’s school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it’s me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn’t smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don’t you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there’s a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice’s eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it’s all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
You were sitting
in one of those
cafes in Paris,
outside on the street,
with Betty, James and Clark.
You were all drinking,
smoking and talking,
or in your case listening.
Betty’s voice
was loud and brash:
I said to him,
lay your hand
on my **** again
and I’ll break
your **** fingers off.
Clark gazed at her
with his sleepy
looking eyes:
What did he say to that?
Said nothing, the ****
I know his type;
think they have a right
to touch women uninvited.
You watched her talk;
she had scarey eyes,
dark and penetrating,
and a cruel mouth
with bright red lipstick.
Clark was broad
and had charming eyes,
but appeared at times
to be half asleep.
James was shorter,
but his eyes stared
at people as they spoke,
weighing them up,
gauging the underlying theme.
Some dames like
being touched,
James said,
it reminds them
of their power
over men;
not that any dame
has power over me.
James was your husband;
he stared at you
when you spoke
which made you
reluctant to speak.
Any woman who doesn’t
mind a man
touching her uninvited
needs her head examined,
Betty said loudly.
Others nearby
looked over
from their tables;
some whispered
amongst themselves.
Betty didn’t care;
she had her say.
But you didn’t
like scenes;
it made you
feel vulnerable,
and frightened.
Betty said you
were a lamb
amongst wolves
when you were in
the ladies lavatory earlier.
Whether she guessed
you were beat up
by James or not
you didn’t know;
the bruises were always
out of sight;
never on your face.
Bet you were
the kind, Jane,
to wet yourself
if your teacher said
boo to you at school,
she had said.
You smiled
and said probably.
You admired
her strength
and courage,
but it also
frightened you.
If she knew what
James did to you,
she’d break his nose,
so you said nothing
to give it away,
just put on the mask
and that smile.
We’re all different,
Clark said,
some of us just want
to get on with our lives
unhindered.
He was Betty’s husband;
I bet he didn’t go
unhindered.
There’s sheep and wolves,
she said,
and I ain’t no sheep.
James eyed her
and smoked his cigar:
Clark sipped his wine,
and I looked
at the pale moon
and drank mine.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
As you took
old Mr Wheale
to the lavatory
and sat
and watched
he didn’t fall
or slide
you recalled
the night before
lying in Mrs Tuba’s bed
the curtains drawn
against the night
the street lamps
shining through
the bed soft and wide
and she turning up
the Mahler 5th
and you thinking
of the parish priest
and what he’d say
if he could have seen you
there smoking
naked and bare
the book you’d bought
on the side
the Solzhenitsyn
gulag book
she wanted to read
the dresser
and chest of drawers
and photos
on the side
nearly done
Mr Wheale said
breaking through
your thoughts
his cataract eyes
staring into space
and you remembered
Mrs Tuba coming in
the room
dressed in her pink
dressing gown
open down the middle
her big ******* inviting
her big blues eyes
smiling
turned up
the Mahler
she said
bought these two whiskies
and she laid them
on the side
and climbed
into her bed
I’m done
Mr Wheale said
and so you did
what was needed
and helped him dress
and on his way
his metal frame walker
shuffled along
the passageway
the music of Mahler‘s 5th
a memory
Mrs Tuba
gone to sleep now
you guessed
the whiskies drunk
the *** forgot
a new day entered
the window on your right
swift it had gone
that ****** night.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
Lavatory Humour!
Okay.
The question is,
Who was it?
Who ate it up?
Were they hungry?
Obviously desperate,
Spent many pennies.
Used up in one hit.
Does it really take whole one to clean up one little s**t?
Was it used to pad a bra?
To stuff in hamster cage.
To keep the varmint warm.
The residue of standing tree.
Final destination.
Degree in wiping ***
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
this point of call
has many a name
which one do you
put in the frame
in my region we
call it the *********
or to be more polite
the little house
some folks call it the public loo
which oddly rhymes with poo
Americans have given
it a male gender
the John is the term
that they render
in Ye Olde England
they've named it the lavatory
their chosen word
tells its story
***** and bog matter are expelled
from the bowel or the bladder
those making a stop over at the toilet
do feel much relieved and much gladder
twas drawn to my attention
this November Tuesday
that tomorrow twill be
International toilet day
as a cleaner of rest rooms
I've scrubbed plenty of porcelain
and on it I've found lots
of piddle and skid mark stains
whence next you're visiting
that place of poos and wees
give thanks to it for handling
your daily ablution sprees
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
It follows you
It seems almost impossible to break free
From its cruel, hateful grasp
You think you've escaped it
But again it captures you
More tight and securely than before
Once again you are trapped
In the hands of a monster
You paint lines on your arms
In a wonderful shade of red
To prove to yourself and those around you
Your pain is as real as any other emotion
Any other feeling
Its alive, more alive than you have been for a long time
And you can feel something once again
The pleasurable sting of the crimson sea
Making its way to shore
On your virginal white skin
Now stained with scarlet puddles
Or the food you made such an effort to consume
When it makes a reappearance
Its swimming inside the lavatory
You are no longer just empty in your soul
But also in your stomach, a body part you despise,
with such a burning passion.
You may poison yourself in many other ways,
in attempt to slay this beast
Like a medication, to ease the pain and discomfort
Pills and liquor, *** and love making
Also take the edge off for a little while
And a little while is a whole lot better than nothing at all
But its not enough
Its still got you
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
On some verdant green hill far away in cute little Palestine of old
Before the Israelis marched in and bunged out the owners
Jesus was hanging about on the cross not feeling too happy
I suppose he was dying for you and me because his Dad was asleep
And he doesn't care if you are a ****** or a giant or a fatty or a fairy!
Yessir! He loves everyone unequivocally provided they praise him endlessly
And receive him in their souls and sing him a load of ****** hymns!
But if you don't receive the LORD and reject the words of the EVIL ONE
He (God) will crush you totally and utterly like a blue-tailed fly
Squatting on a well-used and ill-cleaned second-hand lavatory brush
Without any exception whatsoever even if you are an ugly fat dwarf
As He don't hold with no discrimination nor positive action no way!
So get down on your knees (a shorter journey for amputees with stumps)
And get praying to THE LORD without blinking twice. Yeeha! Amen!
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
What was your very first thought when you woke up today?
Did you stretch eyes closed, stretch,
Behind closed lids look up left or right,
Morning Creek, snaps, cracks,
loosening those joints stiffened overnight,
Did you stretch, eyes closed, deep breath, big morning smile,
Or sit up, sigh, eyes open, lay back down for awhile,
I sit on the edge of the bed while my mind starts to reboot,
rub a hand over stubble, mental note to shave,
Maybe, I can probably go one more day,
Do you, like me, now pick from column B, or coulumn A,
Take my morning constitutional, hmm, cereal or fruit?
Still haven't moved yet, but I have changed hands, not rubbing my face,
I'm in my Thinking man's stance, sitting though, on the edge of my bed,
Time to start moving and out of my head,
Like that's gonna happen, my brain doesn't take breaks,
Whether I'm studying psychological pathology or which flavor kool-aide to make, of course, grape,
Which reminds me, I need to go to the store, I need real food in the house,
Man, I don't feel like going to the grocery store,
7-11 is gonna cost so much more, throwing money away,
It is closer though, what the hell, three days to payday,
Okay, now what was I, that's right, bathroom time,
Grab my phone, I know you gotta go Gunner, my dog, but get in line,
I'll end this before the lavatory, that's just, I couldn't do y'all that way, anyway,
What was your very first thought when you woke up today?
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
It was she, Buruch
remembered, it was
Shlomit, who during
a nature study class
at school, had raised
a hand to be excused
to go to the loo (other
kids would have said
the lavatory or toilet
depending on their
breeding or class),
but the teacher, Miss
Ashdown, said, no
you should have gone
before. A few minutes
later, Buruch recalled,
she peed on her chair
and floor and a boy
nearby the scene said,
Shlomit's **** herself
Miss. There was a sea
of sounds around and
the teacher frowned
and with beady stare
told her to get out of
there, and told another
girl to go with her to
the nurse to wash and
change (nothing worse)
and sobbing left the room.
Yes, it had been she,
Buruch remembered,
and she hadn't returned
anymore that afternoon.
Gone home, he now
suspected, in borrowed
underwear, her others
washed through by nurse
who said, that will have
to do; and home to her
parents, mother's chide
and father's hand or belt
(who firmly with either dealt).
But to day, after lunch
in the upstairs hall, he'd
gone with her to Bedlam
Park, and showed her
his killer brown conker
on threaded string, a
three penny piece his
grandfather gave, and
she showed him the new
handkerchief her mother
bought her, flowered
with red border. And
she'd kissed him shyly
on the cheek and he
smiled and looked to
the ground, hoping none
of the boys were around.
Yes, it had been Shlomit
who had wet herself
and chair and floor and
been sent away, but she
was dry now and had
kissed his cheek today.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
why is
everybody
so
dead?
blank
eyed
morons
cat
got
their
tongue
or
at
least
ran
away
with
it
socially
polite
to
the
point
of
complete
and
utter
boredom
minds
like
lavatory
bowls
clean
and
white
with
****
in
yeah
this
great
aspiration
of
an
intelligent
being !
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 8:31 AM UTC
Bathrooms became sanctuary in high school;
with tear stained countertops,
gossip soaked walls.
Even the constipated souls
had motion.
Pressing their hands against the ceramic demilune sinks
they would let their tears flow like water through the faucet,
until they found comfort in the arms of another.
Hours spent before, between and after classes
they found comfort and friends
in the conversation that flowed in the bathroom.
Checking themselves over and over again
with the reassuring voices, “you look great” from behind.
Some walk in and hide behind the door of the lavatory stalls,
flushing away sadness,
and washing on a smile on to their face.
Like the granite in the slabs, the memories made
will will be hard to wear off.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 7:12 AM UTC