"laxative" poems
There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst ************
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ***** too tight
**** reason!
INVEST!
Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******** with teeth make ******** meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed ******** that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in ***********
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!
Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
All these pills piling up on my desk,
stacked like the pyramids higher than my chest.
all these kids running around,
I hear them Grrrr.. so I lock my pills up sound.
The pharmacy is open to my needs,
she just rolls her eyes to my relapses.
Says she's going to leave me,
if I don't bring the cost down below twenty G's.
oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
**Gosh **** gosh **** gosh, gosh ****
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
Woke up this morning aches in my neck,
gout in my foot, what the heck.
opened the cabinet, pills all gone,
crack addict snuck in, took the lot.
Jumped on my bike, tire's flat not a good start.
no license for a car, ailments mean ill have to walk.
standing behind some old dude chugs out a ****
pills got laxative effect, I think I better not laugh.
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
**Gosh **** gosh **** gosh, gosh ****
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got!
"groans in loud noises, Aaaaaaaaaa"
And my stomach, my stomach
I said my stomach!
Pills make me want to eat food.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
*Mama got pills, daddy got pills,
yo sister got pills,
yo auntie got pills.*
I got pills.
Yo uncle got pills, Everybody got pills, everybody got pills.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
The way is blocked
Hurting only you
You can still help others
But your creativity stopped
You have Creative Constipation
And there is one way to make it stop
Face your fears
Try something new
Make a memory
Get scraped a few
Take a Creative Laxative
Get those juices flowing again
Then you’ll have
Creative Diarrhea
Ideas flowing forth
In the forms
Of line or verse
Movie or paint
Everything you see
Will be touched
By your creative spree
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
(truck-drivers, bar-boozers, loser-bar yokles, blue-collar rednecks will all love this smash hit song!!!)
Rockin country genre
"Big Mouth Surgery"
(by david John Clare)
(rockin' country drunk hick juke-box mix)
Wow! She sure does talk a lot... could almost cause a riot
But we don't get... just what she's trying to say
We could hear her fine before... when she used to be quiet
Guess all them new school-words get in the way
We took her to see... a gypsy-psychic-magician
But he wanted more... than we could pay
So we took her down to see... our local town physician
And here's what old doc... had to say
Boys...
"She needs Big Mouth Surgery"
Her tongue is on the blink
She just talks, sqwacks and talks some more
'Cause she don't know how to think
So please don't be stallin'
Her brain is now corrupt
Can't you see that she has fallen'
And she just can't ''shut-up!"
Big Mouth Surgery
Cause no pills seem to work
Hurry please now doctor
Before she drives us all berserk
Big Mouth Surgery
But will it work without a doubt?
Better make it a lobotomy
Before she starts to shout!
(solo)
Our reputations are expensive
While her talk is **** cheap
You just can't tell her nothin'
'Cause a secret she can't keep
No one seems to know
What the fuss is all about
We're just waitin' for her brain
To catch up with her mouth
She needs Big Mouth Surgery
Her mind is on the blink
She always talks, talks and talks all day
Why can't she just please stop & think?
So please don't be stallin'
Her head is all corrupt
Can't you see that she has fallen'
Her fat-mouth can't shut-up!
Big Mouth Surgery
We need to find her a shrink
Hurry please there doctor
Before she drives us all to drink
Big Mouth Surgery
She's heard north, east, west & south
Who gave her brain a laxative?
Got diarrhea of the mouth!
Big Mouth Surgery
No pill can take effect
Hurry please now doctor
She is a mental wreck
Our minds: she made us loose
Her words: just seem to ooze
It's so hard: to take a snooze
We just drown all-day in *****
Beer, Whisky, Wine & ***** . . .
To wash away our ear-ache blues!
Yip Yip Zip Lip! ...Yee Haw!
(c) 2009 David Wayne Clare
CLAIRVOYANT MUSIC / BMI
all rights reserved
in perpetuity
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
Do you know any good doctors?
My pen needs a laxative
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
As you attempt to pour more political doctrine down my throat
I check the change in my pocket
for
the laxative I‘ll have to buy
from my legal drug dealer
REALLY!?!
Did you not know that your words are;
indigestible,
incorrigible
&
wholly corruptible?
How do you manage
to
politically caress your own eardrums
reach
through your sinuses,
tickling
the lining of your
esophagus
and yet,
make me cough?!
Your response to truth is truly painful,
you feel it in your chest,
your ***** heaves and razes
you have a fit gesticulating policies
flipping birds that won’t fly
It’s too late!
Mr "I went to Oxford so I must have the plan"
Mr Self-Interest man
Mr Ivy-league, Whitehouse, Whitehall...."Cambridge was better",
Mr I can do all things that superman can.
Mr “If we win the elections next year”...
Man
Take your leave,
your term is over,
School is out
&
the old boys no longer love you.
Time!
to
run for
cover,
under the
colour,
of
your favoured
currency umbrella.
But
If you’re African
"it's okay"
you can stay a little while longer
and bequeath the throne
to your brothers', sisters', uncles', sons' junior brother!
Turn it into a dy-nasty
Bring on board;
Kwadjo,
Mary,
Abena,
Kwesi,
Uncle Nepa,
Sista Tism
&
Aunt Ivy.
Ah-Geee!!!
This nonsense is highly unpalatable
I’m past the word puke
my bile sack is empty
because your drunkenness is spreading
&
**y o u’r e
s t i l l
b l o w i n g
m e
f u m e s!**
*Your democracy
has made your Guinea-Pigs
demi crazy,
has captured this poets’ goat
Slaughtered it
&
mandated this verbal frenzy*
Enough!
Of this alcoholic experiment
I’m not drinking anymore,
I’ve cried blood!
and now "my eyes are red"
Looking forward
to being 'tee-totally' sober,
while
U
**c o n t e m p l a t e
t h i s
v e r s e
o f
p o e t i c,
p o l i t i c a l,
M U R D E R.**
© Qwey.ku
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
I can't trust my mind or my heart like you can't trust a post laxative ****
Seems like they've both been plotting against me from the start, planning to steal this soulful art
Like they know when it comes to the afterlife, reincarnation plays a big part
And with the knowledge and comfort of that truth they're ready to scrap me now like bad art
A defective throw away product that seems to have been bought at a dollar general corner mart
Then pushed around in a stolen grocery cart till interest fades and goes dark
I have to find the right end with no place to start, close my eyes and toss a dart
Then keep the blindfold on and let you tell me the score, not smart
Last time I trusted either of you ya fed me the equivalent of a week old shart
Through a feeding tube that I didn't need according to my hospital chart
Neglecting real issues when there's endorphins to bogart, losing my mind, watching my soul depart
I've lost and broken the both of you yet you still torment me, not even phased by my rampart
I never stood a chance, oblivious to the warning siren like Mozart, silent as I'm pulled apart
No one will think back on me but if they do I'll just be seen as another failed upstart
©2020
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC
What is it with the Americans-?
With their endless cups of “Joe”
Starbucks on every corner
At least it seems that’s so.
Those who overdose on coffee
Are always on the “go”
With palpitating heart beats
And hands that shake like so.
Billions of cups consumed yearly,
The landfills awash with debris
If only my Dad had a Styrofoam mine
Imagine how rich we would be.
Chocolate is much more civilized;
antioxidant rich and sweet.
They say it’s a mild aphrodisiac
and a laxative for the effete.
Those people addicted to coffee
Wake up “Grumpy and groaning”
While those folks addicted to chocolate
can be sure they’ll be coming and going..
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 8:32 AM UTC
On a serious note
I'm just playfighting God,
Ring around my iris
Flightless little bird,
Bereaved and slaughtered at a daffodil's foot.
Correct me if I'm right,
Sense was made without me here.
Into sleep I sink,
I can feel the brink approaching.
Stalking through aneurysms bane veil, Dripping dream and stink
and hope.
Blind, naive, native, childhood hope is all I am.
I'm living,
I'm livid,
I'm living,
I'm livid,
I'm living,
I'm livid.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
Pain
And suffering
And evaporated tears
And razor blades
And laxative teas
And skinny jeans
And diet pills
And angry words
And impulsive decisions
And lies
And bleeding lines
And swollen wrists
And puffy eyes
And long sleeves
And stay-in-bed-all-day days
And avoid-the-crowd-for-days days
And won’t-mind-getting-hit-by-a-car days
And bitten tongues
And sad songs
And bleach shots
And fake Instagram posts
And living through YouTube videos
And fasting
And failing
And then no longer caring
And feeling like it’s all over
And then doing it all over,
All / Over /Again
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
Authors moan of Writer’s Block:
They can’t unpick their inner lock.
A black expanse is all they see
Their rhymes are but a tragedy.
“The Block” is writers’ constipation,
A failure of imagination.
What laxative is there for this?
You feel like you’ve been sent to Dis.
Oh where did those ideas go?
That blank page fills them full of woe.
Play with words is what I say,
Then soon a poem is on its way.
Don’t try so hard is my advice:
Perfection can be such a vice.
Watch telly, films, anything you like,
And let your mind just take a hike.
Listen to music by all means,
Like you used to in your teens.
Watch the news, or take a stroll,
Drag yourself out of that hole.
Take a nap whenever you like,
Sleep will get you ready to strike.
Toy with words again I say:
Best inspiration springs from play.
Paul Butters
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
i was appalled by it
cut cut cut
why would anyone ask that
popping pills
they said they wanted to know because they were looking to do it too
taking too much laxative so i'll make myself sick
i said no
ripping body hair out
why would i consciously let someone hurt themselves
ripping the hair on my head out
that's wrong
clawing at my arms
why even ask me?
burning myself on the stove
i won't tell you.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Are you ready for the main course?
Prepare the condiments
Thin oven mitts
Teas cozies
Lace doilies
It's just a decoy
Here lies the kid who was left home alone while is parents visited The North Pole
Try to consolidate the front door
And here's a laxative called LSD to aide your constipated mind
Now go on with the insurrection
And fight Parliament for the sake of the proletariat
Who's names are always written in lower case lettering
The limousine drivers
The skrimpers
The savers
The single mothers with bad habits who have to dance off skimpy clothing to buy formula for their babies because they're milk is tainted with junk
The weary recipients of justice obstructions
And catch 22's
Who have been singled out because they have monetary deficits
Console them
Until Eureka!
Grab some Q-tips and clean out your ears
Stop gritting and grinding your teeth
A new realization is in bloom
When did be aware turn into beware?
When did alertness become fear?
Forget and get over your
Remanding-accursed-sweet-tooth-fatigue-that you let in
Because it's all in your head along with the idea that hyphens make things look more important and scary
I contest all that ********
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
My mind is constipated, I try to force
upon the bowels of my mind but nothing
is versed, only flatulence of syllables
that linger in the air.
Gagging on the stench was released outwards,
others cringe at what was versed in
needing of a release. I look upon the laxative
of imagery and I feel my mind soften up.
My pen sits on the white waiting for a release,
without warning a vocalization is forced slowly.
I spray my syllables on to the white, relaxed that
the congestion is released, words flow eagerly out.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
a thick clown living in his square meal life
painted his smile on his face quite early in life
sheds the years like skin but the smile remains
watches the grass grow
thinks how its like dreams grow into plastic flowers
if he only knew which priest of pestilence to follow
they all begin to sound like cheap warehouse salesmen after awhile
if he could just decipher the writing on the cave wall
spray painted faces and names like pictographs of
some mysterious civilization hiding out behind the 7-11
a robust man of leisure he fries his skittles on the front lawn
candy for the man with no other pleasures
but a sweet girly girl comes by and gives him hugs
in exchange for bedbugs
if we all could live a life of such luxury
the world would be a better place
the thick clown is getting thinner as he leaves behind
all his broken record memories
time for some brand new fresh from the factory hopes
time for a laxative for his mind
that'll flush all the bull away
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
Give me some Tramadol
Panadol
a laxative
a fixative
just
give me some peace.
Give me a new lease on life
a wife
a home
a new hip
(just thought that I'd slip that one in)
Oh Christ on the cross
how do I live with the loss
how does one start
when the heart has been shattered
and what does it matter?
Let me be drip fed on a bed
and out of my head
give me indemnity
against
whatever I've said or am likely to say
Give me
Today.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
The splitting of hairs
Anti-oxidants
Numbers that are easy to remember
And the counting of sheep
Sure enough
The Penny Pincher is bent out of shape
Clean as a whistle
And secretly queer as a three dollar bill
My life is an open book
Case closed
Looking for the special someone
Who will see my half closed casket half opened
Fast acting laxative
Are you chicken?
Reopen all the wounds
For what it's worth
Will you go by the rule of thumb
If it's all the same to you?
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
my skin is more of a vessel that captures steam
rather than that of an actual human being
count down the days until i evaporate
and you ******* loved me
and i tried
believe me i did or do not believe me it is of no consequence
do as you feel but
always remember that
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
I seem to reward myself for bad behavior, and while others don’t understand it to be bad, it gnaws at me. Grows like a tumor, because even if an accident, or happenstance, I still seem to shrink, but not before my body rebels and solidifies into making me gorge on fiber until I lose the nerve and rush to other means. I’m not supposed to do it on purpose, not like Lori, and I hold myself back, convinced that my weight-loss is not an extension of my personality, but I cant help but admit I’m obsessed with the scale. Obsessed with an anti-me. My therapist doesn’t see the pattern, and maybe she is right, but I am too busy worrying about becoming obsessed that I have become obsessed with being obsessed. A hundred and seven pounds, and I have had to seriously fight to control myself not to create harm, and when my stomach doesn’t seem to want to let go of food after days, I can’t help but go to my medicine cabinet, find the laxative, and let my body suffer in such an embarassing way.
I watched Lori do it, and I swore I wouldn’t. But I am, even if for the sake of relief, of release. And I swear it’s not a habit, but that means nothing come every Monday when I have to be the beacon at the group weigh-ins, to mark some kind of false sense of hope for others. They call me an inspiration, and even if not intentional, I feel like I have been cheating.
My grandfather asks me every time I tell him about my weight-loss, “Are you sure you aren’t hurting yourself?” and I am reminded of the decades of humiliation he wrought upon me due to my obesity. What right does he have to ask of harm when he helped drive me to four hundred and more pounds? Maybe this is punishment for all the times his words cut deep enough to make me keep eating in anguish. Maybe I’ll just keep losing long after I hit my goal until there is nothing left– not even dust to be carried along with the wind.
Thoughts like that make me worry that it has evolved from lifestyle change to pure, unadulterated obsession. The kind I have seen time and time again.
My family has always been riddled with addicts.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
Every
Every tunnel has a light,
Every flea has to bite,
Every food has been bitten,
every word has been written.
On those days that seem dark,
soon you will spot your spark.
On those days, where all goes wrong,
pack yourself a big fat ****
When things are looking down,
life seeming like a ghost town.
Things will always get better,
doggy style makes a girl wetter.
Every dog has its day,
every person finds their way.
Every rose has its thorn,
every man will always watch ****
Sometimes life can be so happy,
smile and stop feeling ******
Always be thinking positive,
let it out like a laxative.
When the sun starts to set,
in the garbage, throw all debt.
Every baby has a mother,
every day is like no other.
Every story has an end,
every person needs a friend.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
Eating more than that
they can chew.
laxative dreams explode
in slumber.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
Lines like a laxative for tongues,
The individual pieces become greater than its sum,
Summer time therapy dialing up in increments,
Wouldn't know the difference between the butterflies and chrysalis.
Syzygy in spirit as sympathy in the impetus,
Synergy in serendipity makes symmetry seem ubiquitous.
Flummoxed, I fell face first flying into fellowship,
Feeling fusion in the furrows of my fingertips,
Figure this, mistigris, implement mirrors for the synthesis,
Taking root in the underground,
This is censorship on stimulus.
Kaizen from the get-go,
How did silence ever get gold?
Climate of the biome discernible by petrichor,
Some of my greatest allies are people I've never even met before.
Mumpsimus with metaphors, metatron or metamorph,
A mess of Mesozoic memoirs drowning in a reservoir,
Reserve my right to write a mire of a message board,
Desire an empire of satire to conquest; explore,
Buyers, sellers, best befores,
Crying out to be adored,
The expiration estimation rivals rivals' primal repertoires.
Rhymes like mycelium, climbing up the parapets,
Embrangled mosaics interceding abstract arabesque.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:48 AM UTC
i have a great thinking capacity
but my thoughts feel like a mystery
my dreams
are eating me
faster than chipped concrete
breaking me
emotionally;
mentally.
thoughts translate
into garbled words
that i cant really communicate
i try to emulate
desires that
seem unattainable
probably unbelievable
brain-eating nightmares
like electrical cords
shock me
like a thousand swords
i am disintegrating
my mind seems to be decaying
probably rotting
or maybe i had just been dreaming
(b.d.s.)
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Oh, the wave of insincere condolence
that drowns the tragedy of a heroes true legacy.
Why don’t you play a record and stop your whining?
Why don’t you read rather than reach for the tissues
to wipe your forced, phoney tears?
You’re not fooling me. You haven’t even fooled yourselves.
Did parading your opinion like a ****** with his **** out
really gratify your ego as much as you hoped,
or did it just show you to be more full of **** than
a politician stuffed full of laxative with a sewn shut *******
But what do I know?
I’m the kind of guy that writes about you.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
ever drink coffee on an empty stomach?
no, i mean, two, three...
and ever get this ******* sensation
in your stomach,
this grandiose perv ******* at
you telling you: feed feed feed me!
might be a sadistic answer,
but at least not as sadistic keeping
a skeleton on a medical drip,
i.e. an anorexic girl
'coffee is the natural diueretic'
reads one quote: diuretic shmaturetic
laxative bogus...
if you haven't eating anything:
what the **** are you going to **** out?
your intestines or a ******* tapeworm?
3 coffees in and i get this humongous
appetite... but never mind that,
had me a thought,
while in movies: they always aim
for the head, as if that's the "easy"
solution,
. + . = ... 1 + 1 = 2...
quote (a): well perhaps he's wondering
someone would shoot a man,
before throwing him out of a plane...
quote (b): well,
perhaps he's wondering why
you would put a man in a prison cell,
before shooting him in the back
of the head - well, wondering why
you would put a man in a prison cell
and then shooting him, subsequently
closing the door...
you get the picture...
it's that cockroach "myth"
that a cockroach without a head
can survive for two weeks
(enter andrei romanovich chikatilo)...
and i watched this criminology channel
once... no one said a word about
what really happened...
oh hell, they'll document all of his
evil deeds... but what happened in
that cell, after he was shot in the head?
zilch! took me a while to imagine it,
i have to admit;
because sure as **** that bullet
in the head was not going to be spending
two weeks in a coma.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC