"potty" poems
(for Christopher Isherwood)
Seated after breakfast
In this white-tiled cabin
Arabs call the House where
Everybody goes,
Even melancholics
Raise a cheer to Mrs.
Nature for the primal
Pleasure She bestows.
*** is but a dream to
Seventy-and-over,
But a joy proposed un-
-til we start to shave:
Mouth-delight depends on
Virtue in the cook, but
This She guarantees from
Cradle unto grave.
Lifted off the *****
Infants from their mothers
Hear their first impartial
Words of worldly praise:
Hence, to start the morning
With a satisfactory
Dump is a good omen
All our adult days.
Revelation came to
Luther in a privy
(Crosswords have been solved there)
Rodin was no fool
When he cast his Thinker,
Cogitating deeply,
Crouched in the position
Of a man at stool.
All the arts derive from
This ur-act of making,
Private to the artist:
Makers' lives are spent
Striving in their chosen
Medium to produce a
De-narcissus-ized en-
During excrement.
Freud did not invent the
Constipated miser:
Banks have letter boxes
Built in their façade
Marked For Night Deposits,
Stocks are firm or liquid,
Currencies of nations
Either soft or hard.
Global Mother, keep our
Bowels of compassion
Open through our lifetime,
Purge our minds as well:
Grant us a king ending,
Not a second childhood,
Petulant, weak-sphinctered,
In a cheap hotel.
Keep us in our station:
When we get pound-notish,
When we seem about to
Take up Higher Thought,
Send us some deflating
Image like the pained ex-
-pression on a Major
Prophet taken short.
(Orthodoxy ought to
Bless our modern plumbing:
Swift and St. Augustine
Lived in centuries
When a stench of sewage
Made a strong debating
Point for Manichees.)
Mind and Body run on
Different timetables:
Not until our morning
Visit here can we
Leave the dead concerns of
Yesterday behind us,
Face with all our courage
What is now to be.
13.9k
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
I am assured by my loving mother as a child
I believe her because the beauty in everything flow’rs and flourishes
when you’re young
The world is yours to take, everyone is yours to meet, everything is yours to do;
and I believe her.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
My first friend at school proclaims,
and I believe them.
We’ve tackled ***** training and preschool, now onto the playground and phonics!
We run and run together, taking the world like we’ve
whispered once before;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The middle school test scores announce,
and I believe them.
Primary school is in the past and I’m ready for responsibility!
I put on makeup to feel pretty, care about my grades more than the teachers believe and flash my smile to the boys who spit “compliments” at my feet;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
but.. I don’t believe them anymore.
I’ve gained just enough confidence to smile at everyone in the halls in case they are having a bad day.
Suddenly my youthful euphoric vision is graffitied with hateful words and violence.
I run and constantly chase the innocence of the world,
being surrounded by darkness.
My self esteem has hit an all time low. Why is the world this way?
My friends and I chase what we used to believe and end up in deep holes;
and I don’t believe them anymore.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
And it doesn’t matter.
I have lost all hope of finding that beauty.
My heart is an aching mess of “I love you”’s
But all I hear is “you are meaningless”
Slowly these phrases of deep hate sear into my soul
I hear them every day and every night
You are meaningless
You are not worthy
You could not possibly be good enough
Until I wake up one dismal morning to realize that I have been defined by the ones around me.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
..and enough!
Because even my friends who say I’m worth something turn around and sneer at others like they can’t too be loved.
Because while the world screams “I hate people” I whisper
“but I don’t”.
But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things
because we’ll find someone who loves us, right?
No.
Our words between just us mean nothing if we spin around and
spit in others’ faces.
And we know we hurt because we’ve been hurt but we don’t stop, none of us stop.
I dream of a world that screams a vulnerable
“I love you”
out into the world instead of a pulsing
“I hate you”
And a world that remembers that we are all worthy of love and not only the kind that makes you blush.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The phrase I’ve heard since I was in my mother’s gentle hold
can only mean so much when you think you’re crumpled.
Stashed away until you’re needed
always feeling so defeated
but the truth
not told enough
to our weakened souls
We are all worth more than the marigolds
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
To *** or not to ***
that is the question
whether it is easy on my mom
to use the ***** or to wet my pants.
**** it is a dud
out **** *** out!
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.
Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.
Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.
Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Another morning in the life
Of a P.T.D, I slurped my
Juice back all 400 ml, then
Stretched up, fingers
Wiggling as mother picked
Me up.
Snuggles in the morning
Nothing better, to show I'm
Loved. But back to business,
As I turned my dummy to
The opposite side, the taste
Is better every time its turned
Soothing with each ****
It was nearly breakfast time
A belly is never wrong,
MMmmm...
Toast and jam, I smile
At mummy with my
Cheshire Jam smiled face.
"Silly little man"
As she wipes the smudges
From all over my face.
A case to solve, was my plan,
The missing statue of
SANDMAN BOB tm.
It was here before, but now
Gone, the prized possession
Of hairy dog, as I pat his head
And he licks my face
Yuckkkk....
Doggy that was yuck, he wags
His tail and then he is off.
What a morning so much done,
Time for a nap then detective
Work to be done. I wake to
Dads voice,
"Morning little man"
"How was your nap"
As i give my answer with a
Yawn and a smile, he gives
A cuddle then off to work for
Hours of fun and playing games.
The clues to be seen the trail
To be found, for I'm
***** Trained Detective"*
And no case is to far, as
Long as I can have a nap
And a cuddle, maybe a
Little sip and a gulp, here
On look out of what is to
Be found.
Hairy dog is sleeping in his
bed, I hear a noise I hear a
Sound??
What a strange noise,
"Snoring"
"NO"
"Bottom belches"
"No funny smells"
As I lift up his blanky
Softly so not to wake doggy's sleep,
And their he is safe and sound.
"SANDMAN BOB"
"Playing hide and go seek"
Under hairy dogs nose and bottom,
As he sleeps it does squeak, it
Does beep, I lift it up and under
His paw, to surprise him when
He awakens. A tail shall wiggle
And flop around, but the case was
Solved and a happy smile found.
***** Trained Detective* does it
Again, but for now it is nap time,
A new case, a new thing to be
Found. I will see you all again
Soon, But now its snuggles
Time with mummy in bed.
As I close my eyes night, night
I turn my dummy once more,
As sheep float quietly over my head.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
Being drunk is not cute
Drunk texting is not cute
Vomiting is not cute
Waking up next to a homeless man you were cuddling behind a bush in order to keep warm is not cute
Homeless men are not cute
Stealing a stranger’s phone so you can sneak away to the bathroom and take a picture of your ****
Is not cute
Drunk *** is not cute
But it is awesome
Crying after drunk *** is not cute
Crying during drunk *** is not cute
Crying is not cute
Despite whatever I have set myself to believe
I am not cute when I am drunk
I’m not even cute when I’m sober
And when I find myself
With head hanging halfway into a gutter
While leaning out of the passenger seat of my car
Looking at the chunks of red-orange
Sour and burning
I know it is just my body
Trying to rebuke my ***** mouth
That’s what my mouth looks like
When I say the things I do
And it is definitely
Not cute
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 4:01 PM UTC
Never knew love until I gave birth
The love from a mother to a child, vice versa
How can you deny a face so sweet?
Just to think, we once shared a heartbeat
How could I just give up on you?
Never.
You're my motivation, you're presence fuels me
Colic and terrible two's...potty training and I love you's
Who could deny a face so sweet?
Seem like yesterday, April 13th...A face I couldn't wait to meet
I never want to fail you or steer you wrong
But how do I explain why your daddy's gone?
Why deny a face so sweet?
There's so much love I'm wanting to give
Teach you the necessary lessons to live
From day one I've been by your side
Held your hand through low and high tide
Am I capable of showing you "double love"
Granted, there's no limit to my love for you
But I can't love you like a father should do
He deny a face so sweet...
So special, one of a kind
Missing out on all the great times
You deserve so much more, a full time father not a boy who comes then snatches your joy
Gone.
A horrible cycle I put you in
Mommy is sorry to call him your kin
Never will I deny your face so sweet
I am your protector until the end
My love for you I'll always send...
May not be from your dad but I'll try
A face so sweet, you have my heart until I die
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
The moment when your not at home, a public restroom even isn't around, your stopping off at a job site where construction workers work during the day. And big burly men take craps in porta pottys, with no toilet paper left but only left upon a ****** topped toilet seat. With the fresh stench of **** crap, and men's beer puke and *** smell aligning the walls of the ***** I wish an inventor (poet inventor) would make poet's special pottys. I'd be his co-creator. We'd call it,
Poetry pottys!
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
She let the tape go—
on record
one evening for an ordinary hour
Five years later, we play it back
for laughs after dinner—then as now
“Remember how the stove door screeched
at the house on Olive Street?”
And our voices!
Phoeb’s, lighter–tired
wrapping the nine’s tables in elastic yawns
like flash cards in a rubber band
“Phoeb, your pitch changed so—
while I turned...”
to run water in the tub
lamenting the **** of Two
in frenetic escape of hands
Unruly!
Running rebel taunts in Time’s strict face
who would not dare disturb her dawns
only mine—
Roused by the first round of another day’s
ring of twelve
digits that insist
like uniform with apron waiting
on ironing board that’s never folded
Now the **** of Two cries out
Exultant!
of success in *****
Then, Oratorio for Soap!
The splashy version
with endless bubblings of “Rocky Baby!”
and obbligato of “Where’s Shampoo?”
in jubilant glissadal plunge
an octave through vocal whoops!
…I had not thought
she hardly talked
but sang and squealed or whined in tunes
Her voice lay open to her soul
a roost of piercing humming birds
small of words
but filled with sweet and want
incessant wings and things to say....
How could we have forgotten?
“Are these your boots?
Your clothes laid out?”
From sound and talk, we still can hear
frost phantoms
in winter window rattles—then as now
And Phoebe remarks how one voice
didn’t change though—
“Still talking to herself”
We laugh
and let the tape go....
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
Access to excess
holds you tight
in its vice.
It starts off
it always feels so right
filled with promise and abundance
walking into that casino
loaded with cash
scoring the bag at Christine's
weekly motel
one more dab will do you.
She knocks on your door
and only wants you
the night is filled with promises too.
Is this any different
then gluttonous
billionaires hoarding what they can
it's never enough
while the rest of us drown.
The waiting, waiting, waiting
for it to come through
there's that too.
Access to excess
has this advice:
"I'll deal with it later"
and
"One more time. "
Drip, drip, drip
blood
triggered rush
images and cravings
euphoric memories
kaleidoscope
in
one body rush
after another
until there is no more living
in
your own skin.
Rubbing your self raw
to get back to that moment
when you first walked in
when abundance
was real
and
access to excess
was all you could feel.
What a moment of exhilaration.
Of course there are these bonuses too
ending up
with total deprivation
"incomprehensible
demoralization"
Locked in a porta-potty
with a guy and a pipe
out of money
out of time
out of consciousness
Access to excess
what are we gonna do
now.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
I cuddled upon it since birth,
It was the friend that kept me
Calm,
Peaceful,
Friend
Of my sleepy times, always there,
But I awoke and Blanky wasn't there
"MUMMY"
"DADDY"
As both ran in,
"What is it our little one"
Tears streaming, words jumbled in emotions
Mummy stroked my hair
Daddy Sshhh....
Sshhh...
Sshhh...
Sshhh...
And all was calm in the world,
B, B, "Blanky"
Has gone away,
Mummy soft spoken voice speaks
"Lets check your bed"
No not there?
***** trained detective looks around"**
Sniffs the air,
Sorry mummy that was me,
Mmm... to the playroom
High, Low
Here, there
Places searched but no where found,
His thoughts of blanky and sweet sleep,
As he searches each room, doggy sniffs
Come on Hairy,
He checks his bed nothing but hair,
His baby mind thinks back to the other day
Blanky and me,
Me and Blanky,
To the garden Woof, little fingers can not reach
Woofs hind legs stretch up,
"Good boy Woof"
As the door opens to
The great outside,
Near the sandpit
"No"
Near the grass
"Neither"
Then he spots it
Then its seen,
"Blanky I have missed you"
Hanging just out of reach,
"Detective work is never as easy as it seems"
A baby has skills, as he takes his *****
Sticky patches take hold and on top
Of a head, smelling fresh,
Not that just thumb ****** sleepy smell
But we can change that,
Blanky wrapped around
***** dragging behind, a new one needed I think,
"Mummy"
"Daddy"
"Its solved"
The missing blanky case is solved
It was washed, ***** it was once,
But so soft and cuddly once more,
It needs that just slept smell,
A detective is off to get snuggles sleep
Till the next case awaits, till I awaken
Its sheep time for me, goodnight or day everyone sweet dreams.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Where did the circus go?
Not like the Del Mar fair
Or the Barnum and Bailey skinny cow version
I want someplace nasty
A bit sticky
Someplace that picks up and leaves
before you have time to go get your watch back
All that’s left is a lot
Full of trash and ride screws
Because the rush to leave was more important
than safety
It’s a place most days now
I wish I could run away to
Slap on fake **** and be the bearded lady
Or warts and green paint and be frog man
Be something along the lines of
Homemade make believe
Be happy believing that
This other place doesn’t have things
Like rent
And car payments
And work that ***** you harder than your own girlfriend will
And don’t tell me cirque de solei is hiring
That’s not a circus
That’s people in costumes dancing and flying around on stages
They had to go to school to do that
You don’t need school to join the circus
You just need the desire to leave
Before anyone notices you’re gone
Maybe leave behind a sticky mess
And take with you something valuable
Like a watch
Or money from the purse on the counter
Or someone’s heart
Maybe I could be tattoo man
Or the ***** Mouthed Poet
And freestyle psalms that ache behind a glass window
That you have to pay a quarter to see through
And another quarter to listen
Or I could be a wax statue of Jesus
The one that if you stare at long enough
You see him breathing
Enough to restore faith in the make believe
That keeps us going
Let me be your side show
Let me be your fortune teller
Let me be the dark room in that back
Only the men are allowed into
Women and children this way
Let me be the ***** talk of town
And leave before the lynching
Let me leave in the night like a piper
With the promise
That I will give you the life you’ve always wanted
If you leave behind all you’ve ever been
Remember him?
He joined the circus?
Where’d the circus go?
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
Nineteen million NASA's price
To build its crew a safe device
So astronauts could have a place
To handle *** and ***** waste
And men of space would have a loo
To do what other men must do
These millions bucks NASA would pay
So no spaceman would float away
These men were safe from their own farts
With leg restraints and other parts
And all was safely put in place
A porta-potty out in space
But something's wrong I heard today
An amber rain on its way
No place to hide no place to run
A loo in space has come undone
From far in space a cry unheard
A spaceman hit by a flying ****
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 10:41 PM UTC
remember when you were just a kid
and ***** training is what you did
the things that you are to do taught to do
so that you can use the loo
then when your grown and train no more
you miss the loo and hit the floor.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 7:38 AM UTC
This morning I had to go ***** so bad
I squeezed and I pushed with all that I had
And after what seemed like a great battle
I heard a ker-plunk from what I did straddle
The mighty splash that this thing made
To have a look, my curiosity bade
So up I did rise slowly and sure
So as not to drop any poo onto the floor
I looked into the bowl not believing my eyes
This terd was of a most bodacious size
The cause of the strain was now easy to see
I new then not what I had set free
It leaned upright on the side of the bowl
Like it was in a jacuzi relaxed and whole
As I looked at it again in utter disbelief
I knew I had to flush away my relief
But when I pushed the handle on the toilet I found
All the **** did is spin round and round
Like a wooden stick in water being stirred
I was amazed at the stiffness of this ****
When the flush was done I looked with disdain
The **** was still there and left not even a stain
I flushed again with greater resolve
And the **** broke in half as it did revolve
But then as it started to finally go down
Something then happened that made me frown
It got stuck and clogged up the hole
I watched in horror as water filled the bowl
It plugged the toiled up tight like a cork
And now I wished I'd chopped it up with a fork
I grabbed the plunger from off of the floor
And plunged real hard, for my toiled to restore
But though I plunged with all of my might
It seemed that the **** was winning this fight
After several minutes the water went down
But only at a trickle as again I did frown
So along I did move from plan A to plan B
I'd show this **** who's the boss, not it, but me
So with hot water, a bucket I did fill
And dumped it in so it could swallow that pill
After twenty buckets, the **** did give way
And I was able to flush. Hip-Hip-Hooray!
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Have you heard about old Erik Satie?
He was quite slim and not un fatti;
Son père was a Frog, his Ma a wee ****
(which must have given quite a shock
to his musical chums at the Conservatoire
where he wrote "Trois morceaux en forme de poire").
While sitting 'au piano' one fine day
At his Honfleur home so bright and gay,
Our Erik felt himself come over queer,
(le résultat triste de beaucoup de bière).
He hadn't felt so odd since he didn't know when
(that's when he wrote his "Gnossiennes").
Now I don't want you to think Erik was bent
That certainly wasn't what I meant;
But there's no doubt he was a little odd
(indeed many called him an asexual sod);
For, although French, he loved not the ladies
(and he also wrote three nice "Gymnopédies").
Many piano pieces which Satie penned
Are rather silly and round the bend;
One was called "Prélude for a Dog"
(which he wrote whilst sur le bogue);
Perhaps his best known work is called "Parade"
Which some people think is quite avant-garde.
He was a bit ***** and collected umbrellas
Which set him apart from saner fellers;
He had lots of velvet suits to his name
(and for some reason, they all looked the same).
But he over-did it on the ***** was often ******
Thus he died prematurely, and is sorely missed.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
I'll tell you about something that is rotten to the core.
When outside of church, some preachers cuss like sailors.
My friend saw some of these preachers who like to cuss.
They should be ashamed, preachers are supposed to set an example for the rest of us.
When they cuss, they anger God because it's like slapping him in the face.
Morality is not their strong point, what they're doing is truly a disgrace.
Out of all of the people in the world, preachers are the ones who should never swear.
Those preachers are not God fearing people and it is just too much for me to bear.
This makes me angry and Jehovah God and I are both filled with disgust.
It proves that the world is lost when we see preachers who we can't trust.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
I stroll into the bathroom
newspaper tucked under my arm.
The silent morning ambience
holds for me a special charm.
Whistling,I lift the toilet seat
to take my morning leak.
I'm stopped up short
when I hear someone speak.
"Morning bro,what's up?",
came the voice from below.
I stared in utter disbelief
at the toilet saying hello.
"Don't freak out",it said.
"Just do your thing,I'll do mine.
We can be the best of mates
till the end of ***** time."
"Oh well",I thought
and started where I left off.
Aiming into a talking ***
Isn't easy..Hey!Don't you scoff!
"Wow!You've got a lot stored up"
quipped the rude toilet.
"No wonder they're saying there's
a drought in the nearby hamlet"
On-off,on-off came the flow
as the seat moved up and down.
Only later did I come to know
I own the most loquacious loo in town.
Irritated I told it to shut up.
"Bro,what will you p### into?",
it laughed,splashing water around.
No arguing that,it speaks true..
"Hey did you hear?
Old Loo-pin next drain
got married to Pottyara.
I hate her,she's too vain!"
"Work on your technique mate,
I've seen toddlers do better...
My,my!Seriously?!Still got more?!
I'm getting wetter and wetter!"
"Will you hold still!"I shouted.
"Hey don't take that tone with me.
Being watered in the maw ain't fun.
Swap places and then we'll see!"
"It'd be a lot more easier",I reasoned
"if you would stop yapping.
Who cares about super toilets?!
Now just start lapping!"
"Okay sheesh,someone's grumpy.
What?!show some pity on the loo!
Hey!Wait!Stop right there!!
Sh##,now I've to take poo too?!"
"Okay get this over with quickly.
You're choking me!!Aaaahhh!!!
Okay,never ever again take
chilly sauce with pizza!"
As I flush and leave,it cries
"Oh the horror!the horror!!!
All the perfumes of Arabia
cannot wash away this odour!"
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Oh the silver ships on plastic oceans ,
Marshmello clouds above garbage tips .
and the smell of acrid sewage pouring into rivers deep in slime and filth .
A can of tin lies abandoned in the road ,
Cars with petrol heads ,
Children lying in their mothers beds ,
Wheeze as plumes of smog rise above their heads .
Mattresses dumped on public land ,
a mother to tired to think ,
Worn out by screaming child who just needs a ***** or a drink ?
And on we go round and round on a merry go round ,
While the earth looks weary on.
And aliens surround us with their knives and mobile phones ,
to scared to walk ,
talk ,
just run .
The hospitals await them still full to the brim with gun law and hate . And on we go ,
to Whales washed up on beaches
Polar bears drift on sheets of ice,
burning oil fills the sea ,
man lights a cigarette in silence ,
and yes it still bothers me .
Even so ,
the earth looks on in silence .
Turtles and fish eat and die from plastic that swells the Ocean deep .
,Now silence and weeping as floods and bugs enter our summer and winter .
No frost to chill the dawn ,
summer with its beaches full of idol sun lovers who left bags and cans now where have they gone ?
Not to the sea ,
for it is empty ,
not to buy for the shops have all closed .
To their beds they lay dying ,
as the earth looks ever on .
Then with candy floss dreams ,
and fair ground rides stop and sick and ***** we fall ,
One baby ,
One gift was born to save us all .
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 10:19 AM UTC
You told me you loved me amongst the crowd of a Steelers game while we were searching for a hot dog and soda. Not the most enchanting, but perhaps I watch too many rom-coms for my own good. I think I've always just romanticized each aspect of a relationship and all the major moments based on what media told me meant the most.
Opening my eyes now, those special moments aren't always at a candlelit dinner or by a fireplace, many times they are at a cookout with your friends or the zoo with my nieces and nephews. The beauty of feeling something so deeply that you just have to say it, even if it's in front of a porta ***** at a church festival or the stoplight on your way home, that's the real love that people feel.
So when I tell you I love you while sitting on my couch on a random Monday night, know that I mean it. Know that every muscle in my body wanted to tell you because I didn't wait for candlelight or an array of stars, instead I told you in the most real way, our way.
We will still have those romantic moments on a boat under the moonlight or the fireplace of an old house, but we will also have those passionate moments where we couldn't keep our feelings in anymore and the most appropriate place just happens to be a crowded train on the way downtown and an airport bar. I love you and I'll say it anywhere.
-t.s.
Feb 22, 2024
Feb 22, 2024 at 9:55 PM UTC
There's many pairs I've fathomed
A poets stock and trade
A thousand couples counted
And a hundred poems made
But I'm awash with bafflement
A word eludes my wits
My sleep is interrupted
And it's getting on ****
Nothing rhymes with 'women'
I've run fresh out of words
I'm sick and tired of 'wenches'
And bored to death with 'birds'
It's hard to write a love song
To 'crumpet' or to 'totty'
Yes, nothing rhymes with women
Those women drive me *****
There's loads of rhymes for 'menfolk'
And equally for 'men'
’Aggressive' goes with 'Passive'
And 'Possessive' now and then
My brain is drained and knackered
And almost rhymes with 'lead'
I'd like to rhyme with someone else
And leave them in my stead
For nothing rhymes with women
And I loath abbreviation
There'll surely be no rimmin'
Or unsightly punctuation
The odds are stacked against me
So, exhausted, I persist
To find a rhyme for women
A word to coexist
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
Our lot was not to stay all night;
In kneeling praise by bathroom stalls.
Alcohol numbed your honesty's bite,
wrote her destiny on the divider walls.
And we weren't the kind to cheat, don't believe,
All the loose lips half-cross town,
Last call patrons who watch me leave,
And shut this ****** down...
Like Zane and Beckett, so convinced,
Their **** would last forever,
Bad enough to make you wince,
If they spend one more second together.
Or Jane and Kinney, young, driven, and full,
Of lust or something similar.
Don't be surprised, you've seen this fire,
The end? ...all too familiar.
And pretty Syd had all the gall,
and Pony Boy thought he knew the score...
but he's just a **** like so much Pyrex,
Stuffed inside his paper *****
But Ashtray Woman with ***** Mouth,
And monster's blood on toilet tissue,
Is just another frightened girl,
With real and dangerous daddy issues.
Now, here, at the close (I'm still glad to say),
You deserve almost everything, that you've won,
Our karma arose ( and, in time, took the day ).
Now I ponder regrets in the hours before dawn,
It wasn't the when, or with whom we may lay,
or the time in the morning before I should be gone,
It's more about how we desired to stay...
When we gazed into stars lying flat on your lawn.
I once craved your poison but, now, in my way,
I'm actually glad
to see you gone.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
Acceptance is overrated when being a Mommy is even better then popularizes falsehood&superficial; non-importance personal gain! or a daddy either way
whats gain if you gain nothing in life and if being a parent aint for you well good for you
this is to those who get down and ***** and do the right thing everyday for OUR BABIES from not yet born to 100 yrs old & GONE!
Acceptance is overrated when being a Mommy is even better then popularizes falsehood&superficial; non-importance personal gain! or a daddy either way
I gain kisses and paid in hugs, I gain wisdom from tiny fingers smudged in finger paints,
I have knowledge beyond my or their years from tears cuz of boboo's + shrieking laughter
& bedtime stories,
smile of chocolate face kisses & warm S'more sticky fingers covered in blankets of hair,
sleeping on my pillows in an over crowded bed of baby limbs, hands & feet from the tallest & oldest to the youngest or shortest .
From the I went ***** by my self to day... to the I fell off my bike ,
to the I can do all by my self mommy to the I'm going out with friends mommy,
from the can I have 50 cent to the 18 yrs old can I borrow ya car & get 50 dollar's
watch each close their pretty brown eyes as my pillow and room becomes theirs as we fall asleep to nick at night
(little bear or Hey it's Franklin )
and I'm kicked to the floor in my sleep !
{EVEN THREW THE STRIFE AND STRUGGLES OF MOTHER HOOD I'DNEVER REGRET
MY CHOICE TO GIVE BIRTH TO EACH & EVERYONE OF MY BABIES~~
YOUR WHATS IMPORTANT TO ME & MY WORLD/LIFE & I TY FOR MAKING IT SO MUCH BETTER!}
THIS MOMMA MAKES BEAUTIFUL BABIES!
ALWAYS ME LOVE YA MOMMA AYESHAH K.K.C.N. LOPEZ!
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 11:19 PM UTC