"sphincter" poems
*Another "randyhornbag" poem for all avid fans of *******
rip off my dripping *******
and part my waiting **********
sniff my fresh-scrubbed ****
then rim me ******* senseless
taste the sweet-sour tang
of my recent defecation
force your ***** mouth-prick
past my eager sphincter
seeking to engulf me
in my ****** cum-lust
and now for our delectation
shove your huge **** up me
and fill me with your hot *****
or fist me till I scream
my ******* brains out and
then **** myself in terror
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
I hope my good old ******* holds out
60 years it's been mostly OK
Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation
survived the altiplano hospital--
a little blood, no polyps, occasionally
a small hemorrhoid
active, eager, receptive to phallus
coke bottle, candle, carrot
banana & fingers -
Now AIDS makes it shy, but still
eager to serve -
out with the dumps, in with the condom'd
******** friend -
still rubbery muscular,
unashamed wide open for joy
But another 20 years who knows,
old folks got troubles everywhere -
necks, prostates, stomachs, joints--
Hope the old hole stays young
till death, relax
March 15, 1986, 1:00 PM
8.1k
please do not serve me **** pie on a silver platter!
oh, your unfamiliar with this type of pie?!! it is the kind
that is hot & fresh with buried lies and deceits colored scented to seem sweet.
Please, I do ask that you not serve this dish to me!
I see through and know there are many many layers
covering the other so I tell you do not serve to me
**** pie on a silver platter!!
Just be straightforward
then we are good and clear as long as you are a truth
teller you will have nothing to bury or hide baked
into quadruple **** layered sphincter pie so keep it straight
and girls won't hate but we will test and figure things,
So go with caution just as long as
we don't sniff a whiff
being served to us by you via silver splat
oh oops, that was your face oh-oh.
SorryNotSorry bout that!
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
Animal Crackers and my soup
Undigested in my ****
All the food I ate today
Coming out in the same way
Uncontrollable urge to strain
Even though it causes pain
My poor sphincter it does burn
And my guts just churn and churn
Pepto Bismol my old friend
Go right now and put an end
To the horrible, rancid flow
Burning my **** as it does go
Cramping spasms all day long
Something I ate went horribly wrong
Could it be the salad or bread?
Or maybe something not quite dead?
Perhaps it was the chicken or stew
Or the fish, boo hoo hoo!
I'm just praying for an end
So my **** can start to mend
And then suddenly to my surprise
That nasty flow simply dies
Gleefully I start to wipe
But then as I start to swipe
I hit a very tender spot
That feels like it is now red hot
Now the Charmin feels real rough
Like tree bark or abrasive stuff
I finish wiping with great care
While the pain I grin and bear
At last I stand and flush with glee
That nasty stuff that came from me
A moment later to my shagrin
I feel the urge to sit again
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
Hello there little hemorrhoid.
Hanging from my ****
I really wish you'd go away,
'Cause you hurt like you know what.
At times you seem to disappear,
And then I have relief.
But when I go and take a dump,
You then return. "Good grief!"
You really make me feel,
Like I'm pooping broken glass.
Or something else that's jagged,
That I have to try and pass.
I don't want you to stay around,
My sphincter and I agree.
'Cause when I use the toilet paper,
It feels like bark from a tree!
I've used medicated pads
And even gooey cream.
But no matter what, you still return,
Like an awful, recurring dream!
From suppositories to cold packs
And using an air pillow.
There seems to be no relief
From you my little fellow.
I've heard that a specialist
Who braves that funky zone
Can remove you with a snip
But my wallet's empty and alone.
So I guess I am stuck with you
On my derriere
And with the pain I get from you
Causing me to swear!
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 5:30 PM UTC
The bar behind the theatre was nearly empty apart from a couple of gay boys.
Well, it was a gay bar, so no ******* surprise there.
I glanced at the fat one and decided, 'No thank you very much,'
as I have noticed fat people often smell unpleasantly,
maybe it's the sweat trapped between their ********** that does it.
But the other one was very cute and I decided I would have him.
In those days, it was regarded as 'de rigeur' to buy a lad a lager and lime
before dragging him home with you for some nookie,
so I coughed up for a half pint with charm and grace.
Sadly, he was no great shakes in the conversational stakes,
but was I after intellectual stimulation? No, I ******* wasn't.
Anyway, once I'd checked his passport to ensure he was over-age
(no one wants any ******* trouble from the bigoted morality squad)
I dragged him back to my elegant bachelor orgy-pad
and stripped him off to investigate his lithe little body;
a nice smooth little **** and a reasonably clean ****
What more can you want from a one night stand?
After a bit of a damp snog and a good old *****
I lubed him up and gave his *** a right good poking.
He moaned a bit, but then who wouldn't moan,
with seven and a half inches of thick gristle shoved
all the way up their sphincter? I know I would.
After I had filled his rear end with love juice a couple of times,
I felt that kicking out was the name of the game.
Generously, I gave him a half-crown for his bus fare
as he said he was a bit short of cash, being unemployed.
It was the least I could do, as he had three miles to go home,
and it was raining cats and ******* dogs outside.
After he'd left, I checked out the bed sheets (as you would)
and was irritated to find a few skidmarks there,
or they may have been where I wiped my fingers
after having eaten a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk.
A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicions though.
'Ah well, true love always comes at a price', I reflected,
as I scraped the worst bits off with a nail file.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Not through your ****** your ear, or your nose,—
Your sphincter's the place where your sphincter ring goes!
O.O
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Oh, phalo skeptic,
part your wave for skirted ***** surfers,
tho, trout, tripe, and titmice thrill thrice..
Will duct tape save us?
Urge the Zamboni machine,
to microwave ice.
Quince down that pouting sphincter,
Oh, the tides do swell
on the morrow of passing fish.
Wheelbarrow pious.
Swift, awesome biblionauts,
Fire! Fire! Pail, Pail thy watered pitch.
Know this, every potato is somewhere vane ...
I'm busy now, rude duuude,
have you sweated a recumbent lout?
Indent chill mots,
Pete, I'm big in Europe, pal,
Have seen me dance the Macarena?
Fool, fool on that high hill,!
Take care when licking spiny urchins
Oy! I scare myself.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge-
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids are on the scrounge.
the atmosphere is thick with queer
Simon Cowells on the telly,
Tom Jones's bones are
th' microphones n
his bowels are
Ooozzing smelly.
through atrophied
arseholes who choose
between iconicity
n the domesticity blues.
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids - are on the scrounge.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
I break dawn
with a sledgehammer,
splintering the night
and scattering the stars,
and with hands made of stains,
I spend my days
piecing it back together.
Jan 17, 2023
Jan 17, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC
I am a poet, yes, but I sing only of
what I know, and all of that is
bicycles, the cries of the giraffe,
loneliness, and walks on
radioactive beaches.
So what is this, when you
ask me to write a love poem?
For three days, I have sat and
tried to write; and from my hand
has only come three arduous lines:
"I shall **** your ******* so hard
that your external **** sphincter shall
forever cease to function."
What the hell was that, I beseech you?
Our poets down the ages, have
written love poems on their paramours' blue
eyes, their raven-black hair, their fair
faces, yet mine is of my lover's rear?
Alas, this love song is no better than
a eunuch's, as it lacks compassion,
eroticism, sentimental
tear-filled eyes and superficial flirting words.
It is nothing fit for a Valentine's Day card.
But know, my darling, my aim was true;
I wished only to express my love for you.
At your disdain, your unhappiness, with my
threat toward an orifice, I've written five
lines of some things that I do happen to know:
"The weeping giraffe,
rode his blue bike
in silence,
down the contaminated beach,
lamenting his loneliness."
In the tears of that giraffe can be found
my great love for you.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Last night I had an unusual dream,
But not the type that would make you scream.
I dreamt I was eaten by a large dog beast,
It must have thought me part of a feast.
From inside its mouth I had a friend on my shoulder
He was clever and helpful, and I felt bolder.
He told me to avoid the sphincter muscles,
Should I wish to emerge with minimum tussles.
Instruction said that the safest way through
Was to be forced out while inside a pooh.
After kicking my way out of the crusty ****
I woke up and thought that was ****** absurd.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 6:58 AM UTC
on a dark desert highway, hot fart-wind in my hair
with a warm smell of diarrheoa rising up through the air
I was scared of pant-crapping on that starry starry night
my belly heavy and my sphincter groaned in pain
I had to stop for a *****
there she stood in the doorway, the receptionist from hell,
and I was thinking to myself what a ******* smell,
then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
I rushed into the bathroom shrieking, hey,
I need to pump it out.
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
now my bot is oozing brownly, it's got the mercedes bends;
I'd better wash it for the sake of her pretty boy friends
dancing in the courtyard, k-y jelly in their pockets,
some dancing in the **** some in their jockeys.
so I called up the waiter, please bring a bucket of wine;
he said: we haven't had such a ****** here since eighteen forty nine,
and then I got hold of this cute looking guy
who was a ******* great fairy
and he showed me his **** so hairy
probably laiden with a.i.d.s. ....
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
One day, the body decided to choose, they all wanted a say, win or lose. Never knowing who was boss, had made them all tired, on that day, this is what transpired...
The heart said "I should be in charge, I'm the toughest muscle and my love is large"
Said the feet, "Well, that's not fair. Without me you could go nowhere."
The hands spoke up, "Who helps you eat and drives your auto down the street?"
"Don't you like your balance, and how we help you dance, without us, you'd never stand a chance" said the arms in unison.
"Oh! But I'm not done" entered the heart, singing this tune "I guide you all blindly along, bringing hope and faith, why not sing my song?"
This sorely raised the sphincter's ire... "Without me, all you would expire... I'll constipate and blur the eyes, make you weak within the thighs. Make the brain go comatose, dribble on you feet, yea, that would be gross..."
****** says to all, clear as day* "Excuse me! I have something to say! Without me, you'd all be no more, for I give life, you're all a bore. I'm done with this stupid dispute!"
"Ummm, excuse me love muffin," says the thighs, "But if I didn't open wide, your point would be mute!"
The eyes chimed in, "Look here... Oh, that's right... You cannot see... Who better to guide you along... Without my help, how lost you'd be"
"I have a question." said the brain. "Don't you thin... Oh, wait... Without me you're all nothing. Legs couldn't walk, mouth could not talk, heart wouldn't believe and no one would breathe!"
"I'm your pull toy, your magic **** I make the babies... Yes, I be a ***** said Mr. You Know Who
"I think you smell funny" laughed the nose, "Go cry to your mommy, Boohoo!"
"If you think that smells bad," said miss muffin... "Take a lick on this and then get stuffin!"
"Don't forget about me! I can hear, I'm important too, I'm your ear!"
"Well, I'm more important, I let you all breathe" said the lungs.
"Without me you couldn't speak!" said the mouth, sticking out his tongue.
Said the sphincter, "I've told you all so... Without me working you'd be slow, you'd grow weak and cease to function and I'll close up with no compunction...." The other vital organs heard and then conceded without a word and then came the extremities who had no choice but to agree.
***Now you know, this little story goes, you don't need to be a brain to be boss, just an *******
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Fire breathing gorgons
Consume radical liquids
Fall into poetry repetition
Also sprach Zanabanana
Centered and pressurized
Back-up pushes against
Sphincter.
Antibiotic shortage
Carefully planned
Lower intestinal numbness
Head in the clouds
*** on the ground
I'm right
It hurts.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:39 AM UTC
ANAL-RETENTIVE
(Pea-Brains & Fecal-Matters)
There’s obvious precautions
For a ditsy-twerk’s ‘bottoming’
Cleanliness is the foremost-thing
Fore & aft, as a sailor might put-it
Don’t put that ****** away, just yet
When the Fleets in & the play’s the
thing, be smart & cautionary & clean
May end-up with a nasty sphincter
Where anyone would rather-not like
to sit upon, either, ever, & never
An oz. of precaution is worth a lb.
of cure & the cure might-be a worst
disaster than ever it’s antidote
— Ray Laccetti
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC
A fartle is a little ****
A tiny ***** teaser.
A puff of air, a piece of art,
An itsy sphincter sneezer.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
That lonesome crater
can never be filled
with anything but
settling dust.
I let my orbit speak for me
in a complex elliptical pace
always alternating closer
and then farther away.
No one ever goes out there
and that’s exactly why
the bombs are tested where
empty golden sand and white snow
can be painted by the incandescent
glow of a quadrillion campfires
and antiseptic Christian innocence
won’t sphincter-pinch the
fusion out of my audience
with its extra organs
providing their intoxicating vitamins.
How I don’t need lubricant!
I need hubris-can’t!
I need lubri – can!
How I don’t need wine!?!
I need wherene!?!
I need howne!?!
I am tired of ******* the last leg of this race.
I want to exchange my passioff for something…
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
Boom Boom Boom
my top beats shutter
becoming blush capades
Boom Boom Boom
my heart blasts blank
out every audible sound like
a rupture of the
greatest strum
you were a bass player
and that sounds like so much fun
Boom Boom Boom
better clean up the remnants
of this room
‘cause when I’m done
there’ll be puddles
Boom Boom Boom
my sphincter holds
then releases on tune
turning sparks on par
to quell the gloom
Boom Boom Boom
I’m so fucken into you dude.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
This prison with no walls
The mind is even too hot for thought to linger upon
Creativity vanishes when the contents of the dustbin are emptied
Hunger, lie and poverty
The everlasting diet of this wall-less facility
Noisesome ideology forcefed through the sphincter ani
Mother ran away from the constant tantrums of the AK
Forty seven men played that instrument and stole her dignity
The music was too loud she said
So she is still hiding six feet under
Brother coughs a lot, spits a lot and is a skeleton of wonder
What the hell? Where is heaven?
Sons mistook for dustbins constantly being reclaimed by the grave
This wall-less prison
Trust is no more between husband and wife
Men **** men and dog eat dog
Mothers shun their wombs
Vatican shut its doors
Hell is contemplating too
We dance to our heart beats, the only hope
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
while out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting ***** trained undone
via my ***** ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating a woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m**f*** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with ****** spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with their warrior whoosh!
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Fasting on the life I'm eating
my mouth and stomach start to growl
I tell myself it's all in my head
but there's nothing in my gut
a starved stomach similar to my schedule
all my body does is work
while my brain is trapped in my ulcer
eating just enough life to survive
seeing just enough light to get by
stumbling through a buffet
but I can't see the food
everything smells gourmet
but tastes like shoes
walking down the concourse of my bowels
exiting my sphincter as my intentions
so I put myself in detention for loss prevention
abandoning desires in my stomach
to be corroded by acid
that burns my heart and exits my mouth
as gurgling noises that sound like sentences
and burps of words
but my only real sentence is self imposed
because my only real words are self contained
in the constipated vise of what's inside.
It takes a strong stomach to be this weak.
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 9:54 PM UTC