"stenches" poems
To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer
The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings
Or to take action against a bellyful of gas,
And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat
No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end
The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches
That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution
Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to ****
But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem;
For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come,
When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail,
Must give us pause; there's the danger
That makes calamity of the farter’s life;
For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men,
The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip,
The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing,
The leaking **** orifice, and the drips,
Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes,
When he himself might sweet easance make
With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear,
Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions,
But that the dread of solids after air-release,
The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery
No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will,
And makes us bear the bellyache we have
Than fly to others we know not of?
Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all;
And then the native heave of constipation
Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation;
And enterprises of both ******* and crapping
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of exciting toilet action.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
‘Shadow of the day’
Play and play and release the locks of this attraction.
Sway and displace the diamond sealed in the concrete.
It shone and sparkled immense value.
Could’ve never ended and remained in your zone.
An amazing soul, rare and simply beautiful.
Replace this with thoughts known,
You pure gold, wish forces could entwine this desire not a norm.
Came packaged in a lovely form.
I viewed your sense and values and even butterflies fluttered and passed out from your flood of casual injection of euphoria.
Seems too futile…sadly the world hardly awards love.
Will it sub-side, found a real prince of note…maybe it could’ve been groomed and grown with the days.
Is it possible to remove such a being from my rooms of thought?
Will it get better or worse with time?
Hardly unreal when lips only recite our memories.
Make what’s engulfed me in your aura die,
It’s not needed, not happening again.
Why is it now…over and over again.
The stenches of my lust for you,
My longing to be in your presence.
For once, can I be blessed with treasure like you.
Shiny and rare…beautiful and valuable.
Regrets of loving so easily has now become a punishment.
Again I need to mend the pieces,
The millions of pieces broken by heavy disappointment.
Why did those words you said colour my ears,
How can you have made me feel liked yet you saw past me.
Haven’t my feet walked this hurt before.
Seems things are too heavy…
Never golden or maybe their lame gestures have rusted my heart.
Hardly any good in the possibilities, I hate these realities.
I’m fed up with these warriors who easily pull on my heart-strings.
Where shall I rest?
Find comfort and acceptance from the evil rest.
I saw sanctuary in your eyes,
Pictured a loving soul and felt a honourale being from your touch.
Loosen my grip on what will never happen.
Too raw…yet the heart has become immune.
Now mind and energy drowns in gloom.
20years of living…still I believe in love.
Still I want to believe there’s one for me.
Understanding and equally loving.
But…sadly there’s been no luck.
Maybe, just maybe it’s my fault.
Maybe I reveal too much and have them regretting they laid eyes on me.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
In Kohln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fang’d with murderous stones
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well defined, and several stinks!
Ye Nymphs that reign o’er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?
3.8k
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks—the sky is saffron-yellow—
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.
Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway!
Oh the clammy fog that hovers
And at Home they’re making merry ’neath the white and scarlet berry—
What part have India’s exiles in their mirth?
Full day begind the tamarisks—the sky is blue and staring—
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o’er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.
Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly—
Call on Rama—he may hear, perhaps, your voice!
With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars,
And to-day we bid “good Christian men rejoice!”
High noon behind the tamarisks—the sun is hot above us—
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan.
They will drink our healths at dinner—those who tell us how they love us,
And forget us till another year be gone!
Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching!
Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain!
Youth was cheap—wherefore we sold it.
Gold was good—we hoped to hold it,
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain.
Grey dusk behind the tamarisks—the parrots fly together—
As the sun is sinking slowly over Home;
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether.
That drags us back how’er so far we roam.
Hard her service, poor her payment—she is ancient, tattered raiment—
India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind.
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple’s shrine we enter,
The door is hut—we may not look behind.
Black night behind the tamarisks—the owls begin their chorus—
As the conches from the temple scream and bray.
With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us,
Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day!
Call a truce, then, to our labors—let us feast with friends and neighbors,
And be merry as the custom of our caste;
For if “faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after,
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.
3.5k
Shall I get drunk or cut myself a piece of cake,
a pasty Syrian with a few words of English
or the Turk who says she is a princess--she dances
apparently by levitation? Or Marcelle, Parisienne
always preoccupied with her dull dead lover:
she has all the photographs and his letters
tied in a bundle and stamped Decede in mauve ink.
All this takes place in a stink of jasmin.
But there are the streets dedicated to sleep
stenches and the sour smells, the sour cries
do not disturb their application to slumber
all day, scattered on the pavement like rags
afflicted with fatalism and hashish. The women
offering their children brown-paper *******
dry and twisted, elongated like the skull,
Holbein's signature. But his stained white town
is something in accordance with mundane conventions-
Marcelle drops her Gallic airs and tragedy
suddenly shrieks in Arabic about the fare
with the cabman, links herself so
with the somnambulists and legless beggars:
it is all one, all as you have heard.
But by a day's travelling you reach a new world
the vegetation is of iron
dead tanks, gun barrels split like celery
the metal brambles have no flowers or berries
and there are all sorts of manure, you can imagine
the dead themselves, their boots, clothes and possessions
clinging to the ground, a man with no head
has a packet of chocolate and a souvenir of Tripoli.
2.9k
The man was distraught.
that she could clearly see.
The pretty young doctor
sat quietly behind her desk
as the man explained
his systems to her. In detail.
you see doctor
i **** all the time.
i mean wherever I am
In church at the movies
on a date in my office
everywhere
I have no control over the farts
he was almost weeping.
but be said there is one blessing.
they are silent and do not smell.
in fact I just dropped one now.
doctor. You have to help me.
she nodded in sympathy.
look it's fixable she said reassuringly .
take two of these pills
four times a day with food.
and come back to see me in a week.
five days later the man returned
in an awful state,totally distraught.
*** *** *** he wept.
whats the matter she asked.
those pills you gave me made it worse.
when I **** now it stenches
like a stagnant swamp.
You got to help me.
The young woman
smiled and said that's great.
we have fixed your nose.
now.
Lets work on those ears.
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Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
Acrid stenches of contrived action
stain his sloppy, uneven speeches
gallantry is unnerving, obnoxious
to me, even in the grandest favors.
I sniff with all my offended senses.
To a bloodhound nose, it's cloying.
He smells like he's trying too hard,
trying too hard smells sour, biting.
I prefer challenges from a cunning,
a silver-tongued fox. Let me chase.
Subtle while retaining the ability to
remain brazen, aye, there's the rub.
Chomping at the bit, the overeager
and easily pleased are not my kind,
the authentic and untamed always
give me more rise than an easy bait.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Where were you, you little *******
Where were you hiding
As I turned out the lights last night?
Were you in the closet as I came into the bedroom?
Did you seep like a flood
Across the floor in the darkness
Rising up the leg of the bed
And into my ears like liquid toxic waste?
Were you under the pillow
And as my fingers slid under there
Between the crisp, smooth layers of white cotton?
Did you coil about my fingers
And up my arm
To spread over my scalp
All fuming-acid corrosive?
Were you in under the folds
Of the welcoming, white-striped comforter
As we turned in after a perfectly pleasant day?
Waiting, still, in the dark
As I pulled the blankets up taught?
And just below my chin
As the cold sheets around me warmed
To stop the just-into-bed shivers?
Did you crawl up then as I dozed
And twist around my throat
To tighten slowly until I awoke in your grip?
Where ever you were hiding,
You got the drop on me.
You turned the tiny dim lights
That peek into the room at night
Into piercing lasers.
You amplified the tiniest odours
Into dizzying, eye-watering stenches.
You traded the rising-sun's rays
As they finally pierced the curtains
After my hours of sleepless discomfort
For a blasts of neutron-bomb radiation.
Worst of all
You stole the cool, soothing side of the pillow
Every time I managed to find it
Giving me instead a sickly, warm bundle of gorse.
Where were you, you little *******
Where were you hiding?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
down the Valley
where the river flows
flocks of graves
swarmed with crows
ashes to ashes
turn dust to dust
where their metals lei
and turned to rust
stenches of blood
screams and decay
where wasted sheds
are left astray
down the Valley
where the river flows
are plumps of graves
where flowers grow
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Vile odor
Stenches through
Dainty covers
To rotten pages
With
In.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
do you
ever wonder
if stars
feel unappreciated
unloved?
to the point where
they shrug and say
"no human even
takes time to look"
then with their last
effort to shine and
shimmer
they explode
into gas and dust particles
never to light up
the night sky
again
do
withered flowers
bother you?
what if they longed
to live
to grow
to survive
but just because
of one
wayward human
its petals
fell
its stem
wilted
and its color
faded
what about
the clouds
in the sky
are their drops
of water
a plea for help?
do they tear up
because of all
the unpleasant
chemicals and
vile stenches
we bring?
do you
think that
the wind moans
violently
because it didn't
drift
the way it
wanted to go?
what if
trees
swayed side to side
when they
hear the
beautiful songs
beautiful melodys
of the bluebirds
perched on their
branches
did it cross
your mind
if the sun
and moon
were long time
lovers
but now they
feel loneliness
and despair because
the only time they
meet
is when the sun
sets and
the moon rises
did it ever
occur to you
that if humans
had
feelings
nature could too?
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
Disregarded, no thanks.
I no longer fall for the pranks.
I withdraw my cash from the bank.
On a scale of one to ten how do I rank?
Poverty stenches & stank.
Stale & untrusted.
Broken, abandoned, & undusted.
Defeated, hobbled, & now rusted.
Felonies & misdeameanors busted.
Lawbreakers, corruded & crusted.
Marry a man with a job & a van.
Who does all that he can.
My secret wish on a shooting star.
To stop getting drunk at the bar.
A walk to his momma's house isn't far.
Work ethics get my kiss.
Employment was my wish.
Success is our bliss.
Like jawbreakers dangerous & senseless.
Civilization settlers & makers.
Pioneers, homemakers, waiters, bakers, & Quakers.
The towns folk are usually broke.
Different walks of life is no joke.
Occupations & professions of a wife.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
Vicinit vicinit the gamut go round
Progenies excogitate faster
Ode to no eminent thing
We all morph into matter.
The atramentous inky and blackest dense;
sprints and weaves in and out.
Tenuring twains over head, under toe;
Absconding ways in which we've never known
A paramounted heretic defeat.
Darkness that foliole footprints sooted deep;
Seeping stenches of fowl un-scented reminiscent in attire of the welkin;
Vastly sly making a skullduggery indent.
CR2X let us pseudonym by hex.
"No nomen no nomen for I matter dark"
"Matronymic nix hold's my fine lark"
"Nongermane logics are behind you and left"
"I am not your scientific pet"
Not a test, nix preliminaries"
Matter of all is of all existing quarries"
Spoken gallant and wise
Need not ever a compromise
"Matter dark matter dark it is you we embark!"
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
Youth drifts towards the fire
Searing red hot heat hiccup farts
Filled to the brim of one another's stenches
The girl who said she hated neon green
Now wears
Neon green shoes
We are all hypocrites in the end
Nothing touches truer
Then a man who dies thankfully
As a brewer
Truth is a made up word
There is no truth
There is only
The act of the man behind the desk behind the shades behind the cubicle wall behind the pencil behind the pen behind the novel and the short story and the muscle tee and the audition that went well and the audition that went poorly and the sight of a man when their mother calls or doesn't call to tell them that their father is dead with no hint of sadness in her voice, she is more annoyed by her rose bushes which wilt in the un-sinking southern heat
Tonight
As the jackolope jack-offs roam the street for another skirt to chase
And the skirts float with the will of this summer wind
As the genie vendors hock their wares to freshmen too dumb to even care
And the liquor loser ******** on fast food restaurants and their walls
Tonight
These are the beings we dare to call human
Tonight
Daddy and mommy are sleeping and dreaming of a better future
As up-scale glitter demons girate parts they didn't even know they had
And bench pressing brothers continue on with their sadistic born again others
Tonight
I dare not dream
For fear of discovering
Myself
Without time
May 27, 2011
May 27, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
I woke up with a breeze knocking at my window,
I woke up to the sun, sending a ray of hay aglow,
My feet crawled me to the open hands of the clouds,
Where morning stood smiling, with the chirping sounds,
A breeze came along yet again to brush my hair,
While the rose perched proudly, upon the stem of a leafy pair,
The dew was lying on the velvety red petal,
The soft earth, waiting its return to the warm natal,
I finally took myself into my own senses,
and drifted to a life that was unlike the morning, cribbed with stenches,
But life this beautiful should not hold you back,
to take a step ahead, and finally unhook fate's rigid backpack,
Life is about those feathery white clouds,
Life is about earths' scented mounds,
Life is about the crawling of dew drops,
Life is about those smiling golden crops.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
I wake up and it's tour day
Bright shining sunny
The little ones line up and fidget
Go up to the street's side and watch
Some others stream into the museum
Whose insides are covered in papers
And sketched all over with crayons
Depicting a cityscape and palace interiors
The parades are full of balloons and yet empty
Then the parade has a different balloon
It's alive, regenerating, strong
A simple face exuding evil
Suddenly I know; we have to run. Now.
Children are running and crying
My friends and I glance at eachother
Anxious, fearful
I have to dash back and forth
Running, trying to calm the children
Reassuring myself and my friends doing the same
The stenches of fear and pain permeate the air
Somehow I need to get away, to escape
And run
Then two women appear
Cold, sterile, lifeless automotons
Trying to take me away
So I pretend for a bit to follow, buying time
Then I struggle away, and run back
Mad dash
I find two friends and plead help
Wyatt is willing, Max is silent, Rachel isn't there
The women are back and no time remains
After one last plea I jump the wall
Fall, climb, stand, run
Gary appears barely in time, time for what I don't know
He runs along side, pushing, pulling, somehow helping
While saying nothing, too far away to touch
We're running into eternity,
Away from a black swarming wave of putrid evil
I wake up, sweating, gasping
And I'm still running
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
The bridge to my ole factory
Crumbled under the fury
Of 70 stenches times 2
That welcomed me back to the Garden City in '06
The high priest of higher learning
and fulfillment
Had lured me away
For a few decades
And the wheels of time
Kept turning and turning
Along the long grinding road
To that elusive greener sanctuary of lore,
The El Dorado of every wide-eyed
Immigrant to foreign shores
A fat black cat floated sideways in the gutter
Between a bevy of fruit vendors,
Bloated by the pungent gases of death;
It was still there when I returned,
5 days later
The roads all seemed to have shrunk,
Overwhelmed by a tsunami
of trucks, cars and mini vans;
All in a rush,
Running late to their own funerals
I gave the driver a few extra dollars
To slow down;
I wanted to be on time
For mine
Feeling like a stranger
In my own backyard,
I scanned the crowded marketplace
For one familiar face
To ask about the dead black cat
floating in the gutter
"He used to run things around here," she said
"Back when rats were shy and scared;
But times have changed
And these new rats have no fear."
And they don't care about clean gutters either.....
~ P (Pablo)
(6/24/2013)
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
The thunderclouds circle the Valley.
Soothing sounds from the darkest formations.
Send me off shore, One with the Galley.
No one shall miss thee, let there be little doubt.
The waves have risen and lowered; Littered with evil stench.
My guts hit the Stain, never again to be the same.
Just trying to forget, curse this haunted skin.
Being unable to forget, I'm a ******* living life in pretense.
Blue, blue, blue; the one color I see or touch.
Feeling helpless until eventually, i too turn blue.
Only then, do I count my blessings. No use for crutches.
Treat every human as if they were the last hearts blessed.
Land ** Finally, everything I have waited for.
These sands are clouds. My date with the almighty is here.
The one who stenches the darkness with Ammonia.
Does his best to keep those haunted souls at bay.
Fire is also Blue,
Thus hell might be too.
Fight for me, lord of Orion.
It's Heaven, I should have praised before departure.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
my love is a wild orchid leaking at the mouth at dawn
as hands find ways to place themselves in invisible places
burning beneath dreary midnight skies
terror and rushing silent hearts, something good
I have pranced upon in life meadows
and I find this lingering between those two places
perfection speaks silently
perfection whispers violently
I find worlds to live in
where our windows are portals to the spiritual
and open doors bring in tender wind
violet voices drip beneath the skin
in rich shades of heart fall
leaving imprints of impersonation and
reconstruction on my wall
blinding the unforgiving love of routine
and blue curtains that were hung up last winter
with a smile brushed upon a sad face
living in forests of wild woods and pubescent trees
mock the artificial mind of this city
learn how to be
I am no casting eminence glancing down
breath taking seas, locked in the agony of happiness
and criminal hearts, kissed by a kisser
holding hands tediously as 3 hearts melt into one
like the rain coming down from your roof
and the joy of falling asleep to the sound
of water being absorbed into the ground
recycled, there is something so comforting about it
flower printed walls, and hallmark cards lay around
the smell of coffee stenches the carpet
there is something glorifying about broken bottles in the corner of the bar
perhaps a long night of silent communication
and unbearable looks of quiet knife like stares
piercing-exciting
loving
Apr 20, 2011
Apr 20, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Once more unto the breach,
dear friends;
We tremble, we
withdraw our pens
We sit still, listen
Calm, collected
To prove our brains
Have not defected,
Once more letting them teach
Our heads
We caw and flutter
Fresh from beds.
We wait long, patient
Trudge the trenches,
to stave away
Failure's stenches.
Once more, until we meet
Our ends;
Continue calling
What luck might send,
We want most, if not all
The gifts unknown,
To make them known.
And yet this day
Is clearly done,
We slump away
Back to our homes.
We write our fingers,
to the bones.
Sleep and toss,
(A dream's a peach)
Then once more,
Unto
The Breach.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Stenches Swarm as I Flee.
Further is Closer, but Closer can't be.
I'm trying to hide from my own Misery.
This is not just an Excerpt; A Moment; A Thing.
Home is so ******* Far away.
Amidst these Beings, I am Forever alone.
As I Run through my City,
With arms so depraving,
I turn to the sky,
Now Scorched by their screams.
Their caustic teeth,
Slowly Sink into me.
A Carving so starving,
A Man, it could not be.
Dance, lover, dance,
Back, thrown from the chance,
That I might just Taste you,
And Submerge you in Hands.
Hands from the victims,
Now quick with demands.
Your Sweat wets the floor,
Your Blood Bank, A dried Store.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
You should have checked the Backseat.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
blue lilies
now;wilted and zapped
petals of hibiscuses;
frosting and drooping
pressed between our pages
stenching and staining
them edges
bleeding
the flesh stenches
the putrid blooms
carve squealing wounds
the blood engulfs the heart
that deliquesces
the crevices are graved
then the heart deliquesces
and falls into two
down/a rotting corpse
it oozes into
the disgust of existence
creeping through shredded layers
of shroud
covering the withering bones,
mass
and
emotions
searing
it melts eventually-the shroud
until it reaches the bones
crashes them there
spilling the liquids/
all that is left bare
is already atrophying
and i guess that's the difference between dying and rotting
dying at least leaves you
the voids to hold onto
to be nostalgic for what was held
dying-paints,hues from the ashes that blew
but rotting
eats away all that existed
and snaps leaving
detritus,stinking
odor that i need
the craft of us
all worn out
the fragments dis plumed through holocausts
the rebellion in ruination
and the twitched cold feet
each breath i've took,now smothering
you,me,and everything
the reflections,contradictions
intoxicating,caging charcoal abstracts
punctured and ruptured
all constituents consuming and decaying now
every treble
so heavy
freezing not frozen
perishing not lighter
maybe these moments
-they never stop
cause right there in the midst
everything rots.
-/and we let it
~d
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
Rosy cheeks betray intentions
knotted stenches lingering.
Partitions are parceling
past eyes crossed.
Rhythms betray spontaneity.
They are rehearsed rendezvouses.
Let me hold you
Let me hold you hold me
and escape the worst of it.
Just for a moment.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
Remove my body
From the
Wreckage
Tell all
The papers
Who I am
Let it be
Known
I won't
Be
Beaten
Down
Buried with
Black flowers
And doused
In rotten
Stenches
I am
Here
And not
There
I am one
With
The ways
Of the
Winds
I bind
Them to my body
And fly
Up
Down
Up and
Out
You can't win
I won't
Lose
I can't
For the wind
Does not permit
Such
Atrocities
It gives me no
Other choice
But to
Get
Up
And continue
On
Heart beating
Blood
Pumping
Eyes
Set
On the
Horizon
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC