"urinate" poems
When I was recovering,
I used to get false sensations,
To urinate and I got illusions.
I thought that my parents were ghosts,
And so was I in hell under many pains,
That was whilst I was recovering.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey **** is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
It's alright gal I've turned off the lights
tonight is going to be a night to remember
your coat is in the cupboard under the stairs
hung and forgotten
for where you are going you won't need it
bed awaits our love making
your legs wrapped around my hips
you get yourself comfy
I need to urinate
ill empty my bladder and be right there
lay back and think of England
because no one but me will hear you scream
when I slip my ***** in
and make you wet
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
As a child
I would sometimes urinate in my sleep.
The warm wetness would turn cold, and wake me.
Ashamed, I’d take off my Pjs and crawl under the comfort of my Sister covers.
She was studying to be a teacher and taking courses in child psychology
About the time I started “bedwetting”.
Recognizing my unnecessary guilt, she told me not to be upset.
“If that ever happens, just spoon with me and we’ll take care of it in the morning.”
I did know what that meant.
Mother would get so mad.
Of course I had no idea why I would "wet the bed",
but she did.
Our Parents would often argue into the night.
And although I did not understand any of it,
like a dog,
I felt the tension.
I sensed the discourse in their voices.
It was the same discourse they used to scold me.
Therefore, I thought they were angry at me.
The silence was worse though.
Even though their biting tone would cease, I could still feel the smoldering anger.
The air was thick with it.
My Sister was a young woman, soon to be married and out of that hell.
She was the Mother I never had.
She had a huge black RCA transistor radio and use to put it next to my bed,
tuned to a Rock and Roll station.
I never knew why she did that until many years later.
It drowned out our Parents fighting.
The music became my solace.
“I like bread and butter, I like toast and jam”
And soon,
I stopped urinating in my sleep.
Of course the by-product of her intervention was
that I have been a professional musician and entertainer all of my life.
Music has been and always will be my solace.
It blocks out the arguing in the world.
thanks Sis
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
This one time...I was real happy.
All expectation had the correct tact,
had the correct sharpness,
the saturation levels were just so.
but then stuff happens
the stuffs what I'm afraid of.
not the movie reel anymore
I am no longer afraid to dance in light of passing frames on a movie screen,
or look at the actors straight in the eyes,
what happens is, the content, un-contents.
We urinate, we spew, we spackle, we *** we ****
we live all of life in two fiking seconds.
Thats alright,
Know one what whats right,
and thats why its right :)
So turn up the music to 50 volume on the sony.
crack a beer,
grind a little,
***** the amalgam of emotion, that is.
Emotion.
Waltz.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
I do not want to pile on,
But I am in sweet pain,
Just below the belt...
Pain due to nervousness,
My dad was unwell,
He got successfully operated...
He's my dear guardian Angel,
Sustained injury whilst protecting me,
I escaped with minor gashes.
He's undoubtedly the best father,
There may be any trouble on me,
But he's always standing on guard.
I strive to make my father feel proud,
And though I often fail to make him feel so,
I shall not give up hope that I shall make him feel proud.
Right now,
I am in pain,
I am unable to urinate.
But this pain is bearable,
I shall now help him recover,
My life is his blessings all over.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.
Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.
We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.
We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.
Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.
A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.
Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.
And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.
Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.
Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?
Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.
I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.
Bonding,
With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.
Nov 13, 2023
Nov 13, 2023 at 9:41 PM UTC
Happy Halloween
Trick or treats at the front door,
give them candy, but they want more.
I put poison in their candy bar,
razors in their apple will leave a scar.
Tired of hearing, the ringing of my bell,
all these **** kids can go to hell.
Putting tacks in their Milky Way,
don't they know candy causes tooth decay.
Even with the lights off, they still knock,
I hate every kid on this **** block.
I give them lint from my dryer,
their stupid costumes, I light on fire.
I put pennies in their pillow case,
some kids so ugly, don't need masks on face.
I smile at their moms, standing on the sidewalk,
all the hot ones, I can't help but gawk.
When they say trick or treat,
I make them lick my smelly feet.
Putting pins in their Baby Ruth,
no longer will they have a sweet tooth.
Putting nails in their peanut butter Twix,
I have a big bag filled with rotten tricks.
I put Anthrax in their Snickers,
on the Kit Kat i cover with chiggers.
Three Musketeers are filled with staples,
Butterfingers have splinters from wooden tables.
Naughty kids get a bag of my ****
from the toilet, that I often sit.
Maybe next year they will learn,
or I'll give them ashes from their parents urn.
Sometimes I scare them and make them beg,
their so scared, you can see *** running down their leg.
I've even given left overs from the fridge,
all the maggots make their bodies twitch.
Next Halloween, if I'm not in jail,
I will urinate in every candy pail.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely pesuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
– Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
Boys at school, they’ll laugh when they read this.
The regular blond hair
the regular blue eyes.
Average Southern Belle
aren’t you?
They’re men, aren’t they? And if they aren’t yet
well they’re well on there way.
They hunt and fish and urinate in
the bushes. What do women do?
They put on pretty pink blush
and paint they’re little lime nails
and brush they’re golden light hair.
They’ll make suffragette speeches
And watch Breaking Bad
and have so much passion in
their hearts it spills out onto
their swelling round worlds.
They’ll listen and take pity
and see every side to be seen
and write novels daily
and look at the world through
the clearest blue eyes.
The lulling twang in the voice
and the piercing sight of sea blue.
Quite the intelligent girl,
aren’t you?
Boys at school, they’ll laugh when they read this.
But it’s true.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
What does it mean to be human once more?
To wake up on the wrong side of this floor?
To walk naked through my house on a quest to urinate?
To see differing opinions with nothing but hate?
To work my second nine-to-five?
To sit through another 30 minute drive?
To party at night, with my beer cans stacked?
To awake in the morning with all of my odds stacked?
To plod through the same job breaking my back?
To miss little league games for which my kids give me flak?
To throw money at them hoping they'll take me back?
To display disappointment with my life thus far?
Is this how we display how civilized we are?
How well we can march to the whistle?
How well we can bend in the wind like thistles?
That we are able to make the most money?
That we are the ones who decide what is funny?
That my polo shirt is more expensive than your nikes?
That if I stepped on them you would attempt to fight me?
That the only thing we revere is might?
That we re-iterate things that are bleak and trite?
That we poison our love with the hours we work?
That we would tear your heart out with a rusty fork?
That we're all caged pigs on anti-biotics?
Rather than wild with diseases that frolic?
People say they hate what society has become.
So we look for another public forum to dispose of our gum.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
The night was made for loving
But the days are said to be
The death of a poet’s eye before,
He says what has to be said.
There’s no heat in the city,
Only depression and misery
All around town, no garbage collection,
Only rental units with
high vacancy rates seems counterintuitive,
The colours of the disposable bags
Said, sacks and waste, bed bugs, and roaches,
So take your landlord to court and come out on top
Said the poet, before death trap us
As I drove around the city, my heart is oppressed with
anguish to the very point of death that surround us.
That awful display on every city block.
Homeless men and women urinate, defecate,
Behind, the doors and alleys,
we need a wind of change today
the night not so much matter
However, it’s the day after everything comes to light,
Another lost soul, another day to push forward
Is it illegal to be homeless, when trying to try to stay alive?
The Devil will try to stop anything good!
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:26 AM UTC
It's child abuse in the Afghani style,
Men get hold of little boys to play,
They fiddle with the kids' flies,
Dig their fingers deep inside,
Get hold of the miniature tools,
Twiddle them till they just urinate.
And then the kids are addicted,
They keep repeating it by themselves,
It is not exclusive to the Afghanis,
Even some Indians often do it,
I know because even I was a victim.
Now I protect every other kid.
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
I don’t believe a word you say;
You voted for Trump, so go away.
I don’t want your opinion any more
On literally any kind of issue.
Though you now begin to realize
What you did to us all. Get a tissue.
Go stand in the corner and let us
Adults fix up the mess you made.
None of you paid attention
Further than the second grade.
It’s not truly all your fault, I confess.
We have to lay blame on the press.
I’m not much happier with the
Millions who didn’t even vote.
They stayed home and ******
Made the country miss the boat.
A lazy, worthless population
Is a shameful kind of circumstance
But a stupid loudmouthed bunch of fools
Is at the prom without any pants.
Then we look to a political group
That rolls around in their own ****
By electing a pompous baboon
Who can barely read or spell
Who spews out daily jabberwocky
That drives us all to a kind of hell.
He's an attention ***** and monster.
A spoiled rich brat with no brains
Who wants to set fire to the USA
Then urinate on the remains.
The horror is, though it’s all visible
Your lack of care about facts is risible.
You gladly go along with him when
He blames his predecessor instead,
Saying the fault is what your idiot did
Not keeping the truth firmly in your head.
It’s no longer campaign rhetoric.
So please wake the hell up and see
What your stupidity is doing to us
Because we can’t bend you over our knees.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC
I urinate on your weak wording,
not out of disrespect but I find that
this is all the apologise that they need.
Can I give your thoughts merit on mere
wording, No.... they brain damage me,
to a Neanderthal grasping of should I touch fire.
I try to inhibit my attention but I wrap my
mind around a lamp post and my thoughts
bleed swiftly out on the road till they die..
They are like full beam on a dark road leading
to the eventuality of my mind blinded thinking
how could this have been shone before eyes.
I urinated on your word just to put the fire out
that was burning on the page, charcoal words
were washed quickly from my now numbed mind.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
1
Tommy’s little, sure, but he’s
getting to that age
when he understands a little more
picking up things as his parents
take him shopping;
and hearing and seeing things
at home, in the backyard
and in the streets
2
but today poor Tommy
is caught in class
he’s about to explode
and he’s controlled it the last hour
“Please, miss,” he has the *****
to say it after all
*“I need go ****
“You’re not going,”
says the pedantic Miss,
*“until you use in a complete sentence
the proper English word
for your urge:
URINATE”*
Poor Tommy –
he’s got the ***** but does
he have the brains?
Tommy thinks hard for a while -
one hand on his head
one hand on his pants
and then he blurts out:
*“YOU ARE AN EIGHT
and Mrs Smith next door
who sunbathes naked in her courtyard
LOOKS LIKE A TEN. Now, can I go?”*
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Miss Ashdown
faced the blackboard
and chalked leaves
and buds and stems
her fat behind waddled
as she moved
from side to side
and Carmody said
if you peep through
the small hole
in the toilets
you can see
into the girl’s cubicle
and see their *******
you stared
at the teacher’s behind
half listening
to Carmody’s yak
she moved the chalk
along the board
a stem appeared in green
her plump arm supported
her chubby hand and fingers
Carmody went on and on
about what he saw
in whispering voice
now
Miss Ashdown said
turning around
her big ******* bulging
behind her purple dress
here I have drawn the stem
of a flower and here
she said
pointing to the blackboard
is the bud and here is the stem
and so she went on
pointing out each aspect
of the nature study plants
she’d drawn
see her down the front
with her pink bow
and ginger hair?
Carmody asked
you nodded
to his whispering voice
your eyes on the girl
at the front desk
next to Helen
she wears blue *******
Carmody informed
saw them this morning
you saw the girl
raise a hand to ask
questions about the plants
or to be excused to urinate
her blue cardigan covered arm
lifted the small hand
waving in the air
and here
Miss Ashdown said
is the root layout
see how its spreads
to gather food
and moisture
to the plant
she ignored
the raised hand
and the blue cardiganed arm
went down and out of view
and her over there
Carmody said
by the chart of trees
she wears white
you moved away slightly
from Carmody’s head
remembering
some one had said
that morning
he had fleas.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Crane Fly,
I don't mind your harmless flutter
across my bathroom tiles.
another living thing in my apartment
actually brings me some comfort.
but you need to stop flying straight at my *****
every time I try to urinate.
it is impolite.
and completely unacceptable.
and although I know you pose no actual threat to my genitalia,
I don't want you landing on it.
when you try to, I freak out,
and *** all over the place.
and throughout time men have never hesitated to **** others who threatened their manhood.
I imagine millions of human lives have been lost because of *****
I have no respect for that.
thou shalt not ****
there's no ***** clause.
but let this serve as a final warning,
because you are a guest in my house,
and you only continue exist,
because I allow it.
so stay the hell away form me,
when my ***** is exposed,
and I am vulnerable,
or my survival instincts will end you.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 2:13 AM UTC
He likes knocking hats off policeman
he loves to urinate in the streets
he wears his socks for months
just so that his feet will stink
He spits on door handles
he will crap into bags
then throw it at a shop window
and especially ****** banks
He likes to set fire to supermarkets
he loves the sound of sirens
he wants an end to poverty
without knowing he is making it
He needs to be locked up
they need to throw away the key
what a ****** waste of life
this sad little Anarchist be
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
The Influence of Arborfield which is still On My Conscience
It's the guest room at Dun Jipping and I'm quaffing tepid tea
From a chipped pint *** with AAS that someone's passed to me.
And although I've tasted better tea I really can't complain
About this brew I'm drinking now, I think I should explain.
When young and given jankers (seven days and never less),
The powers that be would always make us work in officers' mess.
And if, while there, we'd feel the need to go and have a ***
We'd take off lid to tea *** and urinate in their tea.
And the cook would laugh and swirl it round, the steward serve it up,
Then he'd come back to kitchen and tell us who'd had cup.
But that was years and years ago, we squaddies then but brutes
And here no one's on jankers, and we don't take in recruits,
Thus this tea that I am sipping, uncontaminated tea,
Might be strong and tepid but I know it's free of ***
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 1:37 AM UTC
spinning stars on my fingers, but they are amputated
before I could get callouses or cigarette burns
like daddy gave me when we hiked through woodlands
and meant to urinate in shrubbery not on my shoes
years we were consumed by the distance of each other
but he could not have scarred me on purpose
or I would have known it was meant to sting a little
sleeping in blackness but wondering ceaselessly
through conversations in which lovers are not obsessed
if I do not wring my eyelids, juice the retinas to bed
figures dance and they are ghosts of rifles he has
us children **** the very barrel obsessively
until the trigger flicks our tongue, soon I smell smoke
black and white and the disorder is somewhat colorless
there are sparks but rarely a single flame to see
just the bruises spitting **** slapped into skim milk
and now, some relief, I can do all the slapping myself.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
One time
I took a medication
that interfered
with my bladder function
I couldn't urinate
The very talk of a catheter
scared the **** out of me
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
Clara is in deep thought.
Head on pillow. Hand
resting beside head, one
ring on finger. She sighs.
Senses still his touches,
smells still his aftershave,
his body odours beneath.
Moves leg. Muscles in
left buttock feel numb.
She didn’t want to leave,
didn’t want him to stay,
didn’t want him anyway.
She moves her toes. He
****** those. He said let’s
make love and that was it.
If that was love then love
is not what love was often
promised. She sniffs the pillow.
His smell, his presence there.
A small strand of hair. Her
mother never spoke of ***
or what it entailed; her mother
failed. She moves on her
back, stretches her legs.
Had cramp. The moves he
wanted, the positions he
required. Now she’s tired.
She senses the urgent need
to urinate. Full bladder.
Closes eyes. Feels the need
increase. Needs release.
She wonders what made
him make love the way he did;
those moves and positions.
The language he used. She
feels abused. She sits up.
Needs to urinate, moves
to edge of the bed, stands
and races to the toilet.
Door’s stuck; **** too late.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 3:15 PM UTC
I am a man, I have few strands of hairs under my jaw, I have a baritone voice, I have few whiskers above my upper lip. Again, I stand up to urinate. Finally, I have erections every morning when I wake up.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC