"urinated" poems
(Interlude)
My eyes in 1910
never saw the dead being buried,
or the ashen festival of a man weeping at dawn,
or the heart that trembles cornered like a sea horse.
My eyes in 1910
saw the white wall where girls urinated,
the bull's muzzle, the poisonous mushroom,
and a meaningless moon in the corners
that lit up pieces of dry lemon under the hard black of bottles.
My eyes on the pony's neck,
in the pierced breast of a sleeping Saint Rose,
on the rooftops of love, with whipers and cool hands,
in a garden where the cats ate frogs.
Attic where old dust gathers statues and moss,
boxes keeping the silence of devoured *****
in a place where sleep stumbled onto its reality.
There my small eyes.
Don't ask me anything. I've seen that things
find their void when they search for direction.
There is a sorrow of holes in the unpeopled air
and in my eyes clothed creatures - undenuded!
7.4k
Stars are drawn in the exact shape I love you –
to the moon and back, going a distance like Santa’s sleigh
making the rounds every black sequence,
the Earth does not cease rotation, so stars do not blink
or forget to twinkle when God does not shovel dark clouds:
pillows of snow that have been urinated in,
still fresh beyond the membrane of something grey.
I do not mind if you call that ugly.
I understand if my rural nights are frightening to you –
they were to me at first, they did not feel like
a time, rather the absence of
and I do not mind if my poems feel that way sometimes.
I write this because the evening never stops –
five o’clock somewhere and midnights too, which we pale
by blonde stars, the hair color of mine you despised
resurrected. Never stopping as you and I do not.
My ex-girlfriend bought me a star once,
though I did not know you then, it was still our shape
the contour of your hair clogged in my bathtub
the blue moods of mine dyed purple, almost lilac by you –
I think of how her ******* got in the way when
I tried to listen to her heartbeat
but yours is always there, never stopping like stars
never blinking in the exact shape I will always love you.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Well of course, Your Honour, I can explain,
why I urinated on the train.
You see the first toilet appeared to be locked,
and the other one of course was blocked.
Is it wrong? You could dispute,
Do you expect ‘Moi’ to ruin an Armani suit?
Clearly men of our position,
can appreciate my pleas of contrition?
What’s that you say? Inebriated?
A glass or two, it should be stated -
for the record, which should also note,
the tear in the sleeve of my cashmere coat,
caused by the vandals that restrained,
as I was wrongly cuffed and detained.
As a chap of substance before the court,
perhaps my innocence could be bought?
No, no, not a bribe of course,
more a donation of remorse.
It’s not as if the jury gives a ****
they obviously don’t realise who I am.
It is clearly just the wrong decision,
to send a man of breeding to a prison.
A witness says that I was ******
And that I tried to stand up but missed?
What slanderous lies of lesser classes,
perhaps I’d had three or four healthy glasses.
And reports of singing and standing on my seat,
are fabricated, nonsense and incomplete.
Cameras saw me strike the face -
of a man, with my leather briefcase?
Perhaps at this stage I should refrain,
and allow you to address this stain -
on my character which I’m sure you agree,
is beneath the contempt of someone like me.
Surely you can’t have confirmed my guilt?
What about the reputation I’ve built?
Before they take me, please pray tell,
will there be a servant in my cell?
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 9:32 AM UTC
you're the cream of the crop.
mom and dad are proud of you.
this
is the day you've been waiting for.
i don't claim to understand you,
but i can't honestly say i'd like to.
the blue gown that means so much to everyone around you
whispers of the things you gave up,
the opportunities you've missed,
to be here today.
the whispering cloak falls victim to the applause that breaks out
as you claim your place at the podium
top
of the class.
you've worked hard. there's no doubting that.
you're a multi-faceted gem of talent and intellect.
which in reality is subservience and obedience.
i don't doubt that had you not urinated on your passion
i might have respected you some day.
but honestly. i'm happy for you.
the diploma will look stunning on your wall
next to all of your other shining achievements
along with your jarred "talents" and canned pleasantries
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 2:19 AM 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
Huddled in a cocoon of my own grime
Forlorn and wasted from my own trick
“She's hot,” she says from across the
Room filled with helium and gauze
You don't need words to make a statement
It's very difficult to be that *****
I suffer from delusions of
Illusions of grandeur
Pomp and circumstance
My theme song
I've graduated to this degree of decadence
Or is it dereliction?
I always get those two confused
Which is the one where
Ripple wine and crack *******
Are preferable to
Caviar and pink champagne?
No matter
I am equally distant from both
“Who does that,” she mutters
As she watches a
Woman in stilettos
Being urinated on by a
Hairy man on the *** channel
I sit with my ink pen and
Draw black eyes on the
Models in women's magazines
She turns to me
“Are you even listening?”
This pale, shelled out
Husk of a former woman asks
I'm listening
I retort within my own shackled mind
But if I pay attention
I just may **** us both
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
Ate an expensive and important piece of art.
Now vomiting on the desk.
At the passport control in the airport.
Put a little girls hair on fire.
Urinated on The Statue Of Liberty.
Vandalized morality and fate.
Now what do you prefer.
The knives to the left or the right.
In the kitchen drawer?
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
we have scorpions
my wield has two eyes
i saw no bee
running my right hand
up the railing and
continues hurting..
the cunning man i am
i urinated on it
and that has stopped
there is some wisdom
in the old ways
***** is a natural
healing..
vi
rainy day scribe
would like to imbibe
sweet long ago youth
to kiss your red mouth
that soured wine
and screamed our
insane face..
i would look into your eyes
and tried not to
think of them
so much for
that no..
but i´ d be gone
it was the ****
and all that colors
when we got effed up
you saved your best insights
for our arguements
you brought me two black
kittens
i put you in bed and fed you
porrige
everyone complained
i went to the occasional party
but prefered the country
we see the cure..
i lived the country
we went to cinema
we saw the piano
you on the bus
me on my bike..
i enjoyed that forrest ride
cool in the morning
and out of the breeze
you with the haarlam gazette..
o twas a cold of a winter so
i might visit my friend fiet
who lived on a house boat
with so many cats and dog
and a chicken and geese..
we would have a cup of t
and looked at her photos..
when the canals froze
when at the sea side
or with a sweet cognac
and a pint of mild
heck my hand throb
and my heart too..
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
She’s got pretty eyelashes, long and curled, and she’s always smiling, but she squeezes her eyes shut (blue, maybe), scrunches her nose up, gags, spits it out, only lets it run down her chin, refuses to swallow it.
Sometimes the men say nothing, sometimes they say disgusting things, things that would make me cry if they came out of someone’s mouth, but sometimes I think these words at these girls.
Whisper them at my glowing laptop screen with my hand under the waistband of my pajama pants.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
Winter Peter noticed him from the stares of the village children. He whittled away as he waited for the stream that never came, and the child stood because old Peter made five nails and five splinters.The child could see no more eyes when he peered across the bench with a pair of boots and holes with so many windows. Darkness, the coffeepot, the stove, and the child asked two large slices of bread my name, and a bowl of coffee drank the hot bench. "Aren't you the eyes?" the floor asked Peter, the boy, the shavings, and the other boy.
"What?"
You eat your third well sorted slice and still I could do with the truth and the boy's eyes. "Yes, he said Thursday shall have a silver trade." But the cold looked at the bed behind the stove ready to cry. Sleep, then the patience, my young princes murmuring in low voices.
"So who is dead?"
"My mother is dead."
"You don't live either, so take three young brothers and..."
"And what?"
"End the family of one young boy on the side of the mountain."
Six on his workshop could be useful, and meanwhile I could give him baskets in the morning. All that day he (from dawn till dusk) sent away baskets of things (every night). Now and then the bears and wolves my sister prays for gave away some advice on the ways of those cleverer than they. Prayers will always be nothing.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
I'll never **** with her,
she's more lethal..
than a James bond villain…
Her legs have more power
than a Fukushima releasing
her poison between
my hips.
I'm a rod and she's
the water containing my
explosion...
but she evaporated,
never watching...
Realising,
that what I release is like a virus.
Contaminating the womb
of creative contagion...
You'll float in the abortion of my
chock hold of words...
You'll never be born, still born words,
I'll burn you in a shallow grave.
And you'll realise that I'm never to be ****** with.
My words were like a machete of gunfire cutting
you up before you even knew pain.
I'm a nationwide hunt, and you'll be buried
in my words,
shallow rhymes, given a urinated burial...
I'm relieved your here and not in my view.
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 4:51 PM UTC
Feeling genetically defective
This is my neural window to task management
been saved twice by Jesus wearing a rosemary necklace
I'm no religious fanatic
Calming my surroundings using buddhist tactics
So urinated
Pray and meditate i don't practice to hesitate
I struggle on purpose to gain characteristics
Using the internet to analyze human statistics
Planet Earth revolving on greedy linguistics
"it may contain" intelligence
All the wrong entities burglarizing every human right
Control the populace with an obese TV list
Changing the audibles in my
Clauiraudience
Stuck in the modern age making a slaves wage
While the suits and ties all Get paid
Can't stand it like im getting sprayed with raid
Just another life sentence about my life sentences....
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
In your age, my child,
Even I told the cutest of lies.
Such an imaginative kid I was,
I realize that it has been my forte.
One day, I stood on the balcony,
It was 1993 and I was so young.
I was not even 3 years of age,
I urinated there in the balcony!
My mother remembers it sharply,
She always tells me elaborately.
She was there as dad scolded badly,
***"Why did you *** in the balcony?"***
I was so young,
But not at all naïve.
I was artless,
But also naughty.
I live inside a research campus,
National Dairy Research Institute.
And here has been a cattle yard,
My father had shown me the cows.
So whatever came to my mind,
I just denied having peed there.
"I haven't peed here, daddy,"
"Who peed then?"
I said, "A cow did that, daddy,"
And I blamed a cow for my doing!
"How did it get here, did it fly?"
My dad asked the toddler I was.
I just nodded my head,
My father was amazed.
He looked surprised,
And my mother just laughed.
She said,
"Darling, I love your sweet little lies!"
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 3:34 AM UTC
Your heart was like
an open fire...
Burning me with its
need of warmth..
Then I urinated
on it...
Just to see you
reek of
smouldering
contentment...
I was the flame,
but you needed
more wood to stoke
in your fires..
Here's some matches,
light the doused cinders
the wood will not burn
the same....
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
loped and curled the razor wire goes circular
in lacerating motions upon my reflections.
Like confetti of my thoughts descending
or ascending upwards I cant distinguish I'm
blind to what I grasp on to as all is indistinguishable.
My palms sweats perceptions as I have no object to
illustrate the needing, so I pick up glass and torment
my wrists till I pen my musing on the surroundings.
It was disfigured emotions as every single word
was an ounce of pain to release speaking in silence.
I was a van gogh of illustration my pain painted my
words dripping on the wall. The paint soaked in each
particle of repressed anger and torment, the fluid from
my lacerated thought now like snow settled on this wall.
But this was snow urinated in blood I look blank at my words.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
The Kakboori was so excited by the prospect of his vengeance that he was literally shaking. He clutched the receptacle containing the horrid creature with almost a death grip. The closer he came To Namé's cell the more he shook, chuckling was glee!
As he stood before her doorway he could hardly contain himself. He urinated forcefully into his own uniform. The Tripilliad, sensing the blood of its Target, scuttled about in its container, making insectile noises.
Boorjami released the venomous monster by barely opening it's **** filled container at the end, after placing it on the floor of her doorway so it could slip underneath...
What happened next was that time almost folded into nothing! The mad Tripilliad made a beeline for its new host... NAMÉ!! She kicked her slight foot out with all the force she could muster!! The Impossible happened. She slammed this side of her foot into the creatures orange beak! This slit through through the Tripilliad's sludge like brain clear into its thorax!!
Like a dervish the monster spun about making noises so horrific they could barely be credited. Boorjami shrieked in absolute horror. Dropping his dagger he headed for the Hills!!!
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 10:44 AM UTC
Some days
I feel like lost my way
just how I feel when I'm down
park your feet here
get you some athletes foot
for why should it always be me
that has to
catch or experience this
irene verruca sat in the wings a very nice girl
but her face
how do I describe
like soggy wet tissue down the loo
that somebody has urinated on
oow
I digress
told you so
maybe today
I should not have got out my bed
not in pain
just out my mind
insanity the only other place to go
yet insanity seems good
and lay down
in a bathroom
turn all the taps on and float
away to the universe of impossibilities.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC
Miley and I walk down the street
ignoring the cannabis scented clouds:
she stops – sniffing every urinated message,
occasionally leaving a reply.
My dog passes the laughing gas canisters,
polystyrene boxes and broken glass
searching for discarded bones, bread and tissue paper
to eat, rip or claw.
We stroll through the park
once yellow smiling daffodils grin brown and withered.
Squirrels multiply – fecund rats in the trees,
Miley too slow to control the rodent population.
Despite urban desolation
look harder:
see the green canopy
grass, birds,
sometimes even a butterfly.
The world isn’t dead –
we still have time.
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:17 PM UTC
Ariadne rose from bed.
Bernice slept on in sound
sleep. There was a beauty
there in that sound sleeping.
The way her fair hair lay on
the pillow. Her eyes closed
and the soft smooth lids.
The slim hands idle on the
covers of the bed. She stood
in the morning light and
stretched her arms upward
and outward. She would have
wished to stay in bed and
make love to Bernice but it
was time to shower and dress
and eat and prepare for work.
Bernice had the whole day off.
Ariadne went to the bathroom
and urinated then showered.
The water refreshed her and
washed away the stains of
sleep and *** Stepped out
of the shower and dried herself
with rapid motions of the towel.
She dressed while Bernice slept.
Once dressed she breakfasted.
The radio played softly in the
background. Some pop music
and chat. Just as she was about
to go Bernice came in with that
sleepy gaze and soft ****** glow.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC