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Reproved

Flat on their backs like flapjacks.
Rustled and stirred,
Like they've been attacked by wolves.

Wasn't it just yesterday,
These clowns strolled around...
As if they ruled the world?
As if their excrement did not stink.
And here they lay on the brink,
Of much exposed sorrow!

Flat on their backs like flapjacks.
Rustled and stirred,
Like they've been attacked by wolves.

They exclaimed they needed to get to the meat of it!
Not expecting they would become 'the meat' of it eatened.

Wasn't it just yesterday,
These clowns strolled around...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Is Regularity a Gift?

Asking me if I like to write...
Is like inviting someone to define,
The art of excrement done.

It is something one does.
From a 'Divine' assignment given.
Like the naturalness of breathing.
Is that regarded as a talent?
Could one decide upon another hobby?
To choose to hop on one leg?
Finding that walking on two,
Has bored!

Is regularity a gift?
And to sustain it with a prolificness.
Would this still be a question asked?
Would humans become closer...
If we were all praised,
For the passing of gas?
And how long would the praise of that done,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Of the four Humours in Mans Constitution.

The former four now ending their discourse,
Ceasing to vaunt their good, or threat their force.
Lo other four step up, crave leave to show
The native qualityes that from them flow:
But first they wisely shew'd their high descent,
Each eldest daughter to each Element.
Choler was own'd by fire, and Blood by air,
Earth knew her black swarth child, water her fair:
All having made obeysance to each Mother,
Had leave to speak, succeeding one the other:
But 'mongst themselves they were at variance,
Which of the four should have predominance.
Choler first hotly claim'd right by her mother,
Who had precedency of all the other:
But Sanguine did disdain what she requir'd,
Pleading her self was most of all desir'd.
Proud Melancholy more envious then the rest,
The second, third or last could not digest.
She was the silentest of all the four,
Her wisdom spake not much, but thought the more

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poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Autolycus [Aside]: Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement.

classic lines from the play The Winter's Tale, script by William Shakespeare (1610)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Usenet is like a herd of performing elephants with diarrhea -- massive, difficult to redirect, awe-inspiring, entertaining, and a source of mind-boggling amounts of excrement when you least expect it.

quote by Gene Spafford (1992)
Added by Lucian Velea
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In its famous paradox, the equation of money and excrement, psychoanalysis becomes the first science to state what common sense and the poets have long known -- that the essence of money is in its absolute worthlessness.

quote by Norman O. Brown
Added by Lucian Velea
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In its famous paradox, the equation of money and excrement, psychoanalysis becomes the first science to state what common sense and the poets have long known - that the essence of money is in its absolute worthlessness.

quote by Norman O. Brown
Added by Lucian Velea
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Compassion Which Sets Me Free

the best that I was
the aspired greatest
I could ever be

that was God
human excrement left
failings that was me

God my creator was is remains
purity personification wisdom
compassion which sets me free

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Letoit

the reverse is a whistle blower.
in a world that they think is full of
excrement, despite, the foulness
of the smell of deaths,
must come forth someone singing
soul...rock the world with the
beautiful rhythm of
all chamberpots

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cow's Dung

Fuel of cow's dung,
Fuel of human excrement,
And like a sharp blade from a barber's shop! !
Over the hairs of your head and of your private part;
But, i will strecth out my hands to hold you!
Because, you need peace in this land than war.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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