Poopie Poems

The Largest Collection of Poo Poetry on the web!

PoopiePoems.com is a collection of poopie poetry. Poems written by everyday people during those increasingly rare moments of peace and quiet.

What is a Poopie Poem?

A Poopie Poem is a masterpiece that is created whilst one is in the bathroom taking care of business, dropping a deuce, dropping the kids off at the pool, shitting, looping, laying a giant steamer, blowing up the bowl, and pooping to name a few.  Though we all share a different name for it, one thing that is in common is that there is endless time for creativity in there.

We here at Poopie Poems do our best to harness each and every moment of this timeless tradition of laying cable to produce Poetry that every man, woman and child can enjoy.  We choose to create poems that capture the moment of what is transpiring.  No we aren’t some second rate poem writers that just babble off their fake heartfelt feelings after countless drafts and publish them. Rather we create our poems while doing our duty, right in that moment. We feel that this action packed moment inspires us to write our true emotional feelings and give you our audience our best work, as you will always be a big steamy #2 in our hearts.

What Format Should my Poem be in?

We usually author our poems with a rhyme fashion, but we are also open to all major poem categories including haikus, sonnets, soliloquy’s, prose, etc and so forth.

What do I eat the night before to make my poopie better for more poem time?

We here at Poopie Poems are big fans of fajitas, beans, chili’s (spicier the better), Chinese food, and fast foods. Basically anything that you know will keep you on the can as long as possible.  Bonus points go out to people who take a colon cleanse product as you will be having hours of enjoyable relaxation time with the porcelain throne.

How long do I need to create a poem?

That’s a great question, as we know sometimes we're in and out of the bathroom in 3 minutes flat, however a perfect “ghost” shit like that is rare and were often in there 10+minutes the day after thanksgiving pushing our heads off to no avail.  Basically we here at Poopie Poems recommend a solid 5 minutes of dedicated pooping time to truly make a quality piece.  We here at Poopie Poems partnered with the United Swindlers Front to conduct a study on average poop time of our authors and the results which can be seen below, confirm that between 5 and 7 minutes is necessary for a quality Poopie poem.

Day of Week              Average Time Spent by 5 Adults Over 30 Day Period (In Minutes)

Monday                                        6.12

Tuesday                                       6.30

Wednesday                                6.19

Thursday                                    6.00

Friday                                         5.73

If your wondering, why yes, we did log our logs. ​

What do I need to make a Poopie Poem?

A toilet, a cell phone or note pad to write on, and a turtle head prairie dogging its way out.

Our Goal.

To be your one stop place for all bathroom related humor.  Be  on the lookout for the launch of Poopie products in stores near you soon.  We want to fuel your fire for the perfect shit. We want to be the force behind the fart that launches the poop chute to full blast.

Before And After

shifting discomfort
she is too lazy to stand
to admit defeat

unwelcome clenching
swirling urgently in gut
legs cross and uncross

breakfast sit on table
taunting with whole wheat goodness
"I blame you!" she points

she stands - conceding
tripping - ashamed to go in
sliding the stiff door

holding her hands low
pulling on the elastic
Flip! She sits alone

light push - big result
back releases tension
the lightness takes over

a wave of relief
she turns without expecting
finds such a treasure

impressed smirk - brows raised
held it inside, now released
"How could I sit down?"

cleansing, reflecting
"If I can sit while holding-"
Can do anything

she exits proudly
ready to take on the world
After a good poop.

girlshit.jpg

The Tao of Sh!t

“The more you stir it, the more it stinks.” – Brazilian proverb

The more that you stir it, the more it will stink –
The higher it’s piled, the deeper it sinks –
The more you proclaim it, the less that you know –
The greater the load, the more pompous the show –

When you throw it, it splatters –
When you crush it, like jam it spreads out – 
When you fart, there’s always a danger that some might come out –

Go home, and it’s with you as you walk through the door –
If you don’t have enough, you can always make more –
Give it to someone you love, and they’ll soon send it back –
Released in your undies, it leaves a brown track –

Now doctors won’t tell you what any turd knows –
The more that you eat, the bigger it grows –

If it plugs up your butt, it can ruin your day –
When nature comes calling, it’s best not to delay –
So don’t blame it on God if your bowels should protest –
For to him, what we call shit is in fact one holy mess.

-Venerable Moneyya

 

 

Photo by nayneung1/iStock / Getty Images

Photo by nayneung1/iStock / Getty Images

Photo by Zerbor/iStock / Getty Images

Photo by Zerbor/iStock / Getty Images

The Streets of London are Paved with Gold

The Streets of London are Paved with Gold

O dog turd sitting proud and browny bright,
A naturally occurring Eiffel tower, 
The endeavour of canine peristaltic might.

You are an antidote to smug urban town planning,
To the less well informed just some pavement hazard.
But to me you glisten like a graceful pond - dwelling mallard.

Like a snowflake unique and original you fall to the ground,
Your birth, 
Like heaven-scent ice,
Is also greeted with surprised sounds.

But unlike a snowflake resting upon earth your journey continues on, 
Like a shimmering, leaping Salmon back to its’ birthing ground,
Helped on your way by any kindly shoe tread or pram wheel you have found.

Humble you are without airs and graces,
You modestly answer to 'poo'.
No knighthoods or Royal honours for you. 

You must little brown fledgling, escape your anonymous pavement habitat and soar upwards, 
Unless you are the behemoth dung that cascades out of a St. Bernard’s.

Photo by Suntipab/iStock / Getty Images

Photo by Suntipab/iStock / Getty Images


Rectal Juices in the Office

You look at the clock. Three hours past noon.
You feel as if you could blast to the moon.
Straight from your rectum. You can already detect 'em.
The browns, waiting to tell you, you're incorrectum.

Four o'clock now, you look at the bathroom.
No one's in there, but you look at your chatroom.
Your boss is online. He asks what you're doing.
Little does he know you'll shortly be pooing.

Four fifty five! Just five more minutes!
But your sphincter can't stop you. Your poop's 90,000 carats!
The turds come blasting! It seems everlasting!
Maybe you really just should have been fasting.

Nine o'clock the next day. Your boss says, "no way you get pay."
"Until you clean up what you did yesterday."
You go get the scrub. You feel like a chub.
Then you get some well needed time in the tub.

 

--Fresh Shrek the Rectified

My Poopy Had a First Name

I sit on the bowl
in contemplation
in hopes of relieving
this constipation

I sit and stare
I do not shout
for the poop will come
there is no doubt

Emotions tense
my legs start shaking
elusive poops
are in the making

I squeeze and squeeze
but with no luck
this might poop
it is quite stuck

Tears begin flowing
in my defence
this poop indeed
must be immense

I take my stance
I hold on tight
this enormous poop
I wish not fight

Second becomes minutes
minutes into hours
I long the sight
Of brown fibre towers

A final push
in hopes to free
this putrid evil
inside of me

I feel a tingle
I spread with class
this mighty poop
it was just gas.

Giancarlo Filisola Blanco

constipation.jpg

Flight of the Poo

 I can imagine you sitting on the toilet right now.

Your brown baby makes his way out of the belly button of your ass.

He peeks through, and looks into the majestic waters he's about to enter.

He glides out of you like a graceful bat, in the night sky.

His little pellets plunge into the water like ducklings.

They sink to their shallowy grave,

never again to be seen by man kind after the flush.

The struggle is real for fecal matter.

 

- Nelsonash