Classic Poop

Princess Poop's very first poem...


Fillet of Soul


Fillet of soul with butter and lemon am I;

Cook
Chew
Drizzle
Drool
I die! I die!

I have no head or tail
Gagging fins and scales
In the plastic bag on the counter next
to the cutting board smashed garlic stench;

Eat my woe with lemon! Eat my woe with butter!

But
You
Forgot

Just

One

Tiny

Insignificant

Bone...


And I hope you choke on it you fucking a-hole.



Fin


A Poem, by Princess P0op.

O Crimson Heart Black Soul Fairy Winged Witherfang Bloodilia Colderson

to the tune of o fortuna


In her bedroom
languished in gloom
she opens her book of dreams

Clutching pink pen
she writes again
of horrors in her high school

Jenny was snide
of her new ride
A rusty bucket of ford

She should take care
the smallest dare
a curse is easy to cast

Two black candles
is all she needs
that and a few drops of blood

It goes like this:
a little kiss
starts the blood to its boiling

Under the flame
the candles name
her quarry--now it's Jenny

(boom)
Shutters swing shut
(boom)
a cracked wind cuts
(boom)
the candles out to darkness

(boom)
Intone, incant
(boom)
the cursing chant
(boom)
Jenny should feel it by now

(boom)
But just in case
(boom)
a little taste
(boom)
blood bitten from her black lips

(boom)
A pentacle
(boom)
from blood she culls
(boom)
one finger tracing it just like Fairuza Balk

(boom)
(boom)
(boom)
(boom)


---a lyrical montage woven of blood and emeralds, by Princess Poop

Leave Us Alone!

So what if I like grey hair
nose hair
back hair
ear...
hair.

I'm old enough to make my own decisions!
You're not the boss of me!

It's for LOVE, which you wouldnt understand--
You're immature
Your heart's not pure
Your brain's manure

So be careful what you say, you stupid fuck
You're out of luck
You're covered in muck
You'd better duck...

When my beautiful hair bear casts and curses and beguiles you...

Just as soon as he puts that joint down and wipes the puke off his shirt.

Give him a minute.



A Poem Set for a Bongo Beat, by Princess Poop

Why Her?

Kitchen light throbbing blue fluorescent
Pushes down on seething adolescence

What kind of blade this time
What kind of blade this time

Something sharp, straight and cold
To slice through polymer fleshy mold

What kind of red this time
What kind of red this time

To pinch it lightly in her fingers
The blade comes near and softly lingers

What shall she write this time
What shall she write this time

Slice and tear and rend and squeeze
Catsup bursts between her knees
Sops the floor does she to please
Two words the camera snapping sees
And with it scene points massive ease

Why me?



A poem, by Princess Poop

Goth Joyce

...Slatherin, wet upness spyre crickety-croak to cannibull! tree? Poison sow takes rickeytey buggerboo witch way to caedwydd through cairgh.

Nichtwaenter fribbits go faelte hospitaliteye (he chooses fresh aquiescence) hesaw shesaw piss in the gardin sublte drift suffolkate wumbscuttle quark!



---A brilliant stream joycean dreamtime someday to be taught in university by professors in tweed jackets, by Princess Poop

A Very Short Ode to an English Dwarf

Short, she is--true
But whence heightened rue?
She's taller than that scotch bitch Paleblue



A poem, by Princess Poop

Ingrid Newkirk

Ohhh...

Ingrid Newkirk doesn't eat meat
She's nice, she's good, she doesn't eat meat
Oh Ingrid Newkirk Doesn't eat meat
But she'll totally okay 12,000 animals to be KILLED BECAUSE SHE'D RATHER DRIVE A COOL CAR AND HAVE A SWEET OFFICE WITH THE 20+ MILLION TAX FREE DOLLARS THAT PETA RAKES IN EVERY MOTHERFUCKING YEAR

Ohhh...

Ingrid Newkirk likes little kittens
She's warm, she's sweet, she likes little kittens
Oh Ingrid Newkirk likes little kittens
Especially piled frozen in plastic bags in the walk-in freezer that she got an *awesome* deal on for only $9,370--which would be a write-off if PETA wasn't tax exempt! Yay!

Ohhh...

Ingrid Newkirk doesn't like nazis!
She's hip, she's cool, she doesn't like nazis!
Oh Ingrid Newkirk doesn't like nazis!
And if you eat chicken, she won't like you either, because to her that makes you a nazi, which she'll happily tell any reporter from her Norfolk, Virginia office which is NOT EVEN 40 FEET ABOVE THE KILLING ROOMS WHERE TO DATE MORE THAN 14,000 ANIMALS HAVE BEEN GIVEN LETHAL INJECTIONS, WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH THIS BITCH

Ohhh...

Ingrid Newkirk doesn't eat meat
She's nice, she's good, she doesn't eat meat
Oh Ingrid Newkirk doesn't eat meat
And she needs to be beaten to death with a frozen baby harp seal



fin

A little ditty, by Princess Poop

Vintage Poop (limited edition gold disk)

Drowning
written in 1999

You press on my face with your soul...your soul...

The soul of your boot, your stupid cheap sketcher boot that you

Say you paid 300 dollars for;

You paid more for me



Your Drowning Girl

Your Drowning Girl



The imprint of your cheap tread on my forehead you took me to bed you said

Wed be wed...

But we weren't--instead

you drown me



Your Drowning Girl

Your Drowning Girl



You push me down, down, down on my knees

You take my keys

You remind me I was once

Milk and Sugar and Honey Bees...oh please

Just kill me now, you asshole.

Make me



Your Drowning Girl

Your Drowning Girl




fin

A Poem, by Princess Poop

Vintage Poop (remastered)

Le Mort Noir


Like curling smoke of patchouli lilt
You rose pungent from gothic grave
Slow licked flares of lye-bleached pathos
My heart with blackened tar you paved


Hemplock clothed and dredlock mangles
Wild whiskered one
You took my hand, cadaverous bland,
And told me "look into the sun"


It Burns! It Burns!
Shrieked I to you, but you to I ignored
I crumpled fell into the well
That my lifesblood outwith poured


Sopping, sticky, hot and still
My heart could beat no more
Sunlight stops and corpses rot
Your gothic little whore


So if again one day we meet
You goddamn hippie swine
Dream you of breasts, sweet lips and snatch
For you will never ever have mine



A poem, by Princess Poop

New Home

This blog will not have an introduction.

Yes, its largely a re-mastering of another blog. But most of you will never see that one, and it suddenly struck me that my poetry is contains multitudes of brilliance such that no one should miss it--even if I have to post it on google or some shit.

Therefore, the first:




Shut The Fuck Up, You Great Gaping Asshole

Shut the fuck up
You great gaping asshole
Ancient, caked blood on my 20 eye docs
Kick the ass
Of your lame New Rocks

And by the way
There are Ents living in your eyebrows
So fucking pluck them already



A poem, by Princess Poop