tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190746212011-04-21T17:23:14.546-04:00<i>the cetacean index (phocoena sinus)</i>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.comBlogger101100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1150943935927768552006-06-21T22:37:00.000-04:002006-06-21T22:39:27.863-04:00<small><i>Princess Poop's very first poem...</small></i><br /><br><br /><b>Fillet of Soul</b><br /><br><br />Fillet of soul with butter and lemon am I;<br /><br />Cook<br />Chew<br />Drizzle<br />Drool<br />I die! I die!<br /><br />I have no head or tail<br />Gagging fins and scales<br />In the plastic bag on the counter next<br />to the cutting board smashed garlic stench;<br /><br />Eat my woe with lemon! Eat my woe with butter!<br /><br />But<br />You<br />Forgot<br /><br />Just<br /><br />One<br /><br />Tiny<br /><br />Insignificant<br /><br />Bone...<br /><br /><br />And I hope you choke on it you fucking a-hole.<br /><br /><br /><br />Fin<br /><br /><br />A Poem, by Princess P0op.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-115094393592776855?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1150943491822472702006-06-21T22:28:00.000-04:002006-06-21T22:31:31.823-04:00<br><br /><small><i>to the tune of o fortuna</small></i><br /><br><br />In her bedroom<br />languished in gloom<br />she opens her book of dreams<br /><br />Clutching pink pen<br />she writes again<br />of horrors in her high school<br /><br />Jenny was snide<br />of her new ride<br />A rusty bucket of ford<br /><br />She should take care<br />the smallest dare<br />a curse is easy to cast<br /><br />Two black candles<br />is all she needs<br />that and a few drops of blood<br /><br />It goes like this:<br />a little kiss<br />starts the blood to its boiling<br /><br />Under the flame<br />the candles name<br />her quarry--now it's Jenny<br /><br />(boom)<br />Shutters swing shut<br />(boom)<br />a cracked wind cuts<br />(boom)<br />the candles out to darkness<br /><br />(boom)<br />Intone, incant<br />(boom)<br />the cursing chant<br />(boom)<br />Jenny should feel it by now<br /><br />(boom)<br />But just in case<br />(boom)<br />a little taste<br />(boom)<br />blood bitten from her black lips<br /><br />(boom)<br />A pentacle<br />(boom)<br />from blood she culls<br />(boom)<br />one finger tracing it just like Fairuza Balk<br /><br />(boom)<br />(boom)<br />(boom)<br />(boom)<br /><br /><br />---a lyrical montage woven of blood and emeralds, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-115094349182247270?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1150943274670868352006-06-21T22:27:00.000-04:002006-06-21T22:28:48.636-04:00<br><br />So what if I like grey hair<br />nose hair<br />back hair<br />ear...<br />hair.<br /><br />I'm old enough to make my own decisions!<br />You're not the boss of me!<br /><br />It's for LOVE, which you wouldnt understand--<br />You're immature<br />Your heart's not pure<br />Your brain's manure<br /><br />So be careful what you say, you stupid fuck<br />You're out of luck<br />You're covered in muck<br />You'd better duck...<br /><br />When my beautiful hair bear casts and curses and beguiles you...<br /><br />Just as soon as he puts that joint down and wipes the puke off his shirt.<br /><br />Give him a minute.<br /><br /><br /><br />A Poem Set for a Bongo Beat, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-115094327467086835?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1150943191076424522006-06-21T22:25:00.000-04:002006-06-21T22:26:31.076-04:00<br><br />Kitchen light throbbing blue fluorescent<br />Pushes down on seething adolescence<br /><br />What kind of blade this time<br />What kind of blade this time<br /><br />Something sharp, straight and cold<br />To slice through polymer fleshy mold<br /><br />What kind of red this time<br />What kind of red this time<br /><br />To pinch it lightly in her fingers<br />The blade comes near and softly lingers<br /><br />What shall she write this time<br />What shall she write this time<br /><br />Slice and tear and rend and squeeze<br />Catsup bursts between her knees<br />Sops the floor does she to please<br />Two words the camera snapping sees<br />And with it scene points massive ease<br /><br />Why me?<br /><br /><br /><br />A poem, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-115094319107642452?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1150943087053586702006-06-21T22:24:00.000-04:002006-06-21T22:25:06.273-04:00<br><br />...Slatherin, wet upness spyre crickety-croak to cannibull! tree? Poison sow takes rickeytey buggerboo witch way to caedwydd through cairgh.<br /><br />Nichtwaenter fribbits go faelte hospitaliteye (he chooses fresh aquiescence) hesaw shesaw piss in the gardin sublte drift suffolkate wumbscuttle quark!<br /><br /><br /><br />---A brilliant stream joycean dreamtime someday to be taught in university by professors in tweed jackets, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-115094308705358670?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1150942966214480882006-06-21T22:22:00.000-04:002006-06-21T22:23:50.770-04:00<br><br />Short, she is--true<br />But whence heightened rue?<br />She's taller than that scotch bitch Paleblue<br /><br /><br /><br />A poem, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-115094296621448088?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1133108605879880142005-11-27T11:22:00.000-05:002005-11-27T11:24:50.516-05:00<br><br />Ohhh...<br /><br />Ingrid Newkirk doesn't eat meat<br />She's nice, she's good, she doesn't eat meat<br />Oh Ingrid Newkirk Doesn't eat meat<br />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<br /><br />Ohhh...<br /><br />Ingrid Newkirk likes little kittens<br />She's warm, she's sweet, she likes little kittens<br />Oh Ingrid Newkirk likes little kittens<br />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!<br /><br />Ohhh...<br /><br />Ingrid Newkirk doesn't like nazis!<br />She's hip, she's cool, she doesn't like nazis!<br />Oh Ingrid Newkirk doesn't like nazis!<br />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<br /><br />Ohhh...<br /><br />Ingrid Newkirk doesn't eat meat<br />She's nice, she's good, she doesn't eat meat<br />Oh Ingrid Newkirk doesn't eat meat<br />And she needs to be beaten to death with a frozen baby harp seal<br /><br /><br /><br />fin<br /><br />A little ditty, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-113310860587988014?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1132331336180143062005-11-18T11:27:00.000-05:002005-11-18T16:06:58.746-05:00<br><br /><b>Drowning</b><br /><i>written in 1999</i><br /><br />You press on my face with your soul...your soul...<br /><br />The soul of your boot, your stupid cheap sketcher boot that you<br /><br />Say you paid 300 dollars for;<br /><br />You paid more for me<br /><br /><br /><br />Your Drowning Girl<br /><br />Your Drowning Girl<br /><br /><br /><br />The imprint of your cheap tread on my forehead you took me to bed you said<br /><br />Wed be wed...<br /><br />But we weren't--instead<br /><br />you drown me<br /><br /><br /><br />Your Drowning Girl<br /><br />Your Drowning Girl<br /><br /><br /><br />You push me down, down, down on my knees<br /><br />You take my keys<br /><br />You remind me I was once<br /><br />Milk and Sugar and Honey Bees...oh please<br /><br />Just kill me now, you asshole.<br /><br />Make me<br /><br /><br /><br />Your Drowning Girl<br /><br />Your Drowning Girl<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />fin<br /><br />A Poem, by Princess Poop<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-113233133618014306?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1132265040747607472005-11-17T17:02:00.000-05:002005-11-17T17:07:22.266-05:00<br><br /><b>Le Mort Noir</b><br /><br /><br />Like curling smoke of patchouli lilt<br />You rose pungent from gothic grave<br />Slow licked flares of lye-bleached pathos<br />My heart with blackened tar you paved<br /><br /><br />Hemplock clothed and dredlock mangles<br />Wild whiskered one<br />You took my hand, cadaverous bland,<br />And told me "look into the sun"<br /><br /><br />It Burns! It Burns!<br />Shrieked I to you, but you to I ignored<br />I crumpled fell into the well<br />That my lifesblood outwith poured<br /><br /><br />Sopping, sticky, hot and still<br />My heart could beat no more<br />Sunlight stops and corpses rot<br />Your gothic little whore<br /><br /><br />So if again one day we meet<br />You goddamn hippie swine<br />Dream you of breasts, sweet lips and snatch<br />For you will never ever have mine<br /><br /><br /><br /><i>A poem, by Princess Poop</i><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-113226504074760747?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19074621.post-1132262579404425802005-11-17T16:17:00.000-05:002005-11-17T16:22:59.410-05:00This blog will not have an introduction. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />Therefore, the first:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:-1;"><b>Shut The Fuck Up, You Great Gaping Asshole</b><br /><br />Shut the fuck up<br />You great gaping asshole<br />Ancient, caked blood on my 20 eye docs<br />Kick the ass<br />Of your lame New Rocks<br /><br />And by the way<br />There are Ents living in your eyebrows<br />So fucking pluck them already<br /><br /><br /><br />A poem, by Princess Poop</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19074621-113226257940442580?l=princesspoop.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Princess Poophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04010838277887410543noreply@blogger.com0