Constipation
 

Our lovely Julie (Steiner) said this on my thread over on Metrical, delighting several of us:

It might be fun to replace the octave's semicolons and colons with full stops, to make it feel more constipated and "going nowhere." "

Now, in true Spectator and Oldie style, "you are invited to write a poem which includes the word ''constipated" or "constipation".

[I doubt anyone can say, "Here's one I wrote earlier" :D ]

Jayne

Now I am quite elated
to find I'm constipated,
since pooing unobstructed
in this loo I've constructed
could only lead to trouble.
My poo's interminable;
I view the passing spring
while passing not a thing,
and contemplate the plumbing
as my rear end is numbing.

Cheers,
John

Er... here's one I wrote earlier...

Sonnet Composed Upon Westminster Tube Station

Earth has not anything to show more fine
Than that which underpins that mighty heart.
The same arrangement graces yours and mine
But London’s bowels are a world apart.
Embark not on another aimless wander
Go, operate thine Oyster and invest in
An hour or two to ride the rails and ponder
The intricacies of its great intestine.
Scraps of humanity are sucked inside,
Whirling with strangers in unwitting waltzes,
All thrown together in a breathless ride
And squeezed along by merry peristalsis.
Through any of its many mouths man passes
To creep unconstipated from its arses.

I'm gummed up.
Blocked.
My anus overstocked.
Bowel choc full of lead.
NO EXIT up ahead.

I'm ram packed.
Stuck.
An overloaded truck.
Lower gut is cruel
To so withhold a stool.

[deleted - why does this site double-post when I try to edit an existing post?]

Well, Ann has already proved you wrong, and here's one I wrote earlier which may be considered 'on topic', although I admit that it doesn't actually include the word:

Donald’s clutching the solid gold rail
In the bathroom. The pain makes him wail;
He’s straining his arse,
But the motion won’t pass -
Another Republican fail.

Ann, that is quite memorably brilliant.

Superb, Annie!

And fine efforts from John, Adrian and Brian. I hope it wasn't too much of a strain.

(I haven't managed to work one out myself; still stuck :D)

Jayne

As I age, it takes so long!
But lately I've grown used to it.
I once brought haiku to the loo,
but these days I bring Proust to it.

How Big!!
 

Exultation is the Going

After Emily Dickinson

Exultation is the going
Of clots inside of me -
Past the organs -
Past the navel -
Into a sluggish Sea -

I’m never regular or fluid,
But Constipated understand
There’s divine intoxication
When my loads decide to land.

Franklin, 143



Caco Ergo Sum

Constipation of one’s poop
is gold for those with IBS-D.
Never in a gut-blocked group,
they’d race to one in a stampede
and drop their heavy baggy Pampers
For Adults they’ve roundly hated
as mockeries of stinky diapers
that made their parents so elated.

CONSTIPATION; being an acrostick
 

Jayne, here is one I've found myself able (paradoxically!) to write in swift response:


CONSTIPATION; being an acrostick

Can I compare thee to a motion locked,
Or say thou’rt like that other failure, seated?
No verse emerges - I’m a writer blocked;
Seems that prosy passage too’s defeated.
Toilet, bureau, or computer keyboard
Is a site of selfsame felt frustration:
Poised bereft - no matter how I’ve hee-hawed,
Archly straining, panged with indignation.
Take it from me! Th’ inward discomposure
Is alike; mind, body in like stupor.
Oh, for blessed release to ease this closure!
Now, we’re kindred: foiled author and pooper.

The good news: I've finally attained literary immortality.

The bad news: It's for...this.

Oh, well. I shall endeavor to bear my success with good grace.

Bound for Glory

The unmoving sphincter writes, and having writ,
I cannot cross it out. So here I sit
upon the Throne of Poesy, forever.
Oh, how I wish that I could give a shit!

There's no elation in constipation
nor cheer in diarrhoea.

If a merciful God had tried either
He'd have cursed us with neither.

******

From the Bathroom
by Arthur C Clarke?

By 2020
I'll be done.
I've been here since
2001.

Behind Closed Doors

I've finished my book,
my newspaper too.
There's nothing to read
but a tube of shampoo.
Not my first choice,
but I guess it will do.

Said Forster, “I’ve written
A book in the loo.
I think I shall call it
“A Room with a ‘Phew!’ ”