PLUMBING THE SOUL

[zorcas]

Good points which  will be addressed, though you concentrate on poop, grossly neglecting pee which we used to aim into mortar round tubes. Have also considered introducing into the poem the truth that women, if they weren't so narrow minded and ignorant, could use urinals just the way men do.

 Decided the thing isn't really worth repairing, especially since in today's poetic world with its endless gobs of personal stories and slices of life more of a pick-me-up poem is needed and herewith supplied.

Excretia Borgia
 
Long before Darwin wrote                                                                
Origin of the Species
humans had a thousand
names for almost any species’ feces,
from crap and scat
to the present tense of shat.
 
But excluding
blood, sweat and tears,
no one ever wrote
of that expelled by all,
from darling daughters
to drunks and druids,
meaning, of course,
body fluids.
 
Why, may one ask of thee,
 have we only
 that pair so lonely,
 piss and pee?
 
Though tinkle adds a wrinkle,
being a girl verb not a noun,
it’s undoable in pants
but quite easy from a gown.
 
But perhaps we’ll outgrow
this linguistic paralysis
when a transsexualizing
surgeon
tells two happily rebuilt
patients,
“Those are urinalysis’
discarded phalluses.”

I must disagree
That pee has one synonym -
I've heard "piddle" and "wee"
and "he's micturating merrily
on his mate who's passed out, good on him"
more often than I'd care to recall.
But your gall to post on 'Serious' then drain your dragon,
wet the lily pad, empty your flagon,
and essentially to have trollery drag on
is amusing to me.

You forgot "urination" in response to America's question: "What am I?", its answer arrived at through the process of elimination. Wee and piddle, admittedly, are part of the vocabulary, but I used Harnischphaeger's word frequency analysis chart to determine the most common terms for a poem while leaving out mathematical ones like Number One and Number Two. You should not be amused as much as  bemused, if not abused. We poetizers are a delicate lot, especially when our poems go to pot.
Two.