Saturday, November 08, 2003 LOVE DEBASED A woman Unabashed Waits for me Agile Athena Your beauty Is a beam Wanton pride Of Hercules Cruel sweetheart Dainty grace Your waist reflects- Years of skilled labour Your body molded ever Since Eden- breaks a vow Had I but words enough To court your hungry mind I would be keeper of your bush- Guardian of bliss and restraint Make me your fringed apprentice A shepherd in late bloom Skillful in the art of passing And forgetting Love is both legal And lawless Her flaws are charted Out of court My bed is disarranged My dreams- shiny shells- Rally between indifference- Illusion and grief Love is a monster brand An emblem rife with perjury- Intoxication and abuse -Slowly floating adrift- -- (c) Walt 2003 posted by Walter at 11/08/2003 Monday, November 03, 2003 THE AMAZON WAY “Behold, I have a weapon” From: Othello- by William Shakespeare -- Eskimo Nell “It was Eskimo Nell who was first to speak, In accents clear and cool, “You cuntstruck shrimp of a Yankee pimp Do you call that thing a tool?” 27th stanza of “Eskimo Nell” – anonymous -- The Wingless & The Winged The wingless thing Man... Most men use their cocks For two things only: They stand up pissing & lie down fucking. The world is full of horizontal men- Or vertical ones- & really it is all the same disease. 1st stanza of “The Wingeless & The Winged” by E.E.Cummings -- My Father Moved through Dooms of Love My father moved through dooms of love Through sames of am through haves of give, Singing each morning out of each night My father moved through depths of height 1st stanza of “My Father Moved through Dooms of Love” by E.E.Cummings -- She and Jung She and Jung are in a huge bed together caressing eachother’s right forearms, he is in his eighties; she in her thirties. I won’t make love to you, he says, unless I can be sure of your respect and commitment. Dinah Hawken From: -Soho Square IV- 1991 Bloomsbury Publishing -- Narcissus Woman “One day I came home after spending ten days at a commune. It was my final attempt to establish a love bond-with somebody else. Eight of us lived out those ten days together, four men and four women, women, we paired off with this person, that person, women or men. At the end of ten days, I was frazzled, exhausted, grown weary of everyone, still unfulfilled and worse; bored! There was nothing left to try in sex, I would shut myself up in my house and vow never again to go out.” Teresinka Pereira -- Odd it is so easy When it was hard And tonight it was so hard When it was soft Tom Stothert -- THE TUG OF WAR- It is said love is a tug of war- a battle of the sexes that drives for the rush of hot blood and the thrill of conquest. Love’s epic battles are fought one on one- in urban areas- in ski resorts- on the backseat of cars- in attics- raves- in virtual space- and on the beach. Sans pareil- love remains the most successful existential lubricant- sustained by the indefatigable engine of lustful appetite and the arts. Love is the drug of choice when plain sex has spent its magic- its enduring quest consolidates a magnum opus of grand delusion. I looked for narrative and poems which dwelled on the trials and exploits of love- expressed by cynics and believers- winners and losers- the limp- and angst-ridden males- and their perilous muses- the undauntable and feisty amazons- executioners of ever engaging lovecraft. -- A Silent Movie How dare you make love to me like that, In that cold, silent, uncommitted way, Using your prick like a mechanical pumping-engine And thinking of P l a y b o y I’m hot and wet, man Opening like a Venus Flytrap, Streaming from all orifices And screaming with agonizing Life-enhancing, mad, entrancing Cunt-enchanting Joy. And there you lie, Worrying about the next-door-neighbours And wishing the bed springs wouldn’t creak And refusing to bloody well SPEAK. And when I bite your thighs You’re praying that the marks won’t show When you have to strip for your daily drip In the city gym- (must keep fit)- You hypocrite! Quick! I want your rough beard To lacerate my breasts, but you turn away And you prefer it the back way, That’s fatal Because it’s so damned good I’m shouting more and hotting up the pace, But at least that way I cannot see the fury on your face. You Woman hater! Oh, I’m really away now (bugger the neighbours!) Your piston-engine prick Is tearing the living daylights out of me And I’m wild with it, But why don’t you bloody swell SAY SOMETHING? Are you enjoying it, damn you, Or are you just a machine That’s wound up And forgotten the words? I remember past loves, Past beds, And the torrent of fire and honey From the mouths of the wild And wonderful men Who knew to love With lungs As well as loins, And the sticky plethora Of kisses over an under Drowning sounds So lewd and beautiful That all my heart and cunt Were burning equally. Oh you cold, stingy Uptight, unyielding sod, How do I know Whether my ecstasy Is boring the pants off you (forgive the pun), Or whether your fastidious Distaste is aimed at me Specifically, Or at the whole race of Swallowing, wallowing women And wanton cunts, Or whether you yearn For an ice maiden Or a marble goddess, Or for that dreadful Mrs Lloyd Who wears hats And doesn’t like it. All right, you’ve come now (silently) And you’ve shuffled off Looking slightly out-of-sorts And embarrassed by that Ill-bred piston-engine which will Take you unawares Despite your finer feelings. And of course you wouldn’t kiss me Or say it was wonderful, But hurried off to wash, Remembering germs That lurk in private places And nasty notices In public lavatories. I’m clean, damn you, But I won’t be for long If you go on insulting me With your cold and disapproving Silence. I’m still going, still Coming, still pounding out Gorgeous obscenities In our sweaty, unhygienic Incorrigibly creaking Bed. And there you are Washing my cunt away The taste of me With Dettol. Look here, old sport, I warn you, When I’m through here I’m going to sleep with every Man, boy and tramp I can lay my filthy paws on. Painters, plumbers Unshaven bummers, And Irish labourers And men who read meters, I’m going to drain their last-gsp drop (DON’T STOP!) And make my life’s work Having it away, And let’s hope, by God, They know their way about a woman And what’s a damned sight more mportant, They don’t forget The words that fit the play. Wendy Perriam -- That Portion of a Woman That portion of a woman which appeals to man’s depravity Is constructed with extraordinary care, And what at first appears to be a simple cavity Is really an elaborate affair. Now doctors of distinction have examined these phenomena On numbers of experimental dames, And classified the organs of the feminine abdomina And given them delightful names. There’s the vulva, the vagina, and the jolly old perineum, And the hymen in the case of many brides; There are many other gadgets you would love if you could see them, The clitoris and lots of things besides. So isn’t it a pity when we common people chatter Of the mysteries to which I have referred, We should use for such a delicate and complicated matter Such a short and unattractive little word. Anonymous 20th century -- Here ends this canto-Need I sing, or say, How Juan, naked, favour’d by the night, Who favours what she could not, found his way, And reach’d his home in an unseemly plight? The pleasant scandal which arose next day, The nine days’ wonder which was brought to light, And how Alfonso sued for a divorce. Were in the English newspapers, of course. George Gordon, Lord Byron From: Don Juan- Last stanza from Canto 1 -- Love Again Love again: wanking at ten past three (Surely he’s taking her home by now?), The bedroom is hot as a bakery, The drink gone dead, without showing how To meet tomorrow, and afterwards, And the usual pain, like dysentery. Someone else feeling her breasts and cunt, Someone else drowned in that lash-wide stare, And me supposed to be ignorant, Or find it funny, or not to care, Even--- but why put in into words? Isolate rather this element That spreads through other lives like a tree And sways them on in a sort of sense And say why it never worked for me. Something to do with violence A long way back, and wrong rewards, And arrogant eternity. Philip Larkin From: Collected Poems- Marvell Press- 1988 -- Love Poem When we are in love, we love the grass, And the barns, and the lightpoles, And the small mainstreets abandoned all night. Robert Bly –From: Silence in the Snowy Fields- Weslyan University Press- 1982 -- On Woman May God be praised for woman That gives up all her mind, A man may find in no man A friendship of her kind That covers all he has brought As with her flesh and bone, Nor quarrels with a thought Because it is not her own. 1st stanza of –On Woman- William Butler Yeats -From: The Fisherman- McMillan Co- 1919 -- All (unless mentioned otherwise) from: Making Love- The Picador Book of Erotic Verse- Edited by Alan Bold- Picador Pan Books 1980 -- posted by Walter at 11/03/2003