The Beautician

He gave her head
of hair a trim
before she said
she wanted him.

He made her wet
and propositioned
that she let
him as beautician

take her shoddy
flaccid hair
and give it body.
Would she dare?

"Yes!" she cried.
"Yes, I'm sure
it's time I tried
a new coiffure."

The Cowboy Urge

for Vessq

It happens, when the work's all done,
napping there below a tree,
the cowboy's mind, cooked by the sun
begins to think up poetry.

It starts out for a girl he knew
he met in town while out alone,
but ends up 'bout the sky so blue
or a mustang mare that he would own.

He never writes of dusty days
behind the herd, along the trail
or slipping in the cow pates
while prodding 'neath a heifer's tail.

So when you crit his little verse
and think it smells, like something died,
try not to make him feel much worse,
he only does it 'cause his brain's been fried.

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/wink.gif



[This message has been edited by Robert Swagman (edited March 07, 2002).]

I was challenged on another board to write a "transvestite sonnet," so I did. I thought it might be fun to solicit humorous kinky sex doggerel from others. I would suggest that the only rule should be not to use explicitly "dirty words" or to venture into the realm of explicit pornography. (I'd have started this as a new thread, but I'm not authorized to start threads. If Carol or someone wants to move it over to a new thread, that would be fine with me).


TRANSVESTITE SONNET

The day I tried on your brassiere you laughed.
"How about some pantyhose? A tampon?"
But soon, applying all the hard-earned craft
Of womanhood, you put your girlish stamp on

My clothes, my hair, the color of my cheeks,
And proudly cried, "My God! You're beautiful!
Now let's rehearse the way a woman speaks:
Higher octaves, dear, and lower decibels."

Emasculating? Slightly. I don't mind.
You have exquisite taste in lingerie.
And silk is smooth, however it might bind.
Besides, you grow so passionate with play

That soon enough I'm naked and can tender,
Undisguised, the trademark of my gender.

Another kind of poem I'd invite people to write would be new takes on old jokes. I wrote two so far. Children are the intended audience.

THE CHICKEN TALKS BACK

Human beings must be mad!
They must be bored and lonely.
There's so much to discuss and yet
they seem to want to only

talk about the street I crossed
and wonder what possessed me.
I guess it's better that they talk
about me than digest me.


THE FIREMAN TALKS BACK

I'm sick of people asking me
about my red suspenders.
For me the question tops the list
of conversation enders.

But if you want to guarantee
a conversation stopped,
just say I stuck my feet in flames
to see my corns get popped.



[This message has been edited by Roger Slater (edited March 11, 2002).]

THE ELEPHANT TALKS BACK

How many of my kind could pack
inside a little car?
Three in the front, three in the back,
but the car would not go far.

Why don't I ride a bicycle?
It's simple. Please don't tell.
It's all because my thumb's too big
to operate the bell.

Can you tell time? Then tell me this:
What time is it when I
decide to rest upon the fence
and gaze up at the sky?

You think it's time to fix the fence?
No, my friend, you're wrong.
I gave up peanuts, lost some weight.
Besides, the fence is strong.

It can be any time at all.
There's no way you can tell.
I love to watch the sky at night,
but daylight works as well.

BROCCOFLOWER


Was mankind meant to have the power
to make one vegetable from two?
Last night they served me broccoflower,
not a stove-top managed stew

but cauliflower rendered green
by being forced somehow to breed
with broccoli into a gene
to yield a brave new hybrid seed.

How shocking, mankind playing God!
How arrogant, presumptuous!
But stopping progress will be hard.
The flavor was quite scrumptious.

Looking at that final post
I think, dear Roger, you may boast
about your fine ability to rhyme;
but if I may point out, my friend,
occasionally you're round the bend,
or, at least, upon your hands you've too much time!

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif

[This message has been edited by Robert Swagman (edited March 18, 2002).]

Here's an oddity of a challenge. Does the following have an analogy for boys?


Lessons in Conventional (and Boring) Behavior for Girls

A woman should be modest,
a woman should be kind,
a woman should be second-best
and always well-inclined.

The more she's feeble-minded,
the more she'll please her man—
and better yet, half-blinded,
when he's the Ku Klux Klan.

Terese

The broccoli post has brought to mind
a problem, similar in kind.
When's the last time that you went
to a florist and found a scent?
It's the hybrids, that's my theory;
pretty flowers that all smell dreary.

Eostre's here!

<FONT >'Onward Roman soldiers
marching as before
- someone nail that prophet
to the temple door'</FONT f>


by Clavus Pangere Senex Altum II

From 'Kick them in the Temple' - a collection of Roman marching songs' (trad. arr.)


A little ditty
- now ain't that a pity...


<FONT ><u>Crucifiction</u>

Jesus wobbled on the rood
as Peter bade adieu:
‘I’m getting food, I’ll see you dude
and Judas says ‘Hi’ too.

Oh Peter pray, come close to me
Said Jesus in his passion
I have some words… for little turds
…yes, you prat, go ashen.

Peter came as he was called
face pale as any Klansman
‘I’m sorry boss, I know you’re cross
…er… wowie – what a hand span!’

‘Oh! Peter you’ve forsaken me,
as I said was certain;
just leave your cock, my little rock,
for I see the final curtain.

Vinegar Schnapps is not much fun
nor nails through hands and legs
now be a chum, go speak to mum
and get my Easter eggs.’</FONT f>