[John Whitworth]

Well, if it's rudery you're after, what about the first line of a poem by William Allingham?

Four ducks on a pond

One has to presuppose a boat of some sort.

[Lance Levens]

My apologies, George and Max. And thanks, Max, for the kind words about the Waller. I've always wanted to do a send-up of that poem.

[Roger Slater]

The winners have already been posted by others, but I can't stop:

Donut go gentle into that good night.
Your calories are empty, but today
I am resolved at last to eating right.

Though mothers tell me, "Go on, have a bite,"
I tell them, "Don't you know how much I weigh?"
Donut go gentle into that good night.

Would I enjoy a carrot? I just might.
They're quite nutritious, weight-loss doctors say.
I am resolved at last to eating right.

But you, my poison, keep out of my sight!
Turn on your side and roll right off my tray!
Donut go gentle into that good night.
I am resolved at last to eating right.

[Max Goodman]

This time you beat me to the post, Bob. (And made mine hardly worth posting, but I can't stop either.)


Do now go gentle into that good night;
You've hung around here long enough, all right?

[Max Goodman]

Did someone say rudery?

This must have done it before. It appears to be the title of a porn film, but that film gets too many web hits for me to easily determine whether it's been done as a poem.


How do I love thee? Let me count the lays.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
That I can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being--or of, at least, thy stays,

By sun and candle-light, and in the dark,
Face down, face up, as well as all the rest
Of the positions, naked, fully dressed,
And when thou're wearing my clothes for a lark,

On lawns, on desks, on tables where we've fed,
In bath-tubs, coaches, closets, and on floors,
On window sills and up against broad doors,
In hallways and occasionally in bed.

And if thou choose, the next time I come by,
I've thought of something else that we can try.

[Roger Slater]

(Grasshopper and the Cricket -- Keats)

The poetry of earth is never read.
Even poets do not read it much.
The love of reading poetry is dead.
Is it poets who have lost the touch
or is it that society has altered?
Should we be bothered no one reads the stuff?
Has something in our evolution faltered
or is it just that we have had enough
and now the world has other arts to please us,
cyber-arts, perhaps, to claim our passion?
Farewell to William Shakespeare and to Jesus?
I swear we have not changed. It's merely fashion.

[Lance Levens]

You two guys need to take this on the road. Donut, go gentle...--genius, Roger.