Poetry spam
Jul. 2nd, 2004 02:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleI'm in a poetry mood today.
Discretion
by Roger McGough
Discretion is the better part of Valerie
(though all of her is nice)
lips as warm as strawberries
eyes as cold as ice
the very best of everything
only will suffice
not for her potatoes
and puddings made of rice
Not for her potatoes
and puddings made of rice
she takes carbohydrates
like God takes advice
a surfeit of ambition
is her particular vice
Valerie fondles lovers
like a mousetrap fondles mice
And though in the morning
she may whisper: "it was nice"
you can tell by her demeanour
that she keeps her love on ice
but you've lost your hard-earned heart
now you'll have to pay the price
for she'll kiss you on the memory
and vanish in a trice
Valerie is corruptible
but known to be discreet
Valerie rides a silver cloud
where once she walked the street.
If anybody wants to spam me with poetry in the comments - any poet, obscure or something that everyone knows - please do.
Discretion
by Roger McGough
Discretion is the better part of Valerie
(though all of her is nice)
lips as warm as strawberries
eyes as cold as ice
the very best of everything
only will suffice
not for her potatoes
and puddings made of rice
Not for her potatoes
and puddings made of rice
she takes carbohydrates
like God takes advice
a surfeit of ambition
is her particular vice
Valerie fondles lovers
like a mousetrap fondles mice
And though in the morning
she may whisper: "it was nice"
you can tell by her demeanour
that she keeps her love on ice
but you've lost your hard-earned heart
now you'll have to pay the price
for she'll kiss you on the memory
and vanish in a trice
Valerie is corruptible
but known to be discreet
Valerie rides a silver cloud
where once she walked the street.
If anybody wants to spam me with poetry in the comments - any poet, obscure or something that everyone knows - please do.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2004-07-02 10:55 am (UTC)across the plantation of your body,
bird eater, house eater scampering across
your pale meadows on sandpaper feet.
Tonight I let my snake lips slide over you.
Tonight my domesticated paws have removed
their gloves and as pink as baby rats
they scurry nimble-footed into your dark parts.
You heave yourself--what is this earthquake?
You cry out--in what jungle does that bird fly?
You grunt--let's make these pink things hurry.
Let's take a whip and make them trot faster.
These lips already torn and bleeding--
let's plunder them. These teeth banging together--
prison bars against prison bars. Who really
is ever set free? Belly and breasts--
my snout roots in your dirt like a pig
rooting for scraps. Arm bones, hip bones--
I'll suck their marrow, then carve a whistle.
Woman, what would you be like seen from the sky?
My little plane sputters and coughs. I scramble
onto the wing. The wind whips across the fuselage.
Who needs a parachute? Wheat fields, a river,
your pastures rush toward me to embrace me.
Roughhousing Stephen Dobyns