I actually ended up getting some pretty positive reactions from some friends about the poetry I had posted before, so I figured I’d at least put some of my more entertaining ones up here.
This one is an imitation poem of Jonathan Swift. And it’s not imitating one of those sissy “not” love poems to his “not” main-squeeze Stella, but rather his scatological works. If you don’t know what scatological poems are, please look it up before you read. That way, you’ll know it’s actually a legitimate type of writing, and not me just being as ridiculous and disgusting as I can possibly be. If you’d care for some examples from Swift himself, read these two:
Verses on the Morning After
Written in Rememb’rance of the Fairer Sex
Poor Stephen in a new Bed awakes,
To a throbbing Back and Head that ayches.
To his Left, on a stand, he finds his Phone,
And to his Right, a Blonde Woman unknown.
Stephen feels a Sting upon his Neck,
And grabs a Mirror, just to check.
He looks and finds the bruis’d red Hickey Mark
And wishes dearly that it weren’t so dark.
What happen’d Last Night, he cannot remember,
But he knew, somehow, it involved his Member.
But as he stands up to find the Rest-room
He smells a just utterly noxious Fume.
He looks around, and down, and finds a stain,
Of Rear-Ended origins most profane.
On his and her Legs, the Blanket, and of course his Ass
Is the now-Crusty Evidence of his actions crass.
So he wipes Himself clean with the well-worn Sheet,
And then figures his Time here is quite complete.
And as he sneaks across the Wooden Floor,
He prays his Junk won’t develop a Sore.
Maybe this isn’t the most appropriate thing to post on Valentine’s Day, but fuck it, who am I trying to impress?
Take it easy,