You told me a tale I'll never soon forget:
The night that you and Ernest met, out of the blue
you shoved it up the bastard's arse--Hoo Hoo!
He laughed and cried aloud!
A cob of corn to make Mum proud
you stuck up his waggler like a yellow beacon
that any day the glaring deacon
from next door would eat for supper,
slobbered up and served in butter.
All the better, he says, and all the wetter
you suggest, while riding hard--ALL THE WAY!--
the dining table until your treacherous hips unable
to gyrate, confusticate and violate
the tame sheep eyes, full of night-time lullabies
and dirty lies he whispers while you go
pretending to be taking slow
the cancer stick just a while ago
you taught him to share with you
would go grey-blue in his sweaty, flushed face--
you try to console him, "Hey, it's not a race."
Anyway, you thank the gods of orgasm and sex
it'll all be erased come the dawn;
when the candles, one by one, are put out, and the next
pussy-fucker, with his lips and tongue and reptilian yawn,
devours your cries bitten-off in a red trickle, sweet.
As the pale sun rises, in a whisper cold,
you feel bold and say "Happy Birthday,"
jabbing your sweet jelly-licker into somebody's hole:
it's crass, yes, but you blow
because that's the fucking flesh-cake
and you're your own little birthday ho.
Author notes
Dedicated to Edna Sweetlove for her birthday. Belated, dearest. I wish I could tell you I slipped and fell down a hole so that I missed your birthday, but you might misinterpret it.
It actually became sad, towards the end. But isn't life like that? Well, keep on being fucking happy, Edna, for as long as you can. (And you and I both know the operative word there isn't "happy".)
"To be is to fuck, and to fuck is to be."
-Anonymous
In a list
A contest entry
- Edna's NOT-A-BIRTHDAY- CANDLE contest by Edna Sweetlove.
435 points, ended April 5, 2007, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please do not hesitate to flagellate the poem. It deserves your painful attentions.
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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Whoa! This blew me away...after reading this I couldn't come up with anything sensible to say...It's nice to learn something from somebody who's wiser than me.
And I did...
Astig!!!
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Great and creative write.
Soulful and romantic.
Have the clap.
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thanks. i have this bad habit of unintentionally equating sex to bitterness...haha... i'm delighted you thought it romantic. it is that, although in a very sad twisted way, of course. have a great life, and thanks for the claps.
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I love the nquote in the authors notes. Well done on an amazing write. you have given us a lot of imagery to visualise. well done. i wish you luck in the contest
cheers
jen -
I just looked up "waggler" in "Urban Dictinary" and this is what I got...
"A balding middle-aged middle manager who leches after young female members of staff. Can often be seen leaving the disabled toilets with a dodgy grin and soiled fly-zip region."
Also it said a "vag waggler" was a cock-teasing woman.
THUS: the word "waggler" is your own creation! And I love it.
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I am a bit surprised you liked the word enough to investigate it. It is making me grin like a cheshire cat, my very first positive facial reaction today after a so-so night in the graveyard shift. Mm..don't ask.
Well, all in all I'm glad you liked my poem. That's a weight off my back since I really wanted to make you happy, doubly so because I missed greeting you on your birthday.
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This is very good indeed. A mxture of cynicism and filth. And the word "waggler" is a brilliant one I have never ever seen before. For teaching me "waggler" I shall be ever in your debt. Definitely among the cups, this one.
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