I am dating a young woman and we are deeply in love. However, no matter what I do sexually, she never achieves orgasm so we decided to ask a sex therapist for advice. The therapist listened to our story and suggested the following;
"Hire a strapping young man and while the two of you are making love have the young man wave a towel over you, as though he is fanning you both. Make sure he is totally naked and she can see his manhood as he fans you both with the towel. That will help your wife fantasize, and should bring on a full-blown orgasm."
We went home and followed the therapist's advice. We hired a handsome young man and he stripped off and enthusiastically waved a towel over us both as we made love. But it didn't help and still my lover was unsatisfied and frustrated.
Perplexed, we went back to the therapist "Okay" he says, "let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them."
Once again, we followed the advice. The young man got into bed with my lover and I waved the towel. The young man really worked with great enthusiasm and my lover soon had an enormous, room-shaking, screaming, orgasm.
Smiling, I dropped the towel, tapped the young man on the shoulder and said to him triumphantly...."NOW THAT'S how you wave a towel, son!!"
You want me to write something so you can laugh
I will try, but it's an art or a craft
How am I to make you giggle?
Does it have to be with rhyme or a riddle?
Your poetry tends to be dark
Will mine even be able to hit the mark.
Will this laugh I give come from the belly?
If it does then I must write real silly
You call yourself "A Poet Destroyer"
But I tend to think you're just a voyeur
You peek inside my head through my words
Sometimes me thinks what I write's for the birds
So I will try my hardest today
To make you laugh, in my own way.
I hope I get just a smile or a grin
Because this contest is something to win.
For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.
I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.
I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.
I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.
Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the
empty range for my return.
I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.
Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.
I wish I was a poet
a surgeon of verse many would know it
how do they express the sublime
with graceful words that don't even rhyme
it's amazing how they do it
I marvel at the beauty of a poem's spirit
maybe I could even write a poem
should it be jagged or should I flow it
I don't know I'm trying to think
I'm getting closer I'm on the brink
here it goes, it may be lame
but I write this poem just the same
the words aren't graceful, yes I know it
I'm still wishing I was a poet
Have to be somewhere in 40 mins
Enough time to write at least one
Fortunately I’m not using and pens
Else I would not be close to done
Of course you see the form I write
One familiar yet still complicated
It should be easy I write every night
Why my poems are often post dated
Halfway there only three minutes gone
Can I write eleven of these in my time
Maybe but could I post them all as well
Not sure, but I wouldn’t even bet a dime
The last I didn’t rhyme of first and third
I will admit I normally will rhyme abab
But in my amount of time that’s absurd
I am trying to finish quickly as you see
I already finished one how about another
The next line already in my head of course
Now you are probably saying o brother
This guy is a distinct body member of a horse
Really it’s just practice and having a bit of fun
I am definitely bored at this very early hour
I’m also texting a friend here and think of pun
I’d tell her what I think, but she might be sour
The last of course was purely a joke my friend
No evil thoughts currently in my head Miss PD
I at present, do not have that emotion to lend
Or maybe it was serious the last stanza hehehe
This is so much fun, a great way to pass time
You should try it, if you would possibly dare
I have said time a million times in my rhyme
Take time reading them, go ahead and stare
All these words inside my head
drive me crazy while in bed.
They will dance inside my brain
and fall down like pouring rain
When I try to dress for work
down the hallway they will lurk.
When I leave and drive my car
on every signpost there they are.
What this soul now has to do
is write down these words for you.
Taking pen and pad in hand I'll
write down what they demand.
When it's over and all done and
these words have had there fun.
They will leave me then to rest
you know the rest,,,,,,,,,......
I want to write a funny poem, one without meaning
So that everytime you read it, your going to start peeing
It will make you laugh
think of Giraffes
and eat a pop-tart
Who knows maybe you will cry
only because its so dumb it's funny but you dont know why
This poem will talk about gypsies and snickers
maybe nerds who are nose pickers
Or maybe Chuck Norris
OMG did you know he drives a ford tauras
Who knows, maybe this poem could be famous
or maybe people might call me an ignoramous
Oh well, this poem I write one day will be awesome
Im thinking about even including a possum
His name will be Gerald
Omg HE IS PREGNANT NO>... NOT WILL FERRELL
Anyway Gerald will love snickers and chuck norris
Gerald will also get into a fight with a taurtus..
Scratch all that, that was not funny
Im just going to write about the Trix bunny
I had to write this poem
because I thought of this one great line,
What do you think -
will it stand the test of time?
Well, I had to write it down
to deter other poets stealing this idea;
You know lines are clutched from the atmosphere,
Or they fall like apples, spill over like beer.
I had to write this poem,
Because I thought of this one great line;
Like a beat messiah,
My acid milk turns to wine.
And now I feel fine, and your pleasure
in my one sparkling line.
I had to write this poem,
Hidden in this gem of a line.
(Show me the funny, part two)
Are you a Lesbian?
Did you major in the art of female anatomy and minor in multiple orgasms?
Do you know all seven erogenous zones like the back of your hand?
Then you may qualify as a Vagenius!
But don't get too cocky now
Just because you studied doesn't mean you'll do well on the test.
I've met so many people who can talk game but can't deliver.
I can't tell you how many times I've had to fake it just so I could finish the dishes instead.
Throw some moves at me!
Take my clothes off with your teeth.
Turn me the **** on!
Now you may be thinking that you can pass the test but please hold your horses because I've only met one Vagenius in my life. (Point to yourself)
I'm not going to go to the Adam and Eve store just so you can grunt loud and thrust hard while I don't feel a thing, I'll save the crotchless panties and lingerie for my vibrator.
And no you can't use a cock ring so that you'll have more time to try to make me cum.
And please don't get all sentimental and touchy feely about it. This is a test, you’re not trying to convince me to be your girlfriend. Save the kisses for the wife.
So come into my bed and I'll tell you if you’re a true Vagenius.
Why can’t I do it how I want to do it?
Been told my rhymes are simplistic at best
I may violate pentameter but I write what I like
Why must it pass some journal’s vapid test?
Behind a block of writer’s I’ve been hiding
Cowed by thoughts of editing snafus
Trying to write deep, intensive tomes of valid lore
Only to be chastened and abused
There’s elegance found in concise expression
Saying all the world in just a line
No matter that I know this I belabor all my thoughts
Create an elegy for elegance in time
Onomatopoeia is my best friend
And alliteration waltzes through my dreams
Thoughts chatter, clatter, chirp and clunk around about my head
Demanding that they be released in streams
And after I have done what I have done here
Exposed my heart by opening my head
I send it forth with hope that someone will enjoy my words
And get rejection letters in their stead
But won’t you like my poem just a little?
I promise it won’t be a trite conceit
You say my writing’s convoluted, so, I strive to simplify it
Then you call my writing sophomoric and cheap
Yet still my writing exists, remonstrating
That whether it be ballad or blank verse
It should be able to do just exactly what it feels like
And it finds you and your editing, perverse
It says it does not care if it is published
Doesn’t want you to consider it profound
For if you did then it might accidentally be common
And make cool people like me put it down
But won’t you like my poem just a little?
At the very least try to be noncommittal
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
I do not know?
My friends at poetrysoup
Keep pushing me on
I stop to take a deep breath
And Daniel Larson might say "What's next"
I'll write about a bird, a sea gull
Circling our Wyoming earth
Vince Suzadail Jr. might comment
"Come on you can do better than that"
Alright the buffalo outside my door
John Loving III might say
"Him again "
"We've heard of him before"
I'll write about my rocks
And Carol Brown might say
"Come on give us something
To knock our sox off"
Bob Hinton said, "Best to you"
But wait were those the words
Or was it
"At least try to do your best"
Karen O'Leary said, "I Missed you
Hope you had a wonderful holiday and_"
Here I held my ears,
I didn't want to disappoint her, and I wiped my tears.
Mike Falatico, Jimbo Goff
Christie Mills and Earl Brown too
They all work so hard
And I talk about the zoo
I love you all, You are my family and friends
Or I would never have tried to write
This silly little poem
And not worry about being sued
But your encouragement
Helps to move me on
Without your honest words
I'd not get any enjoyment from my works.
I really do get encouragement from your comments.
And I try to do my best to help keep our poetrysoup family
strong. Thanks for all your help. God Bless, Cile
I had a cat name snowball
my mom said she was at the vet
Look at this joe
Face on the desk cause he's writing so low
Lifted his head and what did I see:
Oh wah! wah! wah!
Mommy didn't love me!
Saw another girl and her mouth was so cringe
Seem like the pen in her hand wasn't able to unhinge
and I walk passed her and saw some or her words:
life is so lonely
I want to blow some coke
father doesn't know me
people think i'm a joke
Holy ghost and holy spirit!
Why are people so sad?
I thought the guy was A.D.D ing
And the chick was on her rag
I understand that life ain't full of win
But just loathing in it is as bad as a sin!
Drink-ing to death
Bin-ging on drugs
So you could feel that "close"
That out of body experience where you leave that "ghost"
Grabb-ing a pen
leave-ing a note
Commit-ing a suicide
If I read more of this depressing stuff I think I will cry!
go and feel pain
So your girlfriend dumped you
Then go to the strip club and make it rain!
just lost your job
so now your broke
So go out and shake your ass for some handsome bloke!
I understand if you
and want your life to be pushed for reset
but when you go through that you
grow up more
see to explore
find out that you could high again sore!
So write me a love poem with no break up
Write me a story of that one day of endless luck
Give me a riddle where the cow goes mooo
That's right be silly!
Shakespeare doesn't like your emo poems!
I wouldn't too!
ps: hey guys! it's late! and the later it gets the weirder i get!(well it's 3am for me,
idk what time it is for y'all) :D
anywho we all have written our share of emo poems ( i know i have!
heck i still do!) I just couldn't help myself to write this, especially since
my motivation was a shirt i saw that actually said "Shakespeare doesn't
like your emo poems." ( with picture of Will annoyed as heck XD)
no not Will Smith :p
The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after
The virgin vernacular
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
I've read and read, and read it thrice
and each and every time
I found one missed spelled word or more
Hidden in the lines
And though I proof read once again
Once again I goofed
And if I have too, once again
I'll go right through the roof
I'm far too busy can't you see
Too busy to write poetry
So please forgive this silly rhyme
I really do not have the time
To write an epic verse or three
I'm far too busy can't you see
So many things I have to do
And all by yesterday, it's true
Then as the day comes to a close
I collapse into a chair and doze
And if I dream more poetry
I'll place it here for you to see
Before this day comes to it's end
I'll give you some advice my friend
Use every moment that's the key
I'm far too busy can't you see?
Thanks for the inspiration - you know who you are :)
Jack Ellison wasn't from Nantucket
I read prose that his cleaning lady had a nice bucket
But he vowed to look in silence quite as a mouse
For fear of sleeping in the perpetual doghouse
PD, appears and disappears like whoodini
I have seen the poems where she's a meanie
She also wrote about trading seeds for a donkey
She could have just as easily traded seeds for her monkey
Thephilosopher, what a silly nick indeed
He would trade if he only had a seed
A good monkey he could certainly use
Or would the ass he choose?
I would write about a Star I once knew
But from sight has she flew
Entering contest after contest without fail
A questionable close here could lead to hell
Wayland Bunch mentioned afore
He often rambles and can bore
His idea of humor often misconstrued
If he were a famous writer he'd be sued
There is a poet here named gigno
What is up with him though
Commenting with three exclamations
Does he think they equal explanations?
The Gaijin, clerihew after clerihew he did write
He gave up being Haijin, mostly out of spite
Who wants to write only three lines of poetry, he mopes
Haikus are for dopes (haha, that one should draw some attention)
He's called NietzscheThePhilosipher on Mocospace
Beware moco is a dirty dirty place
He went there often just to chat
But found out that perversion was the welcome mat
The boy from Texas wasn't scared though
He heard much worse, although he says it aint so
One time or two he wrote a clerihew
Becareful lest the next clerihew be about you
He read Jack's quatrains almost everday
They were medicine to the soul he would say
Maybe vodka to the inhibitions explains it best
If not, he'll just drink the vodka and forget the rest
I think I should mention Linda once more
I won't even write what you think, I don't need the war
I live by peace for all, that's the key
What happens if this last line contains piece and monkey (hahahaha)
For the 'Write Me a Footle' contest sponsored by: Judy Konos
They assigned me me to write a sonnet about the life of a drunken writer
whose dream wouldn't shatter, but his foolishness wasn't in the past tense;
he spent endless hours reading blogs of people who didn't make sense...
in chat rooms he found geeks, charlatans and a casual liar.
These are the ones who can text all day as kids do for fun...
what's the excuse for being late and perform with a brainless head?
Here's proof of his laziness: he didn't write anything to earn him bread.
" Wake up, your work is piling up...you snore as pigs in a barn! "
the co-worker in the next booth sneered as the boss approached Fred
who stuttered and tried to explain why he couldn't get the work done...
while his breath stunk and couldn't stand him looking awfully mad.
" I need that article by tomorrow, or you'll get a pink slip and are gone! "
" Sir, the last article was a hit...you liked that sex-pot with those boobs! "
" Why can't I write about today's generation who have the speed of raccoons? "
I dreamt myself as poet-frog
And good Fancy` Fairy
Would stoop to pick my verse…
But she didn`t come.
The Vice Poem shall serve,
without regard to need
or time of day,
being in line of succession,
should the Poem be
unable to fulfill its ditty
The Vice Poem will be
required to preside
over the sonnet
and break any ties
that come upon it
As is customary,
the Vice Poem shall be
required once a term
to debate the opposition
on the respective merits
of poetry versus prose
The Vice Poem shall
be sent, on a moments notice
to travel wide and far
to deliver the eulogy
for dead, leading authors,
and to do so with euphony
The Vice Poem can
anticipate being the object
of scorn and ridicule
from the wider citizenry
regarding the merits of
being a second rate poem
while anticipating to
someday achieve eloquence
© Goode Guy 2013-01-21
Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.
(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")
it is nice to write happy poems
that make the sky
and everything around me
and everything around me
much much lighter
Human nature is the cause
we can never ascend
but I want to go to the realm
a place much more
scary than I would like to pretend
a place where angels
and demons are in conflict
to me it would be
a weird tourist attraction
I won’t be taking photos
I would want to be
part of the action
of coarse the battle
would only be for the divine
that is why
I fight them in my mind
what if one day
it would materialize
a feat to be realized…
What happened to my inspiration
Is causing me great perspiration
My mind is a blank
No one can I thank
For my creative hibernation
© 2013 Rick Zablocki
I wanna write a poem,
Ideas are fairly dead;
As I lie here in my boxers,
Stupidity enters instead!
I'll share a word with my pup,
Discuss our vibrant laws;
I'll ask why I have fingers,
And why I can't have paws!
Maybe I'll lie beneath the sun,
Or roll in the morning soil;
Perhaps duke it out with Popeye,
For the rights to Olive Oyl!
Shall I leap from a mountain top?
Bounce upon a turtle's shell;
Run naked along the highway,
I'm desperate, what the hell?!
I'll grab my funky bicycle,
Ride to the dollar store;
Buy a pack of gummie worms,
And chew 'til my cheeks are sore!
If I could go diving,
In an ocean far beneath;
I'd fight a drunken octopus,
And kiss a great white's teeth!
I'll flirt with a horny walrus,
Play chess with a chimpanzee;
Go fifteen rounds with a kangaroo,
And pretend I'm Muhammad Ali!
I wanna write a poem so bad,
Stupidity's what I fear;
I'll "sleep off" the tequila,
By dawn, all thoughts should be clear!
I think I'll write a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'
We'd have been married thirty years today
if he hadn't had a penchant to stray.
I got the pickup truck, so we'll leave that part out
but there's lots of other things I can whine about.
I can hit a few notes on this guitar of mine,
now I need to come up with some catchy line.
Country songs need to have a refrain,
something so catchy it'll stick in your brain.
They're all about liars and cheaters and such
and cheapskate dates who want to go dutch.
I'll make a fortune when my song's a hit.
My inspiration was my ex the ....jerk?
Yes, I think I'll write me a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'.
I'll put in a verse about socks on the floor,
then casually mention his red-headed .... friend?
Maybe I'll say that he broke my heart
I'm still not quite sure where to start.
Most of what I write may even be true.
I could mention his cologne smells like... aqua velva?
Yes, I'm sure I can write one if I try.
It'll hit the charts and from there just fly.
I know I can write a country song.
Anyone can when they've lived this long.
We all have something twangy and sad,
something good in our past that turned out bad.
* any resemblence to actual events is purely coincidental
** and thanks Nancy for the blog that inspired this
I do not know?
(Only the first line of this poem is true.)
I've written poems about everything but the kitchen sink.
I write so much that it hurts when I think.
I'd write some more but my pen is out of ink.
I'm the only man in my town who wears a mink.
Don't mess with me, I don't take sass.
If you tell anybody about my mink, I'll kick your ___.
Squeeze lemon on strange fishy tales.
Pick plasters gingery, while fondling the phone.
Lick long melted lines of Lolita ice-cream.
Sink their teeth into fingers of the hand that feeds them.
Chucks innocent chickens into cock fighting rings.
Knocks over tables and laughs. Ever-so-secretly,
Wraps a vibrator, in paper, with red, printed kisses
Then posts it to that mad nun in Black Narcissus