Today's poems [3.7.08]

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There was a young rump from Ra-cine
        Whose bot-tom was in-ter-est-ing-ly keen.
        No wig-gle or shook
        It was hard as a book,
        When it blos-somed I sqirt-ed my bean.

A Redneck's Ode to Valentines Day!

Kudzu is green,
my dog's name is Blue
And I'm so lucky
to have a sweet thang like you.

Yore hair is like cornsilk
A-flapping in the breeze.
Softer than Blue's
And without all them fleas.

You move like the bass,
Which excite me in May.
You ain't got no scales
But I luv you anyway.

You're as graceful as okry
Jist a-dancin' in the pan.
Yo're as fragrant as SunDrop
Right out of the can.

You have all yore teeth,
For which I am proud;
I hold my head high
When we're in a crowd.

On special occasions,
When you shave yore armpits,
Well, I'm in hawg heaven,
I'm plumb outta wits.

And speakin' of wits,
You've got plenty fer shore.
'Cuz you married me
Back in '74.

Still them fellers at work
They all want to know,
What I did to deserve
Such a purty, young doe.

Like a good roll of duct tape
Yo're there fer yore man,
To patch up life's troubles
And stick 'em in the can.

Yo're as strong as a four-wheeler
Racin' through the mud,
Yet fragile as that sanger
Named Naomi Judd.

When you hold me real tight
Like a padded gunrack,
My life is complete;
Ain't nuttin' I lack.

Yore complexion, it's perfection,
Like the best vinyl sidin'.
Despite all the years,
Yore age, it keeps hidin'.

And when you get old
Like a '67 Chevy,
Won't put you on blocks
And let grass grow up heavy.

Me 'n' you's like a Moon Pie
With a RC cold drank,
We go together
Like a skunk goes with stank.

Some men, they buy chocolate
For Valentine's Day;
They git it at Wal-Mart,
It's romantic that way.

Some men git roses
On that special day
From the cooler at Kroger.
"That's impressive," I say.

Some men buy fine diamonds
From a flea market booth.
"Diamonds are forever,"
They explain, suave and couth.

But for this man, honey,
These will not do.
For you are too special,
You sweet thang you.

I got you a gift,
Without taste nor odor,
Better than diamonds
it's a new trollin' motor.

Said a girl from Staraya Russa,
Whom the war had made looser and looser,
"Yes, I'm wormin' a German,
A vermin named Hermann,
But his dink is a lollapalooza!"

There once was a old man from Norway -
who cussed as he sat in a doorway-
the door smacked him flat-
and he yelled "what was that"?
that disgruntled old man from Norway!

SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS PORNOGRAPHY

We've socially conscious biography,
Esthetics, and social geography.
    Today every field
    Boasts its Marxian yield,
So now there's class-conscious pornography.

Oh, the worker is nobody's fool,
For by rights he's the man with the tool.
    His ponderous prick'll
    Arise with the sickle,
And bugger the Fascists who rule.

Miss de Vaughan was a maker of panties
For all girls from subdebs to grand-aunties.
    Her very best ad
    Was herself, lightly clad
In her three-ninety-five silken scanties.

So this wench is a capitalist,
She's our villain and ought to be hissed.
    But she's lush and she's plump,
    And a glimpse of her rump
Would teach Marx that there's something he's missed.

Now de Vaughan had resolved on a lock-out
To give Communist Labor the knock-out.
    She said, 'Fuck the foul fools.'
    (She'd attended good schools),
And took a fresh bottle of Hock out.

Joseph Smith was a sturdy longshoreman
(And an eminent amateur whoreman).
    Just to be sympathetic
    He grew peripatetic,
'Til his picketing irked de Vaughan's doorman.

For this lout was a scab born and bred,
Who fainted whene'er he saw red:
    In distress he reported,
    But she only retorted,
`Run home and hide under your bed.'

For her plans were peculiar and wicked,
As she thought, `He's a man, if a picket.'
    She lured him inside
    And insidiously plied
The prick of the picket to lick it.

Joe's rod was stiff as a rail,
But he couldn't let principles fail.
    `You degenerate bitch,
    That's a trick of the rich;
But the people prefer honest tail.

`You may tickle the cocks and the vanities
Of the rich men who purchase your scanities,
    But the proud People's front
    Calls for sound hairy cunt.
So it's down with de Vaughan's panty-wanities.'

He picked a soft couch in her office,
And tore off her pants and ripped off his.
    Then he showed her the rod
    Marks the difference, by God,
Between what a man and a toff is.

Now our Joe was the first proletarian
Who had filled with his sperm the ovarian
    Recess of de Vaughan,
    Which had sheltered the spawn
Of unnumbered Fascists, all Aryan.

Next day his friends said, `You've been soaring,
You're dead on your feet. Were you whoring?'
    He replied, `Starving masses
    Mean more than plump asses.
Last night from within I was boring.'

And de Vaughan thought her troubles were over,
Her picket had left (to recover),
    But he'd furnished her womb
    With incipient bloom:
A fact she had yet to discover.

So after nine months, to the day,
The employer in labor pains lay.
    As the boy hove in sight
    He yelled, `WORKERS UNITE!'
And the doctors all fainted away.

The moral of this is, my child,
By rich promises don't be beguiled.
    Remember that workers
    Are eminent firkers,
And go left, if you must be defiled.

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