Today's poems [10.6.12]
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There was a young fellow named Bliss
Whose sex life was strangely amiss,
For even with Venus
His recalcitrant penis
Would never do better than t
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.
Many many years ago
when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow
who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
For she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
Though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
Then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my step-mother.
Father's wife then had a son,
Who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
For he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
She is my grandma too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
Then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it,
It simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa.
NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP
WITH THE BOY ACROSS THE STREET
WONT MY DADDY BE DISGUSTED
ONCE HE SEE'S MY CHERRY'S BUSTED
AND WONT MY MOMMY BE SURPRISED
WHEN SHE SEE'S MY BELLY RISE
Sent by JESSICA
There was a young lady called Bright
Who could travel much faster than light
she departed one day
in a relative way
And arrived on the previous night
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