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He considers me just a uterus with legs.

quote by Mary Beth Whitehead
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Hot Legs

(rod stewart)
Whos that knocking on my door
Its gotta be a quarter to four
Is it you again coming round for more
Well you can love me tonight if you want
But in the morning make sure youre gone
Im talkin to you
Hot legs, wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, are you still in school
I love you honey
Gotta most persuasive tongue
You promise all kinds of fun
But what you dont understand
Im a working man
Gonna need a shot of vitamin e
By the time youre finished with me
Im talking to you
Hot legs, youre an alley cat
Hot legs, you scratch my back
Hot legs, bring your mother too
I love you honey
Imagine how my daddy felt
In your jet black suspender belt
Seventeen years old
Hes touching sixty four
You got legs right up to your neck
Youre making me a physical wreck
Im talking to you
Hot legs, in your satin shoes
Hot legs, are you still in school
Hot legs, youre making me a fool
I love you honey
Hot legs, making your mark
Hot legs, keep my pencil sharp
Hot legs, keep your hands to yourself
I love you honey
Hot legs, youre wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, youre still in school
I love you honey

song performed by Rod Stewart
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Daddy Long-Legs and the Fly

Once Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a summer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.

Said Mr Daddy Long-legs
To Mr Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'

'O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But Oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red and one in green)
Would say aloud, 'You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit.'
O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the crabs would gladly come
To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!''

[...] Read more

poem by Edward Lear
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A Man

George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His
dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishes were undone, he needed a shave, and ash
from his rolled cigarettes dropped onto his undershirt. Some of the ash was still burning.
Sometimes the burning ash missed the undershirt and hit his skin, then he cursed, brushing
it away. There was a knock on the trailer door. He got slowly to his feet and answered the
door. It was Constance. She had a fifth of unopened whiskey in a bag.
"George, I left that son of a bitch, I couldn't stand that son of a bitch
anymore."
"Sit down."
George opened the fifth, got two glasses, filled each a third with whiskey, two thirds
with water. He sat down on the bed with Constance. She took a cigarette out of her purse
and lit it. She was drunk and her hands trembled.
"I took his damn money too. I took his damn money and split while he was at work.
You don't know how I've suffered with that son of a bitch." "
Lemme have a smoke," said George. She handed it to him and as she leaned near,
George put his arm around her, pulled her over and kissed her.
"You son of a bitch," she said, "I missed you."
"I miss those good legs of yours , Connie. I've really missed those good
legs."
"You still like 'em?"
"I get hot just looking."
"I could never make it with a college guy," said Connie. "They're too
soft, they're milk toast. And he kept his house clean. George , it was like having a maid.
He did it all. The place was spotless. You could eat beef stew right off the crapper. He
was antiseptic, that's what he was."
"Drink up, you'll feel better."
"And he couldn't make love."
"You mean he couldn't get it up?"
"Oh he got it up, he got it up all the time. But he didn't know how to make a
woman happy, you know. He didn't know what to do. All that money, all that education, he
was useless."
"I wish I had a college education."
"You don't need one. You have everything you need, George."
"I'm just a flunky. All the shit jobs."
"I said you have everything you need, George. You know how to make a woman
happy."
"Yeh?"
"Yes. And you know what else? His mother came around! His mother! Two or three
times a week. And she'd sit there looking at me, pretending to like me but all the time
she was treating me like I was a whore. Like I was a big bad whore stealing her son away
from her! Her precious Wallace! Christ! What a mess!" "He claimed he loved me.
And I'd say, 'Look at my pussy, Walter!' And he wouldn't look at my pussy. He said, 'I
don't want to look at that thing.' That thing! That's what he called it! You're not afraid
of my pussy, are you, George?"
"It's never bit me yet." "But you've bit it, you've nibbled it, haven't
you George?"
"I suppose I have."
"And you've licked it , sucked it?"
"I suppose so."
"You know damn well, George, what you've done."

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Bukowski
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Abortion- Heaven gone amiss?

God gave women a pelvic bag,
‘The uterus’ or Womb!
And tethered it well, not to sag-
To rear children aplomb;
The growth of fetus should not lag,
And turn the womb, its tomb!
And neither should one abort it,
Thinking it is unfit!

The God of life gave some creatures,
The uterus or womb;
He gives the ‘seed’ life, and nurtures,
Some make the womb, a tomb!
No God of life can accept fault
Of a sinful human soul;
Most babies ought to pass the vault:
To be born- their one goal.

Some bring the babe out by ‘Caesar, ’
-a cut in uterus:
On dates and times, in their leisure,
Sans labor-pains or fuss!
Some others kill the unborn child,
Because they don’t want it;
Will rod of God for them be mild,
Or will it be ‘Fire-pit’?

‘Abortion is sure murder foul’-
No one dare deny this;
All god-believers surely scowl
For, Heaven’s gone amiss?
Can not the modern man, woman
Just understand this truth?
None can escape the Maker’s pan:
‘He’ll take a tooth for tooth! ’

Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-9-2008

poem by John Celes
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Leg

I know your legs are
On the legs of Baali the demon king
I know your legs are
On the head of Bharata your brother
I know your legs are on the
Head of Uddhaba your follower.

You have no leg I heard.
I Know you are present everywhere
Everytime and in everybody.

I do not know what a leg is.
I know the insect has six legs
I know the animal has four legs
I know the bird has two legs.

Your leg is my project paper
I do not know howmany legs you have
I do not know I a leg is.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Vae Victis parody Gilles Menage Thomas Hood Faithless Nellie Gray

Vae Victis

Good people all, with one accord
lament for David Wren,
who never wanted a good word –
from those his praise did pen.

He strove all of this House to please
with manners wondrous winning;
and never followed wicked ways –
except when he was sinning.

At meals, in slacks and jackets neat,
with smile of monstrous size;
he sat up straight upon his seat –
for ladies, though, he’d rise.

His love was sought, the little wren,
by twenty birds and more;
where e’er he went they followed him
to Annesley’s shady shore.

So let us sigh, in sorrow sore,
for South House well may say;
had he but slaved in school some more,
he had not sobbed today.

14 December 1969 University of Toronto, Victoria College

Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown

robi3_0002_mena1_0001 19691214

Faithless Ben Simon

Ben Simon was a broker bold
who’d turned his share of crashes,
the recent slump his stumps had bowled
with shares returned to ashes.

Then as they hammered him from ‘Change,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Faithless Nelly Gray

A Pathetic Ballad

Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.

Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'

The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.

But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.

'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.

Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave

'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'

'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'

'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Hood
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Gizmo's In The Slammer: My Dog the Convict

Had to get Gizmo out of the slammer today.

Animal control had him in the cage with the wet concrete floor and dripping water.

He had an inmate ID number, a temporary collar and they had set his bail at 60 dollars.

The city is hard up for money so they make you pay after they have kidnapped your dog in broad daylight off the city streets.

Gizmo had been held for a whole hour without food or water and I looked at him and I could see he was thinking he had had a great adventure. I expected him to jump for joy to see me, but instead he reluctantly came up to me seeming to say “oh and I was having such fun.”

Perhaps a little more time in the clink might have given him more time to think things over. But I was there in an hour to get him out so he was considering all of this just another one of his patrols of the neighbor, but this time with taxi service.

He was thinking, I am sure, that he could add the pound and all the dogs and cats in there as additions to his territory if I hadn’t showed up to spoil things. Gizmo is a pirate at heart 12 years old with two bad hips.

Shiatsu’s are known for bad hips because of in-breeding, with two baleful eyes and a determination to protect his neighbor-hood territory rights keeping the cats and younger dogs at bay and being over-all Lord of the Block.

He is also a break-out artist as well. Has to get his patrols in rain or shine. He is the black and white cruiser on the block, unlike Mugsy who considers the outside too dirty to deal with and is also filled with ugly cats. Mugsy is the Prima Donna.

Gizmo believes one day missed from patrolling is likely to result in his loss of face and if not territory, not to mention rights to the ladies in the neighborhood.

How did a short dog manage to acquire a neighbor kingdom? Here’s how: Gizmo rules because when he walks his two hind legs flail out behind him because of the hips, looking like a Crazy Legs Psycho Dog.

He is in no pain and has the courage of a lion, lunging at cats and dogs three times his size. The vets wanted 6,000 for do hip transplants but that didn’t make sense, especially since Gizmo didn’t seem to be in pain and seemed to consider crazy legs a mere inconvenience.

But he rules because he quickly realized that cats and dogs seeing him coming with his two hind legs flailing crazily behind him, made him seem like a monster dog of some kind and they all froze and then ran, not wanting to tangle with a mentally-ill short dog who looked like he could gnaw off one of their paws.

So Gizmo maintained his territory by playing crazy for all it was worth.

Unfortunately on one of his bust-outs the animal control guy also thought he was a crazy dog, rabid and netted him with a note that said he was having spasms and likely dangerous. None of this is true, of course, but Gizmo was looking back at me from behind bars apparently enjoying his image as the Al Capone the dog.

They wanted sixty dollars bail on him and a promise to get him some rabies shots, Gizmo had his shots, but they wouldn’t release him unless I consented to pay for rabies shots they administered.

A protection racket for dogs.

Gizmo, all puffed up from the attention, took the shot in his rear left cheek and drooled with quiet dignity.

I got him in the car and he headed for the window anxious to see what dog prison looked like receding in the distance.

I had the feeling he made some friends there and wouldn’t mind going back.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Transformation & Escape

1

I reached heaven and it was syrupy.
It was oppressively sweet.
Croaking substances stuck to my knees.
Of all substances St. Michael was stickiest.
I grabbed him and pasted him on my head.
I found God a gigantic fly paper.
I stayed out of his way.
I walked where everything smelled of burnt chocolate.
Meanwhile St. Michael was busy with his sword
hacking away at my hair.
I found Dante standing naked in a blob of honey.
Bears were licking his thighs.
I snatched St. Michael’s sword
and quartered myself in a great circular adhesive.
My torso fell upon an elastic equilibrium.
As though shot from a sling
my torso whizzed at God fly paper.
My legs sank into some unimaginable sog.
My head, though weighed with the weight of St. Michael,
did not fall.
Fine strands of multi-colored gum
suspended it there.
My spirit stopped by my snared torso.
I pulled! I yanked! Rolled it left to right!
It bruised! It softened! It could not free!
The struggle of an Eternity!
An Eternity of pulls! of yanks!
Went back to my head,
St. Michael had sucked dry my brainpan!
Skull!
My skull!
Only skull in heaven!
Went to my legs.
St. Peter was polishing his sandals with my knees!
I pounced upon him!
Pummeled his face in sugar in honey in marmalade!
Under each arm I fled with my legs!
The police of heaven were in hot pursuit!
I hid within the sop of St. Francis.
Gasping in the confectionery of his gentility
I wept, caressing my intimidated legs.

2

They caught me.
They took my legs away.

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Corso
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What Are We?

1) Two legs sat upon three legs,
With one leg in his lap;
In comes four legs
And runs away with one leg;
Up jumps two legs,
Catches up three legs,
Throws it after four legs,
And makes him dropp one leg.
What are we?

2) Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye,
And a long tail which she let fly;
And every time she went over a gap,
She left a bit of her tail in a trap.
3) Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.
What are we?

We have nothing to say today
We are being asked
What are we
And we think we are bullied
Because
Because we think we know what we are
Because we think we are the obvious
Plain like blue clouds, blue seas, blue kingfishers
Blue, blues, blue bruises, blue flag,
Blue crayon, blue surplus cars
Electric blue, shades of blue

We are black and blue
We feel blue
We think blue
We are blue.

And the obvious is like the biggest mountain ahead of us
And they ask: what is that?
And they see us
And ask us what are we?

Aren’t they all crazy?

We respect them and tell them nothing.
we have nothing to say forevermore.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Superstar

Who's that girl that considers her self a super woman and
Who's that girl thats independent and hard working and
Who's that girl that can cook and got some good lovin' and
whos that girl that can take it down on her man and turn it into something
[Chorus]
You's a superstar
thats what you are
money, clothes and fancy cars
So high your on the top
You's a superstar
that's what you are
money, clothes and fancy cars
so high your on the top
Tell me who's that man with them 20 inches under that wide body benz and who's that man
sitting in VIP just a thuggin'
and who's that man all the ladies are kissin and huggin
tell me whos that man that the whole ghetto is lovin'
[Chorus]
You's a superstar
thats what you are
money, clothes and fancy cars
So high your on the top
You's a superstar
that's what you are
money, clothes and fancy cars
so high your on the top
Tell me y'all who's that girl that looks so good and dress so sexy
and Who's that girl thats got me wanting her next to me
and who's that girl that with one look can knock me of my feet
and who's that girl that can take me striaght into extasy
[Chorus]
You's a superstar
thats what you are
money, clothes and fancy cars
So high your on the top
You's a superstar
that's what you are
money, clothes and fancy cars
so high your on the top
Tell me y'all Who's that man that considers himself to be full grown
and whos that man that claims the world to be his own
and who's that man with a gentle heart and a pleasent tone
but when you mess with his money
he's quick to go upside you

song performed by Isley Brothers
Added by Lucian Velea
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‘Dogo Erectus’!

Standing on its hind-legs,
Wagging its long tail,
Panting with its tongue out,
Without its fore-legs!

Stands a dog so freak-born,
Until dusk, from morn;
Passers-by go pat him,
Giving things to eat!

Smiling canine always,
Walks like human beings;
With its hind-legs strong as
A Kangaroo’s back-feet!

Thrilling all the people,
Peering at the beast;
Stupefying crowds that
Throng to see his feat!

Living with just hind-legs,
The dog can’t go on fours;
Smiling to the people,
Everywhere, he goes.

Having just but two legs,
The dog walks, runs so neat;
‘What undaunted soul, God! ’
Say people on the street.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-26-2008

poem by John Celes
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Poem about Poetry - Images

the only person who
cares to speak to us
only in images is Divinity

the dazzling sun he
is paying the respect
to each new day
with an illuminatioin
that can lift our spirit up

eyes, he is saying
how unique you are
a creature moulded
and beholden unto you
and unto you only

all the creatures
on land, in the sky, in the sea
he is saying there are
so many ways an idea
can be shaped
for the eyes as well
as for the senses

and the legs, he is saying
there are so many ways
you can run, walk tall
a centipede, a milipede
a snail, a fly, a turtle
four legs, six legs, two legs
a hundred legs, just to
go where you want to be

even the teeth,
there are so many
ways to feel the bite, the pain
the canines, the molars,
incisors, premolars
there are so many ways
you can chew the world up
into pieces, into a paste

and the universes
there are so many ways
you can make things shine
by themselves, by reflection
by refraction, by the water,
by the mist, by the rain
by the diamonds, by
the fireflies, your eyes

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Priest They Called Him

fight tuberculosis, folks. christmas eve, an old
Junkie selling christmas seals on north park street.
The priest, they called him. fight tuberculosis, folks.
People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall.
It was getting late and no money to score.
He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife.
Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight.
Boy got out with a suitcase. thin kid in prep school clothes,
Familiar face, the priest told himself, watching from the doorway.
remindsme of something a long time ago. the boy, there, with his overcoat
Unbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare.
The cab drove away and turned the corner. the boy went inside
A building. hmm, yes, maybe - the suitcase was there in the doorway.
The boy nowhere in sight. gone to get the keys, most likely,
Have to move fast. he picked up the suitcase and started for the corner.
Made it. glanced down at the case. it didnt look like the case the boy had,
Or any boy would have. the priest couldnt put his finger on what was so
Old about the case. old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy.
Better see whats inside. he turned into lincoln park, found an
Empty place and opened the case. two severed human legs that belonged to
A young man with dark skin. shiny black leg hairs glittered in the
Dim streetlight. the legs had been forced into the case and he had to use
His knee on the back of the case to shove them out. legs, yet,
He said, and walked quickly away with the case.
Might bring a few dollars to score. the buyer sniffed suspiciously.
kind of a funny smell about it. its just mexican leather.
well, some joker didnt cure it.
The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor.
not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is.
Three is the best I can do and it hurts. but since this is christmas
And youre the priest... he slipped three bills under the table into the
Priests dirty hand. the priest faded into the street shadows, seedy
And furtive. three cents didnt buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel.
Say, remember that old addie croaker told me not to come back unless
I paid him the three cents I owe him. yeah, isnt that a fruit for ya,
Blow your stack about three lousy cents.
The doctor was not pleased to see him.
now, what do you want? I told you!
The priest laid three bills on the table. the doctor put the
Money in his pocket and started to scream.
Ive had troubles! people have been around!
I may lose my license! the priest just sat there, eyes, old and heavy with
Years of junk, on the doctors face.
i cant write you a prescription. the doctor jerked open a drawer
And slid an ampule across the table. thats all I have in the office!
The doctor stood up. take it and get out! he screamed, hysterical.
The priests expression did not change.
The doctor added in quieter tones, after all, Im a professional man,
And I shouldnt be bothered by people like you.
is that all you have for me? one lousy quarter g? couldnt you lend

[...] Read more

song performed by Nirvana
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Ozymandias Ever Rising through the Winds of Time

Ozymandias Ever Rising through the Winds of Time

I met a poet from an online site
who said: 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
stand in my mind, yet find description quite
inadequate, half sunk beneath time flown.'
I answered: 'He whose sneer rei[g]ned cold command,
his sculptor too, are both to Lethe blown,
his passions mocked by who'd today demand
a résumé for tourists who bemoan
a lack of facts to show their pseudo friends
to back up their vacation time well spent,
and yet, and yet, so similar their ends
whose works turn sand when's finished sojourn lent.'
He came, he ruled, time fooled and conquered him,
trunk packed away museumwards on whim.

Nosy man dies as day draws down dark night,
knows he has but a finite span to moan
upon this Earth until, denied the right
of an extension to his lifelong loan.
Foreclosure comes whatever cash on hand
must crash to dust, call harvested; seeds sown
perhaps survive, migrate to other land,
there to engender likeness, throwback clone.
Thus who’d seek Ozymandias’ tale lends
an ear to fable, tables on hints sent
through centuries whose key stones make amends
for missing trunk, lost headstone’s argument.
When dunes into oases are restored,
may reader find true answer mind may hoard.

1 February 2009
Parody Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe SHELLEY 1792_1822 shel1_0001

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sun-Up

(Shadows over a cradle…
fire-light craning….
A hand
throws something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out again,
singed and empty….
Shadows
settling over a cradle…
two hands
and a fire.)

I

CELIA

Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin.

When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs she runs under pillars of the bank— great round pillars of the bank have on white stockings too.

Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.

Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.

It isn't a dream…. It comes again and again…. You hear ivy crying on steeples the flames haven't caught yet and images screaming when they see red light on the lilies on the stained glass window of St. Joseph. The girl with the black eyes holds you tight, and you run… and run past the wild, wild towers… and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet and little frightened dolls shut up in the shops crying… and crying… because no one stops… you spin like a penny thrown out in the street. Then the man clutches her by the hair…. He always clutches her by the hair…. His eyes stick out like spears. You see her pulled-back face and her black, black eyes lit up by the glare…. Then everything goes out. Please God, don't let me dream any more of the girl with the black, black eyes.

Celia's shadow rocks and rocks… and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow as though she had gone away and the night had come in her place as it comes in empty rooms… you can't bear it— the night threshing about and lashing its tail on its sides as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid— and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave and pull it around to the light, till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone and goes away without end. Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers. Celia tucks the quilt about her feet, but I run for my little red cloak because red is hot like fire.

I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…

[...] Read more

poem by Lola Ridge
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The Captain and the Mermaids

I SING a legend of the sea,
So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on starboard tack!
She's bound upon a private cruise -
(This is the kind of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).

Behold, on every afternoon
(Save in a gale or strong Monsoon)
Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS
(Great morally, though rather short)
Sat at an open weather-port
And aired his shapely legs.

And Mermaids hung around in flocks,
On cable chains and distant rocks,
To gaze upon those limbs;
For legs like those, of flesh and bone,
Are things "not generally known"
To any Merman TIMBS.

But Mermen didn't seem to care
Much time (as far as I'm aware)
With CLEGGS'S legs to spend;
Though Mermaids swam around all day
And gazed, exclaiming, "THAT'S the way
A gentleman should end!

"A pair of legs with well-cut knees,
And calves and ankles such as these
Which we in rapture hail,
Are far more eloquent, it's clear
(When clothed in silk and kerseymere),
Than any nasty tail."

And CLEGGS - a worthy kind old boy -
Rejoiced to add to others' joy,
And, when the day was dry,
Because it pleased the lookers-on,
He sat from morn till night - though con-
Stitutionally shy.

At first the Mermen laughed, "Pooh! pooh!"
But finally they jealous grew,
And sounded loud recalls;
But vainly. So these fishy males
Declared they too would clothe their tails
In silken hose and smalls.

They set to work, these water-men,

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Great Chinese Dragon

The great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon in all the
world and which once upon a time was towed across the
Pacific by a crew of coolies rowing in an open boat—was
the first real live dragon ever actually to reach these shores

And the great Chinese dragon passing thru the Golden Gate
spouting streams of water like a string of fireboats then broke
loose somewhere near China Camp gulped down a hundred
Chinese seamen and forthwith ate all the shrimp in San Francisco Bay

And the great Chinese dragon was therefore forever after confined
in a Chinatown basement and ever since allowed out only for
Chinese New Year’s parades and other Unamerican demonstrations
paternally watched-over by those benevolent men in
blue who represent our more advanced civilization which has
reached such a high state of democracy as to allow even a
few barbarians to carry on their quaint native customs in our midst

And thus the great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon
in all the world now can only be seen creeping out of an
Adler Alley cellar like a worm out of a hole sometime during
the second week in February every year when it sorties out
of hibernation in its Chinese storeroom pushed from behind
by a band of fortythree Chinese electricians and technicians
who stuff its peristaltic accordion-body up thru a sidewalk
delivery entrance

And first the swaying snout appears and then the eyes at ground
level feeling along the curb and then the head itself casting
about and swayingand heaving finally up to the corner of
Grant Avenue itself where a huge paper sign proclaims the
World’s Largest Chinatown

And the great Chinese dragon’s jaws wired permanently agape as
if by a demented dentist to display the Cadmium teeth as the
hungry head heaves out into Grant Avenue right under the
sign and raising itself with a great snort of fire suddenly proclaims
the official firecracker start of the Chinese New Year

And the lightbulb eyes lighting up and popping out on coiled wire
springs and the body stretching and rocking further and
further around the corner and down Grant Avenue like a
caterpillar rollercoaster with the eyes sprung out and waving
in the air like the blind feelers of some mechanical preying
mantis and the eyes blinking on and off with Chinese red
pupils and tiny bamboo-blind eyelids going up and down

And here comes the St. Mary’s Chinese Girls’ Drum Corps and
here come sixteen white men in pith helmets beating big bass
drums representing the Order of the Moose and here comes

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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Corporate Lament

Taking refuge behind talking silicon
and celluloid curtains
Maya Black Hand Magic
preaching fearsome
flying monkey
propaganda

A billion of little
squirming insect legs
supporting an unbalanced body
headed by a vermin shout
Subhuman and grotesque
a metamorphosis
garishly Kafkaesque

Chord pulled mid show
vociferous thunder
of fable and speech
reduced
to mere parrot squawk
and caged ferret squeak
Revealed as an old wort nosed miser
the self bold wizard grown withered and weak

Fritz Lang's silent horror
Frankensteined into a living Franchise
Metropolis Machine nightmare reality
Mortal spawn of man's eternal enemy
Delivered unto earth through the
collective uterus gateway

who sent you?
Which planet are you from?
What is your design for us
You milk dry
the grass and stones of the earth
scrapping draining drilling the bottoms of the sea
Baking bread out of blood
to feed death's blind brood
grinding lonesome bone
'til there's nothing left
save the unsaved
spineless heap of
shriveled petroleum flesh

You've altered the chemistry of the world!
Have attempted to mutate the genes of the entire species!
Converting spiritual manna into mechanical food
your new Augmented brood shall be the
apathetic androids of the future!

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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The lofty legs are the beauty.

Short legs and short waist are the ducks.
Long legs and short waists are the geese.
Short legs and long waists are the penguins.
Lofty legs without waists are cranes
Who is graceful?
The crane stands out; the tall woman stands out.
29.04.2002, pakd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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