by Lobo » 15 Apr 2005, 17:06
Please note this poem is a bit rude so please don't be offended - I read a lot of Daffyd Ap Gwilym, a great Bard, so have been influenced slightly.
Circus Girl
In younger days, in drunken ways, we quaffed a few by rivers,
In a trouble free university of skills and challenged livers,
Fast talk cheap punches girls squawk fat lunches, fags and foaming ales,
Sunshine, moonbeams, cussings obscene and swearing in wild life tales.
And there she stood, proudly glinting, her curvy form induced my squinting,
Aroused and beating, hormones leaking, charm and lust combined my weakening,
Pushing in to request, a chilly bottle and beat my chest,
A husky honed German tone, Bavarian, this scary one,
She was a fierce but fine design, purely casting out a line
Baited full with sexy hips, a smile so styled for luscious lips,
That soon were supping round the neck, of my beer, she did inspect
My arms and thighs with graceful eyes, a testing nail, skin hairs to rise,
And we were off, hand in hand, to the magic circus land,
Where she kept a caravan, we kissed, undressing as we ran,
But creeping soft past darkened cages, growling, howling beastly rages
Hushed, much like Attenborough, being de-flea’d by apes so thorough,
Excited pace, the tip toe race, we clawed as lions admired our embrace,
Opening the flimsy door, a giant rat leapt from the floor,
I caught it firmly by the throat, it yelped, I gulped, its neck, it broke!
It was a dog, a terrier, frenzied, her mood could be no merrier
I asked if I should bury her, this limp of fluffy hairy fur,
She did not care, she fixed my stare and slowly peeled to underwear
This lithe gymnast, drew me aghast, as she removed the very last
And knelt upon her shapely bed with comely eyes she turned her head
Speaking with a vixens murmer, she beckoned as I grew straight and firmer,
On elbows looking back at me, she gasped and drooled incessantly,
I approached, as a snorting hog, and then encroached, so does the dog
My conscious stalled and manners balled ‘you should ask what she is called’
So just before the opened door I stopped and asked if she was sure
‘Shona Mersey’ is my name; I wrongly thought that was her game
So to perform as requested, sinews tight and muscles flex-ed,
I launched with force at the objective, slipped of course, and misdirected,
This now leaping angered wench, stomped and marched with buttocks clenched
Ranting, panting, never stopping, shouting with her eye balls popping,
Monkeys screeched, hounds were barking, this situation was not for laughing,
A thundered knock, I grabbed a sheet, forming a flag known for retreat,
In burst the Chief, with spiked Mohican, a whiskey jar was in his weak hand,
The thrower grabbed for his knife, his assistant stood - his naked wife,
He let it loose, it flashed and flew, and nicked my ear clean in two,
The stunned rats soul, returned – its goal, to grab my flag, from the swaying pole,
A silent moment, was my atonement, as all could see my fine component,
This distraction fed Shona’s action, jumping up, spring like reaction,
A kung fu chop to the temple, an aim so true, not accidental,
Took Dancing Bear by surprise, rolling back his bloodshot eyes
Reeling, glazed, he fell outside, the door now locked, we hid inside
Frothing German shepherds teased the spitting spotted leopards wheezed,
Baseball bats, screaming cats, a blazing mob for a lynching job,
Peeking through the curtain, the Reapers raid seemed certain
The crowd it heaved, in brooding hate, as I re-sheathed and clothed in haste,
The commotion coughed and spluttered as blue lighted horns were mustered
I gasped - A rescue was my release, as the frauline phoned the police,
Tear-gas redemption, was my prevention, from this play of mad invention
A blanketed departure, a pop star in fast car were,
All the fuming faces saw, as bundled I though the panda’s door
Those laughing rozzers took me home, to my girlfriend, there all alone,
They said to keep my head down low, as it may not stay, if I was to show,
My girly cried as she spied the bloody trickles on my side,
A mugger got me from the pub and struck me down with a club,
I fought him off, and his friends, three or four sent packing then,
Arrived the cops to make arrests, but then they ran their sprinting bests,
So here I am, a hero hurt, she kissed me then removed my shirt,
And lead me keenly into bed, where her relief left me half dead.
But this was not the end of it, off to court, to say my bit
The law, it felt to prosecute, I dusted off my Dad’s old suit
And stood there in the witness box, eyed by the chucker, steaming cross
He was a former Boatswain’s Mate, his knuckles were tattooed with H-A-T-E
L-O-V-E was missing, perhaps that’s why, his lady fished me with her fly
And there she stood all pert and pretty, a playful, naughty winking kitty
Whiskers trim and fur a glisten, the magistrate turned me to listen
Were you, young man, is this right, in the caravan, that fateful night?
Yes, Your Honour, I replied, with Shona sweetly at my side,
The sailor clenched his painted fingers, as my lusting lightly lingers,
The name you say, is but a play, for the stage - the acting way...
‘Zora Krach’ is in question, but falsely, I took the wrong impression
Yes! Your honour I did see, I laughed, I said, it must have been!
Quite sore, I burst, Order! Order! Young man, your wit should not be versed
I snorted again, unashamed, the chortling law could nor refrain
Order! Order! You are in contempt! but my self-control was crudely spent
You are fined two hundred pounds, as laughter smothered legal sounds
I held my mouth and reined it in, only to see a copper grin
Then teeter slightly, and look away, and I was off in raucous sway,
That’s it! This is a sombre matter, two hundred more, should stem your patter
I bit my cheeks and held my nose, trying, dying to compose
And finally was asked to sit, my tears a streaming, costly wit,
My final fault for courtly browsers, was the leaky patch, affront my trousers,
All bodily control had run and I’d p i s s e d my pants for everyone,
I hope you all can understand, the nature of what was at hand,
And so concludes my inter-lewd, of the Circus Girl and Mr. Rude.
Only hoping for a smile or two.
L.
(perhaps I have cracked my posting buffonary - never follow instructions...)
, I think we both agree that it isn't the destination that matters, but the path we travel to get there....
!!
