"codpiece" poems
my codpiece has mobbed the boundaries of good taste
and pickled the tail on the mule of my magnificent waste
and i've coughed up a dime of your tripe in my damage
so leave me the methadone and please please please
manage.
here. hand This to your ludicrous drool.
pool the view from your ***
into the solid miasma
of your shameful
truth.
give back the cancerous hustle
of our demented clutch !
and much be the flowers
that curse
you
for lying, waaaaaaay to ******* much.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Freddie was a satyr
And I wanted to worship
And serve him naked
Then serve my internship
For the rest of my life
Hopelessly dedicated
To be like Ulysses' wife;
Enraptured, captured, mated.
That’s how highly he rated.
I know out of the lights
He spent nights between
Debauchery and hell
But few seemed to tell.
They just came and screamed
Blind to what seemed to be
Too much perfectionality
In his personality to be reality.
Like so many I knew then
He was above other men, a god
And fascinated with his codpiece,
We salaamed, and slammed down
Big bucks for tickets to go see
Life much bigger than me, and squee
And clap and whistle, this missile
From the gods to gays and straights
Who could see and her he was great
And we were all there, grateful.
It was painful when he left, even though
We knew why and we still know, yet
He was too wonderful to forget
And shirk and scorn because he was born
To be a ****** miracle and musical gift
That time and death could not lift
Out of the pantheon of stage kings
And queens, if that is not too mean.
But how could it be, they were Queen
And they changed the scene.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
In through the stained glass windows the days pass silent, the order's obeyed as laid down in the law.
Behind these stone walls I see kingdoms rise and together they fall, I watch and it becomes all.
There's a difference,
this monastery,
full I'd say of not so merry men,
a thieves den of ineffability fools me.
I look again through the codpiece of Christopher Wren etched in the stain glass,
I pass on looking more maybe the monks who drier than sin would welcome me in, but the order is sealed,
a healing may be for some, not for me, the order is clear, all are welcomed but not in here.
The bells ring
the monks sing
The day brings
no new
beginning.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
*
Once upon a time, there lived a cocky young noble,
Who'd committed no crime yet hid many a foible.
Wherever he rode he'd arrive in the dandiest style,
Charmingly he strode and imagined the ladies beguiled.
He traveled the land in search of high adventure,
Codpiece in hand he was besotted nigh treasure.
Never were any dragons slain nor demons defeated,
Only empty flagons lay fallen where our hero retreated.
He found love unsought, as fools tend to do,
Spellbound by the thought that she loved him too.
Their storied romance grew as the long seasons passed,
However, soon they both knew their song would not last.
Trouble stormed their keep, drawn steel in the night,
And she was stabbed deep by her beloved in his fright.
The princess did strive though she eventually succame,
Spirited away for her life whilst he cried out her name.
Days became months and months became years, yet no word arrived,
Whilst our young hero drowned sour tears and feared that she'd died.
Dour doldrums spurred our knight to stand a little braver,
And so with long-suffering sighs, he sauntered forth to save her.
Briars and bogs he did cross and the dark forest he did pass,
Battling the dread of her loss our desperate knight espied her at last.
With beleaguered head ringing, he worried she'd been mistreated,
Yet he found her laughing and singing, did she not feel as he did?
Crestfallen he reached out to his love in his woe and his fear,
Firmly she gave him a shove and looked away with a sneer.
She claimed her contentment, and bade him leave without quarrel,
So with shame and resentment, he was gone come the morrow.
He still sorrowfully sings and mournfully pines, our hero apparent,
And thanks you for sparing these wee lines, for one lonely knight-errant.
Jun 14, 2024
Jun 14, 2024 at 2:44 AM UTC
I recollect the whole thing as clearly as if I had awoke with the sun,
Dispensing with any alarm, fully awake and engaged.
I am on a gurney being wheeled slowly down a hospital hallway
(For it is clear to that workaday hustle and bustle
Is no longer of concern to me)
Which is all silence,
Save for the squeak and bump of my carriage’s wheels
As it crosses from tile to tile,
And the sheet which covers me is seemingly made of gauze,
For I can, as I pass by one to the next,
See clearly inside each of the rooms,
The tableaus being what you might expect in such a place:
A young man and small child
Fluttering about a mother and her newborn,
A middle-aged woman reading aloud
(But softly, almost mechanically)
To an ancient and clearly unheeding man,
Another woman, aged and frail to the point of being insubstantial,
Dabbing at her eyes with a frayed, damp tissue,
Exiting a room as an orderly closes the blinds.
At this point the scenes become incongruous, almost surreal,
As if another director has suddenly assumed control of the film;
There is a room where a Marlowe-esque priest,
All harlequin-outfitted and codpiece-clad,
Bumbles drunkenly about the room,
Banging his censer against the walls as he speaks in tongues.
But just as suddenly the settings become gentle, pastoral:
In one room there are no walls at all,
Only a quiet valley with dirt roads and small streams
And the sound, disembodied but palpable and oddly familiar,
Of bells tolling faintly and melodiously in the distance,
While in the next there is nothing save
A young woman with angels bending over her.
At this point, I have clearly reached my final destination,
And I expect to find a chilly and spartan space,
Harshly lit and sparsely furnished with metallic chairs and tables,
So I am caught unawares for what awaits through the doors:
Light, just light making everything below it a toy world.
The dream abruptly ends, as they are wont to do,
But it seems I found it oddly comforting,
And it is that which makes me so apprehensive.
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC