Poetry

The Federal Security Sham

The Federal Security Sham

Written and Narrated by our friend, DC Dave

I’d Rather Use A Cavalier Poet Than A Blue Pill

From an old friend:

I was at a party some years ago, and because I had had a few drinks I don’t remember what prompted it, but I found myself reciting Tennyson’s “The Charge of the Light Brigade.”  It was one of several poems my 11th grade English teacher had made us memorize back in the 1940s, and the only one that I still remembered.

One of the assembled group turned out to be a physician.  I gathered that he had had several drinks, himself.  He took me aside and told me that he had a poem to recite, but he couldn’t do it in mixed company.  He had heard it recited in medical school with great enthusiasm and to great effect by a lecturer on erectile dysfunction, which was called “impotence” in those days.  The lecturer, a man well into his 70s, told them that in the Victorian era doctors often gave erotic poems of this sort to their patients who complained of low charges in their sexual batteries, as he put it.

By the time this doctor had gone into practice, pornographic novels and short stories were more widely available and doctors were less apt to get in trouble with the law if they gave them to patients, as had been the case earlier.  For patients with shorter attention spans, the lecturer still thought the poem was effective, and he had passed out mimeographed copies to his students, all of whom were male, of course, .

The doctor said that in the early years of his practice he had used the poem, even giving it to women complaining of “frigidity,” and many of them had expressed gratitude afterward.  As poetry appreciation had virtually disappeared among the general population and much more graphic forms of stimulation had become widely available, the poem had long since gone into disuse.

With that background, the doctor then recited the following:

Memorable Encounter

It started with a winsome smile.

The inch forthwith became a mile.

My joy at drinking in her face.

Was multiplied by her embrace.

The course before me felt so right.

Like the daytime follows night.

And presently she did accede

To my quickly building need.

The door behind which treasures hide

For me, for once, was opened wide.

I found the world’s most perfect fit

And slipped into the heart of it.

Mounted for a bumpy ride,

I could not have been more satisfied.

Each jolt of sweaty syncopation

Filled me with exhilaration,

As I watched her ringlets bounce

And squeezed out pleasure by the ounce.

The splendor of that scenery

Was just about too much for me.

I fixed upon one peak of bliss

And planted there a parting kiss.

Neither of us was steady enough to do much writing, so I simply gave him my card and asked him if he would mail the poem to me, which he promptly did, written out in a much clearer hand than you see on the usual prescription.

I was naturally curious about the poem’s authorship, and the doctor told me that he was, too, after he had heard the unforgettable recitation.  The lecturer said that it was surely one of the English cavalier poets, possibly Robert Herrick.  He was known to have written much racier poems even than “The Vine,” but the others were too strong to publish, and were kept going as oral tradition.  This particular poem was so popular in that tradition, the lecturer said, that the “mounted” line was the real reason that they had acquired the name, “Cavalier poets.”  It was meant as a sort of inside joke.  Or, at least, that is what he had been told.

Not being much written down, it’s likely that it could have been modified through the years to conform more to the evolving language, and some lines could have been dropped.

It didn’t take me long to commit the poem to memory, the first time I’d done that since high school.  Now that I’m started on the computer, I thought I’d share it before it gets lost completely.

Obama 2012…. Please???

I know you won’t let him down, either, even tho he has dicked you around. You poor, ignorant bastards.

From DCDave:

Mister Big

If you haven’t really thought it through,

You might declare otherwise,

But in America ultimate power resides

With the one who controls the lies.

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling

h/t stacyherbert at MaxKeiser.com

B’Man’s Sabbath Watch: Biblical Telle by StudwithSwag

A Biblical Telle

I am worth more than these 6 colors, 4 initials, gay flags, and pride parades.
I am defined by more than my baggy pants, wife beater shirts and low cut fades.
But, lately, I find myself slipping into melancholy hissy fits, debating Religion and Sexuality with bible-thumping nit-wits.
They refer to the creator, who painted oceans red with blood and molded earth before giving us breath through love.
Him, who fought battles with darkness and light, only to lose the fight, win, and lose again.
Ultimately flooding the earth over because he might have messed up… in the beginning.
All the while my spirituality attempts to veer within reason, make understanding of me succumbing to my lesbian feelings.
Instead, I choose to further explore, no more fighting off those fears, I wanted a bite of that Apple, for it is that which I held dear.
They say it’s the Devil trying to entice me to him, I say where in the bible it says the Devil preferred men?
I remember way back when, asking my pastor some questions, but I told him, take your blinders off first, before answerin’ em. Then I asked how come religion is separated into Churches, Mosque’s, and Synagogues and people are taught differently using the Bible, the Koran and the Torah?
Why do different denominations nit pick at tid bits as if that 1 verse found in Leviticus makes all of the fuckin’ difference?
All the while every Sunday they’re asking for forgiveness, must be nice to fill them pews every weekend with repentive sinners and hung-over hypocrites.
And now everything is commercialized, pastors making millions as televangelists.
This ain’t what Jesus had in mind……………………….. further justifying my lack of respect of it.
Because inside all those religious walls you’ll find a similar mindset,
You can change the atmosphere, but it’s the same damn environment.
In God’s will I trusted and served and throughout my teenage years I never sexually interacted.
I learned the best knowledge one can discover can’t be learned in Church or map-quested.
But I never choose ungodly fashions, instead standing at His attention because in His name I manifested.
When it came to sexuality and women, every where I turned It seemed like I was tempted.
I chalked it up to my inner demons and lack of Christian-like intentions for wanting to fulfill carnal desires, masked as Jezebel like wickedness.
On Sunday’s proverbs and psalms were recited, inciting many epiphanies,
foretelling the separation of me from my church and various states of mental tease.
In one ear she’s whispering .. sweet nothings to me, “don’t worry about religion, just give me what my body needs.”
And damn those times when my flesh caught urges and my blood was hot inside of me.
And when release wasn’t found in another, I sought her, and she was far more womanly.
You see I watched her and it felt good watchin’, like that time I left my web cam on when we…. Oh shit…. wrong memory.
Now I’m not discounting the fact that I was baptized at 9, I’m a born again lesbian in that respect.
Nails against backs, nostrils flared, like heathens we’d pant as she baptized me in her sweat.
And in my thoughts, as I reflect, I secretly chanted and did a church dance.
I idolized the silhouette of her lying across my chest, unrushed, though from that point on they said the devil was inside of us.
I stood my ground despite my family’s fuss, exposed my soul and prepared for when tears and blood became synonymous.
I remember growing up, feeling the confusion of living under such stringent principles,
rgid concepts creating fear in the minds of those who neither protest nor question Religion in general.
Many a time I stumbled yet my pride refused to fall, so while I was suspended in midair I used that second to grasp my thoughts.
Finally realizing that the religion God speaks of is unconditional love.
Copyright ©2008

(submitted with permission)

Jen’s Update: From Her Heart To Yours

TR sent notification this morning (do I have to explain how I dread and look forward to these writings at the same time?)

I know that the “next” one will be the news. Each time I see the notice in my email inbox, I begin to shake. I can’t really explain how this woman has touched my life where it would make sense to anyone. I love Jennifer because she is one of the few truly open and honest people I ever knew. She cares for people and lets you know (much unlike me, where I do not communicate this as often as I should). She was there for me in a very hard time of my life (few people even know this).

If there is a God, this is the type of person He dwells within. If there are Godly attriubtes to describle Jennifer, it would be that she mimics (without intent and forethought) the teachings of Jesus Christ in the NT. She personifies Christianity to me… the REAL Christianity, not this bullshit stuff that our country has enveloped.

But today, which may be the last day on earth for my ‘Lil Sis, TR shared a poem Jen wrote about her mother, Kathy (and it is Kathy that has passed her grace to Jen, for they are very much alike in this way).

poem from the archives

entry by TRH from TN

despite the congenital tumor that will soon take my sister to God, she gloriously mined her talents, and according to her advisor Ann Loux at least, was the finest writer in her college class.

as most writers are, she is pretty private and critical of her own work, but i’m taking the liberty of posting this very special piece here as she nears her eternal reward:

“Mother”

By Jennifer Herzog Clark

You are the final raindrop of the sunshower

to be caught in the well-lined palm of the

child’s hand, my hand

until you melt into my existence

forever.

******

You are the face of the violet

strong and purple in selfless devotion

like the waltz of the sunset

on early spring evenings

there is rainbow in your voice which touches

me.

******

You are the branches of the dogwood

spilling out to cradle

white satin blossoms with

elegant balance

You spread out in fingers

You point to the

heavens.

******

Mother, you are love

in nature’s form

You bless me in warm sun

and grace liquid sky and thick earth

with your very

soft

breath …