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Getting Through : Creative Writing

David was, David was, Do you know who David was?

from Rain Child - Friday, June 23, 2006
accessed 2174 times

The A-Z of Berg

David was an amoral, abnormal, adulterous, antisocial, apocryphal alchoholic abysmal anomaly.

David was a Bacchanalian bible-bashing bastard bigot.

David was a cancerous (metaphorically) Child-molesting cruel con-man control freak.

David was a demanding deranged deceitful delusional dictator, a drunk, disturbed derelict deviant.

David was an egotistical extremist egomaniac

David was a frightening fanatical freak, a facist fogey, a fraud.

David was a god/guru/grandpa to his victims, now a ghost or ghoul guilty of gross misconduct.

David was horrid, haughty, horny, and hedonistic.

David was an irresponsible, incestual, insecure illusionist.

David was a sick joke.

David was king of the beggars, and the kiss of (brain) death.

David was a licentious, lustful, lonely loser and a liar.

David was a mal-adjusted, malignant, manipulative, misleading miscreant, a madman and a maniac.

David was noxious, neurotic, and narcisssistic.

David was an obsessed oedipal obscene opressive ogre.

David was a paranoid psychotic pervert, a paedophile,

a pimp, and a phoney.

David was a question-suppressing quack.

David was a rapacious remorseless recluse.

David was a self-obsessed sociopath, a schizophrenic stingy sexual pervert, a selfish spin doctor.

David was a travesty, a tacky, tawdry, tainted tyrant and totalitarian tormentor.

David was an unstable ugly unsavoury usurper.

David was a vagabond, a veneareal, volatile vulgar villain.

David was a wacky, wanton, and weird witch-doctor.

David was (Big word drum roll please...) xenophobic.

David was a yucky yoke around our necks.

David was a zealot.

Reader's comments on this article

Add a new comment on this article

from lisa
Friday, July 07, 2006 - 04:03


A little Boy Lost

Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought
A greater than itself to know.

"And, father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door."

The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired the priestly care.

And standing on the altar high,
"Lo, what a fiend is here! said he:
"One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy mystery."

The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain:
They stripped him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain,

And burned him in a holy place
Where many had been burned before;
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such thing done on Albion's shore?

William Blake
(reply to this comment)

From Rain Child
Friday, July 07, 2006, 05:20

Is that your favourite then?(reply to this comment
From lisa
Friday, July 07, 2006, 15:22

Nope just one I read recently(reply to this comment
from tweezer
Wednesday, June 28, 2006 - 14:04

David was a zero and zoned-out, zipless fuck.
(reply to this comment)
From Rain Child
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 19:05

Zipless for sure! Didn't he walk around in a bathrobe all day?(reply to this comment
from Rain Child
Wednesday, June 28, 2006 - 12:47

If anyone has more, feel free to add them below.
(reply to this comment)
From solemn
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 08:57

David alienated all Argentinean’s attributions after asking asshole aliens about addressing another anus at alkoholics annonimess.

Ahhhhhhh.........(reply to this comment
From solemn
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 13:06

Dude, David diligently dorked desperate druid’s dogs during dark, dismal, destructive, December days.


(reply to this comment
From AndyH
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 07:18

I like this one, I've you beat on quantity, but yours is much wittier. Although to be fair, I wrote that one when I was a freshman. There is an awesome one in "V for Vendetta", unsing V's, imagine that. (reply to this comment
From Eric Cartman
Thursday, November 02, 2006, 13:21

Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5(Agree/Disagree?)

Evey: Who are you?

V: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask.

Evey: Well I can see that.

V: Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.

Evey: Oh. Right.

V: But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona.

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. [giggles] Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Evey: Are you like a crazy person?

V: I am quite sure they will say so.(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Saturday, November 04, 2006, 17:45

Guy Fawkes day today.(reply to this comment
From mia1
Saturday, November 04, 2006, 20:32

remember remember the fifth of november, the gunpowder treason and plot...(reply to this comment
From Nelson's big brother
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 08:40

Yeah, but you misspelled stuff, Ha Ha!(reply to this comment
From AndyH
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 09:27

I'll get you one of these days. Even monkeys fall from trees.(reply to this comment
From Mr.T
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 23:13



HA HA!(reply to this comment

from mia1
Tuesday, June 27, 2006 - 11:00

dude now I have the "david is" doing a rampage on my tortured brain that only a heavy dose of booze can hope to fix, I could try for heavier fixes but I'm afraid they would only inhance the "david is" the way, did u ever do the "david is" color pages???
(reply to this comment)
From Rain Child
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 12:45


Yes, that's how I came up with this. For some reason I woke up with the words..."David is a Leader and a Prophet of the Lord..." running through my brain, and I thought, "I'll have to do something about that."

I also remembered how every dress-up night all the boys had to dress up as a David Is and all the girls had to dress up as a Maria Is. (I would generally dress up as a David Is just to be perverse, and because the multitude of David's Lovers (Kerenina, Heidi etc) grew wearisome.)(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 13:01

I clearly remember the YC group singing that song every morning because they were memorising it. How egotistical is that, to have thousands of little children around the world learn by heart all the demented things you fancy yourself being? Think of it, they could have been watching TV, playing, or learning something real instead.(reply to this comment
From lisa
Friday, July 07, 2006, 04:00

I had no choice, I was made to do it ahhhhhhhhhhhhh whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa(reply to this comment
From Fish
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 11:05

Not to forget, "David is a rooster!" Well, cock anyway.(reply to this comment
from AndyH
Tuesday, June 27, 2006 - 07:20

Realizing the ridulousness for resisting his rage, the red russian racoon rapidly raized his readied rifle, and randomly riddled rounds at the running rapists.
(reply to this comment)
From talentisanasset
Tuesday, June 27, 2006, 10:15

very nice, but "raized" is spellt with an s and riddled needs a helping verb.(reply to this comment
From Scooby Doo
Tuesday, June 27, 2006, 09:40

Rat rahs rood, reery rood.(reply to this comment
From AndyH
Tuesday, June 27, 2006, 12:56

Thank you both for your loving correction, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside, possibly because I swallowed a furby.(reply to this comment
From Scooby Doo
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 08:58

Rahts raht I'm Reer for!(reply to this comment
from placebo
Tuesday, June 27, 2006 - 01:39

Amazing adventures in Australian alliteration...
(reply to this comment)
From Rain Child
Tuesday, June 27, 2006, 02:43

Now that's one I'll have to look up in the dictionary...(reply to this comment
From Christian
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 02:31

You think he didnt look it up?(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 04:02

Oh, you're his brother right? You should see the squabbles my sister and I have on here sometimes...Isn't sibling rivalry fun?(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 12:46

I did look it up, and was very impressed you were able to pull that one out and use it appropriately.(reply to this comment
From AndyH
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 07:23


I'm surprised that someone with your interest in poetry wouldn't have known that. Here's another for you.

Consonance: The repetition of consonants or of a consonant pattern, especially at the ends of words, as in blank and think or strong and string. EX: "But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door" (from "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe)(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 14:06


Did you see how they did that one on The Simpsons?

Just for the record, I do not think this is a poem. I accidentally posted it in the wrong place.(reply to this comment

From vixen
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 08:11


Sigh, thanks for reminding me of another literary great whose work I've not yet delved into with the attention it deserves. So many things to experience, so little time...

He's on my list of deceased individuals whom I'd have liked to have had the chance to know.

(reply to this comment

From AndyH
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 22:18

BTW: Although I did c&p that definition, the example was all me. *pats self on back.(reply to this comment
From AndyH
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 09:26


As long as we're being oldschool, here's one from my second favorite old-school poets.

The Skeleton in Armor

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?”

Then from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water’s flow
Under December’s snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart’s chamber.

“I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man’s curse;
For this I sought thee.

“Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic’s strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

“Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf’s bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.

“But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair’s crew,
O’er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

“Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk’s tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail
Filled to o’erflowing.

“Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest’s shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

“Bright in her father’s hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter’s hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

“While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

“She was a Prince’s child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew’s flight?
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

“Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,—
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!—
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armëd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

“Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

“And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
‘Death!’ was the helmsman’s hail,
‘Death without quarter!’
Midships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!

“As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

“Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o’er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady’s bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.

“There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden’s tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes;
Under that tower she lies;
Ne’er shall the sun arise
On such another.

“Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!

“Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior’s soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!”
Thus the tale ended. (reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Friday, June 30, 2006, 04:52


I just read it again, more slowly and carefully. It really is brilliant. I was half asleep this morning when I made such a shitty comment.

For some reason I get Henry Wadsworth Longfellow all mixed up with William Wordsworth... Same time period perhaps, or is it just the name?

(Probably just my ignorance)(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 14:09

That rminds me of Hart's poem about the Saxons and the Normans- Just think, I learned nearly everything I knew about poetry as a child from Hart. I thought he must have been the greatest poet ever.(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 14:24

Sorry, I know that was a horrible thing to say...It was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek but this being only a limited mode of communication, you might have thought I actually put that poem on level with Hart's shit.(reply to this comment
From teenage lobotomy
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 11:43

Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5(Agree/Disagree?)

oh fun, we can post our fav poems

Oh Du, Geliebte meiner 27 Sinne, ich liebe Dir!
Du, Deiner, Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, ---- wir?
Das gehört beiläufig nicht hierher!
Wer bist Du, ungezähltes Frauenzimmer, Du bist, bist Du?
Die Leute sagen, Du wärest.
Laß sie sagen, sie wissen nicht, wie der Kirchturm steht.
Du trägst den Hut auf Deinen Füßen und wanderst auf die Hände,
Auf den Händen wanderst Du.
Halloh, Deine roten Kleider, in weiße Falten zersägt,
Rot liebe ich Anna Blume, rot liebe ich Dir.
Du, Deiner, Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, ----- wir?
Das gehört beiläufig in die kalte Glut!
Anna Blume, rote Anna Blume, wie sagen die Leute?
1. Anna Blume hat ein Vogel,
2. Anna Blume ist rot.
3. Welche Farbe hat der Vogel?
Blau ist die Farbe Deines gelben Haares,
Rot ist die Farbe Deines grünen Vogels.
Du schlichtes Mädchen im Alltagskleid,
Du liebes grünes Tier, ich liebe Dir!
Du Deiner Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, ---- wir!
Das gehört beiläufig in die ---- Glutenkiste.
Anna Blume, Anna, A----N----N----A!
Ich träufle Deinen Namen.
Dein Name tropft wie weiches Rindertalg.
Weißt Du es Anna, weißt Du es schon,
Man kann Dich auch von hinten lesen.
Und Du, Du Herrlichste von allen,
Du bist von hinten, wie von vorne:
Rindertalg träufelt STREICHELN über meinen Rücken.
Anna Blume,
Du tropfes Tier,
(reply to this comment

From wikipedia
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 07:12


An Anna Blume ( German: "To Anna Flower" also translated as "To Eve Blossom") is one of the most famous poems of the 20th century. It was written in 1919 by the German Dada or rather Merz lyricist Kurt Schwitters. It has been translated into many languages and has inspired many poets to create replies or allusions.
Retrieved from ""

Eve Blossom,
Kurt Schwitters' own translation of "An Anna Blume"

Oh thou, beloved of my twenty-seven senses, I love thine! Thou thee
thee thine, I thine,
thou mine, we?
That (by the way) is beside the point!
Who art thou, uncounted woman, Thou art, art thou?
People say, thou werst,
Let them say, they don't know what they are talking about.
Thou wearest thine hat on thy feet, and wanderest on thine hands,
On thine hands thou wanderest
Hallo, thy red dress, sawn into white folds,
Red I love Eve Blossom, red I love thine,
Thou thee thee thine, I thine, thou mine, we?
That (by the way) belongs to the cold glow!
Eve Blossom, red Eve Blossom what do people say?
PRIZE QUESTION: 1. Eve Blossom is red,
2. Eve Blossom has wheels
3. what colour are the wheels?
Blue is the colour of your yellow hair
Red is the whirl of your green wheels,
Thou simple maiden in everyday dress,
Thou small green animal,
I love thine!
Thou thee thee thine, I thine, thou mine, we?
That (by the way) belongs to the glowing brazier!
Eve Blossom,eve,
E - V - E,
E easy, V victory, E easy,
I trickle your name.
Your name drops like soft tallow.
Do you know it, Eve?
Do you already know it?
One can also read you from the back
And you, you most glorious of all,
You are from the back as from the front,
Easy victory.
Tallow trickles to stroke over my back
Eve Blossom,
Thou drippy animal,
I love you!!!!(reply to this comment

From placebo
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 14:47

Can't be properly translated, but it's a decent attempt.(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 20:45


I love the way the translator changed Anna to Eve yet still managed to use the first letters of the name to mean something. Why was Anna changed to Eve anyway? Anna is an English name.

If I understood German I would appreciate the reasoning I'm sure.(reply to this comment

From placebo
Wednesday, July 05, 2006, 14:35

hooray for palindromes! The beauty in it is the dadaistic aspect of the (incorrect) grammar.(reply to this comment
From placebo
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 14:46

Can't be properly translated, but it's a decent attempt.(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 05:26

Can anyone translate this?(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 14:21


I'll tell what my favourite poem is. I have a very har time locating it, so if anyone can find it for me I'll be grateful. (I did find it on someone's blog after doing a search, but I think he got some words wrong.)

It's by e.e. cummings (My favourite poet) and the title is the first line,

'Always before your voice'. The first words are something like,

Always before your voice my soul

half beautiful and wholly droll

Is as some smooth and awkward foal...

It's one of those great poems where pieces of it float into my consciousness all the time, and I ponder them deliciously and mourn for the rest of it. I found it in an old book in my grandparent's house. (They are no longer with us)(reply to this comment

From vixen
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 14:38


Not sure if this is all of it?

always before your voice my soul
half-beautiful and wholly droll
is as some smooth and awkward foal,
whereof young moons begin
the newness of his skin,

so of my stupid sincere youth
the exquisite failure uncouth
discovers a trembling and smooth
Unstrength,against the strong
silences of your song;
while in an earthless hour my fond
soul seriously yearns beyond
this fern of sunset frond on frond
opening in a rare
Slowness of gloried air...

The flute of morning stilled in noon--
noon the implacable bassoon--
now Twilight seeks the thrill of moon,
washed with a wild and thin
despair of violin

(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Thursday, June 29, 2006, 22:01


You so totally rock! That's only part of it, but thanks for that! Where did you find it?

I remember this other bit...

"It is the autumn of the year

when ...stooped in fear

across the harvest whitely peer

empty of surprise

Death's faultless eyes..."(reply to this comment

From And now it's all coming back...
Friday, June 30, 2006, 04:48


...But what am I that such and such

mysteries very simply touch

me, whose wholeness overmuch

expects from your hair pale

a terror musicale...

...but my heart smote in trembling thirds

of anguished quivers to your words

as to a flock of thirty birds

takes flight

the sudden fooled light...(reply to this comment

From Haunted
Monday, July 03, 2006, 08:04

EE Cummings "Always before your voice my soul" - it's one of my favs too!!(reply to this comment
From Shaka
Thursday, November 02, 2006, 09:33

Why luv? Is 'ee cumming?(reply to this comment
From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 02:36

A Kindred Spirit! Yay!(reply to this comment
From vixen
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 02:56


I'd never read it before you mentioned it but I have to say that it is a marvellously satisfying poem and so beautifully executed. Damn now I will have to buy his collected works. Oh for more money and more time for reading!

(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 04:51

If you ever do find the complete works in a book let me know as I've been searching for years in libraries.(reply to this comment
From Haunted
Wednesday, July 05, 2006, 14:36


E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Hardcover, 1994) -

Format: Hardcover -

ISBN: 0871401525 -

Apr 1994 -

Publisher: Harcourt

Revised -

Language: English(reply to this comment

From Haunted
Wednesday, July 05, 2006, 14:36


BTW Rainy: your fav poem is on page 12!(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Wednesday, July 05, 2006, 21:11


Thanks! Now I know it's out there, I'll find it...somehow.

You're a legend.(reply to this comment

From Hail Amazon
Thursday, July 06, 2006, 03:53


(reply to this comment

From Oh shucks
Thursday, July 06, 2006, 03:56


the link isn't working. but you can look it up on amazon (reply to this comment

From vixen
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 03:08


Oh and here's one that I like:

The Imperfect Enjoyment

Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms;
Both equally inspired with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.
With arms,legs,lips close clinging to embrace,
She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.
Her nimble tongue, Love's lesser lightning, played
Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed
Swift orders that I should prepare to throw
The all-dissolving thunderbolt below.
My fluttering soul, sprung with the painted kiss,
Hangs hovering o'er her balmy brinks of bliss.
But whilst her busy hand would guide that part
Which should convey my soul up to her heart,
In liquid raptures I dissolve all o'er,
Melt into sperm and, and spend at every pore.
A touch from any part of her had done't:
Her hand, her foot, her very look's a cunt.

Smiling, she chides in a kind murmuring noise,
And from her body wipes the clammy joys,
When, with a thousand kisses wandering o'er
My panting bosom, "Is there then no more?"
She cries. "All this to love and rapture's due;
Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?"

But I, the most forlorn, lost man alive,
To show my wished obedience vainly strive:
I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive.
Eager desires confound my first intent,
Succeeding shame does more success prevent,
And rage at last confirms me impotent.
Ev'n her fair hand, which might bid heat return
To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn,
Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more
Than fire to ashes could past flames restore.
Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie.
This dart of love, whose piercing point, oft tried,
With virgin blood ten thousand maids have dyed;
Which nature still directed with such art
That it through every cunt reached every heart -
Stiffly resolved, 'twould carelessly invade
Woman or man, nor aught its fury stayed:
Where'er it pierced, a cunt it found or made -
Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower.

Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my fame,
Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove
So true to lewdness, so untrue to love?
What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore
Didst thou e'er fail in all thy life before?
When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way,
With what officious haste dost thou obey!
Like a rude, roaring hector in the streets
Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets,
But if his king or country claim his aid,
The rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head;
Ev'n so thy brutal valour is displayed,
Breaks every stew, does each small whore invade,
But when great Love the onset does command,
Base recreant to thy prince, thou dar'st not stand.
Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,
Through all the town a common fucking-post,
On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt
As hogs do rub themselves on gates and grunt,
May'st thou to ravenous chancres be a prey,
Or in consuming weepings waste away;
May strangury and stone thy days attend;
May'st thou ne'er piss, who did refuse to spend
When all my joys did on false thee depend.
And may ten thousand abler pricks agree
To do the wronged Corinna right for thee.

John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester

(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 05:24


Okay, I had to read it again.

I thought he was berating his girl, but it was his 'member' receiving the verbal bashing in the second half of the poem. I like it more now.(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 05:08


Oh, wow! That really is something. A mix of classical art with explicit shameless porn... I don't know what to think. It's well done, I like it, but I cringe... reminds me of one sombody wrote at my on-line poetry forum:

(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 05:13


She took my penis in her mouth and bit
down hard. Excruciating pain revives
one so. Awake, alert, on the qui vive,
aroused from revery, at last I get

that she's annoyed with me. "My Dear, forget
your sonnets during foreplay", she suggests.
Admonished thus, I duly re-invest
in my ablutions at her velvet wet

ferret. I slurp with glee. My face is drenched,
as if I'd eaten watermelon. Yum-
Yum! Cherries and the sea!! I deftly French
her runny little cunny till she comes.

Thus must the Poet subjugate his Art
in deference to matters of the heart.

Okay, all they have in common is that they tackle that subject matter head-on. I personally think the one I posted, (by a modern amateur poet) is more respectful of women... But yours is a classic, and grand. I'm going to read it again.(reply to this comment

From vix is playing English Lit student today
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 08:08


Heh, well my tongue was placed firmly in cheek when I posted it after your and Andy's much more reverent poems, I hope I didn't bring down the tone of the thread too much. I did really enjoy analysing and discussing this one, though, and amazingly (or maybe not given my utterly hopeless romanticism) I managed to find a rather beautiful interpretation.

It's a fascinating poem when one takes time to consider the wider aspects of Rochester's life and the libertine ethos he lived by. Sexuality and desire, overt and unrestrained debauchedness and hedonistic self-service without a care for social conventions was order of the day for Rochester and his freethinking mates at the Royal Court of Charles II, and his practical jokes, his affairs and his dissipation were legendary. Known for his keen wit and a remarkable gift for satirical commentary, he was possessed of great intellectual power. He helped design a way of life based on style, cleverness and self-interest. Philosophically such behaviour can be seen as an attempt to live the life of a 'natural man' without regard for notions of good and evil which might be considered artifical social checks on natural human desires. <---- Some of that is paraphrased from an entry in the Norton Anthology of English Literature, btw.

I like it because it's searingly honest and brillantly self-deprecating. Although it is crude and on the surface has a definite sense of misogyny about it (not surprising given his infamous escapades and the abject jadedness that would surely have engulfed his being after an extended period of so riotous an existence), I think there is an intellectual undercurrent to it that is quite revealing as to the emotional turmoil of the experience. He is mourning not just his loss of face at having failed to perform in a way that matched the widespread knowledge of his legendary prowess with women - in my view the secondary thrust of this work though at first glance the more obvious one - but rather he is berating himself for having wasted himself on a multitude of women for whom he felt, at the core of him, nothing more than disdain and contempt and having, in the process, spent himself to a degree that now, when he adores a woman and desires to truly give himself to her in heart as well as in body, he finds that he cannot do so. This poem explores much more than the obvious encounter, and in my opinion is a very emotional account of the pain of great personal disappointment.

Sigh, didn't think I was going to write a mini-essay there, but oh well, what a bonus for you, eh! ;-)

I need to watch The Libertine. I saw Johnny Depp on telly last night and damn, that man is just about the sexiest thing to walk the face of the earth. Not quite, but almost. Rawr!

I apologise for any misspellings and grammatical errors, I wrote this quickly and I am not going to proofread it.

(reply to this comment

From Rain Child
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 13:47

That was brilliant! Thanks for giving me my thought of the day. The only movies I've seen lately are CARS and CHICKEN LITTLE. :((reply to this comment
From vixen
Tuesday, July 04, 2006, 08:58


Oh and another interesting little tidbit: This poem was written in the last year of Rochester's life. He died at at the age of thirty three, having seen his body ravaged by the effects of alcohol and multiple venereal diseases.

Quite the Swan song, eh.

(reply to this comment

Friday, June 30, 2006, 04:44

(reply to this comment
Friday, June 30, 2006, 04:41

(reply to this comment
Monday, June 26, 2006 - 21:10

Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5(Agree/Disagree?)
This is good. All true.
(reply to this comment)
from Rain Child
Monday, June 26, 2006 - 14:58

Once again, this article has been butchered by the removal of all bold and italics.
(reply to this comment)
From Fish
Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 11:06

PTL? Do you?(reply to this comment

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