Poetry of the Penis

Discussion in 'Relationships, Discrimination, and Jealousy' started by patro78, Oct 31, 2006.

  1. patro78

    Verified Gold Member

    Oct 30, 2006
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    Is there such a thing as poetry of the penis? Probably not (as a self-contained genre at any rate), but there are undoubtedly poems about the penis. Perhaps an anthology of kinds could be started on this site! My first contribution is a poem by D H Lawrence. An unsurprising choice, of course; Lawrence's work, and not merely his more notorious work such as Lady Chatterly's Lover, for instance, amounts in many places to a resevoir of references and allusions to, and symbolism about, the male membrum virilus. In the early poem Virgin Youth Lawrence offers, in what must have been seen by most of his conventional contemporaries as a shockingly explicit, paean to his "lustrous" and "beautiful" erection. Notwithstanding its close proximity to a kind of masterbatory narcisism, which it acknowledges but does not sucumb to, the poemanticipates, in an authentic but rather embarrisingly jejune way, his mature preoccupations with the fundamental primal realities from which modern mankind, with its rejection of its own "blood conscience", has become disastrously estranged. The neglect by modern civilisation of "the man in his wholeness, wholly attending" is, in Lawrence's mind, the constant reproach to that civilisation's desire for uninhibited "progress". For all its amateurishness, there is a sensuous immediacy, a lightness of touch and absence of programmatic didacticism in Virgin Youth which makes it refreshing when considered beside some of Lawrences later work, in which the bitter conviction of modernity's irreversible decline is expressed with something approaching a categorical complaceny. At any rate, I offer the poem below for your reflection and comment and in the hope of illiciting other contributions.

    Now and again
    The life that looks through my eyes
    And quivers in words through my mouth,
    And behaves like the rest of men,
    Slips away, so I grasp in surprise.

    And then
    My unknown breasts begin
    To wake, and down the thin
    Ripples below the breats an urgent
    Rhythm starts, and my silent and slumberous belly
    In one moment rouses insurgent.

    My soft, slumbering belly,
    Quivering awake with one impulse and one will,
    Then willy nilly,
    A lower me gets up and greets me;
    Homunculus stirs from his roots, and strives until,
    Risen up, he beats me.

    He stands, and I tremble before hiim.
    - Who then art thou? -
    He is wordless, but sultry and vast,
    And I can't deplore him.
    - Who art thou? What hast
    Thou to do with me, thou lustrouos one, iconoclast? -

    How beautiful he is! without sound,
    Without eyes, without hands;
    Yet, flame of the living ground
    He stands, the column of fire by night.
    And he knows from the depths; he quite
    Alone understands.

    Quite alone, he alone
    Understands and knows.
    Lustrously sure, unkonwn
    Out of nowhere he rose.

    I tremble in his shadow, as he burns
    For the dark goal.
    He stands like a lighthouse, night churns
    Round his base, his dark light rolls
    Into darkness, and darkly returns.

    Is he calling, the lone one? Is his deep
    Silence full of summons?
    Is he moving invisibly? Does his steep
    Curve sweep towards a woman's?

    Traveller, column of fire,
    It is vain.
    The glow of thy full desire
    Becomes pain.

    Dark, ruddy piller, forgive me! I
    Am helplessly bound
    To the rock of virginity. Thy
    Strange voice has no sound.

    We cry in the wilderness. Forgive me, I
    Would gladly lie
    In the womanly valley, and ply
    Thy twofold dance.

    Thou dark one, thou proud one, curved beauty! I
    Would worship thee, letting my buttocks prance.
    But the hosts of men with one voice deny
    Me the chance.

    They have taken the gates from the hinges
    And built up the way. I salute thee
    But to deflower thee. Thy tower impinges
    On nothingess. Pardon me!
  2. D_Sheffield Thongbynder

    Apr 30, 2006
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    Thanks for sharing the poem, P. When I was a teenager first reading Lawrence, I maintained a constant tumescence that he probably would have been proud of.:cool:
  3. Gisella

    Gold Member

    Mar 18, 2006
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    Very very nice..he is a pro!

    I made poetry to the penis too...well they are private and belong to their owners now...:redface: :wink:

    Yep... a penis inspire us to make poetry...:heart:
  4. D_Gunther Snotpole

    D_Gunther Snotpole Account Disabled

    Oct 3, 2005
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    Lovely poem, Patro.
    I found one on the Internet … so my offering is a bit of a cheat.
    It’s by a young poet named Shane Allison who writes a lot of pornographic poetry, much of it very funny, all of it entirely idiomatic and part of a newer literary world than Lawrence’s. (But hardly better than Lawrence, and I want to concede that right out front.)

    The title is Poem in Celebration of My Penis:

    You have put up with a lot of crap and I want to take this time
    to thank you.
    No, all bullshit aside, I mean it this time. If it wasn’t for you,
    I wouldn’t have gotten through those rock hard times
    of my dad being in jail, my mother crying into her strawberry soda.
    You mean more to me than sensual pleasure.
    More than just a sexual organ that discharges piss and semen.
    We’ve gone through a lot you and me.
    The endless gay porn magazines you have
    had to endure. The occasional videos
    rewound to sins of flesh, boomerang-like dicks.
    Sorry about using my sister’s hair gel.
    You didn’t deserve that or the toothpaste.
    I’m surprised you never pissed blood.
    You never warned me with burning sensations.
    You were there when Nick stood me up at the movies.
    You were there when I read the letter from John about
    how I wasn’t his type.
    Thank you for being there when my parents heard me
    having phone sex with Jeff at 16.
    Thank you for being there when I was kicked out
    of Chuck E. Cheese for spitting on the floor,
    when Tony kissed me in the bathroom at Bond Elementary,
    when obscene phone calls were made at 13 to a
    complete stranger asking, “Can I suck you dick?”
    Sorry, I was bored.
    Thank you for being patient when Alex, some john I picked up like trash out
    of the bathroom of Tallahassee Community College,
    took me to his place and tried to screw me without lube.
    It was my first time and you know that.
    You were there when the mall security guard busted me
    for lewd and lascivious acts.
    Thanks for being there when they released me to my parents.
    Body caked with humiliation in the backseat at 17 in a
    black Monte Carlo.
    You didn’t say a word when you were smeared with shit.
    I guess it was because you were smeared with shit.
    Remember the crush I had on Eric, that substitute teacher
    in American history? He was so understanding even though
    he could have freaked out and gone to the principal.
    You stood long and strong through all those dead-end crushes,
    All those damn love poems.
    I forgave you when you couldn’t keep your cool
    in 9th grade gym. I’m sure the same thing happened to all the boys.
    Let’s let bygones be bygones.
    Thanks for sharing New Year’s with me.
    Valentine’s Day is always the hardest.
    You fought against the deadbeat penis.
    You sent signals to my brain to tell me that
    his dick was from the wrong side of the tracks
    and was not worth a blowjob.
    You knew the shit from the shine baby.
    I will not give you a nickname.
    You are not a pet. You are not my lucky charm.
    I know I can be a complete and utter asshole at times.
    I’m sure there are days when you just want to say,
    “To hell with this guy, I don’t want to have to take this shit!”
    and want to move on to greener pastures.
    I know I need help and I’m trying. Really, I am.
    I don’t want to lose you. I live to love you.
    You’ve been with me for 26 years and I want
    you to be with me for 26 more.
  5. patro78

    Verified Gold Member

    Oct 30, 2006
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    Thanks for the responses guys. Like the contribution rubirosa; it's definitely got an unapologetically pornographic vigour about it! I've found another poem, this time from the 15th century, by an anonymous English lyricist. It's wholesomely bawdy and very funny. It's called "I have a Gentle Cock". It's interesting to note from the title that the double entrendre ("cock" = penis + male chook) has over a six hundred year old pedigree! Well here it is, with a vocab gloss of obsolete words:

    I have a gentle cock, (gentle = of noble birth)
    Croweth me day; (he starts my day with a crow)
    He doth me rise early, (makes me rise)
    My matins for to say. (matins = morning prayers)

    I have a gentle cock,
    Comen he is of great (he comes from great -ie lofty- lineage)
    His comb is of red coral
    His tail is of jet.

    I have a gentle cock,
    Comen he is of kind (kind = good stock)
    His comb is of red coral,
    His tail is of inde. (inde = indigo)

    His legges be of azure,
    So gentle and so small;
    His spurres are of silver white
    Into the wortewall. (right up to the root)

    His eyen are of crystal (eyes)
    Locked all in amber (locked = set)
    And every night he percheth him
    In my lady's chamber.
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