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ARSEHOLE
It is shy as a gathered eyelet
neatly worked in shrinking violet;
it is the dilating iris, tucked
away, a tightening throb when fucked.
It is a soiled and puckered hem,
the golden treasury's privy purse.
With all the colours of a bruise,
it is the fleck of blood in albumen.
I dreamed your body was an instrument
and this was the worn mouthpiece
to which my breathing lips were bent.
Each note pleaded to love a little longer,
longer, as though it was dying of hunger.
I fed that famished mouth my ambergris.
Craig Raine
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Shall I compare thee to a saggy butt?
Thou art as rude, as stinky and as tight;
Rough wind did blow from deep within the gut,
Which is, like thee, completely full of shite.
Sometime with blockages will I be pained,
Or days with diarrhea do I run;
But even so, amusement can be gained -
To fondle my girl's derrière is fun.
But thy eternal erring ways go on,
An ache in the behind for evermore;
A place where I detect no sun has shone;
I think thou art a dodgy warty sore:
In all, thy life is like this ring I see -
'Tis ugly, dark, and giveth crap to me.
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Asshole! Asshole! burning bright,
A puckered gateway to delight.
Oh, what creative hand or eye
Could ring thy fearful symmetry?
What inventive, cautious brain
Did think thee out, O little drain?
When, in time, a soul was built,
Why did its lilies seek some gilt?
No nicer opus can be spied!
Yet thou art filled with smirking pride
And arrogance, so plain to me -
Did he that made the French make thee?
Asshole! Asshole! burning bright,
A puckering gateway to delight.
Whose oiled fist or one brown eye
Dare ring this fearful symmetry?
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I met a traveller in the agèd land
Who said: Two huge but legless buns of rock
Lie in the desert. By them, within sand,
The broken bits of one big hairy cock,
Erected, wide, lie in a giant hand -
Urethra ugly, odious, mean and whole;
The orifice itself, a horrid thing
That giveth massive chill unto our soul.
Upon the pedestal, the words appear:
"My name is Osirandyarse, king of ring:
Look at my mighty anus with despair!"
But little more endures by the decay
Of this gigantic, hulking, mile-wide pair,
Where only desert stretches far away.
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Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village fairy stands:
One mighty eight-inch tool has he,
Like steel from root to glans;
His sphincter, though, is pliable
And weak, like rubber bands.
He plies no literal trade, but earns
A living with his date:
His bum is wet with fetid sweat -
His client can await
Tugging, -- rimming, -- rogering,
At a tremendous rate.
Day in, day out, from dusk to dawn,
You'd hear the feller blow;
You'd hear him swing the one-eyed eel
Like each accomplished pro:
I thank you, O my dirty friend,
For the service you bestow.
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About the Khyber they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they knew
The difficult shape: either fat, wide,
Yielding, or little, fit and strong;
The Moderns too, their original minds
Picturing the anus everywhere: eyes, twin lips,
Lilies, eggwhite, bread are all disguised behinds -
As well, may I add "elle a chaud au cul".
In Rauschenberg's Monogram, for instance: a tyre
(Obviously a date) rings a symbol of priapic desire,
A goat; though the paint-smutch
On its head is the kind of kinky image I'd rather not think about
too much.
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Do not force roughly into this dear ring,
Appreciate that it will hurt like mad;
Lube, lube away, to minimise the sting.
Fisters that love each heated casual fling
Keep KY very near, since they, dear lad,
Do not force roughly into this dear ring.
Scoutmasters who'll sit by the fires and sing,
Whose youthful charges know to Be Prepared,
Lube, lube away, to minimise the sting.
Ah, Daddie never knew this simple thing;
Ma, Dirk and I agree we wished he had:
Do not force roughly into this dear ring.
Lube, lube away, to minimise the sting.
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