Thursday, March 24, 2005

Writing Poems to Get Laid

To prevent this from becoming the baby bodily fluid blog, I'm going to switch gears and focus on a new topic. So how about I expound on the variety of ways to write a poem to get you laid. What are my qualifications, you ask? I've never had a problem getting laid. There you go.

The first and most obvious way is to write a poem praising the object of your affection. There are numerous classic examples we're all familiar with.

Shakespeare did it:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate. . .

As did Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight. . .

e.e. cummings:

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                    i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you . . .

At No Tell Motel we specialize in poems to get you laid.

Who wouldn't want to get naked with Hugh Steinberg's "Shy Green Fields" or Oliver Luker's "rabia" or Laura Cronk's "From the Other"?

But what if you don't have a particular person in mind or what if your attempts come off as say, obsessive and stalkerish and frighten your intended? That's the time to be a little less direct. Make folks think it's their idea to sleep with you.

Show your naughty fun side. Molly Arden does in "Horn of Plenty."

Wounded and suffering from failed past relationships works. The reader thinks, "Oh, he/she's suffering. But I could make it all better." This week's serial poem by Andrew Mister at No Tell Motel is a good example. Check it out. I haven't heard from Andrew this week, but that's probably because he's been busy, you know, getting laid.

Show a vulnerable side. At Bennington, Jason Shinder's readings always cracked my ass up. He has this series of "can't get it up" persona poems and the ladies in the audience would eat it up. He made erectile dysfunction sexy. After the reading they would all line up to tell him how "touched" they were by his poems. Whenever someone says "touched" think SCORE.

Well, I have to fold towels and put the diapers in the dryer. Maybe I'll write further on this subject later. But keep this in mind -- when you're 80+ years old, abandoned and forgotten in an old age home do you really think you're going to be reminiscing about some award or publication? No, you're going to be remembering that time you got down with a hottie in a broom closet.


At 2:41 PM, Blogger Ken Rumble said...

"Whenever someone says "touched" think SCORE."

Brill -- how would we ever get laid without you, Reb?

But what about when someone says, "That's so touching."

See to me, that means the person is thinking, "I would score with you, but the massive pity I feel for your freakishness is getting the better of my libido."


At 3:13 PM, Blogger Radish King said...

There's no other reason to write, really. Or to practice Bach, either. Everyone knows musicians are slutty. I mean Bach himself had 22 kids. Imagine how he smelled! And still had time to write all that great music.

At 4:20 PM, Blogger David Von Behren said...

A lil' emily Dick-inson. A lil' ee cummings. A lil' Anne Sexton... Yeah, why don't you go ahead and tell her how you really feel...

At 8:29 PM, Blogger Reb said...

Ken, it's a fine line between "save me" and "pity me."

At 12:37 AM, Blogger Phatback said...

So does all this mean your hoohaw is open for business again?


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