A prose poem by Edna
were very fond of each other (although not sexually I must add).
Over the hills and fields we used to wander just like, er,
a man and his grandson or a couple of not so lonely clouds.
We would seek out rare birds' nests so as to smash the eggs to bits,
which we both enjoyed a lot as it was, um, good fun
and a statement of individual choice we both appreciated.
Sometimes we would noisily piss against a tree together
(although ABSOLUTELY NO sexual contact ever took place I must reiterate,
but he had a very big willy for an old codger).
When we got home in the evening he would usually make us a nice pot of tea
and some bloody great doorstop sandwiches
but I would rather have had a good stiff whisky myself,
or a large glass of chilled Chardonnay, and a plateful of smoked salmon
but the old bastard was teetotal - either that or just plain fucking mean.
Granny would make us some toast from stale Mother's Pride white bread,
but, being half blind, the silly old cow usually burnt it to a sodding cinder.
On Sundays they would get the gramophone out and put on some tango records
as they loved Latin American dancing and a good old grope
Of each other's flaccid, age-withered buttocks.
How happily I remember the old couple tangoing away like a couple of whirling bloody dervishes
to 'La Cumparsita' recorded by Mantovani & His Orchestra on 20th June 1940
and issued on the Decca label.
They also taught me how to do the Rumba (oompah, oompah, stick it up your jumpah)
and I became quite an expert at the cha-cha-cha and samba.
How happy we all were in those golden dancing faraway days
of my golden childhood.
Then one day I went round to their house only to find an ambulance outside
and the ambulancemen told me the two of them had been found dead in bed.
I only found out later that Grandad had bashed the old whore's brains out
with a red-hot poker during some depraved sex session
and then shoved it eighteen inches up his own arsehole which must have stung quite a bit.
But what a creative way to go - I bet he danced a bit at the end of that tune;
And thus, up they went into the sky to be with the fucking angels.
And again may I emphasis our friendship was purely platonic
because this was in the good old days of yesteryear
when widespread paedophilia was not yet a gleam in the eye
of some pervert trash newspaper editor eager to turn a penny
by stirring up the working classes to righteous heterosexual frenzy.
Poetry by Edna Sweetlove
Read 994 times
Written on 2006-10-07 at 13:04
Tags Sex Love Romance
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Dancing With Grandad
When I was a little kiddiewink my Grandad and Iwere very fond of each other (although not sexually I must add).
Over the hills and fields we used to wander just like, er,
a man and his grandson or a couple of not so lonely clouds.
We would seek out rare birds' nests so as to smash the eggs to bits,
which we both enjoyed a lot as it was, um, good fun
and a statement of individual choice we both appreciated.
Sometimes we would noisily piss against a tree together
(although ABSOLUTELY NO sexual contact ever took place I must reiterate,
but he had a very big willy for an old codger).
When we got home in the evening he would usually make us a nice pot of tea
and some bloody great doorstop sandwiches
but I would rather have had a good stiff whisky myself,
or a large glass of chilled Chardonnay, and a plateful of smoked salmon
but the old bastard was teetotal - either that or just plain fucking mean.
Granny would make us some toast from stale Mother's Pride white bread,
but, being half blind, the silly old cow usually burnt it to a sodding cinder.
On Sundays they would get the gramophone out and put on some tango records
as they loved Latin American dancing and a good old grope
Of each other's flaccid, age-withered buttocks.
How happily I remember the old couple tangoing away like a couple of whirling bloody dervishes
to 'La Cumparsita' recorded by Mantovani & His Orchestra on 20th June 1940
and issued on the Decca label.
They also taught me how to do the Rumba (oompah, oompah, stick it up your jumpah)
and I became quite an expert at the cha-cha-cha and samba.
How happy we all were in those golden dancing faraway days
of my golden childhood.
Then one day I went round to their house only to find an ambulance outside
and the ambulancemen told me the two of them had been found dead in bed.
I only found out later that Grandad had bashed the old whore's brains out
with a red-hot poker during some depraved sex session
and then shoved it eighteen inches up his own arsehole which must have stung quite a bit.
But what a creative way to go - I bet he danced a bit at the end of that tune;
And thus, up they went into the sky to be with the fucking angels.
And again may I emphasis our friendship was purely platonic
because this was in the good old days of yesteryear
when widespread paedophilia was not yet a gleam in the eye
of some pervert trash newspaper editor eager to turn a penny
by stirring up the working classes to righteous heterosexual frenzy.
Poetry by Edna Sweetlove
Read 994 times
Written on 2006-10-07 at 13:04
Tags Sex Love Romance
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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