Anal Poetry
So there’s this thread on Reddit, see, with almost 9000 comments, on the topic: Admit it, what’s the creepiest thing you’ve ever done?
It’s fully of creepy. Reddit delivers.
But that’s not why I’m mentioning it.
No, I’ve got a mild interest in folk poetry, especially dirty doggerel. And there’s this one subthread, triggered by a guy who sent a modestly creepy “roses are red, violets are blue” poem to a girl via anonymous mail. And folks contributed numerous comments with their own creepy “roses are red” poetic contributions. It’s kinda fascinating actually, although it’s hard to read without thinking “geez, rape culture much?” (Actually that’s even more true of the whole Reddit thread. Apparently the distinction between “creepy” and “rapey” is narrower than I imagined.)
Anyway, here’s the anal sex one:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Let’s make sweet love
In the hole where you poo
Similar Sex Blogging:
Shorter URL for sharing: https://www.erosblog.com/?p=7096
For the one in the thread, I have only to say, coffee does not have cream.
My favorite variation, unsexy as it may be:
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Sugar is sweet and so are you.
The roses are wilted, the violets dead,
the sugarbowl’s empty and so is your head.
Howdy!
Just wanted to let you know that my girlfriend and I really enjoy reading your blog together. You do a good job, and ought to be proud of yourself.
Thanks,
Jacob and (by proxy) Danielle
You got a purdy mouf…
I was going to start reading through that thread (I have a bit of a fondness for dark humour) but I’m about to go to bed, I think I’ll leave it for tomorrow, less likely to cause messed up creapy dreams.
The next night, he could go with a pegging theme:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Come do me tonight,
like last night I did you!
Or, if he was a furry:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Let’s do it tonight,
as Tigger and Pooh…
If he was a Kinbaku fan:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Tonight let’s employ
some jute and bamboo.
Or, if he was into bestiality:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I’d be grateful tonight,
if you’d bleat like a ewe…
Then there’s the threesome suggestion theme:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
One girl is fine,
but I’d love to try TWO!
Or for the shoe fetishist there’s:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
When I’m ready to come,
may I blow in your shoe?
And of course his partner should get equal time:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I want your big tongue
in my little canoe.
Or:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Make the tops of my thighs
your whole field of view!
Or:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I came seven times,
was it good for you too?
For the voyeur, there’s always:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Tonight, I’m too tired.
Give my roommate a screw.
For the cowgirl victim who’s just developed Peyronie’s disease:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
You screwed me so hard,
my pole’s out of true.
For the guy who hasn’t been laid in a long time, he could slip this into her fortune cookie at dinner:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I’m so horny tonight
I might tear you in two!
Or, he could reverse the delivery of first two lines and whisper in her ear:
Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
My organ’s as hard
as a loaf of French bread.
Or, continuing with the reversal, maybe:
Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
I’ll buy you five drinks
for an hour of head.
Then of course she can use the same reverse verse:
Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
I won’t screw on first dates.
I give hand jobs instead.
Then, for the necrophiliacs (in light of the original theme), there’s the creepiest poem I’ve ever written:
Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
Take a bath in ice water,
we’ll pretend that you’re dead.
…er…
I keep telling myself not to post when I’m up with insomnia.
The last line of that second poem should be Tigger, not Tiger.
Bacchus, you may certainly fix that if you have the will…
…sorry…
DANG! In fact… That was supposed to read AS Tigger and Pooh, not “LIKE” Tigger and Pooh…
That’s what happens when I compose in my head without jotting them down on paper. After I get it settled in my head, I forget what I had planned as I type it out…
Fixed em for ya.
Thanks Bacchus!
Some typos are so important, because they can change the meaning of what’s being said. Others maybe not so much, especially when its easily figured out or obvious exactly what the writer meant. This was somewhere in between…
Something I dashed off a few years ago:
When I’m introverted
And feeling rather blue
I think of things perverted
I’d like to do to you.