Memories of Love in Kinky Glawster.

[Ulterius]

My heart it hails from Gloucester (which is why I am so classy)
There I had my first botty-sex (though he said I was too gassy.)

Gloucester, noble Gloucester, where yobs are thought so dapper
Glawster, my Glawster: home of the sea's white gulls
Glevum, O Glevum, where Fred West hid those skulls
And where I met my first love, that young slip of a slapper.

I met her on a corner where she waited - such a tease
Her lipstick harlot-scarlet. That crimson kiss of May!
O, her nature was so giving - as long as you could pay
'Twas shame she had many a communicable disease!

May, oh May, would that we could be close again
Each day since we were parted the bells of death have rung
Not to mention urinating has really fucking stung
The burning in my heart! My loins! Do I deserve such pain?

Long time we shagged in ecstasy, and after several rounds
My thoughts turned to concern of the rumours we'd engender
For she was woman, as was I. They'd think I was a bender.
"make love roughly off," her red lips snapt, "and give me fifty pounds."


O, from that fateful day each time I've got totally ratarsed on cider
I remember my West Country May, and the fungus up inside 'er.

[Edna Sweetlove]

BOTTY SEX!!!!!! I love it!!!!! Both ways too!!!

Fantastic closing couplet: "insider her/cider"
Just as well you didn't choose "beer" - what might you have rhymed it with? Oh dear.

[Stanley Brown]

This is appalling and I am shocked. Poetry is about beauty, methinks, and why should you wish to squander your godgioven talent on cheap pornography and being clever? I would have you know that I never went to university to study latin and greek,no I was out earning a living and trying to make my way in the world. You take advantage of people by trying to be too clever but you should stick to nice poems about flowers and nature. That is what true poetry is about, beauty and love and colour photographs. If I was the owner of this site I would ban you if I was a moderator here. Best wishes. Thankyou. Stanley.

[Barry Hodges]

urine off Stanley. You're like a cracked 78 record, except not so c**te.

[spamheid]

Re cider. Reminds me of a limerick. A clean one, I'm afraid:

There was a young lady from Ryde
Who ate some green apples and died
The apples fermented
Within the lamented
And made cider inside her inside.

[Edna Sweetlove]

Dear Spamheid:
Cider normally gives me diarrheoia.
Which is fun if you're asleep at the time.