I got no objection to lewdness in poetry, or the odd swear word or a few, but HLB writes to make the reader hot, but she just left me cold. It doesn’t help that she looks like the girl next door, her image doesn’t reflect her writing. Am I just getting old? So I wrote this non rhyming verse on her…
Yes, Keats is dead, all must die
But none are dead while there verse lives on
Lightens the heart of a reader or two…
Makes folks think
Makes folk talk
Makes folk want to read some more…
Yes, all know sex, somehow, sometime, with someone
Or a few. Some write about it.
Butter wouldn’t melt on seeing we say
On reading some say it would boil,
I say it would burn.
When success comes from shock
Its a measure of repression of the audience
Not the brilliance of the poems
That reduce humanity
Not just women
To their sexual function
As objects from anthers joy.
Like Keats we will all be dead.
Unlike Keats, most of us will be forgotten.
People will still have sex.
Some will write about it.
Few like this…