Points to ponder




One is moved often to contemplate one’s navel, and one finds the most amazing things there!
Herewith a few itty-bitty, nitty-gritty tit-bits from the umbilicus of the author.



A past mistress I fondly admired,
Proclaimed, and I think it inspired:
Boring fidelity
Leaves, in reality,
Lots to be greatly desired.




On the whole it seems best to avoid
Any hint of acceptance of Freud:
There’s a lingering stink
About Sigmund, I think,
Of the faeces with which he once toyed.





An old digger stared deep in his beer,
Beset by irrational fear,
That some quirk of fate
Made him fancy his mate,
And he might, without knowing, be queer!





It’s the nature of women to bleed,
From the place whence I thought they just peed,
And this versatile slot
Is the very same spot
Where a man, if he can, squirts his seed!





There was a young lady called Chris,
Who thought fucking was absolute bliss.
She had nothing but pity
For girls who, though pretty,
Still just used their fannies to piss!




It’s a marvel, how girls are designed,
Nicely padded, in front and behind,
With appropriate slots
In the handiest spots:
You’d have thought God had fucking in mind!




Having suitably been wined and dined,
A girl’s placed in a bit of a bind:
She can either say no,
Put her coat on and go,
Or give in and make payment in kind.





There’s a beautiful sad evanescence,
A poignant pique in tumescence:
One moment of rapture
We cannot recapture,
Then nought but a sticky excrescence.





The flesh weakens, sometime after forty:
Your penis grows wrinkled and warty.
Erections are fewer,
Their timing unsure,
Your thoughts, nonetheless, are still naughty!





The remarkable mammary gland,
The exposure of which was once banned,
Can be used as an udder
Or make grown men shudder
By just lying there in their hand.





Erogenous zones

Once I had a wild lover called Joan,
Who knew every erogenous zone.
She would stimulate mine,
Which was perfectly fine,
Then we’d both get to work on her own.

It’s a fact ladies often bemoan,
That their needs remain mostly unknown,
Yet the man in the street
Can put women on heat
With a few clever tricks, when once shown.

Men and boys, thrill your girl to the bone!
Ladies, pair up, or practise alone!
Learn the places to touch,
And with what, and how much,
To elicit that orgasmic moan.





Said a spoilt young boy to his nanny,
“Pray tell me why girls have a fanny.”
His nanny, bemused,
Said “The Lord got confused:
Aren’t the ways of God simply uncanny!”




When the washing-up’s done, on most nights,
My wife gives me my conjugal rights:
She gives me head beautifully,
Fucks with me dutifully,
Wipes up, and turns out the lights.




When your library book’s overdue,
And a fine has begun to accrue,
If you meet after dark
With the library clerk,
You can quite often screw her in lieu.





I’m intrigued, watching girls when they piddle:
So many things meet in the middle,
But what comes from where,
Underneath that lush hair
I confess remains mostly a riddle.





How I dread what the gods preordain us,
That the orbits of Mars and Uranus
Determine one’s fate:
If a man’s a man’s mate,
Or just wants to get into your anus.





“I’ll oblige,” said Marie, and I quote,
“Should a chap wish to sow a wild oat:
It may well mean divorce,
Or a baby of course,
But the chances are pretty remote.”





Waxing lyrical

A young woman these days can’t relax,
Unless made-up and styled to the max,
And if by good luck
She hooks up for a fuck,
God forbid she’s forgotten to wax!

Girls wax not only legs, but their arms,
And bikini-lines, eyebrows and palms,
Anywhere, everywhere
That a hint of a hair
Might detract from their natural charms.

Waxing’s practised for reasons obscure:
Perhaps hairless they feel more pure
Or, smooth as a baby,
They might think that maybe
They somehow have greater allure.

Do they plan to go on till they’re grannies,
With waxing their nooks and their crannies?
Men don’t frown a bit,
When it comes down to it,
Upon girls with nice soft hairy fannies.





Mrs Bradley professed a revulsion,
For lubricant gel or emulsion:
It might help get started,
But what if she farted?
It might cause the organ’s expulsion.





Said a species of sexual scholar,
“Look always for sex amidst squalor:
The lower class whore
Is inclined to do more,
Hence one gets much more sex for one’s dollar.”





‘Twixt the thighs of a maid, there’s a slit,
In whose folds, and a marvelous fit,
Is a welcoming niche,
Wherein, should a man wish,
He can push his prick, if she’ll permit.





There’s a miniscule worm, called the sperm,
Which, by virtue of wriggle and squirm,
After penile emission,
May come to fruition,
As someone of whom it’s the germ.





Said a militant young suffragette,
“Women cook and keep house and beget:
Should you give us the vote,
We would faithfully dote,
And be constantly willing and wet!”





Should you have a risque or lewd thought,
You may do what you wish, and you ought,
Because not doing so
Is no fun, as you know,
Therefore do, but by God, don’t get caught!




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