Thetownend.com

Saw you by the bars
Down near paddington station
You were looking lost

I offered to give
You some helpfull directions
for no extra cost

You smiled at me
It was clear for all to see
You had no idea

Pointed to the watch
On your right hand then grabbed mine
and led me away

We spoke not in words
But in glances and smiles
Exhilerating

Past the leafless trees
of west london moonlight split
up by the branches

In broken english
you moaned and groaned on the banks
of the river thames

I was in heaven
It was hard to imagine
A more perfect night

Then the bombshell dropped
As soon as the kissing stopped
and you turned to leave

No number or name
to put to your pretty face
should we meet again

my one night romance
is over like it began
Dying sense of guilt

Stumble in at three
crash out on my settee
and drown in my quilt.


Don't you wish your girlfriend was cool like me  8)

Bent double, like old beggars under ball sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing on cock, she cursed through puke,
Till on his haunting stare she turned her back
And towards his distant balls began to suck.
She seemed drugged. She had lost her soul
But limped on, cum-shod. All went lame; all cried;
Drunk with spunk; deaf even to the taunts
Of ‘you like that whore?’ that dropped behind.

CUM! Cum! Quick, girl!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Grabbing his clumsy helmet just in time;
But she still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a woman in fire or lime.–
Dim through the misty pains of vomit soaked eyes
As under a green sea, I saw her drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at her, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the cameras at Studio Max,
And watch the white eyes writhing in her face,
Her hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin.
If you could hear, at every thrust, the jizz
Come gargling from her froth corrupted throat,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on her innocent tongue,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some wanky fun,
The old lie. Dulce et Decorum est
Pro specto Max Hardcore.

If you read one poem this year that tackles pornography through the medium of war poetry then make it this one!