There are 44 comments.

1. Member
   aardo vozz

   @aardovozz

   6:13 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   She (View Comment):

   Amy Schley (View Comment):

   I always loved “To His Importunate Mistress” by Peter DeVries

   Had we but world enough, and time,
   My coyness, lady, were a crime,
   But at my back I always hear
   Time’s winged chariot, striking fear
   The hour is nigh when creditors
   Will prove to be my predators.
   As wages of our picaresque,
   Bag lunches bolted at my desk
   Must stand as fealty to you
   For each expensive rendezvous.
   Obeisance at your marble feet
   Deserves the best-appointed suite,
   And would have, lacked I not the pelf
   To pleasure also thus myself;
   But amply sumptuous amorous scenes
   Rule out the rake of modest means.

   Since mistress presupposes wife,
   It means a doubly costly life;
   For fools by second passion fired
   A second income is required,
   The earning which consumes the hours
   They’d hoped to spend in rented bowers.
   To hostelries the worst of fates
   That weekly raise their daily rates!
   I gather, lady, from your scoffing
   A bloke more solvent in the offing.
   So revels thus to rivals go
   For want of monetary flow.
   How vexing that inconsistent cash
   The constant suitor must abash,
   Who with excuses vainly pled
   Must rue the undishevelled bed,
   And that for paltry reasons given
   His conscience may remain unriven.

   I remember when that was first published. In the New Yorker. Heavens, I’m old.

   You’re not old at all! Look at it this way: At least you’re not old enough to remember when Psalm 90 was published 🙂

2. Member
   She

   @She

   

   6:17 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   aardo vozz (View Comment):

   She (View Comment):

   I remember when that was first published. In the New Yorker. Heavens, I’m old.

   You’re not old at all! Look at it this way: At least you’re not old enough to remember when Psalm 90 was published 🙂

   Well, there’s that.  Thanks!

3. Coolidge
   CarolJoy, Above Top Secret

   @CarolJoy

   8:38 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   CB Toder aka Mama Toad (View Comment):

   Boss Mongo (View Comment):

   On the OP, uh, I’ll ask the question: what’n heck is vegetable love?

   It grows. It is green and fresh.

   It reminds me of “my salad days, when I was green in judgement,” as Shakespeare says.

   Oh darn CD Toder – you beet me to it!

4. Member
   Arahant

   @Arahant

   Post author

   8:43 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   aardo vozz (View Comment):
   You’re not old at all! Look at it this way: At least you’re not old enough to remember when Psalm 90 was published 🙂

   Oh, so you’re calling me old, though…

5. Member
   Arahant

   @Arahant

   Post author

   8:44 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   CarolJoy, Above Top Secret (View Comment):
   you beet me to it!

   Grooooaaaannn!

6. Member
   Arahant

   @Arahant

   Post author

   8:45 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   Boss Mongo (View Comment):

   On the OP, uh, I’ll ask the question: what’n heck is vegetable love?

   Slow-growing, like a bit of veg that takes the spring, summer, and fall to grow enough before it is ready for harvest. He wants some lovin’ and he wants it right now.

7. Member
   RightAngles

   @RightAngles

   8:47 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   Arahant (View Comment):

   CarolJoy, Above Top Secret (View Comment):
   you beet me to it!

   Grooooaaaannn!

   I don’t carrot all.

8. Member
   Arahant

   @Arahant

   Post author

   9:40 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   God’s death, Sir, the Man that will make such an execrable Pun as that in my Company, will pick my Pocket!—John Dennis

9. Coolidge
   John Russell

   @JohnRussell

   

   11:43 PM EST ⋅ Jan 1, 2019

   RightAngles (View Comment):

   Haha! Men have been coming up with lines for such a long time. We learned the above poem in English class, along with:

   Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
   Old Time is still a-flying.
   And that same flower which blooms today
   Tomorrow may be dying.

   (To a Virgin or something like that)

   We also studied one that I wish I could find again, but I can’t even remember which poet it was. It went on and on about Your little hands, your little feet, etc and ended with Your little mind.

   O.K., if we are to augment the original post with poems along a similar vein I submit the attached:

   The Flea

   BY JOHN DONNE

    

   Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

   How little that which thou deniest me is;

   It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

   And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;

   Thou know’st that this cannot be said

   A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,

   Yet this enjoys before it woo,

   And pampered swells with one blood made of two,

   And this, alas, is more than we would do.

    

   Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,

   Where we almost, nay more than married are.

   This flea is you and I, and this

   Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;

   Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met,

   And cloistered in these living walls of jet.

   Though use make you apt to kill me,

   Let not to that, self-murder added be,

   And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

    

   Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

   Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?

   Wherein could this flea guilty be,

   Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?

   Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou

   Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;

   ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:

   Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,

   Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

10. Member
    RightAngles

    @RightAngles

    11:19 AM EST ⋅ Jan 2, 2019

    John Russell (View Comment):

    RightAngles (View Comment):

    Haha! Men have been coming up with lines for such a long time. We learned the above poem in English class, along with:

    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old Time is still a-flying.
    And that same flower which blooms today
    Tomorrow may be dying.

    (To a Virgin or something like that)

    We also studied one that I wish I could find again, but I can’t even remember which poet it was. It went on and on about Your little hands, your little feet, etc and ended with Your little mind.

    O.K., if we are to augment the original post with poems along a similar vein I submit the attached:

    The Flea

    BY JOHN DONNE

    Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

    How little that which thou deniest me is;

    It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

    And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;

    Thou know’st that this cannot be said

    A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,

    Yet this enjoys before it woo,

    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,

    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

    Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,

    Where we almost, nay more than married are.

    This flea is you and I, and this

    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;

    Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met,

    And cloistered in these living walls of jet.

    Though use make you apt to kill me,

    Let not to that, self-murder added be,

    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

    Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?

    Wherein could this flea guilty be,

    Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?

    Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou

    Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;

    ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:

    Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,

    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

    Wow I bet he got lucky a lot.

11. Member
    Old Bathos

    @OldBathos

    11:20 AM EST ⋅ Jan 2, 2019

    With Apologies to my Longtime Mistress, Andrew Marvell, @arahant  and Ricochet:

    Expelled from Eden’s wordless knowing

    Adam and Eve of needs build a wordful world

    Filled with spats, tiffs and errors ongoing

    Where hurtful omissions spawn outbursts hurled.

    Joyful happenstance in a clever ancestor’s find

    His life’s debt to inspiration fully paid

    So as to make wondrous use of both soul and mind

    To show us all that that rhyming whimsy will get you laid.

12. Member
    Boss Mongo

    @BossMongo

    4:27 PM EST ⋅ Jan 2, 2019

    RightAngles (View Comment):

    John Russell (View Comment):

    RightAngles (View Comment):

    Haha! Men have been coming up with lines for such a long time. We learned the above poem in English class, along with:

    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old Time is still a-flying.
    And that same flower which blooms today
    Tomorrow may be dying.

    (To a Virgin or something like that)

    We also studied one that I wish I could find again, but I can’t even remember which poet it was. It went on and on about Your little hands, your little feet, etc and ended with Your little mind.

    O.K., if we are to augment the original post with poems along a similar vein I submit the attached:

    The Flea

    BY JOHN DONNE

    Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

    How little that which thou deniest me is;

    It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

    And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;

    Thou know’st that this cannot be said

    A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,

    Yet this enjoys before it woo,

    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,

    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

    Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,

    Where we almost, nay more than married are.

    This flea is you and I, and this

    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;

    Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met,

    And cloistered in these living walls of jet.

    Though use make you apt to kill me,

    Let not to that, self-murder added be,

    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

    Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?

    Wherein could this flea guilty be,

    Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?

    Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou

    Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;

    ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:

    Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,

    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

    Wow I bet he got lucky a lot.

    Not long term:

    “John Donne, Anne Donne, Undone.”

13. Thatcher
    Doug Kimball

    @DougKimball

    12:16 PM EST ⋅ Jan 4, 2019

    You Can Leave Your Hat On

    Randy Newman

    Baby take off your coat (real slow)
    Baby take off your shoes
    (Here I’ll take your shoes)
    Baby take off your dress
    Yes yes yes
    You can leave your hat on
    You can leave your hat on
    You can leave your hat on

     

    Go on over there
    And turn on the light
    No all the lights
    Come back here
    Stand on this chair, that’s right
    Raise your arms up in to the air
    Shake ’em
    You give me a reason to live
    You give me a reason to live
    You give me a reason to live
    You give me a reason to live

     

    Suspicious minds are talking
    Trying to tear us apart
    They say that my love is wrong
    They don’t know what love is
    They don’t know what love is
    They don’t know what love is
    They don’t know what love is
    I know what love is.

14. Member
    Arahant

    @Arahant

    Post author

    12:32 PM EST ⋅ Jan 4, 2019

    Doug Kimball (View Comment):
    You Can Leave Your Hat On

    I just watched the beginning of this video, also about poetry, incidentally, but the guy’s opening comment is about having his hat on (or off in this case):