Dedication: To Aldenderry
I offer you the strangest of the strange
several sonnets in the English lang’ge
in exchange for half a bottle of small change,
which slightly weighs down my otherwise light luggage.
My name is Philip but my Biblical name is George.
Don’t ask me why, but rather encourage
the swift misconducts of a onetime youth.
(Thus ends the discourse on Poetry and Truth.)
Some say the outer senses must go numb
for to empower of the thinking crumb,
but now, as many years ago,
I don’t think so
and order, like a Doctor without Border,
complete re-sensitizing of disorder.
by Joseph of Whearleboroughshire
A lady, please permit me to commence,
eschewing all hint at bitter reticence,
a brief introduction to our facilities.
But first let’s consider thoughtfully
this vexing question: Where arhe whe?
“Boy, how could we know the answer?!”
you might ask, my little prancer;
you might ask with wicked glee,
not the least bit gingerly:
“Is much knowledge at all possible
in the face of such uncertainty, pal?”
Ah, our ladies, how they ask!
They’re so equal to the task!
How they question, how they doubt,
how they blurt their doubting out,
Always waxing innocent, unsure…
Little lambkins of Whearleboroughshire.
But Knowledge is an evil thing!
Yes, to this theory I cling!
Yes, to this theory I cling, but how?
Well, that’s our question number two.
My answer always is: “Dunno,
but that’s the theory I cling to!”
In these days of rejoicing, face it,
this Tree of Knowledge is my joystick,
& sick with joy it maketh me,
for daily on the count of three
I shake the planet by the Tree,
enquiring sternly, “Where arhe whe?”
Ladies & lads ought to patience have.
They too easily fall in love.
This settles question number one.
Time for the next induction.
What a pleasure to shake this hand,
experiencing its hard pressure.
You’re the husband of this Madam?
Overjoyed to meet you, Adam.
Yesterday, today and tomorrow
all your enemies die of sorrow,
but all your friends are here to stay
tomorrow, yesterday and today.
Apples are aswing,
apples are art
apples are a-wandering
all a through my heart
at the Musee des Beaux Arts
You can plain see the utility
of this here now facility,
as plain as you see me or I see you.
That answers question number two.
If you have therefore difficulties
with above-stated facilities,
or simply any questions
or possibly suggestions,
remember to never
report them to the Owner.
Instead, engage Me,
as duly empowered Intermediary,
in which Capacity I prosper
and thus most Heartily I whisper:
I therewith protectively remain
your soft, nurturing man,
the hereunder signed issuer,
attorney at life, Joseph of Whearleboroughshire.
Come on, girl,
let us fuck.
Whip out my dick,
grab my ballsack.
At first she just sits there,
stares at my bone.
What in fuck’s name
is going on?
She throws me a smile,
and as I duck
I throw back a kiss,
and then we fuck.
I’ve gone fucking
for so many years,
but it still fucking moves me
to fucking tears.
Hello? Hello! It’s me. That’s right.
Speak louder? Yes. OK. I will.
The spirit’s willing. Money’s tight.
And how are things in Yonderville?
Come on. I’ve told you how mine are.
Yes, tight. The money’s tight. The hell
with it. Calm down, I’ll manage, dear.
But how are things in Yonderville?
What do you mean, nothing to say?
Can’t simply tell me how you feel?
Hey, what is this? Some joke? or play?
or secret down in Yonderville?
I’ll pick my dentures from the shelf.
I’ve had it. Are you with with me still?
I’ll come and check you out myself
in far and snowy Yonderville.
The clown at the Wicklow Weaner
would pop a boner
poking widows in the drive,
and he could never get enough,
or relaxing in the pants and panties
of those widows aunts and aunties.
When his sister came to town,
her panties too were coming down,
and she stayed through the semester
making higher grades come faster,
then back to town again. His grades
were widely famous among the maids,
who all made his vacation prosper,
including even his own sister.
On the town it’s raining,
in my heart it’s paining.
Oh What is this paining
that induces the raining?