A dirty poem, because why not?

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

I’m still catching up on work, blog and life after Eroticon, so to tide you over with something fun I’ll give you a quick and dirty poem. I wrote this in part during Ashley Lister’s workshop, then tweaked it slightly on the train back.

It’s rough. But so am I.

Dirty poem: Saturday night

Last weekend I met a kind suitor

Who offered to treat me alright.

He said “Tell me all of your darkest desires

I’ll fulfil them on Saturday night.”


I replied “Mate, I love your ambition.

So here’s what I need you to do:

Get me five grams of coke, vodka, leather and rope

And at least twenty-six more of you.”

Dirty poems that didn’t make the cut

If you hated that, then rest assured I probably won’t do it often. If, for some bizarre reason, you enjoyed it, then here are two other things I wrote during/after that workshop. As you can see, we were playing with rhyme.



The best thing about you is partly a tease:

Not how fast you beat me or how hard you squeeze,

But the way you’ll do nothing until I say ‘please.’


Couplets. My prompt was the word ‘beat’ – I wrote the first bit in the worshop then wanted to make it into more of a story. 


A brilliant poem is quite hard to beat

You need all the rhymes to be terribly neat.

But with sex words you have the most wonderful luck

Cos there’s plenty that rhymes really nicely with ‘fuck.’


Don’t forget dick and prick, cunt and shunt, wank and spank

They are all nestled snug in your poetry bank.

And the harder you look the more rhymes you will find

Thinking “‘done’ or ‘begun’?” as you’re fucked from behind.


Give it time and you’ll get to explore the word ‘come’

Which works neatly with anal, and nearly with ‘done.’

After “Oh” and then “Fuck” and “Don’t stop! Jesus Christ!”

They join in by dismissing you: “Thanks – that was nice.”


Then they pick up their pants from the pile on the floor

And you muse that the action rhymes well with “One more?”

They reply “Not just now – I’m off out on a date”

Which prompts ‘wait’, ‘late’ and ‘state’ and a smidgeon of ‘hate’.


But don’t chase them! Remember, if you feel bereft

When your lover has upped and your lover has left,

There is solace – your poetry won’t leave you too:

Cos there’s plenty that also rhymes well with ‘fuck you.’


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