Monday, January 24, 2011
poems about sex, elephants and Lady Gaga
Admittedly it doesn't aim to be humorous and irreverent in the same way as Brits in the USA. It's aimed at lovers of poetry.
Still when the most hits any post has mustered is 10, you have to wonder where all those supposed fans of poetry are.
They are one of three possible places; elsewhere, elsewhere or elsewhere.
To use a metaphor from what's arguably the best film of the last three decades, Twins, this blog is Danny DeVito, to Brits' Arnie. (you know I'm not serious about the film right?).
So I followed the Yellow Brick Road and I spoke to a small man in a dirty raincoat behind a big screen about how to increase my numbers. I don't think he was Elton John.
"Publish some sex poems and mention Lady Gaga a couple of times," the dirty little man told me. "You can't go wrong with Lady Gaga."
I agonized for a nano second. "Willl I lose my heart and have to go on a quest for it?" I asked.
"Not if you also mention elephants," the small man said.
So just maybe this is how you can bring some magic to your blog; sex, elephants and Lady Gaga.
Without further ado here's a poem about elephants having sex by D.H. Lawrence. I have no idea where Lady Gaga fits into the equasion.
The Elephant is Slow to Mate by D. H. Lawrence
The elephant, the huge old beast,
is slow to mate;
he finds a female, they show no haste
for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts
slowly, slowly to rouse
as they loiter along the river-beds
and drink and browse
and dash in panic through the brake
of forest with the herd,
and sleep in massive silence, and wake
together, without a word.
So slowly the great hot elephant hearts
grow full of desire,
and the great beasts mate in secret at last,
hiding their fire.
Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts
so they know at last
how to wait for the loneliest of feasts
for the full repast.
They do not snatch, they do not tear;
their massive blood
moves as the moon-tides, near, more near
till they touch in flood.