Quotes about wench, page 5
To Greg
You're such a worthless smeg.
You look and act like such a dreg.
Your worthless act oyur stupid smile.
Fooloing some with such sneaky guile.
When truly you're a worthless child.
You throw your tantrrums like a wench.
I want to throw you in a ditch.
Greg oh Greg I want you dead.
Your head so full of useless lead.
You've no respect, or intellect.
You're trashy to so don't forget.
You think that you're the king of all,
ruling like you've got big balls.
You're pathetic like a 10th rate addict.
I reject your lies and simple guise.
You're a reject who livies in disguise.
Be gone now you filthy whore,
the sight of you is such a bore.
I hope you live in misery.
For you I have no use or pity.
poem by Michael McParland
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To Atthis The Inconstant
Fragments 33, 57A, 44, 41, 70, 58 combined.
I loved thee, Atthis, — even thee! —
Ah, long ago!
As Aphrodite's handmaid bright
As gold wert thou then in my sight.
A very queen of love to me
Then didst thou show.
Fair gifts I sent thee — 'broidery
Of golden thread whose shimmering light
Flashed mid the purple on thy knee,
A gleam and glow.
Then I knew not thine heart aright:
But now I know!
Thou incarnate false inconstancy —
[...] Read more
Friar’s Song
Some love the matin-chimes, which tell
The hour of prayer to sinner:
But better far's the mid-day bell,
Which speaks the hour of dinner;
For when I see a smoking fish,
Or capon drown'd in gravy,
Or noble haunch on silver dish,
Full glad I sing my ave.
My pulpit is an alehouse bench,
Whereon I sit so jolly;
A smiling rosy country wench
My saint and patron holy.
I kiss her cheek so red and sleek,
I press her ringlets wavy,
And in her willing ear I speak
A most religious ave.
And if I'm blind, yet heaven is kind,
And holy saints forgiving;
[...] Read more
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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After Romance Of The Damned
After romance of the damned
in a distant archipelago
the veteran, once he’d been Vietnamed,
discovered war won’t let a fellah go.
What determines one’s whole life
can make a person turn into a mensch;
before he proves this to his wife
he learns about it from a willing wench.
Inspired by a comment R. J. Kitaj made, explaining his experiences in the merchant marine that inspired a 1960 painting from “In Our Time” called “O’Neill” reproduced in “The Prints of R. B. Kitaj, ” by Jean Kinsman, with an afterword by the artist (Scolar Press,1994) :
…first romance in a brothel archipelago which would determine one’s whole life romance of the damned…But if it didn’t, it would make one a mensch.
1/15/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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To The Bartholdi Statue
O Liberty, God-gifted
Young and immortal maid
In your high hand uplifted;
The torch declares your trade.
Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.
Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?
Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?
[...] Read more
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Flowers
I will not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly queen,
Whom, therefore, I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of everyone.
The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand
The wolfsbane I should dread; -
Nor will I dreary rosemary
That always mourns the dead; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me -
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poem by Thomas Hood
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0009 'Pardew, knave..! ' he swore, curbishly...
so Magnusson,
the mastermind that's a joke
of West Hamateurs
has sacked Pardew
a scholarly note here
pardew is old norman French
for by God, as might appear
in some Shakespeare play,
'pardew, wench, thou hast a pair
of foaming jugs, I warrant...'
or in a later century of faith
by God comes victory to the worthy
or on the terraces,
by God it's time he was sacked
while Curbishley sounds
more like a 19th century novel:
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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To the Bartholdi Statue
O Liberty, God-gifted--
Young and immortal maid--
In your high hand uplifted,
The torch declares your trade.
Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.
Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?
Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?
[...] Read more
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Hay Wane.... Adult Nature
Rushed within the barn of sin
Where sunlight sneezed through cracks that teased
Where livestock rested after light
I lay for you, your just delight
My whalebone bustier heaving breath
As two mounds fought for space, thats left
My petticoat risen past my knee
My knickerbockers.....
Your brown eyes
Expressed your thronging tease
Our laughs we hushed for fear of ears
Our bodies brushed and thrust
Ecstatic as
Excitement seared
We lay
And searched the layers of
Cotton which was just and light
Satin skin powdered delight
[...] Read more
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Having Sex in the Car
I like making love in my brand new car
(A breast in the hand's worth two in a bra!)
The girl in question's a bit of a b*tch
But she certainly knows how to scratch my itch! !
Yes, I like having sex in a country lane,
No neighbours to see you and loudly complain,
You sometimes get in an awkward position
But the main thing that matters is a good emission!
How would you like to go for a drive?
I'll meet you at the bar at half-past five,
You don't have to worry about the British weather,
I'm sure it won't spoil our time together!
Don't worry your head about condensation,
That's just an effect of our occupation,
It certainly keeps out the prying eyes
And you feel quite secure in your sweaty disguise!
[...] Read more
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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