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Re: Has poetry ever got you laid?

From: Will Dockery <feardevil420_at_yahoo.com>
Date: 7 Jul 2004 19:39:26 -0700
Message-ID: <47fc49bd.0407071839.e991d3e@posting.google.com>


Sherrie Lee wrote:

> davidsands_at_yahoo.com (david rutkowski) wrote in message news:<4ddee74e.0407061526.4da95974_at_posting.google.com>...
> > johnmcwilliams69_at_hotmail.com (John McWilliams) wrote in message news:<26f67acb.0407041858.6125ced_at_posting.google.com>...
> > > Did the reading aloud of poetry to a female ever tip the balance in
> > > your favor for a a roll in the hay? It has only happened to me once.
> >
> > I don't think poetry, per se, has ever gotten anyone laid. Women are
> > often attracted to men who appear sensitive, and even a guy who can't
> > write his way out of a five cent condom probably looks pretty
> > sensitive when reading publicly. Poets no doubt do make pretty good
> > lovers. We don't have cell phones going off with the latest quotes on
> > stocks we're watching. We aren't afraid of commitment (at least for a
> > week). And we've actually thought about women's bodies -- quietly,
> > shamelessly -- and sex provides a way to prove or disprove theories
> > about, say, whether constellations rearranged themselves when a woman
> > comes in the clearing of a woods.
> >
> > Seriously, though, after about a hundred times, you begin to wonder is
> > it's you or just the "I slept with a poet" t-shirt they really want.
>
> I was with a poet
> who once postured
> his sixteen points above
> the headboard. He said
> to me, And you can say you've been with a poet.
>
> I shifted under the sheets,
> stretched and yawned toward the half-lit moon,
> sure. whatever. you too.

Yeah, usually it's poets fucking other poets, since everyone here seems to write poetry.

> The Song of Wandering Aengus
> William Butler Yeats
>
> I went out to the hazel wood,
> Because a fire was in my head,
> And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
> And hooked a berry to a thread;
> And when white moths were on the wing,
> And moth-like stars were flickering out,
> I dropped the berry in a stream
> And caught a little silver trout.
>
> When I had laid it on the floor
> I went to blow the fire a-flame,
> But something rustled on the floor,
> And someone called me by my name:
> It had become a glimmering girl
> With apple blossom in her hair
> Who called me by my name and ran
> And faded through the brightening air.
>
> Though I am old with wandering
> Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
> I will find out where she has gone,
> And kiss her lips and take her hands;
> And walk among long dappled grass,
> And pluck till time and times are done,
> The silver apples of the moon,
> The golden apples of the sun.
>
> www.bartleby.com/146/9.html
Received on Wed Jul 07 2004 - 21:39:26 CDT

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