Men Of Culture And Good Breeding
Little bit of Fanfic Poetry, it is Horny.
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I ought not invocate. In this place, I should be more careful.
Of old when muses took a poet’s soul, they would be gentle,
Would speak their piece, would have their say, would work their inspiration
And then begone again. It was polite, benign possession.
If I called on a muse in these forsaken circling foothills
I fear I would be answered. I fear what I might recite then.
So I’ll invoke you all, instead. Come, gentlemen, possess me.
Or not-so-gentle, if you should prefer, I am not picky.
Your boots, your beards, your bodies every inch: be they my vision.
Inspire me to erection till I’m equal to the story
Of what our friend, who I won’t name, accomplished yesterevening.
Our friend who I won’t name, but you will know him if you know him,
(I hear he’s good to know, and better when you let him know you)
He’d worked a day, he’d drunk a night. And who among us hasn’t?
The cursed dawn was not so far away as he should be. Our friend was lonely:
Particularly those regions where a man’s especially potent.
And all of him was aching for assistance with an ailment
Under the underside. He was afflicted with upstanding
Like nothing you have looked to dream of, even at your lewdest.
When who should come in rescue, but our loyal chalice-bearer.
We know him, don’t we gentlemen? We see him every evening.
To whom among us hasn’t he been comforter and helper?
With grain and grape and sympathetic ear. Our friend was needful
And it was closing time. What chalice-bearer would neglect him?
Toward his taut topography immediately this hero,
Russet-furred and rufous, a right rough and ready rascal,
Exerts himself, expecting a last order, ere they exit.
Yet it’s a different kind of drink, perhaps, they’ll be discussing.
Some talk, some toasts, some minor banter, nothing much to mention
And then the proposition: “I have heard a wayward rumor,”
Our friend says, “bout your taste for certain company. I’d wager
That you would find my company extraordinarily certain”
“Well, I got no idea,” the cupbearer lies completely,
“What kinda company you mean, but yeah, a man gets lonesome.
Another man to walk beside, at least until my doorstep,
Why that’d be right welcome. Come with me friend, if you’re coming.”
And yes, it’s only natural that a man desires some company.
And yes, it’s only natural to ask a friend to enter
When he has seen you homeward, when all that way your shoulders
Have borne as if a yoke his arm, and felt therein the muscles,
Bare fur against your back, the bicep heavy on your neck-scruff,
And caught a whiff from lower of a heady manly incense,
And entertained a thought or two, how underarm on neck-scruff
Perhaps has left that scent on you, and how that’s only natural.
And it is only natural alcoholic inspiration
That leads a man or two within the darkness of some shanty
To grope around the darkness till by chance they find eachother.
And if the one growls, “strip,” the other doesn’t keep him waiting—
A man in just his fur, his natural state, is only natural—
And when the growl comes, “on your knees,” well, some call it unnatural
But I see you as well are men of culture and good breeding,
And need no explanation of the sort of things that happen
When men do all the things that to a man are only natural.
No moral to the story. No evangelistic lesson.
A worthy chalice-bearer put his nose and tongue to work as
A worthy chalice-bearer ought to, and our friend was grateful.
What man would not be grateful, to a worthy chalice-bearer
Who savors the sweet incense where a man’s especially potent?
Who knows the cure for loneliness, and under-ache upstanding?
If you have read my riddle rightly, you know the whole story,
And if not, why, you’ve come to the wrong tavern! Be off with you!
Here we are men of culture, all, and men of right good breeding
And chalice bearers aren’t the only ones whose tongues are clever
As I hope this tale, good gentlemen, has demonstrated to you,
For it has raised a mighty thirst. I need a drink!
Who’s buying?