Prison Cell 1201- story poem

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erectus123
erectus123
469 Followers

Prison Cell 1201’s Romance

Bubba and Culastro*
shared prison cell 1201
A dark cell with little sun
Just a window barred
In a wall of pain
If you stuck out your arm
You might feel the rain
Or the hair of a cat
As close to pussy
As one might get
In prison yet
Lights out around eleven
Guys reading porno
Feeling for heaven
A little bit
Cock in hand, shit
What else can you do?
In a cell with a guard
Watching you
Bubba was a big guy
You could see his monster cock
Through his fly
A huge outline in his prison trou
A cock as wide
As a farmer’s plow
In for twenty years
Murdered a guy
With a bottle of beer
Some spat about call’em him gay
Ironic, he turned out that way
He still believed he was straight
Yet, erect enough to endure any fate
Given the chance to fuck a fem
He would no doubt go straight again
Culastro was the reverse
Small of cock or worse
Had ended up in Folsom
Been real lonesome
Transferred for the Gas
Chamber, that dumb ass
If ya don’t know it
Murdered many a poor Poet
At the Johnny Cash Folsom Concert
That runt
Had the audacity to shout,
“I hate country music and cunt”
Got 25 years for that slight
Even Johnny Cash wanted to fight
All day Culastro wrote verse
At night Bubba worked his ass
An amazing sight
That enormous cock moving fast
In harmony with Culastro’s ass
That would rise to keep time
A sight sublime
Like a pig he would oink
As Bubba would boink
Twisting firmly in his backside
Turning night to slip and slide
As was his poetic phrasing
Quick and to the point
His mind would wander
Just like his verse
And wring his brain
Like a prison mop dry and terse
With separate stands of rope
Like splattered rain
Leading in all directions
Like his predilections
Corprophagia and analingus
Which he practiced on Gus
Aka Bubba Bigfellow
Colastro’s verse was hard to follow
As his cock, it was worse
Corkscrew in reverse
There was nothing he loved to do
Butt lie there and let Bubba screw
He wrote garbled words about ducks so fowl
He wrote of sex and a nexus with owls
The weeks and months and years did pass
With pen in hand and cock in ass
He continued to criticize and attack
Poets he considered hacks
One night attempting escape
The cell caught on fire
The electricity went haywire
The cell door began to open
Then blocked
At ten inches it remained locked
Culastro was thin enough to escape
But for Bubba it was too late
Even his cock wood not fit
His gut was too big to get past it
To late to diet
To soon to riot

Culastro went back inside
Unzipped Bubba’s fly
Saying, “If we have to die
Put your cock in my sphincter
My pen has run out of ink here”
When the smoke died down
Two skeletons were found
Locked in last embrace
Bubba and Culastro charred in place
Lovers face to face
Breathed their last smoke filled breath
Then overcum they welcomed death
Culastro is said to have shouted out
Advice to all who write about
Love and loss and salad tossed
“Be concise, be controlled, edit
all, simplify, use your wit
Indemnify! Do not lose sight of it
That giant cock
When the cell doors lock
Foiling escape
That is the time
Cease all rhyme
Stuff your ass
A quick prick to pass
some time before you lose
Before the grim reaper thumbs
his nose at those who choose
To find another path shinning bright
Between poetry that’s wrong and write”

*Culasto= ugly dirty ass (in Italian)

erectus123
erectus123
469 Followers
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  • COMMENTS
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twelveoonetwelveooneabout 11 years ago
interesting

so you read the threads, good, laughs

erectus123erectus123about 11 years agoAuthor
ah come on, get a life, it's not about you

In brief, you’re opinion is I am not a great poet and I do not know how to edit. OK, I concede. I do not agree that I have targeted you; however I think you have as much a chance of a law case here as if Porky Pig sued Elmer Fudd for assault.

You have not been mistreated or ridiculed. You are nowhere mentioned in my story poem. The common element is the use of 1201, which in this case refers not to a person (note 1201 is not twelveoone) but to a prison cell. That is also, ironically, the number on my residence. I don’t know who you are or where you live nor does anyone else so it cannot be a personal attack nor can it damage you in any way. If you were to proceed to make this poem well known, in doing so you would become a public figure and most likely be illegible to sue.

The characters described in the poem are dead. You are alive? So it ain’t you. They were in prison, are you? I am aghast that you take this personally. Let’s bury the hatchet just as the state buried Culastro and Bubba. I would hate to create a poem in which the estates of these dead prisoners sued a poor poet who illuminated their miserable existence while celebrating their values and sexual proclivities. After all this is a site dedicated to erotic poems etc.

In conclusion, I may not have your talent but I do not want to cause you distress or spoil your day and if I have, I apologize, sincerely. nuff said!

twelveoonetwelveooneabout 11 years ago
mr.e

the poets you mention were better than you, one reason being they knew how to edit, the other they took the time to learn the craft. throwing their names out buys you nothing. I suggest brevity in your case so that you do have less to work with, less to think it though. I also suggest you pick targets a little more carefully, and target with a little more care, as this could so-called poem could be construed as being libel, couldn't it?

erectus123erectus123about 11 years agoAuthor
Dear kindest Sir, with all apologies duly noted and confessed, we all are aware of you opinion that poems must be brief

as is obvious in your comments and adventures. Although I would apply your dictum firstly to underwear, as I prefer briefs, and in response I would throw Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” on the table, or “Rime of the Ancyent Marinere” (the longest major poem) by the poet Coleridge, as evidence that poems do not need to be brief. My sexual fantasies, as you kindly describe them, almost always have a major element of truth, non the less as fantasys go they are brief, usually only 600-900 words. I would liken them to “Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Thayer, “a baseball poem so well written that it is simply classic poetry (wickipedia)” or “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” by Robert W. Service. Although I am the first, you are the second sir, to admit my attempts are very much inferior. They are however rhyme poems, not watercolors or essays or citations or random words on a page picked by dart.

I use lower case not to indicate small genitals, I am sure I would only qualify for minor porn, but out of internet practice and humility and I thank you for not making an issue of it. Enuff said. I apologize if I have offended you in any way…..erectus

erectus123erectus123about 11 years agoAuthor
I rest my case Culastro

"From the mid-20th century, poetry has sometimes been more generally regarded as a fundamental creative act employing language." (wikipedia)

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