Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click herefor rollspac, pornobunny, and T.; long live Leon Trotsky Trout!
Mythos
The lord god Ptah gave them speech,
the power of naming things -
then had second thoughts.
The yaller dog loudly yips, fences with the moon, sworn
by yellow disk o' bay. A nose hung up, back, grand,
sniffs the popping corn; digs deep hole in orange sand,
The yaller dog has pups. Oh, dolour of the borne.
God of corn, Yum K'aax pops up from a dark cenote,
poops - fertilized our land. Give the idol praise,
sacrifice for our corn, (we Mayans call it maize)
sacrifice for our rice. Man, better than thee goat.
FoxP2, of the forkhead box set before son-
net of orangatan, open gambit of 1.b4, before
Mungo Man. God plays chess? Not so, and further more,
He shoots dice, craps out alot. Man, how friggin wan.
So clay? Dog shit in orange sand! From clay made man?
Just one genetic click - go back to orangatan.
Ruminations and Lamentations
It was noon, the geneticist felt uneasy, queasy, nauseous with the thought that a seemingly random burst of radiation did something to the genetic code. "That may have been the trigger for man's belief in God. There is something in the speech center..."a minute later he was dead.
He had often said "I wish to be remembered only as dust", no monument, no service, and after the cremation twelve of us received a small parcel of ashes.
Ivan, I kept those ashes in your broken tea cup on top of the microwave, knowing you would see the humour in it, but you know how women are, the wife went on a cleaning spree and threw the dusty cup out. It had your gold tooth in it also, do you know what that thing is worth now?
The wife? She's in the kitchen now. Bottom shelf, in an old mayonnaise jar, lidded and labeled, so it's not going to happen twice.
Perhaps the hindoos are right, the soul wanders around until it finds a lower life.
I have a Rottweiler now, reminds me a lot of you, gets along great with the Yellow Lab, Tatiana, named after my dead wife. Remember how we all used to joke, when you where alive, about how difficult it was to get you out of the lab, but if you two don't stop fucking around, I'll have to get the both of you fixed. After all, it's the only human thing to do.
Ivan, if you are here in spirit, I have translated your last paper from the Russian and Egyptian hieroglyphs into English and rearranged it somewhat, so I can sneak it in as poetry, but to get it past Literotica's censors, I had to add the gratuitous dick and twat.
The individual who commented above was correct - there's no plot. No substance. Nothing except for a curious jumble of words; utter drivel. As a poet, you would make a good plumber.
Hmmm.....this gets posted and mine gets refused. Very interesting. We are certainly on a level playing field around here, aren't we? Yes, but there is no plot in yours, it's just pure beautiful poetry. And the fawning sychophants stand in line to praise your brilliance. No, there are no cliques here either. What a farce!
well...this one is beyond my current pay grade - so no vote from me on this right now, but comments:
Chock full 'o Gods - the mythic and current ones. Makes for interesting reading at least and had me thinking ..hmm, where have I heard that before?
I like the play on color in the second section
'sacrifice for our rice' - no idea how that fits in..I don't remember the Mayans having anything but corn but then again there are lots of intentional contradictions here..which makes it difficult to comment on content
Structure - or antistructure...given the title and content, it works. Trippy, 1201. Very trippy.
I like the subtle rhyme scheme and that the poem seems blasted apart and patched back together again. Good example of how line length and the whole prose/poetry babble is an illusion. Also, you are a deeply satirical man!
Gave it a five, which it deserves, but I have to read it at least five more times to pull more meaning from it. But that's me, not your poem.
this is poetry that slips the boundaries of short lines is all. the adept use of sound gives this the musicality prose lacks. you know it.
these two lines alone ride the tonal wave:
So clay? Dog shit in orange sand! From clay made man?
Just one genetic click - go back to orangatan.