ELLPUS NEEDS HELP WITH LOVE POEMS.

I know what you will be thinking, when you have read the entire post. You will probably be saying to yourself "Why has he posted this here?" and "This standard of poetry should really be in the Poetry section, where it can be properly appreciated".

Well, the reason that I am posting it here, is that I am basically a bit insecure as to how it will be received, and would ask that you give me advice with regards to the wording.


You see, the wonderful Autumn that we are experiencing, has made me quite mellow and romantic.
It has sparked a flame within me to demonstrate my love for my good lady, and I thought I would try my hand at a bit of romantic poetry.

Maybe it is the apple laden boughs in the lower orchard that is turning my thoughts to the fast approaching evenings, when my loved one and I will sit by a crackling fire and sip mulled cider, made from last years crop.
Maybe it is the sight of distant farmers, ploughing the land in preparation for new seed to be planted in the spring, a sign of completion and another year of fruitful plentiness to be ticked off on the calendar of life.

Maybe it is the fact that brandy is now too expensive to be used as a method of wooing. A succesful evening using just brandy to achieve the right level of blurred female passion would now set me back about £30, and poetry is free.

Whatever it is, I am definitely in the mood!

However, I have a slight problem with poetry and anything cultural, really. I am often told that I do not possess a cultural bone in my body.

Despite the finest schooling, the officer training in the RAF, and endless rounds of opening ceremonies at various art exhibitions, opera and ballet, I don't have much appreciation for the finer "arty" things, so you must realise that writing my own poetry has taken an immense effort.

The first time I realised that I was lacking in the old cultural department, occured when I was forcefully rebuked for standing up and shouting "For God's sake, hurry up and die" during the latter part of an opera.
You see, there was a fat woman on stage, with bloody great blond pigtails, wailing like a sodding banshee over her husband, who was wearing some kind of viking hat, but was managing to sing little bits in Italian, while popping his clogs due to an axe being stuck in his vital parts.
It hurt my ears and I also desperately wanted to go for a poo, so I tried to jolly them along a bit.
I was ostracised from the opera circuit for quite a while, I can tell you.

Then there was the art exhibition. Rows of so called modern art paintings that, to be honest, my Labrador could have made a better job of, had I placed a canvas on the floor and a loaded paint brush up his arse.
I was in hysterics by about the fifth atrocity, and was asked to leave.

Ballet? Gawd help us. Some powdered muscleman in tights, prancing around as if he's trying to hold a small coin in his rear crevice, thrusting his nutbag at everyone.
I was "shushed" for making the observation that one particularly lump ridden dancer had obviously stuffed his groin with a root vegetable.

Then there was another time when Lady E acquired two tickets for Star Wars. I love a jolly good romping adventure, and I was looking forward to an entertaining evening as I took my chair, popcorn in hand.
The curtain opened, revealing a bloody orchestra, fronted by some madman with a baton. Apparently it was an evening of modern classical music, taken from the Star Wars film score.

I wasn't the only one who had misunderstood the whole thing, as there were several geeks dressed up in various full costume, who obviously thought that it was some kind of convention.

I was positioned next to a particularly portly Darth Vader, and a Hoth Wampa in the front row caused several horn injuries, as he turned his head to look for his friends.
I was bored to tears, as I couldn't hear much of the music, due to Darth breathing loudly in my right ear. Lady E asked me to have a word and get him to shut up, so I passed on the request. He just looked at me and breathed even louder.
Feeling restless, I rolled up my programme so as to resemble a light sabre, and playfully poked him with it.
We had a jolly good battle for about a minute or so, until we were told to behave. His arm would thrust at me, but I would expertly parry and thrust. He soon realised that he didn't stand a chance, and so he gave up.
Princess leia, sitting next to him, suddenly started screaming. Apparently, he had suffered some sort of heart seizure during the fight.

Owing to the fact that there was a dead person in the audience, the sherry interval was postponed for twenty minutes, and everyone directed their anger at me for causing their inconvenience.
I was in the Daily Papers the following day, and the headline ran.... Lord Skywalker...the man who killed Darth Vader.
For six months I had to put up with my fellow peers in the house of Lords, raising their ballot papers after I had made a speech, and shouting in yoda style voices, things like "Agree with him, we do" and "Vote with him, we will".

So....you see, my various forays into the world of culture have not gone too well. This is why, getting back to the subject in hand, I am distinctly worried about posting my efforts into a specialised forum, and running the risk of being held up for ridicule.

In a nutshell, what I am trying to do, is to put into words in a rhyming sort of way, little delicacies that I can rehearse and hone, so that when the right moment is upon me, and the brandy is well hidden, I can lean down and whisper a small love verse into the ear of my beloved, so that she can know how much I yearn for her. To her, it will seem a spontaneous gesture of love on my part, which will set her all a twitter, or whatever the term is when the female of the species suddenly feels an Ovary popping an egg into the tube.

I thought I would start with basic, simple little two liners, and work my way up over the coming week or so, as I read the feedback and hone my skills. My words may be simple, yet sophisticated, but my intention is to convey my feelings of tender love.

Be firm with me, but be constructive if at all possible. Remember, I am baring my soul here.

Here goes...........



<AHEM>


Firstly, I intend to start with a couple of complimentary poems, to get things warmed up a bit.
This is to be called phase one.






Phase one poem. Divine.



Your beauty is timeless, your grace is divine
I'm awfully grateful you chose to be mine



Phase one poem number two.


In the light of the fire, you look twenty one
You still give a twitch to my elephant gun.

(struggled with that one a bit....but I am beginning to get the hang of it, I think)




By this stage, things should be nicely warmed up, so I now intend to progress onto the love poems.
These may be a bit racey for some of you, but I hope that the message of tenderness shines through.
I'm not very good at expressing passion, but after many attempts, I think I have finally tuned myself in to what makes a woman all steamy in the right places.

Here goes..............




Love Poem number one. Sweet Glory. (to be used during early part of foreplay)



If your buttocks were two melons, I'll know that you have slimmed
And I'd see your sweet glory, if only you had trimmed.







Love Poem number two. Ripples of love. ( latter part of foreplay, when all clothing has been removed)



I'd love to mount your fatness, and enter with a jolt
And then I'll ride the ripples, until I shoot my bolt.





Love poem number three. The bird of love ( to be used in the garden, on a hot, sultry day)



If I were a hawk, and you were not so blubbery
I'd hover overhead, and jump you in the shrubbery.


Well, that is my initial attempt, and having re-read them, I would say that I was in for a pretty torrid time, come Autumn.

The only concern I have is, with all the love that I am expressing, will she think that I am being a bit.... you know.....soft?


I await your comments with relish, as I've run out of pickle.