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Poetry Magnum Opus

How to Think Less About Sex


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Cold showers don’t really work, I've found,

although violent sports do have their place.

To get one’s mind off the Venus mound

you need iron discipline: you need turn your face

against a wonder that makes life sweet,

a thing natural, right, and mete.


Marriage, we are told, is the natural course,

for which the waiting has been extended.

Younger days of burning desire and force

have been swept aside and left up-ended.

Defiant emotions break down social fences

yet disaster can loom, with consequences.


Marriage comes, not always the solution,

for we are pushed and pulled, led this way and that:

it may prove but a temporary absolution

for the dreams we carry, the place we are at.

Divorce, unthinkable, has now become prevalent:

we reject expectations that have turned out irrelevant.


Yet the wonder of sex, or the promise of sex, continues.

I often wonder what girls see in us. No, I really do.

I was at a boys’ boarding school, spent some time in the Army,

and a greater collection of farters and belchers, groaners and moaners,

I have never seen. And the way they attack the food! Fair enough,

we may look good in uniform, dressed up to the nines for a dance,

running down the field with hair flying to score that final try,

such gallant lads with fine chiselled features, of decent families,

well … you should see us when the ladies are not around!

Our ancestors from the caves would turn away, embarrassed.


But I know what we see in girls. We see visions, not people.

We see fairy figurines, enticements from another world,

smiling eyes, dark and light, swelling bosoms our knuckly hands

automatically levitate towards, such a tight little waist

encased in swirling fabrics: stockings, silk or otherwise,

leading up to a place we can only dream about. Swoon!

It’s all very silly and stupid but that’s the way it is. Rape

doesn’t linger large in the minds of teenage Irish gentlemen

but, by God, give a sign, say the word, and we’re ready to go!

But then the Catholic Church (Thump!) intervenes ….


Everything changes yet nothing changes, this I have found.

Age may shunt and shove us forward, but young girls remain,

innocently sexy, (or not), but so ... very lovely all round!

Until deep death comes down they will stay in my brain.

All the sweet girls I’ve known … and I’m not finished yet –

Good God! Good night!! Wheel this geezer out in the wet


night and into the winds … let him roll along home with his dreams.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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