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Glen D. Lovelace

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Member Since: Dec, 2001

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More Songs Of The ARCH-I-TYPES
by Glen D. Lovelace

Monday, February 16, 2004
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Glen D. Lovelace
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.....I-MAGE The Idom Of I.....Volume II.....(I-POSTERIOR-I).....PG13



Kids' Lament

Wee little woes.
Wee little woes.
No water flows.
No water flows.
We wish we had some kind of ducky hose
So we could direct where the pee-pee goes
Instead of just making a mess of nephros;
We're wee little woes.
Wee little woes.
No water....



Relieve Me...Let Me Go!

The Void is
by the sound
of pisss-sing:
A sound
never heard
in eternity!
But I'm overjoyed
With the sound
of pisss-sing:
Now I'm garrna make all the noise I can!

I'm garrna splash like a river when it hits the pool
at the bottom of a waterfall;
I'll scatter and splatter like a nozzle's stream
squirting over a garden wall;
Or tinkle and gurgle like a trickling rill
love bubbles
on its way;
I'll spew steaming showers
like a geyser that's turning
to spray!

--to me--
is the sound of pisss-sing:
The dribble!
he drip!
The torrential pour
. . . !
I'll straddle
the Void
when I feel like
pisss-sing. . .
and I'll piiiiiissssss......once......more!




Patience, Friends, and you will learn
'bout the aptitude test of the School Of Sperm.
The test is a marathon
--a swimming race--
where the fittest of 'em all'll win the grace
of a cute little Egg in a hie-thee place.

Little ones, big ones, shorts, and talls
mix en mass in pre-race Balls,
swinging to the measure of the dive's locale
hard on the entry to Uterine Canal,
eager to compete in the coming travail:
All but one will surely fail.

All are seeds from first to last:
But it won't matter who's first, who's last:
Who's in the lead may later be passed.
All depend on the strength of tail,
little bit of chance, lot of stamina,
who's got the future
in the present anima.
But if they lack potential spunk
ALL of 'em'll flunk!

Each Sperm counts in this tour de force,
on the crest...or in the trough.
Any one could be the next one's source,
so one at another does not scoff.

Frenzy mounts as Tension builds...
Bounding waves of Consumate thrills...
Engulf the gate to the inner course...
And the gun goes off!

Through the spillway they all spurt,
This-way-that-way they all squirt.
They don't note the end of each:
Some get squished out
through the breach
just to dry out on the beach;
Some get tangled in the locks,
squeezed and squashed
against the rocks;
Many get lost and blunder their heading,
fall into the worst of dreading,
struggle bravely as they sink,
find too late they're on the brink
of becoming stains on the under bedding.

Most cannot but meet their doom
long before they reach the womb:
But those with power in their youthful swishing;
Who do not cower at commercial fishing;
Who'll plant the flower of genetical wishing
--one way or another way,
by chance, design, or tricks--
Will navigate the dower Cervix
And penetrate the bower Matrix.

No time to rest nor to rejoice:
Two possibilities remain.
They cannot make a certain choice:
Their sensibilities must reign.

There in the arc of The Mother Church
Two passages, atwain:
One to the left, one to the right.
But only one can one Sperm search
And glorious union gain.
That one leads to the winner's delight,
With second-place left in the lurch.
The other would lead to the losers' bane:
They'd only traverse a barren site.

Meanwhile -- Up in the branch --
Pretty Oval, in naked splendor, is waiting.
Pretty Oval, sublimely nude, is waiting.
Waiting for mating!

(And wondering who:
Hero...or some Self-overrating
Boob...'ll come squiggling up the tube?)


(Also known--and better--as)

Don't Stopper Me!

Oh, gimme shit
--lots of shit--
In the lumen o' free fall...
Don't stopper me!
Gimme hard! Gimme soft!
Gimme any dung a' tall...
Don't stopper me!
Let me squat
'till I squeeze out
a droppin' dropper;
'till I gasp out
a whoppin' whopper;
(I'll only poop out
when the poopin's proper)
Don't stopper me!

Yust turn me loose,
let me hunker over yonder
by those rocks
or in the weeds!
I'll doo--do a beauty!
(It's my duty yust to
nourish budding seeds.)

Kitchen midden full of
muck and effluences;
Rectum overflowin' with
(It don't matter if its
Ladies' or Gents'es)
Don't stopper me!
Don't stopper me!!
Don't stopper me!!!


<Published Jan. AD 1993 & 2001> 
<Posted at AD 02/16/2004 >

PGs . Volume I

I-MAGE (The Book)
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Reviewed by Vesna Vanessa 2/3/2007


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