Art comes in many forms of expression; each one contains elements of the sometimes explicit sexual nature of our being. Those who deny our procreative roots are out of touch with reality. If rabbits could talk, surely sex would be their only subject worthy of conversation. If sex is are ultimate way of communicating our love and love being God’s highest achievement then the two are inextricably intertwined. Moral character would be better defined by how we love not how we judge.

I’m no pro at connotations of bodily functions; I’m just to mind full of how crude the English language can sound. We must contemplate word choice carefully; innuendo can add intrigue, while metaphors can add color, when frankness can sound abrupt tainting the work.

(No sensitive types please; this poem contains smut)

‘OH’ Johnny

When this boy was born

The nurses were torn

When first came the boy

And then his long horn,

This be a story of Johnny wad

Who ripped tender labium

Like a john deer through sod,

One day a bathing auntie M

Brushed a little hard against his stem,

Now with puberty close at hand

 Waist down showed twice a man,

Now Johnny couldn’t make the team

For jock straps caused him to scream,

But not long after school

He found a use for his enormous tool.

No not the circus, but on the screen,

Giving him money to do the obscene,

When he rolled out his thunder

 They scoffed; he’ll tare my assunder!

One woman short in stature

 her heart, his rod did fracture.

Some seasoned veterans took pause

Simply refusing to open their jaws,

So to the mats they went,

Women convulsed, wailing repent.

The penetration just too deep,

Internals got pressed into a heap,

Even rectum surrendering masochists

Never cried in pain like this.

Not since a Roman phallus invasion

Had the totem caused such a sensation,

Now long after Aids did kill,

Johnny wad’s still king of the hill.

H.J. Cruz

05/06/07