Tuesday, April 22, 2008

What are Women For

The polls suggest that half of those wedded,
Will end their marriage in the divorce court,
And half of those who are left so bedded,
Are unhappy in their miserable sport.
So only one-quarter of men and women there,
Enjoy a life of bliss without despair.

Feminists say marriage is but a convention
Imposed on us by the outdated church.
Their straight jacket is an ancient invention
That puts and end to the amorous search.
I like them am an original thinker,
Lets toss this out this miserable stinker.

Marriage turns dull, its just a reaction,
Passions wanes after a few married years.
Gone is the initial thrill of passion,
It dies over time oft accompanied with tears.
We tire of making love with one's chosen,
The marital bed its become almost frozen.

A feminist writer famously wrote,
Marriage is just an illusion,
So hither I will recall her true quote,
For it's a rather sad delusion.
Even with a husband or wife at home,
The horrible truth is were really alone.

Perhaps marriage should be just to raise kids,
They for sure need a dad and a mother.
And when one tires of love with their mate,
They should be free to go with another.
Then marriage might last and we'd just be friends,
Let the lawyers go broke and we'll make amends.

I've often thought of the old world model,
Of the novels of Lawrence and Flaubert.
To have a wife, a mistress, the brothel,
Better than these Puritan mores that we wear.
I wonder if the French and Germans today,
Are free to frolic, free to roll in the hay.

I've had women tell me they too are sad,
They're under the thumb of one they did web.
No longer in love with the father and dad,
No longer longing to crawl in their bed.
So man's not alone in longing to stray,
Sad women too want to run far away.

So what wants a woman? To live with a mate?
Does she seek a husband or companion?
Or simply one with whom to fornicate?
The wife dreams Don Juan will put his hand in.
Touch me she wonders as my boyfriend did,
When I was a young and lusty teen kid.

With this misery I will remain divorced,
And seek to date as many women will,
Go with me into my lusty warm bed.
Run with me girl to the top of the hill.
Yet conventional more says do it again,
To love sans marriage is living in sin.

Saddled with eros and freed from my marriage,
Burdened with lust that clouds my weary mind.
All I can think of is her soft under carriage.
One sordid conquest, another in line.
Who give up freedom to chase so many
Good gosh on some days I'd take just any.

My friend astute in matters such as these,
Thinks I do not know what I really want.
A naked Venus for me to try to please,
Or am I looking for a steady jaunt.
Do I want a steady stream of lovers,
Or to love girl one above all the others?

I am not sure but for men this I know,
The male is always leering at the sight,
That fleeting shoulder and her hand aglow,
It turns the head and sets the heart alight.
Why does nature in her scheme make us so?
A womans charms and scent turns us to dough.

Maureen Down, she writes for the NY Times,
Her essays revolve on men and women themes,
She says that men can fall in love sometimes,
With Pocahontas or Belle the drawing,
Their red lips, golden hair, and swollen breast,
We can fall in love with that cartoon chest.

Man's predictable as a pile of wood,
That makes us weak, vulnerable and easy.
A girl can beguile us to fit her mood,
Good gosh some say that we are sleazy.
But there's a reason why we men are so,
Perhaps natures plan for the population to grow.

William Blake has a poem where he says,
Girls do mock us when we make advances.
Cupid shoots arrows into our fleeing backs,
Those hussies they demean with their glances.
But man must try; he must woo the female,
Were saddled with this compulsive ordeal.

For some such as me, the chase is the thrill.
Among those Ive dated Ive often said,
Those too eager, I toss them downhill.
And those who dont want me I want in their bed,
So it seems I only want what I can't have,
My heart it aches please give me some salve.

The frustrating thing for a man my age,
As youthful looks begin to fade and wane.
Now is time when beauty has turned its page,
And etched its lines in my tan windowpane.
How to attract the young glittering beauties,
The older ones are no longer such cuties.

The poets say that youth is but fleeting,
Its beauty fades as does a four-day-old rose.
The lass today that you will be meeting,
Next year melts like sunshine on springtime snows.
I woke one morning to learn this sad truth,
It made me mad like Wordsworth's forlorn Ruth.

Today I looked at the girls that surround me,
The pretty ones in magazines are so young,
The ones my age that I can far off see,
Their shapely figure has fallen flat Carl Jung.
What would the learned doctor say on this one?
I'm afraid to tell him they look like my mum.

The young women we all want to bed them,
But how can one entertain and date one,
What can we say but play with their skirt hem?
They like handsome lads their own age and fun.
Our advanced years make us look like dads,
And those who do date them we call them cads.

So why this mismatch between what we want
Women cannot help but grown older when,
We men the young beauties we want to flaunt,
From girls our own age, we run from sagging skin.
Perhaps the old men should marry the young,
But then old of old women what should they become?

Picasso famously said near the end of his life,
He longed for the bliss of sexual peace,
There will come a day, when lust loses life.
The old can relax, their fury to cease.
For me, maybe Ill live as a Eunuch
Forget women, lay around in a Tunic.

But in the end, Ill marry again,
As Diego and Frida the lovers.
For loneliness draws us back to the pen,
We want a wife, a friend, and a mother.
Old age looms ahead like some old oak door,
Ill need someone to pick me off the floor.

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