The Straight Dope Collective Poem

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
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Calling all Poet Dopers(and Poet-Wanabe Dopers)!!!

Let’s get together and write a poem, line by line. Yes, line by line. I emphasize that this is not stanza by stanza or theme by theme. I haven’t gotten a title yet, since I don’t really know where this is going to go, but I will collect all the lines(unless there are some REAL stinkers) every so often and give it a title once it seems to get some direction.

Here’s some guidelines.

  1. Try to pay attention to line length, so they are roughly similar. Don’t worry as much about meter, but try to match it up if you can.

  2. Let’s not make it rhyme, since that will tend to make the poem become sort of punchy or dorky. :stuck_out_tongue:

  3. Don’t post several lines in one day. Try to wait a few days between posts so more people can contribute. This is not your magnum opus, it’s ours.

  4. Focus less on being depressing, more on being creative and interesting. :wink:

  5. Don’t steal lines from published works.
    I’m genuinely interested in seeing how good a poem we can write together. Okay, I think that’s enough talking, here’s the first line.

Into the wind, by the bantam lake

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There was a magnificent ass-fucking

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And though we claimed to be eradicating ignorance

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We were writhing in the sweat of our discontent.

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Because my partner was ignorant of lubricant.

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We heard a cry in the distance: “Would you like some Jell-O?”

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Burma Shave.

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Mahaloth, is this what you had in mind?

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And mined he was, with explosives and love.

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and primed was she, with that and more…

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But the distant shriek of “Jell-O!” kept on, and on, and on.

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But through the screams of “Jello!” came a stark, disturbing cry,

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As of a man, alone in the wilderness, keening “Cool Whip!”

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Gusset gravy a slurpin’ yet on and, yes ! on she be ridden

(Apologies to the Ladies, it’s all gone pear shaped)

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It was then she pulled out the machete of lust,
primed with KY and desire,

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the distance, a vacuum, a monkey

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The sharp cry of hope dying

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Could not drown the moans from the mounds split.

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The long-hidden ardor could no longer be bridled…

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as the enveloping night, like a prostitute, shat upon her reverie