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THE FLUFFY PINK POETRY THREAD FOR MOPTOP
This is a thread devoted to that keen exponent of pink poems-our very own moptop. Well known for her cute style and charming imagery of kittens and trees, she will no doubt grace us with her presence and poems. I, for one, will look forward to ignoring them all-but in the best possible tasteful way, naturally.
Librarians-her stage awaits...
Ed you are a complete and UTTER bastard
A calculating, infuriating dastard
You have a wicked evil grin
And you think you're going to win.
But 'ware the monster you've let loose -
Lo, I see a rope hanging; and it has a noose!
I have, of course, not read this.
Moptops bad and fluffy and pink-
She says she'll win, thats what I think
I stand no chance with kittens and trees
And look around for a Big Mac with cheese.
Creeps up behind the snoozing Ed
Flexing fingers, baring teeth
Wonders - do I first remove his head?
Or initially cut off his beef
And shove it somewhere dark and scarey?
That was not pink. Or fluffy. I am disappointed.
*Goes off to read Barbara Cartland*
I didn't know - he didn't say -
why does he have to play that way?
Likes big surprises and being silly -
I wish he'd put away his willy!
But I'm a quiet, shy retiring thing -
and here I be, forcèd to sing!
I can't think of anything erotic
And I'm plain out of the exotic.
Can't I leap across the hills in girlish glee?
Why oh why did he have to pick ME??
By the way-these poems aren't Wordsworthy or Byrony
They are what you may call in a small way-irony.
Wordsworthy
I wandered lonely as a hedgehog
That snuffles low ‘mongst snail and slug,
When all at once I saw a frog
Stick out his tongue to catch a bug.
On lily-pad, upon the lake,
He smugly captured passing drake.
Eyes bright like stars, he gave a wink,
Watching mozzies on their way.
I hadn’t even time to blink
Before he’d swallowed down his prey.
A swarm of insects round him danced;
The flying larder had him entranced.
The fish tried jumping; but frog
Out-did the jumping fish with ease:
I could not but be all a-gog -
His tongue was such a happy tease.
I stared and stared and couldn’t think -
Ideas of tongue made me turn pink.
Often, lying naked on my bed,
In horny, naughty, subby mood,
I imagine that I’m giving head –
I’m sorry, yes, I know it’s rude.
And then I get all highly strung
And think about that froggy’s tongue.
Byron-ish (after 'The Destruction of Sennacherib')
The subs fluttered down, candyfloss at the fair
Full of sweet hugs and with never a glare;
Their shiny clothes sparkled, all purple and pink
As their cute collars jingled, with a chink and a clink
Like clouds of pink satin spread out to be seen
The Princesses vied – all hoped to be queen.
Like rumpled pink satin, to the ground thrown,
Next morning they whimpered, with many a moan.
For the Angel of Doms leapt on each as she passed
And whapped her sweet arse – now each vied to be last.
The subbies backed off, eyes widened with tears –
Each fearing to gain those pink stripes on their rears!
But there each one was, spread wanton and wide:
No way to prevent Angel getting inside.
After servicing each he lay gasping and spent –
Poor little subbies’ pink clothes now all rent!
There lay the Angel, with a satisfied grin,
With sweat on his brow, enjoying his sin.
The subs were all silent, except the odd groan,
The Angel was happy – well sated, well blown!
Then the subbies broke out in a concerted wail,
And pulled at the chains on their ankles so frail.
The might of the dommly, unchecked by pink hordes
Had dampened their eyes – and their thighs weren’t ignored!
Epilogue ('cos it didn't feel finished)
So 'ware all you subbies, how'm'ever so pink -
The Angel will get you, whatever you think!
He's mean and he's tough - and ever so keen
To use and abuse all pink things to be seen!
Blooddrops on roses and whippers on kittens
Bright copper dildoes and warm one-arm mittens
Frilly pink subbies all tied up with string,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Cream coloured pony girls crisp riding crops cracking,
Toe bells and harness bells tawses a-thwhacking
Wild girls that fly with their pale arses mooning,
These are a few of the things I like doing.
Girls in white dresses and pink satin sashes,
Spanking and whipping and cute cutting lashes,
Silver white arses that redden with stings
These are a few of my favorite things,
When the whip bites,
When the crop stings,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
It's then that I feel, so bad.
(Repeat song)
Some interesting poems here, and some good ones also.
(Just because I havn't had time to do the skit on a WW1 poet that Uncle has ordered; rather hoping someone will join in with a second verse - anyone?)
I must admit, I spend my time
Contemplating food and wine.
And if not into one of them,
I tend to fantasise on men.
(BTW - thanks, Rhabbi - which I say also on behalf of Ed, because he isn't reading any of this - it's certainly silly and fun!)
Enraged, humbled, bitter and -
Oh so eminently tragic.
Mops brow with a fluttering hand.
Caustic, trampled, stranded and -
How heart-rendingly aggrieved.
This wasn't how she'd had it planned.
Piqued, punished, pained and -
Suffering from excessive pathos.
Worse: underneath it all, she's bland.