Category: bad poetry

Success is not an option

All of it, I expect, same as usual.
All poets need a muse – and if you can find one who’ll twist your testicles until the rhymes come, so much the better.
I was only asking for directions to the nearest metro station. Oh well, go with it.
It’s actually one of the few sports where women and men play together at the highest level, although men’s careers are generally much shorter.
Ah, the good old days. I don’t like having a king. ‘His majesty’s ship’ – it just sounds ridiculous, and sends entirely the wrong signals, as we all prepare for the inevitable World War M.
How very thoughtful of her.

Rhyme and unreason

A poetry special! Well, I can’t let PP have all the glory. Plus, I expect some of you are masochists, so you should enjoy these. I’ve been told my poetry is great upon the ears… or something that sounded very like that, anyway.

Two wonderful dommes with whom Servitor has had the painful pleasure…

Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling

It’s a very rewarding relationship. But there can also be penalties.
She hasn’t completely forgiven him you understand. The topic will come up again… but that’s enough for one day.
A bit thoughtless of Suzie, I’d say, leaving her gimp chained up for her friends to look after. She could have got one of those autofeeder things and saved them a lot of trouble. Or just a really big bucket for the food mixture.
Then you can get on with making dinner. They’re going to be hungry, I expect.
Ma’am!
I never know anything. Wouldn’t particularly want to, if I were there… I could just be.

…and an extra one, which I wrote in a particularly worshipful mood.

… although actually that’s not true (like many things on this blog), because obviously in session you can get away with calling her ‘Mistress’. Which was just as well for me, as I’d always assumed it was some variant of ‘El-ee-ssa’. I was granted the extraordinary privilege of visiting Mistress Eleise three or four times about ten years ago and I never did realise I was saying her name wrong in my head until I heard her say it in a video, quite recently. Fortunately, I never committed the unforgiveable sin of mispronouncing her name out loud, to her very feet (oh, those feet…). Not that it got me out of the slappings (and the mocking… oh, that mocking!) I so thoroughly deserved.

The gimp and the simp – a poem

A silly little thing (I know I am but what are you? Oh no, hang on…). Anyway, just a poem, not worth taking up a whole posting slot, so up it goes as an extra.

“I don’t know how you cope”

Said the gimp to the simp

“With her constant demands for more cash.

Don’t you long when you meet her, to kiss shoes to greet her

Or serve as a tray for her ash?”

 

“It’s my kink and that’s that.”

Said the simp to the gimp

“But your lifestyle is hardly ideal.

Caged or chained all alone, with no life of your own

Till you’re summoned to crawl at her heel.”

 

“I’m her pet and I’m proud!”

Said the gimp to the simp

And he showed off his monogrammed collar.

“You’re just moneyslave 9; when you’re typing online

All she sees is the sign of the dollar.”

 

“At least I can type”

Said the simp to the gimp

Showing fingers splayed out, with a grin.

“I can move my hands freely and stand on my feet – see?

My meals don’t come out of a tin.”

 

“Right!” – started the gimp

But his voice was soon stopped

By a ball gag, inserted at speed.

“Your mouth’s not to bicker, you boot and floor-licker!”

And the gimp was dragged off on a lead.

 

“Well that finished fast”

The simp chortled in glee

Then with shock he caught sight of his phone.

“Too slow to reply – that’s three times now, so bye!”

And he sat there, all sad and alone.

Come along, darling

Don’t dawdle.

Oooh… 50% of the way there! That’s closer than I’ve ever got.
It’s not as high-margin a business as you might expect, but fortunately some of her labour costs are very low indeed. Speaking of which, have you negotiated your salary yet? No? OK.
From the look of the sea, they’ve got ages… which is just as well, because Julie can be quite slow to get aroused, unless she can use her cattle prod.
Every poet should have a muse. This lucky lad has two.
And let’s not have any old-fashioned patriarchal nonsense about ‘earning’ it, OK? It’s not your salary, not now you’re married.
You might find it hard to imagine you’ll forget you’re wearing something as heavy and bulky as that, but believe me: once the nipple clamps go on and the scrotal ring is properly anchored to your ankle chain, you’ll hardly notice it.

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling

With grovelling apologies to anyone with even the slightest taste, it’s a special OWK poetry day! You see, I – no, come back! Really, it’s not that bad, and anyway at least there are pictures of –

Hello?

Anyone still here?

Oh well, just you and me, then. OWK poetry, anyway, all based on the kind of traditional British canon I learnt (but perhaps suprisingly given my interests did not actually have beaten into me) at school. More difficult than it looks, even done this badly, especially as there is essentially no one-word rhyme in English for ‘kingdom’, or for that matter ‘Owk’.

Just in case any of you are interested, puzzled or just entirely short of better things to do sitting there, as you are, in front of a computer with your trousers down around your ankles, the actual poems these are mangled from are, in order:

  1. How do I love thee?
  2. Jabberwocky
  3. The Tyger
  4. The Waste Land
  5. Elegy written in a country churchyard
  6. To his coy Mistress

Oh no, it isn’t

(Oh yes – it is!).

Not – you’ll be relieved to hear – the full British panto experience rendered in femdom. I only go to see the principal boy strutting around in tights for the topical humour anyway. But there’s usually a fairy speaking in bad rhyming couplets and this is what we have.

I’m Tinkerbell, by magic bound

To grant three wishes, when I’m found

So wish away, don’t take your time

And I’ll reply, in magic rhyme!

You wish for wealth beyond compare?

Check on your app – the money’s there!

Twelve zeroes end your balance sum

Be sure to spend it wisely, chum!

Your second wish – more altruistic?

That’s my hope, if unrealistic.

The choice is yours, good human, make a

Wish for peace, don’t be a ‘taker’!

You want a bigger cock – that’s all?

Not peace on earth, nor food for all?

All right, I’ll grant what you’re proposing

One large penis: quite imposing.

Now your third wish, say it quickly

Tinkerbell is feeling sickly

Something selfish, I don’t doubt it

State your wish – and quick about it!

A woman sexy, always young?

Who’ll love and worship with her – eugh! – tongue?

Fear not, my magic’s pretty good!

A girl who’ll treat you as she should!

A woman conjured from afar

Who’ll love you just for what you are!

A selfish beast, a greedy fool

With cash galore and massive tool.

Now who could love a pig like that?

Of course!  A findomme!  Savage brat

She’ll drain your savings, keep you frantic

Lock away that cock gigantic!

Yes: a findomme, brutal, bitchy

Now my magic’s getting witchy!

Casting spells for evil wishers

Here’s your findomme – blonde and vicious!

Princess Spoilt – I’m Tinkerbell.

I brought you here and wish you well.

This human’s yours; do as you please

But make him suffer – on his knees.

He’s rich and well-endowed, I’d say

So what a shame I made you gay!

But when you’re bored with mere temptation

Feel free to move on to –

Hmm. What rhymes with temptation? I’m usually so good with rhymes.  Well, my dear Princess Spoilt, I’ll leave you to fill in that last one, OK? 

And so I’ll say goodbye, Princess

Although your lips, I’ll here confess

Are tempting, full and ruby red…

Oh fuck it, let’s just go to bed.

Happy ever after.

Fettered access

The control collar was going on sooner or later, anyway. Married life will all be done ‘the hard way’ so why not the wedding ceremony too?
Don’t worry, you’re not taking advantage of the situation. You have permission to pay her double, too.
Everyone’s a critic.
Ooh – you’ll be the last one! I guess that makes you special. And they’ll probably try to make you last, too.
She’ll be OK. Everyone’s agreed there aren’t enough women in high-profile STEM jobs, nor enough men in menial and degrading positions.