HOW AND WHY A NICE
JEWISH GIRL CREATED
A NAUGHTY POEM ABOUT THE HUMAN PENIS
By Nancy Ava Miller, M.Ed.
Poems, it's said, arise in odd ways. The literati claim the best verse
(and fiction, for that matter) is born of image-some concrete notion
involving sight, sound, smell, taste, and/or texture. Take, for instance,
the renowned Robert Frost composition "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy
Evening" wherein the narrator describes his absorption in a
winterscape of trees "lovely, dark and deep," the tinkle of
harness bells, and the "sweep of easy wind and downy flake." The
reader knows this poem grew from the image of white woods-muted, isolated,
situated near a "frozen lake" this "darkest evening of the
year." Frost's rhymes did not emerge from a need to analyze the
effect of weather on the environment or from clichés and abstract
stereotypes about Nature or from his desires to expatiate on human
commitment, which pundits render as the theme of this poem.
Now I present some couplets discussing-of all things!-the human penis. But
were these iambs "born of image"? How and why did this poem come
to be?
If it be true that great literature grows out of image, then, sorry to
say, my penis poem cannot be labeled "great." For it did not
start in my perverted soul with some mental picture of sweaty fingers
clutching a bloated appendage, blotched red and drooling. It could have
arisen form such an image, but it did not. The first thing that popped to
mind and what gave root to this poesy were the sing-song lines:
"People say I must be sick/because I stroke my hot red dick."
Like an obsession, the rhyme rang inside me-repeating, repeating-and thus
"Ode to the Penis" emerged and fanned out from what is
essentially, a statement, a sentence: The idea that one who masturbates a
lot is "bonkers" and "unsound." And, intellectually
and philosophically, this is what the penis poem explores: Is a man
"psycho" because he fanaticizes and, once or twice per diem,
masturbates?
The poem is filled with confessions and daydreams that I-as a dominatrix,
an S&M support group leader and a sex educator-have heard time and
again from desperate, horny men-tales of the obsessed. The nuances of the
story may change according to the individual, but the basics remain
static: A male fixated on certain sexual taboos, carnal issues considered
bizarre or, at least, unacceptable according to society-fixated, for
example, on bondage or on genital torture, on anal rape or transvestism.
The man is usually married and insists he loves his wife whom he cannot
approach about his unconventional erotic leanings. These
"leanings" fall into various categories. In fact, I long ago
concocted my "Fantasy List" which covers the popular prurient
interest often mentioned by kinky gents when they call me for counseling
or attend my S&M support groups. So, when I wrote my "penis
poem," I created an iconoclastic narrator with an active imagination,
a guy who jerks off a couple of times daily to the tune of various
reveries and sexual inventions-yet still screws his wife whom he
cherishes. As to how I came up with his reveries?-I ran through my
personal "Fantasy List," honed and refined during my sojourn in
the Sex Biz'. The poem started with a given even as its first couplet
tap-danced in my mind: Guys are captivated and engrossed by their own
pee-pees! In fact, most guys, like the narrator, admit to masturbating
once or twice a day. (Most guys I talk with anyway. A skewed scientific
sample, no doubt.)
As for the scenarios my narrator envisions-the fetishes, the Lesbian, the
cunnilingus, et al.-I lifted them straight from the ideas of 100,000 horny
men who've confided in me since 1986 when I first started PEP-People
Exchanging Power, my S&M fetish support network, now a nationwide
phenomenon. Thus after years of inquiry into the minds of men, I put forth
now for poetry lovers everywhere:
NANCY AVA MILLER'S LIST OF GENERAL AND GENERIC S&M FANTASIES
· Erotic Teasing
· Humiliation
· Erotic clothing on the woman. If so describe attire.
· Being forced to go down on a woman. Both her pussy and her ass?
· Breast worship
· Foot worship
· Massaging the mistress
· Forced masturbation
· Dildos
· Bondage
· Cock and ball bondage
· Cock and ball torture
· Spanking
· Whipping
· Exhibitionism
· Voyeurism
· Nipple play (your nipples)
· Golden showers
· Brown showers
· Penetration of your penis with an object like a catheter
· Enemas
· Crossdressing
· Forced homosexuality or bisexuality
· Being forced to taste or drink your own cum
· Lesbianism
· Gags, hoods, blindfolds
· Erotic shaving of your body
· Infantilism, diapers
· Menstrual blood
· Erotic tickling
· Erotic mind control
The best poem I ever wrote-technically and literarily-is one I call "Coyote." It was born of image and on that ground alone would win approval from the pedants, the learned, and the lettered. My verse begins:
On the road to Chilili
Back among the piñon
Trees bent and brittle
From white suns
And wind twisting off West Mesa
Back upon the prairie-land
And grasses that stretch tall as man
There on a splintered fencepost made of pine
There strung up by rusty wire
Some rancher or some cowhand
Has hung a rifle-shot coyote
Dangling by hind legs
Upside down
Yellowed, leathery
Mouth ajar in what seems to be a grin
Of long and evil teeth.
Of course, more than mere image is
incorporated-or should be incorporated-into good poetry. There is rhyme to
consider, and meter, and repetition, and alliteration, plus metaphor and
simile (both akin to image)-all those linguistical embellishments the
professor mentioned (remember?) during Grammar and Comp class or in
Literature 101.
You may now wonder why you're receiving an English lesson when all you
wanted was to read a nasty poem about the human penis, about Lesbians,
dildos, piss, pain, and slimy pussies. So, you ask, why am I hearing about
a dead coyote? Why, you say, am I subjected to meanderings about Robert
Frost?
Oh, I could go on and on about image!-I could remind you for instance,
great lines from T.S. Eliot's "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock":
… the evening spread out against the
sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table…
… In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo…
… I have measured out my life with coffee spoons…
Furthermore, to illustrate my erudition
and college recall, I could also describe Eliot's "objective
correlative" theory involving how images lead to individual
interpretations of poetry. (How many of you remember that one from your
school days?)
Or I could delve into why "Coyote" is better poesy than my penis
poem, and why "…Prufrock" (written, by the bye, when Eliot was
19) is great literature and why the Beatles' lyrics, replete with images
of Eleanor Rigby and Sergeant Pepper and Penny Lane as comments on the
human condition, are more powerful than John Lennon's ditties like
"Imagine" which serves as one drug-dazed musician's attempt at
profundity. I could go on about what is good, better, and best in lyrics
and in literature, and I will admit that "Ode to the Penis" will
not enter-now or ever-the competition for great American verbiage.
But-Hell!-I sure had fun writing that poem! On levels of joy and
playfulness, the human penis sure beats a dead coyote any day!
Excerpt from "Ode to the Penis: A Sexual Meditation"
...is sex a sin? Oh, who can tell!
When God made sex, he made it well.
They say God is like a king
They say that God made everything.
·
·
·
They say that
God made wind and rain.
Some say life is filled with pain.
Filled with pain, but good things, too
Like kids and love and morning dew.
And filled with sex—good as life gets
And God made Gays and God made 'hets.
He made whips and dildos, too.
He even made a high-heeled shoe.
He made the Earth; he made the sky.
It's not for me to question why.
If God made wind and God made rain
And God placed porn shops down on Main
He also made my trembling dick
If God made that, I can't be sick!
Notes
From The Sexual Underground:
How
One Horny Lawyer Re-Interpreted Robert Frost
For
Perverted Purposes.
Reminiscence
by Nancy Ava Miller
...The
woods are so lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I
sleep,
From "Stopping by Woods..."
Robert Frost
Circa 1994, US adult services were subjected to harassing communiqués
by one Mr. William O. An attorney from Chicago, Mr. O. plagued
kinky workers everywhere with his ploy to manipulate them into free phone
sex vis-à-vis a carefully crafted tale of woe. His spiel involved
the loss of a loving mistress who once-upon-a-time had hypnotized
him. Could he not be mesmerized again? —This he asked and pleaded
to whatever phone sex operator he happened to be talking with.
For—Oh!—how he longed to return to that helpless, pliable state,
reached only when his ladylove murmured to him the famous finale penned by
Robert Frost:
...And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep
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