Pythian Boredom
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
It happens that the laurel is a bore,
Not some divine symbolic thing. Its leaves
Are boring, near-sarcastic green, not more
Than that all year. The coloration heaves
With tedium. In semi-arid lands
It might be prized, but (really!) what sane god
Would choose it as his sign? Throw up your hands,
Dismay the only option, simply odd
Apollo should select it as his shrub
Or tree. Apollo, golden one in white,
With perfect nose and just a little nub
For penis…Wait! Perhaps that choice was right.
The blossoming is like exploding cum
From tiny dick, the whole effect . . . ho hum.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Mar 22, 2025 | LA |