[R. S. Gwynn]

Prizes? None, except the esteem and lasting gratitude of your peers. (Well, maybe a good word in with Santa!)

A sonnet that takes off from this internet quote:

"'The penis is the dipstick of male health,' Dr. Mehmet Oz said on Oprah."

[Rose Kelleher]

Oh noooooooo!

lol

[Philip Quinlan]

Limericks we do at once

Sonnets take a little longer...

It is simply a matter of measure
Of an organ that gives so much pleasure
To its owner that is
(while he still "does the biz"
with his singular tumescent treasure)

But accepting the doctor's surmise
Should his member but once fail to rise
He should fear for his health
For his treasure's not wealth
But a warning, and next thing he dies

[R. S. Gwynn]

Welcome, P. Q., and in great style too! We must mind out P's and Q's, right?

[Philip Quinlan]

Thanks Sam

As for the sonnet, could one get away by starting:

"O, that this too too solid flesh not wilt"?

Perhaps then others could take up the thread (I almost said cudgel but stopped myself)?

Or then perhaps not...



Philip



[This message has been edited by Philip Quinlan (edited December 07, 2008).]

[Janet Kenny]

That lipstick on your dipstick gives offence
to those who held you once in high esteem.
It’s either showing off or some pretence
that you’re in better fettle than you seem.

A ribbon would enhance you, or a mask,
if worn with elegance and savoir faire.
I’m sorry to be forced to take to task
an invalid with nothing else to wear.

A raincoat is traditional for those
who wish to show what others choose to hide.
A sudden leap, a leer, when you disclose
what most would fear and many would deride.

Cold showers and self denial soon will heal
your need to prove you still have sex appeal.



[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited December 07, 2008).]

[Susan McLean]

How about a pantoum instead?


Extended Metaphor

The penis is the dipstick of male health.
How long is it since you last checked the oil?
Sludge in the engine can build up by stealth.
Your radiator is about to boil.

How long is it? Since you last checked the oil,
have you seen warning lights, or other signs
your radiator is about to boil?
Sometimes you have to read between the lines.

Have you seen warning lights, or other signs?
Sludge in the engine can build up by stealth.
Sometimes you have to read between the lines.
The penis is the dipstick of male health.


Edited to change title from "Diagnostic"

[This message has been edited by Susan McLean (edited December 14, 2008).]

[Shaun J. Russell]

Thanks, Oprah!

For years we men were forced to nudge and wink
Amongst ourselves about our private parts;
We'd wander home to women bred to think
Less of the size of johnsons than of hearts.

In pubs and gyms we'd vainly strut our stuff
Like peacocks with our plumage on display,
But pride for girth alone was not enough
To pique our partners' passions when we'd lay.

But thanks to Mehmet Oz we can rejoice;
With words broadcast to millions in stealth
He gave our lonely organ a new voice:
"The penis is the dipstick of male health."

So nurture, ladies! Nourish and condone,
And never leave our penises alone!



[This message has been edited by E. Shaun Russell (edited December 08, 2008).]

[Henry Quince]

DIPSTICK

It’s the signaller of trouble in the crankcase,
The horn that toots to warn about our health.
Sometimes it works when tested in the wank case,
Then one day balks: no go by thrust nor stealth.
Chagrin. We have a driving need to use it,
And feel a surge of power in doing so;
It isn’t fun to falter, stall and lose it
Just when the traffic light is green for Go.

A service? Check the level — or the angle;
Big end and little end — the latter first.
All should be firm and certainly not dangle;
But think "Plan C" if worst should come to worst:
Be ever hopeful of the fractious phallus,
But keep Viagra handy, or Cialis.

[Philip Quinlan]

I shall jolly well take up my own "cudgel" then. (It was aye thus...)

O, that this too too solid flesh not wilt!
It is the bellwether that tells the awful truth -
The bell that tolls the knell of vanished youth.
Too late now to regret the milk I spilt,

And that this wasted wand weave no more spells
As I succumb to aging and its ills.
Henceforth my "service" strictly is "no frills".
Whence came the illness that my ardour quells?

I dream that it was simply over-use,
But in my heart know now this present drouth
Is just a symptom; all is heading south -
The consequence of bodily abuse.

O, doctor let me have my time again -
How sadly do I watch the long day wane!