Three Poems

Matthew Coleman

The Little Let Down

I was 16 at the time
when
I almost lost
my virginity -
a slow starter, I know
(I was such a terribly shy boy).
It was with a girl named Rachel who had
big and beautiful breasts -
Great, I thought, fantastic,
a boys wet dream,
my wet dream.
She had curly brown hair
and was in my maths class.
The week before
I received my first
hand job,
from her.
It had been a joyful moment in my short-lived life
and now I was in her bathroom
trying to erect a floppy cock.
It was limp,
horribly limp and
lifeless,
and I cursed and I cursed and I cursed.
She had made me nervous
during foreplay
when she kept getting up
to check that her parents' car had
not pulled up outside of their
nice semi-detached house.
I was standing up,
in front of her bathroom mirror,
with a red and frustrated face as my
hand pumped furiously away
getting nowhere fast.
It was a sad moment.
I think we broke up shortly afterwards,
creative differences, or something like that.



I Can't Stop Thinking About Sex
 
I can't stop thinking about sex -
I'm thinking it
I'm seeing it
I'm sweating it
 
I try to sit down and write -
to clear my head
and think of nothing
but writing powerful and
potent pieces of prose
that reach out and touch people.
To write words that move people
and shake people to the very core
of their being.
I think of Henry Miller,
of Mishima, of Hermann Hesse,
of Knut Hamsun,
of Kafka, Camus, Conrad
and Cocteau.
I think of all these writers
and many more
and remember how much
they moved me
and shook me to my very core.
I think about all of these things and then I start writing
and writing
and writing
and what comes out?
Cunt, that's all there is -
velvet cunt
quivering cunt
trembling cunt
spreading cunt
penetrated cunt
talking cunt -
cunt in all shapes and sizes.
It is then that I realise I have written
yet another piece of prose
about cunt
so I laugh out loud
and submit it somewhere.
On my bed I'm chuckling
to myself
whilst reading the maestros of prose
who push me into thoughts and visions
beyond words and comprehension.
I then stop
midway through a passage and
think to myself that writing about sex
is really OK,
that one should always get out
what resides inside -
even if it always is about cunt,
perhaps it's an expression of character.



A Fleeting Thought About Relationships
 
There is something about the woman you love
dressing up for you in a French Maid's outfit that
makes you love her just that little bit more.


© Matthew Coleman 2007

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Matthew Coleman is a filmmaker, writer, word whore and a confirmed member of The Offbeat Generation.