That’s not poetry, that is sex upon paper!”

Though self-righteous and prude, I found compliment

For she feared my words power might rape her

I wonder what drives such small narrow minds

Everything they must morally censure

Hypocritically pious, they would never admit

Their fantasies of immoral adventures

Trying to analyze and interpret like Freud:

“Social corruption must be the intent”

what do they accomplish by censoring life?

“We’ll keep the children blissfully ignorant”

now ignorant children are playing adult games

in the bushes or in daddy’s shed

‘Doing the nasty’ without protection or fear

of being caught, ‘til they catch AIDS instead

I feel sorry for all those small, narrow minds

Filled with thoughts so boring and flaccid

Happy to stay creatively impotent

With a lust that is missionary and placid

I’m an artist that speaks with a provocative verse

They would condemn as sexually pretentious

Its not your body it is your mind I’d arouse

With images that are poetically licentious

Copyright ©2009 Anthony Hall