Thoughts

Slave: Vive La Dominatrix

Vive la Dominatrix

Greyhounds need trainers, horses grooms;
All pianos must be tuned.
No rose bush yields its bravest blooms
Until severely pruned.

As plants want water, walls need bricks,
A prisoner his chain,
True men need a dominatrix
To keep them hale and sane

For others, sport's a substitute,
Its penalties less hard:
Applause for him who goals can shoot;
For fouls a yellow card.

Such men form the majority:
Golf matches at the club
Test their superiority;
Or darts played at the pub.

But man’s not born for one mere life
(Even a cat has nine).
Some flourish in both peace and strife,
Drink beer as well as wine.

An actor may a writer be;
A scientist - a poet.
Judges are not from instincts free;
All brothel-keepers know it.

Much-married men have lovers too,
And maybe three or four.
Some are bisexual - times two
Then count their likely score.

And those who in all lives succeed
Beyond fair expectation.
Stand, half-knowing, in greatest need
Of female domination.

If one professional success
Can boast, do well in bed,
And triumph too in business,
Hubris may turn his head.




Men who already much have done
More still believe they can;
Claim they just barely have begun;
And feel like Superman!

A. Pushkin wrote: “As Number One
“These think themselves; as zeroes
“Evaluate else everyone.
“Such are our modern heroes!

“His fellow-man’s an instrument
“To use, then throw away.”
A somewhat-too-extreme comment?
That was the Pushkin way.

But who can clear our dizzy mix
Of false idea and feeling?
None but our stern dominatrix
When at her feet we’re kneeling.

All animals instincts possess
Which tell them what is good
For them; and humankind no less;
Though how’s not understood.

So men of this kind gravitate
To those dramatic dames
Whose skill it is to dominate
Through role-reversal games.

Such men are drawn to them somehow
Puzzled perhaps, but still
Feeling the inner urge to bow,
Obedient to their will.

“Stand up, remove your clothes, then kneel”.
Her brusque words he obeys
And doing so begins to feel
The spreading flush they raise;

And more: stiletto-heeled, her toe
Palpates with probing kicks
Wherever it desires to show
That she’s dominatrix,

That he’s the 'bare forked animal',
Acknowledged by King Lear;
While she the Crown Imperial
With dignity could wear,

As were that old king’s daughters three
Into one Royal rolled:
She’s Number One; and what is he?
A Nought, naked and cold.

Around him are the trappings which
Old Lear in madness saw:
The stocks, the pillory, the switch,
The paddle and the claw.

Like Lear he’s given up his might.
A woman now decrees
His due desert, severe or light,
And disregards his pleas

As Regan did and Goneril.
Yet he, restrained by rope,
Must suffer beatings and be still,
But cherishing the hope

Cordelia’s spirit will appear,
The kindest of the three,
And seeing he can no more bear,
Cry halt, and set him free.

It’s some such drama underlies
Each domination scene
Subliminally. No surprise
Therefore strong men are keen

(Though nothing knowing of Shakespeare’s
Stark view of humankind
Still less of that trio of Lear’s)
To be by Her confined

In dungeons (so those dens are named
Dispensing discipline)
To have unruly urges tamed
And so feel purged of sin.

As sign of which, if he’s obeyed
All orders without cease,
She may permit his so-long-prayed-
For seminal release.

Like Catholic who, sins confessed,
And twelve Hail-Mary's said,
With conscience calm’s sent back to rest,
He then can raise his head.

No less are men the world calls weak
Aided by domination:
A mistress, finding one too meek,
Feeds his imagination,

Praises his manly bravery
For bearing all her blows
And torture tests unflinchingly,
So, when from her he goes,

He holds his head up, stands erect,
Looks women in the eye;
Behaves to all with self-respect,
And ceases to be shy.

Thus strong and weak, the old, the youth
Are trained to bear the sticks
And stones that Fortune flings. Forsooth:
Vive la dominatrix!

Slave "You There"