May 4, 2007

Poetry Friday Challenge: Belly

So the irascible, irreverent and often inscrutable Mona popped this one on us, and for a change I don't have a ready to hand response/story/1:177 scale miniature of Godzilla to post, and have spent most of my Thursday in a mild state of panic (and anoxia) trying to piece together in my head some story, response, or 1:177 scale replica of Godzilla's belly made entirely out of dryer lint and clover stems.

What I do have is what I'm good at: seemingly unrelated tidbits all strung together under one title in the vain hopes that you guys won't give up in disgust and go start reading something better, like the label on a cereal box. And since it has been brought to my attention that I've been less than personal with my recent posts, which is defeating the entire narcissistic point of blogging, let's make this one personal as all get out. Ready go!


Belly: Come September it will have been 40 years since I was dragged out of my mother's belly, Cesarian section-wise. I would have been the middle child but my mother miscarried my older sister, so I was the first. She was 39. I was 0 plus 9 gestational months, if you count conception as the beginning of Life. This coloured how she raised me a great deal--she was profoundly protective of me, and it set the groundwork for the rest of my life up to and including right now. You see, she still thinks I'm about 3 years old and in grave danger of crapping myself without someone to oversee me. Needless to say my mother and I do not have the best relationship imaginable.

Belly: While it is a widely held belief amongst my friends and associates that I am solely a breast and ass man, I am in point of fact a belly man. In actual point of fact it's an astonishing array of things that attract me to women, but for the sake of arguments and this post today I shall be a belly man. I cannot stand skinny women, plain and simple, and the sight of a gently curved belly always makes me salivate. A soft, gently pliable stop-over from one scenic point on a woman's body to another, a lovely round belly is the place I like most to pause for just a moment, enjoy the views, and catch my breath.

Belly: I've always had a gut. Call it a belly for the sake of the post, but gut is a more accurate term. One of the nicest things a woman ever told me was concerning said shed over my tool, and it's stuck with me lo these 15 years since she said it. I think I must have commented about it disparagingly, as I am wont to do, and she said that she found men with a little gut quite sexy, since, she said, it was a nice cushion between her and him during...shall we say 'active sexplay.' I've never been quite the same since, and it's always made me feel just a tiny bit better about myself. Mostly because the young lady in question was quite attractive but also because she owned a pair of leather underwear. With a zipper in the front. Said zipper having a big brass pull-ring. And no, I never got to test her theory with her.

Belly: While my daughter was still in my first wife's rather sizeable belly, I bought a book that promised "365 stories for bedtime" and I read to that belly each night for part of her first trimester and all of her second and third. I had the sure and certain feeling that Elisabeth could hear me even though I was sure she couldn't understand the words but I read anyway, making all the silly voices and the strange sounds and such. It is one of the proudest moments I know as a father.

Belly: I utterly love Smaug's boast to Bilbo Baggins in "The Hobbit," and I especially enjoy how Tolkien described it: "...and his long pale belly crusted with gems and fragments of gold from his long lying on his costly bed." And I can never forget Bilbo's response to Smaug after seeing this bejeweled girdle: "What magnificence to possess a waistcoat of fine diamonds!" Unfortunately that gemstone vest also bore a missing scale that let Bard slay him. As a fun side that has nothing do to with bellies, Tolkien in a letter written in 1938 described Smaug's name: 'The dragon bears as a name - a pseudonym - the past tense of the primitive Germanic verb Smugan, to squeeze through a hole: a low philological jest.' That makes my belly jump with laughter just thinking about Himself hiding a base pun in his work.

Belly: I still can't understand why they call it "belly dancing" when all the work seems to be performed by the ass.

Belly: I still find it vaguely silly to rub the belly of a statue of Buddha for good luck. It's a horribly Western thing in my rarely given and often misdirected opinion, bad taste akin to patting the butt of Jesus on his crucifix. And maybe it's just me. *lol*

And since the long-promised storm is finally FINALLY approaching I think it's time to wrap a towel around this big ole' belly and shut down the 'puter before it is shut down for me by lightning or our notoriously twitchy power grid. I'm taking my belly and the rest of me to a long soak in the tub.


Scott from Oregon said...

Noooo! Don't say belly ever again!!

Irrelephant said...

Sorry man, had to be done. Blame Mona.

Mona Buonanotte said...

Scott, it was my fault. I made him do it. have to admit, a belly is a sexy thing.

I love "the shed over my tool"...I'm adding that to my list of Sexy Euphemisms.

Nice belly talk there, man!

Maggie said...

Wonderful - I feel a little better about myself now too. I think society in general and thus trickled to each of us women, has the wrong idea of bellies - treated right, dressed well, undressed well, they can be very sexy. But the hips sticking out and the skin and bones arms and the flat butts without a hint of curves is NOT sexy. So thanks for confirming that.

Reading to your wife's belly - also sexy.

Irrelephant said...

*lol* Glad you liked that one, Mona. I don't know if that's a Southernism or just bathroom talk but it's been floating around my head for a ver' long time. *lol* Glad you liked my meager offering.

Maggie, you should, honestly. Society as a whole is a pack of sheep being led by a very few wolves, and those wolves like their women to look like 12 year old boys: zero curves and crewcuts. Me, I like mine a little more grown up, feminine. Adult. *lol*

And I hope my ex-wife reads that about my belly-reading, and remembers how good she had it. Foot rubs and everything.

Elisabeth, my daughter, is an elderly 12 these days. Sickening...I'm old. *lol*