Jenseits von Afrika :thumb91469817:

125th Street and Abomey

Head bent, walking through snow
I see you Seboulisa
printed inside the back of my head
like marks of the newly wrapped akai
that kept my sleep fruitful in Dahomey
and I poured on the red earth in your honor
those ancient parts of me
most precious and least needed
my well-guarded past
the energy-eating secrets
I surrender to you as libation
mother, illuminate my offering
of old victories
over men over women over my selves
who has never before dared
to whistle into the night
take my fear of being alone
like my warrior sisters
who rode in defense of your queendom
disquised and apart
give the woman strength
of tongue in this cold season.

Half earth and time splits
us apart
like struck rock.
A piece lives elegant stories
too simply put
while a dream on the edge of summer
of brown rain in nim trees
snail shells from the dooryard
of King Toffah
bring me where my blood moves
Seboulisa mother goddess with one breast
eaten away by worms of sorrow and loss
see me now
your severed daughter
laughing our name into echo
all the world shall remember.

- Audre Lorde

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Autumn Song

Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling
To my heart in the voice of the wind:
My heart is weary and sad and alone,
For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, And why should I stay behind?

-          Sarojini Naidu
(1879 – 1949)
from The Golden Threshold

little birdie’s autumn song by *AsBeautyDies

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You ladies of merry England
Who have been to kiss the Duchess’s hand,
Pray, did you not lately observe in the show
A noble Italian called Signior Dildo?

This signior was one of the Duchess’s train
And helped to conduct her over the main;
But now she cries out, ‘To the Duke I will go,
I have no more need for Signior Dildo.’

At the Sign of the Cross in St James’s Street,
When next you go thither to make yourselves sweet
By buying of powder, gloves, essence, or so,
You may chance to get a sight of Signior Dildo.

You would take him at first for no person of note,
Because he appears in a plain leather coat,
But when you his virtuous abilities know,
You’ll fall down and worship Signior Dildo.

My Lady Southesk, heaven prosper her for’t,
First clothed him in satin, then brought him to court;
But his head in the circle he scarcely durst show,
So modest a youth was Signior Dildo.

The good Lady Suffolk, thinking no harm,
Had got this poor stranger hid under her arm.
Lady Betty by chance came the secret to know
And from her own mother stole Signior Dildo.

The Countess of Falmouth, of whom people tell
Her footmen wear shirts of a guinea an ell,
Might save that expense, if she did but know
How lusty a swinger is Signior Dildo.

By the help of this gallant the Countess of Rafe
Against the fierce Harris preserved herself safe;
She stifled him almost beneath her pillow,
So closely she embraced Signior Dildo.

The pattern of virtue, Her Grace of Cleveland,
Has swallowed more pricks than the ocean has sand;
But by rubbing and scrubbing so wide does it grow,
It is fit for just nothing but Signior Dildo.

Our dainty fine duchesses have got a trick
To dote on a fool for the sake of his prick,
The fops were undone did their graces but know
The discretion and vigour of Signior Dildo.

The Duchess of Modena, though she looks so high,
With such a gallant is content to lie,
And for fear that the English her secrets should know,
For her gentleman usher took Signior Dildo.

The Countess o’ th’ Cockpit (who knows not her name?
She’s famous in story for a killing dame),
When all her old lovers forsake her, I trow,
She’ll then be contented with Signior Dildo.

Red Howard, Red Sheldon, and Temple so tall
Complain of his absence so long from Whitehall.
Signior Barnard has promised a journey to go
And bring back his countryman, Signior Dildo.

Doll Howard no longer with His Highness must range,
And therefore is proferred this civil exchange:
Her teeth being rotten, she smells best below,
And needs must be fitted for Signior Dildo.

St Albans with wrinkles and smiles in his face,
Whose kindness to strangers becomes his high place,
In his coach and six horses is gone to Bergo
To take the fresh air with Signior Dildo.

Were this signior but known to the citizen fops,
He’d keep their fine wives from the foremen o’their shops;
But the rascals deserve their horns should still grow
For burning the Pope and his nephew, Dildo.

Tom Killigrew’s wife, that Holland fine flower,
At the sight of this signior did fart and belch sour,
And her Dutch breeding the further to show,
Says, ‘Welcome to England, Mynheer Van Dildo.’

He civilly came to the Cockpit one night,
And proferred his service to fair Madam Knight.
Quoth she, ‘I intrigue with Captain Cazzo;
Your nose in mine arse, good Signior Dildo.’

This signior is sound, safe, ready, and dumb
As ever was candle, carrot, or thumb;
Then away with these nasty devices, and show
How you rate the just merit of Signior Dildo.

Count Cazzo, who carries his nose very high,
In passion he swore his rival should die;
Then shut himself up to let the world know
Flesh and blood could not bear it from Signior Dildo.

A rabble of pricks who were welcome before,
Now finding the porter denied them the door,
Maliciously waited his coming below
And inhumanly fell on Signior Dildo.

Nigh wearied out, the poor stranger did fly,
And along the Pall Mall they followed full cry;
The women concerned from every window
Cried, ‘For heaven’s sake, save Signior Dildo.’

The good Lady Sandys burst into a laughter
To see how the ballocks came wobbling after,
And had not their weight retarded the foe,
Indeed’t had gone hard with Signior Dildo.

John Wilmot
(1647-1680)
2nd Earl of Rochester

Image: Dildo Pleasure

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The Weeping Rose

Born as a symbol of beauty.
Radiant.
Energetic.
Like a fresh, red rose bud in the brink of spring.
Growing into youth.
Still a fresh smile.
Yet, something has changed.
Several years go by.
Change more significant.
A symbol of all happiness, slowly disappearing.
The world’s problems deteriorate this innocent mind.
She is worn a little, drawn back.
As years go by she becomes worse.
Like a dying rose,
Losing colour,
Losing touch.
Lost like many others in a world of fear.
Darkness.
Reaching out.
But no ones there.
She becomes frail to life.
Hope lessens.
Her body weakens.
Her mind insane.
Once a symbol of beauty, now non-existent.
Feelings are gone.
She has closed her eyes.
This beautiful red rose has died.

- J. Bonura

Image: The weeping rose by ~KoAn72

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Swedish love

You Are My Purest Comfort

You are my purest comfort,
my most steadfast shelter,
you are the best I have,
for nothing hurts as much as you.

No, nothing hurts as you.
You ache like ice and fire,
you cut like steel my  soul -
you are the best I have.

-       Karin Boye

Transl. Jenny Nunn

Image: Swedish love by ~mjagiellicz

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bonsai Blossom http://fav.me/d2h4bkd

The Bonsai Tree

The bonsai tree
in the attractive pot
could have grown eighty feet tall
on the side of a mountain
till split by lightning.
But a gardener
carefully pruned it.
It is nine inches high.
Every day as he
whittles back the branches
It is your nature
to be small and cozy
domestic and weak;
how lucky, little tree,
to have a pot to grow in.
With living creatures
one must begin very early
to dwarf their growth:
the bound feet,
the crippled brain,
the hair in curlers,
the hands you
love to touch.

Marge Piercy

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Cages

We lived in cages, you and I,
Seeing each other as shadows
in a place with no light.
We stood reaching out,
our fingers almost meeting,
faces pressed to cold iron,
but people who held keys told us
contact was against the rules.
The others there all lived in cages
and did not complain.
When everyone is imprisoned
imprisonment is freedom of a kind
for those who can surrender.
Each day we reached,
almost touched. Almost….
Did our fingers ever meet,
did the glow we made light
our faces or was it just a trick
of my imagination that
burned your image on my mind.
I could not if I tried
forget the hunger in your eyes.
My flesh still imagines
the passion of your touch.
Perhaps my sterile love stays
with you now. But I am gone,
and you live in a different cage.

- Ian R. Thorpe

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love

Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
love makes us hit
love makes the world go round
love makes the world go crashing down
love makes things simple
love makes things impossible
love is always worth it
love is never worth it
love makes us smarter
love makes us stupid
love is enlightening!
love is BLIND
make love not war
make war out of love
love encourages
love scares
love is peaceful
love creates fights
love is soothing
love is tough

…and above all
Love is always worth it
because you become a better person
everytime you love someone
from the simplest careing for a friend
to the deepest desire to love someone til the world ends
from the unconditional love of a child
to the complicated love of the gods
there is…no meaning to love
love means…everything

No matter how much it hurts you, or makes you cry
tries your spirt, and splits your soul.
Love is always worth it…because what doenst kill you
makes you stronger
And however long it takes
you will be, a better person because you lived, though love.
Werent afraid to make mistakes, choices and try again.
And…above all, loved someone no matter what people thought.
You would die for that person…but you would also live for them.
That…is the true meaning of love…

- ThornErose

Image: Love … by ~TynkaBillisek

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Dharmee Babula

When the cotton flower blooms,
O noble father.
Bring that season back for me,
O noble father.

It was in that season that I lost my song.
Separation choked its throat,
Sorrow ravaged its face,
Like water in ruined wells were its eyes.
It was a song that brought to lips,
The scent of musk.
O noble father.
Bring back that song for me.
O noble father.

One day my song and I,
In that enchanted season,
Ploughed the earth of my heart,
Sowed it with seeds of undefiled dreams.
No matter how many tears I poured on it,
No flower bloomed.
O noble father.
Bring back one flower for me,
O noble father.

What use your fertile lands
If daughters wilt?
What use your lakes
If the swans are parched?
What use your ample wealth
Your granary of pearls,
O noble father,
If you cannot bring back the season,
When the cotton flower blooms.
O noble father.

- Shiv Kumar Batalvi

Transl. Suman Kashyap

Image: indian bride by ~freakfeverkicks

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Bea by ~z3rogravity

From the House of Yemanja

My mother had two faces and a frying pan
where she cooked up her daughters
into girls
before she fixed our dinner.

My mother had two faces
and a broken pot
where she hid out a perfect daughter
who was not me
I am the sun and moon and forever hungry
for her eyes.

I bear two women upon my back
one dark and rich and hidden
in the ivory hungers of the other
mother
pale as a witch
yet steady and familiar
brings me bread and terror
in my sleep
her breasts are huge exciting anchors
in the midnight storm.

All this has been
before
in my mother’s bed
time has no sense
I have no brothers
and my sisters are cruel.
Mother I need
mother I need
mother I need your blackness now
as the august earth needs rain.

I am
the sun and moon and forever hungry
the sharpened edge
where day and night shall meet
and not be
one.

- Audre Lorde

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O HYMEN! O hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would
soon certainly kill me?

Walt Whitman
1819-1892

Image: Hymen by ~martinroger

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Mens World http://fav.me/dowht8

Guest author comedy writer  Chris Murray from the UK, known as  Hayter, gives his ideas for women about men.  A Girl’s Guide to Guys II is pretty blunt – and comes with a strong lasnguage warning.

Do you agree with him?

1. We love you girls, really. It’s just that saying it out loud seems either freakish or gay and whilst we’re trying to be the metrosexual men Cosmo tells you we should be, the truth is we’re still pretty insecure about these things. So when we make a crass comment about your breasts it’s often because we simply don’t feel comfortable saying something simple like, “you look beautiful today.”

2. If we say, ‘do you want a hand with that,’ when you’re clearly struggling with something like a jar’s lid, there’s no double meaning. We’re not making fun of you because you’re weaker than us; we’re just being nice. Take a simple gesture as it was intended.

3. You don’t like to nag; we don’t like to be nagged. So let’s leave it. It’ll be done when it’s done.

4. We do make fun of you a lot; it’s true. But most of it whether it is a literate rant about how insane you are or simply a seemingly snide jab at your appearance is a sign of affection. Look at how we treat our male friends; we insult each other, argue with each other and then buy each other a pint. This is how we express true friendship. If you don’t get the drink though, odds are we do actually dislike you.

5. While on the one hand you seem obsessed with making us into ’21st century men’ obsessed with waxing, fine dining and manicures, on the other you profess your attraction to both hulking specimens of raw manhood and also skinny students with bad facial hair. Is it any wonder we get confused as to how you want us to act?

6. We know you like attention but leading us on by flirting without intent is just mean. We really are too stupid to work out you just want to be friends by picking up on ‘signals.’ Tell us straight. Then flirt with us anyway because after you’ve said it properly, our hopes are no longer up and it’s still good fun.

7. If we have to change for the modern world, so do you. Let’s hear it for equal rights and mutual respect. Alongside this, let’s hear one of you ask us out more than once in a blue moon because we’re getting tired of doing all the leg work, ladies.

8. Lots of us like sport. Some of us like it a lot. So let’s say we make a deal. You have your girly nights every now and a while. Plump down and watch Sex and the City. If Kim Cattral has a sex scene we may even watch it with you. In return though, let us have the football on at the weekend. This really is one of the important things in our lives.

9. We want to impress you; more than this we want you to tell us we’ve impressed you. Trouble is, we think you’ll be impressed by the things that impress us, namely prowess in sport, biting wit or any other generic display of masculinity. We simply don’t understand why you don’t appreciate these things as much as we do.

10. We have bloke nights out so understand completely when you want to go downtown with the girls. But do you honestly expect anyone to hit on you when you’re surrounded by the chattering nancies? Fair enough, you might not want to go out alone, but a solitary friend once in a while, eh? Is that too much to ask?

11. After we have an argument with you and retreat into a moody silence, it’s because we don’t want a lengthy confrontation so don’t complain about it; would you rather we just shouted at you instead? We’ll come around eventually with a casual and unrelated question at which point you know we want to move on. You could even consider this an apology in some situations.

12. Okay, if you’re now moaning about real apologies, it’s different for us than it is for you. All you have to do is flutter your eyelids, purse your lips and say, ‘sowee’ in a falsetto voice. We can’t do that and a level toned ‘sorry’ either sounds nonchalant or just pathetic.

13. Telling you how we feel is not easily done. It’s hard enough when we’re with our close male friends. The unspoken rules of manhood dictate that we may only display three emotions in public: Anger, Surprise and Joy, all buttoned with obscenities. Getting past this is far from easy, however stupid it may seem to you. Telling someone we’re upset… Well that’s nigh on impossible.

14. Men are problem solvers by nature. What this means is when you tell us your woes, we’ll tell you how to deal with them whether you want us to or not. We may not always be right, but we believe in action so if you want a sympathetic ear, find a girl. We know the answer to your troubles and if you won’t listen then that’s your own problem.

15. Apologies in advance for staring at your breasts. Most of the time we honestly don’t know we’re doing it. That being said, if you wear a plunging neckline and low slung necklace, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?

16. When we’re attracted to you, it’s because of who you are at the moment and we expect the same in return. Don’t get with us because you see, ‘the man we could be.’ Don’t try and make us change because we’ll resent you for it and the subsequent failure will hurt us all.

17. We’ve made a plan, here’s the plan, let’s follow the plan and for God’s sake don’t be late! You wanted to do the shopping today so let’s get it over and done with. Now.

18. If you want something, ask for it. Don’t drop hints, don’t be subtle. You should have guessed now that we either can’t or won’t indulge in such behaviour.

19. You know by now that showing emotion isn’t easy for us so you should get that when we say, ‘I love you,’ we want to mean it. When we’re ready we’ll come out with it but don’t force it out of us because then the phrase is worthless and who wants that? While we’re here, the phrase, ‘I fucking love you,’ whilst drunk doesn’t count.

20. Don’t ever agree to ‘freebie’ sex outside of a relationship. Whilst you might pick Brad Pitt or Jonny Depp in an amused, ‘it’s never going to happen’ way, we’ll pick more realistic targets. Then we’ll go for it.

21. If we’re inappropriate towards women or strangers; maybe if we’re starting down a slippery slope, tell us, but do it when we’re alone. When we begin to leave the room (see rule #11) persevere because it’s the only way you’ll get through to us. If you really want an inside tip, turn on the waterworks. It’s an old trick, but it still works most of the time. Just don’t overdo it because that’ll just annoy us.

22. Don’t ask a question about your appearance unless you want the truth because half the time, no, the dress doesn’t make your bum look big. Fishing for compliments and white lies is one of the least attractive things you do. Just be yourself; that’s why we liked you in the first place.

23. Trying to convince us you’re bisexual by kissing another girl only works with the stupidest men. Don’t let that stop you though.

24. Say you want to go for a meal, ask us where we want to go and we say, ‘I’m not bothered,’ don’t assume we don’t like the idea. Unless we say otherwise we’d love to dine out with you but the company’s what’s important, not the locale.

25. Don’t expect a response to every single text you send, particularly if most are asinine. We have jobs, we have responsibilities and we have phone bills; all are more important than replying to, ‘What did you have for lunch?”

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The Imperfect Enjoyment

Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms;
Both equally inspired with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.
With arms,legs,lips close clinging to embrace,
She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.
Her nimble tongue, Love’s lesser lightening, played
Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed
Swift orders that I should prepare to throw
The all-dissolving thunderbolt below.
My fluttering soul, sprung with the painted kiss,
Hangs hovering o’er her balmy brinks of bliss.
But whilst her busy hand would guide that part
Which should convey my soul up to her heart,
In liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,
Melt into sperm and, and spend at every pore.
A touch from any part of her had done’t:
Her hand, her foot, her very look’s a c***.

Smiling, she chides in a kind murmuring noise,
And from her body wipes the clammy joys,
When, with a thousand kisses wandering o’er
My panting bosom, “Is there then no more?”
She cries. “All this to love and rapture’s due;
Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?”

But I, the most forlorn, lost man alive,
To show my wished obedience vainly strive:
I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive.
Eager desires confound my first intent,
Succeeding shame does more success prevent,
And rage at last confirms me impotent.
Ev’n her fair hand, which might bid heat return
To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn,
Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more
Than fire to ashes could past flames restore.
Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie.
This dart of love, whose piercing point, oft tried,
With virgin blood ten thousand maids have dyed;
Which nature still directed with such art
That it through every cunt reached every heart -
Stiffly resolved, ‘twould carelessly invade
Woman or man, nor aught its fury stayed:
Where’er it pierced, a cunt it found or made -
Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower.

Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my fame,
Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove
So true to lewdness, so untrue to love?
What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore
Didst thou e’er fail in all thy life before?
When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way,
With what officious haste dost thou obey!
Like a rude, roaring hector in the streets
Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets,
But if his king or country claim his aid,
The rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head;
Ev’n so thy brutal valour is displayed,
Breaks every stew, does each small whore invade,
But when great Love the onset does command,
Base recreant to thy prince, thou dar’st not stand.
Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,
Through all the town a common fucking-post,
On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt
As hogs do rub themselves on gates and grunt,
May’st thou to ravenous chancres be a prey,
Or in consuming weepings waste away;
May strangury and stone thy days attend;
May’st thou ne’er piss, who did refuse to spend
When all my joys did on false thee depend.
And may ten thousand abler pricks agree
To do the wronged Corinna right for thee.

- John Wilmot

(1647-1680)
2nd Earl of Rochester

Image: Imperfect by ~violet-x

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Aphrodite

“When a women has sex on a first date she will feel he will view her like a slut.” Pardon the language, the words are not mine. They belong to seduction teacher David Shade.

She does not expect him to call back. If he does she probably won’t answer the call, he says.

A man must make the conscious decision that to have a woman want to have sex with him on the first date is an insult because she does not view him as worth knowing after the fling.

Yet guys often chase one night flings because they have to prove themselves. Instead they give all the power to the woman.

A man must be able to command respect and have a woman take him seriously if she is to respond to him sexually.

But women like bad boys don’t they?

Yes – and this is where a man must have a belief about men, women and his attractiveness, knowledge of what to do and a sense of dominance – of being an Alpha Male.

Women are highly sexual beings, says Shade, they are also very social.

At work, in public, in the home, they demand respect and can be dominating in the cut and thrust of life. In public, social rules matter to women.

In the bedroom they want to forget social approval. Be a nice guy in public and a bad boy in bed.

Shade even suggests that secretive sexual behavior in public – as long as it does not break the social rules of the situation as seen by others can be very alluring to women.

This is where shade, a hypnotist, teaches men to leverage sexuality with women while not sleeping with them on the first date.

He teaches men to be able to make a date sexually charged without getting physical.  The woman will fantasize about the man, he says, and on the next date this sexuality is leveraged even more, and again on a third date.

Women’s sexuality is entirely mental, he says.

Leverage the art of mental seduction and when the night comes you will both be highly aroused and still have not crossed her social boundaries.

It may not be politically correct. However, according to shade, the most dominant business woman will want to be sexually submissive in bed.

Outside of the bedroom, treat her with the utmost of respect. Then, in the context of heightened sexuality, says Shade, she will allow you to treat her as sex object, or use dirty talk.

According to Shade, a woman wants to be ‘slutty’ but not feel like a slut. In other words, she wants to be a sexual animal but wants you the man to give her permission. That way she does not contravene her social conditioning.

He claims it is in women’s DNA to prefer a dominant Alpha Male.

This is why being a bad boy and a nice guy works in different specific situations.

David Shade was himself a nice guy, was divorced and then swung into being a full Bad Boy. However, he noticed that while it attracted women – and sex – it was wearing on the women.

He also realized that many of the bad boy types has seen their fathers abuse their women, were chasing one night stands with women who were effectively their whore, but were unable to integrate  this  relationship with the mother figure woman who was there for procreation.

They were also paranoid that they would lose a girl to other bad boys the same way they had stolen women from men.

To be true to himself, David Shade realized you could be socially nice but also satisfy the animal yearnings that reside in every woman.

But then as a Renegade Sex Expert, David Shade has no qualms to give The Politically Incorrect Answers
About Women & Sexuality and still let you have real relationship with a woman .

In the bedroom social rules do not apply they want to forget social approval. Be a nice guy in public and a bad boy in bed.

Image: Aphrodite by *InertiaK

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CAndy and Alcohol

Mothers who drink alcohol while they are pregnant may be damaging the fertility of their future sons, according to research to Danish researchers.
Doctors in Denmark found that if mothers had drunk 4.5 or more drinks a week while pregnant, then the sperm concentration of their sons, measured about 20 years later, was a third lower in comparison to men who were not exposed to alcohol while in the womb.
A drink was measured as 12 grams of alcohol, which is the equivalent to one 330 ml beer, one small (120 ml) glass of wine or one glass of spirits (40 ml).
“Our study shows that there is an association between drinking a moderate amount of alcohol (about four to five drinks a week) during pregnancy and lower sperm concentrations in sons” said Dr Cecilia Ramlau-Hansen, senior researcher at the Department of Occupational Medicine, Aarhus University Hospital.
“Because this is an observational study we cannot say for certain that the alcohol causes the lower sperm concentrations” she said at the 26th annual meeting of the European Society of Human Reproduction and Embryology held in June at Rome.
“It is possible that drinking alcohol during pregnancy has a harmful effect on the foetal semen-producing tissue in the testes – and thereby on semen quality in later life – but our study is the first of its kind, and more research within this area is needed before any causal link can be established or safe drinking limits proposed.”
Dr Ramlau-Hansen, who is also clinical associate professor at the Department of Epidemiology, Institute of Public Health, University of Aarhus and her colleagues studied 347 sons of 11,980 women with singleton pregnancies.
The women were recruited to the Danish “Healthy habits for two” study between 1984-1987. Around the 36th week of pregnancy the mothers answered a questionnaire on lifestyles and health. The sons were followed up between 2005-2006, when they were aged between 18-21, and semen and blood samples were collected and analysed.
The researchers divided the sons into four groups, ranging from those who were least exposed to alcohol (their mothers had drunk less than one drink a week) – and this was the reference group against which the other groups were measured – to those whose mothers drank 1-1.5 drinks a week, 2-4 drinks a week, or 4.5 or more drinks per week.
Sons of mothers drinking 4.5 or more alcoholic drinks a week had average sperm concentrations of 25 million per millilitre, while the sons who were least exposed to alcohol had sperm concentrations of 40 million/ml.
After adjusting for various confounding factors, they found the sons in the group most exposed to alcohol had an average sperm concentration that was approximately 32% lower than that in the least exposed group.
The World Health Organization defines a “normal” level of sperm concentration as being approximately 20 million/ml or more.
“The reduced sperm concentrations in the most exposed men are rather close to the lower end of the WHO’s normal range for fertility” Dr Ramlau-Hansen said. “The probability of conception increases with increased sperm concentration up to 40 million/ml and so it is possible that the most exposed men could be less fertile than the least exposed.”
She found that semen volume and total sperm count (which also affect a man’s fertility) were associated with prenatal alcohol exposure; these were highest in sons whose mothers drank 1-1.5 drinks a week. The researchers could find no association between alcohol exposure and the movement and shape of the sperm or with any reproductive hormones such as testosterone.
“Our finding that sons prenatally exposed to 1-1.5 drinks per week had higher semen volume and total sperm count compared to the least exposed group is not surprising and is quite a common finding when studying alcohol” said Dr Ramlau-Hansen.
“It could indicate that small amounts of alcohol have a beneficial effect (for example, on the semen-producing tissue in the foetal testes), but, in fact, we believe this result may be biased by the characteristics of the women drinking small amounts of alcohol during pregnancy or by inaccurate reporting of alcohol consumption. Therefore, it is not possible to draw a firm conclusion from this result.”
The researchers also investigated whether fathers’ alcohol consumption had any effect.
“We investigated the association between fathers’ total alcohol intake and semen quality in the sons and found that paternal alcohol was not associated with semen volume or sperm concentration.”
This suggests that the observed associations between maternal alcohol consumption and sons’ semen quality are related to the couples shared lifestyle factors such as smoking, she said.
If a mothers alcohol consumption can be shown to cause reduced semen concentration in male children, then it could be worth researching if alcohol consumption and the decreased fertility in some cultures is found in lands more where pregnant women more commonly drink, she said.

Image: Candy and Alcohol by ~Ms-Makabre

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