Tuesday, 1 June 2010

Winning poems 2009

Winner of the .Best Shag. Category:

'I Don't Want Much'

I don't want much.

I just want to bury my face
in the pits of your arms
and to sniff you like glue.

I want to smell
the flower-water scent
of the sweat of my arse
on your beard.

I want to remember
what your tongue felt like
licking me there.

I want to taste
myself on your lips.

I want to wear bruises
inflicted by the thrust
of your hips.

I want to be quenched
by the taste of your piss,
when I'm gasping with thirst.

And, if we should sleep
I want to wake first
so I can lie here,
counting my blessings
and counting your charms
and counting the delicate hairs on your arms

And when you wake up,
I want you to miss me,
whilst I go to the kitchen
and make coffee for you.

I want to make history.

I want to take on the world in a fight
feeling no fear 'cos you're there at my back,
in a rearguard defence against every attack.
And in a lull in the battle
I'll lean my head back and laugh,
and suck the blood
from your lips
and I'll bind up your fists
where the knuckles are flayed.

I want to be sure that I wont be betrayed.

I guess it might seem
like I'm looking for love
but to be brutally honest,
if push comes to shove...

....I don't want that much.

Right now I'd make do with a text,
or the sound of your voice on the phone.

I'd be happy to know
that I'm not alone,
and that you want me too.

'Cos I feel like no more
than a recidivist addict
who's enjoying the habit
and for now I'd be happy
just to bury my face
in the pits of your arms
and to sniff you like glue.

by Mark Walton
http://www.myspace.com/frostbittenpoetry


Glam Slam Final Winner:

D.I.L.F.

Excuse me madam
Is that your husband?
Or perhaps just
the father of your child?
That guy with the pushchair
in the grocery aisle…

Because the three day stubble
and the rough neck fashion
would make me look twice
on any occasion,
but it’s the child in his care
that’s making me stare
‘cos he’s a daddy I’d like to fuck.

And I know that
it doesn’t make any sense
‘cos biologically speaking
it makes no difference to me
whether he's fertile or firing blanks.

Besides I’d settle for a blow job
or a mutual wank.

But there’s something so virile
about a man with a child,
that even a middle aged bloke
with very few charms,
is quickly transformed
by a child in arms,
into a daddy I’d like to fuck.

And tell me who’s that older guy?
The one with the smile lines
round his eyes when he gives you
that protective look?

Did he nurture you
in the crook of his arm
and spend years of his life
keeping you safe from harm?
Because his careworn face
and his greying locks
give him the distinguished look
of a silver fox.
And despite his age
with his rugby build
he looks like he’d still
be good for a ruck.

And I know he’s your Dad
and it’s really not polite
but I’d love to borrow him
for the night
'cos he’s a daddy a like to fuck.

So when you notice my smile
at your family group
I’m afraid I'm not being sentimental
it’s something much more elemental.

But please don’t drag him off
down the vegetable aisle
when you notice the hungry look in my eyes.

'Cos I don't mean to be disrespectful.
I’m not about to make a move,
and I’m sure if I did that he wouldn’t approve,
but that bloke that you’re with
has set something stirring.
The fact he's a Dad
makes him much more alluring.

Why not be proud, or little bit smug?
Even tip me a wink.

'Cos I'm hardly a threat.

I’m just a gay bloke out shopping
who's down on his luck
and he’s a daddy I’d like to fuck.

by Mark Walton
http://www.myspace.com/frostbittenpoetry

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