Wednesday, 23 March 2011

2011: Glam Slam RULES

A poetry slam is a spoken word competition where participants read, recite or perform original material and are then judged on a numeric scale by selected members of the audience.

Here we are 'glamming it up' a little bit.

The GLAM SLAM will consist of 2 rounds on the night: a first round with 4 competing categories (see below), followed by a Grand Final in the second round, where a cash prize (£100) is up for grabs.


Each contestant gets up to 3 minutes to share original spoken word material featuring the required props within each category.

Each contestant can enter one category only.

The winner in each category must be prepared to read a second piece to compete for the Grand Final.  Repeat poems are not allowed. The poems in the Grand Final can be on any topic and in any style. 


LOSS - a poem about loss
wearing BLUE

WORK - employment-related poem in OCCUPATIONAL GEAR...., about any job - not necessarily one's everyday job, but words and attire must be related 

LUST - an erotic poem in sexy UNDERWEAR, LINGERIE, OR LESS

WIG-A-POEM - a poem about any subject, but you must wear a WIG, which will complement and accessorize your words


A group of independent judges from the audience score each contestant from 0 to 10 based on poetry and performance.

The poet with the highest score in each of the four open categories receives a trophy and competes, in the second round, for a Grand Prize (£100) .


For those who are not competitively inclined but still want to present their work, there will be a few non-competitive floor spots.

TO PARTICIPATE (in either the slam or the open mic):

Sign up on the night (between 7.30-8.00pm) or contact Ernesto on this myspace or by email:

"Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am!"
"Glam   Slam, thank you, ma'am..."

2011: Competing Categories

In 2011, we resurrect the most popular competing categories from the last 3 years: 

LOSS poem - in BLUE
(Competing poets must be wearing at least one essential item featuring the color blue and read a poem about loss)

(Competing poets must read an employment-related poem - about any job, not necessarily one's everyday job, but words and attire must be related)

(Competing poets must read an erotic poem in sexy underwear, lingerie, or less - nudity & sexy props more than welcome)

WIG-a-poem - wearing a WIG
(Competing poets must feature a fabulous wig while reading a poem about any topic)

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Press & Testimonials

Things people are saying about Glam Slam UK: 

"It was an interesting night...some madness, some interesting performances, some special words, some bizarre sentences, the brilliant drag king and lots of good vibes." 

"What an amazing show U put together. What a fantastic collection of talent! And freaks! It had so much color & energy - the "no props" rule in slams has got to go! WE NEED PROPS! What a tremendous honor to be part of it." 

"Well done on a great night! Who'd have thought slams could be so entertaining?" 

"Thanks to Ernesto for organising and hosting a great evening of words, performance, dress up and general randomness" 

"The best slam in London." 

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Winning Poems 2010

Winner:  Chris Young
Poems: "Layers" & "He likes..." in the BODY Category and  "Rites of Passage #2" in the GRAND FINAL

BODY Category:
As I get undressed
And take off my clothes,
I dream it is your fingers unbuttoning my shirt,
Unbuckling my belt, removing the hurt
Of loves and loathes.
As I get undressed
And strip to the skin,
I dream it is your hand lingering on my chest,
Dwelling in my briefs, abiding in the best
Of what’s within.

© Chris Young

He likes…

I stroke his hair.
“I’ve not scared you then?” I ask – “Yet”.
He looks up and smiles.
“I like your company” he says.
“I like your cock.”
I have to kiss him.
Never did Dundonian sound so erotic.
I want to take the words out of his mouth
And swallow them whole.
I want to breathe in the sound.
He likes my company!
There is nothing wrong with him.
He is what I want right now
And he likes my company!
Face to face,
I taste the new taste of us
As I lose myself to my senses.
He likes my company!
Only his tongue suppresses the words I want to say.
He returns to his task.
He licks my balls.
He licks my cock.
He likes my cock.
He likes my cock!
My God, he likes my cock!
And I like that.
I look down with envy:
He likes my cock;
I want him to like me that much.
I am liquefied by his smile
And in my solid state sublime.
He likes my cock!
He – likes – my – cock!
He likes my… company!

© Chris Young
GRAND Final:
"Rites of Passage #2" by Chris Young

Rites of Passage #2

I have a confession to make:
I am not the man of experience I appear to be. 
I am still, at least in one sense, a virgin.
No, I’ve never been fucked up the arse. 
Now, those who know me might think I make an arse of myself on a regular basis –
Duh! –
But I’ve not succeeded in making my arse
Allow someone else
His rite of passage.
Don’t get me wrong; I’ve tried to open wide
And provide a ride with glide,
Let my lover slide inside. 
But I’ve always dried –
I cannot be pried open.
Yes, I lube his tube
From pubes to tip,
But there’s still too much grip;
It just won’t slip.
Gentlemen, may I have a word? 
If you’re intending to penetrate the mysteries
Of the holy of holies,
Proceed with caution and respect –
Preferably erect –
So you’re not trying to ram the thing in with aimless enthusiasm. 
But, before you even get that far,
May I suggest foreplay? 
Gentle fingering – an hour or two should do –
Something to build both lust and trust
Before you thrust. 
And you must
Ask permission first. 
It is simply rude to intrude
And, if you do, you will be roughly refused,
Possibly bruised.
You see,
I’ve seen from the smiles on well-served faces,
I’ve heard from happy screams
Maybe it’s my fault. 
Maybe I’m just too gorgeous. 
Maybe my arse looks too fillable
And its prospective contents too spillable. 
Or maybe it’s my fault because my eyes are bigger than my arse,
Because the guys that really do it for me
Are huge –
Thicker than my wrist, if you get my gist –
And to get their jism
Into my love tunnel
Would require a funnel.
It’s funny how tantalising some lump of tumescent flesh is;
But we know we wants it – it is the precious
And we longs to unlock the magic of the ring.
Perhaps my quest towards adulthood will not be complete
Until that fellowship has broken me in. 
But, for now, I’m taking a break:
The next man to attempt my treacherous passage
Will be Mr. Right.

© Chris Young