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

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