Categories 2010

BODY - a poem about the body, on your body, about the pleasures and pains of the flesh, showing FLESH: underwear, lingerie, fetish, sexy, nude (suggestions: proud of your body? ashamed of it? what part of your body are you most happy or unhappy with? how about a poem written on your skin? your healthy body... your ailing body... a decorated body... a modified body... a natural body... share with us a sex experience... interpret "sexy" as it best suits you... go as bare as you dare... )

SOUL - a spiritual or religious-themed poem wearing all WHITE - well, you can wear black if you're Wicca & if you are an atheist, we will also want to hear from you (suggestions: are you spiritual? do you believe in a divinity or the after life? is religion important in your life? are you an atheist? agnostic? how do you experience religion in connection with your sexuality? do you find religion goes against it? or do religion and sexuality go hand in hand in your life?

WORK - employment-related poem in OCCUPATIONAL GEAR...., about any job, not necessarily one's everyday job, but words and attire must be related
(suggestions: a poem about your everyday job... about the job you lost... about your dream job... about a job you love... a job you hate... a job you like fantasising about... a job with a cool uniform...)

WIG-A-POEM - a poem about any subject, but you must wear a WIG, which will complement and accessorize your words (just make sure the wig is fab.... and if you forget to bring one.... there will be wigs available on the stage for you to borrow on the night...)

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

Categories - 2009

GLAD poem: happy, clappy words with lots of colour
(Competing poets must be wearing lots of colour; the brighter the colours, the better; no greys, browns or pale hues, please...)

DARK poem: depressive words of despair in black
(Competing poets must be wearing black or dark colours; the darker the clothes - and the words - the better)

SHAG poem: sexy words performed sexily
(Competing poets must be in sexy attire, lingerie, fetish, or nude; the more they reveal of their body - and soul - the better; why not have the poem written on the skin, for example?)

DRAG poem: gender-bending words in drag
(Competing poets must be wearing outfits associated with a sex different from their own, however they define it, preferably with a gender-bending theme)

Winning Poems 2008

BEST LUST POEM:

Pubic Display
by Susie Showers

The thing about my body hair
Is that someone else has put it there
It's not my place to scrape it bare
It wants to poke through my underwear.

Some ladies go to Holloywood, others to Brazil
But my short curlies stay at home
The plane ride makes them ill.

Pubes, fuzz, carpet, rug
Have a peer at your minge, give it a hug.
Or if you're feeling nasty, slap its mouth
Call it a bitch and lock it in the house.

You'll start to get to know your patch
It may enjoy a tennis match
Movie nights and singing clubs
Weekends spent down at the pub.

But if you have to shave your cat
Dyed bright white or darkest black
Do you know where all the stubblies go
Spinning down the plug hole?

To a magical land on the deep blue sea
The Pubic Isles, super trendy
Young spriggins springing in the spring
Package holidays, fishing (beware of crabs).

But bargain travel fun aside
There are those that just get left behind.
They think they're ugly, worthless, fat
The ingrown hairs around one's twat.

Give body hairs a second chance
To curl up next to cotton pants.
Sign the petition over there
To secure a future for an ingrown hair!

The thing about my happy clam
It shouldn't look like new roast ham
It's not my place to pluck it clean
It wants to poke out through my jeans.


GRAND FINAL WINNER:

Squirrels
by Susie Showers

Fucking squirrel
Fucking looked at me
I saw its glinting grin
But I am armed with poisoned peanuts
We cannot let them win

That fucking squirrel
Its stupid eyes
With lethal stealth it attacks by surprise
But we are strong
And we are big
And we
Are very
Wise

Fucking squirrels up their cunting trees
Furry plans up furry sleeves
They know your postcode
Loiter where you work
Fucking squirrels
Sneaky thieves

They take our jobs
They buy all the bread
Those bastard squirrels
Always late with the rent

They don’t say good morning
They jump on your face
I need my space
It’s not their place
Squirrel
You are not my race

I saw this one squirrel,
I’m like “Where’s all your fur?”
With no fuzz on its tail
It looked like a murderer

Fucking squirrels
Don’t belong in the park
And they fucking know that
But they hang out
In the dark

Aaaaaaaaaagh squirrel
Imported from wherever you came from
You eat live birds feet first
You carry disease
You are the worst

Have you ever heard a squirrel make a noise?

EXACTLY

That fucking squirrel
The one that looked at me
I saw its glinting grin
But we are armed with poisoned peanuts
We cannot let them win.

Categories 2008

LOVE poem - in RED
(Competing poets must be wearing at least one essential item featuring the color red and read a love poem)

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

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

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

Glam Slam in NEW YORK (NY)

From Emanuel Xavier's blog:

http://blog.myspace.com/emanuelxavierartist
"Dear friends:

As you may have already heard, after ten wonderful years, I am putting together THE HOUSE OF XAVIER'S ULTIMATE GLAM SLAM: Bowing Out After A Decade sponsored by HX on Wednesday, June 25 at Bowery Poetry Club.

 

It has been a great journey launching the House of Xavier and creating the Glam Slam.  I've learned a lot throughout the years and there are so many people to thank for supporting this event, especially Mother Diva Xavier, who always stood by me and hosted the competition.  Ideally, I had wanted to bring together the NYC ballroom community and the slam poetry scene together for an event celebrating both cultures and hopefully providing another creative outlet.  In an ambitious move, it was slated as an annual alternative queer arts contribution held during Gay Pride Week.  It has struggled to remain relevant and survive during the last few years even while others tried to take credit for creating the event.  Therefore, after many unnecessary challenges and before it simply fades, I am saying goodbye to something I have been truly proud of which has provided a genuine platform for many aspiring artists.

 

This event has meant a lot, not only to those involved, but to many others who have admired it from afar.  So it is my pleasure to announce that the Glam Slam event will continue to inspire a new generation of spoken word artists - albeit, in another continent.  I have passed the reigns over with many blessings to Basque/Spanish performance poet, Ernesto Sarezale (http://sarezale.com/), who will be bringing the Glam Slam competition to the visionary chaps over in none other than London.  THE GLAM SLAM (UK) will be making it's debut just one week after we close shop here in New York on Tuesday, July 1 at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (http://www.myspace.com/glamslamuk).  Here's to the Brits carrying the torch for another ten years!

 

Drop by and say "Peace out!" on Wednesday, June 25th in NYC and, if possible, "Cheers!" on Tuesday, July 1st in London!

 

Peace always,

Emanuel Xavier

 

" . . . our angels have wings too"
-emanuel xavier, www.emanuelxavier.com