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.

RULES:

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. 

SLAM CATEGORIES:

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

SCORING:

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) .

NON-COMPETITIVE OPEN MIC:

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: ernesto@sarezale.com.

"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)


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


LUST poem - in UNDERWEAR, LINGERIE, or LESS
(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

Press:
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:
Layers
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!
Bliss!
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 –
ACCESS DENIED;
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
That ANAL SEX DOESN’T HAVE TO BE PAINFUL. 
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

Friday, 4 June 2010

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...)

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

Tuesday, 21 April 2009

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)