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Miller Golden Submarine 1917

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Two Poems


tendon

"me me me me i'm just
so me-centered. when will
it ever stop? when will
i ever really care
about anyone or
anything else?" thinks
the sexy record-breaking
collegiate swimmer,
as he stands up from
the toilet, flushes it,
and adjusts his speedo
to perfect ball-hugging
cock-defining fit,
and off he strides
toward the pool
and satisfaction
and victory,
the flex of his
own muscles the glide
of his own skin through
the blue-tinted
chlorinated water
will leave him
giddy almost sick
with joy, high
as a white fluffy cloud,
serious masturbation
to follow soon
thereafter, and then,
as usual,
when he's spurting cum
he'll be thinking about
the possibility of
finding his long-lost twin,
a constant fixation of
his: the find, the two of them,
him and his identical twin,
together: it wouldn't
really be incest,
not really, DNA being
what it is, and
flesh moody as a
dream.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. And the poem first appeared in Assaracus #3, June 2011.)
=====================================

peace peace peace

when the tv's on and the bourbon's just easing
its way into my system, creeping through my
blood vessels toward my fingertips and my earlobes,
ah, this is when the rest of the day
recedes into the background, details
dislodging themselves from my brain,
so-called pressing problems displaced by
a feeling of well-being and comfort.
**
when the cute young man on the tv screen
takes off his shirt and strides
with masculine stride from point a to point b,
wearing only those tight-fitting faded ole blue
jeans of his, and the bourbon is really
absorbing nicely directly from my tongue tip
to my brain stem (biologically possible
or not! it sure feels that way sometimes),
then, ah yes then, it's nice to be
alive, gently buzzed, watching a
sexy half-naked young man walk
non-threateningly across the tv screen,
and the ice in my glass makes such
a charming tinkle, it's almost like
a song, a good one, with a sweet
melody, and a kind gentle heart.
**
jim beam bourbon n canada dry ginger ale,
gently mixed, over ice: pretty & lightly amber
in the glass, what else do you want me to say?
well, i do understand why people drink,
and i understand why i drink, and i understand
why i'll probably never quite quit, even
though sometimes, it seems like
some kind of idea, you know, just
for a change.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in March 2018. The poem first appeared in Zen Baby, Issue #19, September 2008.)

balls

Strong Dream, Paul Klee (via dappledwithshadow.com)

rug

shiny

cum

twist and shout

the muscles at the back of his neck
were so sexy they were practically like
his genitalia. i watched him
drying off from his shower.
my roommate. a swimmer on
the college swim team.
a sweet sexy guy.
we were both 19.
we were both good-looking,
him better than me, but
still, both.
now, at the age of 58,
looking back, and
back, i understand
that i was gay,
and wanted to be
straight. and that,
nonetheless,
i was in love
with him:
college swim team
swimmer with a great
body and wonderful
smile
and that, he,
no doubt, was straight.
there was nothing
he could do about
being so sexy,
though, nothing
he could do about
my secret lust
for him.
sometimes stuff
happened.  like
when we went camping
together, we rolled
together for warmth
on cold winter nights,
the snow pelting the
outside of the tent,
us huddled together
for comfort,
and warmth, our
voices low and
soft, seduction
could have been
in the air,
sex pumping
heart pumping
his voice deep
my voice not
as deep, together,
our two voices,
a gently throaty
rumble as
the snow fell
and fell
and fell.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)

Another blog of mine is this one at newTumbl--
https://cmd2019.newtumbl.com/

But you won't be able to see everything on my newTumbl blog unless you have a newTumbl account of your own. In general, you'll only be able to see the "G-rated" stuff, and not any of the "X-rated" stuff on my newTumbl blog, if don't have your own newTumbl account.

shoulders

cute with nice wank

motorcycle

Several unpublished poems, all written in 2014

local option

drifting on the sea,
in a lullaby of dreams,
14 sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
sat, or lounged, or lay down flat,
on a raft of coconut palms,
stripped of leaves and their massive
trunks roped tightly together.
and,
as the raft slid upon the surface of the sea,
the 14 sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
gazed at the surface of the water,
and the delicacy of the waves,
and, when the mood struck,
they rowed toward their favorite
island,
a slightly distant
one toward which they were
already drifting, a charming
place where fresh water
and chunks of gold
were abundant,
the fresh water spurting from
springs nestled amongst the roots
of the trees, the chunks of
gold just lying
around atop the
sand on the beach.
the island always seemed to
welcome the
boys as if it
had missed them, wanted
them, hungered for their
sweet young
beautiful bodies.
as they drew closer
to the island,
several of the
14 sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
started fooling around sexually,
while the other boys watched, or rowed,
or both. soon, a gentle
orgy began,
as the raft moved
as if by its own will
toward the friendly little
island, with the fresh water
and the chunks of gold,
and
by the time
the raft snuggled up against
the shore,
the 14 sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
were thirsty, sweaty, and
ready to pick up the
chunks of gold,
and play with it,
like children being rewarded, for
playing nice, with
their friends.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

============================

obligation oarfish

all of them, in
their heart of hearts,
were still
big-dicked naked teenage boys
howling in the woods inside
their little group of
circle-jerkers,
watching each other spurt cum,
comparing masturbatory techniques,
and volume of cum per ejaculation (oh how they
smirked at the word "ejaculation"--so medical,
so precise in its sound, its form, its timbre),
and oh how they loved to compare each other
to each other,
and how far his friend's load would spurt
and how far his own load would spurt.
oh how those manly big-dicked naked teenage boys
howled and laughed and chuckled and made
delicate babyish gurgling noises
as they drank their
beers and jerked off giddy and happy
and drunk and watched each
other spurt sloppy gooey cum.
**
now, alone in their houses with wife and kids,
each and every one of
these still-at-heart big-dicked naked teenage boys
responsible men taking care of their famililes,
and when fucking their wives had become an exercise
in communication, self-control, time-management,
and self-restraint, if fucking even happened at all,
each and every one of these
sexy big-dicked naked teenage boys,
at heart, is still
a sexy big-dicked naked teenage boy,
each and every one of them,
alone, in his
dreams of the woods, howling
in beer-breathed circle-jerks,
when spurting cum didn't
involve this or that or
the other thing, yes,
when spurting cum,
was just
spurting cum.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

============================

natural disaster

when the power went out, he immediately felt
thirsty, and had to pee.
that was because, he well knew, when
the power went out, there was also no water.
no water to drink.
no water to flush the toilet.
this was because, in the old house
in which he lived, there was a well.
and the well pump was powered by electricity.
so, without the pump, there was no water.
no water to drink. no water to flush the toilet.
he hated it when the power went out.
he hated it.
he was supposed to be prepared, but
he never really was.
who's prepared for inconvenience?
who's ready to accept it?
not him.
no one that he knew of.
what a bother.
**
soooooo,
THIS time, he got into his car,
and drove miles and miles and miles
until he found
a nice new holiday inn with electricity,
and with a vacancy.
**
later, all checked into his room,
he turned up the heat pretty high and
he took off all his clothes
and he looked at himself in the mirror
and confirmed, yet again, what
a good-looking sexy big-dicked young man
he really truly was.
he looked yummy,
standing there in the warm brightly lit
room and his dick got hard
and he stood in front of
the mirror and masturbated
and when he spurted cum,
it went onto the carpet of
his motel room,
and quickly soaked in.
what did he care?
he was sure he wasn't the first guy
who ever spurted cum onto that rug.
not that the rug looked dirty.
but he was pretty sure his
wasn't the only cum
that had ever landed on it.
**
he took a nice hot shower.
then he watched television
until very late into the night.
he looked out his room window
and saw the stars, beautiful
sky, zillions of stars.
**
he wondered if the power
was back on at his house.
**
then he stuck his
finger up his asshole
and moved it around in
there. his dick got hard
almost instantly, and,
before he was ready,
he spurted cum and
it went all over the
bed spread.
"what the heck," he thought.
"i'm not the first, and
i know i won't be
the last."
**
he extracted his finger from
his asshole. sniffed the
tip. didn't smell that bad.
still, it was nice to turn
on the water, and be able
to wash it off. he stood
there naked in front of
the sink, and let the
water run and run, it was
such a nice sound, in fact,
it was downright comforting.
**
he went to bed,
slept like a baby,
drove home in the morning,
his house glowing
when he saw it, all
the lights on, as if
it had missed him,
and his great big dick, and
his hot smelly cum, spurted
so often there
in
whatever room he
wanted to spurt it in,
not that he was a
chronic masturbator,
he just liked it
a lot.
**
when he walked over to the
kitchen sink and ran
himself a glass of
water from the faucet,
he immediately sprouted
a great big
hardon, and
smiled. my oh my, it was
good to
be home.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

============================

clairvoyant cupcakes

his parents are asleep in
their room at the other
end of the house.
they seem glad to have
him home for the summer.
but he's only moderately
happy to be home for the summer.
and, actually, he himself is
not sure why he
came home for the summer,
not sure why he's not going
to summer school, not sure
why he's not working
a job in some exotic land.
but here he is, home for the
summer, and now he's
lying hot and sweaty
and naked sexy
on his broad sexy
back, his big dick
hard and jutting up
into the darkness,
a train whistle blowing
in the distance,
and, as he starts to
tug gently on his
big smooth dick,
the train whistle blows again,
as he
sprawls naked
big-dicked on his bed,
tugging and tugging and tugging
away on his big smooth dick
until the cum finally spurts out,
and keeps on spurting for
what seems like at least 5
minutes, but, of course, is
probably closer to
20 seering seconds, until
his breath is deep
and satisfied,
as the train whistle
blows,
as his parents lie sleeping,
as he wonders why
he's here, home for the summer,
and the mysteries
of impending adulthood
hover over him
like droplets of cum,
waiting to drip
from the slimy-gray
ceiling.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

========================

savings account

while the barn swallows flitted over the fish pond,
ralph the sexy big-dicked farmboy
lifted buckets of water, and carried them
to the waiting animals.
it was august, and the day was hot,
and ralph the sexy big-dicked farmboy
dreamed of fucking and dreamed of fucking
and dreamed of fucking, and,
as ralph carried those heavy buckets of water
to the waiting animals,
it began to rain gently, a hot mist really,
and ralph's hot clothes stuck to his hot skin,
and he
took it all stoically at first,
and then he begun to curse
under his breath saying "fuck" and "fuck" and
"fuck"
and when it began to rain harder,
the swallows abandoned the fish pond,
ralph the sexy big-dicked farmboy
went into the barn
and waited
and while he waited
he unzipped his pants and tugged
on his big hard dick and at the height
of the rain storm ralph spurted cum,
a lot of cum,
drippy gooey and hot, onto the straw
on the floor of the barn,
and when the sun returned,
ralph, too, returned to his chores.
it was only 10 o'clock
on that hot summer morning, as
ralph worked on,
waiting for noon,
and lunch, and
maybe a nap naked
by a stream, the
dragonflies hovering
gently, like angels
watching out for ralph, and
his big dick, and
his dreams of fervently
quietly
fucking.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

==========================

whiskey dreams, rum rushes

the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his hot sexy boyfriend
zeke are lounging in bed.
zeke is naked, too, and
both the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his boyfriend zeke are
flat on their bellies,
looking at the sun rise
over the gentle valley.
"quagmire?" says zeke.
"i'm not in any quagmire,"
says the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
rubbing his
own big thick dick luxuriously
against the soft white
sheet that covers
the nice firm mattress. "are YOU in
a quagmire?" asks the sexy naked
big-dicked teenage boy.
zeke replies: "well,
i guess i just
feel real confused
from time to time, about
life, death, wood products,
everything."
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
continues humping the nice soft sheet
that covers the mattress. and, while
humping away, he
chuckles: "wood products,
eh? those worry you, do they? well,
zeke ole' boy, how
about sawdust, then? that can
be pretty dern troubling stuff, too,
now can't it?" adds the sexy naked big-dicked
teenage boy.
"it's just a figure of speech,"
says zeke. "i just
meant a little bit of everything. all
of it, life, stuff, all of it
sometimes troubles me. and by the way,
you COULD say that cum is
a wood product, now couldn't you?"
says zeke to the sexy
naked big-dicked teenage boy.
"oh! THAT kind of wood!" says
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
rubbing his own big stiff
dick with even more
enthusiasm against the top of the
mattress and, soon, quickly drenching a
large area of the sheet that covers that
big firm mattress with
a hot gushy series of thick gooey cum
spurts.
"ummm," says the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
spurting
out the last couple drops
or so, "that sure
felt mighty nice. now,
let's go take a shower, and
i'll suck you off in the shower,
okay?" says the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
to his hot sexy boyfriend zeke.
"okay!!" says zeke.
and so, the two of them,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his boyfriend, zeke, get
out of bed and walk
into the shower,
turn on the water,
and the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
sucks on zeke's big hard smooth dick
for what seems
like hours, but in reality,
it's only
a happy second, in
the world of seemingly
endless eternity.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

==========================

melancholy medusa

while scrounging among the soaking-wet leaves in the forest,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
found a cluster of insect eggs on the underside of one of the
leaves. the eggs were golden yellow in color,
and each egg was very very tiny. there were
about 100 of these golden yellow little eggs.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy stood there
studying the cluster of insect eggs, wondering
what kind of insect had laid them, wondering
what they would hatch out into.
then,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy shrugged
his broad beautiful tawny shoulders,
and walked on,
the water from the recent rain dripping
onto him from time to time. in fact,
one especially big warm and fat raindrop made
it all the way from
his shoulder, to his chest, to his left nipple,
and then eased its way on down his tight taut belly
into his wiry nest of unkempt pubic hair.
this, all of it, everything about this
day, the after-warmth of the humid rain,
seeing the clutch of insect eggs,
the raindrop hugging his scrotum,
this was all wonderment and beauty
and sexy and love and wild delirious happiness
to the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
as he tromped through the rain-wet woods,
and
sucked in the warm moist moss-scented air.
**
later that night,
back in his bedroom,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
lay on his back atop his bed and
stared up at the tiny little cracks in
the ceiling.
he was trying not to masturbate so often
these days,
just for a change, just because, well,
he thought it was worth a try,
and,
as his big thick dick throbbed and
pumped itself up to its full hard-on
size,
he spread his legs,
felt the breeze on his hairy balls,
and
pretended he'd just
let it pass,
pretended
his dick wasn't the center of
the universe,
as he stared at the ceiling,
and contemplated the origin of
all those tiny little spider-thin cracks.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

=========================

joe waltzes again

the bulldog politics of obsessive manipulatory
skills indicate that the clarity of
the bouillon soup is subject to change.
the clearer the soup, the more tasty,
or less, depending on the inclusion
of fatty particulates, and vegetative
debris.
**
while the sexy big-dicked young man
watched and waited, kind of interested
in what would happen next in the world,
kind of not caring any less,
it occurred to him that
the proximity of his fingers to his
big throbbing dick, as he lay
there on his back, naked, alone
in his bed, was enough to
produce the intended suspension
of thought patterns, related
to world synthesis, and anything
else for that matter. so, for
a number of slow delicate and
prolonged minutes, he touched
oh so delicately the sensitive
flared out
edges of his big tender cockhead,
and savored the jetty jolts of
electric current that shot
from his cockhead to his
balls to the edges of his tight pink
little asshole, and tingled still,
right at the tips of his itty-bitty
pointy little nipples.
when he finally spurted cum, the
stuff gushed and gushed and splatted
on his belly and splatted on
his chest, and gushed some
more, and in fact
the accompanying orgasm was so good
the sexy big-dicked young man
felt that everything, everything,
was going to be
perfectly okay.
**
a couple minutes later,
all cleaned up,
he lay naked on his back,
all the covers thrown off,
and, as he stared up into
the blackness of where
he knew the ceiling was
lurking,
the certainty of nothing
left an ichy taste
on his lips, and
the planet jupiter
coughed up another big
cloud of dust.
his room still smelled like
hot cum, though,
reassuring in its simplicity,
just follow your nose, and
you'll never go wrong.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

========================

cauldron vascular panicle

the rank and file pedestrian swagger of the masses
was not for him. oh no, he was
a sexy hunky extra-good-looking extra-big-dicked teenage boy,
and he stood above all that rank and file pedestrian stuff.
except, um, he actually was "rank" in that he gave off
odors, sometimes offensive sweaty musky odors.
truth was,
the sexy hunky extra-good-looking extra-big-dicked teenage boy
sometimes downright stank.
but in a good kind of pheromonally-charged way.
sometimes, he, that is his entire body, almost smelled like the
heavy gummy aroma of his fresh cum, right
after he'd spurted a great big load of the gooey gloppy stuff.
at such times,
butterflies hung around his ears, and
explored his belly-region.
also,
girls, and certain young men, too,
seemed to
find
the aroma
of the sexy hunky extra-good-looking extra-big-dicked teenage boy
nearly
maddening. they noticed him,
and
made strange faces.
**
later, after a nice long shower,
with lots of suds and bubbles and 2 different
shampoos and
2 or 3 kinds of soap,
the sexy hunky extra-good-looking extra-big-dicked teenage boy
wasn't exactly invisible,
but, when walking among the masses,
he definitely had to watch where he was going.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

=======================

salamander flux

he who was wearing the two lobsters was
a drunk sexy big-dicked young man, and except
for the two lobsters and the string
that connected them, he was totally naked.
**
this was supposed to have a been a lobster dinner
for two.
at his place.
just him and his new boyfriend.
but,
his boyfriend had cancelled on him,
with only mysterious reasons for the
cancellation. vague and mysterious reasons.
**
so,
now,
the drunk sexy big-dicked young man was wearing
two lobsters and the strings
that held them in place, and nothing else.
after he'd got the news of the cancellation,
he'd thought it would be fun to tie the two lobsters around his waist.
hang one in front of his genitals, and hang the other
down the crack of his butt.
so he got some string, and, tying it to the claws,
he hung one lobster down across his genitals, and the
other lobster down across his buttcrack.
the heads of the lobsters were pointing up.
their tails were pointing down.
these lobsters had been cooked.
these lobsters were bright red.
these lobsters had cooled down enough
not to burn him, but they were still a bit warm.
**
so now he walked around in his apartment, all alone.
it was such a pretty evening,
the stars so bright,
the moon so splendid,
the feel of lobster shell
against
his own sweaty manflesh
so
well,
goddamn awful, in
the sexy way that sex can
be wonderfully awful, like love,
and hunger, and comfort, all
the things that he wanted,
but here he was, alone, with
just these two lobsters, and a bit
of string, and
the goofy look on his
face was almost
terror.

----Carl Miller Daniels (2014)

one-two buckle my shoe

you think any of this makes sense?
that some people bloom and prosper, and
other people wilt and die?
that the fruit punch at a party
for an 18-yr-old sex-god beautiful boy
not only contains alcohol,
but tastes really really good?
that the art created
by a van-gogh wannabee
goes unnoticed and unloved
and finally gets thrown
out with left-over home construction
materials?
you think any of this makes sense?
oh come on now. i suppose
you think it makes sense that someone
somewhere is using
a washboard to mash grapes
for dying sheets
for putting on beds
to be slept in
by sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys?
why do sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
need to sleep on sheets that have been
dyed with grape juice?  and why must
those grapes have been mashed on
an old-fashioned washboard?
you think any of this makes sense?
that movie that you saw that
made 3 trillion dollars world-wide
is
just as good as
the one that sputtered
out in the first week,
and no one ever saw again,
until it achieved cult status, that
is, and went on to make
a respectable 8 trillion.
and that first movie,
the one that made 3 trillion,
falls into disfavor, and
when people see it at
drive-ins, they're only
interested in having
sex with the person
that they
brought to the drive-in
because they hoped
to have sex in the car with
that person. does it make
any sense that they go to
a movie and then don't watch it
at all? of course you could
say they just want the privacy
of being alone in a car
at a drive-in, and they got
taught that drive-ins are sexy
places to have sex,
and
when, in one of the cars, the
two sexy big-dicked teenage boys
who are in the front seat of that car
unzip each other's pants and
jerk each other off into their butter-drenched
popcorn napkins
during the most exciting part
of the movie, does it
make any sense that
the two sexy big-dicked teenage boys
use popcorn napkins
to catch their jets of cum? no,
not really, but kinda sorta.
listen, you just can't look
for the logic in certain things,
because there is none.
does it make sense that an
asteroid crashed into the earth
and killed all the dinosaurs?
does it make sense that
some people think
the earth is only 6 thousand years old?
when dinosaurs died out millions of
years ago?
summary:
"believing that stuff makes
sense,
just doesn't make sense,"
thinks the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
as he lies on his back alone atop his
bed in the middle of the night,
and tugs on his dick
and tugs on his dick
waiting the moment of orgasm
when the cum goes spurting out
of that tiny little pee hole at the
tip of his great-big dick,
and the origin of the universe
is jellied toast on the back
of a sea turtle,
mermaids singing lullabies
at the top of their lungs.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015. The poem first appeared in Hearing Voices: The BareBack Anthology, February 2014.)

tall dark and hot

winter break

furry green bedspread

horsepower and the art of mustang maintenance

when well maintained,
cars still go quite fast even when
they're just drifting, such as when the driver's
foot is off the accelerator.
**
sometimes his car drifts; sometimes
it accelerates; but, at all times, it
is still going very very fast.
**
in fact, the cute guy driver
who is getting a blow job
says: "even when we're drifting,
we're still going really really fast."
**
and the cute guy passenger who
is giving the cute guy driver
the blow job lifts his lips
away from the cute guy driver's
great big saliva-slicked-up cock
for just a moment  
and says: "yes, that's true: even
when we're drifting, we're still going
really really fast."
**
when the cute guy driver cums
and starts spurting a seemingly
endless series of cum globules
into the cute guy passenger's mouth,
and the cute guy passenger swallows and
swallows and swallows,
the car goes very very fast, then
drifts, but never moves slowly.
in fact, the momentum is always
more than adequately
maintained.
**
of course,
the best sexual adventures are often
devoid of any technological advancements
whatsoever (for example: raw naked sex in
the wilderness never
goes out of style),
but,
no matter what the demagogues tell you,
no matter what they preach,
and no matter what the manuals advise,
a blow job at 75 mph
always means those horses
are gonna
neigh.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appeared in FUCK!, Vol. 11, No. 2, February 2008.)

1932 Alfa Romeo

1938 Talbot Lago

1933 Cadillac

1931 Cadillac V12

Kevin Zegers

attitude

the enjoyment of orgasm is a funny thing.
**
for some people, the only thing that comes (no
pun intended teehee) close to the pleasure of
orgasm is the pleasure of being drunk,
or of being under the influence of some
illegal substance.  for other people,
the only thing that comes (there we go again)
close to the pleasure of orgasm is the pleasure
of having an orgasm WHILE being drunk or
WHILE being under the influence of
some illegal or barely
legal substance.
**
people are funny. for example: take a
tall good-looking big-dicked sexy young man.
he stands there naked jerking off
all alone in front the big full-length
mirror on the back of his bedroom door.
he's having an incredibly good time,
standing there jerking off, and
he hasn't even had his orgasm yet.
he knows that having the orgasm is
gonna be the best part,
though, and when it starts happening,
it doesn't bother
him a bit that his
pleasure is being enhanced
by the act of watching himself have
an orgasm in front of
his mirror.  should he be bothered
that he likes watching himself come?
is there something, well, gay, about
enjoying watching himself come?
**
people are funny when it comes
to their reaction to their pleasure
at having an orgasm. some people
just can't get over it, never want
to do another thing besides having
an orgasm for the rest of their
whole entire lives. and yet,
they're just not put together
that way, physiologically i mean;
they can't just have an orgasm
all day long every day every
waking moment. and yet, that's
what these people want. pleasure
all the time. hedonists, that's
what they are.
**
other folks, once or twice a
month seems to be enough
orgasming for them. and even then they
worry that that's just too disruptive
to their normal routine of having
an even-keel kind of life; or maybe,
too, they're afraid that having an
orgasm is sinful, because it's
just so much pleasure at one
time, and centered in one forbidden
place--but that's a whole 'nother
can of worms, isn't it?
**
anyhow, right now, right this very minute
somewhere on earth, there are
no doubt two tall good-looking
big-dicked sexy young men
capably and enthusiastically
rubbing each other's cocks and
waiting eagerly to spurt their cum.
**
they won't have to wait long, even
with the sound of somebody protesting
outside their door -- hey,
if you think people are funny about
how they react to their own orgasms,
well, that's nothing
compared to the way they react to
other people's orgasms, now is it?

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in 2018. And the poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 82, Spring 2008.)

bw profile

Liam playing

Chiron Review, Issue #114, Winter 2018. My poem "luck" appears in this issue.

Gorilla Architecture, a book of poems by me, Carl Miller Daniels. Gorilla Architecture was published by Interior Noise Press in 2011, and is currently available at Amazon.

Fiat Abarth

Bugatti Royale

String Bean, the most-recent book of poems by me, Carl Miller Daniels. String Bean was published by BareBackPress in 2018. String Bean is currently at Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

Dylan and Tyler

the not-so-lonely precision of printmaking

the greenleaf whittier of expository prose
means that the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
laughs extra loud when his best friend ezekiel
suggests that they both,
i.e.,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and himself, ezekiel
(DEFINITELY excluding greenleaf whittier),
go for a walk
in the woods and rest
beside a big tree, where
they will tug gently on each
other's big sturdy cocks
until they spurt cum all
over the ground and maybe
onto the tree trunk, too.
ezekiel himself is a handsome
lad,
perhaps not as sexy as
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
that he calls his friend,
but, both
of them,
are pretty dern sexual stimuli
body hot process of erection
and results thoughts centered
there,
soooo
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his friend
ezekiel
go walking in the woods
and
beside a big smooth
tree
both are naked
and each are tugging
gently on the big sturdy
cock of the other
and
the whif of joy
the giddiness of
sexual prowessness and successful
launch of big gooey hot
gobs of cum,
and
the tree trunk gets
splattered, too,
as well as the leafy ground below,
and
just
as they both are smiling,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his bud ezekiel,
and getting ready to kiss each other
on the lips,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
asks ezekiel what ezekiel thinks
of this greenleaf whittier business
with the expository prose,
and
both their dicks are still dripping
cum,
and
the question
just
kinda gets lost
in the summer day,
the fingers on nipples,
the toes digging
gently into the
musty soil of the
green fertile
earth.

--Carl Miller Daniels (January 2013)

Stop that

Two Poems


bow wow

you're thinking about getting a dog,
but now you're
in the middle of getting fucked by a
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy.
the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
is fucking you rhythmically and pleasurably
and he is sweating and you are a sweating
and you are nearly beyond delirious in
your panting sexual ecstasy
and you are still thinking about getting a dog,
and the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
is pumping away and
you're thinking what kind of dog
you might want
and the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
keeps on fucking you and he's doing
A REALLY GREAT JOB!!, too,
god he is HOT! SO HOT!!  
and you
both cum like
twin explosions
and then you say
"good boy!"
and then you say it even
louder:
"GOOD BOY! WHAT A GOOD BOY YOU ARE!!"
and the sexy sex machine 18-yr-old boy
says "arf?"

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)



one-two buckle my shoe

you think any of this makes sense?
that some people bloom and prosper, and
other people wilt and die?
that the fruit punch at a party
for an 18-yr-old sex-god beautiful boy
not only contains alcohol,
but tastes really really good?
that the art created
by a van-gogh wannabee
goes unnoticed and unloved
and finally gets thrown
out with left-over home construction
materials?
you think any of this makes sense?
oh come on now. i suppose
you think it makes sense that someone
somewhere is using
a washboard to mash grapes
for dying sheets
for putting on beds
to be slept in
by sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys?
why do sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
need to sleep on sheets that have been
dyed with grape juice?  and why must
those grapes have been mashed on
an old-fashioned washboard?
you think any of this makes sense?
that movie that you saw that
made 3 trillion dollars world-wide
is
just as good as
the one that sputtered
out in the first week,
and no one ever saw again,
until it achieved cult status, that
is, and went on to make
a respectable 8 trillion.
and that first movie,
the one that made 3 trillion,
falls into disfavor, and
when people see it at
drive-ins, they're only
interested in having
sex with the person
that they
brought to the drive-in
because they hoped
to have sex in the car with
that person. does it make
any sense that they go to
a movie and then don't watch it
at all? of course you could
say they just want the privacy
of being alone in a car
at a drive-in, and they got
taught that drive-ins are sexy
places to have sex,
and
when, in one of the cars, the
two sexy big-dicked teenage boys
who are in the front seat of that car
unzip each other's pants and
jerk each other off into their butter-drenched
popcorn napkins
during the most exciting part
of the movie, does it
make any sense that
the two sexy big-dicked teenage boys
use popcorn napkins
to catch their jets of cum? no,
not really, but kinda sorta.
listen, you just can't look
for the logic in certain things,
because there is none.
does it make sense that an
asteroid crashed into the earth
and killed all the dinosaurs?
does it make sense that
some people think
the earth is only 6 thousand years old?
when dinosaurs died out millions of
years ago?
summary:
"believing that stuff makes
sense,
just doesn't make sense,"
thinks the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
as he lies on his back alone atop his
bed in the middle of the night,
and tugs on his dick
and tugs on his dick
waiting the moment of orgasm
when the cum goes spurting out
of that tiny little pee hole at the
tip of his great-big dick,
and the origin of the universe
is jellied toast on the back
of a sea turtle,
mermaids singing lullabies
at the top of their lungs.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015. The poem first appeared in Hearing Voices: The BareBack Anthology, February 2014.)

walking in a stream

twigs and biomorphism-sensitive phosphates

the spontaneous pillow fight
between the two sexy naked big-dicked young men
soon erupted into a battering ram of sex.
then, since the now-tattered-
and-torn pillows had big holes
in them anyway,
the two sexy naked big-dicked young men
decided to just spurt cum all over
them, give them "a
good slimy drenching"
and they took pictures of each other
jizzing those pillows. then, while
looking at pictures of themselves
spurting cum on the pillows,
the two sexy naked big-dicked young men
got so turned on again
that they had another
hour or so of
messy sloppy sex
with particular emphasis
on nipples
and armpits, and tight spaces
between clenched buttocks.
then, the two
sexy naked big-dicked young men
desecrated the
pillows again, as
evening began to fall,
and the room began to get
dark. suddenly there
was a shared moment of
epiphany: the essence
of zoological study
became apparent,
in an instant,
as the rules
of the biology midterm waiting for
them on monday
took on a life
of hairy testicular pouches
as the twists and turns of
inferential insinuation
became twine and twilight
for sweet slithery
metaphysical slime -- the tone of the
crescendo, the pace of the drawl,
perhaps another beer now, just
one though, the certainty of
monday
a bother,
but certainly not a
bleep.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2015)

thoughts

profile; MEAT

purple eyes