Three poems





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.)

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



art porn gay poem, a little
on the light side
 
the lean lithe athletic boy is writing a poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is touching himself while
he is writing a poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is taking off his blue jeans
while he is sitting at his desk writing his poem
his blue jeans hit the floor
and he pulls one naked foot
free of them and leaves the other
naked foot in the mound of tangled blue jeans
the lean lithe athletic boy is sitting at his
desk and writing his poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is touching himself
through his tight white briefs
that may be accurately said to be positively bulging over his
big thick cock
the lean lithe athletic boy is writing his poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is pulling off his shirt
and throwing it onto the floor
the lean lithe athletic boy is writing his poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is touching his nipples
the lean lithe athletic boy is writing his poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is touching his
big cock through his bulging
white briefs his
cock is laid out to the left, hot
and pressed against his left groin and hip  it is
a very big cock and the lean lithe athletic boy is
well aware of that fact  the lean lithe athletic boy is
writing his poem
the lean lithe athletic boy is writing his poem and touching
his big cock through his briefs then he touches his bare nipple
and then he touches his other bare nipple then he
is touching his beautiful big cock through
his bulging white briefs
then the lean lithe athletic boy is kicking the
blue jeans off his blue-jean-tangled naked foot
then the lean lithe athletic boy is stripping off his
white briefs and holding them
close-and-waiting at the big purple head of
his gigantic throbbing cock
the lean lithe athletic boy is sitting at his desk
staring at the paper that is his poem
the lean lithe athletic boy takes one hand off his cock
and writes something beautiful and
desperate, and then the lean lithe athletic boy puts that same
hand back on his cock,
his other hand holding the white briefs to receive
the stream of white
goo that
jets out  the lean lithe athletic boy pants
the lean lithe athletic boy sweats  his
nostrils are wide
the lean lithe athletic boy looks at the paper
that is his poem that is no longer being written
one hand on his cock
one hand on his now wet goo-soaked briefs jeez
there must be half a cup of goo in those
briefs they are positively soaked
and the smell is heavy and musky and sinister and it
makes his heart beat fast
there is still some goo spurting out in little spurts from the
widened slit at the head of his great big cock
he catches the little spurts in the wet white briefs and
he looks longingly at the paper words at the ready
he does not have enough hands for
the cock and the goo-catching and the writing as well
he knows he needs
another hand if he is do everything at once
and
he suspects
there will soon be
volunteers.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book MUSEUM QUALITY ORGASM, published in 1996. The book is now out of print.)

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

sandpaper quilts

"when navigating the road of life,"
thinks the sexy big-dicked college boy,
"be sure and make time to have plenty
of orgasms." the sexy big-dicked college boy
is on the track team, cross-country,
and as he runs along a narrow footpath
in the middle of the woods, his dick bulges
pleasurably against the pouch
of his jockstrap, and pushes
out the front of his paper-thin
shorts. the sexy big-dicked college boy
is all alone, no one is nearby,
and he thinks of the orgasm he
just had this morning, when
he woke up hard as a rock and jerked off
into his pajama bottoms.
"that was a good orgasm," thinks
the sexy big-dicked college boy.
"and i want lots of those --
big gushy sloppy messy
orgasms where i spurt gallons and
gallons of hot smelly
gooey cum."
the sexy big-dicked college boy
continues running on the narrow
path through the woods,
his dick bulging into the
pouch of his jockstrap,
the front of his tiny
paper-thin little shorts
pushed forward. the birds
are singing, and butterflies
are fluttering about.
he considers stopping to
jerk off, but, then again,
he's got his rhythm going,
so on he goes,
running and running
and running.
**
when he gets back to the locker room
he's in the shower
with all those other beautiful
track team guys. these guys are
all so beautiful
he practically starts
crying.
he doesn't want to
want each and every one of
them like he does. he
wants something
pure, something
non-sexual. something
like friendship, which,
as always, eludes
him once again.
it's not that he's
standoffish. it's just that
he's, well, too "busy".
**
alone in his room
that night,
the sexy big-dicked college boy
who ran alone through the woods
jerks off four separate times,
each time spurting cum like
a swollen firehose.
there ought to be someone
he can talk to, have a
beer with, maybe.
but who?
when?
and
why?

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in March 2018.)