Some Randomly Selected Homo Sex Poems, Mostly...


celestial tap water

the
sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy is all
alone,
lying on his back, tugging on his big thick dick, then
joyously spurting
cum.
**
what a sloppy gloppy mess: so much
hot sticky cum, right there
on his sleek sexy tiny-nippled chest.
**
wonder stars, and wonder galaxies.
**
dreams of lightning bolts,
shot from the tight
pink assholes of
budding movie stars.
**
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
wipes himself off,
gets dressed --
nothing flashy,
just covers up the
stuff that's
got to get
covered.

--Carl Miller Daniels

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

life lessons

told to list his "likes"
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
writes down
--football
--hamburgers
--masturbating
then scratches off
the last one
then shrugs and
puts it back.
a decision he'll soon learn to both
regret, and
appreciate.
honesty being what it is these
days, everywhere, and yet
nowhere at all.

--Carl Miller Daniels

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

reverence for falling stars

two sexy big-dicked teenage boys
are sitting side by side on the
bank of a river. the water is flowing fast, and smells
kind of like charcoal.
"nice day," says one of
the sexy big-dicked teenage boys.
"yep, nice day," says the other
sexy big-dicked teenage boy.
**
in any contest between land and water,
it's never certain which one is older, and
will outlast the other.

--Carl Miller Daniels

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

who is god

a long silence

a sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy

ordering from catalogs

autumn

you're in love
you're dancing naked

red leaves blow down from the trees

and

touch your skin

--Carl Miller Daniels

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

creosote pineapple

let us go
into the realm
of elevated emotional states, and quickened heartbeat,
and big thick erections that occur so often,
they are practically every quarter hour.
**
its quick jounces and its apparent pulsating urgency.
**
let us go into his bedroom, where,
sometimes, after a
nap, and all alone,
in front of his own bedroom mirror,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
alters the flow of blood
to his heart,
and re-arranges his position so that
his dick points off more toward
one side, than toward the middle.
**
just a swivel of the
hips, really,
one buttock a little more
relaxed, than
tense.

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

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

prettier

the world sits like a water-lily pad draped over the
back of a turtle.
sexy bare-chested movie stars wander freely about,
talking with their hands.
cattle munch delicately only the tenderest most
succulent blades of grass.
**
the turtle yawns and stretches.
this water-lily pad of a world wobbles and weaves.
**
sweetly pink and naked boys and girls
frolic together in the waves.
camels drink their fill, discover the shadiest spots in the oasis.
rain falls. the turtle blinks, lumbers
toward the apple pie sitting on
the window sill.
**
heads bob up and down; hiccups occur everywhere.
**
then, calmness returns.  we all go along
for the ride.

--Carl Miller Daniels

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

regrets only

space aliens kidnapped my brain,
stuffed it down their pants,
came on it with their long slimy pencil-thin
dicks.
yes, space aliens kidnapped my brain,
then showed it a good time up
there amongst the planets and alongside
the stars. space aliens got-off repeatedly
on my kidnapped brain, then politely returned
it cum-drippy, and moon-struck,
comet-tail-dusted, and stellar-delighted.
**
now, with my kidnapped-by-space-aliens-
and-fucked-by-space-aliens's-pencil-thin-dicks brain
put back smoothly inside my head,
i seem restless, worried,
distracted -- lost, violated, and
raw -- adrift in the universe, severed
like chicken heads
pecking each other to death.
**
the moon is a werewolf, and
i am the silver bullet.
my toenails have turned gray,
and pedicure seems useless.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in FUCK!, February 2009. It was recently published as a broadside by 48th Street Press. And it also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in March of 2018.)

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

wahoo!
 
when i was a teenager,
i used to disappear into the woods near our house,
take off all my clothes, and jerk off,
repeatedly, sometimes 3 or 4 times
in a single afternoon. i remember
i'm spurting what felt like
two gallons of cum, all hot and gooey
and runny, and i'm all hot and sweaty and
good-looking, and my dick is hard nearly
all the time, and i'm kind of in a state
of orgiastic madness.
**
back then, i was also a
manic depressive suicidal mess.
soon to be institutionalized.
**
but, for those few hours there young and
naked and jerking off in the woods,
everything was nice,
the world was good,
and life didn't seem
nearly so crazy.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in And So On... The BareBack Anthology, published by BareBackPress in 2016.)

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

zephyrs

there is nothing more beautiful than an entire
field of milkweed in full pink-sphered bloom
unless
you add to the picture two good-looking
naked young men who are taking
turns fucking each other up the ass.
**
on a wonderously clear day in early july,
in a huge milkweed field in the middle
of nowhere, they jumped out of their
car and stripped off their clothes
and just went at it, out there in
the middle of that field of milkweed.
**
later, back in the car, they wondered if
anyone had seen them out there in the field,
fucking.  they wondered and wondered about that,
then gunned the engine, and,
in a matter of moments, there was only
the field, the milkweed in full pink-sphered bloom,
and the whispers of the snoopy snoopy breeze.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Censored Poets, October 2007.)

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

bloom

phone rings.
i pick up. it's darwin on the phone.
"darwin" says darwin.
"er" i say.
"darwin" says darwin.
"yeah?" i say.
"darwin" says darwin.
"pity about the dinosaurs" i say.
"darwin" says darwin.
"pity about the passenger pigeons" i say.
"darwin" says darwin.
"all those little galapagos finches --
they're just so darn cute" i say.
"darwin" says darwin.
i think by now darwin is crying.
"their beaks" i say, "their lovely little beaks
are just so, well, so useful, so practical."
by now i'm crying too.
"darwin" says darwin.
"good-bye" i say.
"darwin" says darwin.
i hear the "click" on the other end.
i hang up.
i'm very sad, but kinda, well, not sad at
all.  then i have
pancakes for breakfast. with blueberries.
genetic miracles. bigger than they ever were
before.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in My Favorite Bullet, June 2008, Vol. 8, Issue 2. It was recently published as a broadside by 48th Street Press. And it also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in March of 2018.)

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

rounds

oh it's just a matter of time until
the peaches fall from their trees and
into the tooth-studded jaws of the slick red foxes who
wait so restlessly below, their
eyes umber fire, tongues licking their
feral lips with long delicate
slick wet pinknesses.
the rooftops, hot ruddy terra cotta
tiles in the 110 degrees
Fahrenheit summer
heat, holes in the
golf courses plugged
up with the most obscene
of all possible debris--
hankies soaked with
the cum of
svelte naked young men,
their penis-tips still warm
and smeary with the open
hostility of their
own pent-up goo.
clicking cameras sometimes
catch all the action, but,
only rarely,
the steam.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue #101, Fall 2015. It also appears in my book String Bean.)

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

peaches and pears

the classical study of study
requires a nude model,
preferably a sexy naked teenage boy,
and he stands there
contrapposto (his weight on
one foot) and he's looking dreamily
off into space,
and his lips are lightly parted,
and you can see his
tongue dancing around
in there, easy to ignore that,
though, easier than
his big smooth dick,
for he has
one erection after the other,
as the hour goes on,
but time
stops, and
thrusts itself right
in your face.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Poetry Super Highway, June 28, 2015.)

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

spread 'em

again, the exalted one has declared himself to
be the absolute best, and, once
again, no one is disputing.
of course,
the exalted one is hot-looking, sexy,
physically stunning, and big-dicked. also,
he has a great face, with a wonderful smile.
he has a great personality, too.
not a mean bone in his body. people always
love him when they meet him. and those that
get to have sex with him, always
enjoy the experience. everybody always cums.
with a smile on their face, and
an ecstatic pleasurable moan.
if only the exalted one wouldn't
persist in referring to himself
in that manner, though. yes,
he really does refer to himself
as "the exalted one." it's
kind of off-putting. it would,
in fact, be downright annoying,
if it weren't so goddamn true.

--Carl Miller Daniels

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


lentils

explicit sex between consenting ponies is a joy to behold.
**
minestrone soup can soothe a cough.
**
sexy young men have been
observed, and filmed, while fucking
the same watermelon.
**
people can think about anything at all while they are
masturbating -- anything at all.
**
you'd be surprised.
**
ok. maybe not.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appeared in Zygote In My Coffee, Issue 130, March 2010.)


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

grandson effectiveness

the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
was alone, masturbating in the woods.
he tugged on his dick and tugged
on his dick until he
spurted a big
load of hot cum onto the bark of a tree.
his cum clung there gelatinous
and gooey.
"spurting cum sure is fun," he said.
**
overhead, the leaves of the tree shimmered
in the breeze, and the
sky was bright blue.
**
when the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
began putting on his clothes,
his cum was still
oozing down the
tree bark -- what a
slimy trail
it makes
as the leaves
vibrate,
showing first their tops,
then their bottoms.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean.)