Two poems -- one short(ish), one pretty long

 

 

prayer for rain

the pale moon looms over the yellow sallow plain
upon which lies
the sexy naked young man, sweating, on his back,
his big cock jutting into
the truly odd light.
the baking of the land has proceeded brutally for
months.
he lies there now upon the land, his big cock throbbing toward
the sky.
he licks his lips,
moans, writhes, touches himself, pushes
his smooth white sweat-sticky butt against
the cracked clay of the hard-dried ground.
when he spurts cum, it makes a little arc
as it splats onto his sweaty chest and drizzles
onto his belly and drips
into his pubic hair
and then drools oozingly slow onto the baked
clay at his sides.
he breathes deep, inhaling the scent
of the sallow moon on the pale plain, the
scent of hot cum drizzled onto baked clay.
there is not a breeze. there is
not a sound.
nothing.
this is not what
he was hoping for.
he listens carefully.
still he hears:
nothing.
yet, the naked boy, on
his back under the pale moon on the
sallow plain,
still waits, knowing there's got to be more.
surely the night has something to
say to him, the moon, this place,
this essence of no-nonsense in the
alien and miserable wilt of time.
he's offered his love,
his passion, his seed. surely there is
something it wishes to say back
to him.  "isn't there?" says the boy.
"something?" he asks. "anything?"
the clay-white flesh of his back and
his butt, the backs of his legs,
his calloused heels, all are pressed
lovingly against the dry clay-baked ground.
alas, there is not a sound, not a
whisper, not even a hint of a cloud,
not even a rumor of a tatter of
a wisp of rain.

--Carl Miller Daniels (July 4, 2005)


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



just the facts ma'am

the brilliant young man
won first-place in his college's literary
magazine poetry contest. he was psyched.
he was happy. he was dazed.
**
the next morning,
the brilliant young man got up and polished
his big dick brilliantly, with oiled palm
and fingers, as he'd learned how to
do so brilliantly. then, he took a brilliant
shower, emerged wet and glowing healthy
pink, toweled off brilliantly, and went
brilliantly off to class. a brilliant
college sophomore, he handed in assignments
that had all been brilliantly completed,
and received accolades from all the
professors in terms of great grades
and nice red-ink comments.  the brilliant
young man went home to his
apartment at the end of his day
and stripped off all his clothes
and walked around naked in his
apartment. he looked brilliant,
shiny, fresh, and sexy! the mirrors
scattered all about the place
absolutely glowed whenever his
hot sexy reflection peeked back
out of them. he masturbated 3
different times with various
brilliant techniques he had
recently perfected, the most
surprising was that plain ole
white gloppy canned crisco really
did make a warm smooth soothing
lubricant, one that felt
good not only on his
big smooth dick, but on his balls, too,
and when pushed slightly up
into his tight little asshole as well.
then, it was down to work
for him, sitting there naked
at his desk composing brilliant
answers to only so-so questions.
the world was his oyster.
when he smiled, the sun rose.
the birds sang. a chorus
of exotic tree frogs peeped and
peeped away outside his window.
that night, he dreamed of joy unending,
and, in the morning,
he ate what he always ate --
you guessed it,
the breakfast of champions.
**
next year, the first-place winner fell apart.
nothing mattered. he couldn't seem
to write a word.
he was full of doubt.
he had met a hot sexy young man
named jake. he fell head-over-heels
in love with jake. but jake wanted only
to be his friend. jake didn't
want to perform any sex acts
of any kind with anybody.
jake was smoldering. jake
was hot. jake was an
irresistible magnet. the
first-place winner had to have
jake, had to talk with jake,
had to hold jake, had to
do sexual things with jake,
had to do everything with
jake. but jake was aloof,
distant, beautiful; jake emanated
white-hot heat.  the pulse of
jake's big circumcised cock inside his
tight faded blue jeans was
unmistakeably constant,
a lure, a symbol of all things
beautiful and ruggedly masculine.
the first-prize winner wanted
jake, but just couldn't have
him. no one could have jake.
**
things continued in this
way all through fall semester
of the first-prize winner's
junior year. finally, one
evening in early november,
the first-prize winner and jake
went into the first-prize winner's apartment.
there the first-prize
winner opened 10 bottles of wine.
they began drinking.
by the end of the 3rd bottle,
they were both naked.
they sat there beside each
other on the couch naked
and staring, their eyes
great hungry endless pools
of the void.  they opened
the fourth bottle, and began
drinking from that.
the first-prize winner
slid over beside jake.
he put his arm around
jake's shoulders. "i love
you" the first-prize winner
told jake. "i like you"
jake said to the first-prize
winner. then, "maybe i love you,
too," jake added.
the first-prize winner put
his other hand on jake's
chest, and one of his fingertips
went immediately to jake's left nipple.
"nice nipple" said the first-prize
winner.
"thanks," said jake. jake
took another swallow of wine,
and sort of spread his legs. jake's
big smooth beautiful cock
was hard and throbbing.
in another instant, the first-prize
winner lowered his hand
from jake's nipple and wrapped
his fingers around jake's big
inviting cock. jake got a pained
expression on his face, but
didn't tell the first-prize
winner to stop.
the first-prize winner continued
playing with jake's cock until jake had
a big wet
messy sloppy orgasm.
**
there was silence in the room.
**
then, the first-prize winner
got up off the couch and,
with his big dick sticking out stiff and
throbbing in front of him,
went into the kitchen and
got a dish towel and walked
back into the living room
and started wiping jake's cum
off of jake's chest and belly.
jake just sat there, looking
dazed and lost. "want some
more to drink?" said the
first-prize winner.
"yeah, sure, ok," said
jake.  the first-prize
winner poured two more
glasses of wine. they sat,
and they drank. then the
first-prize winner said,
"hope you don't mind, but
i've got to jerk off right now
or i think i'm gonna
die."  "nope," said
jake. "i don't mind at
all." and so they sat
there naked side-by-side
on the couch, the first-prize
winner jerking himself off,
and jake drinking and watching
the first-prize winner jerk off.
**
just before the first-prize
winner came, jake reached over
and wrapped his own fingers
around the first-prize winner's
cock, and kinda got in on
the up-and-down action some.
the first-prize winner shot
a plume of cum that hit
his own chin, then diminished
into spurts onto his chest
and belly and, finally, dribbled
into his pubic hair.
the first-prize winner slumped
back against the couch.
jake handed him the dish towel,
and he wiped himself off.
then, there was silence in the room.
**
more wine was consumed. they
slept together naked in
the first-prize winner's
bed. in the morning,
they lay there in
bed snuggled up against
each other. they both
had a hang-over. they took
a shower together.
they dried off. they
walked around naked
in the apartment. things felt
awkward, though. and
eerie. they were standing
there in the kitchen talking
to each other about poets
and poetry, and art. then,
in a surprising move,
jake embraced the first-prize
winner and kissed him full on
the lips. they stood there
hugging, their arms wrapped
around each other, their
big dicks rubbing up against
each other. there were teardrops
in their eyes. "i'm afraid of
love" jake finally said, when their
lips were apart. "but i think
it's high time i tried it
out."
"excellent," said the first-prize
winner.
**
from then on, the first-prize
winner was brilliant again.
he won first-prize in the college's
literary magazine poetry contest
again that year, too--a very
unusual event for the same person
to win two years in a row.
the double first-prize winner and jake
are still together, their relationship
sometimes awkward, sometimes a
little tense, but always
tender--it's a story so
sweet and sexy and fine that the double first-prize
winner is compelled to tell it over and
over. some people are
a little sick of it by now, though. but
what do they know? after all,
he won first-prize. not once.
but twice.

--Carl Miller Daniels (August 18, 2005)