Three Sexually Suggestive Poems

by Carl Miller Daniels


Tommies Bathing
by John Singer Sargeant
(1918)

ozone

ballsy guys will say darn near anything
to darn near anyone.
ballsy guys get a lot of
action in the bedroom.
ballsy guys are
dream-tickets to the
bridges of passion, heart-breakers
from way-back, used
to disappointing folks,
accustomed to the sweet
smell of success. sometimes,
a ballsy guy and a mousey
guy will get together, and be best friends.
a ballsy guy and a mousey guy together,
the ballsy guy plows right on ahead,
and the mousey guy gets to follow along,
share in the spoils of innumerable
victories. there’s little conflict;
there’s never any doubt who’s
in charge. the ballsy guy
asserts; the mousey guy
hangs around for laughs.
when life throws a mean twist,
though, the ballsy guy
and the mousey guy have
been known to get a little
too comfortable together,
in their efforts to comfort
one another. they always
stop short of having sex
with each other, though.
almost always, anyway.
a rainy night a few weeks after
a death in the family, the
aura of gloom is palpable,
life seems senseless,
and the ballsy guy and
the mousey guy are
sharing their secrets;
lightning flashes
and, well, things happen,
there on the couch
in the half-light
of love.


phantoms

quite the large number of crows gathered
there at the edge of the
cornfield, there where it
meets the fence by the stream
that runs along the
property line where
the teenage boys come
to smoke and drink
and take off
their shirts and
talk about sex.
no teenage boys yet,
though, today–just
the large number of crows
gathered there,
as if waiting to
be forced off this
spot by the arrival
of the young, the
smooth, the wild-eyed,
the trash-talking,
the smoking drinking
shirtless swaggering. the
crows today mill
around on the ground,
picking at this and
that; cigarette butts
appear to catch the
interest of the crows,
as do discarded
cigarette wrappers.
what do crows build
their nests with
anyway? buttons
popped from collars,
thread still clinging.
bits of this, scraps of
that, cigarette
wrappers plastic
and crackling and
shiny like new moist
lips.


be

two sexy high-school boys have skipped school today
and are now standing naked
on the big smooth gray rock that overlooks
the surface of a warm gentle secluded pond,
only a few feet below.
"1 2 3 go," says one of the sexy high-school boys,
and they both dive into the pond,
swim a while, then swim over to
the shallow area on the other side, splash around,
end up hugging each other tight, and kissing each other on the
lips, and grabbing onto each other’s big
sturdy cocks, and jerking each other
off, there in the shallows on the other side of
the pond. then they hug each other again,
kiss, suck on each other’s tongues a bit,
and then swim back onto the other side
of the pond and
climb out onto the warm smooth gray
rock that they had jumped off of.
they lie down on their backs side
by side and stare up at the sky.
"i’m glad we skipped school today," says
one of the sexy high-school boys.
"me too," says the other sexy high-school boy.
about 20 birds are singing from all
around the pond. the sunlight is warm,
friendly, and pretty dern spectacular.

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3 Comments »

Comment by Kevin
2008-07-04 00:14:25

These poems are like Ray Carver if he was gay and horny. Well done, Carl.

Comment by Carl Miller Daniels
2008-07-04 18:59:36

I’d never heard of Ray Carver, but, through the magic of a Google search, I now know this: Ray Carver (i.e., Ray Clevie Carver, Jr.) was born in 1938 and died in 1988. He was an American short story writer and poet. I like the tone of Kevin’s comparison, and I think I need to read some of Ray Carver’s stuff! I also now know (again, courtesy of Google) that there’s an American darts player named Ray Carver, born in 1973, and that he’s probably not the guy Kevin was comparing me to!
:-)

 
 
Comment by maurice smith
2008-07-09 15:34:42

Poems are most always complimentary to the person that writes them, and allow us, the readers, to have a view through that person’s eyes. I now feel like a homo-sapien, homo-sexual, pedo-phile. Thanks a lot, Carl. Anyways, i did enjoy the poems.

 
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