Summer Poetry Contest: Semi-Finals Voting (Poems 1-4)

[The Poets]

This thread includes Poems 1-4 for the Literotica summer poetry contest: Under the Boardwalk. Poets were asked to write an erotic poem about summer. Poems are posted in the order in which they were received. Use the poll to vote for your favorite in this thread.

This is a semi-finals voting round. There are a total of 20 entries, so there are five semi-final threads, each with four poems in it. Please vote for your favorite in each thread so everyone has a fair shot at winning! The five winning poems will go on to a finals round, winner takes all. The "all" will be awarded by Laurel and Manu, your friendly Literotica proprietors.

This thread is for voting only. If you have questions or just want to talk about the poems do so in the contest thread, not here. And remember, no public divulging of who wrote what until we have a winner!

Vote on poems 5-8 here.

Vote on poems 9-12 here.

Vote on poems 13-16 here.

Vote on poems 17-20 here.

Good luck everyone and thanks for taking part in the contest. s to all!

 

[The Poets]

Poem 1

'I am the sole heir...'
by WilliamButlerYeats

I am the sole heir to the white bandeau you'd wear,
under that strapless cotton summer dress;
where you'd lie at rest and I'd palpate your ribs in disbelief,
to play upon the motif of their parity.

And this symbol stands for the trade,
and the hands on the gown you've let pass over your hips.

By anyone's definition I haven't left my home for years,
when I shiver and at just the right moment, in knowing
your skirt has just hit the floor.

And it's only an illusion of encounter,
since you wouldn't toss your skirt off just anywhere.

What kind of circumstance, no time to sort you out
your saliva is cool and sticky on my chin
like watermelon seeds in

And you thanked me 'til your lips swelled,
and you had to remind me whose belonged to whom.

 

[The Poets]

Poem 2

The Summer Ocean
by kitten1964

The ocean has many moods,
depending on the season.
In spring, in fall, in winter, in summer,
it is always different and changing.
My favorite, though, is the summer ocean.
The water is the perfect temperature
to just slide in, sans clothing,
and enjoy swimming as nature intended.
The currents slide around my bare legs
and ruffle the hairs between.
They tease my nipples, making them
harden unbearably.
I enjoy the feeling, made even more intense
when my fingers wander down
and begin to dance through my petals.
The combination of the water and my prying,
exploring digits
makes me so aroused every time.
I lay back on the water and let myself go,
free to explore myself,
free to feel the water,
the sun,
and my body's stimulation
meld into a white-hot ball of sensory delight.
As my body undulates on the waves,
the motion feeds my excitement.
It is almost as if the sea itself is trying to make love to me.
I understand how myths could arise of
ocean gods seducing mortals.
I swim in the fluids that are so much like the womb,
and am reborn with each orgasm.

 

[The Poets]

Poem 3 (Finalist)

Retro
by bogusagain

the layered sediments of Filey Brig
grazed over by tourists, who at this distance
resemble the busy activity of termites
and beyond, Filey, its white hotels

white daubs on bleached canvas
the dull minimalist aesthetic mutating
into Victorian elegance as we near
the suppressed emotions of yesteryear

a gentleman would have brought his lover here
for discrete sex at the weekends
in his suitcase, a riding crop and leather straps
tucked neatly beneath his starched shirts

each evening as the sun hangs low
scattering a golden glow and long shadows
our hotel room becomes a mad cad’s theatre
where we act out these heady days of summer's excess

it was a simple act of consummation
a dropping to your knees, your lean torso
stretched forward, splitting into outstretched arms
your back, a moon path towards the horizon

the way into you, opening like a bay to the sea
if your body was an ocean, I have not the time to cross it
still, like a mad fool explorer, I launch into you
into your restless tides and through the night

until the sun rises, framed in the window
where the gulls loop and squawk, giving sound
to your swallowed feverish cries, caught
like your turmoil, in the fabric of this room

the light brushing along your lean and naked body
spread before me like flotsam, washed up
on the beaches of this dishevelled bed
my hoary hand, coveting your battered cunt

 

[The Poets]

Poem 4

Siesta and Storm
by Tristesse2

Windows gape, a prayer for air
to bless our bodies, kiss us
free of sweat. No touching,
limbs sprawled in steamy
siesta, seeking cool.

I hear him breathe in the gloom
as he listens to my silence, slow,
studied, preparing something.
A pool forms in the hollow
at my throat, my hair prickles,
not from heat but his closeness.

Our bodies banded by blinded light,
he traces a wet line on my body
from pool to pubis. "Kneel,
face the mirror. I want to see your face."
We appear, stacked and serious,
large hands covering my breasts,
his intent nudging my thigh.

The same hands press me down,
canine-like he mounts me, slow and
studied, forcing a moan. His need forges
an iron grip and. in sudden light,
two tears of sweat shiver from my nipples,
brief crystals mirrored. gone in a thrust.

Separating, satisfied, I dream of
breezes as he lies awake listening
to sudden rain.