Summer Poetry Contest: Semi-Finals Voting (Poems 5-8)

[The Poets]

This thread includes Poems 5-8 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 1-4 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 5

The Deflowering of Lilly Phelps
by HarryHill

It came one day that Rev. Gray, lost his bloody mind
underneath the boiling noon, plow chasing mule's behind.

Caught between God's good ground, Devil's hammer beating down
"Gee Jenny!" he yelled with parched tongue and soul,
pulled around toward town.

The blacksmith's surprise, a gape, as Grey came grinding by,
guttering up the centere of road with red rimmed vacant eyes;
a crowd followed left and right; the blacksmith joined the throng
praying for the maddened preacher as he steadfast plowed along.

A half a league of furrow lay behind demented Gray
when he stopped afore the tavern, walked in from hell of day.
He staggered to the rail and croaked, the barman poured a pint,
and abstinence was only one of the vows he broke that night.

The congregation was a wailing, knees down in the dirt
while inside the blacksmith watched him slake prodigious thirst.

Pint after pint at last he belched, a new light filled his eyes;
he strode to plow and looked to where
lived chaste Miss Lilly Phelps.

Trapped between God's good grace, Devil's hammer full and round,
"Gee Jenny." his shout, driving away to her house
"There's one more furrow to plow."

The blacksmith ran ahead, town folk trod behind,
Jenny pulled, the preacher pushed
and left behind the town.

Lilly was a peeking out, to see what was the fuss,
shouts of supplication came from an approaching cloud of dust.
The reverend strode into sight, lost eyes upon her face;
and Lilly felt that god dammed ache start in her secret place.

Grey picked her up and kissed her, slammed the door behind,
fumbled off her clothing, placed her gently on the bed,
"Hi John." is all she said underneath his lusty gaze,
waiting for the revelation with her legs spread wide and raised.

Lilly's eye fell down below; grateful thanks was sent ahigh,
to see the divine instrument, descending 'tween her thighs;
virginity left her quick as did each and every thought of
the town folk or the blacksmith trying to see beyond the shades.

Pinned under God's good man, Devil's hammer thrusting down,
"Gee John!" she screamed, Gray plowed away,
that hot summer of '39.

 

[The Poets]

Poem 6 (Finalist)

Coney Island
by Greenmountaineer

Circa 1965

"What's so rare as a day in Junius?"
Sister Bea said when we last heard Latin
before all the St. Ignatius tassels
dangled with pomp and circumstance,
some of which Mary Lou blew
who got her license and Mustang from Daddy
because soon to be eighteen year old girls
more than ready for Coney Island
and Brooklyn College come September
needed their freedom from Mommy.

"Cuniculus is Latin," Sister Bea said,
"for rabbit and coney a derivative
the Brits called bunny rabbits
that overran the island in 1690."
which hung on my tongue one hot vernal night
as I thirsted for Mary Lou fresh squeeze
and the Fourth of Julius under the boardwalk
which maybe, just maybe would be heaven.

 

[The Poets]

Poem 7

Take Me
by IanMoone

Our day had begun as any other.... but, as I stood above her (my children's mother)
thinking.... about.... how much I love her. No mere emotion here, it's clear....
it's more like a love the cetaceans feel toward the ocean. That need for her motion
like the sea's need for the moon, for it's movement.
When she walks into a room she consumes it.
My every thought caught.... by her very existence.
Her scent.... the very essence of her fragrance....
her persistence and patience her cadence....
latent....
So, I wait for a sentence ( she whispers to me ) a simple statement.
2 words.... so blatant....

With that intrinsic need combined.... I slowly enter her shrine and make it mine.
The arch in her spine, inclines.... slowly.... sinking myself into her divine.... design...
The candles in the corner shine from behind her. " You’re mine. " I remind her....
roll her over, and take it from behind her. She wiggles and squirms beneath me.
Ready to please me. She thrusts herself back ready to greet me.
I sink in deeply.... entering completely " I love you, Sweety " I say increasing my force....
" Yes, take me baby! " She begs with a desperate tone in her voice.
I take grip on her hips and reply.... " but, of course. "
She displays with such grace
and buries her face prepared for my rhythm prepared for my pace.
I rock hard and steady.... she's wet hot and ready she whimpers and whines beneath me
( as I stop.... ) suddenly, abruptly, " FUCK ME! Don't stop. Baby, please.... don't tease me. "
" Is this mine? " I ask, pretending to slide myself out.
" Uh-huh.... " She mutters.
" COMPLETELY! "She cries out…. as I bury myself back inside of her wet little cookie.
It only took me a few deep strokes to coax her back in…. I grind hard up against her again....
and again....
And harder still.... until....
her exquisite shrill pierced the passion filled air around us.
She shaked
and shivered,
quaked
and quivered,
as I delivered it home.

" Stay prone "
I groan in a primal tone, attempting to....
postpone my own
Just a little bit longer.

 

[The Poets]

Poem 8

Summer seduction
by UnderYourSpell

Easy on my eye you bend in for a kiss
Relying on the merest subtle touch
Over my skin, a haiku of sensation

Trickling across vellum, a sure sensation
Increased by every fervent melting kiss
Covering my nakedness, I yearn a touch.

Special in every way each newest touch,
Unerringly reaching for a final sensation,
Master of seduction from that first kiss.

Melding as if as one and joined to kiss
Elusive longings disappear, sensation
Revealed before your insistent touch.

A kiss a sensual touch, devoured by sensation.