Friday, August 31, 2012

Being Big


The worst thing
about having
oversized genitalia
is never knowing
if she loves you
for you.

I didn’t ask for it
to be this way,
and I sure as hell didn’t have it
surgically enhanced:
it’s just the way
God made me.

The one good thing
about being
Big
is the look of surprise
when they first see it,
sometimes in shadows
sometimes in light,
but they are always
dumbstruck.

After that wears off
they’ll straddle me
like a mechanical bull,
hang off me like a
stripper pole
and indulge themselves
with me as their
flesh-and-blood vibrator.

I’ve even had a few
get scared and try to demur;
but I’m always able to
convince them
because I’m gentle,
and then they give in,

and this is where
we both get fooled:
we both think
we’re in love.

Sometimes sooner,
sometimes later,
our differences
scrape up against one another
and the relationship
degenerates into
marathon sessions of
sweaty, visceral intercourse,
multiple orgasms,
and awkward silences.

Before each
first time,
I am so insistent
on practicing abstinence,
because I know
once we cross that line,
all we’ll ever do is have sex.

So,
I remain steadfast
that I will find the right woman
who will love me
for me,
who will walk with me
in the rain,
curl up and watch movies
all weekend,
will massage my scalp
every now and then.

Until then,
I’ll faithfully
continue the search

and I’ll keep erasing
all those
tempting
late night voice mails
that my loneliness
fights to convince me
are more than just
booty calls.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

My Sins Follow Me

I have sins darker
than India ink
and still I return
to them.

Shamed by my depravity,
I shudder knowing
they hardly stand out
in this twisted world.

As my transgressions mount
I press on
pretending I am

unseen.

My brain replays
every misstep,
I crucify myself,
yet I cannot stop.

I keep tossing the bodies
under the floorboards,
waiting for the day
when they will
break the foundation
of this warped life
and spew forth,

and I will stand
convicted
in the rubble
of rotting corpses.

Running away won’t help.

My sins follow me
and they are harder to shake
than my shadow.

[Posted for #OpenLinkNight @dversepoets.com, where lost poems find a home.]

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Orthodoxy Sez!


God doesn’t make
anything that isn’t
perfect,

and God
made people who are
homosexual,

therefore,
homosexuals are included in
God’s perfect creation.

However,
orthodoxy sez
the act (!) of homosexuality
is a sin.

Some Christians,
attempting to reconcile
their values of
compassion and judgment,
point to celibacy
as the way forward
for these people.

If these perfect creations
of God
do not choose
to deny themselves
that most basic
and essential of all human
experiences,
to love
and to be loved in return
in love’s many forms,
orthodoxy sez
they are damned.

So, then
because of their sacrifice,
the most holy and sanctified one
in the Christian church
must be the homosexual
who doesn’t engage
in sexual relations.

This is the person,
nay, the saint!
deserving of our respect
and veneration!

So,
now I ask you,

which proposition
is easier to believe:

that the Christian leaders
of this sin-ridden world
will call for the beatification
and sanctification of the
Christian Homosexual Celibate
as the paragon of virtue
and holiness,

or

that the
orthodox Christian interpretation
of human sexuality
based on Biblical principles
is inherently incorrect?

(Written for #OpenLinkNight at dversepoets.com, where people like me are not only tolerated, but loved!  Come on along!)

Friday, August 17, 2012

My Alice

Alice,
my insistent love,
where do you go
for hours at a time
and only show up
when you need me?

You walk past,
silent and sullen.

Are you jealous
that I married
someone else?

I feel guilty
because I know
how alone you are
but you offer me
no absolution.

Just a sour look
and a weepy cry
from your gray scowl.

You’ve no shame
in your demands:

Stop ignoring me.
Feed me.
You must love me.

Again
our eyes lock
as they did that first day
and I read your mind:

“this would be
a whole different story
if you were the cat.”

[Note: This poem was for my beloved Alice, my little friend since 2001. This is the last picture taken of her.]
(Posted for  for Poets United.)

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Buddah Moskowitz' Crying Circus!

Hurry! Hurry!
step right up, folks
for the most
miserable, self hating display
on Earth:

it’s Buddah Moskowitz’
Crying Circus!

Thrill to the high wire acts
as Moskowitz tries to walk
the tightrope of fame and humility
high above
the flaming pit of embarrassment
without a net!

Watch Moskowitz gamely try
to tame the lion of insecurity
and self-doubt!

You’ll feel the hot breath of flop sweat
as he places his head
into the lion’s mouth
and you’ll roar with laughter
when the beast closes his jaws,
crushing the unprotected head!

Enjoy the parade of clowns
as they tumble merrily
out of their miniature car
of Failed Romantic Notions:
there’s Darra,
the Psychotic with a Heart of Gold,
LanAnh,
the War Refugee turned Crass Materialist,
Kim the PsychoBitch,
with her hilarious false rape allegations
and who can forget Teresa,
the Professional Victim?

And no trip to the
Circus of Misery
would be complete
without a visit
to the
Moskowitz Freak Show!

See the Man without a Spine
and the Mother who Made him that way!

Thrill to our Strong Man
fueled not by magnificent muscle
but by anger at years of paternal neglect!

Laugh at the antics of
teenage David,
our Half-Man Half-Woman,
as he finds no place to fit
into high school!

Drop by our snack bar
and get your
Cotton Candy Promises
to munch on --
it’ll take the sting out of your day
for just a second,
and really pack on
those pounds
that’ll last a lifetime!

More fun than the Ringling Brothers!
More entertaining than Barnum and Bailey!
More frightening than a Tod Browning nightmare!

Buddah Moskowitz’ Crying Circus
coming to an empty parking lot
near you soon!

(No animals were harmed
in the making of this poem,
and I envy them.)

[Resurrected for #OpenLinkNight at dversepoets.com - where more mirth and whoopee await you!)

Monday, August 13, 2012

The Naked Snapshot


I started writing
these love poems
in 1978.

They were designed
to capture someone’s attention
through novelty,

and they sometimes
did that

but more often
they were failures.

I wanted them
to do the courting
the wooing
and perhaps in the back
of my mind

maybe they were supposed
to have the relationship
for me since
I was too scared
and inexperienced.

I liked the challenge
of trying to coax
a new way of saying
it
free from my stale language.

Something resembling
love would always appear
and then disappear
again and again

but then, I stopped

as I realized the fear:

too much of my writing
and my unformed heart
had been let loose
on a unsuspecting and
undeserving world.

I thought of all
my long hours of
counting syllables and
stretching metaphor being
unceremoniously
crumpled and dropped
in a waste basket
with the junk mail and
other unsolicited advertisements,

or worse, still,
I pictured a catty circle
of women – late night
half-drunk, reading
my swollen purple
vulnerable verse
and having a good mean chuckle
at my expense.

Hell,
I can't blame them.

Those poems were uniformly
self-conscious
and painfully amateurish,

but my most profound
fear is that a few of these girls
might have saved these
premature ejaculations
which were only dedicated to
getting past hello.

I picture a wall map
of California
with cities up and down
the state
lighting up
where I imagine
my stray thoughts
and eternal promises
have blown.

My prayer:

may these poems never
see the light of day,

may the world never know
the fat oily teenager
with bad hair
who poured out
his heart
as best as he was able,

may these poems be
our little secrets

each one
a private snapshot
of me –naked,

save for
a naïve and trusting heart
worn on the outside.

[Posted for #OpenLinkMonday imaginary garden with real toads challenge.]

Wednesday, August 08, 2012

JC 2.0

The best part is
the experts had been
wrong.

Within minutes
Jesus went on
international TV
and held
a press conference,
sans interpreter.

After He did a few
magic tricks
to entertain and
convince the crowd,
He explained that John
had been hallucinating
in a jail cell when he
dreamed up
The Revelation,
and that it had been,
like so many other
human communiques,
screwed-up in translation.

The eternal conscious torment
of Hell
was similarly annulled,
and JC 2.0
(as the tabloids would
soon dub Him)
explained that while
everyone sinned,
everyone would have to go
through the fire to be
purified,

but here was where
JC 2.0 blew everyone’s
mind:

the fire didn’t hurt.

The fire was warm
and comforting
and some of the most sinful,
most pained miscreants
lingered in the fire 
far too long,
finally experiencing
something welcoming,
something that wasn’t cold
for the first time
they ever remembered.

JC 2.0 brought
the pure love,
which asked for nothing
in return,
not even faith.

He quickly went viral
and soon all that was left
were the skeptics
and the doubters,
and Jesus eventually won
them over too,

some with magic tricks,
some with genuine empathy
and an outstretched
welcoming
embrace.

Then JC 2.0
commandeered the planet
and set sail for
the far side of the Sun,

where preparations for
The Great Reunification
were already
in full swing.

[Written for the "Out of Standard with Izy"  imaginary garden with real toads challenge.]

Tuesday, August 07, 2012

We Have Come for Your Future


We have come
for your future,
and we will not be
deterred.

Your beliefs stand
like a moribund mansion
left untended,
overgrown with weeds,
with peeling paint,
grotesquely
oversized
for your neighborhood.

We have come
for your future,
and we will not
be distracted.

You stand on your porch,
shoulders wrapped
with a faded
and tattered flag,
standing on the
family Bible,
dusty from obsolescence,
exploiting these artifacts
as shields
to hide your prejudices
and antiquated justifications.

Your time has come
and gone.

We’ve been left out
of the inner rooms
of money and policy
long enough.

We are
cold, hungry and desperate,
and if you don’t
hand it over willingly,
we will take it.

Don’t fight us,
as we have time,
youth
and impatience
in our arsenal.

We come armed
will ideals
rooted in
the eternal value
of justice,
tips sharpened
by the sting
of unfairness
and the memory
of righteous indignation.

You tried to suffocate us
with powerlessness,
but our will to survive
was greater than your will
to destroy.

Yes,
we have come
for your future,
and we won’t take
No
for an answer.

[Posted for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com - come along a poem a spell!)

Monday, August 06, 2012

The Secret Mirror


I am the secret mirror
that reflects
only your soul,

so the filigree of wrinkles
the doughy skin
the graying crown
do not show,

but I discern things
most others do not see.

While I reflect 
your every weakness,
(regardless of size)
and forgive you,
I also collect 
your every kindness
(regardless of size)
and exalt you.

I witness your unconfined joy
at the first snowfall,
and I see the breath
caught in your throat
two-thirds of the way through
Barber's "Adagio for Strings."

I know your loneliness
and send reassuring prayers.

I see your decision to love
despite a lifetime of
contrary arguments
and laud you.

I exist to reflect more
than just the
random kindness of strangers
but rather the
eternal continuum of love
in all forms
found in you.

I am always with you
in different guises
waiting in silence
for recognition,

and in your most
noble, divine moments,
it is impossible to conceal
your beauty

and I want everyone to see
especially you.

I am always here
waiting to show you
how beautiful you are,

waiting to give you
a Christmas present
every day of the year.

(Posted as my inaugural offering at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' OpenLinkNight. )