Star Spangled Bender

Oh, say can you see
through the cons and the fright,
how so loudly we failed
to make real our past dreaming?

All the hype and fast cars
made us think we were right,
as our futures we botched
we gave in to fresh scheming.

And do we even dare
in the mirror, to stare,
and dispute, if not fight,
that we don't even care?

We'll pay if that star spangled banner
if only for a few waves,
o'er the land of the greed
and the home of the slaves.

Comrades (for Anita)

Rising from the battlefield,
bloodied but unvanquished
she still radiates.

I know the struggle.
I nurse her wounds.
I am her partner.

There is nobility
in her rising
and fixing her vision
on the next horizon.

At times like these
she appears to me
exactly as she did
at our beginning:
valiant, heroic,
and beautiful.

The contour of her
smoke-smudged profile
and the jewelry of her tears
inspires me
as I gird my armature.

We embrace
silently taking any
hope and strength we can
from one another
and declare again
our allegiance
and commitment
to victory
under the maxim:
“I love you, baby.”

Facing forward
side by side
we march onward again
onto the battlefield
of our daughter’s
mental illness.

[Originally written 2006, in the early stages of our daughter's depression.]

Defined by My Weaknesses

Alcoholic.
Adulterer.
Liar.
Obese.

These self-imposed epithets
create the boundaries
of my self-concept.

I cannot drink
or sleep around
or tell a lie
or overeat.

I am kept on the
paths of sobriety
fidelity
integrity and
satiety
by these labels
and by the knowledge
that a thousand prurient eyes
and the possibility
of a chorus of
sadly clucking tongues
are all waiting for
my eventual failure.

So,
for those of you
keeping score:

alcohol-
23 and a half years

adultery-
not since I found the
one that would
wear my ring

lying –
would you even believe me?

obese –
I have to diet
to be considered
"just" overweight,

and for those of you
waiting for my
inevitable failure:

I’ll concede to you
the diet
but everything else
I keep close
like a scar
on my face,
so I’ll never forget
or get lazy
or slouch back
into the darkness.

Time and Luck

Drive and desire
they'll tell you
are what you need
to make it.

Also time
and luck,

the two dimensions
over which we
are powerless,

because the greatest
of all could be
on their way to
their
appointment with destiny,

and they'll miss their stop
or will be mistakenly shot
in a drive-by
or will have finally slept with
the right connection
who unexpectedly had
that 2nd heart attack
his doctor warned him about.

So while I try not
to whip myself
over my lack of
drive and desire
I also do not hold
God
accountable for the
breezy passage of time
or for the luck
bad and good
that visits me.

The fame machine
is very random
and waiting for it
is another form of
playing the lottery.

I'd rather enjoy it all
in this moment now
scratching out my insides
for someone other than
myself.

In case I am
unexpectedly found
dead at 42

perhaps these writings
will be my triumph
over my absence
time and luck.

Rachel (2003)

Rachel
came into my life
with softly suspicious eyes.

Sadly
I was only there
for the last moments
of her girlhood
because
in the blink
of an eye
she stretched out
and her soul
deepened,

and I now see her
curiously
peering into adult
ponds
and sneaking in her
toe,

but just when
I think she is
growing out of
my grasp

she quietly
reverts
temporarily
to the unsure
faun on the frozen lake
and
she curls up on
her
Pop-O

and she silently
drapes herself
over my shoulders
quietly
resting,

knowing that
I don’t require her
to be
sophisticated
trendy or grown-up.

She knows
she can be
quiet and uncertain
or even goofy
and that I will
take care of
things

for now.

The next time I
blink she’ll be
all grown up

too smart and
pretty for her own
good
with a heart
still growing

but I never fear
losing her
for she is deep in
my soul

at 11
she is already
one of the finest
people I will ever
know,

and with that
bright yellow hair
and friendly wide
smile
and soft kind eyes

she will eclipse
even the sun.

Rachel

Rachel
came into my life
with softly suspicious eyes

Sadly
I was only there
for the last moments
of her girlhood
because
in the blink
of an eye
she stretched out
and her soul
deepened

and I now see her
curiously
peering into adult
ponds
and sneaking in her
toe

but just when
I think she is
growing out of
my grasp

she quietly
reverts
temporarily
to the unsure
faun on the frozen lake
and
she curls up on
her
Pop-O

and she silently
drapes herself
over my shoulders
quietly
resting

knowing that
I don’t require her
to be
sophisticated
trendy or grown-up

she knows
she can be
quiet and uncertain
or even goofy
and that I will
take care of
things

for now.

The next time I
blink she’ll be
all grown up

too smart and
pretty for her own
good
with a heart
still growing

but I never fear
losing her
for she is deep in
my soul

at 11
she is already
one of the finest
people I will ever
know

and with that
bright yellow hair
and friendly wide
smile
and soft kind eyes

she will eclipse
even the sun.

Talking Suits

It's a game
rigged against us
and the owners of the game
take pains
to look like players
rather than manipulators

as they stand before
the televised world
accepting nominations
and making pronouncements
the rest of us watch
detached
as if their promises
are scripted
and we care
even less than these puppets

vote for me
I'll help you
don't vote for the other guy
he'll only hurt you

how can I believe
either one of these talking suits

especially when I
don't even own a suit myself?

Made In Your Image

Your eyes see it all,

all my darkness
and despair.

I cannot fathom your
estimation
but I hold on
to the slim belief
that you understand;

are you immune
from the human
frailties and weaknesses?

I hope you are.

I hope you see us
the way they teach
us how we’re supposed
to see you,

abstract, perfect
unknowable
all-loving.

Perhaps it is so
but if we are made in your
image
then I gotta figure
I share your weaknesses

you long for love
you long for comfort
you long for rest.

If we’re all made in your image
do you spend all
your time
comparing and judging?

I hope you find better ways
to spend all that time

and if you are
collecting everything
on some great
cosmic security camera

you’ll note that I
haven’t helped the poor lately
or observed the Sabbath
or even called my brother

but I did smell a rose
and quietly marveled

as I’m sure you must do
from time to time.

How Moskowitz was Born

When I picked up
the writer’s pencil at 16
it was really the birth
of something new in
me

so I’d picture
the eventual credits
flashing on the screen
“Teleplay by …”
“Written by…”
with my given name
and after a while
I realized how my name
looked so incongruous
against the backdrop of
Mary Richard’s Minneapolis
or the exterior bar shot that
preceded every episode of
“Cheers”

When I was 19
I wrote a play and
my theatre instructor –
an aging actor who chain smoked
and had flakes
of dryed Brylcreem in his hair-
told me that if I was going
to write a play called
“Illegal Alien” and
use my given surname
that it was going to
prejudice people.

Seems like he made that
decision without even reading
the play.

The name I was born with
so beautiful
so ill-fitting
and unglamorous and real

would condemn me to writing
about bilingualism
affirmative action
the barrio
immigracion

and I figured that
was just about as much
pigeonholing
as I could stomach

and I took a good hard
look at myself

I saw a fat belly
attached to dancing eyes and a
darting mind still
wrapped in guilt and obligation
and ethnic sounds like
“kh” and
“oy” and
“ai”

and I knew of the nirvana
samsara
the logic of law
the comfort of
one God
with one entity

and I liked the name
because it embodied East
and West and Middle East

and it wasn’t clear if it
was male or female
and it was such a strange
mélange

that no one could dare
to presume correctly
to guess my
age
ethnicity
gender
religion

all the categories
that put us apart
from one another
were laid to rest
when I anointed myself

in mechanical pencil and
ink as

Buddah Moskowitz

The Flowers

The flowers come out
every spring
almost surprising me
with their bounty
their beauty and
endless variety,

almost like they
hid and conspired
to look even more
exciting.

God lets these
blooms stay dormant
and covered by snows and rains,

then defiantly
they spring forth
and the breath of
every living being
is stolen by the
dazzling splash
of vitality and their
necessity.

Nothing can ever anticipate
them and I suspect
they don’t even
know their power.

The birds sing
coaxing out their prodigious
pageantry

and the graceless
beasts
see them and
brutishly want to
consume them

and I look upon them
with awe
for they are like music,

the tangible evidence of
the intangibly divine
the drive in my heart
the speed in my soul,

they connect me to that
sweet
transcendent
hum

and all I can do
is admire as I
pass by

knowing that
even though I
will never be as beautiful

happily
I am surrounded
by them.

Pop's Massive Heart

Tomorrow he’ll be
gone six years

that’s 6 Christmases
and 6 birthdays.

I can hardly remember
his voice
and his lyrical
mispronunciation.

he was unpretentious
but he wouldn’t
even use that word

he’d just say that
he didn’t want to
put on airs.

I used to be a little
embarrassed for him –
he was so at ease
with himself
that he didn’t realize
his shirts were too
tight
and his walk
was too bouncy.

He didn’t know that
he wasn’t cool
and I know he didn’t care
as he loved me and my mom
and my brothers.

He put everyone before
himself
and never expected
any credit
any commendation

there was never a trace
of martyrdom in
his duty.

I think he just saw
how so many people
just talked a big game
but never really
lived up to their word.

His words were small
his actions were constant
his heart was massive

and I guess that’s why
his heart attack was
massive as well

he wasn’t perfect
but he came damned close

and he was mine,
my Pop.

Booze (Feb. 9 2005)

Perhaps I thought
I needed you

to fill in all the
unexplored
parts of my
youth

to fill out my resume
and give my avocation
a credible status.

I saw Bukowski
booze it
and Dorothy Parker
and they were
masterful,

but I wasn't them
and the booze became
my monster
in short order,

and at the same time
I couldn't subordinate
my mad frantic
creation of self
to anyone or
anything

and just as quickly
as I picked it up
I put it down,

determined to be
never again
in its moribund
embrace,

and I lived a life
with pain and heartache
and betrayal and lies and gluttony
and death wishes
but I still came out alive
and sober

now I do not
see that destruction as
romantic or attractive

but the love affair
was necessary then

now
it'd be silly and posturing.

So as I glide into
my 15th year
of sobriety

I am quietly
thankful
for every day,

every smile
every moment of gratitude

as I hear my wife's laughter
and my children's reliance on
Pop-O

I see how the road
stretched

and that booze has no place here

besides a drunk poet is
such a cliche

I still have pain
loss
anger
longing
unfilled wishes
envy

but they are mine
and I refuse
to drown them.

Creepy Splendor

I’m not a fiction writer
so everything comes
from the truth within.

If my thoughts stray
to strange evil places
should I follow them
or rein them in?

I can picture anything
and everything
like an algebra problem
of objects and images.

I can place myself in
the center of wickedness
in the degrading abyss
in the filth
as though it was all academic,

but I refuse to keep
my mind as controlled
as the Old Testament
would require.

God is always
making everything new
so why not God’s nature
and commandments?

So if the thoughts come
briskly,
undisciplined
depraved
or naïve,
should I be damned?

The world is forever new
and my thoughts are forever new
and if I squelch them

then I kill any chance of
future new dreams
ahead,
and I need my thoughts
my dreams and wishes

for to deny them
in all their creepy splendor
is to deny myself.

[POsted for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com, my favorite poetry site!]

Rain and Water

Water water everywhere
and it just kept
coming.

It was too short for
a biblical epic
but just enough
for a tsunami.

So much immediate
death,
impossible to grieve
can’t imagine the
force

and the waves
brought the mudslides
and trapped the beautifully
naive people
in their luxurious
castles of clay.

I want to work up
a tear for them,
but they are too
faraway and besides
they lived in
privileged communities

until now.

But the rain
took a young woman
pregnant with child
and swept them
away,

the rain and water
indifferent and unforgiving
dragged them along
and into the
abyss.

Almost contritely
the rains finally stopped
but it was too
late.

Dan lost his wife
and unborn daughter
and I cannot help
but imagine his own
private tearful tsunami
sitting in his house
surrounded by their memory,

trying to find a way
to live with
rain and water
for the rest of his life.

Selfish

eating what I want
when I want it

and buying bigger clothes
and not being too concerned about it

this is my life
just me
this chicken quesadilla
and the song piped
through the Del Taco

I'll think of nothing
or no one else

just me and
my happiness
and melted cheddar cheese
and loose fitting pants
and a pen that glides
over lots of
luxurious blank pages
just waiting for

me.

Her Steve Voice

I don't need to ask anymore
when my wife takes the cordless phone upstairs
(like I'm going to listen in)
in our one-room loft apartment
she turns the TV up loud
as if that could distract me
more than the sound of
her Steve Voice.

Full of giggles and curves and
gushing acquiescence,
I recognize it
that used to be her
Buddah Voice,
the voice when we first were in love
when she had a crush on me
before I became her husband
her promise around her finger
her conjugal banality

and it slowly, deliberately
steps and grinds its heel
into my heart
because there is more electricity lately
in the Steve Voice
than the Buddah Voice,

and I won't mention anything
and I'll rehearse my indifference
(if I inquire too much I'm presumed jealous
if I inquire too little I'm presumed condoning this)

so I practice
with long even breaths
repeating my mantra
the only thing that keeps me sane:

I trust my wife.
I trust my wife.
I trust my wife.

Ring

However educated I will become
I am still simple
because there is always someone who is
better educated than I,

it's relative.

However beautiful I will become
I am still plain
because there is always someone who is
more beautiful than I,

it's relative.

However sensitive I will become
I am still a dullard
because there is always someone
who is able to feel more deeply than I

it's relative.

But I control one aspect:
however thin I become
I will remain thin
because there are diuretics
and appetite suppressants
and laxatives
and organic vomiting
so that no one will ever be
thinner than I.

No one on television
no one in magazines
no one in the world
thinner than I.

It almost has a ring to it

anorexia
anorexia
anorexia nervosa.