“Funny What Goes Through One’s Mind” (Prompt: Deadly and dangerous poem)

On that sweaty August afternoon

after I committed adultery with

the married psychobitch,

I was driving her back

to where she left her car

and I was in

the fast lane of the freeway,

trying to get this day

over with as soon as possible.

She was still trying

to convince me to ask her

to leave her husband,

but I wasn’t giving in.

Then she did this thing

I only read about

in “Penthouse” magazine

and saw alluded to

in the movies.

Let’s just say

the others drivers

thought I was alone.

I was smug,

then aroused,

and then immediately

panicked

as I realized

the accelerator

in my Honda

was revving

but not speeding up.

I instantly broke out

in a cold sweat

and I heard her

just giggling cluelessly

as she continued

making her case.

“Kim…”

“Kim...”

Then I saw it-

her chest had knocked

the gear shift

out of drive

and into neutral.

I shifted back

and half-sighed

until I saw

the taillights of

the cars ahead

of me

getting closer

faster and faster

and piling up.

Simultaneously,

I slam on the brakes

grab her by the hair

and throw her head back

into the passenger’s seat.

She laughed

with that wicked uncontainable

cackle of the truly

insane,

barely catching her breath,

“OHHH, YES!

THAT WAS GREAT!”

and there I was

parked in the fast lane

on the freeway

drenched in sweat

and jangling from adrenaline,

and the first thing that

came to mind was

“How would I have

explained that to

Allstate?”

Kindness Poem (Prompt: kindness)

If you seek me out

from the googol of

websites

self-aggrandizing blogs

cobwebbed social media,

I am so thankful

for your devotion.

If you leave a note

then I know you’ve seen me

and you’ve invalidated

my presumed invisibility

and most days

that is the kindest thing

of all.

Gluttony (prompt: excess)

I looked I the pantry

and the only thing there

was self-discipline.

It needed something.

So I dusted it in powdered sugar

deep-fried it until it was brown

walloped a dollop of whipped cream

smeared some French dressing

dashed in salt and pepper

dipped it in Belgian chocolate,

then let it marinade in a

mixture of balsamic vinegar

and peanut M&Ms.

Then I baked it in ginger

chopped it into squares

butterscotch fondued it

and after it hardened

I glazed it in Devil’s Spit

barbeque sauce

and sprinkled it with

brown sugar

and once it cooled

I popped it in my mouth

and it was ambrosial,

so I went back and

ate the whole

disgusting

mess.

Moskowitz Vital Statistics

Marriage #1:

Length of Courtship: 260 weeks

Length of Engagement: 63 weeks

Length of Marriage: 21 weeks

Age at wedding: 30 years

Children: 0

Regrets: Too many to count.

Marriage #2:

Length of Courtship: 30 weeks

Length of Engagement: 9 weeks

Length of Marriage: 467 weeks (as of November, 11, 2011)

Age at wedding: 39 years

Children: 3 (from spouse’s previous marriage)

Regrets: 1 (not marrying Anita sooner).

Uncle Tom's Plea (Prompt: Different Perspective)

C’mon guys,

we’ve had it pretty good.

That farmer and his family

they treat us pretty good,

and we get fed regular.

Why,

I’ve never been so full!

Look at your feathers!

They’ve never had

a sheen like

this.

And your wattles,

they haven’t bounced that much

in years!

You gotta admit,

it’s been a pretty sweet

so far.

Don’t listen to them

young upstarts,

they’re just trying

to upset the apple cart.

Those stories about the

Fall Holocaust,

they’re just trying

to scare you.

No,

we’ve taken and taken

and now it’s our turn

to give.

Remember,

the humans

have treated us well,

be should be honored

they make us

the centerpiece

of their holiday.

Wait or Chase (Prompt: ____ or ____ poem)

I didn’t have

the requisite confidence

to wait

for the pretty girls

to flock around me

so I could

take my pick

of any of them

just like

my mother

told me

they eventually

would.

No,

I had a mirror

and perfect eyesight.

So, I began the chase

and I learned to charm,

gently cajole,

listen for clues

and win their hearts.

I got very good

at 

it.

The formula was

finding out their likes

their secret dreams

unspoken passions

and then

fulfilling them,

with brazen,

unflappable

creativity.

Yes,

I could’ve and

would’ve

loved every one

of them.

l won many, many hearts

but I rarely got laid,

because while they all

desired someone

who acted like me,

they didn’t want someone

who looked like me.

(Again, that infernal mirror.)

I still chase

my beautiful

muse,

baring my soul

and my skin,

laying it all

at her feet.

I earn her approval

as she giggles

and the poem

blooms before her

and she breathes in

its rose-like scent,

smiles

and pats

her seeing eye dog.

But to Whom? (Prompt: Paranormal Poem)

One day

all I saw was a leafy tall tree

against the cloudless sky,

and off in the distance

birds sang purposefully

in another language

and the brook giggled

past my feet

and it was a tangible

empirical reality,

then

something turned over

in my heart,

and it wasn’t enough

just to observe it all,

I had to express

my thanks

for all this wondrous

mysterious beauty,

but to whom?

So,

now you know

how I took

my first steps

on this walk. 

Now Won’t Wait (Prompt: Won't Wait Poem)

As insistent and selfish

as a puppy wanting to

be let out,

Now

crowds around me

and messes up

my well-laid plans,

for every decision

is a pivot point,

and I’m smart enough

to know

that the moments

cling to one another

as randomly

as a chain

made of figures

from the Barrel of Monkeys game,

I played forty years ago

which appeared instantly

in the very front

of my Now

right now.

A Predictable Headache (prompt: addiction)

She is a beautiful,

tragic corpse

these days,

but I can recall

halcyon days

just her and me

riding the highways

no map

no empty pockets.

We just kept calling

out to each other

and we kept answering

“sure, why not?’

It was only after

many, many nights

did I sense her

disenchantment

and the part of her

that came alive

from my touch

became perfunctory

a dull routine

a predictable

headache.

Impulsively

I said goodbye

and divorced her

very publicly

to help gird my decision

and while some doubted

her sway over me,

I knew the truth,

and I still visit her

in the liquor aisle

of the grocery

almost smug

at my 21 years

of sobriety,

but still

afraid to

step back into

her embrace.

Broken Peace (Prompt: Broken)

Sarah and I

can be sitting watching “Glee”

and something will slip

from a shelf

or my breathing will be too loud

or a sad thought will enter,

and she will explode

in a rage usually reserved

for life threatening traffic maneuvers

and the peace is broken,

the illusion of normalcy

is shattered.

Most days

 it’s an hourly occurrence,

whatever this is

in her dysfunctional cerebellum

that catches afire

and causes her to become

an angry flamethrower

and when its run its course

burned  to the ash

she comes back somewhat contrite

pitiful and apologetic,

and there is no medicine

to fix this,

no surgery,

only time,

occupational therapy

and love,

the only antidote that ever restores

broken peace.

Rachel (November 4, 2011) (Prompt: Something Unexpected)

When we first met

I thought I’d play

the wise old sage

and you’d

be my eager pupil.

Even in those early days

you were always teaching me

about kindness

about self- sacrifice

about faithfulness.

Your laughter is among

my favorite sounds in this

whole wide world

and I will always remember

that you were

the first of the kids

to make me consider

that there might be

something valuable

in (step)fatherhood

waiting for me.

So,

I thank you

for prying open a door

I thought

was sealed forever.

Happy Birthday, Rachel

Love,

Pop-o

Sort of Famous (Prompt: Sort of...)

I Google Buddah Moskowitz

and am immediately

second-guessed.

“Did you mean

Buddha Moskowitz?”

in that snotty italicized font

with its implied superiority.

No, I intentionally misspell it

like the 1970’s record label.

Then I see

all the sites where I have

scattered my “poetry”

to the winds,

my mutant seed spread

in the hope

they’ll find forgiving

and fertile land.

I tell myself

it doesn’t matter if I’m “famous.”

I’ve followers

from all walks of life,

and some even part

with their hard earned money

to buy my “poems”.

So what do I want?

An Oscar?

A Pulitzer Prize?

The respect and admiration

from some obscure

“poetry” “journal” publisher?

Nope.

I just want one of those

seemingly in-depth

interviews

like I’ve seen in

Rolling Stone,

where they try to discover

what drives me

what excites me

what disgusts me

what inspires me.

They’d make me sound

important

relevant

and essential.

But,

I know the odds

of that ever happening

so,

I keep adding

to the interview

I am conducting on myself

one poem at a time.

Two Lessons, Too Late (Prompt: epigram)

“The way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” – Oscar Wilde

I knew it was wrong

when I did it

but I did it anyway

because she promised me

“no one will ever know.”

Being an ethical contortionist

I trusted my logic

and believed my rationale,

but when he called me

at my office

screaming

that he knew what I did,

where I lived

and that he was going

to shoot off my testicles

with his shotgun,

I learned two lessons:

first,

it is impossible

to talk your way out of

a problem with a party

unwilling to listen,

and

second,

never sleep with

another man’s wife,

schmuck.

Now! (Prompt:Pro-Active Poem)

There is no later,

the time is now!

Tomorrow is an illusion

and yesterday is one collective

implanted memory,

so roll on,

breathe in the air

dance in the sun

and lose yourself

now!

Even if

you’re just planning

for tomorrow,

you’ve got to do it

now!

Sure, the Mona Lisa was painted

way back then,

but she does not become relevant

until you see her now!

That big meal you’re planning

for the end of the month

is only a collection of passed-down recipes

and unbought groceries,

and only becomes Thanksgiving

when you’re eating it

now!

That great vast

afterlife

some of us cling to

is also a mirage

for there is no Heaven

waiting off

in the foggy, cloud-strewn

future,

but rather

Heaven is in this moment

now!

So,

knowing the primacy

and the urgency of

now! ,

I ask you

my dear reader,

without irony,

was it worth it?

Carpe Diem, Catch and Release

Carpe diem,

and then
let it go.

Often I’ll replay
the most recent interaction
I had with anyone
and judge it
like a glass of wine.

Sometimes I’m satisfied
with its perfection, it’s profundity,
but often I wish
it had gone better.

This dissatisfaction
keeps me alive,
digging deeper into this
mucky human soil
to find hidden treasures
and cherish them,
but not
to possess them,

which is,
of course,
the whole point
of the lesson.

A Predictable Terror

It works a predictable terror

every time I see it

and I know all the behind the scenes

of how George Romero made it

how they couldn’t afford

real paid actors

or even color film stock

and it’s in the public domain

and you can download free copies

from archive.com

but something about those zombies

plodding forward

relentless

unassailable

irrational

inevitable

busting through that the walls

and doors of that rickety old house

headed for the cellar

that doomed cul-de-sac,

where everyone is hiding…

I never watch it

with all the lights

turned

off.

Grandpa Dracula

He used to be sexy

with his slim figure and

sharpened fangs.

His cool demeanor

and sartorial elegance

mesmerized women

into breathlessly

offering up their necks

as prelude to

their pulsating

sweet

essence.

Flowers with

thick eyelashes

shiny red lips

and pendulous curves

would avoid his gaze

for fear they’d be tempted

past the point

of redemption.

But now,

he’s Grandpa Dracula,

fat, toothless

and domesticated.

They look

straight into his eyes,

and chat with him easily,

and it is

worse

than being invisible:

he is deemed

cute and harmless.

The eternal life

he coveted,

remains forever elusive,

as he replays his memories,

which mock him

like an endless stream

of Viagra commercials.

Between Teal and the Blues

The name

Sensory Processing Disorder

doesn’t do justice

to the confusion

disorganization and

chaos inside her.

Her problems are so subtle

that describing them

sounds like I am grasping at

a ghost,

a fantasy diagnosis

that doesn’t really exist.

I’m sure some see her

as a demon

as a freak

as a misfit.

If she could perceive

the world clearly

then she would see

there is more to the world

than rules and unsolvable puzzles,

and

if the world could

perceive her clearly

then they would see

there is more to her

than anger and misery.

How do you describe

to a colorblind person

the difference in hue

between teal and the blues?

October in Southern California

In So Cal it’s always summer

until the second weekend in October

when everyone stops wearing cutoffs

and the beaches get emptier.

The same violent Santa Ana winds

that sweep brushfires through

the canyons

also blows the summer smog away.

The leaves find their way

off the branch

exploding in vibrant splashes

of orange, umber and ochre.

Walgreens becomes schizophrenic

as nativity scenes bump up against

displays of Zombie makeup

and costumes.

Everything slows down,

it gets darker faster

and the kids come inside earlier.

The night air

brisk and frisky

brings forth sweaters and jackets

and memories of new love,

smelling her perfume

in the early evening sky,

and we still sleep

with the windows open

but now it’s cold enough to

curl up together,

lost in the warm

narcotic sweetness.

Fortune Cookie Poems

#1

Regret is Desire

sitting on the sideline

never attempted.

#2

Every kindness

no matter how small

advances world peace.

#3

The path of the butterfly

only seems random

if you’re not a butterfly.

Formatted for Mobile Devices

The smart phone

the iPad

the iPod

(the iGod?)

the laptop

bought from

the big box

crap shop

and Bluetooth

is not the

new truth

and last decade’s

PDA

is DOA

and unless your

USB

is version 3

don’t talk to me.

Technology dictates

how we think

and create

and share

and sync

and I don’t want any scrapple

from the fanboys at Apple

and I’m kind of frugal

so I roll with Google

and in principle

I like things open source

but only when they work

of course,

still, all these

gidgets and gazmos

polluting the cosmos

obscure the reality

they don’t want us to see:

that we do not possess them

they possess us

we are their slaves

and in them

we all trust.

and if this thought

causes you to frown

then

power down

and repeat this

not once

nor twice

but rather, thrice

“I am not a mobile device.”


[NOTE: Submitted for Meeting The Bar at http://dversepoets.com/ , May 10, 2012]

The Businessman Speaks Yet Again

The technology is

smart enough and

fast enough

to envision that

perfect product:

a sleek, sexy pad

with infinitely expandable memory

and perpetually updating software

designed to give us

more

faster

everything,

compressed

in a handheld destiny.

Imagine

every song

every book

every film

every painting

every sculpture

and all poetry

formatted for

mobile devices.

Everyone will know

that intoxicating feeling

of owing every work

of the Beatles

Michelangelo

Dorothy Parker

Aeschylus

Gustav Klimt

Mozart

Charlie Chaplin

William Shakespeare

Aesop

Beyonce

Salvador Dali

The Dalai Lama.

No longer

will we seek out

these rare artifacts

these books

those dusty albums,

or travel to lonely museums

to experience this world,

we’ll bring it to you

wherever you are.

All the centuries

of civilizing innovation,

those lines that separated

artist from patron

rich from poor

ignorant from wise

and sacred from profane

forever blurred

and portable.

And, if the device dies

(or if it accidentally

goes through the wash),

we’ve partnered with

Best Buy

Amazon.com

and participating Wal-Mart Superstores

to be the exclusive providers

of replacement

“MyCulture 2.0” modules.

Yes, I agree,

we’ll have marketing

come up with a better name.

Early Education

In Mrs. Brown’s

first grade class

we had to learn

two-place addition.

Adding one-place numbers

vertically

like

3

+

5

_

8

was easy enough

but

11 +

22

__

well, that was

from another

planet.

I didn’t understand

and I was kept

after school

struggling with this puzzle

until

the light finally

came on.

I arrived home

late,

scared as hell

because I knew

the fate

awaiting me,

because

according to my father

only bums and

miscreants

stayed after school.

I was summarily

beat

with the thick leather belt

and, in time,

I became an

overachiever,

an anxious, nervous-stomached

overachiever.

Today I am

a dean

at a college

my father could only

dream of attending,

and

as my 14 year old daughter

struggles to complete

her homework

saddled with

cerebellar dysfunction

dysarthria

dysgraphethesia

dysstereognosis

dyspraxia

obsessive compulsive disorder

general anxiety disorder

and sensory integration dysfunction

I remind her

that while I like that she’s smart,

I love her

when she’s kind.

Autodidact

Just show me the basics

-where my fingers go

-when to wait for the laugh

and I’ll tinker away

fashioning my own

version of it.

No technique

but to listen

for my own voice.

I’ll hack my way

through the jungle

of formal training

and come out

with some weird

twisted mutant,

one with a reassuring

resemblance

to myself

and whatever it is

you call

this.

Making

My normal state is

making:

making myself get up

making all the green lights

making small talk

making quotas

making deadlines

making compromises

making a reputation

making a scene

making documents

making mistakes

making a name

making arguments

making dinner

making grownups out of children

making an ass of myself

making masks

making chocolate chip cookies with M&Ms

making memories

making poems

making a good argument for invisibility.

He Never Dared to Dream

All these treasures,

the beautiful, devoted wife,

the mother of his children,

on the deck of the hilltop house

overlooking his adopted valley

against a rainbow sherbet sunset,

and the Delfonics are playing

off in the distance

as the Yorkshire terriers

gnaw and wrestle at his feet,

and he is overcome with giggles.

All this,

and he gets to sleep with her too.

Maroon

As the maroon spilled across the table
she couldn’t help remember the wine
they drank that first night
and all the promises they’d made,

and now what was once wine is now blood
sprayed across this linen tablecloth

like the aftermath of an exploded contract
ripping apart her soul.

Ringside Table at the 10 O’ Clock Show (Prompt: different perspective)

Normally,  

we’re so divided

we can’t agree upon anything,

but here,

with a 50$ cover and a

two-drink minimum,

we are all of one accord:

he’d better be funny

or we’re gonna kill him.

“Of Course, Our Love Has Changed” (Prompt: Change)

Of course,

our love has changed.

Carefree beginnings

beget inevitable scrapes and missteps

which beget arguments and

emotional slugfests

and children

always ruin Eden.

Recalling every pointless casualty,

every sleepless rumination

when tears were the

only language,

I watch as you sleep

next to me,

and I cannot help but feel thankful.

Of course,

our love has changed,

is it now hard won.

Sherri (June 22)

Where are you,

crazy lady?

I miss you,

because I never had a baby sister

to look up to me

and you’re the closest I got to that.

Don’t think that

just because you’re always the one

making desperate decisions,

uncertain of which way

tomorrow is pointed,

doesn’t mean

I don’t need you as well.

You’re one of the few people

who knows what’s

under this skin,

the weaknesses

of our shared DNA.

Sher,

we are more than kindred spirits,

more than familia,

I recognize

the self-deprecating humor,

the desire to please,

and that kernel of doubt

at the deepest part

of the soul

just as I recognize

my own face in the mirror,

except,

you’re prettier.

Call me.

Jeff (Some Version of the Truth)

You were so little

when Aunt Nancy brought you by

the first time,

and I loved to watch you dance

as I huffed and puffed

on the harmonica.

Years later,

when going through photo albums

someone asked of you

“Who’s the Black kid?”

At first, I didn’t see the color,

but eventually

I pieced

some version of the truth together

as I’m sure you must have.

As far as I know,

you’ve never been told

who fathered you,

and maybe your mom

doesn’t know,

and maybe your dad

never knew that

he had a son.

I doubt

knowing the truth

would help now

as you sit in the penitentiary

with your admission of guilt

and life sentence

without chance for parole

for killing your girlfriend’s mother

because you believed

the allegations of her abuse.

I’m sorry you thought

your girlfriend

was telling you the truth

too. 

Welcome to the Mine (prompt: Welcome Poem)

You need to be prepared

to outwit the frustration

work past buckets of sweat

and mostly persevere.

We miners

tinker ceaselessly  

blessed infrequently with

a sliver

a sparkle.

Some days there is

so much to harvest

and sometimes it’s a glint

and that’s all you’re gonna  get.

When you don that prospector’s helmet

and dive deep into the mineshaft

where it’s dark and spooky,

remember, it’s a numbers game

and sometimes

all you’ll have to show for your work

is yesterday’s dust.

You gotta like the digging,

the challenge of breaking rock,

disrupting the Earth

and finding something new.

So, welcome,

now pick up

your pencil

and get at it.

This Desire (Prompt: "Don't Start That Again" Poem)

These moments

of inexpressible happiness

sneak in

as though I shouldn’t hear them coming

and I feel the profound

connection to everything

and then the truth breaks through:

I am only spirit,

unencumbered

to light upon all things

knowing only

the compassion and love

of a truly enlightened being,

but then

just as soon as I become

aware

it vanishes

and I desperately try to gather

the tantalizing details

to hold forever –

and this desire

to possess

that which is not mine

signals the return

of my cursed,

flawed

humanity.

Silly and Magnificent (Prompt: Serious Poem)

By definition,
tomorrow never gets
here
and I am convinced
that God is forever 
re-creating the past
as a cosmic collective
reconstructed memory
for His own amusement.

So all that 
exists 
is in the 
here and now

and even this 
is an illusion.

So, 
when I say
I want my illusion
to be 
beautiful
compelling
sweet and juicy

equal parts
silly and 
magnificent,

I’m serious.

“Priorities” (Priorities Poem)

Looking at the list

of all the things I want to be

and then comparing it

to what I’m doing,

--explosion management

for my 14 year-old

talking monkey

blonde landmine

balancing and structural support

for my two adult children

as I run alongside

while they practice

riding through life

without training wheels

dream and wish fulfillment,

with a side order of

emotional, spiritual and

recreational partnership

 to the most beautiful woman

in the world

cultivator and synthesizer

of ideas, profound and trivial,

and multimedia documentarian

of this life

willing follower  

critical deconstructionist

and very flawed example of

the power and the glory

of Jesus Christ --

I notice

I put others first,

then myself,

then God.

My priorities are not

in order of importance,

they are in order

of grace and forgiveness,

from the smallest

to the Greatest.

Worse Than the Bars (One word prompt: domesticated)

Trained
and sitting in cage,

he’s domesticated.

But
worse than the bars
that surround him

is the minimum security prison
that he’s locked himself into
from the inside 


and he tossed that key
far far out of reach.

No Technique (Telling It Like It Is poem)

Is 

No Technique

a technique 

in itself,

I wonder 

as the prompt

reminds me 

of why 

I hate poetry

and why I like

whatever it is

I write.

Seeing, Paying Attention

Since everything is always moving

all the time,

my challenge is

seeing, paying attention

to the many kindnesses

hidden in this as the world -

from the promise of a rosebud

to a perfect storm-klatch of words,

because they were all

put here for me.

Yes, even you were put here

for me

and I for you.

May my life fit

perfectly

into the space of time

I have been given,

and when I am taken

may there be

no debts owed on my bank account

no apologies or tributes left unspoken

no dreams or desires not sated. 

Epiphany

Before I knew it

there were wrinkles

taking up residence

by my smile,

stray gray hairs

curling wildly from

my sideburns,

my aching, crackling

knee joints

betrayed me,

the memories

stuck somewhere in the back

require a more complicated

set of cues

to loosen them

from their

hiding space.

I needed longer arms

to read the small print

on my blood pressure

medicine

and I understood

the necessity of

euphemistic language like

“erectile dysfunction”

and I smiled because

these were proof

that I beat the odds

and have lived

longer than I thought

I would,

long enough

to be an old man. 

Suspend My Disbelief

I’ve stretched my mind

trying to understand

the scared mystery of

The Holy Trinity

but in the end

I gave up,

and accepted this puzzle as

an article of faith.

Furthermore,

I stretched my reason

and logic

like philosophical silly putty

to understand that

God loves us

in a way that transcends

human understanding,

unless, of course,

you don’t profess

your belief in Him.

In that case,

you will burn 

in everlasting hell.

Everlasting?

Eternal?

Like,

as long as

God Himself 

has been alive,

longer than the Sequoias have climbed

into the sky,

deeper than the Coral Reef,

past the boundaries of

outer space?

That kind of

eternal punishment?

Seems vindictive to me,

vindictive

in a human way.

In the name of faith,

I will suspend my disbelief

only if it brings others

into the Grand Re-Unification,

but I didn’t join up

to scare others

into signing on

the dotted line.

I am a follower

of the Christ,

and I am here to tell you:

God loves you

and wants to be reunited

with you.

I am not a salesman

for an after-life

insurance policy.

Wisdom (Prompt: On the Other Hand)

Maybe

the grass is greener on the other side

and you can judge a book by its cover

and the first restaurant you see may be the best

and it’s ok to let the sun catch you crying

and pride doesn’t always go before a fall

and love is not all you need

and the good don’t always die young

and the Lord doesn’t help those who help themselves

and the free market system isn’t best

and the early bird doesn’t get the worm

and he who hesitates is not lost

but on the other hand

I have only four fingers

because of a

freak industrial accident

which

for all my wisdom

I could not foresee

nor prevent.

Word Cloud of PAD 2011 Favorites

So, I took all the names of all the mentions I made during PAD 2011 and let wordle.net make a word cloud for me.  When I think of talent writers, this is what I see. - Moskowitz