The Un-Commented Upon Post

Inspiration wafted by
and grabbed imagination
by the collar
and they wrestled
and rode each other
naked and sweaty
until conception
was complete.

During gestation,
the second draft
brought needed
revisions
until finally,
this child,
their beautiful offspring
was ready.

Press “Publish”
and wait.

Every baby
in this nursery appears,
more or less,
the same,
and a hundred more
were born
since you started
reading this.

What did you expect?
It’s just a blog post.

It’s not like
you cured cancer.

[Written for http://dversepoets.com/2016/01/28/image-ine-dverse-meeting-the-bar/, inspired by your Hostess, Victoria C. Slotto]

The Night Watchmen

The night watchmen
see it all.

They slip into midnight,
their natural hue,
and witness the hunger,
the desperation
of those who live
and scurry by night,
but don’t do
or say anything about it.

Their slick black
trench coats
make each one
indistinguishable
from the other.

Last night,
they witnessed
a break-in
at the printers,
a break-up
after the bar closed,
and a breakout
from the county prison.

They betray no one,
they have no code.

In the dawn
they gather
in their murder,
but there is
no conspiracy,

each crow
searching the morning’s
detritus,
stray fast food wrappers,
uncovered garbage cans,
just looking for
something to eat.

The Unacceptable Weirdos

Give me
the unacceptable weirdos,
those artists
sweaty, passionate
and forever
misunderstood.

I don't believe artists
who look like
movie stars
or fashion models,
because they always had
other options.

An artist
so ugly that
all they have
is their talent,
their lifetime isolation,
and their pulsating pain;
I find
in these outcasts,
succor
and understanding.

This is the story
I tell myself:
I'm not a pretty boy.
I'm an ugly,
unacceptable weirdo,
so therefore,
I must be talented.

Anyone else
see the flaw
in my logic?

Lifetime Movie Haiku

Perfect male misanthropes,
doe-eyed, speaking mannequins;
I can't look away.

Room Service Banana Split Sundae (for Anita)

The only way
to improve upon
a room-service delivered
banana split sundae
is to slowly lick it off
the naked backside
of a freshly
blooming
paramour
in a furtive,
anonymous hotel room
in a city
far, far away.

[Written for http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2016/01/poets-united-midweek-motif-food.html ]

Little Napoleon

Little Napoleon
ruled his world,
with an iron appendage
taking whoever he wanted,
whenever he wanted.

Although a stump
of a man,
a troll with bad breath,
a lazy eye
and a crooked nose
with oversized
nostrils,
word got around
that he was blessed,
gifted, as it were,
and the women swore
the rumors were
true.

For years,
it was an endless,
breathless
orgy of sweaty,
fleshy excitement
with an ever changing retinue
of hungry femininity,
who wanted nothing
to do with him
once they collected
as many orgasms
as they could carry.

Little Napoleon
didn’t care.

He’d rather read a book
than talk to 99 percent
of the population anyway,
but still,
there were some cravings
that a book would never satisfy,
like
who was staring back at him
in the motel bathroom mirror?

The end crept in,
covertly,
manifesting itself
in ever diminishing
performances,
softer and softer,
gentle like his
grandmother’s
skin.

In desperation,
he tried pills,
shots,
prosthetics,
even resorting
to cognitive-behavioral therapy.

Though he was found
in a most undignified
position,

hanging from a shower rod,
bathrobe sash around his neck,
extension cord wrapped tightly
around his engorged
junk,

he would’ve been
mighty proud of this
erection.

De-Christmasing

Before the
new year arrives,
I de-Christmas
the house.

Fold the festive linen,

exile those ceramic
snowman to their
cardboard Siberia
in the garage,

fade out all those
wall to wall
yule tunes.

The lights,
the music,
the handmade ornaments
from the children,
these things
stay the same
year to year.

We change.

I change.

As I re-seal
the yellowed boxes,
I relive
the blur of memories
attached to each
thing,
before I store it
away
with a blessing
and a wish:

"see you next year,
God willing."

One year,
I won't be so lucky,
and these things
will outlast me,

and I hope
I am part
of someone else's
Christmas memories,

remembered,
at least,
for a season.

New Year's Resolution (for Sarah)

Just on the other side
of the dawn
a new year waits.

It is
merely potential,
now,

waiting for something
or someone
to set it into motion.

Be that activity!
Be that energy!
Be that spark that starts
who you are to be!

It might take
a long time
to find your light,

but when you do,

nurture it,
feed it,
and then
set it on fire!

The world is waiting
for you.

It is incomplete
without you;
the day is incomplete
without you.

Bring who you are
to the party
that starts right now
and never ends.

I Believe (My Testimony)

Nothing will prepare us for
that angel waiting at our final door
who'll beckon us to come explore
an afterlife we can't ignore.
Unlike the view we've learned before 
no flames are coming through the floor
and there isn't torture, fear or gore
only love everlasting and nothing more.

So listen now, as the truth I tell,
I believe there is no everlasting hell.

Your life unlived, full of regret,
you've dug your grave with a pile of debt,
as eternal challenges go unmet
and childhood dreams you must forget,
but please don't worry or even fret
this rollercoaster ain't over yet,
there's still time to change and get
all that cannot be lost on a bet.

So before this situation worsens,
I believe God will save every person.

Immerse yourself in sacred pages
decode prophecies of ancient sages
but literal interpretations so outrageous
can lead to justifiable rages.
Don't surrender logic in subtle stages
or let fear of death become contagious,
ask the hard questions, be courageous
and let God free you from any cages.

It doesn't matter how it is said or done
I believe, the Lord, our God, is One.

Cherry pick what you believe
and earthy praise you might receive,
a pious halo you might achieve,
but you'll be the only one deceived.
I've been called worse than naive
but I've nothing heretical up my sleeve,
for my Savior born on Christmas Eve
loves us more than we can conceive:

In His family I am your brother,
so Love the Lord, our God 
and love one another.

[Posted for Real Toads' Tuesday Platform; http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2015/12/the-tuesday-platform_22.html - Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year y Feliz Navidad, mis amigos!  Dont drink and drive! Don't text and drive! Love, Moskowitz the Humble]

The Lady Who Never Says No

The Lady Who Never Says No
whispers that no one will
ever know.

She's all dressed up
for the holidays
like a call-girl,
wearing her best
skin-tight
electro-amphetamine
frosting.

She knows how
to make that sound
with her perfectly
lipsticked
mouth
that makes even the
most innocent utterance
sound slutty
and tempting.

She's giving me that
"Take Me into
That Darkened Corner
and Do Whatever
You Want" look

and she's right
no one will ever know,

but I know me.

And one time
will tumble into 20,
then into a hundred,

and we'll go at it
cheap and angry
in my car
in the far end of
the Wal-Mart parking lot,

and then I'll be
sucking down mouthwash
before coming home,

and I probably
will only stop
when the red and blue lights
stop me,
and I lose my license
for a year.

Then,
everyone will know.

Fuck,
just keep on walking.

For Christ's sake,
it's just one aisle in the grocery store.

After 26 years,
ain't you got over her yet?

Size Doesn't Matter

“Listen, brother,

you ain’t missing

anything.

Bigger women

got bigger everything,

and that ain’t always

good,

if you know what I mean.

Wear your size

like the badge of honor

that it is.

Besides,

there's always a few

who’ll do us

because

of our size.

That’s when you

show them

what a real freak is."

[For http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2015/12/words-count-with-mama-zen.html  ]

Andy Warhol's Quote, with an NRA Rewrite

In the future
everyone will know
someone caught
in a mass shooting,

but the wound
won't be forgotten
after 15 minutes.

So, Wayne LaPierre,
where the fuck
is that Good Man
With A Gun?

Like Magic (for Anita)

Like magic
the sun went down
and when it came back up,
the world was changed.

Like magic
he went from affluent bachelor
to husband-stepfather
with the utterance
of a few words.

Like magic
thirteen years whiz by,
faster than memory
can capture.

Life is sweeter
and richer than ever imagined,
and as I stand in the middle
of all this wondrous,
miraculous happenstance,

I know it wasn't
accomplished
by magic,

for there is no secret
to reveal,

only love.

Thankfulness, a list from Moskowitz

Dear Colorful Ones:

Smarty Fireblossom
Mama Super Zen
Angie Inspired
Shadorma Girl Paula W
Difficult Degreed Amy Jo
In The Corner of My Eye Mary
Brudberg, wherever he is
Di Domino
Kimolisa
De Whimsy Gizmo
Sue the Laundry Goddess
Candy Bug
Clairey Love
Writing Outta the Mary Bachs
and Joanna the Tenth Muse,

it's easy to feel
invisible
in this virtual world.

Thanks for seeing me,
reading me,
writing me back.

Thanks seems so small
when your words feel so big,
and on many days
are the best part of being me.

So,
anyways,
thanks one and all.

I hope you know
how much your reflection
means to me.

Amen and
onward.

Vanity

With a fierce determination,
these architects plan
and sculpt
and build
their bodies
into monuments
of self-discipline
and sheer will power.

They are temples
worthy of awe
and admiration,
but some display
their weakness
as peacock feathers.

Those who graffiti
their bodies
until they've no more
skin left uninked,
display the worst
kind of weakness:

vanity.

Today's High: 81

Rust in the trees,
turkey shopping
in short pants,
Thanksgiving
In Moreno Valley.

Brown Privilege

I can arrange
to be around people
of my own race
most of the time,
whether I
want it or not.

I can avoid spending time
with people whom I was trained
to mistrust,
mostly because
I’m unwelcome there.

I can go shopping alone
most of the time
at la carniceria,
la panaderia,
or any of the price-point,
mini-mall variety stores
pretty well assured
I won’t be followed
or harassed.

I can turn on the tv
or read the front page
of the newspaper,
and see people
of my race widely represented,
mostly in stories about
illegal immigration,
narco-trafficking,
and quinceaneras .

I can be pretty sure
of having my voice heard
in a group where
I am the only member
of my race,
as long as I am
amusing and
non-threatening.

I can do well
in a challenging situation
without being called
a credit to my race,
although I have been called
“one of the good ones.”

I can worry about racism
perpetrated against
white people
without being seen
as self-interested or
self-seeking.

I can take a job
that I am overqualified for
with an affirmative action
employer without
my co-workers suspecting
I got the job
because of my race.

I can be late to a meeting
of MECHA
or La Raza
without my lateness
reflecting on my race.

I will feel
welcomed and “normal”
in the usual walks of public life,
institutional and social,
provided I know my place
and stay there.

Naked Body Insight

Self-delusion
is self-defeating:

there's no such thing
as secret eating.

The Queen of QVC

The parcels arrive daily,
like seaweed and shells
from the tide.

She keeps calling,
buying,
collecting,
gifting and re-gifting.

She’s hates if someone
calls her a hoarder,
and can’t understand
why she was prescribed
an antidepressant.

When I visit
there’s no place to sit,
and it resembles less
the home I grew up in
and more a packaging
and shipping depot.

In a rare moment
of lucidity and candor,
she confessed
she’s trying to find the
perfect gift
to give so people
would like her.

Digging further,
she knows
she’s trying to find
the perfect gift,
and I ask her
what’s the one thing
she wants.

I already know
the answer,
and she sobs
and I just sit there
unable to do
anything about
my father’s death.

Micropoetry Microaggression (a haiku)

Micropoetry:
I'm still outside, looking in:
microaggression.