The view through the bars
might appear discouraging;
it was never locked.
Monday, February 29, 2016
On the Slick, Black Rock at Monterey Haibun (May 2002)
In the gray fog of dawn, on the rocks at Monterey, I thought of the woman I left, with all the blood and messy entanglements of heartbreak. I also thought about the woman with whom I’d recently fallen in love. When this newly-found romance tried to bloom, pangs of guilt kept my joy confined. Lost in this misty, damp morning, the fog enveloped me, forgave me, encouraged me. Then and there, on the slick black rock, I decided to start a new chapter, the best chapter, of my life.
The view through the bars
might appear discouraging;
it was never locked.
The view through the bars
might appear discouraging;
it was never locked.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Saturday, February 13, 2016
The Hypochondriac Speaks
How I hate to visit
Urgent Care,
as unseen germs float
in virulent air,
and nothing I can do
will quell my despair,
just find a safe spot
and try not to stare.
I know you can't control it,
but try covering your sneeze.
By the look of your symptoms,
no one wants your disease.
On my left, he's burning up
On my right, she's in the freeze.
Hurry, doctor, hurry,
I'm feeling weaker by degrees.
My chest is feeling tighter,
Please make this wait more fast.
Finally, they called my name,
Thank God, some care, at last!
Check my vitals, ask a few things,
It's worse than thought, alas!
What I thought was a myocardial infarction,
turned out to be only gas.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Polished Dancing Shoes
Still yourself
until you feel
the vibration.
Sharpen your senses
until you can hear
the thrumming,
pulsing life
in every living
being.
Listen to the world
turning on
its weary, aged axis
and attune your breathing
appropriately.
It may feel like
a night lasting a year,
but it is only
darkness,
and just when
you’ve adjusted
to it,
a flash will blind you
for a moment,
and out of the glare
a meadow will bloom,
the ocean will sing,
and your heart will know
the music
of the spheres,
this planet
whirling in
its blue-black space,
within a larger galaxy,
twirling within
this infinite cosmos,
and when that happens
you’ll be ready
to put those
polished dancing shoes
to good use.
[Inspired by Belinda's post at http://busymindthinking.com .]
until you feel
the vibration.
Sharpen your senses
until you can hear
the thrumming,
pulsing life
in every living
being.
Listen to the world
turning on
its weary, aged axis
and attune your breathing
appropriately.
It may feel like
a night lasting a year,
but it is only
darkness,
and just when
you’ve adjusted
to it,
a flash will blind you
for a moment,
and out of the glare
a meadow will bloom,
the ocean will sing,
and your heart will know
the music
of the spheres,
this planet
whirling in
its blue-black space,
within a larger galaxy,
twirling within
this infinite cosmos,
and when that happens
you’ll be ready
to put those
polished dancing shoes
to good use.
[Inspired by Belinda's post at http://busymindthinking.com .]
Monday, February 08, 2016
Finding 1974
Climbing
over the mountain
of memories,
it looks more like
the city dump,
everything tossed
about,
no rhyme,
no reason,
no hope
of ever
finding 1974
and the
innocent skin,
the naive eyes
I once possessed
before the erections,
insecurities,
and self-abnegation
took me hostage
for the next
few decades
and refused
to let go.
Wednesday, February 03, 2016
One Week Shy of 26 Years
I am the sexy line of
Long Island Ice Teas
and the salacious,
intoxicated solicitations
that never happened.
I am the morning
Bloody Mary
with raw egg and Tabasco
as a cure for the hangover
that never came.
I am the frosty can of
ice cold beer
waiting in the 90 degree
afternoon heat
that I never opened.
I am the nondescript
bargain whiskey
on self-pitying lonely
and moonless nights
that never left the bottle.
I am
one week shy of
26 years of sobriety,
but on days
like today,
I want her so badly
that I can only
define who I am
but what
I don’t drink.
Long Island Ice Teas
and the salacious,
intoxicated solicitations
that never happened.
I am the morning
Bloody Mary
with raw egg and Tabasco
as a cure for the hangover
that never came.
I am the frosty can of
ice cold beer
waiting in the 90 degree
afternoon heat
that I never opened.
I am the nondescript
bargain whiskey
on self-pitying lonely
and moonless nights
that never left the bottle.
I am
one week shy of
26 years of sobriety,
but on days
like today,
I want her so badly
that I can only
define who I am
but what
I don’t drink.
Monday, February 01, 2016
Raincloud Haibun
Rain can fall or storm,
ultimately, it brings growth;
the clouds never stay.
[First #haibun attempt, photo by BusyMindThinking (many thanks as it inspired this writing).
Nightmare (Twelve Problems)
I awaken
in darkness
alone in my bed
(problem #1),
and I hear someone,
something,
slamming against
the front door
(problem #2).
The alarm wails
(problem #3)
and before
I can panic,
the familiar
beep-beep-beep-beep
of the code
is entered
which quells
the alarm
(problem #4).
I call out
"who is it?"
and there is
no response
(problem #5)
save for the sound
of breathing
and the opening
and closing
of kitchen drawers
(problem #6).
I attempt
"Who's there?"
but my voice
suddenly strained,
is whisper quiet,
(problem #7),
and I hear
the familiar squeak
of the knife drawer
(problem #8).
I try to kick off
the blankets,
but I'm inexplicably,
inextricably,
tucked in
(problem #9),
as heavy footsteps
plod up the stairs
to my room
(problem #10).
In the moonlight
I see the glint
of the blade
in the hand
of the approaching intruder
(problem #11),
as my body,
frozen in fear,
eyes closed hard,
awaits the plunge
(problem #12).
in darkness
alone in my bed
(problem #1),
and I hear someone,
something,
slamming against
the front door
(problem #2).
The alarm wails
(problem #3)
and before
I can panic,
the familiar
beep-beep-beep-beep
of the code
is entered
which quells
the alarm
(problem #4).
I call out
"who is it?"
and there is
no response
(problem #5)
save for the sound
of breathing
and the opening
and closing
of kitchen drawers
(problem #6).
I attempt
"Who's there?"
but my voice
suddenly strained,
is whisper quiet,
(problem #7),
and I hear
the familiar squeak
of the knife drawer
(problem #8).
I try to kick off
the blankets,
but I'm inexplicably,
inextricably,
tucked in
(problem #9),
as heavy footsteps
plod up the stairs
to my room
(problem #10).
In the moonlight
I see the glint
of the blade
in the hand
of the approaching intruder
(problem #11),
as my body,
frozen in fear,
eyes closed hard,
awaits the plunge
(problem #12).
Thursday, January 28, 2016
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.
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]
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
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?
Monday, January 18, 2016
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
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 ]
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 ]
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, January 11, 2016
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 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.
Friday, January 01, 2016
New Year's Resolution (for Sarah)
Just on the other side
of the dawn
a new year waits.
of the dawn
a new year waits.
It is
merely potential,
now,
merely potential,
now,
waiting for something
or someone
to set it into motion.
or someone
to set it into motion.
Be that activity!
Be that energy!
Be that spark that starts
who you are to be!
Be that energy!
Be that spark that starts
who you are to be!
It might take
a long time
to find your light,
a long time
to find your light,
but when you do,
nurture it,
feed it,
and then
set it on fire!
feed it,
and then
set it on fire!
The world is waiting
for you.
for you.
It is incomplete
without you;
the day is incomplete
without you.
without you;
the day is incomplete
without you.
Bring who you are
to the party
that starts right now
and never ends.
to the party
that starts right now
and never ends.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
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]
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]
Monday, December 07, 2015
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?
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?
Thursday, December 03, 2015
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."
Wednesday, December 02, 2015
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?
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?
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