Thursday, March 15, 2012

Act II

We were scratching
at places that
no longer itched
Habits went down
in the last round
hard, and vita-
min E could do
only so much
for the scarring

Trust was dimming
when lightning struck
our second act
awake, alive
electric, like
Frankenstein’s child
more flexible,
fire-proof, god-
like this time

© 2012 Barbara Moore
The Weekenders Magazine Issue 3

Sunday, March 4, 2012


Penny always knew
her own worth

so she kept
turning up

like any
Penny would

bad, good
shiny, scuffed

to draw interest

© 2011 Barbara Moore
Red Fez Issue 37 


Short leashes just kept getting shorter,
necks no longer bearing brunt of pull

Orbed severed bowling ball heads tumbled
over unkempt heels of unlaced shoes

© 2011 Barbara Moore
take-it-to-the-streets poetry volume 3


Let us make unmitigated joy unto the noise
rising up with offerings from our lungs
cranking the music louder than lions
playing unfettered beneath egyptian
stars and moonbeams bright with bits of
powdered particles of  pyramids
showering down on sphinx’s hint of smile
holy as any mona lisa’s laugh

© 2010  Barbara Moore
Vending Machine: Poetry for Change Anthology 2010

Dead Boy

Life spilled cannot be unspilled
drawn back into the hypodermic
labeled always just one more
The belted arm will remain belted
for coroner capitulators
who by accepted definition
arrive after the race has been run and lost

You, lying there so quietly
will not be trick or treating this year
or buying helium balloons on your birthday
and talking like donald duck
or racing around the roof
proclaiming “I am a golden god”
like billy crudup did in almost famous

You, lying there so quietly
will never be more than what you are right now

© 2010 Barbara Moore
Gutter Eloquence Issue 12

Wayne I Never Liked

Wayne I never liked
but you, you saw the good in everyone
You had his back
until the night you didn’t.
We were in the city
112th street, visiting Pops
who went to cop
while we watched his son
eat dust from the floor.
Our eyes were glazing over
right around the time Wayne must have scored
His first time without you
His last time without you
His last time

© 2009 Barbara Moore 
 heroin love songs 2010


You freed me 
Tipping, turning  
Tugging, tapping 
You tunneled  
Underneath the pain 
Not once retreating  
From the breadth  
Of it 
The depth  
Of it 
The wet grave  
Of it 
Until it could  
Be named 
Made lighter  
Smaller, drier 
I could  
Cough up 
Spit out  
Stomp on 
Walk away from 
Leave behind 

© Barbara Moore 2009
The World According to Goldfish Vol II - Sight 2009  

A Bukowski Poem


I see Bukowski everywhere
Pissing against the wall
In the alleyway
Pissing off the vegetable vendor
Lifting fresh parsley to his nose
With dirty finger-nailed hands
Inhaling deeply; never buying

Weaving his way down the avenue
Cursing the bicycle riders
Whistling at the one-legged woman
In the sexy red dress
Sprawled on the sidewalk
Beside an orange cat
On a rhinestone leash

I see him in the post office
In mock-like slow motion
Saluting the clock at noon
Leaving a customer open-mouthed
Transaction incomplete
Hurrying to the lukewarm beer
Stashed in his third-hand car

I see Bukowski at the bar
Sometimes Jane is with him
But mostly he’s alone
Observing his reflection
In the mirrored glass
Looking for a fight
Or a temporary friend

I see him at the track
White-knuckling his losses
Anesthetizing sorrow
With baby sips of beer
As he finds the words
And the lines flow
And a poem begins

© 2009 Barbara Moore
Here and Now 2009
Clockwise Cat Issue 19 

The Model Child

I’m handicapped by etiquette
hog-tied to the falseness
of its swollen barren belly.
From time of understanding words
drilled into my head were these
“Mind your manners, child.”

My playmates were spontaneous
in the moment, whole
I was to the side of things
punctuating pauses with
“please” and “thank you”

And like Red Riding Hood
“What a nice house you have”
“What a delicious dinner that was”
to the point where I never fully saw
never completely savored

Editorializing, summing up
I was the last to leave
with the most words said
the fewest feelings expressed

I’m handicapped by etiquette
Thank you for listening.

© 2009  Barbara Moore
Here and Now 2009

Thursday, March 1, 2012



Courtney may be
the center of the universe
but I’ll hold rabbit ears
behind her head
and screech “Fire!”
when photographers
get too intense

I may be
an okay swimmer
but I’ll hold on to her
when the whirlpool
suddenly appears
thirsty to down me
like another beer chaser

© 2010 barbara moore
Published in How Dirty Girls Get Clean: An Anthology of Wicked Women Writes, Art and Subversive Scholarship
Edited by Rene Diedrich – Creative Consultant: Fiona Helmsley
Art Soldier Liberated Press

A lighter shade of fade

You are disappearing
a little more each day

I thought I could keep you close
bridge the range of distance

But there is no super highway
No well-paved two-way street

No flowery lover’s lane
Only this pebbled path

I kick the tiny stones
as I step in place

moving neither forward
nor in reverse

Peering into cavity
of starless night

I glimpse the shadow
of what I think

I still remember
of your face

© July 20, 2011 Barbara Moore
Edgar Allan Poet