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

Penny

Penny always knew

her own worth

so she kept

turning up

like any

Penny would

bad, good

shiny, scuffed

determined

to draw interest

© 2011 Barbara Moore

Red Fez Issue 37 

After

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

Celebration

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

Catharsis

Relentlessly  

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  

Heaviness 

Of it 

Until it could  

Be named 

Made lighter  

Smaller, drier 

Something  

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

Bukowski

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

Linked

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

© 2011 by Rene Diedrich

http://www.amazon.com/How-Dirty-Girls-Get-Clean/dp/1463754809/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1370720216&sr=1-1&keywords=how+dirty+girls+get+clean

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

http://www.edgarallanpoet.com/Finding_My_Voice.html

http://www.edgarallanpoet.com/She-Thing.html

http://www.edgarallanpoet.com/The_Final_Act.html