This **** place just lost my words.
Forty lines or so.
I inquired about the mishap.
Several times.
Several times.
Several times ago.
No one felt to write me back
No one felt to check or track
Where did my words go?
It was quite a lengthy write
Took me **** near half the night.
But they lost it!
That ain't  right.
That ain't right..
Not right, no sirree!
Though I'll never get them back
And I know they're gone for good
Maybe someone somewhere could
Look to see
Look to see

There are numbers everywhere
(Meter and flow, words in tow)
Getting us from there to here
(Meter and flow, all add up)
Sometimes rhyming, sometimes not
(Meter and flow, all one voice)
Hence the final circled step
(Meter and flow, meter and flow)

All our words come down to this
(Flow and meter, beat and time)
Secular within our spirit
(Flow and meter, add/subtract)
We divinely spill our words
(Flow and meter, after all)
Pleasures lost and songs unsung
(Tear-blood in the meter and flow)

There are numbers everywhere
(Meter and flow, sweetly real)
Hard division in our hearts
(Meter and flow, years and focus)
Speak them gently, let them fly
(Watch them go, watch them grow)
Build the Ages yet to be
(Meter and flow, meter and flow).

There he sat
All dark unsaddled
Brains quite addled
From the blow

Brigands laughing
All about him
There to clout him
Should he run

From his good eye
Squinting sneaky
Peeking out
From swollen brow

Primrose Pete
Considered options
Acquiesce
Or fight or flee

Counting up
The five marauders
Such close quarters
Peter smiled

In a wink
The first two fell
Hellbound from
Pete's shining blade

One was cut
From prow-to-keel
Didn't feel
The lightening slash

Two was dead but
Still a-stagger
From Pete's dagger
Through the throat

Pete then turned
His one good eye
Upon the three
Left standing there

"Knock ME from
My gentle ride!"
He chided them
And took a step

In a flash
The third man died
His manhood hung
From Peter's blade

Number four
Jumped up in-close
They danced a rosy
Final step

"One last waltz"
Said Primrose Pete
And short and sweet
The blood ran hot

Last of all
The Highwaymen
The fifth of five
The last alive

A tall man
Taller quite than most
With ghostly eyes
And hammer hands

A man who felt
That pain was fun
This one-on-one
Was just a tryst

So they stood there
Eying up
While trying not
To give a tell

Of their planned
Last brave attack
While Pete held back
To catch a breath

All at once
The fight was on
That bloodied lawn
Would find no peace

Both men fought
With all their might
From Noon til Night
On into dark

No Moon sang
The stars shone mute
A suit of cloud
Hung o'er the fray

Blood and dark
With ought a sound
Save the pounding
Steel on steel

Come the Sun
There on that field
Without yield
For Honor's sake

Cut for cut
Both men held true
And on into
A second night

A third then
Into a fourth
A fifth of course
They battled on

It's said that
Both men died that day
T'was slay for slay
Though neither fell

He fights on
Old Primrose Pete
His ghosted feet
Still dancing true

With his blade
Of shadow pure
Against a worried
******* dark

And it's said
On summer nights
When the wind
Is right and odd

One can hear
Old Pete's mare
Out there braying
On the moor

And beneath
The old hag's whinny
If you skinny
Up your ear

You can catch
Old Primrose Pete
Sweetly dancing
With his sword.

I woke a moment ago
still alone
in this large bed
But I wasn't lonely.
There was a dimple
In the mattress
Next to me
Where I dreamed
You might be.
And then the dog farted.

How many times
Can I lie you your truth?
My honesty is suspect
And my hammer is soft.
How many nails
Must I pretend to pound
Before you see
That nothing holds?
I cannot see your definition
But I can raise my words
And ante up
Knowing that both of our best bets
Are riding on
A bluff.

I know it's been more than too many years
I am not the boy you loved
Nor the man you left
And I guess
You are not the girl I fell for
Or the woman who left me
But I do know that we are still ourselves
And regardless of the winds and hours
And Years and sins
And miles and miles
And tears by the bucket
Eventually drying
Along roadsides we don't remember
Driving
That first kiss
Still drives me wild.

It's a logistical rule I own
To attempt a poem
Every day
Based on a word
Or a feeling
But I wasn't
Feeling much
Today
So I gambled
A gambol
In the Webster's
And it was my thumb's fate
To find "Palpitate".
Funny that the previous poems
Both deep and sincere
Had the Heart as their center
So clear and unpretentious
And ****-near annoying
Relentless in their calling
Out to a Lost Love or three...
Old "woe is me"
Always attempting to
Circumnavigate the heart.
To go around the push-pull
Of Love lost denied
And surf away on the curl
Of swollen palpitate.

I've known a couple Judy's in my days
I dated two or several three or so
And each and every one was quite Herself...
(For every Judy's different, don't ya' know...)

There's several, maybe dosens, that I've known
All Judys in the highest of regard.
All prim and proper, stately or rotund,
(And quite a few I've kissed in my backyard.)

I hold a special place inside my heart
For all those Judys that I've yet to meet.
I've cleared a space out there in my backyard...

A wild bull
Wakes me from
My sweet dream
Of you
**** coffee
Or sagacious wind
Or pets-needing-out
Just Stop It!
Let me fall back
Into that dark domain
Of You
For a while
For a few more
Pillow-case drools
Where Morning
Is years away.

There's no sweet hai-ku
Equal to you or your scent.
No garden holds you.

Words alone can not
Define the undefined You.
Flowers are your eyes.

From the skies clouds fall
To be gentled by your touch.
Whispering fogs weep.

There is no perfume
No stolen, wan aroma
Equal to your breath.

Armies march blindly,
And nations worry to dust,
While you rise and bloom.

There is no hai-ku
None that I can find, mind you,
No words to your Sweet.

You are forever.
A myth in the High Garden
Of Time's Secret Song.

Our hours were short.
Yet each moment was a World.
You bloom in my dark.

Golden petals weep.
You are more than counted lines.
Hai-ku's welter  in your shade.

Love has winded by.
Breezed cool past my open heart.
It was you, Summer.

Miles and miles away
Yet you connect
No phone or letter
Even better
You find me in sleep
Deep in alpha/beta/theta flux
In-Between Dream
A skinny touch
Just enough, not too much
To wake me from
You.

You were such an angry dog
Nipping at my heels
Until we were alone
And you calmed down
And let me rub your belly.

As long as no one watched.

I don't know if your Mother Human
Named you after
A dead president
Or some Hole where Bikers gather
Roaring and biting
Like you...

I'd like to think
To believe
That she named you
After the misunderstood painter

Who, like you,
Expressed beauty
One had to
Really
Really
Look hard to see.

God?  The Hereafter?  Jury's still out on that one.
I haven't heard any Angels weeping,
Tears of Redemption seeping into my
Sidewalk life.

You!  With the Suit... and the briefcase filled with default...
Your shoelace cost more than my last dinner.
From one Sinner to another, Brother
Spare a dime?

Job?  Would you hire me?  All streetdirt and hungry thin?
Would you take me in, clean me up all nice
Let me use your Old Spice and your razor?
I thought not.

I used to be you, you know.  Once upon a time
I had everything a man could ask for
And then one day, ****! it all fell away.
Here we are.

Sir.  I'll be honest.  Just a dollar, eight bits. Sir
I promise not to waste your hard-stolen buck
I'll invest it in the local street-trade
Safe-and-sound.

I'll be around here for the next few days in case
You feel the need to support my lost cause.
I won't follow you down the street Mister...
Got no legs.

God?  God wasn't there when that bomb took my legs
While I was dancing for your freedom fight,
Your tax-dollars bleeding out in some swamp...
Here we are.

Hell.  Hell wasn't the ***** war I got sent to.
Hell was coming home to no home waiting.
Just this sidewalk life here on the corner.
There you go...

Wife?  Oh yes indeed I had a beautiful wife.
Past tense.  Her, my legs, ****! All up and gone
But you're still here listening to my tale.
Worth your time?
Got a dime?

I stand before you open now a bleak and hollow shell
A battered weary tattered piece of man
I've swallowed all my guilty pride and all my sins as well
I'll do my best to fix-up what I can
But I've had years to ***** things up and ***** them up again
And thus this may just take some extra time
So have a seat and while you wait there's magazines to read
I'll call you when your number's next in line.

We have surely lost this war
Yet we linger on
To gather what few wits remain
And fight another dark day

We are gentleman, at least,
Killing each other
Only in the hours
Before suppertime.

When the swollen sunlight
On the distant Standing Oaks
Mimics the blooded field below
We set down our arms.

One weary lad climbs to the top of the hill
(We take turns...)
And blows a Hollow Tattoo
Calling us all away from Death,
For a while at least.

Rafael was deaf.
Those colors were only
Depth shadows
He heard
When his brushes
Sang quietly
Every morning.

Caravaggio was mute.
And thus he
Could not
Sing along
With Rafael's brushes
On those
Oily mornings.

Funny how their paintings sing to us.

The title alone
Leaves me wondering.
Is this lunch?
A  kitchen faux pas?
Or simply a clever way
To teach a chicken
Gravity?

Dark is not the absence of light,
but the reflection
of those things
right
behind you, sneaking.

There is dog howl wind
behind that cold door
out there
where
all the stories
come true.

There are manic truants
running wild across
my back lawn
with
little hatchets
and bags.

There are sneaky smiley men
inside the TV box
greedy tongued
cold
begging money
and souls.

I will shut off the TV
let the dog in
lock the door
rock
creaking
dark
old
happy
safe.

A poor boy on the sidewalk
watches through the window
as the angry speakers gesture
on the T.V. in the store.

He knows that they are angry
by their scrinched-up ugly faces
and their heavy pointing fingers
and their hands out
always hands out
wanting more.

He knows that they are speaking
of the world and all its problems
and of little people like him
stealing T.V. from the street.

He leaves the silent speaker
screaming anger through the window
and he radars out the sidewalk
always looking
just a little
bite to eat.

I have no Faith.
She left me for Tom
The big guy
In gym class.
But I'll always have Summer...
Tom's little sister
taped up
in my cellar.

I used to have a dozen hens
They laid a dozen eggs
And every egg hatched out a chick
With skinny chicken legs
And each and every one of them
They laid a dozen more
My poor old barnyard **** is tired
And really really sore.

He contemplates the Bible
As he adds up every page
Religion's an equation
As he totals every age
Of Man and Beast and Angel
(He's a thick and dowdy sage)

He tries to sum redemption
Through his numbers in a book
He thinks he sees sin everywhere
He's too afraid to look
And so he squints with whetted pen
(to carve his Heaven's nook)

He sits and waits for Rapture
As he whittles souls away
He does it all by numbers
In a slick efficient way
And when it doesn't add up...
("Forgive them... Let us pray.")

O, mi corazon! Que has hecho a mi?
O, mi corazon, necesito saber...
Una vez te senti,
Palpi tando
Hando dento de mi...
Para ahora me siento tan vacio
Y solo...
O, mi corazon,
Where have you gone?

She moves at quantum levels
You're not supposed to see
And if you sneak a peek at her
She flips from sine-to-three

She changes colors often
Her blue-shift echoes red
I caught a glimpse of her and now
She's dancing in my head

She moves at quantum levels
With paranormal grace
She stands still on the dance-floor as
She jibes from space to place

She doesn't feel the rhythm
Her beat is zero-G
She moves at quantum levels which
You're not supposed to see

She'll dance with God or Devil
She'll dance to any key
She moves at quantum levels which
You're not supposed to see

(she sometimes wears a frilly-thing
  which peeks out from her jeans
  She shakes at quantum levels in
  The spaces in-betweens)

I grew up in an old farm-house
Just a spit-toss from the creek
Joyous boyhood in the cowshit
To my Parents' deep chagrin, though,
I was never mild or meek.

I was boyhood raw abandon
I was loud as loud could be
I could dance to secret music
I would pester all the grown-ups
Questions! Questions, constantly.

"Why For" was my given nick-name
I was such a hungry youth
Why for this and why for that
I would drive my Folk's friends crazy
Seeking bits and bites of Truth

Years have flown by much too quickly
Knees are creaky, hair's gone gray
Still I ask a simple question
Same one when I played in cowshit
"Why for why for, anyway?"

Falling smoothly into chaos
Dancing with The Devil's twin
Staying out to all odd hours
Play to play but not to win

Holding onto little numbers
Clutching at the threes and twos
Tossing all the Jacks or better
Nothing left to really lose

Pony up my hidden nickle
Lay my hand down, easy breeze
Watch the other gamblers crumble
As I win with twos and threes

Rake in all my ill-begotten
Dust the prayer-dirt from my knees
Pocket up my lucky nickle...
Jesus loves those twos and threes.

Me an' my truck
Goin' on down the road
I think o' yer cheatin' heart
And I lose my load

Down in Tennersee
I met me a girl
Her name was Billy Joe
Hot ****! What a thrill!

But she broke my heart
It was just my luck
Now alls I got left
Is me an' my truck.

Bootlick Tom went out one night
To get his share of drinkin' on
He soon got into a fight
When all his drinkin' money'd gone

Out there on that beer-lit stoop
He saw that it was one-to-four...
"Almost fair" he chuckled as
He knocked the first one through the door.

Number Two was big and mean
with heavy-handed hammer-fists
But BootlickTom took out his knee
And put him in a scissor twist.

The third big bad-*** came in wild
A busted bottle in his hand.
"Well, that's not fair", Ol' Tom remarked,
And knocked him into Never-Land.

But Number Four stood by the door
He knew the outcome should he fight...
"I've got a few coins left" he said
And Bootlick Tom drank free all night.

I promised that I'd go to bed
before the midnight hour.
Yet doggy has to take a walk,
and kitty's milk is sour,
and laundry in the wash-n-dry
needs sort and hang and fold...
(my Mom was right, I need a wife,
before I get too old!)

I'd like to have a comfort wife,
Here in my waning days...
A happy, buxom, needy gal
who puts up with my ways
Who'd let me write and paint and strum.
then bed me down with flowers...
(Then walk the dog and fill the
Kitty's bowl
when his milk sours.)

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood
Three Bones up to nothing good
Way too many teeth in there
Three Bones smiling everywhere.

Three Bones watches children sleep
Waits until their dreaming's deep
Then he creeps into their beds
Tearing into little heads.

Three Bones steals away their dreams
Laughing at their slumbered screams
Nightmare is his stock and trade
In this dark midnight parade.

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood
Three Bones up to nothing good...

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood.
Three Bones up to nothing good.
Shiney tooth and long dark hair
Olde Man Three Bones everywhere.

Humming songs without a tune
Swell'd up like a fat New Moon
Dark and shadowed, in his hood
Three Bones up to nothing good.

copyright 2011 T.P.Mooney

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood.
Three Bones up to nothing good.
Shiney tooth and long dark hair
Olde Man Three Bones everywhere.

Humming songs without a tune
Swell'd up like a fat New Moon
Dark and shadowed, in his hood
Three Bones up to nothing good.

copyright 2011 T.P.Mooney

Around about and up-side in
with cotton candy tummy spin
I watch the world go sideways by
Holding tightly as I fly

Swirling in a Dervish dance
Mustard stains upon my pants
Mom/Dad/Mom/Dad tilt nearby
Holding THEIR breath as I fly

There were spooky shadows on my wall
From the window monsters outside
Tall
Wavering
Skinny-thick
Making believe they were only trees
in the wind
oppical delutions,
Bad-boy dreams
Mean
hungry
Skinny-thick
Making my pillow snarl
The heater growl
down there in the
Belly of the House...
Just waiting to ****** me in
**** me down
into those shadow holes
Where the Spooky  lives

There is a space inside the Heart
A hollow bit with walls and room
To let in more than we assume
Could even ever fit there...

It stretches out and it expands
To fit the open hands and minds
Of lonely strangers and old friends...
It's such a lovely spot.

We should, I think, keep broom at hand
And Spring-Clean every once or twice
To make it nice and comfy soft
For visitors who stop here.

And even maybe sweep the steps
And offer up a sugar bowl
With creme and comfort and a spoon
Next' to the coffee ***.

There is a space inside the Heart
A little nitch (with room to spare)
I often find my self in there
Just waiting for a visit.

So come on in with Saint or Sin
(The Open Heart cannot define
The difference of the two)

The coffee's warm
and so's the beer...
I'll leave a light for you.

I do not worry
About the Hurry-Folk
Who drive by
9-to-5
or
5-to-9
depending on their employment
While I find
Enjoyment
Just peeing
off my front porch.

Shhh...
There's something...
Sneaky
Out there.
Shhh...
It's got fingers.
And tooth.
And hungries.
Shhh...
It's dancing
All floppy
And dark
Shhh...
It's just shadow
Thickening
And thirsty
Shhh...
Don't let it know
You know
It's there
Shhh...
Don't wake yourself up.
Or you'll
Miss the monster.

It matters not to her
How brusque
Or Deep-voiced
Or Pointy-fingered
I am
when she
Begs at the table
And I say
NO
She knows
Her wag
Will wear
Me
Down

We shall pass away
Die
Before you
Or I
make a dusted nickle
from our sticky prevarications
Our summations
The declarations
Of self we purport
To be of some interest
To others  other than us

We shall fade like whispers
In a noisy room
With  OUR echoes
Muffled
Tucked away
Until we
Are dirt-bound

Oh, we will be remembered
Recalled
Even misquoted
After
After

And when we are dead
We
Will guide
The stars
In
New Poets' skies
And dust off those nickles
So that they shine

She was the prettiest ******* the playground swing
She was eleven
I was nine
I knew that it was doomed from the beginning
Stars in Heaven
Misaligned
Her pleated skirt-fly defying gravities
I was buried by
Her tall laugh singing
Digging me deeper
Years were bigger
Steeper back then
I wonder where she swings now
High and silly-free
Or down in the dirt
Where I still play
Two years behind

I never argue with her
I simply give her
Anything she asks for
Silently
A minor fee
A quiet effort
Nothing, really
For what she gives me
A kiss
To keep me hushed
Happy
Mutely secure
Dumb and Lucky

Breathe and pant
focus
push
push
wait
Grab onto something
anything
push
push
cry
People stand waiting
curious
push
push
scream
It crowns
It slides out
You have birthed so many
ideas

There was no showdown
no paper-tied-to-rock-through-the-window
ultimatum
nor
last minutes
to prepare

There was no warning
no alarms-sirens-bells-flashing lights
no manual
nor
instructions
to save him

There was no face-off
no walk-ten-paces-then-turn
no preparation
nor
split-seconds
to stop and aim

There was only the kiss
He was doomed

He ran
Screaming
Munch-like
only three-dimensional
demeaned
and
demented
and
fearful
of such a love

Like a painting
He would hang
when
she
caught him
forever
on her wall

He laughed boy-laugh
at Her ******
Her chin was high
when she hit
the water

There is no bottom to "the drop"
there is wind
as you fall
and
time
slows
while
Your past grows
in the wind
and
time
so
enjoy the ride