" 3 PM "


playground sunshine
These eyes upon my back are inquisitive
seeking answers for this defiance of tradition
but when I meet them they dart quickly away,
attempting a counterfeit concenter on her jubilantly swinging offspring

so do I
radiant is my Rhiannon
her mouth forms the sweetest smile with every push and tickle
she leans back into the swing
eyes heavenward
little giggling songs

this fetches further curiosity
twisting hair around manicured fingertips ,
red haired playground mommy
she asks me how old I am
"why, I am not old at all..."
She bites her lip to hide a smile

Very nice Moe! Tis about time you started posting in here again.

Wow Moe

Very Nice Poems!

"candy"


Plaid lapped Atalanta
lollipop thrust between scarlet lips.
no shades to mask my lascivious surveyance
of her candy trouncing convolutions

Her sun kissed protrusive cheek a ripple,
rhythmically breaking the surface of porcelain framed in pigtails
Her tongue lashes are punishment upon my passion starved temperance

And where are you going , all fish-netted and thigh-highed?
To embrace in the dark with your Melanion?
Well I don't deal in golden apples
but in my candle radiant curtain breezy balcony
I'll give you something sweeter

Moe rocks my world.

Thank you Mella.

Have a tootsie pop.

Glad to see you writing again Moe. Its been too long

I am glad also to see you writing Moe.... Did you know that every epithany experienced by the human brain creates a synapse which makes the mind stronger and more useful?

I see you are back into writing. Rock!

"hostage"

strobe lit darkness
reveals a murder of cage dancers
they quiver with each melody
swallowing,
scavenging every dark note
trembling talons embrace,
the bars of their confinements

a latex clad submissive ensares my gaze,
resting upon a velvet cushion
moistening her raven lips,
she considers my worth in one glance,
suggestively fondling her chained collar
her dark tresses like a cat o nine tails,
caressing her neck
she crosses her fish netted thigh highs,
allowing a glimpse of black thongs

but would you really want what you are offering?

as I drag you down a blackened hallway,
my hands in your hair,
would my kisses be enough to muffle your screams?

there would be no velvet cushions
no fuzzy handcuffs
just collar yanked kneeling on hardwood floor
and how well could you cross your thighs
with my weight between them?
pinning,
grinding,
devouring,
I could do such violence to you.

Moe is a brute. How nice.

Apparently Moe did indeed rent Secretary.

Pardon me whilst I take a cold shower...

nonono. I didnt rent secretary. I had....um.. other sources of inspiration.


shh ok?

Oh my Moe! The dancing Jew-Jew Bees say

"Butterfly haiku"


she is radiance
my one luminosity
butterfly goddess

my light in the pitch
her arms a restful repose
her hands stroke my hair

she whispers to me
breathing angelic sweetness
her sighs I can taste

my hips against hers
entwined in grinding frenzy
with our little deaths

suspend me in this
let the outer realm perish
I belong to you





copyright 2005-Kevin M Baker

Nice one Moe.

soso beautiful Moe

"emissary"


my covert advocate,
you've merely glimpsed my potential
yet you feel plundered,
invaded,
my pen the lance
to assault your coppery haired malcontent
and steal her away into the night,
affix her to my citadel,
a new standard to flutter in the tempest

but had my silence eased your suspicions,
would you even notice her divinity?
in the glare of your electronic pantheon
she is mere impressionism,
viewed best from afar

WoW, Moe, you are very skilled indeed.


any more "Moetry" coming up?

"broken"


her betrayals are justice
for a myopic crucifixion
who I named Kieran
years ago

not once have I wept

for the passing of a matriarch
who conjured memories of wayward antiquity.
to a world who stopped listening

not once have I

for my children
desperate for the warmth,
a mother's soothing murmur
I could never offer,
could never provide

I swallowed those tears

yet now the rain falls,
washing away my ten year blindness,
masking the taste I had long forgotten

tear drops upon butterfly kisses
I will miss you so much

wow, you have great talent!

Keep 'em coming, Moe...

Truly beautiful work comes out of sadness and loss.

Kevin is indeed a true poet. Bravo for you can speak to the soul with your words. Like rain drops falling on my brow. The sun creeps from the clouds and brightens the darkest of days. Water off my brow evaporates and one day will enter my brow once again.

"sleep is for the weak"


the final frontier
grinning through the orange crush
a kerouac cat

bass drumming heartbeat
this moment, a waking limb
questions in the dark

Was I not enough?
the risk not worth the wonder?
here the haiku ends

I would wake you up at night just to call you beautiful
But I don't allow my lovers lethargy
sleep is for the weak

the darkness is best spent in bliss,
say my name,
pant it
lash it like a lollipop

I'd pull your hair like reigns
enslaved
while you wail me upon your zenith

tribal butterflies
But I've got more to offer
I'll be your martyr

kill me for your sins
make no effort to hide me
you want to be caught

my gift is freedom
you believe what you want to
here the haiku ends

Grand! Just plain grand!

beautiful, Moe, simply beautiful.

aww thanks. You guys are swell.

"prayer"

anima sola
afford me one spark of your flesh eating conflagration
sanctify my passions
seethe the seams of my eyes,
stitched with coyote's moonlit wailings

today I see the white walls
footsteps ring upon marble,
a needle in my arm to steal the crimson warmth,
plunder my spiritual sustenance,
redressing my wounds with igorance so blissful,
my haven from conventional wisdom

because I fall in love every five minutes
the trickster,
who juggles anima posessions,
flattering you with a sweet spirit,
the Eros of your rebirth

well I had given you ten minutes too many
so farewell,
and thanks for the butterflies



copyright 2005 Kevin M Baker

Very Jungian, I like this.

Why look DoT: coyote and Eros in the poem. I think we were inspirations!

I like, Moe.

either that or I ripped you off

Pfft! Now I wish I had made a god reference in the blog.



Bravo Moe, from the deep comes much beauty.

P.S. Moe is still a hottie.

Isn't he though? makes me wish i knew him in "real life", not just over the internet.

Nah..we inspired you

this is true

"bella"

the mirror captures my guides and teachers
an assembly of souls,
to unlcutter the disarray
left in the wake of my trickster

yet sapphire glances melt yesterday's winter
her unruly lipped discourse,
her curvaceous divinity,
mask an inner tribal violence
to batter a drum set into a hymm
like an amazonian melodist,
commanding her rhythm
with twin bladed severity

she is so beautiful
so rare
softness and savagery


my trust,
a convict from the white walls,
with a gun pressed temple,
pleading search lights,
crying, "freedom,
or let me sleep with the fishes"
sits precariously near the edge

and to tread another uncertainty
to raise those heights,
fills the void to abysmal depths
to shatter this glass tideway,
left to the appetite of my trickster
to whom I surrender yet again





copyright 2005 Kevin M Baker

I think this may be your best yet, Moe. This is the most confident thing you've written so far. You are finding your voice, braddah.

ah yes! This is the only one have enjoyed writing so far. I feel good about this. Very good indeed.

thanks for reading snuffs.

It's good to see you musing once more Moe.

and to tread another uncertainty
to raise those heights,
fills the void to abysmal depths
to shatter this glass tideway,
left to the appetite of my trickster
to whom I surrender yet again

Moe, I have to agree with both snuffy and Kizzy. Perhaps we will see more frequent postings here?

I want to be able to inspire a poem like this one day!

wow moe.....wow

your my hero

excellent imagery, Moe!

"polarity"



sunbathed window shades animate my weary stability
another restless slumber
today I am a drama queen
I love you,
I hate you,
kissing the night,
sighing the day,
running not walking,
whispering not shouting,
catching the murmurs of my shadowy raven
precariously perched in a mist cloaked fever dream,
circling my monet bridge for a moonlight scavenge
one for sorrow
one for joy
two to corner you with a tight lipped inquiry,
forcing you in the spotlight,
daring your hypocrisy,
yet adoring your fascination with me
I love you
I hate you
until mornings rebirth saves another fitful dreamscape

today I am the Jester
leading you like children out the city gates
my pen -your enchantment,
to conjure your humiliation like king Leer's nuncle
questioning your reality,
dancing with your hypocrisy
juggling your sanity,
with maginfying glass andy warhol eyes
but between the lines of my ridicule,
lies the end of your wits,
precariously perched at my fingertips
I can create you
I can destroy you
until those blinding rays reanimate this random polarity yet again


copyright 2005 Kevin M Baker

I love the change of style and I think its one of the best things you've written.

This was your idea dot. The inner workings of Moe. glad ya liked it.

Moe, you are my favorite poet.

Mine too Serenity, I thinks it's about time Moe started putting a little Copyright symbol on his poems, this is the internet after all.

That was wonderful Moe, I actualy had to look the word Nuncle up, I was like that's not a real word, and like the dictionary was all, for shar, so not a real word, but people use it anyway..

And I like the contrasts in this to Moe.

Your very gifted Moe!!!