Ghazal of Desire

Words flow like milk water when passed through your lips. 
But I'd focus on them better if it weren't for your lips.

Your face is a canvas, and my co@k a brush. Dip your head
soft, and back a little please. I'll trace the outline of your lips. 

It wasn't your father, his gun, or my nerves that stopped me.
But rather your big nose that got between me and your lips. 

I once tongued a man's mouth for good seats at a Laker game.
Lipstick removed, his were no different than a woman's lips. 

My yoga instructor, my idol, the contortion master bends, on
Monkey Rolls Over Backwards, his peni$ can reach his lips. 

Take out your dentures and gum me, bit@h.  You see, the order
of importance is beer, food, sleep, and no teeth with your lips. 

Duck stares at himself way too much in the mirror. And
everywhere his gaze lands, you'll find the prints of his lips. 

Stars and Garters

All the difficult moments in a singer's career 
hang like candy from a sweater.  Sticky, 
they whisper nothing but deterrence 
to even the tiniest of glances
used to reaching for stars and garters. 
That's when sweetness defers to image 
and the singer becomes cold, like a night 
Van Gogh print of a field of sunflowers. There 
you can sometimes find the singer behind 
the singer.  Or the print behind the print. 

Ghazal of Loss

It has been almost a year since you've had your tombstone. 
We'd be married next month if it wasn't for your tombstone. 

They found your two year old son, dehydrated, next to your 
body.  This life wilting memory will always be, his tombstone. 

I'll never forget how we met, through Myspace, that profile
full of friends and pictures and links, now your tombstone.

It's amazing it's still active, to leave comments whenever,
this one-sided blog board that has become your tombstone. 

Internet is a graveyard, its people and fields. I need only start
my computer, and bring pixel flowers to visit your tombstone.

We fu@ked in your office, boss watching, the movie theaters,
on a tree, but never your twisted fetish, on a tombstone. 

Everyday Duck's on the internet, spending time in the grave-
yard, getting his profile right, creating the perfect tombstone.

Namaste

Ghazal of Restraint

You gave up your very first kiss while we were out at a lake.
You would have given up more, except we were out at a lake.

It was a minor distraction, almost a sneeze, the hair that
tickled my nose and cheeks were like clovers around the lake. 

Your snoring is horrid, and the marijuana fades, instead of
counting sheep to sleep, I'd rather count the fish in a lake. 

There are so many things I'd rather do than eat another bowl
of your asparagus soup. How many bowls of water in a lake?

The girl, a neighbor, dragged me from work to her room; co@k
between her breasts, her face soon buried beneath the lake. 

I hear there are many women in the sea. I am a bachelor of
several years because I have never dropped line in a lake. 

Duck! studies hard the lessons of the Buddha. In a world of 
suffering and violence, he holds himself in, becomes the lake. 

Hello teasingbrunette, I'm glad you liked the imagery. I appreciate you dropping by,

Duck!

Ghazal of Faith

The mother, who bore me, kept me, because of her religion.
I should have liked her more, but didn't, because of her religion.

The Jehova witness at my door, bore faith's fruit in her mind.
So I tongue stuck her ear canal, to get a taste of her religion.

I jumped off a building, with a 1000 rosaries around my neck.
Everywhere below, people stumbled, on the beads of my religion.

Yes the plants grow tall in the bright corner of my room.
And yes, goat fu@k, I chose marijuana over your religion.

I'm overwhelmed with these edibles, vaporizers and bongs.
I think I'm just two hits away, from creating my own religion.

Listen bit@h. I can deal with your dad, your cooking, your sex
change. The one thing I cannot deal with, is your religion.

There are guns, pills, and ex-girlfriends for that kind of thing.
But you know, Mr. Duck!, what makes dying easier, is religion.

Ainjel, it's beautiful, right?! I grew this on my backyard, to ten feet! Thanks again for dropping by.

Iam4u, I admit, this one was kinda deep. I appreciate your continued support!

Thanks again,
Duck!

Mammoth Sunflower

It rises,
a solitary figure.
Its head turns from the sky
when it drops its seeds.

Some catholic priests are
like that as well--
sharing of themselves
like salt from a shaker.

So I too will bow my head
as I believe in the idea of one:
One God.
One plant.
One orgasm.
One flower.

Orgasm.
He makes it look like blooming.

2KidsMom, you are too kind. Thank you for dropping by!

Bastet126, I'm glad you enjoyed the poem. And thank you for the flowers =)

Jezzemy, thank you so much for your kind words, and for dropping by.

iam4u, I appreciate your continued support!


Duck!

Thank you Ainjel,


Duck!

Rainbow

The rainbow stays hidden most of the year,
without reason. My gay friend is straight
every time I see him, chased from the kitchen
by police obligations.  Paranoia, 
it seems, is well camouflaged. 
He assimilates himself, like antique glassware, 
colored all his life, fitting on the shelf
among the clear glass. In the spring, the City 
of Long Beach celebrates the gay pride parade. 
There, people, in all of their uniqueness
display, everywhere, like antique glassware 
in a full spectrum of color. 
And when public scrutiny peers 
through the clouds like the sun, they 
don't disperse, don't hide behind each other
like gold coins in a pot, but together, out 
in the open, they dish up the sunlight 
and serve it back to the sky. 

Sneaksintoyourheart, I appreciate your kind words. Thank you for dropping by,

Duck!

manOfewwords, thank you thank you,

Duck!

iam4u, I appreciate your continued support. Thank you for dropping by,

Duck!

teasingbrunette, thank you

Duck!

Cheers 1000111010123! Thanks for dropping by,

Duck!

Inspiration

The most elusive of all moments 
is like a dancer in motion. 
When secretly turned downward 
she discovers nothing is real. Her legs 
are gone, and the floor 
sounds something the color of goat hooves. 
That's when movement meets still life.
First the painter holds the image, 
then the frame does.

heartbreaker123, thank you for dropping by.

winterblue56, I appreciate your support, thank you.


Duck!

iam4u, thank you for dropping by and for your kind words.

Duck!