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Poetry

Daniel Edward Moore

daniel-edward-moore.jpgDaniel Edward Moore’s poems have been published in journals such as: The Spoon River Poetry Review, Rattle, Columbia Journal, New South, American Journal of Poetry and others. His poems are currently at Lullwater Review, december Magazine, Natural Bridge Literary Journal, Scalawag Magazine, Tule Review, Fire Poetry Journal, West Texas Literary Review, The Chaffin Journal, Bluestem Magazine and The Paragon Journal. He has poems forthcoming in Weber Review, The Stillwater Review, Hawaii Review, Blue Fifth Review, Plainsongs, Twisted Vine Literary Arts Journal and Broad Street Magazine. His books of poems, the anthology This New Breed: Gents, Bad Boys and Barbarians and Confessions of a Pentecostal Buddhist can be found on Amazon. He lives in Washington on Whidbey Island and his work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Visit Daniel at danieledwardmoore.com.

Unsigned Waiver

In this navy base town
of sleep disordered sailors
narcoleptic dreamers with PTSD

come home to wives screaming at kids
who don’t remember the face of a man
asking them to say Daddy.

Abandonmentis a video game
played while Mommy’s at work:
fake guns, fake blood, fake men with real names.

Abandonment tastes like a T.V. dinner
where the only thing warm
is the fork and spoon teaching the lips to swallow what’s given.

Abandonment feels like a warship on fire
where slow motion flames drowned by waves
not crashing on Westwood Beach

are quenched on men
once asked to be Daddy,
black smoke floating home through a Northwest night.

The Affair

During the affair I had with myself,
black roses, red wine, one dish in the sink,

always exhausted by long drives to nowhere,
by hours spent starting and stopping my heart.

It was solitude’s privilege to wrap me in frost,
to find me naked and scared in the yard,

pretending the moon was the face of god,
pitted with worry, the size of my fears.

Raising the flag on the cold steel box,
just so someone would stop, anger

with a beard would yell from his truck.
I knew I was being unfaithful, knew

I would feed the fire with stamps
to save me from adultery’s sticky return.

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