Hidden treasures discovered while digging through Frank Moore's huge archives.

Category: Poems (page 1 of 5)


Frank wrote this poem about Noni Howard for the event, Voices From The Underground, which featured contributors to his zine, THE CHEROTIC (r)EVOLUTIONARY:

Voices From The Underground

Friday, June 27, 1997 7:30 p.m. at Modern Times at 968 Valencia Street in San Francisco, California.

THE CHEROTIC (r)EVOLUTIONARY, a zine of all possibilities, presents VOICES FROM THE UNDERGROUND, an evening of readings and music by a wide range of agents of cultural subversion … featuring Dorothy Jesse Beagle, Barbara Golden, Noni Howard, Jack & Adelle Foley, K. Atchley, Frank Moore … plus special surprise guests. If that is not enough, everyone will get an autographed xeroxed piece of art by LaBash!


June 23, 1997

Everybody here has secret identities
of superheros terrorists criminals artists.
Everybody here is in disguise.
Everybody here is intimate friends of the well-known.
Everybody here has a secret cave of great influence.
But nobody ever expects/suspects.
We are that good!

But there is a legion, a myth, an old wife’s tale…
If you travel deep into the underground,
you will come to the cross roads between pleasure and torture.
Here you’ll find Noni,
the taboo queen.
Gravel voice of hard drink
that can fray your skin off
layer by layer
with beautiful sandpaper words
which give you orgasms of pleasure
while making you bleed.
They say she is a nightmare creature
that can rip your balls off to your cries of delight,
rip them so gently.

They say she has unspeakable secrets 
and slaves of both sexes and even satan
herself bows down to Noni!

And they say this wild creature Noni comes out
of her dungeon cave into normalcy to walk among us
in disguise.

I never listen to what they say.
But I believe,
that Noni does exist…
nightmare risk taboo queen.
I’m searching for her…you, Noni!

Then Noni wrote this poem in 2001 for Frank:

For Frank Moore

dressed in the colours of the earth
your mind swells my imagination/

Prophet, Poet, Producer
of the blossoming flowers
of our eternal youth

you are there
to celebrate every

such joy that we live for !

to see every moment
bend, twist, explode
into EONS of light

your thought makes
it all happen.

You are the thought
and the happening
at once.


are there


Noni Howard
For Frank Moore

Within The Living Shadows

August 1, 2003
for Linda Smith

oh, the cool living
within the shade
of the big oak!
The girl swinging
On a high branch
Looks down
And sees my bright
Pink and yellow petals,
Jumps down
to smell me
And lies beside me
To listen to the music
Of the oak leaves
Playing with the summer breeze.

All my life
I have been sheltered
By my friend the oak,
Being protected from
Hard rain,
Gusts of cold wind,
And hot sun,
So that my gentle beauty
Can grow
strong & bright
Within the circle
Of vibrating shade…
Refreshing shadows
of living together,
Rooted together
Within just being together.
Ah, my friend,
The oak tree!

“Koala Bear”, oil on canvas, 22” x 30”, 1975 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.

Too Late

For Barbara Smith’s
70th Birthday
by Frank Moore
Friday, June 29, 2001

It is too late
For THEM to defeat us.
We have made it to the gravy years!
We have lived rich lives,
Within a deep web of
Tribal community relationships,
Deep into shamanistic rituals
To the magic
Without limits
Sitting on the mat
In the universal room of hidden imagination,
Every body who comes in
A magical feast of contact connecting flesh rituals,
Growing, working the garden together
Walking together
Within small circles of evolution,
Of risks,
Deep pleasures!
Yes, my fellow playmate,
They have failed
To take the riches of living
Away from us.
They raped us
Tortured us
Pretended we were just feeble-minded silly foam
But we have transformed
All that into our web
Of change
Ain’t that what life,
Is all about anyway?

And now it’s too late for them!

They can kill us,
Put us in prison,
Take everything/everybody from us,
Erase us from memory,
But we would still have our life,
Our changes,
Our melting
Into the universal tribal body
Their only hope
Is us taking our lives back
By doubting,
By stopping playing,
But fat chance!
We are having too much fun!

Ah yes,
My dear,
We are in the GRAVY YEARS!
And the gravy
Is rich,
And spicy…
Just right
To be poured
Over winter squash!

“Jackie”, oil on canvas, 32” x 40”, 1977 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.


For Erika
by Frank Moore, Sunday, September 01, 2002

There is no beginning,
No ending,
No leaving or going,
No stages or signposts
You came with an urge
To expand
Into yourself
Outside of your skin
Into your body
Outside of what is known or comfortable
This terrible urge of yours
Is the same urge
That’s exploding
The whole universe
In all directions
Without itself
You came to dance
With me
Within your dangerous urge,
To battle demons
With me,
To play
And explore pleasure
And fears
With me…
Always dry wisecracks
And shrugging off
Before you leaped
But you leaped
Every time into the expanding
Rings of vulnerable power
Of becoming…
The gentle tides
That wash away
The sand fortresses
Of isolation
Which appeared so massive solid,
Just dissolved,
Melted harmlessly.
Yes, you became
The gentle spring rains
Erasing the hard chalk lines
Drawn on playgrounds

By bullies…
“If you step over this, you sissy!”
Now the ghosts and demons
Seem just silly fearful creatures,
Only barely visible
Running away
From your bright, glowing body,
All juicy and relaxed
You have expanded,
Are expanding,
Into enjoying life,
Dark and rich
And we,
You and me,
Have expanded lustfully
Deep inside each other,
Body and soul,
Cozy home rooted in love,
Fellow warriors and lovers
Carrying each other
Deep inside
There is no leaving for the likes of us,
Just a never ending graduation
Of us playing together
In the ever pushing urge
to surrender
Into the ever new unknown

“Batman’s Face”, oil on canvas, 40” x 40”, 1976 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.

out of isolation

a mat is on the otherwise bare performing area. harsh bright lights. jim lies in his world of the mat.
I lie here in my universe of the mat, my bed. I always have been here lying in my universe forever, forever. My mat, my pillow, my sheet, my blanket…for countless force-fed meals, enemas, baths, shaves, haircuts, pissed-on sheets…many many harsh-lighted days, many, many semi-dark nights. Outside my universe there are bony fingers, blotch-skin creatures. Sometimes they invaded my universe…the sickly-sweet smelling ones. They “take care of me”…they handle me like they handle my pillow. Their voices are high, loud, flat. Sometimes they lie on beds beside mine, moaning and crying for alone many many, then they get quiet and others of them carry the still ones away. There are always new ones, but they are always the same. There are different bony fingers who invade my universe, who strip me, probe me stretch me until it hurts…do strange things to me like rubbing ice on my body then brushing me hard. They talk to me in funny ways…loud and flat. They say, “We are doing this for your own good.” They don’t think I understand what they are saying. I don’t understand most of their words. But I understand enough, I understand I am not a Mister, a Mrs., a Miss, a Nurse, a Doctor. I understand I am not bony fingers. They can keep their universe of bony fingers. I am not going out of my universe of the mat. I understand enough. A long long, when I cried out, they made me numb. I do not like being numb. In my universe of the mat, I am not numb. But they said crying out was not “appropriate behavior”. I do not think appropriate behavior is good.
Everything that is not appropriate behavior makes me feel. But I understand enough to stop crying when the bony fingers are around. Stop making any sound, any move when they are around. They stopped making me numb. I understand enough. I discovered a way of rubbing myself that makes me warm, makes me feel good. Bony fingers slapped me away from feeling good. Not appropriate behavior. I understand enough. I do appropriate behavior in the harsh light when they are around. I am still, quiet. In my universe of the mat. I do not even look into their world. I am busy creating within me. But when the harsh light goes and the semi-darkness comes…when only the still or moaning bony fingers are around…I move, I laugh, I cry, I rub my body and good feeling comes. Not so loud or so much that the harsh light, the bony fingers, and their numbness come back. But just enough. And by rubbing, I know I am not bony fingers.
In the harsh light, they treat me just like my pillow. They change me just like they change my pillow. Always fast like they need to move on. Sometimes, the special bony fingers, the prodders, stand over me and say I should come into their universe, what they are doing to me will help me. They talk like they talk to my pillow. Why should I want to go into their world of greys, where everyone wears white? In my universe of the mat, I lie on smooth warm softness and create the brightest colors and the sweetest sounds to surround me. But I am not worried. Bony fingers never really believe I ever can enter their universe.
I only wish I was not the only soft fingers…I wish there was another soft fingers in my universe of the mat…someone to share in the bright colors and sweet sounds…someone I could laugh with, cry with, move with, share good feeling with…someone who would be with me on the mat, touch me not like touching my pillow, not like pulling things out of me or to make me different. But just because we are the only soft fingers in the universe of the mat.
There is a new prodder. Do not look at bony fingers. But catch sight of same white. Miss Roberts talking to a pillow called Mr. Merrill. Same words about “to make you better”. But sound of voice is somehow different, softer. The touch is still changing the pillow of me. But not bony fingers! I sneak a peak. Same white, but different. The skin is soft like my skin. The smell is almost like my smell. Almost enough to try to open my universe to this new soft fingers. But words came, the same words as bony fingers. The prodding soft fingers strips me bare just like she is changing the pillow of me. Easier to probe my pillow of a body. The prodding fingers does the same hurting “make you better” exercises on me as the other bony fingers before. And then the going somewhere else fast. And the touching the pillow of me, instead of touching me.
When the soft fingers and the harsh light were gone, I cried louder than before. I do not care if they make me numb. Maybe numbness is better if soft fingers are the same as bony fingers, if soft fingers also want me to go into grey and white, if soft fingers does not want to be with me, then numbness is better.
Soft fingers keeps coming back. At first, rushing to somewhere else, trying to pull me into the grey universe. I know how to fight against that bony fingers trick. But I like her soft warm skin touching me…like my soft warm sheet under me. Sometime soft fingers forgets about helping me, about making me a better person. For that moment we are the only ones in the universe…together. Then soft fingers remembers the bony fingers and starts touching me like a pillow again.
But the moments of being together grow. I like when she forgets and makes mistakes and comes closer into my world. I like when she just sits on my mat…on our mat…and just looks at me, just listens to me. I feel more and more like I can show her my moves, show her my sounds. I like when soft fingers became Jane and I became Jim. I like when Jane just lies on the mat and we just look at each other, listen to each other, even when we really don’t understand what meaning…but we feel. I like it when Jane starts making her own noises, not just bony words. I like when Jane holds my hand. I like when Jane comes into my world of dim light, when she wears colors bright, soft, smooth flowing…not bony fingers white…and even her hair is flowing strangely soft. I like when Jane comes wearing the colors soft even in the harsh light. I like when Jane makes the harsh light go away for a while, when Jane rocks me, when Jane rubs my head. I like when Jane slowly takes all the colors off. She is soft everywhere. She lies next to me on the mat. She makes soft sounds and soft moves, just like me. She is just like me now. Two soft fingers on the mat. I like when Jane lets me rub Jane’s back, when Jane calls me Jim. I like it when we are in our universe of the mat sharing not appropriate behavior…laughing, crying, making good feeling come. Rocking or holding hands made different good feelings come together, making soft sounds together, together making good feelings come.
But suddenly Jane was gone. I was alone in happiness. Jane would come back into the happiness with me on the mat. So I was happy.
But when Jane came the next day, she was in bony white. Jane had become like bony fingers again. She said what we were doing was not appropriate behavior. She used words like romance and sexual that I did not understand. Jane left. The numbness came back without the bony fingers giving me anything.
Jane came back as bony fingers. I kept rising out of the numbness in hope whenever Jane came, but then fell deeper and deeper.
Jane came. I could not hold the crying back. I cried in the harsh light. Then Jane cried too. She made the harsh light go away. She came back into our universe of the mat and rocked me. Jane told me to teach her the noises and the moves of our universe of the mat. Now I have another soft fingers, Jane, on the mat, in the universe with me, together with me.
Together we can expand the universe beyond the mat. Jane can bring other soft fingers in. The bony fingers begin to fade. I can see, begin to see colors beyond the mat, begin to hear laughter beyond the mat. Jane says she and I together will explore the universe that is outside. She and I are happy.
© Frank Moore 1986-2002

From the book Chapped Lap by Frank Moore, published by Inter-Relations.

Read about the history of the “Out of Isolation” video here:

Out of Isolation complete video:

Passions Don’t Burn Out

by Frank Moore, Friday, March 19, 1999

Passions don’t burn out
bliss don’t boil away
fuel of life
is for a lifetime

burnt out?
Kill yourself…
or stop using
glamor, hype,
romantic drug
to rush above
everyday reality

“Universal Red”, oil on canvas, 40″ x 40″, 1978 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.


by Frank Moore, Wednesday, June 15, 2005

It is natural
To create happiness
Within our combined body
Living together
Just a part of enjoying
Being together
Surrendering into one another.

This is pleasing,
Just being together
In being enough,
Not going anywhere,
No separation,
Floating together
In turn-on,
Doing the dishes together
Cleaning house
Making love
Cooking dinner
Feeding one other
Within our body
Without anything to prove
Or to show…
Just actively following
Together the flowing
Blood within us.

It is fashionable today,
Backed up by correctness,
To refuse to please.
But this “pleasing”
Isn’t our pleasing.
It’s appeasing.
There is nothing within our body
To appease!
The wife appeases
Her abusive husband
To not get clobbered…
The 18 year old girl
Appeases her parents
To win love, approval,
To escape a fist
Of power.
Is coins feeding
The meter
Of isolation
And separation.

“I don’t want to please anymore!”
is bleak,
cutting the heart out,
sealing active surrendering,
melting, infusing
up in a cold cell.
And this is why
Appeasing /
Running away
Is fashionable


I ain’t writing
This so-so poem
To please you
Or appease you…
It just came out
Of our body
of loving/enjoying
Being together…
Just like kissing,
Washing dishes…
It would separate us,
Would be denying.

“Tracey Is Ready!”, digital painting, 2001 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.

rings of orgasms

rub me deeply into you
lose myself into you
rub my cock, hard or soft,
on your pleasure bone,
feeling hairy prickling pleasure
clicking up the intensity
deep inside by balls,
a deep laugh is tickling
its way from deep inside my belly,
a heart sob is pushing outward from my throat.
rings of orgasms,
each melting into the next…
not climaxes…
not charlie horse ends
with a shared cigarette…
but a daisy chain of orgasms
everlasting, neverending.
smell your skin
breathe you deeply into me.
suck me deeply so i am now a part of you,
so we are no more,
so we are one body
rubbing melting skin
goose bumps chills skin orgasms.
orgasm is death within pleasure
where control…even who we are…
and we float skin rubbing at
the heart of the universe,
our combined body orgasm pumping out
visions and dreams and life and light.
within the rings of orgasm,
we are the universal heart
pumping magic,
nursing everything.
we were conceived within orgasm.
we were brought into this world
within the birth orgasm.
we were nursed from mother’s orgasm.
we will go out in the orgasm of death.
live within,
dream within,
love within
the rings of orgasm.
rub me deeply into you
lose myself into you
rub my cock, hard or soft,
on your pleasure bone,
feeling hairy prickling pleasure
clicking up the intensity
deep inside by balls,
a deep laugh is tickling
its way from deep inside my belly,
a heart sob is pushing outward from my throat.
rings of orgasms,
each melting into the next…
© 1993 Frank Moore

Artwork by LaBash

From the book Chapped Lap by Frank Moore, published by Inter-Relations.

you ain’t no deer

Frank wrote this poem for one his students, Teresa …

you ain’t no deer

Frankly, my dear,
You ain’t no deer!
No coy thing,
Fragile, timid,
Ready to run
At any sound…
Ready to run away
Into fearful hiding!
You are a Molly Bloom
Blooming giggling deep belly lust!
Ale drinking
Pipe smoking
Pushing my hand deep inside you
After waiting amused
For us others to pick up
And join you
In a lusty jam!
Legs wide open,
Eyes trusting,
Yours is a fleshy universe,
On stage
In rapture trance
Musical warmth flowing
From sucking joy!
And I ain’t no deer hunter,
My dear!
© Frank Moore 10/14/2000


Teresa is a Featured Artist on Frank’s website:

From the book Chapped Lap by Frank Moore, published by Inter-Relations.

their cuddling cocoon

she sits nude beside him, talking to him, with one hand rubbing him, with her other hand guiding his hand rubbing on her pussy….relax ritual, peaceful.
he curls his body around hers. licks her leg. she starts rocking, pressing his rubbing hand more firmly to her for pleasure, rocking in pleasure.
he pulls her down beside him, half on him, his leg sliding in between her legs, moving it gently to create the same warm creamy dreamy turn-on in her as her rubbing hand is creating in him. giggling licking ears, biting necks, belly deep, heart deep sounds of joy leak out of the both of them. emotional sounds of relief of having each other. kissing deeply, her hips moving, her hand rubbing, his nose in her armpit, then his tongue. she moves up, letting his tongue follow the curve of her breast to the nipple.
he pulls her all the way on top of him. he licks and sucks and enjoys and explores deeply every part of her body as she slowly slides upward. she rocks in licking pleasure. deep pleasure sound duet.
now, she begins her own downward journey of licking kissing exploring of his body. he rubs her back and head. she takes her time when she reaches his cock rubbing kissing licking. he pulls her back up to kiss, to look in her eyes. belly rubbing on belly. rocking together, giggling together, hips moving slowly passionately. two bodies with skin of warming wax, melting together into one body.
she sits up on him and rocks back and forth on his responding body, rubbing into body laughing. sometimes they look far into each other’s eyes. other times they are two kids taking their first roller-coaster ride. sometimes they just close their eyes, surrendering to the tides of moaning pleasure. his hands play with her tits, belly, and pussy. she turns around on him so that she can rub his legs and feet as she rocks on him. he rubs her back with his spastic hands.
but all of a sudden, giggling he pulls her down beside him, facing away from him, so he can give her a proper deluxe back massage using not only his hands, but also his head, chin, mouth, elbows. almost like a classical pianist, playing her body. all the while, his cock firmly rubs against her butt.
she turns toward him, taking him in her arms, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him close deep within their cuddling cocoon, to talk about how they can always be together in their small warm world.
© Frank Moore 04/15/1995

From the book Chapped Lap by Frank Moore, published by Inter-Relations.