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

Tag: Skin Passion (page 1 of 3)

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.

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.

About K.A.

Frank wrote this poem about/for Kenneth Atchley (K.A.) right before the “Voices from the Underground” event on June 27, 1997 at Modern Times Bookstore in San Francisco. It was read as K.A.’s introduction before his performance. From the poster:

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!

Frank had published one of K.A.’s written pieces in his zine, The Cherotic (r)Evolutionary. K.A. also played with the Cherotic All-Stars several times and even travelled to Seattle to perform with Frank in 1996.

About K.A.

June 23, 1997

A southern gentleman,
gentle being,
creates a noise fountain,
a gate to a dark erotic motel
of razor blade cutting blonde
white skin in love.
Time going backwards
into a shamanistic perverseness,
floating back into a pipeline
of a sustained note, a sexy machine whine,
strangely human, strangely divine.

This gentleman puts pictures in my head
too taboo.

This gentleman with his noises super real spray
opens up caverns of possibilities
like a knife ripping open a child’s belly.

And I always have wondered
what is in southern comfort!
A gentle spirit unbounded.

“Voices from the Underground” poster by LaBash
Poster by LaBash for Seattle performances in 1996.

The poem “About K.A.” was published in Skin Passion: poetry and paintings by Frank Moore.

The Imagination Woods

For Kirsten
For her birthday
by Frank Moore
, Monday, July 21, 2003

Outside of town,
Behind the field
Where the carnivals
And the traveling preachers
Set up their tents,
There is a woods,
Deep & dark & dense…
Nobody knows how far back it goes.
Everybody knows to keep out of the woods
That always threatens to swallow the town up.
Not quite!
The crazies and the moonshiners ,
The forbidden lovers,
And the lovers of the forbidden,
And wild, untamed children,
All find cover for their sacred crimes
Within the hiding edges
Of the woods.
But not the sane,
The respectable,
The normal…
We never go near the woods,
With its saber-tooth tigers,
Giant leather birds,
Rabid wolves,
Razor grasses,
And the deep hidden pit traps
With generations
Of the bones of corpses.
I’ve heard tales
Children getting sucked
Into the dark heart
Of the cruel woods,
Wandering out years later
Naked, muttering gibberish,
To spend the rest of their days

I never went near the woods….
Until now…
Until I started talking to Indian Joe.
People say he’s drunk and crazy.
But his breath is sweet;
His words are clear,
Infecting my brain and heart
With longings for new possibilities.
He lives deep in the woods!
He tells me stories of
The spirit/body dwelling
Just within!

So here I am,
Walking into the woods,
On a quest for the unlimited unknown.
There’s a ball
Of excited pleasure
In my belly
As I pass through
the community of outcasts,
And leave them behind
On the edge.
I just walk and walk,
Deeper into experience,
Smelling Live and Death
All mixed up.
Everything is melting into everything,
Not staying within skin.
Colors and sounds
Intense, clear,
But blending into me.
My brush presses swirling
Into the fleshy paint pot,
Presses firmly into bright surreal
Cool colors on the woods’ floor,
Sunlight vibrates through the leaves,
playing music with the birds & the water.
Is it Kirsten?
Is Kirsten in me?
I’m walking in a joyful creek,
Cool gentle on my feet,
Alive finally!
Enjoying the mud,
The smooth yellow stones
Enjoying walking,
I hear hearty laughing,
From a sexy belly.
Must have been me
Because I don’t see anyone else.
I hear sobbing
Which sinks reality deeper.
I hear “FUCK!”
that explodes into my very being!
Not my voice…
Too much raw emotion.
It’s her!
I keep walking,
Going to the source
Of the creek.
There are balls of mud clay,
Maybe eggs
Each with a unique design.
I keep seeing more of these objects.
Ain’t everything in these woods
Was Kirsten born from one
Of these mud eggs?
Did a child play-make these mud realities,
Or a primitive?
Questions seems so silly
Within this God!
So do my clothes!
I leave both behind.
Keep walking,
Everything is fusing together.
Every move causes warm pleasure.
I can’t tell what is me anymore.
Don’t need to anymore!
Just keep walking to the source!

I’m now….
I’m indeed now!
But I mean I’m now
At the source of the creek,
A spring of purity.
Outside a crude comfort hut,
A creature stirs a soup pot,
With a keening wail,
She climbs a tree!
With a wild laugh,
She right here with me,
Sharing nude skin pleasure
Rubbing herself into me,
Taking me into her,
Fusing bodies,
Simply enjoying being together,
Being enough!
She keeps changing,
Snorting at the sheer fun
Of our dance/play.
She keeps changing.
An old hag
Croaking sex hexes,
A young girl
Full of wonder,
A lusty sexy seducer,
Now she split into a whole tribe.
We are home
Sitting around the fire
Cooking the soup…
She keeps throwing red hot peppers in
Along with other things she gathered.
I stir the pot as she dances
Beyond time with others in our tribe.
All their voices and bodies are within me.
I’m within their dances
As I stir the pot.
We grow old together
As we wait for the soup
To chill.
We can wait
Because we are in our tribal home
Of being enough.
Then she pours in the moonshine.
This cold hot pepper moonshine soup
Has such a kick!

Why didn’t I go into
The woods of imagination
I’m here now…
With you!

“Shy”, digital painting, 2010 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.

River Vision

by Frank Moore, Sunday, March 21, 1999

People sometimes ask,
“Where is your work heading?
What do you want to do next?”

It is not my work.
It is not my choice.

For me,
it is not a question
of a next thing.
It is a growing,
evolving vision.
I am carried along
in this vision
of life,
of art.
A performance does not have
a beginning
or an end.
It is just
a tiny bit
of the vision.
The vision braids
around itself,
flowing on. I do not know
where the vision
is taking me. I have not been down
this vision before.

One thing’s for sure. We humans
are not the end
of evolution.

“Sunset Rise”, digital painting, 2010 by Frank Moore


By Frank Moore
Wednesday, June 01, 2005

the ghostly fingers
of abstraction
are cold oatmeal.

those hands
of wind
can not touch
or hold.
they go right thru you…
not very fulfilling
not very satisfying

time to get out of that room,
time to stop waiting

“Flower Power”, digital painting, 2010 by Frank Moore

From the book Skin Passion by Frank Moore.

Eat Your Heart Out

December 2011

I have always had a rich full fun life.
Everything comes easy to me.
I don’t care about being
or so “successful”,
or acceptable
beyond this inner flesh.

I surrender to play and to life.
Everything comes so far
into juicy bits
of extraordinary supernatural modality
of relationship dynamics upon my word.

I know this is not what to say
if you want to be included in
the addressing Fields
of dazzling whiteness
over oils of press and applause.

They want victims
suffering against overwhelming odds
of the temptation
to editorialize
defeat to survive barely,
waiting to take possession
of these annoying
medical monsters of yokes
of repression…

A special freak
who came to replace
the control box
by profound attention
and ordeal of extraordinary dimensions
bearing upon big terms of
keeping with heavy leaden gray deceptive dawn
between the tempest
and this dreadful nightmare of repression.

Of course you can’t do it,
they say.

is special
with courage,
strength surmounted all obstacles
being mauled by isolation
resulting from between physical problems…
And abilities of luck…
All of which you
and most people
unhappy don’t have.

is special exception
that proves the extreme point of
appalling disaster
which imprison everybody
without any possible alternatives.

They push this shit!

I am always able to handle anything,
having fun
in the freedom
of not knowing
what is impossible.

My dreams are melting
into juicy molten
every day activities just as
people who thought I was Jewish!

I surrender to play and to life.

Everything comes so easy!

Yes, it is hard work sometimes.

But I have come out

of the extreme edge
of things
in my wheelchair
addressing similar circumstances.

Escape from whatever
between us and fun!

They want you to think
you got it
better than me,

You ain’t got shit!

But at least you ain’t
a victim
of cerebral palsy for life,
suffering with cerebral palsy.

At least you ain’t confined to a wheelchair!

At least you can walk,
feed yourself,
wipe your own asshole
in the way God tends you to do!

At least you can play football
until you break your neck
playing football!

Oh, well…

At least
you ain’t
a nigger
or a woman,
or a fag!

Reporters scramble everything up.

They don’t use their souls,
their formidable pricking eyes.

They see a wheelchair
and they write
suffering victim
of cerebral palsy
confined to a wheelchair
and is ninety eight percent disabled
with no body control…

Oh yes he saw a murder!

Reporters are brainwashed.

They have only filter tip eyes!

They see me dancing,
playing piano
smothering the piece
of pounding
lustily on the keys
with vehemence and whatever else,
painting those unknown sights
in oils by Jackson Pollock physical ritualism
of direct engagement
with my whole body control of the paint
with my head,
seeing me
feeling up
right up
her inner flesh with style and aim…

And they conclude
and report
I am paralyzed,
stiffened under the bottom
of no movements
or control
or bodily feelings
and am
ninety eight percent disabled,
hopeless fizzle.
And you depend upon them
for the clear ultimate vision
of direct experiencing
of observation of objectivity!

I suppose
I could even paint
if I was Jewish paralyzed.

But I would have to come up
with a difficult style and techniques
which involve the necessity
of deferring to explore
my luck
and whatever
between physical touch
and the one more reckless effort
to free any particular color.

But the brainwashed plot
is so complete
that some playmates
who had romp with me
and yum
have then bought
that empty press surrebuttal
of my Body of Christ.

I told you so, folks.

I obviously wasn’t meant
for the control
of what is possible!

Poetry of truffles
and Champagne
and yum
yum of philosophy,
humor among various gangland serfs
and behind the curtain of fog
and romantic shit
about how boring it
was to build
upon communicating
even before speaking.

The margins exclude
almost entirely most of everything
which is noncommercial,
original Files
under the command of Bruni d’Entrecasteaux,
ignoring such bestial-looking creatures
like you and me.

Also he gave me shit
about getting deeper
into the ultimate midst
of the arousing desire
of magical colors
disappeared from humanity
and love
with wide open legs
thrust into bed
after eating
the contents of folly!

But wisdom
which may be able to procure fresh meat
for everybody here
is what I am looking for!

From the book, Skin Passion by Frank Moore:

Front cover of the book Skin Passion, featuring a detail of Frank’s digital painting “Toni”.