Poetry by Moss

Getting Caught by Moss 8-12-2024

Getting Caught

We went to inspiration point,

Where we rolled a joint,

Then he kissed me on the shoulder.

It was a little weird,

But he said he wasn’t queer,

And he’s looking good as he gets older.

Did I mention I’m 35.

And he’s only 17,

But as we know age is just a number.

Until the cops knocked on the door,

And my keys fell on the floor,

It felt more like winter than summer.

I tried to plead my case,

With mud on my face,

It only got cold, such a bummer.

Chorus:

We got caught, caught, caught,

But he was hot, hot , hot,

Exhibt A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C

We got caught, caught, caught,

But he was hot, hot, hot

I’d do it again,

Believe you me.

The judge gave me two years,

He could see through my tears,

And I promised I wouldn’t do it again.

But I did it again,

With a boy named Ben,

And this story ain’t close to the end.

But some things are better said,

With a wink and tilt of head,

I will not kiss and tell what happened in bed.

Chorus – End.

July 2024

Los Angeles at Night

The copter was so low,

It almost cut the city sign,

Sliced the string of lights,

Choppers to the left,

Choppers to the right,

Pretty much a full blown,

Apocalypse Now, Vietnam, redux,

I turned starboard,

Toward the bus stop,

And asked the mostly green,

Camouflaged guy that lives there,

The guy that blocks the sidewalk,

Three shopping carts and four dogs,

The guy that has one tooth left,

But five pizza boxes, what happened,

He points at the bus,

The tire, the rim.

I look down at my shoelace on my port foot,

It has become untied,

He grunts,

I walk away without tying it.

Saving Eddie

Cache Creek - Yuba, CA 1995

Saving Eddie,
When Eddie popped out of the boat,
The Kevlar whitewater yellow raft,
I was trying to hang on to him,
He was at least 300 lbs.
And most surely couldn't swim.
It was the last float of the Summer,
About 4 inches deep in the spots where gravel
Peering above and below,
I had Dustin the wiry kid,
And Ken, the Viking.
They didn't know how to swim,
But stayed on boat,
After I hoisted him up by,
His life jacket,
We went back to the yellow bus and headed for pizza.

A Lady Named Popper

By Jeffrey Moss Charles

December 2019

When I first spotted her crossing the street,

I thought she was crying,

It was those green-hazely watery eyes,

Looking right at me,

Like she had a question.

Her red and white, faded t-shirt read,

"Rawhide Down"

That was Reagan's nickname, and what they said,

When Hinkley shot him,

So I asked her if she was okay,

And if she needed any help,

She said she was a truck driver,

Her name was "Popper."

I said, "breaker, breaker 1-9"

She laughed, it looked like she was crying,

She was cute, but not my type,

I asked her if she wanted to be friends with

benefits,

She took off one white Top-Sider boat shoe,

And threw it at me. She missed,

I kept it and occasionally sniff it,

It smells kind of gross,

This is a cautionary tale,

Be careful what you wish for, and,

Don't talk to strangers,

The beginning of the end times two.

9 • November 2019 • FREE VENICE BEACHHEAD

The latest print and online versions of the Free Venice Beachead includes one of my poems. This is the second time in three months they have published one.
http://www.freevenice.org/Beachhead-21st/Beachhead-Nov2019.pdf

Eleven Inch Heads (Lazy Sunday Morning)
Jeffrey Moss Charles
November 2019

If bird is the word,
Why is “Wipeout” playing on my A.M. radio dial?
I’ve had visions of playing the drums with The Ventures,
On the sand,
But they wanted to play, “Tequila” instead,
Speaking of drums,
Why don’t they make eleven imch heads?
Do they even make eleven inch drums?
If so, I haven’t seen them carrying the rythmn through the salty,
Foggy, morning breeze.
I can hear it from a mile away.
I imagine it is some guy with a conga drum sitting under a palm tree,
Near the beach.
He’s probably sweaty and shirtless.
With a Modelo by his side.
I wish I was him.
Instead, I’m just walking down the street to get my cup of coffee.
And the newspaper.
It is Sunday after all.
A lazy Sunday morning.

Venice Beachhead September 2019, Page 9

Invisible Thoughts (Clowns on the Beach)

By Jeffrey Moss Charles / August 2019

The last time I went to the beach,

I got sucked out by the undertow,

Before I even went into the water.

The last drum circle I played at,

My riddims were stolen out of my hands,

And my feet were locked in the sand.

The final sunset of the year fell out of the sky,

Winter became fall became summer became rain,

However, sunshine ran into first place from behind.

Skating the bowl and shreddin’ the waves,

Cruising down Main Street with the wind in my hair,

No worries, no cares, no invisible thoughts.

One day, maybe soon, when it all goes down,

I’ll be around, making some sound, acting the clown,

‘Til then be well and get some rest.

(A Not So) Chlorophyll Sky

(A Not So) Chlorophyll Sky - Jeffrey Moss Charles (c) 2019

The sea was as green as the chlorophyll sky,
And the roots blew in the wind,
As the leaves stood by,
The eyes of the beholder is the bark on the tree,
while the anger is tumbling in the rumbling sea.
And beneath the oceans and through all sound,
Is where a fertile seed sprouts,
As it hits the dead ground.
And beneath the wind and through all sound,
Is where a live seed sprouts as it hits the dead ground.

MC Red Pen

My name is MC Red Pen,
In the Learning Lab,
We get a little funky,
With the Algebra.

Once the pen comes out,
We ain't no messing around,
'Cause the commas and,
The periods need to be down.

Two math equations,
and two spanish probs,
Three english papers,
And I'm done with my job.

When I say red pen you say,
Yo-yo,
When I say red pen, you say, yo-yo.
MC Red Pen- Yo-yo.
MC Red Pen - yo yo.

Spring Chicken Moss,
In the house today,
Getting real loud,
But keepin' it tame.

Writing on the whiteboard,
Reading out loud,
Correcting lots of papers,
Controlling the crowd.

When I say red pen you say,
Yo-yo,
When I say red pen, you say, yo-yo.
MC Red Pen- Yo-yo.
MC Red Pen - yo yo.

Marlene Olive - 16 yrs. Old

Here is a poem / song I wrote inspired by Richard Levine's book called "Bad Blood" about the China Camp BBQ murders of 1975. Written by Jeffrey Moss Charles - 2015.

I had my doubts,
when the sun came out,
should I put on my shorts,
or a skirt?

I looked under my bed,
All I saw was red,
Am I still alive,
Or dead?

My name is Marlene,
I had a dream,
I'm only sixteen,
Full of lead.

Should I put on his coat?
Should I put on his tie?
Should I continue,
To tell my lie?

All I could do when,
The sun went down,
Was look at you,
In the eyes.

I saw the hole in your head,
And I knew you were dead,
And all I could say was good-bye.

Oh yeah all I could say,
Was Good-bye.

I put them in the Nova,
I didn't know what to do,
So I drove them out to China Camp,
For a final Barbeque.

I took one look,
At my buddy Chuck,
And told him what to do.
If he loved me and meant,
What he said,
He'd help me get them dead,

Yeah, he'd help me,
Get them dead,

It wasn't much longer,
Maybe a weeks in time,
When the Officer's came out.
They said, "hold it right there"
With their pistols in the air,
And I knew right then,
We're all dead.

Yeah, I knew right then,
We're all dead.

Oh, my name is Marlene,
I had a dream,
Did I tell you,
I'm only sixteen?