had his youthful strings swaying
bird had its questioning flute
Duck, the sad, wobbling oboe
Cat the quickening clarinet
Kettles made their blasts
And the wolf
Ahhh the wolf
Loomin', lumberin ', and French
That ****** wolf had it all
And I've got my noisy type bars
And My beer caps
A dangerous place indeed
French horn sounds take a lazy drink
Boys like me ‘n’ Ol’ Pete
Aren’t afraid of the woods
Everything was quiet
Then the terror set in.
I just wanted to say...
You make me laugh
You make me think
About this thing called life
And the small part I play
You inspire me to write
Even though by comparison
I am a fraud
I promise to dedicate my first book
Or Robert Baun
Or my wife.
A short thank you to Charles Bukowski, who makes my life richer for knowing him and his poetry.
Drowning in the Sea of Freedom.
A citizen of nowhere to go
And nothing to do.
Hanging out with Bukowski
And drinking tea.
I should spend more days like this.
The wine flowed from the bottle
as the words flowed from my pen.
It was my best ever.
A match for the greats:
Kipling, Thomas and Henley.
And one that my favourite, Bukowski
Would be happy to say
You matched me today.
I celebrated my masterpiece
With another glass of wine
Before going to bed, joyous
With the feeling I had created
My Magnum Opus.
In the morning I rose,
Clear headed and happy with
The memory of my creation.
I read it again.
It sounded different.
This was not the splendid verse I recalled.
It was the ramblings of a drunken mind
Bukowski would say
Try again Man
This is a pile of ****.
Suddenly, I had a hangover.
A bottle of whisky
A final burger
The best of Bukowski
Vivaldi for the last time
My first poem uploaded to hellopoetry
Did Bukowski drink because it gave him the strength to write?
I wonder if he chose to lose the fight
Because freedom mattered more;
I can't keep open the door, but I swear I can see
A deeper light meant for more than me.
It's hilarious how hypocritical I am;
I call you out for your sham
When I'm exactly the same:
I'm each shattered shard I wouldn't tame.
We're a composite of desires and fears
And rhythm and tears
And all the things in between,
A search for the golden mean.
For a day, Mr. Bukowski, just a day
take me to the races in your convertible. We'll bet on the losing horse and drink the winners under the table. I won't make you talk about poetry like all the others. Just horses and beer.
The woman downstairs is angry
Why do you shut the stars out and not let the moonlight in?
I think, but not say:
Listen *****, the night is bright and bustling
And I just want to ******* sleep
I want to forget the pleasantries and just heal
From the day, the week, the year
Of this seemingly inconvenient life of mine
Hating yourself is easier in the dark
Being hopeful seems easier when nobody is looking
I just want to ******* sleep
Written after reading "Women" by Charles Bukowski
I’m nothing but a ******* taking up valuable space and oxygen
You wake up in the morning, him lying next to you
You smile and think, I could get used to this
While I’m over here, waking up cold and alone
Thinking, I hope I never get used to this
I hope I get over this
I spend nights alone, holed up in this **** hole
Reading Plath and Bukowski
Trying to find inspiration
To write and to live
I have my sad songs on repeat
I have no more heart to give
I think its finally time
To give up and say goodbye
So this is it, one last plea
From me to you,
in the silence
between sight and desire,
I hold you
in my life,
forever in my dreams,
forever in my heart.