"backalley" poems - Hello Poetry

during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with ****** I always had this certain contentment- I wouldn't call it happiness- it was more of an inner balance that settled for whatever was occuring and it helped in the factories and when relationships went wrong with the girls. it helped through the wars and the hangovers the backalley fights the hospitals. to awaken in a cheap room in a strange city and pull up the shade- this was the craziest kind of contentment and to walk across the floor to an old dresser with a cracked mirror- see myself, ugly, grinning at it all. what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.

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141.9k

Charles Bukowski

How Is Your Heart?

during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with ****** I always had this certain contentment- I wouldn't call it happiness- it was more of an inner balance that settled for whatever was occuring and it helped in the factories and when relationships went wrong with the girls. it helped through the wars and the hangovers the backalley fights the hospitals. to awaken in a cheap room in a strange city and pull up the shade- this was the craziest kind of contentment and to walk across the floor to an old dresser with a cracked mirror- see myself, ugly, grinning at it all. what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.

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meaning of wishtastes desires drive delusion devils delve deepening seeds to root loathsome leaves smelt cinders graying goals craving strangled contentment under backalley blackness beats heart sneeze two cavalcade blue cacophony in fast dreams reseized by letting go of circus surlplus reassurance of real love is real gone gone is the relooped sad troupe armies of needinesses truth proofed **** the magician disappeared withdrew tears,fears, smears, and leers now amongst new artful peers The lions tail was a cobra coming with teeth under the door awoke then broke my dreams end and don't hafta go back again ego sinning by ego being a sin says ego leggo my ego waffle a proper prophet the jewels three sweet gleams eaten gifts even the ego cant teacher the reached rifts sewn up all dischordian accordian polka poked out eyes belief swam away to the island of surprises can I ? I can will it . Will then be faithful to real action. kung fooled schools chop trees sticks paper stones throw away I can walk 6 feet on airs invisilbe stairs ears heard alistening stream just the branch that froots Shotgun riding to the holy holy holy Dee vine

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Jun 18, 2010

Jun 18, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC

chimera-melons

cacophony in fast dreams

meaning of wishtastes desires drive delusion devils delve deepening seeds to root loathsome leaves smelt cinders graying goals craving strangled contentment under backalley blackness beats heart sneeze two cavalcade blue cacophony in fast dreams reseized by letting go of circus surlplus reassurance of real love is real gone gone is the relooped sad troupe armies of needinesses truth proofed **** the magician disappeared withdrew tears,fears, smears, and leers now amongst new artful peers The lions tail was a cobra coming with teeth under the door awoke then broke my dreams end and don't hafta go back again ego sinning by ego being a sin says ego leggo my ego waffle a proper prophet the jewels three sweet gleams eaten gifts even the ego cant teacher the reached rifts sewn up all dischordian accordian polka poked out eyes belief swam away to the island of surprises can I ? I can will it . Will then be faithful to real action. kung fooled schools chop trees sticks paper stones throw away I can walk 6 feet on airs invisilbe stairs ears heard alistening stream just the branch that froots Shotgun riding to the holy holy holy Dee vine

31

And so the song flows - a messy trace of barbiturate haze, the song flows, tinged with a red-eyed, cathartic sort of sparkle about it in the dark, like the backalley streetlamps by my window at one in the morning. July 1st- I take a step outside, climb to the roof. My eyes swell from the sunlight, glasses steam up from the heat. I have no need for lifting my *** off these sheets anymore but to write. Manhattan rooftop, why did you have to betray me? There was a time when you were the glistening silvertoned backdrop to all of my surreptitious loves as I sat on you, idly humming jazz, peacefully watch the go-and-come of the synagogue pouring into the streets below, pitifully bemused at the concept of dejection. You once gave me a view of opportunity, and ever-alert, always-foreseeing eyes that could have seen all the way to the buildings of Stamford. Now I'm eighteen and terribly myopic. What at all at this point is to exist with implacable certainty? Manhattan rooftop, Tell me that solipsism is the universal truth, then I will not feel as alone.

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Jul 1, 2018

Jul 1, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC

yardbyrds

song to sing me off my ***

And so the song flows - a messy trace of barbiturate haze, the song flows, tinged with a red-eyed, cathartic sort of sparkle about it in the dark, like the backalley streetlamps by my window at one in the morning. July 1st- I take a step outside, climb to the roof. My eyes swell from the sunlight, glasses steam up from the heat. I have no need for lifting my *** off these sheets anymore but to write. Manhattan rooftop, why did you have to betray me? There was a time when you were the glistening silvertoned backdrop to all of my surreptitious loves as I sat on you, idly humming jazz, peacefully watch the go-and-come of the synagogue pouring into the streets below, pitifully bemused at the concept of dejection. You once gave me a view of opportunity, and ever-alert, always-foreseeing eyes that could have seen all the way to the buildings of Stamford. Now I'm eighteen and terribly myopic. What at all at this point is to exist with implacable certainty? Manhattan rooftop, Tell me that solipsism is the universal truth, then I will not feel as alone.

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