"throwned" poems
Motto: „ they are all elsewhere/ examining things/ in new bedrooms/” – Charles Bukowski – Praying for rainy days
**** Bukowski
thinks that’s a supraestimated fake
for townsends of years
„ harder than The Riots of Watts”
and it’s not about *****
it’s too precoius and delicate
and it’s not about women
'couse the women *** with roses
or with the spine-birds
and still gets payed on the job
it’s all about poetry
it’s about that funny slaughterhouse
in wich we kick eachothers stupide ***
like some real lovers
and then we rearange our underwear
or what’s left of it
it’s all about a load of **** good to be throwned at the garbage
'couse – don't mention it – there is nothing heroical
and every ****** thing is a makeup
there is just a mouse shiverring in a corner
two ugly frogs are hugging all what is left of the sun
and above all
the monkey is trying hard to improvise a tired smile
**** Bukowski
I don't know a living soul with such a perseveration
to ****** his poems
like his money on horse-races
like his fat’n’ugly mexican ******
and still somehow to become his own hero
insane like this
born into this
and becouse he had lived to much like a dog
alone with the whole world
with it’s ******* **** beauty
in wich actualy nobudy finds his mate
in wich everything it’s just a canibalistic clown
and a childish cry
almoust painfully dead
from his own laughter
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
well here it is:
as a good-hearted crazy boy as I am
I can be fixed only by a woman
on the last gear of speed
like a herd of mustangs in gallop
to the abyss or to eternity
a woman who dedicates me poems of hate
in which I'm the last provincial old man
the princess can fall in love with
but actually the joy is shaking whitin
any time she feels me arround
a woman dressed only in swords of Toledo
who can sing on a sword like Mariza
making me climb on the walls
like on the Chinese Wall on the moon
a woman that resists any melalcoholical drubbing
on rithmes of sirtaki with Zorba the Greek
with her heart blowned out of her mind
carelessly throwned like underwear through the room
a long-time woman to lead my way
and night in sleep and life in death
and my god in all its demons of beauty
with the most innocent baby smile
a woman that on the last outpost of her ******
like a wild goddess will laugh and explode the night
as if as if ordering
the happiest end of the world
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
RECORD: GET A MOVE ON!
FROGMAN: MR. SCRUFF
Johnny's and Suzy's: It caught me so that I may never
... rest from pwondarement;
I will drink life from the bees.
All tore-ments I have enjoy'd greatly,
have suffer'd greatly,
both with throwse that loved me,
and alone; on tear,
and when thro' thudding rents the cravy Haeades
Vent-teh-din-see. I am become a thought;
For all-ways growming with a hungry deadhead
Much have I heard and throwned—
poprieities of Brads and Janets
And spanners,
prime-hates, clowncils, reed-covernments,
Myself too.
threast, i am tonor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of rattle with my tyears,
Far on the stinging pains of dramatic irony.
I am a partition of all that I have kept;
Yet all expeerientse is an ark
wherethro' gleams that unpondere'd mind whose margin craves
metaforever
and 'fore ever
when
eyes
groove.
-- Ulysses, Frogman
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
my heart was embezzled
by these emotions,
I became dumb,
couldn't tell people
what's wrong
my eyes are parched,
no tears at all;
I'm incarcerated,
stuck in this puzzle
I can't solve
I feel loved and unloved
every single day,
I just want to see the world
without heart breaks
my treasure, someday,
might vanished,
throwned in the depth
of the ocean,
where no map
can find it
I'm helpless, with some
of these useless emotions,
I feel loved and unloved
every single day
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC