Bukowski

Was it said before? Sure. Was it said this way? I doubt it. Perspective is in no way obscure, And his works are nothing without it. His motivation’s observed in daily life, Misery, not just some vague inspiration. He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife; His words reflect a resounding desperation. There seems a need at times to clarify, But that’s allowed in his terms only; So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’, Fed his fire, but made him lonely. No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool, But still seeking solace by the glass; Tempering his stagger and his drool With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’ But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground, Lucid moments - on the square; Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound, Only written because they dare. Yes, you can feel the written “heart”, But few of us can realize that sort of pain; No isolated misery… of many lives a part, Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?” Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well; But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate. Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell… Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great? One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before. One book, one song, then quietly fade away. But six novels later, we should know the score; He must have had something to say. So, at the perfect time, someone heard. Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing. And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words; Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring. But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts? Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring? None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts. Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”. Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014 not so genius