The director
of the arts center
told me
he was trying real hard
to sign Bukowski
for a reading
but Buk
had the audacity
to die
leaving an open date
on the calendar
and shoes
entirely
too big to fill
were left in the ledger
so it remained
an open date
and a few diehards
drunkenly nosedived
into Black Sparrow titles
spilling cheap wine
and rot gut whiskey
into broken vessels
of humanity
indeed
too sad a spectacle
for me to watch
and yet eyes
remained riveted
and some cheap beer
and rot gut blackberry brandy
found its way
down my own throat
much to my chagrin
and overwhelming reluctance
to ever admit
to such folly
ALSKARE AUSUARTA: VAIMOKSENI NAINEN: RAKKAUS JA HALU: VAIN JOS RAKASTAT MINUA, BUK STRACKNING, KLO HALL. URAGAN VERSI, OURAGAN -VERSETS.
BRUMES VOLCANIQUES-TULIVUORI, RUDRICK ROUXKIN, KARLEK SIDO HUVUD LAS III. AND REIPAS NAINEN.
WHICH DAYS DAWNS HAVE COME TO
BRIGHTEN THE WAYS OF MEN
THERE WOMEN WHO LOVE THEM MUCH
BREAKFAST AS EACH DAY BEGANS.
THEY FEED TO STRENGTHEN THERE MEN
, SO THEY MIGHT FIND STRENGHT TO WORK.
SAMPLES OF THE WAY ONE FEELS
AS THEY PREPARE FOR WORK.
buk never did this
dabble in cheesey haiku
he wrote the real deal
Poetry Gives me the
Wings to Fly...
The gifts that
poetry brings to me
Allows me to fly
into the clouds
Of imagination
Taking me to lands I
have ever known
To fly free from
this body
Encasing me, but
not, my mind
I can fly to
mountain meadows
Filled with wild
flowers
Land in the middle
and feel
The colors round me.
I see myself in
Tim-buk-too
talking to locals
who like
living there.
I can travel along
in the clouds
drifting toward
sunset or storm
and let emotions fly
free.
In poetry I can be
just anything
I want to be. An
ocean full of beauty
Awaits my call out
of the doldrums
into a pod of
playful dolphins
welcoming me!
Poetry is a gift for
everyone
no matter where they
are from
Masters of their
minds
Beholden to no one.
It answers my call
anytime,
Anywhere...I carry
it with me
not in a suitcase,
but in the
fertile field of my
mind!
it's all your fault
that i got a rejection letter
the letters were wrong
and their order not right,
what was i thinking,
sending my thoughts out loud
to a Brit no less,
la di da
i digress
i just wasn't in proper dress
for the refusal,
metaphors all dressed up in
red silk and stiletto heels,
my panties in a bunch
in your pocket
Buk,
you've always told me the
truth,
shall i order hot dogs smothered
with onions and sauerkraut
from the vendor down Lorain Street
and write poetry on the napkin
i wipe with
send it, sealed with a kiss?
the eagle of my heart breaks
into its sojourn, and here i am
feeling like pay dirt, the sky
thunders, i think it's going to rain.
The Poetry Journal
Sent my first electronic rejection slip.
Enjoyed reading my work
But the inaugural issue is full and are
Unable to publish my poetry…they say.
The Editor wishes me luck.
After reading his work,
Wish him as well.
Right now,
Feeling proud
Like Bukowski.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.