Long Bukowski Poems

"Skinwalker"


That one’s mind 
is like a scene from Chagall
dreams flow like blood bleeds
across the cortex page curtain call
an audience with the silent speakeasy 
cerebellum with its swift
matter-of-factness 
logically guides the fingers 
to dance across keys...

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While reading Charles Bukowski poetry? 
On the metro ride home? 
Listening to Buddha bar music? 
On my oh too hip iPod? 
 
I begin to see myself as I was? 
Over 30 years ago when...

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"50 Words for Poe: Witch"




She liked driving fast
The number plate in the dust
Read DOT.OZ.LimaLimaBrava 
Their destination was Wichita

Foot to the Floor 
Off Route 66 Silver Lady purred
Some Kansas backwater 
Galena sped by in a blur

He...

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Charles Bukowski Road Not Chosen
 
While reading Charles Bukowski poetry
On the metro ride home
Listening to Buddha bar music
On my oh too hip IPod
 
I begin to see myself as I was
Over 30 years ago when...

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The Lost Art Of Composition

too often my thoughts and the ability to express them
are taken hostage without a clue to the cause
this is an affliction familiar to many a writer
as if madness wasn't enough
it proves...

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"The White Noise Bukowski" 

Dreams
are playing fields
where scenarios 
can be altered 
at the whim 
of the voyeur.

sometimes
“they” come to you 
in dreams
and your time 
is manipulated.
“they” reveal 

their messages.

soul to soul.
blue avians
like singing 
blue birds,...

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“THE POEM MY MOTHER LIKED”


smoking a cigarette in the bathroom 
at 4 p.m. I wonder what my son is doing; 
I wonder if court will run smooth. I sit in 
the midst of my greatest...

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Something is wrong with me.

" Bukowski had stole my soul. "




                  
Something is wrong with me. I am...

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I
"Gotta job as a nanny!"
"Maybe they'll hire me as a butler"
"Butler and nanny always live
in close quarters"
She winks
He raises and eyebrow suggestively

II
"I love flirting with poets
so...
palpable"
"Indeed my dear, indeed.
We are a flirtatious, passionate creature"
"But we're...

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I love to read Charles Bukowski
My Brother, Bill could have written like him
Sitting at a rust-leg old table in that fractured rectangle
     above a liquor store
     ...

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We were pilgrims to the great city 
one who's culture is globally abundant 
all types live there 

Big name giants 
Equal minded intellectuals 
Rights activists aplenty 
Kings of poetry and literature 
Envious dealers of intensity...

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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...

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master bait catching fear
some skipper known in whirled wide webbed 
     under water world, 
     cuz rumor did hear
auld his death defying exploits infiltrated 

  ...

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-                                  ...

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Harpoon Loouey - Pseudonym Pen Bukowski

although just a pint size Notre Dame 
hunched quarter back 
     with rock solid state frame
Pen (short for pennilessness), 

     a generic...

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Hello to you my old friend
forgive me for I haven't visited
I was busy with life,
and the bills kept coming.
Time flew by... I just don't know

All alone now, brother
you're sister is fine,
she married and has a...

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another Bukowski nightmare begins
the castrato sings below
while she calls from the minaret
fossicking thru the memories 
for our linked verse
while i, sitting beneath the coolabah
river on the run 
waiting for some rabbit or Alice
oh incorrigible moon
have...

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People ask me why I hang 
out with Burroughs and Bukowski 
they have this picture of me
this image, they assume 
knowledge and scholarship 
on the subject of ME
Yet those who understand 
art, or think they...

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It was only this past week.
I had dreams
about Maria again,
and Cat spoke to me through
some diabolical means.
You would only
believe the dreams
if you knew me
(and because they are merely dreams).
I was going to find 
two witnesses
to...

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cyou ramble with his poetry
book after book
but you are not a rose,
you are not a thorn
neither virgin, nor the whore
of his better days
under neon lights
and the sweat of inspiration

crying with Orbison and Lang
the touch that...

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At the station Paton stares at me from the train bound for Johannesburg
He leaves a note to remember to mop up where the roof leaks
This is after the British take Achebe and I's gods away
before...

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My wife is angry with me tonight, 
She said I gawked 
at a young lady’s buttocks
in Wal-Mart.
I explained  
that such an action was rude,
and I would never do that,
that I’m too old for such...

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Ode to the Madman

It was heaven in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees and I was in hell.
But heaven was in sweltering Palm Springs.
And I tasted nectar and ambrosia, both,
Under the dauntless palms.
I took in the...

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The thing came green like kale 
I’ve needed to toss out for days–and bought on sale
and removed edges browning 
and bent in with the texture 
like tips of my dead kinky hair. 

The thing came...

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Let me write you a poem.
A poem so great Bukowski would give me a hats off-
And hand me a beer.
A poem so well-written, John Mayer would play me a 
Tribute song with his guitar.
Let me...

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