Poems begining by A
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Ave Caesar
© Robinson Jeffers
No bitterness: our ancestors did it.
They were only ignorant and hopeful, they wanted freedom but wealth too.
Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.
Or rather--for we are not aquiline Romans but soft mixed colonists--
Against Scoffing and Calling Names
© Isaac Watts
Our tongues were made to bless the Lord,
And not speak ill of men:
When others give a railing word,
We must not rail again.
Against Quarreling and Fighting
© Isaac Watts
Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so:
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For 'tis their nature, too.
Against Lying
© Isaac Watts
O 'tis a lovely thing for youth
To early walk in wisdom's way;
To fear a lie, to speak the truth,
That we may trust to all they say!
Against Idleness and Mischief
© Isaac Watts
How doth the little busy Bee
Improve each shining Hour,
And gather Honey all the day
From every opening Flower!
Against Evil Company
© Isaac Watts
Why should I join with those in Play,
In whom I've no delight,
Who curse and swear, but never pray,
Who call ill Names, and fight.
As The Sparrow
© Charles Bukowski
To give life you must take life,
and as our grief falls flat and hollow
upon the billion-blooded sea
I pass upon serious inward-breaking shoals rimmed
Alone With Everybody
© Charles Bukowski
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
Another Day
© Charles Bukowski
having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
And The Moon And The Stars And The World
© Charles Bukowski
Long walks at night--
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.
A Radio With Guts
© Charles Bukowski
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
Are You Drinking?
© Charles Bukowski
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
A Man
© Charles Bukowski
George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His
dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishes were undone, he needed a shave, and ash
from his rolled cigarettes dropped onto his undershirt. Some of the ash was still burning.
Sometimes the burning ash missed the undershirt and hit his skin, then he cursed, brushing
A Challenge To The Dark
© Charles Bukowski
shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance
A Following
© Charles Bukowski
the phone rang at 1:30 a.m.
and it was a man from Denver:
"Chinaski, you got a following in
An Almost Made Up Poem
© Charles Bukowski
I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
As The Poems Go
© Charles Bukowski
as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you've created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
Autumn Love
© Li Ching Chao
Search. Search. Seek. Seek.
Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear.
Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain.
Hot flashes. Sudden chills.
At a Poetry Party I Am Given the Rhyme Chih
© Li Ching Chao
Although I've studied poetry for thirty years
I try to keep my mouth shut and avoid reputation.
Now who is this nosy gentleman talking about my poetry
Like Yang Ching-chih
Who spoke of Hsiang Ssu everywhere he went.
As in a Dream
© Li Ching Chao
Last night in the light rain as rough winds blew,
My drunken sleep left me no merrier.
I question one that raised the curtain, who
Replies: "The wild quince trees -- are as they were."
But no, but no!
Their rose is waning, and their green leaves grow.
