Life poems
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40,000
© Charles Bukowski
at the track today,
Father's Day,
each paid admission was
entitled to a wallet
Consummation Of Grief
© Charles Bukowski
I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
O, We Are The Outcasts
© Charles Bukowski
ah, christ, what a CREW:
more
poetry, always more
P O E T R Y .
The Aliens
© Charles Bukowski
you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
What Can We Do?
© Charles Bukowski
at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
Be Kind
© Charles Bukowski
we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
Are You Drinking?
© Charles Bukowski
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
The History Of One Tough Motherfucker
© Charles Bukowski
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
Young In New Orleans
© Charles Bukowski
starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, mabye it was,
The Shower
© Charles Bukowski
we like to shower afterwards
(I like the water hotter than she)
and her face is always soft and peaceful
and she'll watch me first
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
I'm In Love
© Charles Bukowski
she's young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pretty
Let It Enfold You
© Charles Bukowski
when i was a young man
I felt these things were
dumb,unsophisticated.
I had bad blood,a twisted
mind, a pecarious
upbringing.
A Morning Dream
© Li Ching Chao
Although this might not help the Emperor to govern,
It is endless happiness.
The life of men could be like this.
Style
© Howard Nemerov
Flaubert wanted to write a novel
About nothing. It was to have no subject
And be sustained upon the style alone,
Like the Holy Ghost cruising above
September, The First Day Of School
© Howard Nemerov
My child and I hold hands on the way to school,
And when I leave him at the first-grade door
He cries a little but is brave; he does
Let go. My selfish tears remind me how
I cried before that door a life ago.
I may have had a hard time letting go.
March
© Boris Pasternak
The sun is hotter than the top ledge in a steam bath;
The ravine, crazed, is rampaging below.
Spring -- that corn-fed, husky milkmaid --
Is busy at her chores with never a letup.
Goodbye!
© Richard Aldington
Come, thrust your hands in the warm earth
And feel her strength through all your veins;
Breathe her full odors, taste her mouth,
Which laughs away imagined pains;
Touch her life's womb, yet know
This substance makes your grave also.
