Work poems
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Trashcan Lives
© Charles Bukowski
the wind blows hard tonight
and it's a cold wind
and I think about
the boys on the row.
The House
© Charles Bukowski
They are building a house
half a block down
and I sit up here
with the shades down
Friends Within The Darkness
© Charles Bukowski
the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.
Out Of The Arm Of One Love...
© Charles Bukowski
out of the arm of one love
and into the arms of another
I have been saved from dying on the cross
by a lady who smokes pot
For Jane
© Charles Bukowski
when you left
you took almost
everything.
I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.
O, We Are The Outcasts
© Charles Bukowski
ah, christ, what a CREW:
more
poetry, always more
P O E T R Y .
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,
The Night I Was Going To Die
© Charles Bukowski
the night I was going to die
I was sweating on the bed
and I could hear the crickets
and there was a cat fight outside
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
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
The Most Beautiful Woman In Town
© Charles Bukowski
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes
to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that
would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her
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
Bluebird
© Charles Bukowski
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
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.
The Dependencies
© Howard Nemerov
This morning, between two branches of a tree
Beside the door, epeira once again
Has spun and signed his tapestry and trap.
I test his early-warning system and
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
Fugue
© Howard Nemerov
You see them vanish in their speeding cars,
The many people hastening through the world,
And wonder what they would have done before
This time of time speed distance, random streams
Of molecules hastened by what rising heat?
Was there never a world where people just sat still?
Lion & Honeycomb
© Howard Nemerov
He asked himself, poor moron, because he had
Nobody else to ask. The others went right on
Talking about form, talking about myth
And the (so help us) need for a modern idiom;
The verseballs among them kept counting syllables.
Shut Up And Eat Your Toad
© Edward Taylor
The disorganization to which I currently belong
has skipped several meetings in a row
which is a pattern I find almost fatally attractive.
Down at headquarters there's a secretary
Restless Leg Syndrome
© Edward Taylor
After the burial
we returned to our units
and assumed our poses.
Our posture was the new posture
