Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
New Mexico
I was fairly drunk when itbegan and I took out my bottle and used italong the way. I was reading a week or two afterKandel and I did not look quite..
© Charles Bukowski
The Sun Wields Mercy
and the sun wields mercybut like a jet torch carried to high,and the jets whip across its sightand rockets leap like toads,and the boys get out the..
© Charles Bukowski
Marina
majestic, majicinfinitemy little girl issunon the carpet-out the doorpicking a flower, ha!an old man,battle-wrecked,emerges from hischairand she..
© Charles Bukowski
The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth
if I suffer at thistypewriterthink how I'd feelamong the lettuce-pickers of Salinas?
© Charles Bukowski
Mama
here I amin the groundmy mouthopenandI can't even saymama,andthe dogs run by and stop and pisson my stone; I get it allexcept the sunand my suit is..
© Charles Bukowski
The Night I Was Going To Die
the night I was going to dieI was sweating on the bedand I could hear the cricketsand there was a cat fight outsideand I could feel my soul dropping..
© Charles Bukowski
The Blackbirds Are Rough Today
lonely as a dry and used orchardspread over the earthfor use and surrender.shot down like an ex-pug sellingdailies on the corner.taken by tears..
© Charles Bukowski
Rain Or Shine
the vultures at the zoo(all three of them)sit very quietly in theircaged treeand belowon the groundare chunks of rotten meat.the vultures are..
© Charles Bukowski
Magical Mystery Tour
I am in this low-slung sports carpainted a deep, rich yellowdriving under an Italian sun.I have a British accent.I'm wearing dark shadesan expensive..
© Charles Bukowski
This
self-congratulatory nonsense as thefamous gather to applaud their seeminggreatnessyouwonder wherethe real ones arewhatgiant cavehides themasthe..
© Charles Bukowski
Hemingway Never Did This
I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on atrain and that they never were recovered.I can't match the agony of thisbut the other night I..
© Charles Bukowski
One Thirty-Six A.M.
I laugh sometimes when I think aboutsayCéline at a typewriteror Dostoevsky...or Hamsun...ordinary men with feet, ears, eyes,ordinary men with hair on..
© Charles Bukowski
The German Hotel
the German hotel was very strange and expensive and haddouble doors to the rooms, very thick doors, and it over-looked the park and the vasser tern..
© Charles Bukowski
Marina
majestic, majicinfinitemy little girl issunon the carpet-out the doorpicking a flower, ha!an old man,battle-wrecked,emerges from hischairand she..
© Charles Bukowski
Out Of The Arm Of One Love...
out of the arm of one loveand into the arms of anotherI have been saved from dying on the crossby a lady who smokes potwrites songs and storiesand is..
© Charles Bukowski
Now
I sit here on the 2nd floorhunched over in yellowpajamasstill pretending to bea writer.some damned gall,at 71,my brain cells eatenaway bylife.rows of..
© Charles Bukowski
The Worst And The Best
in the hospitals and jailsit's the worstin madhousesit's the worstin penthousesit's the worstin skid row flophousesit's the worstat poetry readingsat..
© Charles Bukowski
Something For The Touts, The Nuns, The Grocery Clerks, And You . . .
we have everything and we have nothingand some men do it in churchesand some men do it by tearing butterfliesin halfand some men do it in Palm..
© Charles Bukowski
Hooray Say The Roses
hooray say the roses, today is blamesdayand we are red as blood.hooray say the roses, today is Wednesdayand we bloom wher soldiers felland lovers..
© Charles Bukowski
Love &Amp; Fame &Amp; Death
it sits outside my window nowlike and old woman going to market;it sits and watches me,it sweats nevouslythrough wire and fog and dog-barkuntil..
© Charles Bukowski
True Story
they found him walking along the freewayall red infronthe had taken a rusty tin canand cut off his sexualmachineryas if to say --see what you've done..
© Charles Bukowski
These Things
these things that we support most wellhave nothing to do with up,and we do with themout of boredom or fear or moneyor cracked intelligence;our circle..
© Charles Bukowski