Charles Bukowski Poems

call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
...

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
...

I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
...

he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
...

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
...

he lives in a house with a swimming pool
and says the job is
killing him.
he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem to
...

naked along the side of the house,
8 a.m., spreading sesame seed oil
over my body, Jesus, have I come
to this?
...

I reached up into the top of the closet
and took out a pair of blue panties
and showed them to her and
...

she's young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pretty
...

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
...