Charles Bukowski (16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

@ Lee Crowell

oh man, i hope you are not serious at all.

So powerful, so incredibly powerful. It's the kind of raw beauty that is pure Bukowski. Brilliant darkness.

yea, nice poem, , , coz i always appreciate poems...
well hell yah, , for you who said tis not likely a poem...hammp, , shut up ye not a genius....ye an idiot...a fool...

The form is as obscure as beat can be - but it is not the package that makes it art, it is the content.

I like it. It is not the be all or end all of anything. It rings of truth. Truth as voiced from a selfish man, from a cynic's perch where touch is but a wish.

I do enjoy his voice. I am certain I would despise the man.

in my humble opinion there's only one person who ever wrote a poem, his name is Bukowski
all the rest, and I mean all, are wannabes

I didn't realize trolls roamed these parts. 'To the hills! ' I say, 'to the hills. We must finally escape from this misbegotten bunch. Don't stop for lunch, we must be off, and on out way, if we do not want out feet trampled on.'

Like the poem. Loved the comments.

While you insult each other I guess I'll read this nice poem again.

Lamont. If you are under-read, keep quiet and people would think you are more stupid than you are now. At least do some research before you post dumb comment on a man who was written more poetry than you've spouted intelligent words. And it goes for all you other under-read people too.

lauren, couldn't agree with you more. too long? what a ridiculous statement for such a beautiful poem.

What is wrong with some of you people? Nice but too long? Thats the most ridiculous thing I've ever encountered. Its not nice, its beautiful, raw and real and honest. To read this and say 'nice poem but too long' I can't even comprehend. And who cares about whats written on bathroom walls? Bukowski probably would have writen on bathroom walls buts its could never just be the writing on bathroom walls. Thats not what this is, its poetry and incredible poetry. How come this is a poem? Why would you try to minimise what poetry is by giving it boundaries? Whats Happening Here? !