Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

For Jane


225 days under grass
and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.
is this how it works?
in this room
the hours of love
still make shadows.

when you left
you took almost
everything.
I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.

what you were
will not happen again.
the tigers have found me
and I do not care.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Rookie - 4 Points Ray Schreiber (5/10/2011 10:34:00 PM)

    This poem captures the total experience of this type of loss succinctly. From the awareness of what little is left behind lying beneath the grass to the acknowledgment of the unique being whose likeness will never be seen again... complete in its sadness and resignation. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Joseph Degele (4/9/2010 8:44:00 PM)

    I lost my wife 10 years ago. When she died she took almost everything. I know the tigers and I don't care. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Jessika Ni Cuillan (6/23/2007 6:15:00 PM)

    i realise this isn't supposed to be a humorous poem but 'you are a dry stick in a basket' did make me chuckle i must admitt! (Report) Reply

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