Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Charles Bukowski Poems

1. A 340 Dollar Horse And A Hundred Dollar Whore 3/31/2010
2. The Great Escape 4/5/2016
3. Beasts Bounding Through Time 3/19/2016
4. No help for that 4/27/2015
5. For The Foxes 11/26/2014
6. On The Fire Suicides Of The Buddhists 1/13/2015
7. The Last Days Of The Suicide Kid 1/14/2015
8. My Cats 1/8/2015
9. Hell Is A Lonely Place 2/9/2015
10. air and light and time and space 2/10/2016
11. The Trash Men 3/31/2010
12. Trollius And Trellises 3/31/2010
13. The Japanese Wife 3/31/2010
14. German 3/31/2010
15. Goading The Muse 3/31/2010
16. So You Want To Be A Writer 3/23/2015
17. I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet 3/31/2010
18. Gas 3/31/2010
19. New Mexico 1/13/2003
20. The German Hotel 1/3/2003
21. Marina 1/13/2003
22. Out Of The Arm Of One Love... 1/13/2003
23. Show Biz 1/13/2003
24. The Blackbirds Are Rough Today 1/3/2003
25. On Going Back To The Street After Viewing An Art Show 1/13/2003
26. Short Order 1/13/2003
27. Magical Mystery Tour 1/3/2003
28. Revolt In The Ranks 1/13/2003
29. Poem For My 43rd Birthday 1/13/2003
30. The Sun Wields Mercy 1/1/2004
31. The Laughing Heart 12/30/2013
32. Mama 1/13/2003
33. His Wife, The Painter 1/13/2003
34. The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth 1/13/2003
35. Sleep 1/13/2003
36. Hemingway Never Did This 3/31/2010
37. Poetry Reading 1/13/2003
38. Rain Or Shine 1/1/2004
39. Something For The Touts, The Nuns, The Grocery Clerks, And You . . . 1/13/2003
40. Small Conversation In The Afternoon With John Fante 1/3/2003

Comments about Charles Bukowski

  • C.J. R (4/11/2018 9:18:00 AM)

    To Mar Mad, the poem you called Go all the way is titled The Laughing Heart in this list

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  • Mar Mad Mar Mad (8/12/2017 6:10:00 PM)

    Why this one's not included in his poem list?

    Go all the way - Charles Bukowski

    “If you're going to try, go all the way.

    Otherwise, don't even start.

    This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. I

    t could mean not eating for three or four days.

    It could mean freezing on a park bench.

    It could mean jail.

    It could mean derision.

    It could mean mockery- isolation.

    Isolation is the gift.

    All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it.

    And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds.

    And it will be better than anything else you can imagine.

    If you're going to try, go all the way.

    There is no other feeling like that.

    You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire.

    You will ride life straight to perfect laughter.

    It's the only good fight there is.”

  • Nick Kler Nick Kler (3/3/2017 10:36:00 AM)

    @Georgios Venetopoulos
    Poetry is beyond any religion or a language. It has no language or boundaries, yet, it speaks to your soul. Intoxication or sobriety are just your current state of mind. Poetry comes from some far and forgotten land. I just never could understand those that love to criticize, just for the sake of it. Something in his writings pulled you here, made you stay, had you spend time writing No matter how positive or negative because that don't matter. The fact is that he pulled you towards himself, had you spend time, reading him and writing about him. He succeeded in his quest....

  • Alix Mangerian Alix Mangerian (1/5/2017 2:48:00 PM)

    The criticism of Bukowski made me laugh. It rather reminded me of Samuel Johnson criticizing the metaphysical poets: Make sense, dammit!

    Thanks for brightening my day!

  • Georgios Venetopoulos Georgios Venetopoulos (7/13/2016 12:35:00 AM)

    Bukowski is not a poet. He composes under the influence (intoxicated actually) and his writes are illogical and hellish, byproducts of his besotted thinking. Then, his devotees spend millions of minutes to exalt and explain his grandness in arbitrary compositions of ideas which follow the philosophy of whatever. Bukowski does not comprehend what 'verse means', his knowledge of the English language is elementary, his grammar is faulty but overall he manages to create an army of admirers who drink like him, compose like him and spit at the world like him.

  • Is It Poetry James Mclain Is It Poetry James Mclain (6/6/2016 6:20:00 PM)

    Dirty Dog - Poem by Is It Poetry

    His dirty dog kept
    moving on.
    Pissing on what he liked,
    but never owned.
    He knows they won't
    like it either.
    So they throw it out.
    A dog, 'Bukowski' owned.


    Is It Poetry

  • John Davis (5/23/2016 12:15:00 PM)

    I love Bukowski. The nearest poet I've found to his style is a guy called Jim Sparx. He has a website called bullet2theskull.

  • Thomas Case Thomas Case (12/20/2015 9:43:00 PM)

    a genius and a fantastic poet. He takes the mundane and makes it a dark thrill ride.

  • R G Fritz R G Fritz (11/1/2015 10:41:00 PM)

    It is strange, Bukowski swears by his alcohol to create his art. He NEVER wrote without it. Dylan Thomas, however, never drank when he worked. I suppose everybody's creative process is different. I chain smoke when I write. I wonder if anyone else does...

  • Denis Mair Denis Mair (9/7/2015 5:50:00 PM)

    Does anyone know where to find Bukowski's poem about watching a bullfight on television in a bar? An ordinary barroom afternoon, desultory conversation, desultory TV gazing, and then suddenly he is gripped and gut-wrenched by this ritual of death.

Best Poem of Charles Bukowski

A Smile To Remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, 'be happy Henry!'
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, ...

Read the full of A Smile To Remember

These Things

these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
or cracked intelligence;
our circle and our candle of light
being small,
so small we cannot bear it,
we heave out with Idea

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