Waking up
not sure when
but as always beside
a pen
and not yourself today
So embark on a journey
of two floors down
where the gin drowns in a beer
and clouds appear
in reminiscences
while the scorching sun bakes
your thoughts into a slurry
from which the grains of sensibility
never ever
Escape
this tragic sordid
existence that will guarantee you'll
never be drinking from that fountain
in Paris
where dreams and sex are borne
you don't partake
Because there's so little to do with
tiny blue hands
but the feet are always busy-
'step over those goldfish
and don't ever lose that smile'
Almost M.J. Lemon Oh rise MJ So they can say Bukowski's looking down from Heaven Giving the nod to pen of Lemon
Not yourself today. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Holy Crap, I've only read the selected works of Chuck Bukowski, but this tribute feels as if you have summoned up that Keats of the existentialistic working class, through a Ouija board of soaked gin and atmosphere of asphalt ruin, and somehow he has temporarily taken over your body to bring this work while the bar was closed in heaven. Seriously should profit off of this in some way you don't need to try, you've reached the finishing line without trying.
Oh! ! ! ! ! Well done! ! ! ! Excellent visitation by Bukowski - - it is not an easy feat to accomplish- I have tried it a few times! ! ! - -but you really really nailed it! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Your pen is an imaginative one and daring too! ! 10
Susan, thank you so much. And yes, this wasn't an easy write. Thanks again!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this poem always makes me smile. Wishing he was still alive
Thank you so much, Leeann. I share your feelings!