Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Out Of The Arm Of One Love... - Poem by Charles Bukowski

out of the arm of one love
and into the arms of another
I have been saved from dying on the cross
by a lady who smokes pot
writes songs and stories
and is much kinder than the last,
much much kinder,
and the sex is just as good or better.
it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there,
it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't
work
as all love
finally
doesn't work...
it is much more pleasant to make love
along the shore in Del Mar
in room 42, and afterwards
sitting up in bed
drinking good wine, talking and touching
smoking
listening to the waves...

I have died too many times
believing and waiting, waiting
in a room
staring at a cracked ceiling
wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound...
going wild inside
while she danced with strangers in nightclubs...
out of the arms of one love
and into the arms of another
it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in
the dark.


Comments about Out Of The Arm Of One Love... by Charles Bukowski

  • (5/18/2006 2:45:00 PM)


    What happened to the rest of it? ! ! !

    Out Of The Arm Of One Love...
    Charles Bukowski
    out of the arm of one love
    and into the arms of another

    I have been saved from dying on the cross
    by a lady who smokes pot
    writes songs and stories
    and is much kinder than the last,
    much much kinder,
    and the sex is just as good or better.

    it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there,
    it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't
    work
    as all love
    finally
    doesn't work...

    it is much more pleasant to make love
    along the shore in Del Mar
    in room 42, and afterwards
    sitting up in bed
    drinking good wine, talking and touching
    smoking

    listening to the waves...

    I have died too many times
    believing and waiting, waiting
    in a room
    staring at a cracked ceiling
    wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound...
    going wild inside
    while she danced with strangers in nightclubs...

    out of the arms of one love
    and into the arms of another

    it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
    it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in
    the dark.
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Read poems about / on: love



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

Poem Edited: Friday, August 7, 2015


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