creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry, Writings

The Poetry Reading – Bukowski

buk

at high noon
at a small college near the beach
sober
the sweat running down my arms
a spot of sweat on the table
I flatten it with my finger
blood money blood money
my god, they must think I love this like the others
but it’s for bread and beer and rent
blood money
I’m tense lousy feel bad
poor people, I’m failing I’m failing
a woman gets up
walks out
slams the door
a dirty poem
somebody told me not to read dirty poems
here
it’s too late.
my eyes can’t see some lines
I read it
out-
desperate trembling
lousy
they can’t hear my voice
and I say,
I quit, that’s it, I’m
finished.
and later in my room
there is scotch and beer:
the blood of a coward.
this then
will be my destiny:
scrabbling for pennies in tiny dark halls
reading poems I have long since become tired
of.
and I used to think
that men who drove buses
or cleaned out latrines
or murdered men in alleys were
fools.

 

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attempt, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, pain, Poems, Poetry

Dreams – Reverse Poetry

This is an attempt to create a reversible poem that can be read from both top and bottom. I have provided both the perspective. Do let me know , If you Liked it. 🙂

Dream

I never leave my glasses full
“Beer is continuous blood, let it flow.” Bukowski
the crazy old poet once said.
Cigarettes though I abhor with reverence.
My words are always the letters of condolences to everything.
Almost every weekend with scotch and vodka
I attend funeral of their dreams,
their dreams massacred in broad daylights.
Friends, Lovers, Acquaintances,
all gave in slowly, for a dream of stable life,
where they work till 9-5 somehow.
They buy food and have wailing babies.
Then they drink to bring normality.
They stop pursuing themselves
They hate mirrors.
Let them be.
I am normal now,
I don’t need a drink.
Let me dream.
Let me write something beautiful.
I don’t want to be like them.
I simply don’t.

————————————

I simply don’t,
I don’t want to be like them.
Let me write something beautiful today.
Let me dream.
I don’t need a drink.
I am normal now.
Let them be.
They hate mirrors.
They stop pursuing themselves.
Then they drink to bring normality.
They buy food and have wailing babies
They work till 9-5,
all gave in, for a dream of stable life,
Friends, Lovers, Acquaintances,
their dreams massacred in broad daylights.
I attend funeral of their dreams,
Almost every weekend, with scotch and vodka
My words are always the letter of condolences to everything.
Cigarettes though, I abhor with reverence.
Bukowski, the crazy old poet once said.
“For beer is continuous blood let it flow.”
so I never leave my glasses full.

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