Many fragmented thoughts

[simplysly]

Recently, I have been introduced to the wonder that is Charles Bukowski. He is an amazing poet, and many of his works are just my cup o' tea. Like this one:

THE BLACKBIRDS ARE ROUGH TODAY



lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.

shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.


taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.


a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.


the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.


and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:


why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.


we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.


don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.


He's very good *nods* If anyone actually cares, here's a link.

Also, another livejournal user had this link on their lj, and it's a very interesting read.

Thats about it, so until next time. I remain,

Melody