Can we honor BUK with a poem here? (1 Viewer)

filthy rats in the gutter, and more . . .

For posterity:



filthy rats in the gutter - by bukowski.net

She said I must have been good in bed when
I was younger.

I got dressed, and I left.

Then I went to the nearest bar.

I lucked into one that didn't
make you puke when you went into the crapper.

And as I finished, my wallet fell
into the toilet.

So, I stood on my head and sang opera,
and cursed the hairy-assed flies
while the meager contents of my wallet
slowly dried.

I went out into the bar again,
and noticed I was in my black socks.

I'd taken my shoes off to dry, and had
left them behind in the restroom.

The flies were getting comfortable
on my smelly shoes.

I fished out the dried bills
from my wallet and
headed straight over to the
East Hollywood Liquor Store
For two six-packs (tall) and a
pint of Scotch.

On my way out, I felt
my mouth stretching to grin,
watching two rats in the gutter, fucking.

We're all rats I thought
to my self,(grinning a little grin).
The whole world is just fucking rats.

Little rats with
little brains
little Republicans voting
for little men with shiny foreheads
and rat souls.

I remembered what she had said
and asked myself,
how can you tell if a rat is old or young?
when does he stop being good in bed?


That was previous.

The current stands like this:

Among twenty snowy mountains
The only thing moving was the eye of the blackbird.

I had watched it all morning
and it reminded me of
 
Among twenty snowy mountains
The only thing moving was the eye of the blackbird.

I had watched it all morning
and it reminded me of how many times I had
wondered if the eyes of the people I had been
talking to might flicker, if only occasionally.

I took a long breath,
looking at the entire light of the universe
shining forth from a bare hallway bulb.
 
Lets stick to the original format I posted whores! ;)

I'd like to see a collaboration from the members of this forum on this poem. I'll start with the first line and anyone can contribute the next line, and just one line please. You decide where line breaks, and stanzas will end and begin.

The maximum length is 50 lines; unless someone thinks the poem is complete before then. When complete, well see how we collectively speak and feel.


I read some of comments and I agree... not so Bukish. And, be serious... unless you can't really help yourself then what the hell.


Great stuff so far... the poems collected should get a page itself.


So far this is what we have on this one....


Among twenty snowy mountains
The only thing moving
was the eye of the blackbird.

I had watched it all morning
and it reminded me of how many times
I had wondered if the eyes
of the people I had been talking to might flicker,
if only occasionally.

Do I exist?

I realized that I didn't care
one way or the other
Until I saw my cats playing at my feet
with a headless mouse



joe
 
the eye of the blackbird by bukowski.net

Among twenty snowy mountains
the only thing moving
was the eye of the blackbird.

I had watched it all morning
and it reminded me of how many times
I had wondered if the eyes
of the people I had been talking to might flicker,
if only occasionally.

Do I exist?

I realized that I didn't care
one way or the other
Until I saw my cats
playing at my feet
with a headless mouse.

The poor bastard
never had a chance
because the world
had him by the throat.



Ok who wants to start the next one?

joe
 
See it below, mate!

the eye of the blackbird by bukowski.net

Among twenty snowy mountains
the only thing moving
was the eye of the blackbird.


I had watched it all morning
and it reminded me of
how many times
I had wondered if the eyes
of the people I had been talking to might flicker,
if only occasionally.


Do I exist?

I realized that I didn't care
one way or the other
Until I saw my cats
playing at my feet
with a headless mouse.


The poor bastard
never had a chance
because the world
had him by the throat.




Ok who wants to start the next one?

joe
 
Right, PS! I did'nt read it carefully enough. How embarrassing!:o
 
Last edited by a moderator:
so far on this one....

Line 1: One line is never enough
Line 2: I heard while tucking the paper
Line 3: into her soft hand;
Line 4: it seems like every second weekend had ended this way.

Next line?
 
thinking of the shitty, urine-soaked bills
I was going to pay the poor bastard who brought my booze.

Christ, finally somebody has it
worse than me.
 

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