Poetry competition CLOSED 31st March 2015 8:04pm
WINNER
johnrot
johnrot
RUNNER-UP:
lanooz
To Bukowski ...
! My apologies....meant to hit 'quote', not 'reply'.. LobodeSanPedro said:Thanks for kicking things off Minerva ... I'm on my second pint as I read this ... Bravo! ... This one's for you - the first for Mo Chara DarkEnchantress - Happy St. Paddy's Day!
LSP...
I thought of you as i raised my first pint of Guiness, last evening...and toasted my mo Chara chotha`imid!!
Go raibh maith agat, for thinking of me! i am so surely honored, blessed by your friendship!
Sl`ainte!!!
Erin go braugh!
LSP...
I thought of you as i raised my first pint of Guiness, last evening...and toasted my mo Chara chotha`imid!!
Go raibh maith agat, for thinking of me! i am so surely honored, blessed by your friendship!
Sl`ainte!!!
Erin go braugh!
Anonymous
Giveher nawt uh taykher
Phuck boocowski.
He wuzzuh drunk moe foe.
Eye meen,
hee roat sum kuhl sheet.
Butt hee culd nebber
dreenk mee unduh da taybull.
Sew phuck himm.
Hee ain't sheet.
Eye kann give yew what
yew want.
Yew want ice kreem?
Screem fer chaulkolett.
Krave.
Eye kann mayke yew
rok yer nuttz off.
Eye kann opinn mai handz.
Hatz off tew ya.
Phuck boocowski.
He wuzzuh drunk moe foe.
Eye meen,
hee roat sum kuhl sheet.
Butt hee culd nebber
dreenk mee unduh da taybull.
Sew phuck himm.
Hee ain't sheet.
Eye kann give yew what
yew want.
Yew want ice kreem?
Screem fer chaulkolett.
Krave.
Eye kann mayke yew
rok yer nuttz off.
Eye kann opinn mai handz.
Hatz off tew ya.
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2hh6jbpw01qjg2gmo1_500.gif
named him Bukowski
solitary predator
swims in his own shit
[... Just a bump ... ]
named him Bukowski
solitary predator
swims in his own shit
[... Just a bump ... ]
"the way to create art is to burn and destroy
ordinary concepts and to substitute them
with new truths that run down from the top of the head
and out of the heart."
------sifting through THE MADNESS
FOR THE WORD,
THE LINE ,
THE WAY
OL chuck bump
ordinary concepts and to substitute them
with new truths that run down from the top of the head
and out of the heart."
------sifting through THE MADNESS
FOR THE WORD,
THE LINE ,
THE WAY
OL chuck bump
My Caring Mood
I just heard a kid next door say he's
in love with the coco,
poor kid doesn't understand how
right he already is,
only five years old,
meet the next ghetto Nostradamus.
His parents find him the
cutest thing walking this Earth,
singing along with him laughing
out loud without a care
not thinking about the consequences
of their actions.
What life will this little snot nosed kid live?
Maybe a great life, maybe the life of a drifter
reminiscing on the days mom and dad failed him.
Why the hell do I even care?
Maybe I just want the kid to get a shot
at what I had. A chance to become a nobody.
Is that too hard of a request?
Maybe, I guess so, depends on who you ask.
Maybe I should peak my head over the wall
like Wilson from Home Improvement
and give them parenting advice.
I preach to my cat,
Look how she turned out.
I just heard a kid next door say he's
in love with the coco,
poor kid doesn't understand how
right he already is,
only five years old,
meet the next ghetto Nostradamus.
His parents find him the
cutest thing walking this Earth,
singing along with him laughing
out loud without a care
not thinking about the consequences
of their actions.
What life will this little snot nosed kid live?
Maybe a great life, maybe the life of a drifter
reminiscing on the days mom and dad failed him.
Why the hell do I even care?
Maybe I just want the kid to get a shot
at what I had. A chance to become a nobody.
Is that too hard of a request?
Maybe, I guess so, depends on who you ask.
Maybe I should peak my head over the wall
like Wilson from Home Improvement
and give them parenting advice.
I preach to my cat,
Look how she turned out.
The bottle life
All I do is drink, drink and fuck
With the occasional horse race,
So true to my nature I met a dame
Last night at the bar on first street,
She's coming over tonight to suck
On the bottle, let me clean my face.
She likes the expensive stuff I heard,
let me hide my fine scotch,
though I know she will still smell it
From a mile away like a fine hound
Dog would, or just like I do.
I'm assuming she's the same breed as I
If she wants any shot at this
handsome but heavily used mule.
All I do is drink, drink and fuck
With the occasional horse race,
So true to my nature I met a dame
Last night at the bar on first street,
She's coming over tonight to suck
On the bottle, let me clean my face.
She likes the expensive stuff I heard,
let me hide my fine scotch,
though I know she will still smell it
From a mile away like a fine hound
Dog would, or just like I do.
I'm assuming she's the same breed as I
If she wants any shot at this
handsome but heavily used mule.
Anonymous
needs his ponies and whiskey
he used to write me letters
long drawn out things full of
careful words dancing on the page
made my heart skip at least once
every other line
it’s a wonder i didn’t go into
cardiac arrest
i let him weave his way into
my everyday
until he was just part of the routine
like how i brush my teeth right after
i take my morning piss
and then jump straight into the shower
with only the hot water turned on
i should have known better
rare is the man who can keep it up
after the thrill is gone
and believe me
the thrill is gone, baby
i’m tired of waiting for the ponies
and the whiskey to kick in before
he can tell me how he feels
i don’t need an over sensitive manchild
but i do need someone who can
speak without being broke and drunk
because when he’s broke and drunk
all he can talk about is where i hid
the bottle and if his bookie has called
and how much money i have in the bank
sometimes i wander through this big house
and read those letters he wrote
way back when
remember the way it was
but the words don’t dance anymore
and i’m tired
he used to write me letters
long drawn out things full of
careful words dancing on the page
made my heart skip at least once
every other line
it’s a wonder i didn’t go into
cardiac arrest
i let him weave his way into
my everyday
until he was just part of the routine
like how i brush my teeth right after
i take my morning piss
and then jump straight into the shower
with only the hot water turned on
i should have known better
rare is the man who can keep it up
after the thrill is gone
and believe me
the thrill is gone, baby
i’m tired of waiting for the ponies
and the whiskey to kick in before
he can tell me how he feels
i don’t need an over sensitive manchild
but i do need someone who can
speak without being broke and drunk
because when he’s broke and drunk
all he can talk about is where i hid
the bottle and if his bookie has called
and how much money i have in the bank
sometimes i wander through this big house
and read those letters he wrote
way back when
remember the way it was
but the words don’t dance anymore
and i’m tired
Mojo juice trial
Whatever shit’s pumping
in them skinny ass women
who can lift a volkswagon
bus off their baby after a wreck
is what I want to shotgun down
my throat rolling around from gut
to heart to brain like a pinball
on some wicked streak banging
bells and bumpers with mad
lights flashing fast enough to get
stoners dancing into epileptic seizures.
And if that shit gets me Evelyn
Wooding through the racing papers
like ponies on speed getting my sure
things on long odds to break the bank
and with a fifth of bourbon to start
the night celebrating before fucking
every broad with my dip stick greased
in a ton of cum in my crankcase well
then have Doctor Feelgood write me
up the script and don’t punk me with
no placebo cause I was born for this.
Whatever shit’s pumping
in them skinny ass women
who can lift a volkswagon
bus off their baby after a wreck
is what I want to shotgun down
my throat rolling around from gut
to heart to brain like a pinball
on some wicked streak banging
bells and bumpers with mad
lights flashing fast enough to get
stoners dancing into epileptic seizures.
And if that shit gets me Evelyn
Wooding through the racing papers
like ponies on speed getting my sure
things on long odds to break the bank
and with a fifth of bourbon to start
the night celebrating before fucking
every broad with my dip stick greased
in a ton of cum in my crankcase well
then have Doctor Feelgood write me
up the script and don’t punk me with
no placebo cause I was born for this.
(Don't know if I'll piss people off with this one but it's my honest opinion. Don't even know if I know what the hell I'm talking about, either.)
"I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive." - Henry Miller
Reading Bukowski in the face of Miller
I’m not sure I make any sense these days.
I’ve longed to write the naked truth
about myself, the ugliness, the grotesque.
I once was in love with Miller because
of his liberation from care and death
and taxes and religion.
I could never get into Bukowski.
Sure he drank and fucked the pain away
but he wasn’t like Miller, who spoke
in elegant trash about cunt being figs
and whose dick and soul were sheathed
by queen Anais. And I know this is
a terrrible thing to say, but I think
Bukowski flicked a joyful finger at life
and indeed he had his own misery and loneliness
but he laughed and taunted them like a child
with a defenseless animal.
But Henry chose to rot and become one with it,
stark beauty of lice and cheap hotels
and one-legged prostitutes, because he knew
the ultmate liberation: that nothing mattered.
He accepted his hell and his tortured soul
and wrote deep in the night and deep in the women
who couldn't get enough of him,
an elegant prince of the ashen streets, getting
hard-on's from statues, his mere haunted breath
redolent with such agonizing beauty, while Bukowski
surrounded himself with women and whisky, laughing
and minimizing the loneliness away, but to no avail.
Because he was a drunk that could write.
My final thoughts:
The acceptance of ownership of misery is so much more beautiful than the dance of ignorant bliss.
"I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive." - Henry Miller
Reading Bukowski in the face of Miller
I’m not sure I make any sense these days.
I’ve longed to write the naked truth
about myself, the ugliness, the grotesque.
I once was in love with Miller because
of his liberation from care and death
and taxes and religion.
I could never get into Bukowski.
Sure he drank and fucked the pain away
but he wasn’t like Miller, who spoke
in elegant trash about cunt being figs
and whose dick and soul were sheathed
by queen Anais. And I know this is
a terrrible thing to say, but I think
Bukowski flicked a joyful finger at life
and indeed he had his own misery and loneliness
but he laughed and taunted them like a child
with a defenseless animal.
But Henry chose to rot and become one with it,
stark beauty of lice and cheap hotels
and one-legged prostitutes, because he knew
the ultmate liberation: that nothing mattered.
He accepted his hell and his tortured soul
and wrote deep in the night and deep in the women
who couldn't get enough of him,
an elegant prince of the ashen streets, getting
hard-on's from statues, his mere haunted breath
redolent with such agonizing beauty, while Bukowski
surrounded himself with women and whisky, laughing
and minimizing the loneliness away, but to no avail.
Because he was a drunk that could write.
My final thoughts:
The acceptance of ownership of misery is so much more beautiful than the dance of ignorant bliss.
I recently picked up three volumes of Bukowski's work, including "The Pleasures of the Damned - Poems 1951 - 1993" hoping I could channel him to help decide this ... It didn't work. I bought a 1.75 liter bottle of Jack Daniels thinking that might help, felt good but not sure it helped. In the end ...
1. johnrot - This hooked me from the opening. I could taste this poem (no balls jokes please).
2. Strategy - I loved this, you spoke of the disappointment and resignation of misplaced love so eloquently
3. lanooz - Great lines! Power packed in it's brevity. It's just brilliant.
4. Case28 - Loved the raw carnage of this, and how men are defined and redefined in life.
These four poems are virtually interchangeable for me as "winner" - the type of poems that make me say, "Fuck! Why didn't I write that!"
Thank you to ALL the poets that entered!
Cheers!
1. johnrot - This hooked me from the opening. I could taste this poem (no balls jokes please).
2. Strategy - I loved this, you spoke of the disappointment and resignation of misplaced love so eloquently
3. lanooz - Great lines! Power packed in it's brevity. It's just brilliant.
4. Case28 - Loved the raw carnage of this, and how men are defined and redefined in life.
These four poems are virtually interchangeable for me as "winner" - the type of poems that make me say, "Fuck! Why didn't I write that!"
Thank you to ALL the poets that entered!
Cheers!
