Bukowski/Dylan

okay, I know this competition is a bit off limits but for fans of these two, but so it goes

If Charles Bukowski and Bob Dylan wrote a poem
what would it read like?

make an attempt...

TITLE YOUR WORK


one entry each

2 weeks

under 300 words...

Him's sacred irie


Them try to steal it all away
them throw their green eye on my
soul es-ca-pades, ay
I could not save I from their
cold say-say, ay-ah
them try to burn I in their
cruel spits of fyah

a humble serf for he on high
who soul's been lifted by him
Rasta-far-I, sense-A
jah spirit fills I with him's
sacred irie,  I say
we are children of the sky


Edit:  sorry, wrong comp

further edit: it's entirely possible Bob and Charlie would have gotten pissed and stoned and had a laugh writing like that


 


 
 

Haha eejit
That would have been a fine contender too

Talking tocsin tolling blues

I’ve worn the rags of thieves
To the Governor’s Ball
Two pistols up my sleeves
Should Beelzebub call

With a blood signed contract
to change the face of time
to wage the next attack
on some rich fat cat’s crime

Chorus
Saint Peter’s sick and surly
With his gates none too pearly
Seem’s judgement day’s come early

Ring the bell
Take it down
Ring the bell
Take it down

Talking tocsin tolling blues
Talking tocsin tolling blues

Don’t need liquid courage
To set the pawns in play
The snipers on the bridge
Waiting for my ok.

To fire on the flood gate
Release rivers of wine
Before the devil’s weight
Bears down on Peter’s spine

Repeat Chorus

Nice work, Mr.Pena
Thanks for getting this going :)

bobby and chuck don't polish no brass



so mohummed and jesus walk into a bar        
one with some stone carving tools        
the other with a few records        
       
dude i hate my dad        
yeah me too        
some ale,wine and whiskey        
barkeep please        
we on a collabo bender        
       
so i say we say        
if you do what we say        
you go someplace really nice when you die        
       
you ain't gotta work on maggie's farm no more        
no more being alone with everybody        
even if you are only a hobo        
you still are        
as the sparrow        
       
i'll talk all that        
beautiful golden locks and perfect skin        
with harps and shit        
for the whiteboys        
       
you promise rivers of honey        
and a shitload of virgins        
cuz you know brothas of any color        
will do anything for pussy        
       
i say we go with parchment        
stone tabs        
are such a drag        
       
bet        
but i'm gonna do the OG rock        
and then tell em to write it down        
       
aight        
i'll make em walk a thousand miles        
to some square building in the desert        
and blow themselves up        
       
thas was up        
well every sunday        
i'm gonna have these idiots give me money        
       
       
barkeep!!!!!        
anotha round please        
we writing 2 books at once        
that have strange similarities        
in a language        
nobody will understand in a few thousand yrs        
it's centuries of the tin can phone game        
so when they be all killin each other        
they screaming our names        
       
fly planes into buildings        
kill new yorkers 3 g's at a time        
they'll retaliate with robot planes        
that kill 30 women and children        
and one bad guy        
       
fistbump        
barkeep!        
shots!!!!!!!!!      
     
keeping it real like angelina jolie really cut off her tits?      
i want proof      
jus sayin whenever i lose a tooth      
did she get paid for titties?      
is there a titty fairy?      
best pillows ever!    
e bay maybe?    
are you a prostitute really sellin your boobs?    
is there a limbo trick for this bitch    
at least halfway to aborted babies and suicide vics    
or is dad gonna be a dick    
say it's all your fault    
and turn you into a pillar of salt      
for even sneaking a peak      
prick    
fuck blitzen, donner,dommer,rotten peter and paul    
   
hey i think there is a wormhole      
in my middle couch cushion    
my weed,lighters and pills    
are always comin up missin    
when i had em in my pocket last night    
and get this    
i find the remote on the edge    
and it don't work worth a shit    
yeah dad's a dick    
   
i ain't knockin on heaven's door    
   
   
       
2 am        
creepy empty street      
hey bro        
where you park your camel at?

thank you johnrot, good stuff :)

the barmaid and the poet

clowns and jokers
trash this dead-end bar, while i stare
at a glass of whiskey
and picture the barmaid's ass in my bed.

she reads petrarch and thinks she's dickinson.
she's not. but her ass
plays hide-and-seek with the lights
in this no-hope saloon,
hiding as she stands beside the jukebox,
seeking as she walks across the floor:
those perfect cans dappled with neon,

like a glimpse of nirvana in despair.

      livin’ the blues


the night passes slow, like it was stalled.
scared, maybe.

you doped away the nickel bag you stole
from an old woman, so you hit the bottle.
after a few shots, it hits back.

Cinderella was a one-night stand. the glass
slipper broke & left splinters in her foot.
shanghaied sailors whistle at her limp.

your last silver dollar leaked away
in an alley with your last blow job.

somewhere the sky holds a flush in diamonds,
the sea is calm & a lemon drop wind blows,
but you’re ridin’ the rails with the ‘bo’s –
it’s a round-trip run to hell & back
but you got a one-way ticket…

the pulsating neon that invades your 6th floor window
is a ‘last chance’ sign & your bed is a lonely island, the
tropical sheets dredge up lobotomized memories of a
ginger-haired girl but you can’t make love to a shadow.

you’re a dead man who ain’t got a grave to fall into
or a bullet to swallow & you’re livin’ the blues…

thank you Aspiring and JFeddeler
good stuff :-)

TO COLD SUMMERS

http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2014/157/e/8/cold_summer_by_engrvv-d7l8jmh.jpg


It was a cold July morning.
I was about to leave the house
when a sparrow dived,
and messed up
my car window with
its unholy shit.
“Don’t leave yet. I need
a fucking drink,”
the sparrow spoke to me,
while sitting on the ledge
of my car door.

“Don’t you remember me?
I’m Charles…upon my death
my spirit was roaming in limbo,
until the Gods put me
into this house sparrow.”
Fuck you Charles,
don’t mess with me!
“I came to warn you,
not to live the life I did.
I could see brighter days
ahead of you…”

Feeling goose bumps now
while hearing those last words,
because those were the exact words
Charles told me before he died.
A toast is in order:
to cold summers,
to brighter days ahead…
(I shot the sparrow
to give my beloved poet
a well deserved eternal rest)
… and to your death!



(Inspired by Bukowski’s poems: Cold Summer and As The Sparrow)

great stuff...thank you
(EngrVV)

gone daddy gone...

nice work, Mr Case
thank you


a little time left for more entries....

johnrot said:bobby and chuck don't polish no brass



so mohummed and jesus walk into a bar        
one with some stone carving tools        
the other with a few records        
       
dude i hate my dad        
yeah me too        
some ale,wine and whiskey        
barkeep please        
we on a collabo bender        
       
so i say we say        
if you do what we say        
you go someplace really nice when you die        
       
you ain't gotta work on maggie's farm no more        
no more being alone with everybody        
even if you are only a hobo        
you still are        
as the sparrow        
       
i'll talk all that        
beautiful golden locks and perfect skin        
with harps and shit        
for the whiteboys        
       
you promise rivers of honey        
and a shitload of virgins        
cuz you know brothas of any color        
will do anything for pussy        
       
i say we go with parchment        
stone tabs        
are such a drag        
       
bet        
but i'm gonna do the OG rock        
and then tell em to write it down        
       
aight        
i'll make em walk a thousand miles        
to some square building in the desert        
and blow themselves up        
       
thas was up        
well every sunday        
i'm gonna have these idiots give me money        
       
       
barkeep!!!!!        
anotha round please        
we writing 2 books at once        
that have strange similarities        
in a language        
nobody will understand in a few thousand yrs        
it's centuries of the tin can phone game        
so when they be all killin each other        
they screaming our names        
       
fly planes into buildings        
kill new yorkers 3 g's at a time        
they'll retaliate with robot planes        
that kill 30 women and children        
and one bad guy        
       
fistbump        
barkeep!        
shots!!!!!!!!!      
     
keeping it real like angelina jolie really cut off her tits?      
i want proof      
jus sayin whenever i lose a tooth      
did she get paid for titties?      
is there a titty fairy?      
best pillows ever!    
e bay maybe?    
are you a prostitute really sellin your boobs?    
is there a limbo trick for this bitch    
at least halfway to aborted babies and suicide vics    
or is dad gonna be a dick    
say it's all your fault    
and turn you into a pillar of salt      
for even sneaking a peak      
prick    
fuck blitzen, donner,dommer,rotten peter and paul    
   
hey i think there is a wormhole      
in my middle couch cushion    
my weed,lighters and pills    
are always comin up missin    
when i had em in my pocket last night    
and get this    
i find the remote on the edge    
and it don't work worth a shit    
yeah dad's a dick    
   
i ain't knockin on heaven's door    
   
   
       
2 am        
creepy empty street      
hey bro        
where you park your camel at?

Outstanding Jr