Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Charles Bukowski Poems

1. Beasts Bounding Through Time 3/19/2016
2. The Great Escape 4/5/2016
3. A 340 Dollar Horse And A Hundred Dollar Whore 3/31/2010
4. air and light and time and space 2/10/2016
5. On The Fire Suicides Of The Buddhists 1/13/2015
6. For The Foxes 11/26/2014
7. No help for that 4/27/2015
8. The Last Days Of The Suicide Kid 1/14/2015
9. My Cats 1/8/2015
10. Hell Is A Lonely Place 2/9/2015
11. The Trash Men 3/31/2010
12. Trollius And Trellises 3/31/2010
13. German 3/31/2010
14. The Japanese Wife 3/31/2010
15. So You Want To Be A Writer 3/23/2015
16. Goading The Muse 3/31/2010
17. I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet 3/31/2010
18. The Laughing Heart 12/30/2013
19. Gas 3/31/2010
20. Hemingway Never Did This 3/31/2010
21. The German Hotel 1/3/2003
22. New Mexico 1/13/2003
23. Hooray Say The Roses 1/13/2003
24. This 1/13/2003
25. Crucifix In A Deathhand 3/31/2010
26. Mama 1/13/2003
27. My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant 1/3/2003
28. Poem For My 43rd Birthday 1/13/2003
29. The Shower 1/13/2003
30. His Wife, The Painter 1/13/2003
31. Something For The Touts, The Nuns, The Grocery Clerks, And You . . . 1/13/2003
32. The Shoelace 4/28/2011
33. Poetry Reading 1/13/2003
34. Marina 1/13/2003
35. The Retreat 1/13/2003
36. True Story 1/13/2003
37. The Sun Wields Mercy 1/1/2004
38. Small Conversation In The Afternoon With John Fante 1/3/2003
39. The Blackbirds Are Rough Today 1/3/2003
40. The Great Slob 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Charles Bukowski

Alone With Everybody

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards...

Read the full of Alone With Everybody

These Things

these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
or cracked intelligence;
our circle and our candle of light
being small,
so small we cannot bear it,
we heave out with Idea

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