Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Charles Bukowski Poems

41. Gas 3/31/2010
42. German 3/31/2010
43. Girl In A Miniskirt Reading The Bible Outside My Window 1/13/2003
44. Goading The Muse 3/31/2010
45. Having The Flu And With Nothing Else To Do 1/3/2003
46. Hell Is A Lonely Place 2/9/2015
47. Hello, How Are You? 1/3/2003
48. Hemingway Never Did This 3/31/2010
49. Here I Am ... 1/13/2003
50. His Wife, The Painter 1/13/2003
51. Hooray Say The Roses 1/13/2003
52. Hot 1/13/2003
53. How Is Your Heart? 1/13/2003
54. I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet 3/31/2010
55. I Like Your Books 1/3/2003
56. I Made A Mistake 1/13/2003
57. I Met A Genius 1/13/2003
58. I'M In Love 1/13/2003
59. It Was Just A Little While Ago 1/3/2003
60. It's Ours 1/1/2004
61. Jane Icin (For Jane - In Turkish) 1/13/2003
62. Layover 1/13/2003
63. Let It Enfold You 1/1/2004
64. Love &Amp; Fame &Amp; Death 1/13/2003
65. Luck 1/13/2003
66. Magical Mystery Tour 1/3/2003
67. Mama 1/13/2003
68. Marina 1/13/2003
69. Melancholia 1/13/2003
70. Metamorphosis 1/13/2003
71. My Cats 1/8/2015
72. My Computer 1/3/2003
73. My Father 1/3/2003
74. My First Affair With That Older Woman 1/13/2003
75. My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant 1/3/2003
76. My Groupie 1/13/2003
77. New Mexico 1/13/2003
78. Nirvana 1/13/2003
79. No help for that 4/27/2015
80. No. 6 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Charles Bukowski

A Smile To Remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, 'be happy Henry!'
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, ...

Read the full of A Smile To Remember

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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