Charles Bukowski Poems

drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
...

at one stage in my life
I met a man who claimed to have
visited Pound at St. Elizabeths.
...

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
...

The flies are angry bits of life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
...

Sunday, I am eating a
grapefruit, church is over at the Russian
Orthadox to the
west.
...

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
...

We are like roses that have never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
...

when God created love he didn't help most
when God created dogs He didn't help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
...

death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
...

good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn't always happen
...