Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

These Things Poem by Charles Bukowski


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
and lose the Center:
all wax without the wick,
and we see names that once meant
wisdom,
like signs into ghost towns,
and only the graves are real.


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Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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Comments about this poem (These Things by Charles Bukowski )

  • Rookie Lilah Weiss (3/28/2006 7:51:00 PM)

    ... 'enter at least 20 characters in your comment field' -_- yeah well, damn it, I have nothing to say. Amazing poet, this man. (Report) Reply

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