Charles Bukowski


“the American writer”

gone abroad
I sit under the tv lights
and am interviewed again
I am asked questions
I give answers
I make no attempt to be
brilliant.
to be truthful
I feel bored
and I almost never feel
bored.
“do you?…” they ask.
“oh, yeah, well I…”
“and what do you think of…”
“I don’t think of it much. I
don’t think too much…”
somehow it ends.

that evening somebody tells me
I’m on the news
we turn the set on.
there I am. I look pissed.
I wave people off.
I am bored.

how marvelous to be me without
trying.
it looks on tv
as if I knew exactly what I
was doing.

fooled them
again.

Charles Bukowski

from Dangling In The Tournefortia – 1981

Short Poems by Shirley Ballard

BONANZA — “Cutthroat Junction” Episode 26 — Pictured: (l-r) — Photo by: NBCU Photo Bank

“Ruthless Hearts”

little by little

we learn to love

to give and take

from someone dear

then time takes over

and washes the colors away

little by little

we learn to hate

——————————

“Each Day”

each day we’re intimate with it

it caresses our hair

and face like a lover

but it’s not…

and we have to live with it

it’s called air

—————————-

“The Special Drawer”

the drawer was filled

with odd bits

parts of old theatre tickets

one stained with red wine drops

another with mini notes

time and locations and love

—————————-

“Emptiness”

life feels incomplete…

a task waiting to be done.

—————————–

“Waiting For Dark”

so I can see

how for granted

do we take eyes

for granted…

don’t take it away

don’t lose it

to the dark

Shirley Ballard

86 yrs. Actress

(Miss Calif. 1944)

http://www.misscalifornia.org/cbSite/cbActive/cbFormers.html

Congratulations to Bill Duke on receiving Director’s Guild’s Lifetime Achievement Award!

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“POEM TO THE WORLD”

When lovers
on the brink
of
finding out
Recline on
fat illusions
of
their words
And utter platitudes
-instead of shouts
Forget
tender silences
they’ve shared
And all confession’s
awkwardness they’ve dared
Like
children peeking softly from their doubts,
There comes a time
of
darkness and despair
When moments seem
like hours under weights
Regret and fear
like
garbage fills the air
And lips of fondest memories
turn to hate.

When lovers
on the brink
of
coming near
forget
the
body’s swelled
and
aching cries
And
substitute excuses for their tears,
Something soft
and silent in them dies.
And
that, perhaps, is why there are old men
On benches
all alone
in city parks
And
bony-fingered spinsters with hard sad eyes
Knitting things for babies in the dark
And
maybe why we’re lonely
in
the spring

When
all the earth her fat thighs open wide
To show us all her pretty under-things
And
laughingly invites us to her side
To
kiss away the differences we’ve known
With the
tenderness
and
wisdom of her groans
Yet

We
lie beside each other
in despair
While
our bodies
make love
–in
the air.

Bill Duke

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© 2009