Charles Bukowski – Another Day

having the low down blues and going

into a restaurant to eat.

you sit at a table.

the waitress smiles at you.

she's dumpy. her ass is too big.

she radiates kindness and sympathy.

live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.

o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent.

you order a turkey sandwich and a

beer.

the man at the table across from you

has watery blue eyes and

a head like an elephant.

at a table further down are 3 men

with very tiny heads

and long necks

like ostriches.

they talk loudly of land development.

why, you think, did I ever come

in here when I have the low-down

blues?

then the the waitress comes back with the sandwich

and she asks you if there will be anything

else?

and you tell her, no no, this will be

fine.

then somebody behind you laughs.

it's a cork laugh filled with sand and

broken glass.

you begin eating the sandwich.

it's something.

it's a minor, difficult,

sensible action

like composing a popular song

to make a 14-year old

weep.

you order another beer.

jesus, look at that guy

his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's

whistling.

well, time to get out.

pick up the bill.

tip.

go to the register.

pay.

pick up a toothpick.

go out the door.

your car is still there.

and there are 3 men with heads

and necks

like ostriches all getting into one

car.

they each have a toothpick and now

they are talking about women.

they drive away first

they drive away fast.

they're best i guess.

it's an unbearably hot day.

there's a first-stage smog alert.

all the birds and plants are dead

or dying.

you start the engine.

Edgar Allan Poe – Sancta Maria

Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes -

Upon the sinner's sacrifice,

Of fervent prayer and humble love,

From thy holy throne above.

At morn - at noon - at twilight dim -

Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!

In joy and wo - in good and ill -

Mother of God, be with me still!

When the Hours flew brightly by,

And not a cloud obscured the sky,

My soul, lest it should truant be,

Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;

Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast

Darkly my Present and my Past,

Let my Future radiant shine

With sweet hopes of thee and thine!

Charles Bukowski – How Is Your Heart?

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
whores
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occurring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the back alley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

Emily Dickinson – I like to see it lap the Miles - (Poem 383)

I like to see it lap the Miles -
And lick the Valleys up - 
And stop to feed itself at Tanks - 
And then - prodigious step

Around a Pile of Mountains - 
And supercilious peer
In Shanties - by the sides of Roads - 
And then a Quarry pare

To fit its sides
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid - hooting stanza - 
Then chase itself down Hill - 

And neigh like Boanerges - 
Then - prompter than a Star
Stop - docile and omnipotent
At it's own stable door - 

Emily Dickinson – The Poets light but Lamps (Poem 930)

The Poets light but Lamps —
Themselves — go out —
The Wicks they stimulate
If vital Light

Inhere as do the Suns —
Each Age a Lens
Disseminating their
Circumference —