Read Online New Poems Book Three by Charles Bukowski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charles Bukowski
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much of my early life I was worried about paying
the rent, now something else is trying to move
me out of here, permanently,
and this landlord will accept no
excuses such as
“I’ll pay you next week for sure!”
notice has been served on me
and my final eviction looms.
but as in the old days, I continue,
go through the motions,
read the newspaper, stare at the walls
and wonder, wonder
how did it ever come to this,
this senselessness staring me down.
all my books don’t help.
my poems don’t help either.
nothing or nobody helps.
it’s just me alone, waiting, breathing,
pondering.
there’s nothing even to be brave about.
there’s nothing here at all.
MY LAST WINTER
I see this final storm as nothing very serious in the sight of
the world;
there are so many more important things to worry about
and to
consider.
I see this final storm as nothing very special in the sight of
the world
and it shouldn’t be thought of as special.
other storms have been much greater, more dramatic.
I see this final storm approaching and calmly
my mind waits.
I see this final storm as nothing very serious in the sight of
the world.
the world and I have seldom agreed on most
matters but
now we can agree.
so bring it on, bring on this final storm.
I have patiently waited for too long now.
FIRST POEM BACK
64 days and nights in that
place, chemotherapy,
antibiotics, blood running into
the catheter.
leukemia.
who, me?
at age 72 I had this foolish thought that
I’d just die peacefully in my sleep
but
the gods want it their way.
I sit at this machine, shattered,
half alive,
still seeking the Muse,
but I am back for the moment only;
while nothing seems the same.
I am not reborn, only
chasing
a few more days, a few more nights,
like
this
one.
A SUMMATION
more wasted days,
gored days,
evaporated days.
more squandered days,
days pissed away,
days slapped around,
mutilated.
the problem is
that the days add up
to a life,
my life.
I sit here
73 years old
knowing I have been badly
fooled,
picking at my teeth
with a toothpick
which
breaks.
dying should come easy:
like a freight train you
don’t hear when
your back is
turned.
WALKING PAPERS
Dear Sir or Madam:
we must inform you that there is no room
left here for you now
and you must leave
despite all your years of faithful service
and the courage you showed on many
occasions,
and despite the fact that many of your fondest dreams
have yet to be realized.
still, you were better than most,
you accepted adversity without complaint,
you drove an automobile carefully,
you served your country and your employers well,
your compassion for
your unloving spouse and
care less children
never wavered,
you never farted in public,
you refused to exhibit rancor,
you were acceptably normal, fairly understanding and rarely
foolish,
you also remembered all birthdays, holidays and special
occasions,
you drank but never to excess,
you seldom cursed,
you lived within all the rules you never made,
you were healthy without effort,
courteous without being prompted,
you even read the classics at an early age,
you were not what we would call selfish or debased,
you were even likeable most of the time,
but now—bang!—
you’re dead, you’re dead, and
you must leave because
there is
no room
left here
for
you
now.
ALONE IN THIS ROOM
I am alone in this room as the world
washes over me.
I sit and wait and wonder.
I have a terrible taste in my mouth
as I sit and wait in this room.
I can no longer see the walls.
everything has changed into something else.
I cannot joke about this,
I cannot explain this as
the world washes over me.
I don’t care if you believe me because
I’ve lost all interest in that too.
I am in a place where I have never been before.
I am alone in a different place that
does not include other faces,
other human beings.
it is happening to me now
in a space within a space
the rent, now something else is trying to move
me out of here, permanently,
and this landlord will accept no
excuses such as
“I’ll pay you next week for sure!”
notice has been served on me
and my final eviction looms.
but as in the old days, I continue,
go through the motions,
read the newspaper, stare at the walls
and wonder, wonder
how did it ever come to this,
this senselessness staring me down.
all my books don’t help.
my poems don’t help either.
nothing or nobody helps.
it’s just me alone, waiting, breathing,
pondering.
there’s nothing even to be brave about.
there’s nothing here at all.
MY LAST WINTER
I see this final storm as nothing very serious in the sight of
the world;
there are so many more important things to worry about
and to
consider.
I see this final storm as nothing very special in the sight of
the world
and it shouldn’t be thought of as special.
other storms have been much greater, more dramatic.
I see this final storm approaching and calmly
my mind waits.
I see this final storm as nothing very serious in the sight of
the world.
the world and I have seldom agreed on most
matters but
now we can agree.
so bring it on, bring on this final storm.
I have patiently waited for too long now.
FIRST POEM BACK
64 days and nights in that
place, chemotherapy,
antibiotics, blood running into
the catheter.
leukemia.
who, me?
at age 72 I had this foolish thought that
I’d just die peacefully in my sleep
but
the gods want it their way.
I sit at this machine, shattered,
half alive,
still seeking the Muse,
but I am back for the moment only;
while nothing seems the same.
I am not reborn, only
chasing
a few more days, a few more nights,
like
this
one.
A SUMMATION
more wasted days,
gored days,
evaporated days.
more squandered days,
days pissed away,
days slapped around,
mutilated.
the problem is
that the days add up
to a life,
my life.
I sit here
73 years old
knowing I have been badly
fooled,
picking at my teeth
with a toothpick
which
breaks.
dying should come easy:
like a freight train you
don’t hear when
your back is
turned.
WALKING PAPERS
Dear Sir or Madam:
we must inform you that there is no room
left here for you now
and you must leave
despite all your years of faithful service
and the courage you showed on many
occasions,
and despite the fact that many of your fondest dreams
have yet to be realized.
still, you were better than most,
you accepted adversity without complaint,
you drove an automobile carefully,
you served your country and your employers well,
your compassion for
your unloving spouse and
care less children
never wavered,
you never farted in public,
you refused to exhibit rancor,
you were acceptably normal, fairly understanding and rarely
foolish,
you also remembered all birthdays, holidays and special
occasions,
you drank but never to excess,
you seldom cursed,
you lived within all the rules you never made,
you were healthy without effort,
courteous without being prompted,
you even read the classics at an early age,
you were not what we would call selfish or debased,
you were even likeable most of the time,
but now—bang!—
you’re dead, you’re dead, and
you must leave because
there is
no room
left here
for
you
now.
ALONE IN THIS ROOM
I am alone in this room as the world
washes over me.
I sit and wait and wonder.
I have a terrible taste in my mouth
as I sit and wait in this room.
I can no longer see the walls.
everything has changed into something else.
I cannot joke about this,
I cannot explain this as
the world washes over me.
I don’t care if you believe me because
I’ve lost all interest in that too.
I am in a place where I have never been before.
I am alone in a different place that
does not include other faces,
other human beings.
it is happening to me now
in a space within a space
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