Young In New Orleans - Poem by Charles Bukowski

starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,

Yes Yes - English Poem by Charles Bukowski

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
when God created me He created me

Writing - English Poem by Charles Bukowski

often it is the only 
thing 
between you and 
impossibility. 
no drink, 
no woman's love, 
no wealth 

Working Out - Poem by Charles Bukowski

Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
prostitute
who flung it away in
extreme

Whats The Use Of A Title? - Poem by Charles Bukowski

They don't make it 
the beautiful die in flame- 
suicide pills, rat poison, rope what- 
ever... 
they rip their arms off, 

What Can We Do? - Poem by Charles Bukowski

at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it's best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, murder. 

What A Writer - Poem by Charles Bukowski

what i liked about e.e. cummings 
was that he cut away from 
the holiness of the 
word 

We Ain'T Got No Money, Honey, But We Got Rain - Poem by Charles Bukowski

call it the greenhouse effect or whatever 
but it just doesn't rain like it 
used to. 

I particularly remember the rains of the 
depression era. 

True Story - Poem by Charles Bukowski

they found him walking along the freeway
all red in
front
he had taken a rusty tin can
and cut off his sexual
machinery
as if to say --
see what you've done to

True - Poem by Charles Bukowski

one of Lorca's best lines
is,
agony, always
agony...
think of this when you
kill a 

Trollius And Trellises - Poem by Charles Bukowski

of course, I may die in the next ten minutes 
and I’m ready for that 
but what I’m really worried about is 
that my editor-publisher might retire 
even though he is ten years younger than 

Trashcan Lives - Poem by Charles Bukowski

the wind blows hard tonight 

and it's a cold wind 

and I think about 

the boys on the row. 

Trapped - Poem by Charles Bukowski

don't undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don't undress the mannequin 
you might find
my love. 

To The Whore Who Took My Poems - Poem by Charles Bukowski

some say we should keep personal remorse from the 
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my

Three Oranges - Poem by Charles Bukowski

first time my father overheard me listening to
this bit of music he asked me,
"what is it?"
"it's called Love For Three Oranges,"
I informed him.

This - Poem by Charles Bukowski

self-congratulatory nonsense as the
famous gather to applaud their seeming
greatness


you
wonder where
the real ones are

These Things - English 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; 

The Worst And The Best - Poem by Charles Bukowski

in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses 

The Trash Men -English Poem by Charles Bukowski

here they come 
these guys 
grey truck 
radio playing 

they are in a hurry 

The Sun Wields Mercy - Poem by Charles Bukowski

and the sun wields mercy 
but like a jet torch carried to high, 
and the jets whip across its sight 
and rockets leap like toads, 
and the boys get out the maps