Friday, June 16, 2006

An optimistic viewpoint

poem for nobody

an apprehension for reality, the death of the flower
the collapse of hope, the crush of
wasted years, the nightmare faces,
the mad armies attacking for no reason at all
old shoes abandoned in old corners life half-forgotten
voices that once said love but did not mean

see the face in the mirror? the mirror in the
wall? the wall in the house? the house in the

now always the wrong voice on the telephone
the hungry mouse with beautiful eyes which now lives in
your brain.

the angry, the empty, the lonely, the

we are all
museums of fear.

there are
as many killers as flies as
we dream of giant
sea turtles with strange words carved into
their hard backs
and no place for the knife to go in.

Cain was Able,
ask him.
give us this day our daily dread.

the only solace left to us is to hide
alone in the middle of the night in some deserted

with each morning less than zero,
humanity is a hammer to the brain,
our lives a bouquet of blood, you can watch
this fool still with his harmonica
playing elegaic tunes while
slouching toward Nirvana
expectation or

Charles Bukowski

I'm not nearly so pessimistic or depressed as that, but I'm afraid there's some validity to the characterization that "we are all museums of fear." Lord knows I've got plenty of fears and anxieities. Perhaps I should write a poem about them.


Ann said...

That was wonderful. It's amazing the difference to me between good poetry and not so good poetry. Bad poetry is so easy to write!

Randy said...

Kristian from Norway turned me onto Bukowski in one of his posts a while back. When he hits the mark with me, he hits it pretty dang hard. Bukowski actually lived here during one of his many down-and-out periods. I'll post one of his poems about New Orleans.

doug said...

" I'm afraid there's some validity to the characterization that "we are all museums of fear."

I'm afraid I'd have to agree.

Randy said...

Geez, Louise! I hadn't even noticed that I couched my agreement with Bukowski in terms of "I'm afraid that . . ."