Poem of the Day (Nov 1)

[I never seem to get tired of Buckowski…]

Revolt In The Ranks

I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half
handicapping tomorrow’s
card.
when am I going to get at the poems?
well, they’ll just have to wait
they’ll have to warm their feet in the
anteroom
where they’ll sit gossiping about
me.
“this Chinaski, doesn’t he realize that
without us he would have long ago
gone mad, been dead?”
“he knows, but he thinks he can keep
us at his beck and call!”
“he’s an ingrate!”
“let’s give him writer’s block!”
“yeah!”
“yeah!”
“yeah!”
the little poems kick up their heels
and laugh.
then the biggest one gets up and
walks toward the door.
“hey, where are you going?” he is
asked.
“somewhere where I am
appreciated.”
then, he
and the others
vanish.

– Charles Bukowski

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3 thoughts on “Poem of the Day (Nov 1)

  1. gary sementelli says:

    charles bukowski; raw and heartfelt. words from his soul. his blood, sweat and tears fill the pages of his many stories. he inspires me to blurt my pain — page by page. he inspires me to spit blood on the page. document the many experiences of my life. dark sides, dark feeling, dark rage. bukowski is an outcast’s god. not part of the in-croud, not part of society, not part of mankind. drunk and full of words. poetic words that piss you off one minutes and make you sob the next. can you stop reading bukowski. i can’t. how ’bout a drink?

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