Charles Bukowski›Poezii

așteptând moartea ca pe un pisoi care-o să-mi sară pe pat. îmi pare atât de rău pentru nevasta-mea o să găsească trupul ăsta țeapăn alb o

zdreanța. zăcea acolo, strălucind. nu mai puteam face cu ea nimic. ploua. s-a ridicat și-a plecat. ei, draci, m-am gândit, i-aceeași

scăpat din brațele unei iubiri căzut în brațele alteia m-a salvat de la răstignire o femeie care fumează marijuana compune cântece și

mi-a spus: suntem căsătoriți de 30 de ani. și cum vă explicați succesul acesta marital? l-am întrebat. amândoi scoatem pasta de dinți din

ce de-a muzici pe străzi- în sfârșit oamenii-s ca florile polițiștii și-au predat insignele soldații și-au aruncat armele nu mai avem

oricine trebuie să-nțeleagă că totul îi poate dispărea într-o clipă: pisica, femeia, slujba, o roată din față, patul, pereții, camera, tot

doctorul meu a ieșit din operație și s-a întors la birou. ne întâlnim la pisoar. \"unde-ai găsit-o, frate? e genul la care să te tot uiți, dar

if you’re going to try, go all the way. otherwise, don’t even start. if you’re going to try, go all the way. this could mean losing

Born like this Into this As the chalk faces smile As Mrs. Death laughs As the elevators break As political landscapes dissolve As the

you may not believe it but there are people who go through life with very little friction or distress. they dress well, eat well, sleep

waiting for death like a cat that will jump on the bed I am so very sorry for my wife she will see this stiff white body shake it

as the poems go into the thousands you realize that you\'ve created very little.

the history of melancholia includes all of us.

little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won\'t flinch and I won\'t blame you, as I drive along the shore

there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often when you do it\'s too late and there\'s

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting

Making love in the sun, in the morning sun in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun making love

sway with me, everything sad - madmen in stone houses without doors, lepers steaming love and song frogs trying to figure the sky; sway with

I pick up the skirt, I pick up the sparkling beads in black, this thing that moved once around flesh, and I call God a liar, I say

there\'s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I\'m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I\'m not going to let anybody see you

at the track today, Father\'s Day, each paid admission was entitled to a wallet and each contained a little surprise

I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail in my old torn bathrobe. I\'m hung over hair down in my eyes barefoot gingerly walking on the

I reached up into the top of the closet and took out a pair of blue panties and showed them to her and asked \"are these yours?\" and she looked

drunk on the dark streets of some city, it\'s night, you\'re lost, where\'s your room? you enter a bar to find yourself, order scotch and