no one grinning over my shoulder
down here
watching me etch letters into mold
my sensitive nose, a poor man’s vision replacement
vague air under-pacing
the fast fuzzy spider spinning by the lamp
shut off
sun blazing passed the cheap plastic slats
diagonal down so the mower men stop looking in
though one dude is always smiling, he’s so happy riding his bitchin’ machine
Goddamn, I swore no more potty mouth musing
hope naughty interpretations blossom into prescient ponderings
I read Bukowski
depending on my mood
the man scares the shit out of me with his fast forward funk
or he shatters my drunken heart
clearly his was crushed long ago maybe before he knew himself
his manmind discovered a bolder way to tap that
love
I imagine Charles Bukowski
not a Charlie, never a Chuck, that would agitate
I know a Robert who is not a Bob
only very Robert, Robert most in his complicated blue eyes
like me, never an Ann even in pixie haired days
definitely not an Annie, though most women confident enough for the “ie” are quite spectacular
bubbly and honest
I am neither
at this particular moment
I’m not writing from my head
I fear
you might not come back
and I would be forced to dig lower than Hell’s hole (she laughs)
I do not sleep very well
the brain
she can be such an ass
I promised her not to become one of those
with heightened hubris
speaking in tongues about only mine
(hers)
when this wicked whacked world is shaking
shaking
shaking
shaking
God, please don’t let the world shatter, shatter, shatter deep
like Charles Bukowski’s heart when it’s breaking
snakestress
I made her, if I spoke with her she might tell me she is sad, she wouldn’t have chosen hair to hang in her eyes though she does appreciate inner peace tucked beneath snake scales
Beautiful work AnnMarie! Talked to Julia today my wrestling buddy friend on twitter. It’s an amazing connection we both deal with our problems through wrestling. She loves Sting my favorite wrestler too. Small world. Wrote 4 chapters of my new book today. Excited to finish up the book and maybe take a break along with doing short stories. I took an extra pill this morning by accident and was doped up most of the day. Hope you had a good day. AnnMarie=Number One! Woo hoo!
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bonding over wrestling – very cool
watch those pills, my friend – don’t you have one of those little pill box things – careful you must be with meds
am:)
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Yea I swear I took the right amount yes I use those pill boxes from monday to sunday for a full month. I either took the pill early or forgot to put the pill in there or dropped it. Either way I am still alive but I will be careful beloved AnnMarie I am on ALOT of medication so you can’t afford to make mistakes with meds.
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smart fella – careful go the meds
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thank you took the right amount today the blue pill was still there for tonight i take meds at all different day times morning and night
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You are so very talented. You are real. I love that.
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Georgiann, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this
am:)
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Your work keeps getting more and more powerful. I don’t understand everything, but that’s fine– where would we be without mystery? Good poetry– the stuff that really rattles yer skull– is, I think, more often felt than understood…
“hope naughty interpretations blossom into prescient ponderings…” nice line– and an interesting approach to writer’s block!
I know a few fringe writers, but had never heard of Bukowski. A “laureate of American lowlife” according to Time and Wikipedia. Hmm. A stream of consciousness guy? possibly an influence? Well, then, he deserves some credit.
The brain can, indeed, be an ass. I hate it when it starts braying at 3 A.M.
one of those
with heightened hubris
speaking in tongues about only mine
Hey, I think that might have been that prescient pondering you were hoping for! I’m thinking maybe something along the lines of a self-absorption so vast that one is no longer interested in communication with anyone else? Dunno. Definitely a good choice for the title.
Are you sure it’s OK for people to come by here and eavesdrop like this?? : )
Riveting work, my dear AM.
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ah, creating feelings or being understood – if I keep at this maybe I can get both;) I don’t want to morph into a prose-snobber where I think everyone gets what I’m sayin’ – and I think of late, I’m flirting with that idea a bit much – need to slow the boat – hey, are you in that little red canoe over there 😉 –
Here is a laugh for you, my funny friend – I detest the word poetry – I never read the stuff, well the latter was true. Now, I’m a tryin’ to get on that train without calling myself a poet – that 4-letter word – reading the likes of Bukowski, Plath, Poe, Kerouac, Williams…
So much of what is written boggles my mind and I think is that what poetry is supposed to do? – boggle or does it as you so evocatively have written here – “more often felt than understood…” –
this, Mark, is where I get confused
I’m not sure where I’m goin’ with this stuff half the time as I’m just trying to get it outta my brain and free up the drawing side – haven’t been doing enough art lately
and I absolutely want you to eavesdrop – I openly invite you to a front row seat – see that –
and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for your wisdom, thoughts, honesty, kindnesses…
fabulous weekend to you!
am:)
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Yeah, pretty cool, my li’l red canoe, eh?? If I only had a paddle… or an outboard motor… : )
Must admit, I hardly ever read poetry (not sure what other category to put your stuff in, however– might have to invent a new word for it!). Most poetry I jus’ dun get. And it irks me. And I can’t help thinking a lot of it is pretentious and deliberately obtuse.
Recited poetry– even if it’s bad– can be pretty entertaining. Somebody set Poe’s “The Bells” to music. I have it on an old Modern Folk Quartet album– it’s a clanger!! Sophisticated. Hip. Right up there with “Surfin’ Bird,” maybe… : )
Bukowski, Plath, Poe… hmm… that’s a real fun group yer hangin’ out with there. Well, don’t let ’em short out too many of your circuits– onward!! : )
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if you think of a category, please do tell, I’m in – ooo, maybe we can make one up!
I don’t know, Mark – sometimes I’m too freakin’ cocky with my verbiage, but most times I feel as if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing:)
Reading all these dark ‘poeteers’ probably doesn’t help
at the moment, as we creatives go, I feel I’m floundering a bit
no real direction, though if I’m making fish metaphors that should be ‘reel’ direction;)
Bukowski has a few “impure”photographic images out there and they are inextricably burned behind me retinas right there with Goya’s, “Saturn Devouring His Son” – that painting haunts me to no end and the old Blob movie in black and white – now my new friend Chuck B. is there too
oh well, such is the artistic life, you know from where I speak (even if you do smile more than me;))
have a fab weekend
and again, Mark
humble thanks as always for all your wonderful thoughts
always appreciated
am:)
my funny friend, I’m way to sensitive for this artistic crap;)
you, have it all right – pragmatic and talented and always humorous –
I thank rtyou for that
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Nobody has it “right,” and sensitivity is both a great gift and a great burden. And humor is often a cloak used to shield the sensitive soul… (sorry, I’m feeling rather (insert unknown synonym for ‘poetic’) this morning… : )
One needs to stay open and vulnerable, but dark words and (especially) images can be dangerous and debilitating and even a ticket to the dark side– one has to be cautious with that stuff…
You’re doin’ great– carry on!! : )
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c’mon now funny man –
what fun is life if we don’t dance on the dark side now and again;)
thank you, my friend
okay, I’m done whining – onto creating!
happy weekend
am:)
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