Poetry Mondays – Beer by Charles Bukowski

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bukowskischlitz

Love is A Mad Dog From Hell

I don’t know how many bottles of beer

I have consumed while waiting for things

to get better

I dont know how much wine and whisky

and beer

mostly beer

I have consumed after

splits with women-

waiting for the phone to ring

waiting for the sound of footsteps,

and the phone to ring

waiting for the sounds of footsteps,

and the phone never rings

until much later

and the footsteps never arrive

until much later

when my stomach is coming up

out of my mouth

they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:

“what the hell have you done to yourself?

it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!” 

the female is durable

she lives seven and one half years longer

than the male, and she drinks very little beer

because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad

they are out

dancing and laughing

with horney cowboys.

well, there’s beer

sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles

and when you pick one up

the bottle fall through the wet bottom

of the paper sack

rolling

clanking

spilling gray wet ash

and stale beer,

or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.

in the morning

making the only sound in your life.

beer

rivers and seas of beer

the radio singing love songs

as the phone remains silent

and the walls stand

straight up and down

and beer is all there is.

Love is a Dog From Hell

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Poetry Mondays – The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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Wizardpaths

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged

Poetry Mondays – Remember by Christina Rossetti

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Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann’d:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics)

Poetry Tuesdays – If by Rudyard Kipling (Thanks for another great season Dodgers!!!)

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MLB: NLDS-St. Louis Cardinals at Los Angeles Dodgers

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master,
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

dodgers-win-pitcher

Kipling: Poems (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets)

The Gift by Christine Rose (Be Like Water Contributor)

belikewaterproduction:

Christine Rose is Like Water…she wants to share her “Gift” to everyone, enjoy!

Originally posted on Barenaked in Public:

IMG_6538 

A few years ago a woman I hardly knew gave me a small handmade journal, bound with string and buttons, and covered with fabric and seashells. Her name was Mary. We met at a gathering of mutual friends. Playing cards and sharing a bottle of red wine, we laughed, and told stories about our lives. She asked about my work, and seemed mildly amused by my being a school principal. I suppose I don’t look or behave like a principal when I’m playing cards on a warm summer evening. She was a cashier at a liquor store, three blocks from my house, small world. We drank and talked some more. I told her about my desire to write, using my standard line . . . I’ve got something to say, I just don’t know what it is. Wide eyed, she smiled, told me to wait one second  and ran outside to her car. She returned with a small journal in hand, this is for…

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Poetry Mondays – Claude McKay – If We Must Die

million dollar baby

If we must die,

let it not be like hogs


Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,


While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,


Making their mock at our accursèd lot.
 

If we must die,

O let us nobly die,


So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain;

then even the monsters we defy


Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen!

We must meet the common foe!


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Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,


And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!


What though before us lies the open grave?


Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,


Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Complete Poems (American Poetry Recovery)

Poetry Mondays – Ode To Autumn By John Keats (Happy First Day of Fall!!!)

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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

        Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

    Conspiring with him how to load and bless

        With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

        And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

          To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

        With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

    And still more, later flowers for the bees,

  Until they think warm days will never cease,

          For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells. 

  Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

      Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

  Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

      Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

  Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

      Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

          Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

  And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

      Steady thy laden head across a brook;

      Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

          Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

  Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

      Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

  While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

      And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

  Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

      Among the river sallows, borne aloft

          Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

  And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

      Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

      The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

          And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats: The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics)

The Dragon’s Philosophy – No Doubt

image

Bruce Lee Complete Collection 5 DVD set

Poetry Mondays – He stands alone (Job 23:8-17)

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But if I go to the east, he is not there;
    

if I go to the west, I do not find him. 

When he is at work in the north, I do not see him;
    

when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him.

But he knows the way that I take;
    

when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold. 

My feet have closely followed his steps;
    

I have kept to his way without turning aside.

I have not departed from the commands of his lips;
    

I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my daily bread. 

But he stands alone, and who can oppose him?
    

He does whatever he pleases. 

He carries out his decree against me,
    

and many such plans he still has in store. 

That is why I am terrified before him;
    

when I think of all this, I fear him.

God has made my heart faint;
    

the Almighty has terrified me.

Yet I am not silenced by the darkness,
    

by the thick darkness that covers my face.

3Pc Lighthouse Wall Canvas Art Set

Poetry Mondays – The Applicant (Sylvia Plath)

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9to5

First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something’s missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit—-

9to5-Movie-Cast

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they’ll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that ?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she’ll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk , talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it’s a poultice.
You have an eye, it’s an image.
My boy, it’s your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

The Collected Poems